A guide to all the things you wish you never knew, in one convenient spot.

Friday, May 13, 2011

How To: Make A Grilled Cheese Sandwich.

Nothing more in this world that I enjoy than some fine AM radio. Actually, enjoy is being used rather loosely, I was considering just walking home. You see to truly understand my predicament you have to understand my car. I drive a 11 year old car that hasn’t had a single part replaced in 11 years. So naturally my brakes, which have seen everything from 9/11 to Jersey Shore (which is depressing either way you look at it), are beginning to wear out and die. I use the word die because I can’t think of any other reason for the horrid sound they make. Imagine a child in a bath tub of tazers who you are forced to read a story to. The problem is that the only book you have is Twilight and every time to you say “Edward” the tazers all go off at once, and if you don’t read the book word for word you will be hit in the face with a tree going 50mph. It translates to a horrible experience for everyone in the room. This is basically what is going on with my car. So the only thing I can do is try to drown out the sound of the kid in the bathtub of electric horror by playing some music really loudly. Of course my stereo is to goddamn cool for CDs and only reads iPods or a flashdrive through a usb port. Being a man who would like to see nothing more that Steve Jobs get his dick bit off by a Texan with one small pointy tooth I opted for the second solution. However, I just so happen to be fantastically poor (thus explaining why I don’t just fix the damn breaks) and only own one flashdrive. One really shitty flashdrive that has to boot up for some godforsaken reason. So in the transitional time it takes for my flashdrive to boot and that I need to forget about the immeasurable pain I’m causing my car I turn on the radio and hope for the best. Since my anntenna is old enough to say it saw Al Gore run for president it has some issues of it’s own. So after fumbling trying to get an FM signal I normally give up and settle for the first AM station my senile radio can find. This morning  when I woke up (i.e. noon) I settled for a local news station. Since I have to try and distract myself from my breaks I end up listening to the weather at 20 decibels, this made for a very interesting experience when a segment called “Cooking for the Family” started. Soon enough an elderly sounding lady was yelling the various thing we would be needing to commence our cooking adventure.
1. one non-stick pan
2. one stick of butter
3. two slices of bread
4. two Craft Singles(C) of American cheese
At this moment it dawned on me as to what she was teaching me to make. A grilled cheese sandwich… fair enough I guess. Upon making this discovery I turned up the radio since there was a stop coming up, and I would rather listen to this lady scream about sandwiches then my brakes. Soon after she finished I had arrived at home, with my eardrums bleeding and my stomach slightly hungrier. Since I’m easily impressionable I decided to make a grilled cheese sandwich. However, since I recently turned 19 I have come to realize that my teenage years have been nowhere near rebellious enough and I am running out of time so I need to put on my game face and fuck some shit up. So after grabbing some bread, a piece of cheese, and some margarine I went to my room and proceeded to make a grilled cheese sandwich.
Moral of the story don’t make a grilled cheese sandwich with a butane torch.

