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Being Grown Isn’t Half as Fun as Growing Up. (Random Musings from The Walking Mishap)

12 Oct

It’s been awhile since I’ve done a random musings post, so here it is.

  • I believe that owning a dog is a better antidepressant than any pharmaceutical company could ever manufacture. There is nothing like coming home to Dexter, my 9lb Maltipoo, after a bad day and seeing that little tail wagging, knowing he’s happy to have me home.
  • I am fairly certain I’m part psychic. Okay, so that may be a load of horseshit, but my intuition is creepily accurate, and I often go to pick up the phone to call someone just before it rings, with them calling me. This is probably coincidence, but it happens all the damn time.
  • I think Occupy Wall Street is a hypocritical clusterfuck. Let’s all protest America while tweeting from our iPhones and drinking Starbucks Venti Mocha Triple-Shot Vanilla Swill Lattes while mommy and daddy foot the bill for our educations and living expenses. I may be in the “99%” they speak of, but they don’t speak for me.
  • My car is named Bruce. I’m really not going to elaborate here, but it’s got something to do with the fact that some people seem to think it’s a Transformer and that it, being an inanimate object, actually has a sexual orientation. I’m leaving this one alone.
  • I seem to be migrating hardcore from Facebook onto Twitter. Since Facebook is trying to be what MySpace was, Twitter seems to be the new cool-kid hangout. Sure, it has its trolls and twatwaffles that you don’t want to associate with, but it’s pretty nifty.  Follow me… @walkingmishap
  • People have a penchant for calling me Sunshine. I cannot tell you how many people have called me this at one point or another, fairly consistently. I’d like to think it most often has to do with my sunny disposition, but have a feeling it is more related in a smart-assed way to my cynicism and loathing of mornings. I’ve been called this by many, but it holds special meaning for only one of them.
  • I have an addictive personality. Whether it comes to listening to the same album over and over again, my ever-growing coffee/Diet Coke dependency, food (by now you should have read my “I Refuse to Be a Fatty Ever Again” post), booze (not so much these days… moreso when I was younger), I get fixated. Some of these may classify as an actual addiction (my dependency on caffeine is a physical one at this point), while others may not, but I get very single-minded at times. A therapist once described this as having “addictive tendencies” and occasionally being “single-minded to the point of recklessness.”  I prefer the term “focused.” Considering parts of my family history, none of this is surprising.
  • I have this nagging, insatiable need to get another tattoo. The only thing holding me back is a lack of funds and my indecision on what I want/where I want to put it. I’ve got more than one idea, and I don’t know which I want to go for first.
  • Adele and The Horrible Crowes have both been on constant playlist repeat. If you haven’t listened to either of them, you need to. Now.
  • People don’t rock out nearly enough. One of my biggest cathartic activities is blasting angry boy rock at full volume and simply rocking the fuck out and singing along at the top of my lungs, no matter how off key I am. It may not fix my problems, but it sure as shit lets me get some aggression out. If more people did this, maybe there wouldn’t be so many angry motherfuckers out there.
  • As much as people think I play fast and loose with relationships and emotions, I really do believe in life-changing, heart-breaking, gut-wrenching love.  I’ve been there. I’ve felt it. I know it exists. Part of the reason I occasionally get ribbed for “dating like a guy” (this does not mean slut – this means I am not one to really get caught up in the games) is because I refuse to settle, and I’m not going to waste time on someone I’m not interested in.
  • I suffer from a touch of hypochondria. I used to suffer from more than just a touch – my family and friends had to ban me from WebMd a while back. All I can say about this is that it runs in the family, the hypochondria thing. Also, I’ve gotten much better… seeing as I haven’t diagnosed myself with a brain tumor in at least two years.

That’s all you’re getting for now… more to come soon, I’m sure.

