Tuesday, January 20, 2009

2009 Races

Here is my racing schedule for the year:

Carlsbad Half Marathon: Sunday, January 25th (Yes, that is this Sunday. No, I am not ready)

La Jolla Half Marathon: Sunday, April 26th

Wildflower Half Ironman: Saturday, May 2nd

America's Most Beautiful Ride (Century Ride): Sunday, June 7th

San Diego International Triathlon: Sunday, June 28th

Vineman Half Ironman: Sunday, July 19th

AFC Half Marathon: Sunday, August 16th

Hmmm...this seems a wee bit overly ambitious.

Monday, January 12, 2009

Thousand Island Dreaming (on such a winter's day)

If you're like me (and I pray, for your sake, that you aren't), you probably have noticed the lack of fine dining establishments serving Thousand Island dressing these days.

This sucks.

Why would restaurants not serve THE BEST type of salad dressing ever made? A salad dressing so superior to other lame-ass dressings that McDonalds even enlisted the services of the dressing and deemed it "special sauce." Do others dressings have such a rating?

Don't get my wrong. I understand and appreciate you second-rate ranch dressing lovers. You like to "play it safe" and "go with the flow." You are basically a Nazi, in other words. FOR SHAME!

I won't even go into other dressings because if you're some sort of freak who enjoys balsamic, or oil and vinegar, or blue cheese, or French, or Catalina you probably lack the ability to read and understand this blog in the first place, so why should I even bother entertaining your side of the argument? Anyone pretending to enjoy these crap dressings should simply be embarrassed and on some sort of list. A Crappy Salad Dressing Lover List. If need be, I may start such a list...watch me. I'll do it!

Anyway, back to my previous point. Why are so many places NOT serving Thousand Island dressing? In the past week, I have gone to three places, none of which have had it:

Woodstock's Pizza and
A third place in San Clemente with some weird name that I can't remember right now.

Regardless, I want to know why. Has the ranch dressing industry been paying off establishments to undermine its main rival? Have too many French people moved to California? Has one of the Islands sunk and renaming the dressing to Nine Hundred and Ninety-Nine Island dressing not yet been marketed?

I don't know...but I will continue to investigate on which restaurants carry this dressing...and which ones might as well be serving prison food.

Saturday, January 10, 2009

My Dog, The Sexual Deviant

She's not yet three years old, but I am seeing the signs. No, she doesn't kill small animals, but Maggie, the famed Pug, does have a few other habits that make me wonder about her sanity:

First: She can't get enough of her own crotch.

I would say Maggie is licking, smelling, or looking at her own pee hole 22.7 hours/day. I don't think I'm speaking out of jealousy here (right), but that is just a little too much. I know dogs lick themselves, but obsess much? I've watched her (oh, how I've watched her) spend a good thirty minutes straight intently licking her own nether regions before, and have tried to put a stop to it:

Maggie...STOP THAT

And all she'll do is look up at me, wag her little tail, bat her innocent little Pug eyes, and go right back to her rhythmic tongue cleansing of love.

Second: She can't get enough of our crotches.

Heaven forbid either Tauni or I don't directly put our underwear into the hamper. If we just drop them on the bathroom floor or NEAR the laundry, you will hear the following throughout the house:


As Maggie buries her face in them...picks them up in her mouth, and tries to make off with them so she can "be alone" (her words).

I'm going to chalk this up to CREEPY, Darron-like actions.

Third: Her porn collection.

Now, I'm not sure how she was approved for a credit card in the first place, but why she would use it for such movies as:

Puggie Star Whores

Puggie Does Dallas

and, my favorite

Barely Legal Puggies

I just really don't know.

I have asked Tauni (as her mother), to talk to Maggie about safe sex as well as her sexuality, but she just hasn't done it yet.

I am just getting a little concerned because I looked at Maggie's credit card statement, and she is expecting Single White Pug in the mail any day now.


Thursday, January 08, 2009

Browns Tailgater Cited For Driving Motorized Couch

I read that quote in ESPN The Magazine, and laughed out loud a couple of mornings ago. Not only is the vision it creates absolutely hilarious to me (because, seriously, where can I get a motorized couch, god damn it?), but it made me think of my Christmas Eve.


Tauni and I are not the best Christmas shoppers. We both mean well, but the past few years, we haven't made it to the store to do Christmas shopping until 12/24. We have even started giving each other pictures of the things that are "coming in the mail" because we both procrastinated too long.

As you can imagine, stores are a little...um, what's the word...CROWDED on Christmas Eve. And let me tell you...there is NOT much Christmas spirit to be found.

You see, people who are part of this Christmas-Shopping-At-The-Last-Minute-Fraternity all have something in common, I believe...we fucking hate shopping. We would create a secret handshake to make our club official, we just haven't gotten to it yet. Someone create an arbitrary deadline, would ya?

So anyway, Tauni and I get to Fashion Valley Mall on Christmas Eve at about 2:00 PM...and this place is a madhouse. They have parking attendants with red jackets, cones, and it appears maybe even the National Guard to help people navigate. God Bless America (and our tax dollars), indeed.

We get into the parking lot, and within thirty seconds, wouldn't you know it...a man up in the distance, say 20 feet, points to me, points to his spot, and gives me the "I'm leaving and you can have my spot because I need to get the Hell out of this madness" look. I give him the ol' cheesy grin and thumbs up...and I felt a warm, holiday cheer come over me.

How nice, I think. Maybe this won't be so bad, after all.

Off in the distance, another car, sees this man leaving, and speeds up to cut me off (in the parking lot), so that they can have his spot. I find this to be slightly odd behavior, so I then position my car in such a way that this interloper cannot get in front of me and take the spot.

So now imagine, if you even can, the verbal tirade that I am receiving from this other parking spot seeker. I can see him, in his car, yelling and gesticulating in a way that would make a Baptist preacher proud.

I pull into the now-vacant spot, and my competition pulls up behind me and waits. And waits. And waits for me to get out of my car.

I get out, walk towards him...and he really gives me a piece of his mind:

Mr. Christmas Spirit: You know, there is only one word for a person like you.

Me: Yeah?

Mr. Christmas Spirit: Yeah. It's stupid. You're just stupid.

Me: And a Merry Christmas to you, too, sir.

And I walk off, and hope that my tires and windows are all intact upon my return from increasing my credit card debt.


So, when I read about driving the motorized couch, it made me think of this guy and how I wished I could have been driving a couch...because I could have then retorted:

Yeah, well, I may be stupid, but at least I own a motorized couch.

I have no idea why my mind made this connection...but it did...and so here we are...

Thank you for wasting two-to-three minutes of your life reading about the random connections my mind makes.

Wednesday, January 07, 2009

Things I Hate About Mark S. Manasse

That's it. I'm tired of playing the nice guy...and the gloves are coming off. For years now, this...this...this "guy" has been the colonic to my ass...the chicken bone to my throat...the anal leakage to my leg...and I won't stand for this one second longer.

I introduce to you, my doppelganger, Mark S. Manasse:

And here I am:

Scary, isn't it.

I don't know this man, but I am DONE with his Google dominance. I am sure he and all his Microsoft cronies will now "spam me" or "hack me" or whatever it is computer geeks do when their backs are against the wall...but I don't care. No man who plays in a band named STD...that's right...ST mother f'in D, should have Google dominance over me. Ewww, look at me...I was in the first band to perform live on the internet. Suck me, Mark S. Manasse.


In 2009, Mark S. Manasse will know no fury like that of a Mark A. Manasse scorned.

The gauntlet has been thrown, "sir."