Monday, July 31, 2006

It's 3 Fucking 20 AM

When I was younger, I used to have trouble sleeping. I would go nights at a time with little to no rest...and usually by about the third night or so...I would sleep very, very deeply because my body just couldn't take it anymore.

Unfortunately, this is my third night of not sleeping. And while the previous two had more to do with, oh, I don't know, drinking, tonight is more of a mystery to me.

Now I also realize that regular exercise really helps my stress level lower and my ability to sleep increase...and I literally have had NO time to exercise. I am really looking forward to this last week of insanity to finish. There is a light at the end of the tunnel, and by the middle of next week I will have this little thing called free time.

Which is what scares me.

Knowing myself as I do, I realize that when I get into Work-Mode-Mark....it takes me a long time to turn back into Chill-Out Mark. That is not to say I can't unwind and have a good time right now...because that would be a LIE. I'm just saying that I presently don't know how to sit still. For example, a couple of Fridays ago...I got home from work at about 6...and had plans to go party at about 10. So, instead of spending those few hours just relaxing and taking a break...I graded papers and then decided it was time to clean out the fridge. Completely. I removed the fruit and veggie drawers from the fridge and washed them...I threw out all those condiments that pile up in the back of the fridge and scrubbed the thing from top to bottom. I did the dishes...and used a variety (a wide variety) of cleaning products on the counter tops so that they were actually white again.

Then I went out and got shit-faced.

I just feel like there is this constant weight on my shoulders (and not the weight I am going to start losing 8/1). If I sit down for a second without doing something...I feel the universe caving in on me like I am some horrible slob whose laziness is the reason for the world's demise. Why can't I sleep?

Interestingly...Darron and I had a fast about 1.5 years ago. What if we went sleep deprived. Now THAT would be a challenge. He would probably cheat AGAIN (to no fault of his own).

I've been trying to put my house in the gay bay up for sale for about a month now...but do you realize how hard it is to coordinate undermotivated people from here. For an entire month now I have been unable to get a painter to my house to actually do what the name entails: paint! Flake after fucking flake...is that painting business THAT good that people can agree to paint your house and then back out without calling at the last second?

And as long as this is just going to turn into one gigantic BITCH fest...LKM (you know who you are) I don't like you or your policies. LKM is my 2006 HDS...and we all know what happened to HDS.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, I feel somewhat better.

Friday, July 28, 2006

31 x 31

So, my friends, the time has come to once again realize that when I don't exercise, and I eat like shit...that something odd happens to my body. Yes...I gain weight like a mother fucker.

Since it has always been easy for me to lose weight...and easier to gain it...I have a new course of action to keep me occupied for the rest of the year.

DING DING

It is time for 31 x 31 where I solemnly swear not to only lose 31 lbs by my birthday (12/23)...but also keep it off until then. The actual losing of the weight will be fairly simple...but I am challenging myself to keep it off until then.

So...starting August 1, I will be blogging from time to time on my accomplishments (and hopefully no set backs) on my course to sexiness. Then...when New Years comes...I am going to hook up with some amazingly hot chick at midnight as a crowning achievement to my weight loss prowess.

31 x 31...HERE I COME.........

Is this the Heming-way?

That's somewhat clever. Somewhat.

So I am trying to spearhead (yes, spearhead) a creative writing group...so I got this list of people together, and we agreed to meet a predetermined time at a predetermined place.

I got there dutifully on time, as is my nature. And I waited. And waited. And waited for other people to show up....because I was super early. I hate being so early to everything, but I can't help it. If I get to an appointment 10 minutes early, I feel five minutes late. What the fuck?

Anyway, at 6:00 O'clock...one other person showed up. Unfortunately, she is the only other person who came. And, wouldn't you know it....she didn't bring any writing to share. So, this two-hour writing club meeting turned into a one-hour shoot the shit session where she read my story and we kind of talked about what I wrote...and kind of didn't.

So...for the next meeting, I have decided to be more pesky (read: more of an asshole), and harp on people to actually show up when they agree to do so.

If and when Darron moves to San Diego...we are going to take the creative world by storm...or maybe just beat every known Playstation game. Either way, I won't need no stinking writing group.

2007 will be the year of creativity. It has been decided.