I’m Pretty Sure I Suck At Vlogging… (but I’ll keep plugging away)

1 Oct

So, it’s 1:26am, and I can’t sleep. No surprise there… I’ll be getting a post up about insomnia sometime in the near future. Anyway, since I can’t sleep, I decided to give vlogging a shot. I don’t really have a solid enough video to post as a serious vlog/rant/video, but since I have no shame, here’s the first-ever blooper reel… that’s right, I’m posting the blooper reel before posting a real video because I’m curious to see the response it gets.

Don’t judge. Also, I apologize for the potty mouth.

 

Facebook: It’s Free. You’re Addicted. Stop Bitching.

28 Sep

These days, anyone who’s anyone is on Facebook. I’ve posted about Facebook before, highlighting my least favorite stereotypical Facebook users. I’m here to add a new one to the mix:

 

The People Who Are Ridiculously Addicted to Facebook, But Bitch Everytime Changes Are Made.

As we all know, Facebook has a penchant for making arbitrary changes to their NewsFeed/Timeline/Whatever the hell they’re calling it at any given moment about as often as humanly possibly. Each time this happens, my feed gets clogged with statuses that look something like the following (they are almost all invariably in all caps):

“OMGWTF FACEBOOK?! STOP CHANGING THINGS! I JUST GOT USED TO THE OLD ONE!” (which I read as OMGWTF FACEBOOK! STOP CHANGING THINGS I’M NOT INTELLIGENT ENOUGH TO SPEND FOUR MINUTES FIGURING THIS OUT!!”)

“WHAT NEXT FACEBOOK? YOU GOING TO CHARGE ME TO USE YOUR CRAPPY SITE NEXT?! I’M GOING BACK TO MYSPACE!”

“THAT’S IT! I’M SWITCHING TO GOOGLE+!”

“Everyone keeps bitching about the new Facebook and it’s so annoying but I kind of have to agree that it’s confusing” (which I read as “I don’t want to sound like I’m bitching, even though I’m bitching about other people bitching AND bitching about the new Facebook in the most sneaky manner possible”)

 

Okay, so we get it. You clearly don’t like change. I don’t either, really, but I’ve gotten pretty good at that whole “adapt and overcome” thing over the years – in my line of work, I have no choice. Here’s the thing, folks. The only constant is change, especially when it comes to technology… and Facebook being under that pesky “technology” umbrella… well, it’s going to change. In the time it takes to post a long winded status complaining about the changes, you could probably figure out how to utilize them and get acclimated. On to my next point…

FACEBOOK IS FREE. That’s right. It is a social networking site that DOES NOT CHARGE for use. This means that you are in no way obligated to continue using it. If it was something that you paid to use and had already paid for a full year or something, okay, bitch away. However, that’s not the case. It is a free website that earns its money by selling ads – this means they don’t really care either way whether you stay or go. Hell, that Zuckerberg prick was apparently quoted years ago, calling his users “dumb fucks” (I personally tend to agree with him… present company excluded, of course).

Basically, what I’m getting at here is that Facebook can continue to change it’s look until kingdom come, and PEOPLE WILL STILL USE IT. The only thing that will keep people from using Facebook is if they were to start charging… and even then, I’m convinced people would pony up their credit card numbers to keep using it – at least, until something different comes around. Then again, look at Google+; with all the hype surrounding its launch, I’m pretty sure I’ve logged in twice. I still don’t know how to use it, nor do I care to learn.

I’m waiting for the impending doom once Facebook launches its new timeline-style profiles – the site may crash due to an overload of bitching alone.

 

 

I Haven’t Even Started Moving Yet, and Already, I Want to Scream.

29 Jun

Don’t anybody act surprised… I’m moving again. The place I’m currently in isn’t ideal (there have been some issues), and the neighborhood is on a vicious downward spiral. Considering the fact that this will be the eighth time I’ve moved since moving away to college, I’m fairly certain my family and friends are sick of helping me schlep my stuff from one domicile to another.

