Parents: Go Away.

It appears as though my parents have found my blog.

How did they do this? They created a facebook profile, searched my name, and found the link.

Then they denied it, until I told them that I had a tracker on the blog.

...wow, some people have NOTHING to do.

The Feigning Excitement Hall of Fame

So, my stepmother, Jeanette, (who is a saint) just took my grandmother (her mother-in-law) on a three day trip to San Fransisco. God knows I love my grandmother, but I'd rather spend a long weekend in solitary confinement. And I'm pretty sure Jeanette would agree.

Apparently it wasn't the torture I envision as they basically ate the whole time. Its ironic because my grandmother's only love in this world is food...and she's a former anorexic. How sad. That'd be like me denying myself sports or checking out girls. Life's already too hard. I couldn't live without life's natural luxuries.

Anyway, I encourage you to look at the picture above. Look how gracious and happy my stepmother looks (she's the young one, if you hadn't guessed). There's no way she's that happy about being there. Uncanny. Also, its debatable to whether or not my grandmother likes my stepmother (which is crazy because my stepmother is the best person in the entire world). How are women so good at hiding the fact that they'd rather be somewhere, ANYWHERE, other than where they are? I mean, sure if they're really pissed off you can tell in all kinds of body language like pursed lips and crossed arms, etc., but still. Goodness knows I could NEVER feign a smile like this. You'd basically have to inject me with happy nerve gas to get me to smile. And even then it wouldn't look half as genuine as it does on my stepmom. If there were a hall of fame for people who could fake liking people, it'd be my stepmother. We're talking first ballot, like Cal Ripken Jr. or something.

Spring Break '08 Only Four Days Away

Well, you think you're gonna have fun in Florida or Alcapulco or on that cruise you booked with all of your BFFs, but I'm having a way wilder time for my Spring Break.

I'm going to Omaha, bitches.

Yep, a week with the moron twins (the affectionate name I gave to my dad and stepmom), old people, and utter nothingness is just what the doctor ordered. To be fair, I need somewhere to relax and actually do nothing, so this might actually be OK. Plus, my dad's making up for it by taking me to Dodger Stadium in May, which is pretty sweet. If you desire anything from the endless fields of corn or the delightlfully simple plains of Nebraska, just let me know. I'll steal it from an unsuspecting old person for ya...

So, it appears I'm getting worse at Italian. Its getting to the point to where I can barely read a passage out loud in Italian class. I read it like its written in Hebrew, which I can read, just not well. Not good, Alex.

So, for an after-workout snack, I happened upon the Insomnia cookie truck parked outside West Quad. Pretty good...for being baked in a truck. Why is it that things cooked/baked in/on something on wheels are so good, but so bad for you? Mmmmm...street food.....

Punishable By Death

So, this morning I was rudely reminded of one of life's little annoyances to go along with ugly people PDA, people chewing with their mouth open, and the overuse of "like" in modern English conversation...that being false fire alarms. But there is good news: I think I've found out how to remedy this inconvience and stop having morons misuse the fire alarm. Two ways, actually. The first being lethal injection. Yeah, I don't think I have to elaborate on that one. The second being this, since I believe the offenders are most likely all males. I say we secretly video tape the fire alarm levers so that we can identify these god-less perpatrators. Then, we kidnap them, blindfold them, and drive to the nearest federal pen (who'd be in on operation: bitch is a compliment), and force them to "drop the soap" in the shower right next to the prison's largest (and sex desperate) inmate.

So, you think waking me up is funny, huh? You like pulling the fire alarm like its NEVER been done before. I'm glad, because for the rest of your miserable life, every time you hear a fire alarm, see the fire alarm lever, or probably even hear the word "fire," you'll see and smell the billowing clouds of the post-coidal smoke Tiny took after romancing you in the prison showers.

Me? Bitter? Nah....

Ok, obviously I'm not crazy and I don't want to go to this extreme, but I do want the madness to stop...I hate loud noises, being prematurly woken up, and having to go out into the cold because you thought you were being funny. How about the whole of West Quad get to line up, execution style, and pelts the perp with snowballs while naked. I think that sounds fair...

The Gym

One of my favorite places on earth is the gym. Its a place I can go and get away and feel good when I leave because I did something good for my health. Running on a treadmill or elliptical allows me to listen to my iPod, weightlifting gives me the feeling of being ripped, and playing basketball is plain fun exercise, provided I'm playing well. Some of my best afternoons were spent in gyms, clearing my heard or beating friends at one-on-one. Of course, some harder times have occurred in them too...the blowup between me and you-know-who comes to mind. But alas the gym has always been a fundemental part of my routine.

And its taken on many variations in my life. During my teens starting out, it was Perimeter in Atlanta where the assholes there didn't like me playing basketball. Signature in Dallas was OK, until they sold it to LA Fitness and thus ruined it. Then came probably the most memorable which was the Cardiovascual Rehab Center in which I was the youngest memeber-- by about 50 years. It was all old people because it was actually owned by a hospital and ws primarily there to help old people rehab...you can imagine the horrendous sight in the locker room. Yuck! Oh, and when I'd shoot baskets, the old people watching on their little excercise machines around the court would stop and give me standing ovations upon made baskets. Made me feel like Kobe Bryant. Good times.