Sunday, July 23, 2006

One of the many reasons I can't watch golf

Seriously...after every shot...and I mean EVERY shot, does some idiot have to yell "Get in the hole!"

Sexual innuendos aside...that just gets old pretty darn fast.

Saturday, July 22, 2006

I didn't even knowS it

Dude...I just had my one-year anniversary for blogging. No bells...no whistles...the year just came and went.

When I look back upon the last year (thanks to my blog) I realize I have done a lot of shit...AND wrote about it.

I set out in 2005 to change my life, and I believe I did. I changed cities, had a serious relationship come and go, switched careers, bought a second home, gained and lost 20 lbs about 15 thousand times (please see upcoming blog about this topic), and most importantly, I think (again...THINK) I mellowed out and have a better perspective on life.

2006 has also been interesting with working more than I have ever worked before, running a marathon, trying to sell my first home, gaining and losing 20 lbs 15 thousand times, and becoming a monk...

I must say that after a year...I am glad I created this Blog because it has helped me remember much more of my life than I would have otherwise killed with beer.

Here is to year number 2!

PS I still find it humorous that The Blogger spell check doesnt recognize the words
"blog" or "blogging"

Sunday, July 16, 2006

Blog off Continued: THE RULES

Mark Manasse (Hurray) vs. Darron Evans (Booooooooooooooooooooooooo)

Blog Off Requirements:

A. One Week to One Month Long

B. Judged on Consistency (Not milkiness or gooeyness....probably more to do with how often we write)

C. We should have certain writing styles that we need to get through:

(1) Humor
(2) Topical
(3) Serious/Soul Searching
(4) Relationship

D. We Should Have a panel of three to five judges that read the blogs and rate us holistically on a 1 to 5 Scale:

(5) Superior in a given category (we can define what "superior" means)
(4) Very Good (Again, defining)
(3) Average
(2) Below Average
(1) Clemens-esque

E. The panel of judges. My initial suggestions: Darron's Mom, Darron's sister, Laura, Ashbox, Maccerz, and/or a mystery judge.

Let's do this.

Seriously, This Shit ONLY Happens to Me

So I am in the process of selling one of my homes. Unfortunately, the one I am selling is 500 miles away from me, so it is somewhat difficult managing that from so far away. I spend most of my time driving between classes on the phone coordinating who should being doing what. Good times. Good times.

But wouldn't you know it; I get involved with some Fa-REAK gardener who starts stalking me. Seriously, stalking.

About two weeks ago, I start a search for some landscapers/gardeners to do some work in the front and back "yards" of my house. I quote "yards" because one should have at least one square yard to deem something a yard, but that is neither here nor there. Anyway, I call up three different companies to get bids. This is generally how I do shit when getting estimates. I get three prices and choose the person I like the best at the best price. The other people do not get responses to their proposals and this means "No thank you." This is just how shit works. If I don't contact someone, or say "Yes, please start the project" that means YOU ARE THE WEAKEST LINK, GOOD BYE (can I still use this as a pop-culture reference? I don't care...I'm doing it).

So I have the landscaper of my choice start yesterday. His name is Mario and he rocks. He is ALL into landscaping and has "a vision for [my] yard that will make it look so very beautiful. [He] checked magazine after magazine for my house...and [he] is going to put a fountain and some really nice fake rocks...." Seriously, this guy just goes on and on about what he is going to do. Our conversations always last over 15 minutes...which include him telling me his newest vision for my "yard" and me inputting some "uh-huhs" every few seconds. Seriously, I love this guy....he is the Picasso of shitty landscaping projects.

Enter, stage left, Bob. I talked to Bob a few weeks ago about giving me a proposal for my landscaping project. Again, I unfortunately am not meeting these people in person, and I am trying to make a decision about their work ethic using websites and telephone conversations. I also, thankfully, have Laura, my tenant, screening these people. She is fucking awesome and is a great judge of character. Obviously, since we dated for a couple of months...she knows a good thing when she sees it. HA!

But...I digress. What about Bob?

Bob, from what I could tell over the phone, has probably been smoking since he was 12...and he is now anywhere from 50 to 60 years old. His phone manners were what I would call marginally psychotic...and I was fearful when giving the guy my address to check the project out:

HACK "Yeah, I'll go by..." HACK "...and check out your place" COUGH COUGH HACK.