Here’s hoping the new place is a more semi-permanent situation than those in years past – every time I move, I get beyond stressed, and I can already feel it creeping in. The mental “to-do” list in my head keeps growing, looming there, waiting to implode. The packing, the cleaning, the sorting, the tossing, the transferring of utility services, the unpacking, the sorting, the organizing, etc. I have heartburn just thinking about it, so here’s the plan:

1. Pack little by little, instead of on the damn day I’m supposed to be moving furniture. I’m a procrastinator by nature, and this has contributed to making every move in the past a damn nightmare.

2. Purge the stuff I don’t need. I have this awful habit of getting sentimentally attached to things and don’t like throwing them away. This time, I need to just get rid of anything I haven’t used or worn in the past year. If I forgot I even own it, chances are I won’t end up missing it.

3. Get RELIABLE help. I love my  friends, but many of them are HUGE flakes. They say they will be there to help me move/paint/unpack, whatever, but when the time comes, POOF! They’re gone.

4. RENT A DAMN UHAUL. I think the trick to making it through this one unscathed is going to be making sure it all gets done in one big trip. Doing it in pieces usually ends disastrously, with me forgetting or losing something along the way.

Here’s hoping I manage to stick to this plan – otherwise, my family and friends may choose to disown me.

I Refuse to Be a Fatty Ever Again.

29 Jun

Disclaimer: This post is not meant to disparage people who struggle with their weight, or who are heavy. I am writing about ME, about MY experiences, and my views about MYSELF when I was overweight – aka FAT. It’s obnoxious that I even feel compelled to add a disclaimer to this post, but lord knows how sensitive society can be. Additionally, I’ll try hard not to make this some triumphant feel good kind of post – that’s not what it’s supposed to be, but who knows the direction it may take.

Having been fat in the past (seriously, I was chunky… maybe someday I’ll post pictures – for now, you’ll have to take my word for it), I’m determined to not let myself get there again. I’ve had people tell me that saying I was fat in the past is offensive – that I should say I was “very overweight” or that I was “carrying extra pounds,” but fuck that. I was fat. I had no medical condition that made me that way (in a moment of denial and self-delusion, I had blood panels run to check my metabolism and thyroid function and a bunch of other stuff), and I can make all the excuses I’d like, but there IS no excuse. I worked a job where I sat on my ass all day, paid no mind to the food I ate, and avoided exercise like the black plague. I’ve got a fairly petite frame, so it’s not like I was born built to carry extra weight. I was never heavy as a child – if anything, I was underweight. Plainly and simply, I let myself get fat.

To cut a rather long and painful story short, I’ve dropped well over 60 lbs in about a year and a half. Some of it was through hard work and exercise, some weight loss was through meticulously watching what I ate. Some of it can be attributed to getting back into a field where work requires being on my feet for 8+ hours per day, and some can most definitely be credited to a short stint in the hospital for mysterious abdominal issues that turned out to be gall bladder related.

Anyway, over the winter, I seem to have gained about 15 lbs back. I know why – I’ve paid less attention to what I eat (I order out at work waaaaay too much), and my workout habits are awful (Is hating exercise genetic or something? Seriously, I LOATHE the gym). Having learned from past experience, I know I need to get this under control before it snowballs and I’m buying clothes in sizes I’m ashamed to even admit I ever owned.

Here’s the thing about being fat that people who have never been fat may not know. It’s uncomfortable. It’s embarrassing. At least, for me it was. It took me a while to even acknowledge how big I had gotten. If I acknowledged it, it meant it was true… and if it was true, it meant I had to either do something about it, or be okay with it. Once I did acknowledge it and decided to do something about it, I became obsessed. I weighed myself two to three times a day, and tried every fad diet that came down the pike. Nutri-System tasted like dead ass (no, I’ve never tasted dead ass – it’s called a simile, people), but it worked. Well, it worked as long as I was on the program. As soon as I started eating real food again, I started gaining again. Jenny Craig was expensive and gross. South Beach made me cranky and bitchy and wretched – woman cannot subsist without carbs, as far as I’m concerned. The harder I tried, it seemed, the more I set myself up for failure.