Then came SMU (you wouldn't believe the co-eds...), and of course the Premier club (you wouldn't believe the co-eds...and the assholes who'd be there hitting on them).

And of course, now I work out splitting my time between Michigan's CCRB and IM Building...of which I prefer playing basketball at the IM Building but like working out at CCRB better.


So, a few things have struck me in the CCRB this last week. First, a dude in the men's locker room was drying off using the handblower things. I'm not kidding, stark naked in the middle of the sink area with 3 blowers point at his nude body. Yeah, disgusting.

The other thing that always strikes me about the gym is how great a girl-meetng opportunity it is, yet nothing ever comes from it. Take the treadmill for instance. You're running in place next to people you don't know for like 30 minutes. You're next to the same person for half an hour, why can I never take advantage of this!? I was on a treadmill next to a GORGEOUS girl today, but I didn't make a move, I didn't know what in the world to say. It's a travesty. I never know if hitting on a girl on a treadmill is wanted: I feel like they're too much of a captive audience. Plus, apparently Men's Health, my personal bible, says girls at the gym are self-conscious because they're so dressed down and sweaty. What's my move here? I always feel like a loser for not being able to make something out of these seemingly ample opportunities that present themselves daily.

This to go along with such sticky situations such as picking up girls in class, on public transportation, in the dining hall...etc. Being a guy sucks.

Good Dreams

Last night I dreamt that a tall, buxom, kind, beautiful brunette visited me on my last day of college to say 'hello' and hang out. And no, it wasn't the buxom brunette you might be guessing...it was Jennifer.

If you don't know who Jennifer is, she's the first girl I ever liked when I was a 15 year-old in Atlanta and she an 18 year-old high school graduate. I met her in a photography class in which I was the only boy (and the only person under 30, save Jennifer). My stepmom was also in the class and mocked me endlessly. She was the most beautiful girl these ever have ever seen...and thus she was the founder of my inability to talk to girls I like....you know, the thing where I forget to speak English because I can't think straight in the face of feminine beauty. So, amazing looking in fact, that it sparked the phrase of evaluating girls physical appearance in which I'd say "She's no Jennifer" when my dad or someone else would point out a lady they thought was pretty. And trust me, some really pretty girls got "She's no Jennifer," that's how beautiful Jennifer was (on the outside. I didn't get to talk to her TOO much, but I can assure you, she was really nice). Anyway, I didn't ask her out because I was embarrassed because I couldn't drive, but she remains, in some ways, as the yardstick by which all other girls are measured.

I love dreams where you wake up happy. So often, I wake up upset...mostly because I have to go to class, which I detest or because I'm sort of lost in life. This morning, I woke up remembering that there was once a time in which I actually liked a girl not named Kate (not that I like her anymore, you know what I mean), which makes me feel good. One day, there'll be another Jennifer, and when she comes, I can bank on my driving abilities, so I'll have no reason not to ask her out this time.

Today, I'm thankful for good dreams. Obvi.

Ahh! My Head's Going to Explode!

So, I have this massive STATS test tomorrow, and I'll be honest, I have no idea what's going on, this the eve of test. I haven't had this feeling since I was a junior in high school about to take a physics test. Or a sophomore in high school about to take a chemistry exam. Or a freshman about to fail one of my high school's famously difficult biology tests. See a patttern? Yeah, I'm not good at the math/sciences. Why can't I be tested on things I'm good at, like enriching dinner conversation or Madden on the XBox? School sucks.

Sooooo, this afternoon I thought I was about to welcome Jason Kidd back to my beloved Dallas Mavericks only to find out tonight that Devan George selfishly blocked the trade because he can do so. I've never disliked a player on my own favorite team so much in my entire life, what a little cry baby bitch. Mr. George is a free agent this next summer and wishes not to be traded because if he were traded, he'd stand to make less money (its hard to explain, but true). Devan, I've got news for you: you suck. You're not sniffing the court next year unless you're a coach, a ref, or a ball boy. My money's on ball boy.

So, my friend Rachel is coming to visit this weekend which will be my first ever out-of-town visitor. I feel honored. I was always jealous of kids who had a bunch of friends visit them. Well, its my turn, but I dunno whats cool to do around Ann Arbor. I'm open to suggestions....

Which makes me think. I remember a conversation I had with either my stepmom or my dad (or both) a couple months ago in which either or both of them told me to "just have fun." To which I replied "Yeah, fun isn't my strong suit." Which I think is sad. But I think I'm learning a little. I think my quest to have fun is progressing, just slowly. Maybe by the time I graduate I'll just be a "drag" instead of "stick in the mud" like I was at the beginning. Can't knock progress...

Today, I'm thankful for tissues, because I have a cold.