Bob goes by, checks out the place, and emails me a proposal that clearly states that I need to fax it back to him before he will start the project. In between talking to The Marlboro Man and getting his e-mailed proposal, I talked and fell in love with Mario and decided that any man who works with plants should not be smoking two packs a day. I did not fax Bob back, did not email him, did not call him. Our relationship is over. Right?

Wrong.

Mario starts my landscaping project yesterday morning. Laura says what he does is remarkable...and I feel justified in going with my lover over the other guys. I think all is well and good in the world.


But at about 4:00 PM yesterday, I get a call from a 415 area code that I don't recognize. I think maybe it is a painter I am trying to hire, so I answer.

Me: Yellllll-ow? (my clever way of answering the phone)

Mystery Man: HACK Yeah...Mark?

Me: Um...Yeah? This is he.

Mystery Man: This is Bob from ------

Me: (Thinking...Bob...Bob....OH YEAH....I remember this guy) Hi. How are you? (Why is this guy calling?)

Bob: HACK...I'm here at your house...and I have my staff, and we are ready to go. But I am having some trouble getting into the back yard. HACK COUGH COUGH

Me: Um...You're where?

Bob: I'm at your house. It looks likes someone has cleaned up the front a bit, too.

Me: Bob...I went with someone else. What are you doing at my house?

Bob: You what? Why? SPIT SPIT COUGH

Me: Well...I got different proposals for the project, and I went in a different direction. Sorry.

Bob: Well, in the future...I wish YOU would be more communicative so YOU don't waste people's time. I rearranged my schedule to come out here today.

Me: I see.

Bob: Can I ask why you went with someone else? Is it because I wanted you to sign a contract?

Me: No. I just decided on using a different person.

Bob: God. I really wish you didn't waste my time like this. HAAAAAAAAAAAACK

Me: Bob. Thanks for the advice. I really appreciate that.

Bob: NO problem.

Me: ("No problem" he says?) Bob, mind if I ask you a question.

Bob: HACK. Shoot.

Me: I apologize for not being "communicative." I will definitely do that in the future. But do you usually just show up at people's houses without a signed contract? And without talking to them for two weeks? I mean, do you think we had some sort of agreement? Did I ever tell you to start on "Saturday" for example.

Bob: HACK. HACK. CLEARS THROAT OF PHLEGM. HACK Um, well. I came all the way from San Francisco. So.........

Me: Right. And I apologize. But did we have an agreement for you to start working? If you had to come all the way from SF, I would think you might, oh, I don't know, CALL FIRST.

Bob: OK...well HACK...I gotta HACK HACK go.

Me: Bye

Un fucking believable. And just another in a long line of reasons NOT to smoke.

Top Ten List Returns!

Top Ten Ways I Know I Am Too Busy:

10. My blood type has changed from O+ to caffeinated.

9. Multitasking duties include brushing teeth while taking a dump and ironing. Who am I kidding...I don't have time to brush my teeth or iron.

8. Find speed limits to be suggestions rather than law

7. Consider ten minute breaks between classes as extended vacations.

6. Only have time to check fantasy baseball team 100 times/day instead of 101 times.

5. Look at dating in terms of something that could happen by 2010.

4. Consider certain car radio DJs to be close, personal friends of mine.

3. Have not been drunk in the past 24 hours. (OK...12 hours....but they have been a LONG 12 hours)

2. Credit card companies have been calling wondering why I haven't bought any "lock company" subscriptions recently (only a select few of you will get that)

And the number one way that I know I am too busy.........

1. I dream about sleeping.

Thursday, July 13, 2006

This is getting serious!

Mr. and Mr. Fingers Go International





Mr and Mr Fingers get some play time on Youtube.com!

Darron and I are going places...I just don't know if it is anywhere good.

Mr and Mr Fingers on You Tube

Throwing Down the Blog Gauntlet

I think my Blog is better than this guy's The Guy Who Got Me In This

And I think we should have a blog-off. And I think I would win.

Monday, July 10, 2006

Yes. Again.

In class this evening, this doooooooooooooooooozy came out of my mouth.

Student: Professor Manasse, is this sentence a run on?

I respond: Yes, that sentence is a hard on...I mean run on.

I have never been so mortified. Ever. Seriously, what the Hell is wrong with me?