After beating my head against the figurative wall for months, I came to a realization. The more obsessed I was, the unhappier I became. The vicious cycle I was trapped in influenced my eating habits… or triggered what I like to call “eating my feelings.” I’m not sure what opened my eyes to this fact, but thank God for whatever it was. From that point on, the obsession began to fade. What I learned was that making healthy, common sense decisions was what would help me shed the bulk of my weight. Once I stopped trying so damn hard – trying TOO damn hard, it became more about becoming healthy and happy than it did becoming thin again. Once that happened, the weight started to almost fall off.

After gradually yet almost completely altering the food and portion choices I make and integrating exercise here and there, I lost 20% of my body weight. And then I lost some more. I successfully shed, in essence, a SMALL CHILD worth of weight. As the weight started to come off, I started to feel like ME again. I was more inclined to go out with my friends without feeling like I was the fat one in the group. I was more confident at work, and I was more confident in general. When more and more people began mentioning my weight loss, I embraced it, thank them for their compliments instead of shying away from them like I used to. It feels damn good to be told how great you look, how happy you look. Losing weight changed my mindset, and the positive feedback I was getting kept me going.

Even though I gained some weight back of the winter/spring, I can say I’m still comfortable with the way I look. At a healthy weight, I’m hour-glass shaped, and I’m happy with that. I love having curves… lord knows it took them long enough to show up (I was built like a 12 yr old boy up until about my senior year of high school). I think there is something inherently feminine about having an hour-glass figure, and don’t quite understand women who want to shed ALL body fat. Most men I know openly admit they like a girl with at least a little meat on her bones – no one wants to cuddle up to a skeleton.

Getting back to the title of this post, I refuse to be a fatty ever again. Being aware that I’ve gained 15 lbs, my ass is now on Weight Watchers (started today – I’m doing it online because group meetings where everyone shares their feelings are totally not my thing). WW seems to be a solidly built program that won’t force me to give up foods I love, but will help hold me accountable for what I put in my mouth (insert pithy oral sex joke here). I’ve done pretty well on my own in the past, but I know how slippery a slope weight gain can be. I think, right now, I need the food journaling and weekly weigh-in to get back into the habit of being aware of what I’m eating and when.  Starting tomorrow, I’m getting back into the gym I loathe so much, armed with a playlist that embarrasses me (shitty pop music is great for keeping cardio pace – so is punk rock – makes for a very… eclectic mix) and the strong desire to shed some lbs. What I need to watch is the obsession end of things. Since WW online will only accept one weigh-in per week, on the same day every week, I need to try to make sure I only weigh myself once a week. Gone are the days when I kept my scale in the kitchen next to the fridge… it only made me step on at every opportunity.

So, guys, please be patient if you see a weight loss post pop up here and there on occasion – motivation is something I’ve always struggled with, and putting it on here where I know at least a few people I know are reading helps me set my mind to it.

I say “Fuck the Lemons and Bail” (when the going gets tough…)

13 Jun

One of my all-time favorite movie quotes comes from Forgetting Sarah Marshall. In the scene where Jason Segel’s character is getting a surf lesson from Paul Rudd’s character (Kunu/Chuck, the surf instructor), Rudd’s character imparts some wisdom:

“When life gives you lemons, just say ‘fuck the lemons’ and bail.”

I know this has some pessimistic connotations, but if you think a little harder, sometimes saying “fuck the lemons” is just what’s needed for a pick me up. Having gone through some pretty heady stuff in my personal life fairly recently, I’ve found that sometimes taking those lemons and making lemonade as the original saying goes is either impossible or not worth the energy. By “fuck the lemons and bail”,  I don’t necessarily mean go ostrich and bury your head in the sand – that just makes you a pansy. What I mean is move on. Get over it. Don’t whine, dwell, or play twisted “what if” games in your head. Additionally, don’t take those lemons to social media- chances are, no one cares.

