Helpful holiday shopping rules from the other side:

PUT THINGS WHERE THEY FUCKING BELONG: Goddamn, it pisses me off so much when I find things completely out of place. It’s even worse when I’m talking to a customer and I hand them an item, and then, while they’re still talking to me, put it back on ANOTHER peg hook, or even worse, AT THE BOTTOM OF THE SHELF. As if I’m not just standing right fucking there watching them. YOU SAW WHERE I TOOK THE ITEM FROM, HOW FUCKING HARD IS IT TO PUT IT BACK?!

Don’t make a mess: It’s not that hard to be clean. Seriously. I love watching customers destroy cd aisles without a care in the world. I love watching customers rip off every single item off a peg hook and then leave them there all over the floor. I love watching customers tear through the ad looking for that one sale item that wasn’t even in our fucking ad to begin with, yet they swear it was and start arguing with me over an item that wasn’t in our ad for a product that we don’t even fucking carry and then they get all pissed off and tear up our ad and leave it in pieces all over the place. ALSO, don’t give your children bags of popcorn and then leave them unattended, you know goddamn well what they’re going to do! In fact, don’t bring any children at all. They’re useless, and their whole purpose in life is just to fuck things up. I mean, they fucked up your life by being born, right?

Do you really need a shopping cart?: I hate shopping carts. With every ounce of my being. Not only do I hate shopping carts because I have the worst luck with them. I swear, every time I’m at a place where I’m buying a mass amount of something and I grab a cart, I get the fucking gimp one with the one bad wheel. ALWAYS. It never fails. I’m stuck spending the rest of my shopping experience fighting with the stupid cart. I also hate them because electronic stores ARE NOT PLACES YOU NEED A SHOPPING CART FOR. It’s not H-E-B, or Wal-Mart, or Home Depot, IT’S NOT NECESSARY. It sucks when people knock over our displays, and when they hit your ankles whilst trying to maneuver a huge shopping cart that’s filled with random gift cards, a flash drive, and Norah Jones’ Christmas album, through a narrow aisle. YOU DON’T NEED A CART FOR GIFT CARDS, A FLASH DRIVE, AND NORAH JONES’ CHRISTMAS ALBUM! YOU HAVE HANDS!

If you’re buying clothes, at least TRY and fold them back: I remember when I worked at Hollister and people would fucking rape the jeans section. They’d pull on the jeans on the very bottom, which in turn would cause the others to fall down and then they’d throw the heap of jeans on the floor or on top of another pile of clothes. Worst thing was most of time they didn’t even buy anything. “Can I help you with anything?” “Oh, no. I’m just looking…*TEAR* *TEAR* *TEAR*”. YOU LOOK WITH YOUR EYES, MOTHERFUCKERS. Working at Hollister was the worst. People would literally go in there and just start ripping shit off the racks, as if they were looking for the fucking Holy Grail, or Ark of Covenant, or O.J’s other glove, or something. At the end of the night it was like New Orleans post-Katrina in there. AND FOLDING BETTY’S SHIRTS WITH THE FUCKING MINI BOARD WAS THE WORST. I never want to see one of those again. Anyway, moral of the story is if you’re at a clothing store, please try to fold the clothes back the way they were. I guarantee someone will appreciate it.

DON’T WHISTLE AT EMPLOYEES: Once when I was at work, one of the many Mexican internationals that have been bombarding our store whistled at me. I should clarify that this ‘whistle’ wasn’t in a sexual manner, but rather to get my attention. Once again, my dumbfounded face reared it’s ugly head. I couldn’t believe this motherfucker. I guess Mexico is so far backwards in society that they still whistle at each other to get one anothers attention. How rude is that? I turned around and stared at this asshole dead in the eye, and he waved at me as if I was going to put the newspaper in my mouth and fucking run over there, lay down and roll over. I’m not a fucking dog. So I looked at him and turned back around and kept on my journey. As I walked away I could hear him whistling some more. What balls on this motherfucker. If you’re going to need my assistance, come over and ask me like a decent human being. We’re not animals here. Well, at least not all of us.

Please, please, please, PLEASE, PLEASE, do NOT wait until two minutes before the fucking store closes to come in and do all of your shopping, and then turn around and bitch about how nobody wants to help you: It’s like that scene in ‘Waiting’, where all the cooks are waiting for the clock to hit twelve and then at like 11:59:59 that Chet Miller douchebag walks in and fucks everything up. Most of us have social lives that need attending to, and most importantly, after ten hours of dealing with most of the bullshit from above, we just need alcohol. The sooner we can hit the bar and start drinking, the sooner we can forget about everything that just happened, and hopefully get some goddamn strength to make tomorrow a reality.

