Be Underwhelming: Rules for Impressing Lovers on Vacation.

Dear Mom and Dad, Wegmans and whoever plans to travel soon,

I wanted to let you know that I heard your caution to take things slow during this new relationship. The advice you gave was clear and concise and any normal human being would heed your warnings.

But much like the time you told me not to try making s’mores in the toaster oven, and though I still maintain they would have tasted great regardless of the house burning down, I have chosen to ignore your decree.

And so in an attempt to woo my new lady of the night (no she’s not a hooker she just works until 6 so I usually only see her in the evenings), I asked her to go on a vacation.

I know what you’re going to say…and honestly, I feel like we have known each other for years! I really feel as though I know enough about her to invite her on a long car ride to meet family members I usually wait until the second Christmas to introduce.

I believe it was the wise Chris Brown who once spoke of amorous feelings when he said:

“I’m on some new shit, I’m chuckin them deuces up.”

Such wisdom. He most certainly does not GAF.

(Mom this means ‘give a fuck’)

And so we set out on a drive down the east coast to Virginia Beach for one unbelievably relaxing vacation. I figured I would just update you and let you know about all the rules I learned about vacationing with lovers and the plethora of events we got to experience together making our power couple status comparable to that of HOV and Bey.

Rule 1:

You’re going to want to get an early start on your vacation. In this case I made sure to accommodate our circumstances well. When I say circumstances I mean she drove the whole way. So as a surprise, and in order to ensure she wouldn’t have to hit rush hour traffic or be driving late into the evening, I set my alarm for 4:30 a.m. just to make sure she was wide awake and ready to cart our asses around.

Don’t worry, I used Miley Cyrus for an alarm ringtone so she would wake up really happy.

We stopped at McDonalds for breakfast, and I couldn’t decide which breakfast sandwich I wanted her to buy me more, bacon egg and cheese on a bagel or a biscuit, so I just ordered both with a coffee and I definitely should have gotten the biscuit only, the bagel was sub-par but whatever I didn’t buy it.

Well, whatever the mud they called coffee actually is, it ran through me quick and I had to stop at a rest area. Plus it gives your beau a half hour to stretch their legs while they cart your Ms. Daisy ass around.

Rule 2:

If you stop for bathroom breaks, take your sweet time. You’re gonna be on the road a while, and even if your partner doesn’t have to go, you don’t want to rush.

Also, in the event you clog the rest stop toilet, I know you are wondering and yes, definitely tell your boo as you exit the bathroom. They will be proud and they will congratulate you with things like:

“Those things are made to take down anything and everything…just…how?”

“You’re so pretty”

Rule 2a:

Fart.
Fart a lot.

Rule 3:

If you stop anywhere for an hour or two, and there is a mall nearby, and you’re a man, prepare to be there for three to four hours. I don’t plan these things well, and I like shopping, but somehow whenever my new boo takes me to the mall to grab

“a strapless bra”

it really means

“new flip flops, a maxi dress, wait maybe this maxi dress, or this maxi dress, can you pick one of these the navy with gray striped maxi dress or the navy with charcoal striped maxi dress, never mind I’ll get both, new hat just in case there’s sun, probably a soda, but no not that soda, I want the soda from that place, ew this one has zero carbonation, probably a haircut at this Sears salon would be cost affective and convenient because we’re here, don’t you need sweatpants oh well whatever I’ll just wear them, oh I work here so I get a discount we should walk the perimeter of the store eight times just in case I can use my store discount maybe, do you think it’s warm enough for flip flops maybe I should return them, oh and did you want to stop in the Chik-fil-a we originally came here to eat at?”

Rule 4:

As a passenger, it is your absolute duty to entertain the driver. They are going to get stressed, and you are going to hit traffic, and when you hit this traffic and they double down with exhaustion and anxiety and all they want to do is sleep and stop driving, that’s when you have to up your game and prove you are the best car co-pilot ever as well as a useful lover not just during the secks.

Tell them how good they’re doing. Things like:

“Honey, you’re overreacting you just need to learn how to merge properly.”

“That was the exit a half mile back you just chose not to get over so we’ll just find the re-route.”

“Your emotions are surprisingly tame for having your period, that in itself is something you should be proud of.”

And when THAT doesn’t work, pull out the big guns, and distract the other drivers trapped in the gridlocked hell by smushing your beautiful face against the passenger side window. Your driver will laugh through her tears and that four car fender bender you cause will be a distant memory in thirty to forty minutes.

Rule 4a:

Definitely take a lot of pictures of your girlfriend even if they don’t want you to, like in the rain or when they’re trying to “snuggle” or whatever.

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Rule 5:

No matter how good of a person you are, don’t fuck with the universe by saying things like “we made it safe and sound” a block from your destination…

…because the universe will summon animals, like Bambi…

…and your driver/girlfriend will barrel into Bambi’s skull at a high rate of speed…

…and she will have another panic attack because this is the first deer she has ever hit EVER and she will of course, have just been talking about how nothing has ever gone wrong with her car since she’s owned it just before this occurs.

Definitely keep your thoughts on safe arrival to yourself.

And whatever you do, don’t refer to your lover as Bambi murderer or Venison creator for the rest of the trip.

Rule 6:

Take some time for you. Get a pedicure. They are fantastic.

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The chairs assault your back like you owe it money, and they do all kinds of things to your feet that you never knew you could do. Like shave them, lotion them, and give your legs a massage that could make a paraplegic moan with joy.

Rule 6a:

Don’t make paraplegic jokes. Ever.

Rule 7:

Visit all the novelty gas stations/grocery stores/fast food joints you don’t get to in your shitty overbearing town of Albany, like Wegmans, WAWA, Wegmans, Sonic, Wegmans, White Castle, Chil-Fil-A, Wegmans, IKEA, and Wegmans.

Seriously, Albany, fucking Wegmans. Stop being so lame and just sell booze at the grocery stores this is ridiculous.

Rule 7a:

Something to keep in mind when traveling is that your bowels are on a fairly strict regimine. Disruption in the form of temperature change, altitude change, or even the stress of having to criticize someone else’s driving for a week can block you up for some time and that can get uncomfortable.

Definitely DO NOT get food at the above locations and pile it on top of the compounded issue.

