You ever notice that every parking enforcement officer looks exactly the same? Big, burly, mustache, sweat stains, female… They’re a very specific breed…
I feel like for this blog I should be talking in an Australian accent looking at one through some shrubbery like, “LOOK! THIS ONE ‘ERE IS DOIN’ EETS MAIGHTING CAWL BY DROPPIN’ TICKETS ON BLOKES’ WINDSHIELDS”
Why do we call them officers? Did they really earn that? I mean “officer” seems pretty official for someone who just drives around in a Prius with lights. I think they should be called parking enforcement minions. Because only can you call someone a minion when they have Cheeto stains on their face.
I recently saw one flash it’s lights and pull up behind a car that was parked at an expired meter. Were the lights really necessary? Did you feel like you caught the perp? IT WAS A PARKED CAR. You acted like this was a high-speed pursuit.
Also, what do the lights mean? Do they come with any real privilege or are you just feigning the look of authority? I have a theory that the lights are used to blind you as you’re walking to your car so they have enough time to ticket you.
Complaints aside, I hear that off the job they’re wonderful people in great company. And they offer more Cheetos than one could imagine.
Yesterday was Stella’s first birthday!
*throws dogfetti everywhere*
I decided to indulge the ridiculousness of celebrating a dog’s birthday by getting Stella a cake. They have a whole bakery designed for this very purpose called Woof (clever right?, ’cause that’s what dogs say generally). I called ahead and had them bake it especially for her, where I can give details like the shape of the cake and the icing I want. As I go to pay for this pile of fabulousness that she was so desperately depraved, I realize WHAT AM I DOING? How embarrassing is this, I don’t even do this for MY birthday.
Does she even know what’s going on? Does she know that she’s 1 today? Like is she telling all the girls at work they better take her out for happy hour because puppy shots are free on your birthday? (to be clear, I mean alcoholic shots not rabies or anything of the like)
All she can see is that I have something delicious in my hand and I’m smiling like an idiot while I sing “happy birthday” in a dog bakery. I can see that she’s excited but the dad in me is wondering if it’s even enough. Should I have gotten the bounce house too? Maybe bought a car?
I settled on letting her cousin Lucy, the dog on the left, come over for a sleepover/pastry party. Part of me feels very fulfilled that I gave my puppy a great birthday, and the other part of me knows why people hate our country.
Now ROLLOVER to my other blogs please… get it?… because… nevermind
Do magicians have open mics? Do they, like comedians, have a place where they workout new tricks that don’t go so well?
Like, “I will now pull a bunny out of a hat- ugh- another OSTRICH… well this is embarrassing.”
“Was this your card? Nope, nope, that’s a bunny…sorry…”
“I will now escape from this straightjacket in this glass box of water!”
*magician cannot escape and drowns*
The emcee comes back on, “… welp… that was The Amazing Lucas everybody…”
END OF BLOG
You ever notice when you hear someone whistling it’s to a song you’ve never heard before? Where are all these people hearing these? Are you all just award-winning composers and you whistle originals?
My theory is we think we’re whistling a song that we heard on the radio, but we’re not good at whistling, so it comes out completely different. So basically when someone is whistling they’re saying they don’t know the melody or the lyrics.
Whistling is also a happy thing. You never hear someone whistling and think, “Man that guy’s having a rough week. I can hear from his whistling his cat died from that dreadful bird flu. He’s probably headed to a wake”. It’s always like, “That guy got the promotion! He’s probably gonna go buy a cat!”
Today I saw a window cleaner on the top floor of a skyscraper. He was on the outside of the building, by the way. I wasn’t just having a business meeting and happened to run into one in the hallway. He was cleaning the windows on the top floor of a skyscraper. Do we really need that? I mean putting your life in danger to squeegee a finger print? I’ve never been looking at a tall building and been like, “Wow look at that beautiful skyscraper- wait- is that dust on the 308th floor?? Well this just became my least favorite building.” Who can see that far up? Like, “I don’t bank with Wells Fargo anymore, their windows have MOISTURE RESIDUE.” What specifically are you cleaning on a skyscraper? Finger prints? Who’s doing this? Spider-man’s at least courteous enough to wear gloves, we know it’s not him. If a dude’s hand-prints make it to above the 3rd floor, let him have it. He earned it. He’s obviously trying to set some kind of record.