Wednesday, May 11, 2011

How To: Go To Sleep

The average human body is a wondrous thing, it is a complex living platform for which countless have used to achieve fantastic feats of ingenuity, athleticism, and creativity. My body would most likely not fall under the category of average since it is unable of accomplishing any of those thing, it may even be below the average since I’m now certain that my body is a simply series of pulleys and levers that are all simultaneously on fire.  I was unfortunately blessed with what would be the Ford Pinto of bodies. Most interesting of my series of anatomical setbacks includes my brain’s utter lack of give a shit for itself and the rest my being. If the brain is considered the leader of the rest of your body apparently nature appointed Zapp Brannigan as my captain, needless to say it’s methods are unorthodox at least and full-on mentally handicapped at most times. To fully understand my dilemma you have to realize why I am writing this. It is currently 8am, I don’t wake up this early,my body just has gotten into this sort of horrendous sleep schedule where I fall asleep at 10am. Needless to say this has made for a horrible past few weeks. To remedy the situation I have tried all manner of tricks and trials to finally have a decent night of sleep. I have tried thing that range from comical in nature (counting sheep, and doing elaborate work-outs to tire myself out) to nearly self-destructive (skipping a night of sleep to try and start anew) in an attempt to have a normal happy life. My brain however will just straight up not have any of that shit. Recently I have been teetering the balance from productive member of society to raving lunatic in some attempts. One of which included an actual conversation with my brain directly.
ME: fall asleep.
ME: … *light mental sobbing* why won’t you just just do what I say?!
BRAIN: … because fuck you.
In an attempt to simply bore myself to sleep I have recently been having late night reading sessions on Wikipedia. Try as I might to not actually be entertained I have been forgoing my usual searches that are either Iron Man or Uranus for something much more boring in nature. So for the past week I have been reading up on cities around the world, ranging from my hometown of Chicago, to the far-off and exotic Alexandria. As of yet this has only worsened the situation do to something I like to call the History Channel Effect. HCE is an all to common disease wherein the victim is drawn to pointless and boring knowledge for unexplainable reasons. Imagine if you will that you have a day off, it is snowing far to hard to actually go outside or drive anywhere, and you are stuck in front of the television.  While flipping through channels you suddenly see a still of a military tank shooting into the yonder and… You are now watching 4 hours of shitty Hitler documentaries on the History Channel, thus explaining the name of this horrible condition. this condition has me reading the crime rate and economic status of Johannesburg every night until eventually my body just gives up and passes out. All in all, it is a fantastic experience and one I look forward to each and every night. To make matters worse I am now enrolled in my second semester at college which has me waking up twice weekly at 8 am and then working directly after. This has resulted in me seeing the beginning of two totally separate days within one sleep cycle on two occasions now, needless to say I am ecstatic about that fact. Something that will put the metaphorical cherry on my sleep deprived sundae is that I have classes in an hour and a half. So far I’m off to a brilliant start in this summer.

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

How To: Go To Sleep (in image form!)

This post will make much more sense when I finish up my story in a few hours (It is being written in between each of my five English assignments). Anyway here is a flow chart, rather sloppy but it gets the job done. Kudos to the software SmartDraw for being a pain in the ass.

Edit: you may want to view it on the main page since the text is super tiny.
This post will make much more sense when I finish up my story in a few hours (It is being written in between each of my five English assignments). Anyway here is a flow chart, rather sloppy but it gets the job done. Kudos to the software SmartDraw for being a pain in the ass.

Edit: you may want to click on that there since the text is super tiny.

Monday, May 9, 2011

How To: Ruin A Fancy Salad

I have a job at a bakery called Panera Bread. At Panera Bread we make salads, think about that for a moment… Moving on, I make fancy salads that cost more than what I make in an hour for people who are stupid enough to buy a fancy salad. The vast majority of the customers who come to order food from the bakery manage to have jobs that allow them to buy a BMW as a winter car car, yet they have major difficulties with the slightest of obstacles. Panera uses those terrifying little buzzy things handed out at Red Lobster that are shaped like a drink coaster, have a V-12 engine in them, and flash with laser LEDS that tell you when your table is ready.

The funny thing about it is that we do not seat our customers, they just plop their asses wherever, we use them to tell them when their fancy salad is done. Once again, at a bakery. Anyway, having this in mind when you get one, you have to prepare by thinking to yourself “Okay, this thing will go off, it is going to scream at me and then attempt blind me, but I will not jump, or freak out because I know it is going to scream at me and cause irreversible retinal damage” then you sit down and are looking at the lady two tables over from you with what looks like another lady coming out of her abdomen, but in reality it is just fat. Then you jump and freak out because the motorcycle from Tron starts having a spasm in your hand. After calming down from that incident a regular customer comes up to main line, picks up their salad and deposits their little hellspawn into a large basket labeled PAGER RETURN. The problem is that our customers cannot be bothered with such mundane trifles such as this. So after an hour of making hundreds of salads we have a tiny mountain of terrifying sci-fi death bombs that are covering the counter.

If there is one thing that rich people love more than a fancy salad it would probably be having a good old fashion seizure when grabbing a plate of food. At least once on every one of my shifts a customer will just sort of lose control of any one of their limbs and send it flying. The best case scenario is that they hit the basket for pager return, which just so happens to be empty. Of course fate is rarely as kind, most often a customer’s unwieldy arms will swing into a pager and send it splashing into some of our food. Keep in mind that these little abominations have been taken into bathrooms, held by sticky children and fondled by sweaty men. Enjoy your fancy salads.


Hello, this is my blog. Sup?