UNLESS! You have never tried them before…

In which case, in order get the spicy chicken club sandwich with waffle fries, IKEAS Swedish Meatballs and a salmon dill wrap, McDonalds at least twice, a buffalo chorizo based egg dish for breakfast at a kick ass diner, any and all breakfast sandwiches at WAWA, seafood at the Virginia Beach shore in grilled and fried format, a gigantic bagel sandwich at a cute sandwich shop, a giant bagel schmeared with cream cheese also because YOLO, and a creamy chicken and spinach Alfredo.

But be warned, piling this internal organ layer of food together leads to the next rule.

Rule 8:

When you stop up your hotel rooms toilet, you absolutely positively need to notify your lover first. It doesn’t matter how invested in the current episode of ‘Flip it to Win it’ they are, you shut it off, look down at the ground shamefully, and then inform them that you’re going to have to be a little late to the free beverage and cheese hour at the hotel lounge because there is an inch of toilet water on the floor in the bathroom.

Then call maintenance. Priorities.

Then when maintenance arrives, say something to the effect of:

“I have no idea how that happened”

or

“Does this happen often?”

Then, because your insides didn’t suffer enough the last five days, go eat enough cheese and creamy pastas to block up someone with IBS comparable to that of Pompeii’s eruption.

Rule 9:

Because you got a great deal on Priceline from that guy from Star Trek, you are located on the 8th floor, in a private bode where silence is encouraged and loud noises are frowned upon.

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Take this opportunity to prove to the world that even though you’re not super well endowed (thanks a lot mom and dad), you can still get the job done.

I’m not saying to have the sex loud and rambunctiously while you’re on vacation, but I am saying you should at least spend some time slamming your palm against the neighbors wall while you make noises similar to the ones you’re going to hear when you visit the zoo the next day.

You’ll feel better. I promise.

And you definitely won’t cry by yourself eating leftover room service from the night before because your girlfriend “needed to hit the steam room for some alone time”.

Rule 10:

When you visit the museums your bae wanted to see, definitely opt for the audio tour. Even though they will complain afterwards about how much of a pain it was, it earns you an hour of silence while you pretend you’re listening to your tour but really are enjoying not hearing about how “tired” someone is from all the driving she has done.

Rule 11:

Other states don’t have the concept of always being hungry grasped, so you need to be aware, places like Richmond and Virginia Beach, close down their restaurants at 2 p.m. right at peak “grab a samwich somewhere to tide us over” time and then they don’t re-open until 5 when it’s dinner time.

You should definitely look like a man in front of your new girlfriend and freak out because you’re hangry and there is no where to get a god damn peice of food that isn’t from a seven eleven and you should definitely blow it out of proportion and pout because girls love that shit and when they tell you to stop being dramatic you should definitely blow that shit out of proportion and say things about how you should just break up then because obviously she doesn’t value your relationship when you can’t get a fucking sandwich after walking around all goddamn day and only eating a handful of goldfish.

(I used to have a temper problem and I’ve really been working on it at the request of my mother, and I think we can all agree looking back on rule 11 that we learned a really valuable perspective on how well we’re doing because we haven’t had an outburst like that in a while, and we are super fortunate to have a girlfriend who will at least wait until we get back home to break up with us so that we don’t lose control in a foreign state)

Rule 12:

If you do get pouty, definitely make sure when getting off your exit to go back to your relatives, that you exact revenge on the driver for calling you a princess and telling you to calm down by telling them you know where you’re going, and then saying left here, right there, for fifteen minutes before you end up in a church parking lot and then admit you have no idea where you were going and then when your girlfriend gets upset you have the upper hand and can say things like:

“Now who’s being the drama queen?”

You win.

FINALLY, Rule 13:

Make sure you tweet everything that happens. Broads love twitter. Document the trip, you’ll be better off:

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Still taken but unsure why,

Me.

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Leggings as a Thing: a Response to Fashion Week.

Dear Dolce and Gabbana,

It’s fashion week here in the Most Things are Garbage household.

This means three things.

Number one: the repercussions from Super Bowl are the devil. All that salsa laden food covered in various cheeses and seasonings probably influenced by salt has all settled in the mid section of my body, and it is holding my waistline hostage somewhere on the tipping point of a 31 spilling over into a 32.

But cheese. Dear god the cheese.

Number two: my cat and dog are not my biggest fans. Don’t get me wrong, dressing them up is great and fashion week is all about the looks, but my dog is super comfortable when he is naked and roaming free in life, and really who the hell isn’t?! It just makes it easier for him when he decides to embarrass me in front of all the dates I bring home from the Internet as he pleasures himself at their feet while we watch Amelie on the couch.

Number three: Research!

I believe it was Spider-Man who said “With great fashion comes great responsibility.”…

…or something like that.

I mean it’s 2014 now so I feel as though fashion is unbelievably lenient now-a-days, and that there is a lot more room to be flexible.

Personally, I’m usually an all dark everything-all black everything kinda guy usually. My standard wardrobe would make the interior of Drake’s Maserati blush.

As far as dress goes though, I am not on the up and up with the latest trends or the hot styles now. It is complicated and written a long while back, but if you really want to know the progression of my fashion technique, you can read this.

Basic gist: My mom picked out my outfits until I was 24 and I made those sex-bracelets out of soda cap things to wear, and then passed them off to my parents as me being creative and not at all slutty. Also, those bracelets didn’t work and I usually ended up breaking all of my own while I played with my action figures on a nightly basis. Then I made progress somewhere after an ex-gfs insistence that I dress human, I understood how important the world of fashion truly was. There’s only so many times someone can say, ‘Stop shopping at Delia’s’ before you finally start listening.

Blah blah blah, a few years later I’m basically Tyra Banks.

So I basically understood all things fashion except one:

When the fuck did it become socially acceptable to wear leggings as pants.

Mom! You didn’t prepare me for this!! I’ve seen some horrible things!

To me saying leggings are pants, is like saying cotton swabs make a good substitute for pepperoni as a topping on pizza. No, just stop it doesn’t make sense!

I had to get to the bottom of it, this fashion phenomenon that has been sweeping the world.

Well as I generally tend to do before I believe anything I’m told, I heavily considered setting out to conduct a very detailed experimentation. I weighed the pros and cons of actually wearing a pair of leggings as pants for 24 hours, and was quite hesitant but a friends Facebook post pretty much solidified the decision for me:

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Sold.

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Luckily for me, I gave up on shame several months ago. I mean really what does in matter in the long run, grand scheme of things in life, a male wearing leggings out as pants should be considered normal right?