Turkeys are food, not friends…

Before I continue with this Tumblr post, I’d like to point out that in 2003, I made the absolute WORST mix cds known to man. I mean, take a look at how terrible this is:

Throwdown - Standing Tall
Selena - Coma La Flor
The Smiths - Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now
Animosity - Fake Blood
Simon and Garfunkel - Mrs. Robinson
Reversal of Man - Death By Water
Anal Cunt - I Got An Office Job For the Sole Purpose of Harassing Women
My Lai - Braille
Bon Jovi - Bad Medicine
Basement Jaxx - Red Alert
Leftover Crack - Gay Rude Boys Unite
Converge - The Saddest Day
Simple Plan - Addicted
Judge - New York Crew
NWA - Gangsta, Gangsta
Spice Girls - Say You’ll Be There
The Jim Yoshi Pile Up - Monotonologue
Turbonegro - Rendezvous With Anus.

Selena, coupled with Animosity, Throwdown, REVERSAL OF MAN, ANAL CUNT, MY LAI?! I don’t even remember listening to fucking My Lai! 19 was a very musically confusing year for me, I suppose.

Whatever.

Today is Thanksgiving. Also in 2003, I posted on Live Journal probably my best literary work ever about my feelings for Thanksgiving. I’m fairly certain I posted it on here awhile back, and it’s still on LJ if you knew me back in those days. I’m not going to repost it, because I was 19 and every other word was “fuck”, and I like to think that my vocabulary has slightly expanded since then, but the general jist of the message remains the same. When I was kid, to me, Thanksgiving was ultimately about three things: no school, Turkey, and family. Two of those things I was always super stoked about, and I’m sure you can guess which one I wasn’t. Family was always a sore subject growing up. As an only child things were a lot different. Aside from being lonely all the goddamn time, holidays were especially difficult. You see, my father HATED spending any sort of time with my mother’s family, and my mother LOATHED spending any sort of time with my father’s family. Every holiday season was like fucking Thunderdome, and I was stuck in the middle of the constant fighting and arguing. My mother’s intense dislike of my father’s family stemed from when they initially started dating. My father’s family spoke very little English, and at the time my mother spoke no Spanish, and even though my mother eventually learned and became fluent in Spanish, my grandmother always held it against her. That and my mother was fairly light skinned for being hispanic, and that was somehow seen as a problem. I guess if your mother-in-law dislikes you for fairly frivolous reasons, and it’s only warranted that you reciprocate. I suppose this was my father’s rationality as well, but then again who really fucking knows. My father will hate anyone just to hate them.

Spending Thanksgiving with my father’s family was always an exercise in fucking futility, ESPECIALLY as a child. All of my uncles and aunts were considerably older than my father, so all of their children were years older than me, this coupled with the fact that nobody spoke any sort of English made life fucking hell for me. I had a Game Boy growing up, and honestly, I swear to God, that was the only thing keeping my sanity intact. My mother’s family was no different, as by the time we arrived, everyone was already piss drunk, which did nothing more than add fuel to my father’s already colossal sized fire.

Things rarely deviated from any of this from the earliest memories of my childhood right up until high school, when my father’s parents passed away, and the holidays suddenly screeched to a seemingly non-existent halt. Almost nothing has changed since. Thanksgiving is one of those holidays where family is a given, and it’s not the same without it. Which is why I haven’t celebrated it in at least 8 years. It’s all pointless to me. That and I never really gave a shit about turkey, or ham, stuffing, yams, cranberry sauce, or any of the other stereotypical Thanksgiving necessities. In fact, almost every Thanksgiving since I’ve been 21 has been spent sleeping until 3pm, waking up deathly hungover, and then finding whatever Fast Food restaurant is open.

Retail has also put a damper on things. Knowing full well that the next day, or the same day this year, is Black Friday, the absolutely worst day in the entire year. We’re opening up at fucking midnight this year. Although, family is the farthest thing from the top of my priority list, it really sucks for those employees in which it is, and have to cut their festivities short only for a bunch of cheap assholes to stampede inside and completely destroy the store, only to save a couple of bucks on some laptop that really isn’t even worth whatever you’re paying for it. Sigh. C’est la vie.

Time to get dressed and apply lots of chapstick, since the only thing I’m going to be doing is sucking this day’s dick.

“Fuck Bitches, Get Pizza ‘11”

Pizza is my favorite food. No beating ‘round the bush, no if’s or and’s or but’s about it. A sentiment that is echoed by probably 3/4ths of all Americans. Pizza is so amazing because it’s so versatile. It can be eaten at any time of the day, whether it’s hot or cold, you can add seemingly countless things to it, and best of all, can be savored by all walks of life from every economic class, and enjoyed at from the classiest of restaurants, to the shittiest of pizza trucks off of 6th st. Find me someone who hates pizza, and I’ll show you someone who legitimately hates happiness. Pizza equals happiness.