One more month of insane crazy schedule to go. What will I say next? Post a comment and let me know, BITCHES!!!!!!!!!!!! Possible topics still to come in this night class:

Parallelism
Subject/Verb agreement
Pronoun Replacement/Agreement
And, of course, my favorite: Dangling Modifiers (too easy)

I'm sure I can slip a "anal sex" in there somehow. Someway.

Ridiculous.

Saturday, July 08, 2006

Happy Birthday, Chris!

In a moment of weakness, I show the world my fascination with breathing heavily into a phone.




this is an audio post - click to play

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Bitch Girl, Where Are You?

Last Monday night, I had a plan. I was going OUT...and I was gonna get drunk.

Check.

I was going to hang out with a friend of mine, and we were going to have a good time!

Check.

I was going to talk to some people and maybe meet somebody nice.

Errrrrrrrrrr.


Background:


I got out of class. It was 9 PM. "Yo, Britt...you ready."
"Yeah...where we be?"
"We're going to La....to the JOLLA"
And there we went.

We drank, and we drank, and we drank some more. At about midnight, we left Jose's to go to The Spot. That is where I met her. Bitch Girl.

I don't know, or perhaps I don't remember, or perhaps even more appropriately, I chose not to remember Bitch Girl's given name. Point being, she was a bitch.



How I met Bitch Girl:

Britt and I reach The Spot. She kindly asks me to "get [her] a fucking drink...and hurry it up all ready." Gotta love Britt. She's a crack addict on speed. Full of life, she is.

I saddle up to the bar, and when I turn around to ask her a question, she is leaned up against a stanchion-esque partition, giving off the "I want a man" vibe. One leg up, back against the wall, she is just waiting for Mr. Right.

"Can you make yourself look any MORE available" I yell back at her. She is slightly amused. Bitch Girl and Bitch Girl's friend heard me and found it funny. We all start chatting.


Bitch Girl Speaks:

Over the course of the next ten minutes, I am stuck in a conversation with Bitch Girl that has more awkward pauses in it than my mom at a whore house. Don't think about that too deeply. You need to know my mom.

Anyway, here are some highlights. NONE of these are made up.

Bitch Girl's Friend: Britt, where ya from?
Britt: Pennsylvania
Bitch Girl's Friend: Oh wow. I'm from Phili
Me: So....you're both from Pennsylvania then...in case you didn't know. (said cornily...obviously as a stupid joke)
Bitch Girl: Well, Thanks for stating the obvious, MR OBVIOUS.
Me: Um.......


Me: So,Bitch Girl, you aren't very nice.
Bitch Girl: Why the Hell do I have to be nice?

Me: So, what do you do?
Bitch Girl: I'm in Marketing.
Me: Cool, how is...
Bitch Girl: Yeah, go figure. I cute blonde in marketing. Wow, right?
Me: Um...ok....

Bitch Girl: Where did you go to College
Me: Berkeley
Bitch Girl: (Laughs)
Me: (Innocently) What's so funny?
Bitch Girl: What? I can't fucking laugh?
Me: Um...I was just wondering. Sorry.

After a number of these gems, Bitch Girl's friend comes back over with Britt, and we have a "four way."

Me: (To Bitch Girl's Friend) Bitch Girl thinks I'm an asshole.
Friend: Well, there's no way you could be. Britt just told me Mark raised money for cancer research and ran a marathon. Did he tell you about that?
Bitch Girl: Why the Hell would I care about anything like that?



Conclusion

Needless to say...I didn't ask Bitch Girl for her number. One thing is for sure, though. She was a bitch.

Saturday, July 01, 2006

Slip of the tongue or a HUGE sign?

In class the other night, I wrote a complex sentence on the board.

A complex sentence, in brief, is a sentence that has an independent and dependent clause. You can move the dependent clause from in front to the back of the independent clause.

A student asks me: "So, Professor Manasse. Can I move the front part of the sentence, to the back." Clarifying the point I had just made.

I respond: "Yes...as long as the sentence makes logical sex....errrrr....I mean sense."

Count to one

Count to two

"BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH" the class is uproariously laughing at me.

"I think you need a girlfriend, Professor."

"Does that mean we have to use a condom when writing?"

On, and on, and on, and on.

I'm sure it means nothing. Yeah. I'm sure. I'm totally fine. Totally.