Well staying true to the daily experiment, I began by purchasing a 10$ pair of jeggings at target in the women’s section. It was not awkward for I had my female companion in friendship in attendance with me. I grabbed a bag of gummy worms and a copy of Bridget Jones’ Diary for checkout so there would be no misconstrued notions about what I was doing.

“Ten dollars?!? Where did you find these?” exclaimed the female cashier.

Somewhere between shirts that look like dresses and accessories I have zero idea how to utilize.

One, two, skip a few and here we are at D-Day. I made sure to wear my leggings to bed so that I awoke physically wearing them for the start of my 24 hour period.

I fixed myself a pot of coffee and a hearty plate of bacon because, well these have an elastic waistband and who the hell am I trying to impress really?

I mean with the exception of that OkCupid date at Starbucks but was there any doubt that I wouldn’t kill that?

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And so, as their time wound down as house guests, Kurt and Rachelle in all their marital bliss, invited me to join them around the Capitol Region while they ran errands.

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I figured since I was basically going to be miserable wearing basically no pants all day, I may as well take in some pre-wedding bickering to really twist the whole knife of joy lodged in the torso that is my life.

Well we made our way through several locations to collect data, as will be evident below in the results. To begin, in the car I did the only thing any reasonable person would do when conducting an experiment of this caliber:

Post about it on Facebook.
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I apologize to no one. I have done everything right up to this point.

Next, I took a ‘from where I stand‘ photo to post to the Instagram at a later date after results were concluded.

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It was eerily reminiscent of the majority of shots I tend to see on the Instagram, so I knew I was doing something correct.

Suddenly, and without warning, my 00’s pop princess mix on Spotify was interrupted by the buzz and buffering of multiple notifications. Apparently, my post on the Facebook had caused a stirring in the loins of many females, and opinions began rolling in a la the form of comments:

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I am not saying no more pants is a bad thing. I’m also not saying the female who posted this has never taken her pants off in front of me.

(She hasn’t. I got friend zoned when I was like 9 for saying the word ‘vagina’ in front of her on the summer camp bus. Boys are gross.)

What I am saying, is that females rushing to the defense of their sacred skin-tites was not enough to convince me!

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Well you know women…20140210-155346.jpg

So of course there were many more opinions to be given:

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Obviously by this point I was welcoming any and all opinions because I knew in the long run half the research would be done for me. Part of the plan all along.

There were funny opinions:

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There were honest and sincere opinions:

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There was sassy-ness:

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There was classic disagreement amongst the female species:

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Obviously there would be no final group consensus as we all know that females can never just agree on something.

I knew that the fate of leggings as pants lay I’m the hands of me, and I had to get straight to business.

Below are my findings:

Daily itinerary by location:
Big Lots
The family Dollar
Michaels Craft Store
Starbucks (OkCupid first date)
Home

Variables:

Constant– me, my beauty, my ass, my sass, hair.

Changing– butt uncovered 50% of the time at each location, customer type in store.

Reasoning and rules:

1. The golden rule.

Leggings being worn as pants is applicable first and foremost ONLY if the booty is covered. It is scientifically proven, and therefore is the first regulation to this process. See scientific findings below:

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Booties are meant to be poppin, but not in leggings ladies. Covering your bottom makes all the difference out in public.

See:

Hot:

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Not:

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2. Present yourself well!!! 

Choose your outfit carefully. Whatever the fuck tunics are, they are apparently closely associated with the legging ensemble. I chose a tank top under an oversized sweater. It was sensible and not too ragged. It requires a certain chutzpah to pull it off in public, and while you may feel comfortable, the attitude makes all the difference between:

‘Look I’m lazy am I doing the shopping right oh god what is my life I miss my cats time to go home’

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And…

‘Look I’m basically Beyoncé you’re just frontin’, I AM Sasha Feirce and yuh jealous’

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3. Know what to expect.

There is a very good chance you are going to get some looks. Am I right or am I right ladies? You have to be aware of your surroundings, and science proves that with certain places come certain levels of judgment. In reality, we all know the real judgment free zone is not planet fitness, but Walmart.

Below are the findings from my day:
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If you notice, places you would expect to see leggings as pants (Big Lots, Family Dollar) are more judgmental than those places you are expected to be creative and different (Michaels, home). This is because your brain loses the ability to give a shit how you look when you go to locations you fully expect to see a lazy ensemble.

4. There is a direct correlation between pockets/zippers and comfort: 20140218-090744.jpg

Where sweatpants are basically the closest thing to allowing your bottom parts to feel more free than my refills at Starbucks, jeans can be binding and constrictive. Leggings comfort level becomes clear when put in these terms.

5. Say no to UGGS.

Look I’m not saying UGGS look stupid with leggings, I’m saying UGGS look stupid. You need to own this look, and frankly everyone looks foolish in UGGS.

Be a boss, sneakers for the win kiddos:

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Final verdict:

LEGGINGS ARE COMFY AS FUCKKKKKKK!!!

Here’s the bottom line though. If you love your body and you’re comfortable, who gives a shit what you’re wearing.

Odds are you’ll end up reclined in front of Netflix anyway.

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Honestly, with the amount of criticism put on body types and choice of dress nowadays, I personally vote for the whole if you like it, wear it at this point.

Science agrees:

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Just do you, learn to love the skin you’re in, and you’ll be fine.

And take lots of selfies…always…

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Bless this mess,
Alex.

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A letter to Time Warner Cable: Sucks to suck.

Hey Time Warner Cable,

You caught me at a great time in life. I’m being brutally honest and I’m refusing to put up with nonsense. I apologize that this information comes to you via ‘the Internet’ but I’m really tired of being transferred back and forth between 90 different operators before I get hung up on and no one hears my complaints.

I say complaints because I have received nothing but semi poor and lackluster service since I signed on with you. I know I have a current case open with you all to look into why my internet has really never worked. By the way, I still have concerns I haven’t addressed with you in regards to this…

Like how I’m pretty sure the last time I called about the Internet being a huge issue, and your over the phone care rep informed me that the router you provided me with, the one that I pay that fancy new ten dollar a month add on fee so you’ll keep fixing my internet, wasn’t even suited to sustain and provide the “Turbo Internet” I had been paying you sixty dollars a month for.

