wherethefishlives's Xanga

1 -- Yet Another Song Parody

Sun, 15 Nov 2009 18:01:27 GMT

I was listening to my Top 40 jams on the way to work this week when Britney Spears' new song 3 started playing. Her song is about threesomes, so I decided to count backward from that and call my song 1, which is about...well...you know.

Audio is at the bottom of the post.

3 2 1
I'm about to have fun
with some Jergen's lotion.
It's called masturbation.
Countin'
3 2 1
I don't need a Trojan.
Just a hand motion.
I'm alone and wanna ***

It's Monday night.
TV's all the same.
I don't see no harm
in solo games.

Better lock the door.
Close the window shades.
Threesomes are for whores.
Self love is safe.

Caesar dressing
makes a good dip, not a lube, yeah.
Rubbin' my skin.
I am just very lonely.

3 2 1
I'm about to have fun
with some Jergen's lotion.
It's called masturbation.
Countin'
3 2 1
I don't need a Trojan.
Just a hand motion.
I'm alone and wanna ***

3 2 1
I'm about to have fun
with some Jergen's lotion.
It's called masturbation.
Countin'
3 2 1
I don't need a Trojan.
Just a hand motion.
I'm alone and wanna ***

There is no harm.
Nor should there be shame.
Put the lube away.
You're rash-free, hooray.

Let off some steam.
Sexy yet so tame.
No more odd wet dreams
now that you came.

Caesar dressing
makes a good dip, not a lube, yeah.
Rubbin' my skin.
I am just very lonely.

3 2 1
I'm about to have fun
with some Jergen's lotion.
It's called masturbation.
Countin'
3 2 1
I don't need a Trojan.
Just a hand motion.
I'm alone and wanna ***

3 2 1
I'm about to have fun
with some Jergen's lotion.
It's called masturbation.
Countin'
3 2 1
I don't need a Trojan.
Just a hand motion.
I'm alone and wanna ***

What I do just pays the rent.
On web cam my name is Kent.
For five dollars I will pee
in my mouth with utter glee.
Utter glee.

Yeah, pee.

Got five more?

Get hardcore.

3 2 1
I'm about to have fun
with some Jergen's lotion.
It's called masturbation.
Countin'
3 2 1
I don't need a Trojan.
Just a hand motion.
I'm alone and wanna ***

3 2 1
I'm about to have fun
with some Jergen's lotion.
It's called masturbation.
Countin'
3 2 1
I don't need a Trojan.
Just a hand motion.
I'm alone and wanna ***

Ass.com

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 01:23:04 GMT

In typical spaz fashion, I managed to embarass myself in front of the technician that came to my house this evening to hook up my internet. He was messing around on my computer, and I was petrified to leave the room for fear that he would somehow discover the fact that I have a Miley Cyrus karaoke song in my iTunes library. Because you just KNOW these computer technicians love to sneak around on people's computers. It's like going through a medicine cabinet - only you probably won't find videos of people having hardcore sex in a medicine cabinet.

Computer files are much more incriminating than any medicine cabinet. Ever notice that when a celebrity's computer is lost or stolen, their nude photos and sex tape are immediately on the internet? Of course, the celebrity in question is usually a no-name attention whore looking for their 15 minutes of fame, meaning they probably released the sex tape themselves. And sometimes it works. Hell, if we all prospered off a sex tape like Kim Kardashian has, most of us would have tripods at the foot of our beds.

Anyway, as he's sitting there at my computer, and as I stare at the screen in paranoia, he says:

"You know, you should really delete this Ask.com toolbar."

Me: *nervous, exaggerated laugh, thinking he was making a joke about finding porn on my computer* Ass.com?! Ha, what are you talking about? I've never been there.

Him: Uh, no, AsKUH.COM. See? *pointing to the toolbar*

Me: Oh, I see now! Ha! Ask.com, yeah.

That was my cue to walk into the other room and pretend to do something. Of course, now I'm really curious to find out what's on Ass.com. It's such a common word for a domain name. It'd be like getting the username "the" on Twitter. The utter simplicity of it fascinates me.

Text from Mom

Wed, 05 Aug 2009 17:15:31 GMT

"Just picked up some Diet Cokes and sleeping pills at Sam's Club. Life is good!"

Frugal Family Dining

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 17:07:45 GMT

“I have a coupon for us tonight!”

Those are usually the last words I hear my step-father say before he lures me and the rest of the family into a restaurant that provides remarkably substandard goods and services. But due to his childlike optimism and passion for saving money, no one has the heart to go against his penny-pinching wishes.

“Fifteen percent off two spaghetti dinners,” he’ll announce as we’re leaving, while the rest of us telepathically sigh to one another.

