Archive for the ‘personal’ Category

bokeen vs the Twitter pharmacists

Pharmacists are contemptible human beings.

I did not always detest pharmacists.  I used to view them as highly paid, socially inept individuals who simply dispensed medicine, and little more.  While I felt that their white lab coats are unnecessarily pretentious, I never took issue with these government-sanctioned pill pushers.

That changed on Sunday, June 7, 2009.

On that warm summer day, boqueen mentioned to me that she was out of birth control pills.  Birth control, or “baby killers,” as I like to refer to them, are an essential part of boqueen’s diet.  She likes to say that she is “staying not pregnant,” but I feel that this vastly understates the importance of the matter.  Fathering a child would be absolutely devastating to my lifestyle.

I do not want a helpless, dependant fecal factory with stumpy arms in my life.  I do not want to be burdened with the requirement of rocking, comforting or changing the diapers of a small, temperamental, light brown mammal while I watch a Bulls game or attempt to record a podcast.  I do not want the smell of infant excrement lingering in our dining room while I attempt to enjoy a meal that I prepared.  I certainly don’t want to be interrupted by the little bastard crying while I am performing oral sex on his mother.

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My future wife, the hot mess

“Nothing good happens after midnight” is a maxim that is commonly embraced by parents and other elderly types.

This old adage is meant to convey the benefits of retiring to bed at an early hour. The phrase is often used by parents who worry that the twilight hours will expose their children to the unsavory aspects of life, such as premarital sex, alcohol, drugs and Mexicans.

I thoroughly reject the notion that “nothing good happens after midnight,” as I am a nocturnal being. Every morning, I begrudgingly peel myself out of bed for work, spending the first part of the day in a semiconscious haze. I am a staunch proponent of early evening naps, and I am most productive late at night.

My girlfriend, boqueen, is also a night owl. However, I do not know if she also disagrees with the statement “nothing good happens after midnight,” as she has a tendency to get drunk and black out in the early morning hours. It is difficult to assess the quality of what occurs after midnight when one has no recollection of the events in question.

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More things that I hate that everyone else seems to think are so fucking wonderful

If I were a positive person, I would not have anything to write about.

Fortunately, I am an irritable malcontent, which enables me to churn out thousands of words each week.

Last summer, I decided to write a list of things that I despise.  I soon realized that such a list would be incredibly expansive, as there are very few things that I actually find enjoyable; notable examples include sex, drugs, rock & roll and rainbows.

To pare the list down to a more manageable size, I focused on areas where my opinion is at odds with conventional wisdom.  The final list was titled Things that I hate that everyone else seems to think are so fucking wonderful.  The list was far from comprehensive, so I proudly present the second installment in what will likely become a lengthy series.

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I hate when children act all growed up, part II

This is part two of my rant about the deplorable behavior of disease-carrying proto-humans, which you might refer to as “children.” Click here to read part one.

Immediately after finishing work, I hurry to the local grocery store.  It is important that I finish my shopping trip as quickly as possible.  I have a small window of time to purchase a few items and return home, as parking spots in my neighborhood are very difficult to find after about 6 p.m.

As a man, I am completely inept in the art of grocery shopping.  Instead of coordinating large shopping trips, I buy individual items as needed, making several trips to the store each week.

My shopping list is quite short and comprised primarily of liquids which are a staple of my kitchen: white wine for boqueen, beer for my alcohol fix and Coca-Cola for my caffeine fix.   I also need portabella mushrooms, corn syrup and Brillo pads. 

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I hate when children act all growed up, part I

I hate children.

I like to consider myself an equal-opportunity child hater.  I hate white children, black children, light children and fat children.  I hate Mexican children, Aztecan children, Asian children and Haitian children.  I hate infants, toddlers, adolescents and those who are pubescent.

Children have an adverse effect on my quality of life.  These proto-humans are ill-equipped to make a positive contribution to society, on account of their squeaky voices and stumpy limbs. 

I make an exception for my nieces and nephew.  Lil bokeen and his siblings are model citizens, the Future of America.  However, their peers are worthless, whiny shitbags that need to die immediately. 