A product, that I pay for, that technically has never in the time I’ve had it, been working properly. And then, how after I made him confirm that statement several times over the phone and transfer me to a manager, I was told:

“No, he’s wrong, I don’t know why he would tell you that. Just bring your router to be replaced. It’s definitely a problem with the router. Definitely.”

Which kind of, now that I look back after some time, sounds like…

“oh whoops, I don’t know why he would inform you we made an error so monumental. It would really suck to have to reimburse you. Pretend he didn’t say that and bring the wrong router back so we can give you the one you should have had all along and never make up for our oversights or mistakes.”

So look, I wanted to keep you up to date with my most recent and likely last complaint ever. Attached are photographs of my basement:

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You may notice a ceiling panel on the floor, dirt, wood chunks and particles, as well as general disgustingness, and wires hanging out of my ceiling. Could you even tell me why the wood from the beams under my floorboards is covering my basement floor?

Do you often take chunks out of houses when you do anything at people’s residence?

I have attached these because I want you to know how my house was left by your technician the day he came to fix my internet for the bazillionth time.

I should note that I was not present for the visit because I have to work, to earn money, to pay you for your goods and services that don’t work. However, my friend, who was staying at my house for the last month and a half was, and he was not in the basement while this all occurred, nor was he notified that the mess was there, or the ceiling tile, etc. Also, not that it mattered, but he did some work in my laundary room and knocked all of my nicely folded clothes onto the dirty floor. I suppose it’s my fault for not putting them away in a timely fashion and leaving them on my washer…but I figured it would have been picked back up, and not like…ya know…

…left all over after it got knocked over.

I would say at this point that I am surprised but I am really not. It’s funny to me, and comical in a way that you speak so highly of your customer service and all I hear from people is the opposite. I didn’t take the survey from my visit because honestly, it doesn’t seem to do any good to call you with issues to begin with.

Look, I’ve done you a huge solid here by sending this message privately, because not that one person would make a huge difference, but we live in an age of social medias and re-shares. While your twenty dollar credits here and there are fantastic for when I, well I don’t know, want to go buy myself a dinner at Olive Garden, your service, your customer service, and your products are terrible.

I don’t want to have to make things like this public (whoops…sucks to suck), and if by the off chance I don’t hear back from you regarding this, and I can actually get your usually spotty and non-working Internet service to hold steady for a bit, I will probably put it on the Internet, and I’ll probably try to make sure everyone sees it.

Because I mean let’s face it, what do I really have to lose…other than the wonderful service I have received from you since I signed on.

Fondly,


Alex Foster: Disgruntled customer number 678,342 I’m sure.

 

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A ‘Dear Justin’ Letter : On behalf of the World.

Dear Justin,

Hey man.

Yeah yeah, I know I know. I’m great. Stahhp it.

But listen, I wanted to reach out because I feel like you need some support. It seems like you have hit that awkward teen stage in life where you lose all sense of your pre-pubescent roots, and now your grasping for friendly hands as you drown in your own errors.

Like many teen starlets who started out at a young age, you’re traveling down a very dangerous road and the world is watching as you’re on your way to becoming yesterday’s garbage-y news.

I need you to understand, you’re not the same person you used to be, and I’m not sure what happened between you and Usher but first thing is first, you gotta get that man back in your corner.

That Scooter guy you have walking around with you is clearly not doing his job. Look, do you remember when you first started out?

You had so much promise. You had your very indelible vocal abilities and your hair was everything girls wanted atop their boyfriends head when they met up with them after first period in senior hallway.

You were young, blossoming and about to embark on the world of fame, but you got thrust into it way to hard. Touring must be difficult for such an attractive guy, and I feel you on that front, what with the bags under your eyes and then trying to maintain such juvenile and boyish looks.

We are basically in the same boat there buddy.

Take a look at your earlier work though…

In ‘Bigger’ on your debut album, you spoke about how the haterz look small to you because you are bigger than they are, and your love was bigger than them.

Your maturity was flourishing. It was almost like an adult had written that song and you performed it…

…which we know isn’t the case since the music industry is filled with people who write their own music and don’t sell out to larger record labels to only put out glittery shit-storms of poppy goodness.

I mean you had lyrical genius back then! Remember ‘One Time’? It’s probably been a while since you sang it live but you showed off your basic math skills to us repeating ‘you plus me’ over and over…

To tell a girl that her world is your world, and that your heart is her heart?! That’s some shit people usually save for marriage.

Biebs, even I don’t have that lesson figured out.

Then you dropped some gems like ‘One Less Lonely Girl’ which assisted in building, and populating your fan base. Honestly if having young girls following you around and exploiting the fact that they all believe every word you speak is meant for them is wrong, then I wouldn’t want to be right.

Even ‘Baby’, oh dear god, I think even I looked at you with a glimmer in my eye.

It was a masterpiece, and your dance skills finally came to the surface in the magic video. You even got Luda on the track!

LUDA!

And lest we forget Selena!

You landed the most age appropriate and gorgeous teen star that hadn’t become a meth-addicted cat lady yet. Have you SEEN her lately!? She is fine as hell! And you gave that up?!

She could have like, anyone in the universe, and you took a pass on it after a year or so of dating?!

She’s doing great for herself too! ‘Come and Get it’ was like a summer anthem for me thanks to an overly obsessed ex that insisted it was the only thing we listened to while we were making out.

Do you know who the world has seen you running around with since the break up?!

Jaden Smith.

Not even the cool one, Willow!

He told kids they should drop out of school Justin! What kind of example is that to set when a revolution is in your hands? (Side note: if y’all are still close, give him a swift kick in the nuts for the travesty that was the ‘Karate Kid’ remake)

Look something went terribly wrong man, and I know what happened.

You cut your fucking hair.

No but really, hear me out!

That was all it took, and then you began your spiral. From my point of view, here is what I saw happen:

You started REALLY young and you were good at what you did, and then puberty hit, you styled your hair differently and you gained the classic child star confidence that my exes all seem to gain after they leave me.

Nothing phases you and you’re out to prove to the world that you’re the best there is.

Your balls dropped and there was a legitimate crisis in the universe about whether or not you were going to be able to pull things off with a deeper voice. And you did! But then you got some tats.

Justin, tattoos are in fact cool, and they should be really meaningful too. But like, look at some of the things you’ve permanently put on your body…

What do they mean Justin? And why would you get a king jerking off in front of a castle? That doesn’t even make sense…

Then you started becoming this angry ball of fire that I just didn’t know anymore. Do you remember the time you threatened the paparazzi in your car?