Not sure why my grocery store is becoming an amateur high school party where I have to B.Y.O.B… I don’t mean I get drunk when I shop, I mean I hate that I have to bring my own bags. What more do you want from me? I already brought money AND my club card so a receipt can tell me I saved $.49 on cantaloupe. You’re telling me I have to buy the groceries… and then buy the bags to put them in?? Why don’t I just buy the store? That’s kind of where this is headed. Is that how Vons became Ralph’s? Some guy just got tired of B.Y.O.B. so he just bought Vons and named it after himself? Pretty soon it’s just gonna be B.Y.O.G… Yup, you just bring your own groceries and then pay for them, and then put them in bags that you also bought from them awhile ago.
I also hate when they ask me paper or plastic. It’s like, “Would you enjoy killing a tree today or a baby seal?” Obviously I’m gonna say plastic not because I don’t like baby seals, though. Baby seals are the cutest things since baby carrots. I’m saying plastic because you can 100% percent guarantee that a paper bag is gonna rip. What are paper bags meant for carrying? The receipt? There aren’t any handles on them, and if there were, those would also rip. You’re basically paying $.10 cents for a more organized way of hugging your groceries.
One of the hardest things to do is gather your belongings and move to a place where nobody knows who you are. It’s also a very exciting thing. Moving means getting to reinvent yourself and discover what independence is, like what Beyonce says, and what debt is, like what MC Hammer says. I had just graduated high school as a theater major; which is a major where you study how to get punched by jocks. I had fought my parents relentlessly about moving to Los Angeles, as they were in support of me going to college and getting a degree (in something other than the study of getting punched by jocks). My parents were in support of my becoming a successful actor, but also wanted me to play it safe. Despite my parents’ disagreement initially, I loaded my mattress, some clothes, and a Lunchable into a Dodge pickup to head to City of Angels. I was the bravest 19-year-old I knew because today was the day I became an adult. And that’s why on this day I didn’t eat the mini-Crunch bar first.
I go here for the salads. I know they specialize in foot-longs, but I’m still pretty upset about their monthly puns. You can’t just add ANY to the end of every month and think we won’t catch on. Nobody is going to Subway for the a promotional MarchANY, and feeling good about it. Can the glass at Subway get any higher? Who are you trying to keep out, the army from 300? Is this a deli or Bank of America? Every time I go there I feel like I’m shouting as loud as I can so they can hear me say PICKLES! People in line are like, “this kid is very passionate about his veggies”. Especially since I have a stuttering issue, there should be an option where I go around and just make the salad myself. I’m pretty much doing that anyway.
I think good dancers don’t necessarily have good moves. I don’t think it’s measured in how fast you can shimmy, or how awesomely you can thrust your hips at someone. I think dancing is all about the face you make. Women are great dancers because they’ll do things like lower their eyelids and bite their lip. When really they’re doing the Running Man from Mambo #5. Men are not great dancers because if we lowered our eyelids we would trip, and if we bit our lip we would bleed from our face. That dance move is called the Trip Lip.
Blogging is a good way to talk about your feelings naked behind a computer.
I saw a couple fighting outside of a bar last night. This was exciting because almost all fights I’ve seen, I’ve been a part of.
The weird part about this argument was that she appeared to be yelling in French, but he would respond in English. So I could only understand what was going on through his side of it.
It was a lot like-
Girl: Etre avoir bleh pas ellar il vous wi!
Guy: Babe, it’s not like that, I don’t even know that girl.
Girl: Biour villa qui nier des mu! Pui pui!
Guy: No c’mon babe don’t say that. It was harmless. Don’t leave!
The girl stormed off and I’m just there wearing this dumb smile, so I felt obligated to say something to the guy.
Me: Pfff. French girls, am I right?
Guy: What? My girlfriend’s not French. Idiot.
That’s when I realized they were actually both talking in English, I just don’t understand women. BOOM! Punchline.
But seriously, I don’t.
Tha-tha-that’s all folks!
Like porky pig? Cause I have a stutter?..
You guys don’t get me.