Don’t get me wrong, my lovely readers. As mentioned in my post about Facebook, I am a reformed addict. If shit was hitting the fan, it was on Facebook (or years ago, MySpace). I’ve found, however, that by posting stuff like that online, you’re making it bigger than it needs to be, and likely pissing your friends off in the process. There are exceptions to this rule (death in the family, tragic news, etc), but day to day bitching about trivial issues should be kept to a minimum. Nobody likes a Debbie Downer, and let’s face it… that pity you’re looking for can only drag you down even further.

Recently, I’ve had some fairly emotionally trying experiences – none of which will you find mentioned on my Facebook or Twitter, or even here. Partially because said experiences are intensely private, and partially because I don’t want pity. I want to say “Fuck the lemons.” Picking myself up by my bootstraps (do people still actually have bootstraps? WTF IS a bootstrap?) and trying to move forward has proven to be cathartic in its own right. Does my mind still wander to the “what if” list that is a mile long? Occasionally, but I do my best to quell those thoughts.

When saying “Fuck the lemons,” I’m not saying “I want to pretend this never happened” or “I don’t want to deal with my problems.” I’m recognizing the difference between things I can control, and things I can’t. Pretty simplistic concept, right? It’s a goddamn shame it’s only taken me, oh, I don’t know… 26 years to finally get that shit through my head.  It’s amazing what a difference a little age, some lessons learned the hard way, and a willingness to become more positive can make.

Kunu may have a flaky hippie kind of dude, but I’ll be damned if he doesn’t make a great point.

 

 

An Open Letter to Sallie Mae

7 May

Dear Sallie Mae,

I wish I could be kind, but that is simply not an option here. You have effectively and efficiently secured your place in my life as “bane of my existence.” There is no bill I loathe paying more every month than yours. Your exorbitantly high payments are painful and cut me to the core. While I appreciate you financing my education (you know, for that Advertising degree I’m not really using), I did not realize it was simply a ploy to fuck me over in the long run.

On more than one occasion, you have screwed up my account – sending me notices that I am past due, when in reality, I made my payment early and for more than what was due. You keep me from squirreling away a substantial amount of money into my savings account, hindering me from saving for my future. When I call to discuss my account, I am met with speakers of a foreign language. They do not understand me, nor do I understand them. Your customer service is atrocious. When I call in with questions, it is generally because I need help with something so I do not further wreck my already recovering credit score. I certainly understand that outsourcing your customer support saves you money… however, I do not feel that you NEED to save money, considering the filthy amount you bleed myself and hundred of thousands of other college students for every single month.

Many of us went to college in hopes of not only bettering ourselves and learning, but to ensure that we could someday achieve financial stability. We got degrees because it’s been proven that people who have them make more in a year than people who don’t. What we didn’t expect, however, was to be up to our ears in debt the minute we moved our tassels to the other side of our cap. Your high interest rates and unwillingness to bend or work with your borrowers can be financially crippling for many of us, making us wonder why it is we went to college in the first place.

Rarely can I log into Facebook or Twitter without seeing a friend lamenting on their wall about your lack of concern for their financial health. You rape and pillage us for our hard-earned wages, while shipping our calls for help to India to force us to face a language barrier that is thicker than the Great Wall of China. It saddens me that the bulk of my educational debt is owed to you, because American Education Services (who hold a third of my loans) is always a pleasure to work with. They are helpful and friendly, and they speak my language (that would be English, in case it isn’t clear).

Your practices are unethical and cruel, and frankly, I can only hope you somehow get taken out. Other major financial institutions have collapsed in recent years. You’ll have to forgive me for hoping that you’re next.

With Disgust and Mistrust,

The Walking Mishap

PS – GO FUCK YOURSELF.

Writer’s Block Blows.

27 Apr

Anyone who has ever considered themselves a “writer” has faced it. That nagging feeling of WANTING to write, but being unable to do so. I’ve been suffering from this a ton lately, and am writing about it in hopes of jiggling something loose.