You used the f-word.

I lost some respect for you that day man.

And from what I gather so did Selena, because before we knew it the two of you had separated and she was back on the market. I’m sorry I sent her so many letters pleading with her to love me and telling her I would treat her right, I just got caught up in the moment.

We’re still cool right?

Then you stopped wearing the purple and black combo, the largest error in my opinion. You switched to wearing all these really dumb ridiculous clothes that don’t even make sense to look at.

Sometimes you just didn’t wear clothes.

Then your new album drops and it is just filled with poop Justin. Your voice is so good and you are doing songs with Nicki Minaj?! That’s like Justin Timberlake doing a duet with Taylor Swift.

It’s poop Justin. You have to utilize your powerful voice again, you can’t just go around singing about heartbreak from a relationship you yourself ended.

And you tried to come up with a catch phrase but it didn’t even pan out for you! WTF is ‘Swaggy’ Justin?!

Lil Jon had ‘Yeah’ and ‘Okay’.

DMX just used to growl and bark at his listeners.

…but even so they both worked out for them.

‘Swaggy’ sounds like a combination of sweaty and saggy and neither of those are words people want to think about when listening to your performances.

Try harder Justin.

Then you started getting in trouble with the law and all hell broke loose. You were speeding around residential neighborhoods, putting children’s lives at risk, and pissing off your neighbors.

Justin do you know how to be a neighbor? I live next to a sassy elderly woman who gives me vegetables from her garden to make soup. The other side is a house filled with teenage drug dealers, but they leave me alone and only contact me to notify me that there is a chicken loose in my back yard and they are dispatching search and rescue teams.

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They’re not jerks though. They’re nice people. It’s something you need to work on.

But recently you’ve become a monster. DUI? Drugs?

Your drinking the syzzurp Justin?

Do you know who drinks the syzzurp Justin…?

…Lil’ Wayne…

Do you know who takes him seriously Justin?

Nobody.

Nobody takes Lil’ Wayne seriously.

Everything you’re doing is super negligent and irresponsible. I even read that you called a young fan a ‘beached whale’. Have you seen ‘Blackfish’?! Whales have enough problems to deal with, without having to worry about you using their name to cut a young girl down and make her feel like garbage.

You’ve become hardened Justin, and today I read that you were arrested in Toronto for an assault on a limo driver.

What did he do Justin?

Did he make a wrong turn?
Did you arrive late to an event you were going to bitch about being noticed at anyway?
Did he not chill the bottle of Crystal you aren’t even legally able to drink yet?

…did he call you out on your bullshit?

I’m not a hater JB, but right now you need some tough love.

What you need is a game plan to get back to where you were a few years ago. Here’s what I’ve come up with for you:

1. Deal with all your legal hooplah. It shouldn’t be a long or hard process, you have a lot of money, and your pretty face wouldn’t last a night in jail without getting passed around more than a football in an NFL game. No judge is going to put that tight little…

… complexion of yours in danger.

2. Let your hair grow out a little. Like, a medium length. Or shave it. You need to find out who your true friends are, and there is no better way to learn that than by fucking with one of the main reasons your famous.

3. Stop putting out songs with terrible artists.

(Not you BIG SEAN, ‘Dance A$$’ is an anthem for me)

Sean Kingston? Eenie-Meenie-Miney-Mo-Lover? Really?

Also, I’m not sure what you were thinking, but I’m pretty sure I speak for the rest of the world when I point out that collaborating on a song with Chris Brown about love and what a woman means to you kind of speaks for itself nowadays…

From now on do it on your own or only pick from this list:

Trey Songz
Ne-Yo
Ariana Grande
Jordin Sparks
Willie Nelson
Maroon 5
Outkast
Britney Spears

Remember, you want to stay relevant. I know it’s in the works but really, cancel your collab with Limp Bizkit.

Classy. As. Fuck.

4. Dress like a good person. You wanna know who is relevant in the minds located in women’s pants?

Understand?

5. Stop breaking the law.

Don’t drive like an asshole, we have enough non celebrity humans in the world to do that. Obey traffic laws, and don’t be a shit head behind the wheel.

Drugs are dumb, but weed will be legal in like two years anyway prob so can’t you just wait instead of going on blunt cruises and bong-rip road-trips?

Stop spitting on, yelling at, insulting or laying hands on…well anyone. It’s not becoming and you look like a super huge douchebag. There are a lot of normal people out here that can handle stardom better than you are so use common sense and stop being so mean all the time dude.

Finally…

6. Stop making movies about your life to stardom. If people want to see you perform they’ll buy a ticket to your show. If they want to see pre-fame Bieber, it’s on YouTube. There are so many other celebrities the world would prefer to know the history of, so pump the breaks and stick to walk on roles in like really terrible parody movies.

That’s what dying talent does nowadays.

Okay? Do you understand Justin?

Please, on behalf of the world, and your fan base alike…

Stop being shitty.

Fondly but realistically, your probably number 678 fan,

Alex

P.S. Start writing your own songs. ‘Beauty an the Beat’ is horse shit and for you to be able to party like it’s 3012, you want to party like you’re dead. Is basic math man.

Also Nicki Minaj is obnoxious. Common sense bud.

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Look Mom, I joined Tinder: A Social Experiment.

Dear World,

First and foremost I want you all to know that I never intended for the tattoo I got to cover most of my lower back, I was specific in my description to the artist and he took some liberties with size and shape. I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds, and please don’t listen to any of the haterz that might tell you it is a ‘tramp stamp’.

That implies I’m easy and we all know how selective I am in who I let take advantage of me.

Listen, we all hit that lull in life. I don’t want any of you to feel down about yourselves when you get there. It’s a point when you have crucial decisions to make about life. Its a point where you need to weigh your post degree options for employment. It’s a point when you’re on your own and everyone tells you it’s time to truly discover who you are as a person which is horseshit, they just can’t say sucks you’re single again without sounding abrasive and mightier than thou.

You will eventually get back up on the horse you rode into the world on and you will become the best person you have ever been.

I’m guessing of course…I’m not really in control of the world. You may end up being a blob who lays in front of their HULU plus account all day that slings meth for a living to desperate ladies of the night willing to go above and beyond for that next fix.