To me, children are utterly repulsive creatures when they are engaging in their normal, daily activities, such as watching Spongebob Squarepants or arranging an illicit sexual rendezvous with an adult using the Interwebs.  When children attempt to engage in adult activities, they become reprehensible little characters worthy of the CIA’s most harsh torture tactics.

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Introducing new, blunt-smoking douchebag neighbors

I write this post from the Heart of Italy.

Gondolas are nowhere in sight.  The Vatican is thousands of miles away.  And I cannot recall the last time a mustachioed man walked by carrying a paper bag with baguettes poking out of the top.

I am at my apartment in Chicago.

In late October, I moved into a new apartment located in the Pilsen neighborhood on Chicago’s near south side.  My particular borough is known as “The Heart of Italy.”  The small community is known for a stretch of Italian restaurants along Oakley Avenue, and was once a popular destination for Italian immigrants.

(Many of my friends and coworkers view my move to the south side as quite fitting.  In fact, many acquaintances have guessed that I am from the south side, due to my thick Chicago accent.  One of my college teachers even asked if I was from Bridgeport, home of Mayor Richard Daley.  In addition, I am a White Sox fan who spent the better part of my life among Cubs Kool-Aid drinkers on the north side.   In many ways, moving south of Madison Avenue was a foregone conclusion.)

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Fuck you, Jupiter Communities, part II

This is part two of my epic bitch-fest about Jupiter Communities, the miserable company that manages the apartment that I live in.  Click here to read part one.

A few weeks after I moved into my building, the pilot light on my oven stopped working.  When I turned on the oven, nothing happened.  While I am an excellent cook, I find it difficult to cook a roast at room temperature.

I complained to the management staff.  For some inexplicable reason, they were interested and engaged.  Three days later, the maintenance staff visited my apartment to correct the issue.

After about 25 minutes of troubleshooting, they determined that my oven contained an electronic pilot.  Since they did not have an electronic pilot on hand, a repair would take “three or four weeks.”  I assumed that the nearest Maytag plant was located on the icy rings of Saturn, thereby necessitating such a lengthy delivery time.   

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Fuck you, Jupiter Communities, part I

While I’ve never been waterboarded, I am certain that it is a slightly more pleasurable experience than moving.

Few things are as torturous as packing up all of your material possessions into assorted cardboard boxes, trudging these boxes and furniture into a pricy rental truck, driving to a new location and unloading.  It is a physically exhausting endeavor that is immediately followed by the mental anguish of spending weeks attempting to reestablish some semblance of organization your life and comfort in your new home. 

For weeks, one inevitably feels like a refugee, sorting through a seemingly endless collection of boxes in search of a mundane item.

“Where did I pack the goddamn fucking forks?” I’ve shouted on several occasions after combing through four indistinguishable cardboard boxes marked “kitchen.” 

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Fucking with Dell technical support

According to an old idiom, the squeaky wheel gets the grease; I am a sarcastic wheel.

I have recently been experiencing problems with my laptop.  The warm weather has a devastating effect on the machine.  After several hours of summertime use, it performs incredibly slowly. 

Each time this has happen, the machine becomes astonishingly hot.  Naturally, I assumed that there was a correlation between the scalding surface of the computer and its poor performance.

The problem was a minor nuisance until earlier this week, when my computer failed miserably in front of a client that I do freelance work for.  I was absolutely outraged.

Prior to contacting Dell’s customer support department about the issue, I consumed a baker’s dozen beer in order to keep the conversation entertaining.

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Things that I hate that everyone else seems to think are so fucking wonderful

As a highly opinionated person and a prolific writer on the Interwebs, I feel that it is my duty to express my disdain when I think something sucks.

Some opinions have become a part of conventional wisdom.  For example, we all can agree that The Jimmy Fallon Show is horrendous.  Likewise, it is not difficult assemble a group of individuals and reach a consensus that The Beatles are one of the greatest rock bands ever.  While these are subjective statements, they have become generally accepted as fact.

There are times when my opinions are at odds with conventional wisdom.  Whether in the realm of music, movies or fashion, there are many things that most people enjoy that I find abhorrent. 

I proudly present a brief list of such items, entitled Things that I hate that everyone else seems to think are so fucking wonderful. 

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