I have about seven posts saved in my “drafts” on my dashboard, and try as I  might, I just can’t finish them. I either get frustrated with the quality of the posts (think they read like drivel, are verbose, and just straight up boring), or I lose steam a few paragraphs in and get distracted by any number of random things (damn you, Facebook, and your wily distractionary tactics). Even as I type this, I’ve got the overwhelming urge to click the “save draft” button in the upper right corner of my screen and leave this post’s completion for another day.

As a “writer” (I use quotation marks because, let’s face it… I’m not getting paid for this, I’m not published, and I’m pretty sure half the people who land on this site do so by accident), I’ve often got an over-inflated and easily crushed ego when it comes to my musings – not to mention an almost paralyzing fear that I come off as a hack who doesn’t know what the fuck she’s doing. Writing is a lonely process, like most art. It’s intensely private – at least until you decide to put your work online or send it to a publisher or have someone else read it. Until someone else sees it, you don’t really have to acknowledge its worth or question its quality.

My thing with writer’s block is that when I have it, EVERYTHING I write feels stiff (take this post, for example) and it takes a herculean effort to not scrap whatever concept I’m attempting to tackle at the time. I end up editing the shit out of things, or dumping them in the land of lost topics (also known as my drafts folder). I wonder what the fuck it is I’m trying to accomplish here… and why the hell, if I have always wanted to be a working – ie. paid – writer, didn’t I go to school for it? Granted, I have friends who have English and Journalism degrees that are gathering dust while they work menial and unfulfilling jobs, but at least they have some semblance of a clue on how to get published, or attempt to get published.

I often feel as though, when it comes to the arts, I’m a jack of all trades and a master of none. Over the years I’ve focused on my writing, on photography, on acting, etc. I tried my hand as a graphic designer, and even considered going back to school for photojournalism… but it always comes back to the written word. Ever since childhood I’ve crafted wild tales, so I suppose you could say my roots are based in fiction, though lately, I’m drawn most to comedic nonfiction: Chelsea Handler, Jim Norton, Denis Leary, etc. In a mix of memoir-like stories, satirical social commentary, and more, these are the writers I admire. Sure, I love the classics and often find myself deeply absorbed in various works of fiction, but there’s something honest about laying it all out there for the world to see – opinions, anecdotes, rants, and everything in between. Even Tucker Max’s books draw me in with his tales of assholery and debauchery – many of which should offend me as a woman, but instead have me doubled over with laughter.

Writing is almost masturbatory in its cathartic qualities, while at the same time it’s encouraging voyeuristic tendencies. I WANT people to see into some of the dark and twisted corners of my mind – whether they like my opinions or not. My cautionary tales of clumsily stumbling through this world are what make me, well… me. I’m perfectly okay with giving people a glimpse into that world – more than okay with it, actually. My mom has always said I’m a born storyteller; if only she could give me the key to unlock my awful case of writer’s block.

Here’s my plan: continue to try to write my way through this until brilliance strikes. I’ll apologize in advance, kids, if things start to suck around here.

Random Musings/Stuff I’m Into At The Moment/Blah Blah

27 Apr

In the interest of posting more often, I’m taking a new approach. You lovelies will still be treated tales of my ridiculous life, only with posts like this thrown in on a more regular basis. I figure it’ll drive me to write more, and keep you guys on your toes at the same time.

Moving right along…

If you haven’t already, you MUST check out Dave Hause’s solo album, Resolutions. Seriously. We might not be friends anymore if you don’t.

Dave Hause, frontman of  The Loved Ones (a wicked awesome Philly based punk band) has me completely and utterly hooked on his solo work. I had seen him play a show with Brian Fallon of The Gaslight Anthem back in January of 2010, and couldn’t have been more impressed (also, there is no better venue for an acoustic show than the First Unitarian Church in Philly). Resolutions has quickly solidified itself in my top ten favorite albums, and has been on repeat in my car for a few months now. This is the kind of music that was meant for playing at top volume with the windows down. 