Either way, I have read that the key to success is to make life what you want it to be. I believe it was the night janitor of my office building who once said:

“Would you like me to get rid of the garbage?”

And yes. Yes, I genuinely would like the garbage from life removed. Such a wise man to speak such prophetic questions!

But where do I start?!

By meeting new people of course! No, not out at the bars silly! We don’t do that! I’m speaking of course, of the only logical place to meet anyone these days…

…the Internet.

Now pay close attention Mom and Dad, fellow readers, I’m talking about legitimate social sites! I wont be flying cross country or anything to meet someone who has four shared interests with me according to their profile blurb, because that would just be crazy and honestly no matter how much they promise it will be action packed and exactly like that movie ‘Taken’, I am really seeking something low key.

I’m going local, and I’m being smart about it! I won’t go outside a fifteen mile radius, and that’s my final offer here for these new people, and frankly it seems like a good way to limit the plethora of individual I will undoubtedly rope in with my honest to goodness ‘about me’ details.

I signed myself up on three websites to meet people initially because my friend Foo, the Asian one who isn’t really named Foo but absolutely lives up to every single Asian stereotype…

…well he told me they were not useful, full of robots and girls that stand you up at the movies, and quite possibly the biggest waste of time in the universe…and I really thought that it would be a good morale booster based on that description.

Really though, people go about it all wrong. Humanity doesn’t understand the way the masses respond nowadays. They don’t genuinely want to know who you are, or what you’re into when your not helping your cat clean itself at night during a riveting episode of American Idol.

Foo, and world, take note. I have perfected the craft. These are my legitimate profiles:

Tinder:

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Now this site, from what I understand is basically a dating site that comes with the connotation that you want to make the sex with a mutually interested sex maker. Like getting coffee but with your genitalia if you will!

The part that is interesting/unbelievably uncomfortable about this app, aside from possibly getting plugged by a complete stranger, is that you show your mutual sex interest in the most shallow way possible. Here’s how it works:

Step 1: User picture pops up.

Step 2: Judge the absolute and utter fuck out of this probably genuine human being solely on how they look.

Are they unbelievably attractive?

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Absolutely!

Swipe them to the right! You want to bone them. Be proud.

Do they appear as though they may have been hit by a truck/be missing an appendage/actually be a psychotic axe murderer hell bent on revenge because their ex left them for someone much fitter and muscular than you and all you can do is sob about it night after night?

Swipe that shit to the left.

You’re not interested.

They can make the sex without you.

The nice part about this app is that until the other person shows interest in you as well…you’ll never see/hear from them ever again! But if you mutually swipe eachother to the right…it sets you up to start messaging them things about you. Like how ham gives you really bad gas. Or how Michael Jackson may be your illigitamate love father, but you’ll never see a dime of his money because the other four brothers are selfish.

Anyway you’re allowed to type an about me, but it is limited to a certain amount of characters, kind of like using the Twitter, so I knew if I had any chance at convincing anyone to swipe me right, I absolutely had to come across irresistible.

20140123-091026.jpgNailed it.

OkCupid:

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So this site is fun! While it can be used completely for free, the creators want to limit you to minimal interactions with your new cohorts. But for a small fee you can beef up your profile and even find out when and where and how often people are re-reading your bio to gain insight into who you really truly are, and making it easier to meet up/slip something in your drink/make you their living Barbie doll tied up in their basement. It’s like prostitution but amongst new friends if you pay, so I picked the free route. It has absolutely nothing to do with me being a cheap bastard.

First they suggest you pick a really nice user picture, not because society is shallow and stuff and ready to nix you at the drop of a hat because you look like Rita the Elephant Woman or Bobby the King of Facial Acne, but because when people read your deets they’re gonna want a face to go with all those little fun facts about you. I chose that squinty one from above again, because why alter perfection, right?

By the way Mom, how proud are you that you and Dad made the sex and that was the result?

(Oh, I wonder if I should add date of conception to my bio? TBD…)

Awesome! We’re on our way here! Readers, are you paying attention? This is were it becomes crucial!

Filling out your info:

Now we want to be honest and not at all misleading here, yet at the same time, we need to make ourselves look attractive and appealing as fuck using only our words. Here’s my about me:

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Awesome!

The new people that look at us are going to appreciate our honestly and that is what people value most nowadays.

NEXT! We have to talk about things we are good at. Take a moment and reflect on all the things you do in life.

Are you actually good at anything?

Yes?

Put that shit down. And be super specific, people fucking appreciate specificity.

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I don’t want to be boastful, but at this point we should really clear our schedules for the next couple of months because we’re going to have zero free time with all the babes and buddies rolling in now.

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Wait! Stop it!

What the hell was that Alex?! That was TOO honest.

No girl is going to read that list and think to themselves, ‘Man I sure am glad this guy was honest. He seems like straight up husband material, what with the O.C. being his favorite show…snatch him up now!’

Quick! Recover with something clever…maybe even a lie…just make yourself look good before you lose their attention.

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Phew!

That was close. Just stick with that mentality for the rest of these forms.

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Superb job!

Your favorite food is a vegetable which will draw in only people fit and unbelievably in shape like your sculpted self. Also, decent call with the mosh pit portion, nothing says masculine like bumping into sweaty teenage boys just to feel something comparable to your cold soul dying inside that shell you call a body.

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Perfection!

More honesty and a pop culture reference?! Maybe you should open a business writing people’s profiles! It’s amazing you’ve been seeking that special someone instead of already being tied down!

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GUYS!

Are you still paying attention? Do you see what I did there?

I took pity, and passive aggressiveness and mashed them together to create one ass-amount of appeal and reason for everyone to reach out to me.

And finally…make sure you alert everyone of your political standings! But do it subtly!

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That’s right brah…pro choice 4 lyfe.

Plenty of Fish (POF):

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Readers, this one is super useful. You basically just answer a bunch of questions about yourself and fill out a few quick blurbs and it starts matching your personality with people and it lets you know who you’re compatible with. It’s easy and you are going to meet the one you’ve been waiting for your entire life…your perfect life mate.

Let’s get down to business!

Start with a bio. Try to make it a little different from your other ones…but keep a common thread or two in their in case you bump into the same people from other sites! How faux pas!

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Solid choices.

You see? We left a little bit more mystery here, but allowed the reader to pursue more if they deem us socially acceptable and pretty enough to be seen with in public.

Same squinty faced picture.

Stop trying to change me world.