A few weeks ago, I had a dream about pizza. It wasn’t anything special really (save for the fountain of ranch that was not only an architectural masterpiece, but was incredible, delicious, and fucking cool as all hell) but it made me question why I was dreaming about food and not something more sexual, or even interesting for that matter. I shrugged it off and went about my business. That was until a few days later when I had ANOTHER dream about pizza. This time this dream was fucking magical! It was like I was Willy Wonka, but instead of being surrounded by candy and sweets, I was surrounded by pizza! Cheeses, and sauces, and meats were as far as the eye could see! It was like manifest destiny of fucking pizza! I didn’t want to awake! But fortunately when I did, I had reached an epiphany: normally, my dreams would consist of myself and various girls that I wanted to have sex with. It was now a paradigm shift from girls and sex to food! It was due to this dream that I decided that I would no longer pursue my chase for finding the perfect girlfriend. No, instead I would seek out the most perfect pizza! My rationality was pretty simple: the road to finding the perfect girlfriend would be very long and arduous, and would most likely be filled with heartbreak and disappointment. A road to the perfect pizza, however, would contain laughs, and smiles, and happiness, lots of pictures, and perhaps, well, maybe, diarrhea? Hey! we’re trying to look on the positive side of things here! I would call this a tour, the “Fuck Bitches, Get Pizza!” tour. And it would encompass everything I love from life: traveling, pizza and most importantly, taking pictures of said pizza.

The tour began on June 28th in the city of my residence, San Antonio, TX. Miss Ellie’s pizza off of Bitters/281 would be the first stop. I have to be honest here, Miss Ellie’s pizza is my favorite pizzeria in San Antonio. Bar none. I’m sure you’re probably thinking, why the hell is he starting at his favorite place?! Well, one, lots of bands start out tours in their hometown, or favorite city, it’s not uncommon. Two, fuck you, this is my tour and I’ll start wherever I want!

Pepperoni with pineapple and jalapenos. Yes, it’s a very unusual combination, but the sweet and the spicy definitely compliment each other! The crust is thin (but not too thin) and foldable, and the sauce is sweet with enough cheese to ooze off the sides! If you love your pizza New York style, this is the place to go. It might be slightly towards the pricey side ($8 for two slices and a drink), but goddamn is it good! If you’ve been to Goomba’s, or Florio’s and think that’s good, you’ll LOVE this place.

July 1st, 2011. Pizza Hut. San Antonio, TX.

I know already what you’re thinking: “Pizza Hut?! What the fuck is Pizza Hut doing here?!” Before you criticize me anymore, you have to understand that Pizza Hut DOES sell pizza, and pizza regardless of where it’s from, is pizza nonetheless. NEVERTHELESS, Pizza Hut is probably the best pizza from a corporate, mainstream chain. Truthfully, I’d go out on a limb and say Pizza Hut was the very first pizza I ever had. For me, Pizza Hut is more than just a pizza chain, it reminds me so much of childhood memories. When I was a kid, my dad played softball for the Kelly AFB softball league. Every Friday my mom and I would go and watch him play. Well, I use the term watch very loosely, since I spent the majority of the time running around and playing with the other kids, but I was still in the same vicinity. After the game, my parents and I would always go to the Pizza Hut down the street with my dad’s friends and their families. It became a weekly ritual. In 1992, it was at this very Pizza Hut that I played Mortal Kombat for the very first time. Needless to say, Pizza Hut will always remain an important part of my life. So it’s a good thing the Pizza is good.

This is extra pepperoni and pineapple with a side of ranch dressing:

It’ll always be a toss up for me between their hand-tossed crust, and their thin and crispy. I can never decide which I like better. You know, as I sit here and write this, Pizza Hut has really came out with some remarkable things. Remember when the stuffed crust pizza came out? I literally shit myself I was so amazed. I recall being in school and learning about Apollo 11 and Neil Armstrong landing on the moon, and thinking to myself, “Fuck, they can put a man on the moon, but they can’t find ANYWHERE ELSE to put cheese on a pizza?!” and then the stuffed crust pizza came out and left the world speechless. What else has Pizza Hut created? The “BIG New Yorker” pizza (which was so good)! “The Edge” pizza with toppings all the way to the edge! The “Full House XL” which was too big for words. The “Chicago Deep Dish” (which fucking sucked). And lastly, the “Dippin’ Strips” pizza, which combines a pizza and their so delicious breadsticks. This of course is still being served, and is still amazing.

I’ll definitely eat at better pizza places than Pizza Hut on this tour, and I’ll probably eat at worse, but one thing is for sure, no place will ever remind me of better times than Pizza Hut.