Lines That Make Me Sing At The Top Of My Lungs

 ”You say there’s not a God, Goddamnit I could use a little faith to keep from crawling right out of my skin.” (Track 1, Time Will Tell)

“The winter’s long, I know your heart’s beating with fear. Turn this record on and open up your ears, summer’s coming baby, this could be our year.” (Track 5, Resolutions)

“Come on kid, come on. It’s one foot and then the other. Everybody needs a hand sometimes, everybody needs a brother. Come on, kid come on, I’m reaching out to you. Get out bed kid, face the world, and show us what you can do.” (Track 3, C’Mon Kid)

The vocals on this album are unbelievable, and it really shows what Hause is capable of. Bottom line: Check this out ASAP… and pick up some stuff from The Loved Ones while you’re at it.

As much as it pains and embarrasses me, the 16 Year Old in Me REALLY Wants to see Fast 5.

Ten years ago, Vin Diesel and Paul Walker brought the world of street drag racing to the screen with an overwrought plot, souped up cars, and a love story. I’ll be damned if I wasn’t awestruck at the age of 16, drooling over Paul Walker’s charming good looks as he played the cop with a bad boy edge. In my 16-year-old mind, this movie was, in fact, the shit. I mean, what overzealous teenager WOULDN’T buy into the movie’s sympathetic villain, Dominic Toretto’s speech: “I live my life a quarter-mile at a time. Nothing else matters: not the mortgage, not the store, not my team and all their bullshit. For those ten seconds or less, I’m free.” That’s some deep shit right there (Please tell me you are all picking up on my sarcasm here). The Fast and the Furious was one of those movies that had all kinds of kids begging their parents for the money to put body kits on their decade-old Hondas.

Over the years, we have seen the original move spawn sequels we could have likely done without:

2Fast, 2Furious

The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift

Fast and Furious

Now, ladies and gents, ten years after the release of the original, someone thought it a great idea to tie this franchise up with one final (we hope) addition. Fast Five looks like it is pretty much going to suck as hard as all the others, and yet, I feel compelled to go see it. I know, I know. I’m not sixteen anymore. The whole concept has lost its luster, but it’s almost like I need closure. I need to see where Officer Brian O’Connor and Mr. Dominic Toretto end up. I’m fully ashamed of this fact, but I’ll likely pony up an exorbitant amount of my hard-earned money to go see this one. My only consolation here is that, well, Paul Walker is still pretty dreamy.

Speaking of sequels we probably don’t need, I will most likely also be going to see Scream 4. You can stop laughing now.

Insidious… well, it pretty much sucked.


 When I saw the trailer for this movie, I was stoked. I should have known better than to get my hopes up for a horror flick made anytime after the late 80′s, but hey, I’m an optimist (sometimes). The previews for this movie had my hopes up that I would leave the theater creeped out and unable to sleep that night (we’ve already determined I’m weird, so let’s not act shocked).

The first half of this movie was pretty creepy. Chock-full of startling moments and flashes of disturbing imagery set the tone, even if the plot was a bit overwrought. I won’t spoil the story for everyone (on the off-chance you decide to waste money and see it), but once the major complication is revealed, the movie became laughable. Scenes that were clearly meant to be frightening were funny. The guy sitting behind me and I actively and openly ridiculed what was happening, much to the annoyance of the people sitting around us.  My recommendation: if you want horror, you’d be better off watching a few episodes of those Kardashian bitches running rampant in NYC.

The Philadelphia Flyers seem to have “flipped the switch.”

After watching my beloved Broad Street Bullies fall apart immediately following the All-Star break, I went into the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs hopeful but not optimistic. Throughout the series against the Buffalo Sabres, our goaltending was anything but consistent, our defense was sloppy at best, and our offense needed a fire lit under their ass. When we forced game 7 on Easter Sunday, my optimism returned, but with low expectations. It seems those low expectations weren’t needed, because the Flyers showed up to the Wells Fargo Center last night to take a 5-2 victory, advancing my hopes and dreams of a parade into round 2. Here’s hoping, Philly fans, that the team playing game 7 shows up on the ice for the remainder of the playoff season.