Now the big question. First dates. Woof.
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More specificity, interest in “Girl Power”, honesty. Safe to say we officially got this down. Let’s try not to blow it on the interests section.

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Straight up readers, if you made it this far and proofed that entire list with nothing but head nods and sure utter agreement, then there is nothing more you can learn from me. There is just one thing left to do before you try to ‘lure’ in some potential interests…

The tag line.

Everyone will see this when you view their profiles/stalk them/vote them at a five star rating because they look like they’re in shape but they have really just figured out the perfect shirt to make their man-boobs look like pecks. It’s important to get your point across in this one sentence and make sure everyone knows you are taking this whole thing really seriously. Here’s a few of my personal favorites from people this website tells me I’m a perfect match for:

20140123-145219.jpgI am absolutely in agreement with this.

No wonder we matched up girl.

20140123-145232.jpgWhy at the library? I barely read.

She’ll never buy it girl.

20140123-145242.jpgObviously. Who the fuck doesn’t?

As long as you’re talking about ‘Goodburger’ that is.

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I’m not even sure what this means.

I am genuinely concerned with getting this thing stick though.

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Yo. We haven’t even met yet.

I’m starting to think you might be super needy if you give up that easy.

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I mean…

…like a second head? On one shoulder?

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Legally? No.

Also, you really shouldn’t be doing the whole online dating thing while you drive.

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Online? On a dating site?

I found you?

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Yeah…there is no way you and I could have matched up.

Amateurs.

Don’t worry guys, after all this prodding into my personal life while setting these accounts up, I know exactly what to put to make sure people take a gander:

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So friends, Mom and Dad, and anyone else who just killed fifteen minutes reading this, I’ll make sure I keep you updated with posts about the interesting people I meet. My hopes are high, and I’m in good spirit about this…

…but Foo is probably right. It’s probably not gonna work.

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Remember pizza?

Dear Mom and Dad,

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Remember when I got that second job at a pizza joint to pay off that bookie because I mistakenly put four thousand dollars down on the New York Yankees to clinch a win at Super Bowl XLVII in my first attempts at betting on sport?


(Don’t worry, I’ll be smarter in the game this year…I really think the Bruins are going to tank against the Nuggets)

Well I needed you to know I’m a better person for having gained the experience there.

Fore score and many a pie ago, as you know I began what I will now refer to as an ascent into the luxurious world of pizza making. Take pause on your assumptions other readers, for this was no Dominos, no hut serving pan crust once frozen, no establishment run by some Papa. This was your very classy run of the mill pizza parlor complete with connected bar.

Oh the thrills!
20140115-102339.jpgOh the excitement!

It was a joyous event that fell into my lap because I had applied for a position of delivery man, and three months later sans automobile I was called upon to serve a higher purpose in life to tackle that pesky debt.

Pizza maker.

Now there are a few things I learned working at this unbelievable and incredible establishment, a service of explanation I would be deemed unjust for not explaining to the kind folk of the world, and you…the creators of the wonderful human that is me.

Let us begin and try to follow along, it has even a few months since I have made any dough here (zing, pun intended):

1. When you work in a pizza shop, I mean absolutely work-cook, clean, run, and ring, you develop relationships with everyone you work with as with what I assume are most jobs. You gain bonding experiences without which you would be out of the loop as to who got drunk and hooked up with whatever last night, who stormed off quietly by having a not so delicate conversation with the owner about their illegal activities, and who or what was occurring in the walk in cooler while you weren’t there.

Side note: I heard, but cannot confirm, that butt-cheeks will freeze to metal if held against it long enough.

2. Pizza shop owners are like unicorns. At their best, they ride high like the wind, slaying dough, and slathering the breaded goods of the world in a marinara cheese combo to produce a parm so majestic that it absolutely should have a sparkling horn attached to it.

On the contrasting side, they could have a gnarly cocaine habit and be a fall over drunk that likes to finger-blast the young delivery girls in an attempt to re-live what they refer to as their golden years.

(side note Mom, the current owners-as it transferred hands a bit after I started-are much cleaner and reputably honorable gentlemen, so that’s why I praise the food still. Also, finger blasting is a term I learned working here…I assume it’s when you make a gun out of your hand and yell things like ‘pew pew’ or ‘bang bang’ at people, but I’m not sure…so, sorry for the grey area)

Hark, it smells of oregano and shame in this here establishment!

3. Avoid the foods you know get dropped into a fryilator. I know, I know…give me your tired, your poor, your tenders and fries! We all like them because they’re yummy and frankly because the world is filled with people who like to dip shit in other shit. If you don’t you’re weird and my condolences to your poor palate.

I’ll make this short: in high volume food service, a fryilator should get cleaned once a week because the oil turns black and all the pieces that fall off burn and congeal on the bottom. It takes me thirty five to forty minutes to clean one and I am efficient. Most places have a cook that drains, wipes it down with an already used rag, and refills it. If I’m cleaning, fry whatever you like. If I’m not, odds are ew.

4. Delivery drivers can be dicks to the cooks. Fun fact, they make bank and anyone in the store, unless your manager has the last name Christ and the first name Jesus, doesn’t get to share in the wealth. They pray for your misfortune in financial givings and hope to god you walk out with two bucks a night so they have forty three deliveries.

It’s sad, but life in pizza land tends to often revolve around just the tip.

You can also up your chances for donations with a fun sign on the tip jar. Most people respond well when they’re crafty and clever. This one was my favorite attempt, regardless of success:

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5. Drunks are your best friends. I’m not talking about your social choices, remember we’re talking behind the counter here. But listen, even if Lindsay Lohans twin sister walks in stumbling to avoid the regurgitated bile her best friend has left all over the floor, in your interactions with them, they are both princesses and they look beautiful, because that’s what Princess Cuervo wants to hear, and that’s what makes Princess Cuervo throw tens in your tip jar because they have a 1 on them and you’re super accommodating.

Even if you know that hard work that you put into the pizza is for nothing because it’s going to see a corner in a back alley later when it comes back up, you’ve made those seven-or-eight-deep customers that much happier for the time being.

6. Free food earned for working is great, but feel free to remind yourself you are surrounded by carbs, more carbs, and carbs that probably have their own carbs. You bread, pizza, pasta and crouton yourself into oblivion and before you know it you look like Tony Soprano and you have developed and Italian accent that you slur out between ventilating breaths that cause your newly developed moobs to rise and fall rapidly. It’s just something to stay conscious of while we envy the bastards working at ‘Salad Creations’.