Fiesta still sucks.

It’s April in San Antonio, Texas, so you know what that means: FIESTA. Fiesta really only applies to one group of people, and that’s Mexicans. Yeah, okay, San Antonio has a rich Hispanic historical culture, cool, awesome. But why the fuck is it that the most unappealing and downright disgusting Mexicans are the ones that are going so fucking apeshit over it?! These are the ones that give the rest of us a bad reputation. These are the ones that make the Spurs a complete laughingstock. THESE ARE THE ONES THAT CONSUME ENTIRELY TOO MUCH BUD LIGHT AND DECIDE IT’S A GOOD IDEA TO DRIVE. Thus ruining it for the rest of us. I wish I could go and visit Fiesta and have a good time, but unfortunately there’s no door guy outside downtown enforcing the dress code. I guess this would be the only time of the year I don’t mind people confusing me for being Asian. Lest I get lumped in with all the rest of those assholes.

I make it a point every April to educate relatives, friends, enemies, co-workers, neighbors, and strangers to the city to keep a ten mile radius away from downtown. Some of them listen, but a vast majority of them don’t. For those of you that don’t remember this from my Myspace blog of four years ago, here’s my unabashed Fiesta story:

“so what’s been going on…? oh, yeah. fiesta. for those of you who don’t live in san antonio or texas in general, and aren’t familiar with the stupid things we do here, please read this. goddamn, i really hate fiesta. fiesta is the one time of the year that all of the trashiest people in the city come out to mingle amongst themselves. i went downtown thursday night for NIOSA, which is college night or something like that. i hadn’t been since high school, and i remember back then it was moderately entertaining. so i managed to deal with the traffic, which don’t even get me started on, and somehow i happened to find a parking lot that was surprisingly not full. i wonder what the catch is? oh yeah, twenty five fucking dollars. that and it was light years away from market square. anyway, as i was walking over there, it reminded me of the movie “black hawk down” where the american soldiers are walking the mogadishu mile and all of those skinnies are shooting at them and whatever. yeah, it was like that. i was the american soldiers and the skinnies with RPGS and ak-47s were trashy mexicans kids with their knocked up girlfriends and twenty kids. by the time i finally got to market square, i wanted nothing more than to take the fucking blue pill, and end that story. it was so bad, dude. you couldn’t even walk anywhere because it was so crowded. and when you finally parted the red sea of trashiness, moses style, and reached the beer stand, you were shocked to learn that a shot glass sized cup of beer was going for five fucking dollars! but the worst part was the people. i can honestly say i didn’t see a single classy looking person the entire time i was there. it’s like the worst, and i mean, the worst people of san antonio were out. you’d see these fucking ghetto looking mexican dudes with their white-t’s and prison tattoos and their pregnant girlfriends who were carrying two month old babies whilst pushing two more in a stroller. gangster dudes walking around smoking weed, people sodomizing each other in alleys, so much fucking sin. fuck. what the fuck happened to this city? it was almost like a modern day sodom and gomorrah. i was seriously waiting for god to waltz in there and start casting fire and brimstone like it was going out of style.

today is wednesday, i’ve taken like a hundred showers since, and i still can’t seem to clean that filth off of me. i’m never going to fiesta ever a-fucking-gain.”

And I never went again! For those of you reading this that have ventured down there and didn’t notice any similarities, either you are entirely too conditioned, or the Rohypnol hasn’t worn off yet. Trust me, it’s scary.

I really miss Live Journal.

Like a lot. A fucking lot. The last journal entry I posted was on February the 18th, of 2009. This is how it started:

hey live journal. it’s been awhile. it’s so weird how live journal was such an integral part of my life, now i had to really delve into the depths of memory to even remember the fucking password.

life, ironically, isn’t that much different now than it was a few years ago. i’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. i still work at best buy. i still drink on a near every day basis. i still don’t have a girlfriend. i still bitch and complain about the most pointless stuff. yeah, the only things that’s really changed is my hair and my age.

Sad to say that my life is exactly the same almost two years later. I mean, a few things are different, but the more things change, the more they stay the same. I think the thing I miss most about Live Journal, aside from the 6 years or so of memories, is that I was friends with a lot of awesome and funny people and reading about each others lives every day brought upon so many smiles. When Myspace came along, and Live Journal died off, so did a lot of people. Sure, a lot of people jumped on the Myspace bandwagon, and some I’m still friends with on Facebook, but too many disappeared, and that really sucks. Maybe some day we’ll all be reconnected again.

Anyway, let’s see if I can recap the last four months that I’ve been too lazy to write about.

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MoRrEeSSe: Long Distance Relationships.