An Open Letter to Best Buy

2 Jan

Dear Best Buy,

I’d like to start by saying, you sell some really awesome shit. From iPads to XBox to the beautiful new TV I purchased from you, I tip my hat to you. You’ve got the gadgets all the cool kids could ever want or need or know what to do with. Kudos on that.

My concern, here, however, lies with your staffing decisions. No matter when I visit your establishment, no matter which store location I patronize, I am almost always disappointed. If it is a quick trip, one in which I am merely picking up a DVD or two, I generally leave apathetic about the experience. Not angry, but not impressed, either. My grievance is based upon my experiences when trying to purchase items more technical in nature – a wireless router, a television, an external hard drive for my Mac Book, etc. These items are not things bought on impulse, but rather with careful planning and previous research.

My most recent shopping excursion to your store is what prompts me to write. Best Buy, my friend, sometimes a consumer simply can’t find all the answers she is looking for on the internet. Difficult to fathom, I understand, but it’s true. When I came into the store on a Wednesday evening, ready to finally bite the bullet and purchase a TV, your employees in the television department ignored me. Perhaps it was because I look young, and couldn’t possibly have been there ready to spend half a grand, or maybe it was because I was bumming it on a day off. This hurt my feelings, Best Buy, it really did. I stood in front of the counter, waiting for a sales associate to ask me what they could help me with. I was torn between two TVs, unsure of which to choose. I could have stood there all night, maybe doing the Mexican Hat Dance, and I probably would have still been ignored while your unwashed minions buried themselves in their computer screens. Angered and annoyed, I stormed out in a huff, vowing to purchase my TV elsewhere. You’re a crafty one, it seems, much to my dismay. I could not find a better deal on a better television anywhere else. I searched high and low, reaching the end of the internet before resigning myself to the fact that I would need to return to your big blue building, and plunk down a large sum for the wares I desired, all while swallowing the bitter pill that is your substandard customer service.

I’ve always known you don’t always hire the brightest bulbs in the box. Sure, there has been a good egg here and there, usually in the form of a helpful young chap who knows what he’s talking about not due to your stellar training, but because he actually cares about his job and the products he is selling. As a member of the retail work force myself, I understand that good help is hard to find, but I’m urging you to up your standards. In a competitive world where places like Target and Wal-Mart vie for a piece of your market share, perhaps you could consider a more stringent screening process in choosing your employees. First and foremost, please make sure they know what they are talking about, and actually enjoy working with people. I cannot tell you how many times I have found myself, the customer, more knowledgable about what I was purchasing than the sales associate attempting to help me. Many times, I have a couple of complex questions before being fully ready to purchase – your workforce should know how to answer them. A cleanly appearance would earn my trust and respect as a customer, as a wrinkled, unwashed golf shirt that looks like it came from the trunk of a car after a hard night of drinking leads me to believe I’m not working with a master of the craft. I feel I shouldn’t have to comment on hygiene in the workplace, but I must say, a lack of hygiene is distracting. These people are the face of your company. The face I often see is a stoner who was dragged out of bed at the crack of noon to show up late for work. Not appealing.

Because of your staffing decisions, I had to rely on the knowledge of friends and consumer reviews to choose my TV. I did not purchase in store, but rather paid online and arranged in-store pickup for later that afternoon. While the young lad who rang me out was perfectly nice, he congratulated me on the purchase of my new LCD TV. I had purchased a plasma. Quite the snafu, as he had me questioning both whether or not I had purchased the right TV, but also whether or not I was taking the correct one home.

Please see the error in your ways, Best Buy. You are truly convenient, and I’m far too impatient to have my DVDs shipped from Amazon.com.

Regards,

The Walking Mishap

PS – The TV is an excellent addition to my living room.

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