7. Also cheese.

8. Ovens are hot. Self explanatory, yet somehow unavoidable because you forget your hands aren’t oven mitts from time to time and it can be hot when you are sliding it in and out…

…the pizza I mean. C’mon now.

On the bright side, you get to join a unique club where you have the same tattoo as everyone else who has ever worked cook in a pizza shop. It a long branded slice looking scar on the bottom of your forearm.

It’s like being blood brothers with all the people you’ve never wanted to be!

9. It’s great to be a smoker! This sounds like poor advice, but the ratio of breaks between smokers and non-smokers is astounding. You would cringe at the number of times a person is left to fend for themselves while the entire staff steps outside for a cigarette break. Good thing too! I hear it curbs your appetite…not that it’s keeping your hands out of the crouton bin.

10. The key to good food at a quick rate is to not give a shit. If you spend thirteen minutes prepping a chef salad, delicately placing the meats and cheeses wherever you see them beautifully arranged based on that super useful art degree you got at that college place, someone is going to notice, and they’re going to call you out on it every single time, in an exceptionally sardonic tone.

Also, don’t get set in stone. Odds are everyone is going to do things differently, but because you work at a pizza shop, your boss may feel the need to validate his power over the minions by changing shit up whenever he feels you have it down to a science. You learn the proper folding techniques of deli meats for an antipasti salad? Think again Bobby Flay! Now were gonna dice it because the boss had a bad night and is too upset with his self worth to let you win this throw down.

bonus tip: If you mess up a pizza for a customer waiting in-shop, the people working behind the counter are going to get really angry, because it’s rare to make mistakes in a pizza shop. I’ve only done it twice because I’m fairly close to a perfect human being…

…but here’s how I handle it:

-you realize there is an issue and make a loud announcement full of expletives and mumbled incoherent words. Something like, “Goddamn every time stupid fuck fucker you marriage license gumball butt snatch quiddich guzzler!”


-The counter person will realize you have burnt the bottom of the pizza or gotten the cheese stuck to the stone rendering it unsalvagable.


-The counter person will say something to the affect of, “Fucking REALLY Alex?!?” to place all the blame directly on you in the eyes of the customer.

-You will die a little inside.


-You will realize you’re a badass wizard and stare the counter worker directly in the eyes while you wave your hands over the carcass of cheese and char and sarcastically say ‘I got this let me just turn back time quick!’

-Mutter an incantation.


-Give them the finger in a clever manner and say ‘fifteen minutes’

-remake aforementioned pizza

Problem solved.

So you see mom and dad, valuable life lessons. Don’t worry, I’m eating well and the pets still aren’t dead so I guess you can say I’m above par at the moment!

Love,
Your baby boy.

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Throwback Edition: Excuse me, do you have this in a size impossible?

Dear Paris Hilton or anyone who starts a fashion line,

I dress like an asshole. I said it.

Now feel free to judge, although who are you now, really?

I was brought up on a budgeted shopping style and if my mother taught me anything, it is that everything goes down in price eventually. She calls it “bargain shopping”. Some refer to it as “being fiscally sensible”.

So it is no wonder that when I enter a store with the sole purpose to pick up garments, I legitimately b-line for the clearance rack faster than a Kardashian’s farce of wedded bliss.

I will admit, that in highschool, amongst the superior Abercrombie and Hollister models that walked the halls, with their frayed strapped flip flops, AE logoed ball caps, and seagull encrusted zip-zip hoodies, I adorned the most comfortable shoes I could slip on without using the laces at all, jeans that ranged, from falling off my ass, to putting my testicles in an ever-lasting chokehold with their tag team partner my thigh, all to be topped of with a t-shirt, usually of the graphic orientation.

I know. Teenagers, am I right? And like it wasn’t that I didn’t WANT to wear the clothes that the large chains had to offer, it was just that I usually waited until they appeared on the marked down rack in the local Marshalls.

“It’s just a phase, he’ll grow out of it.”

Absolutely. And no sooner did that happen, did I graduate from college and, you know, never have to see people that would care again. But did it make a difference? Of course not!

Let’s check out my old styling pick up lines:

“Hey Ladies, who wants to date this attractive man, donning a pair of DVS skate shoes covered in muck from working late nights at Cold Stone?”

“Bet you never saw a smurf-parody of The Sopranos on a t-shirt before, generally more attractive woman than me.”

“Really though miss, are these pants that look like they could be my mother’s really not doing anything for you?”

Thank the lord I was not able to walk into bars/clubs/opiate dens back then. I would have been chewed up and spit out, trying to product place my face into a girls memory, no matter how sloppy of a mess she was finishing off her 8th appletini.

Then came that wonderfully awkward point in life when I realized, while trying to actually start shopping for myself when it came to clothing that wasn’t a standard jean or t shirt, that my body is just ever so delightfully the shape of a pear sitting in an ice-cream cone.

Pants? Forget about it. What you mean you can’t find a size 42 waist with a 32 inseam? You mean, I will never be able to wear anything they even sell at the chain named stores because they only go up to 38 waists and their button ups are slim fit? Are you really trying to tell me that some men have large chests, and are just screwed if they happen to have a small body for the large width, they were ever so disgracefully granted in their genes?

A big-and-tall section, will not, and never has been a savior to me.

Im not sure what it was exactly that sparked the change in body shape but I got there eventually, to the point where I could actually fit into the clothing I WANTED. I didn’t have to spend fifteen minutes choking back tears in a dressing room anymore after realizing that none of the eight pairs of pants I brought in with me were going to fit.

I still have not adjusted to the what to wear when, what patterns should not be worn with which patterns, and how stripes work, but I am a work in progress as far as my style is going. Find me without a mismatched pair of neon colored socks, and it probably means I’m at a dressy event-wedding, interview, etc. I have officially managed to blend into the adult world now. Shirts tucked in, belts on, dressy shoes kept clean and shined. Pick me out of a crowd in their cubicles, you could not, unless you know me obviously.

Still to date I haven’t managed dressing appropriately for the cold weather. So that is why I delved into this diatribe against my dressing decisions, because I am officially sick. Laid up, in bed, with a head full of more pressure than a math major’s expectations for her son in school.

(sorry mom, I’m trying)

With Love,

Alex

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