I’m also fairly certain he uses his choice of wardrobe to avoid any possible disputes, as I have found myself speechless on more than one occasion while staring at his blue suede slip-ons. The fact that I’d prefer Chinese is far less important than the apparent mental illness my step-father is suffering from, which has depleted him of any reasonable taste when choosing footwear.

The coupon collecting started with newspapers and magazines, where I’d find massive holes taking the place of dramatic news stories about murder and various other forms of mayhem. There had undoubtedly been an offer for a free burrito on the opposite side of these stories, and I always felt a little sorry for the reporter in these cases. Their talent and pursuit for a hard-hitting story was overlooked and destroyed by my step-dad and dozens of other people due to an unfortunate choice in page design. People don’t want to read about how Sally killed her baby. They just want a burrito.

Then his coupon obsession moved to the internet, where he would forward me the coupon and ask me to print it out. Oh, awesome! I get to eat at a shitty restaurant AND waste my printer ink? What a deal!!!

Finally, he’s come across this “local offer” that sells $50 certificates for $15. I’ve never asked, but I’m assuming this is the coupon equivalent to dealing drugs. He probably drives downtown after work and sneaks into some dark alley behind the pawn shop where an off-duty lady of the night sells restaurant certificates out of her crusty thong.

At least that’s where it feels like the certificates come from, considering the place we ate at this past weekend. I won’t say the name of it because we used to go to church with the family that owns the chain, but let me just say it has the word “Steakhouse” in the title. That right there is a complete turnoff for me. To me, the word “steakhouse” is synonymous with “nursing home cafeteria”. In this case, a nursing home cafeteria with some skank to it.

I could feel the piercing, geriatric stares when we walked in. We were interrupting their regularly scheduled meal with our vibrant youth. I felt like we were a group of flappers about to start a food fight.

"Suck it, old-timers! To the buffet, ladies!"

After I finished my baked potato and ate five bites of shrimp so deep-fried it might as well have been human thumbs, I made a snide remark about the quality of my food to my parents. I knew they couldn’t do anything about it, but I wanted to voice my complaint. This was the second time coupons had brought us here, and it was just as atrocious the first time. My parents simply mumbled their condolences and continued devouring their steak.

My six-year-old nephew, however, looked up from his corndog and gave me this advice: “Throw your food at the waitress and tell her to burn the building down.”

He said it so innocently that it almost sounded like a cute idea.

But then I thought better of it and figured excusing myself from the restaurant was a safer alternative, so that’s what I did. I had never abandoned my family in a restaurant like that before, but I literally could not take one more minute of being there. It was the epitome of everything I don’t want to become - boring, generic, old, greasy, routine, bland, etc.

I just walked around outside the restaurant for about 20 minutes or so until they were done. When they came out, I told them I’m never coming with them to this restaurant ever again. I wasn’t mad or trying to sound spoiled; I was just making a stand.

It felt great, too, and now I feel confident enough to make more decisions for the good of the family.

Next step: Burn the blue suede slip-ons.

I'm Not Mean. I'm Just Shy, You Idiot.

Thu, 23 Jul 2009 16:21:56 GMT

I'm a fairly outgoing person when it comes to meeting new people. There are certain variables that depend on my level of sociability - my mood going into the situation, who I'm with, where I'm at - and in most cases, I'm able to muster up a conversation and maintain a sense of friendliness.

Oddly enough, it's actually easier for me to talk to strangers when I'm by myself than when I'm with a group of people. I'll probably get robbed or murdered because of this, but at least I'll get a jovial "Hi!" in before a crazed homeless man slits my throat and takes my wallet.

For instance, I'm really friendly when I'm out shopping or running errands by myself. I think it's because there's no preconceived notion that people are going to be friendly or sociable in that situation, so I like the surprised looks on their faces when I smile and say hello to them. Sometimes they reciprocate with a kind gesture, but most of the time they just stare at me, bewildered by the fact that a total stranger was nice to them for no reason. A lot of this comes from the years I spent in retail, where you're told to acknowledge a customer if they're within 10 feet of you. It's something I still practice to this day.

However, if I find myself at a bar or club where an outgoing attitude is expected, I completely shut off and sit quietly in a dark corner. These are the kinds of places where I'm accused of being stuck-up or unfriendly. The truth is that these places just don't interest me, and when I'm uninterested, I'm not going to put forth a lot of effort to be social. I have no feeling of superiority over these other people; I just don't think it's a very genuine environment. I view it as a bizarre mating ritual I want no part of.

A few years ago, my friends and I went around asking each other what our best and worst personality traits were. This is dangerous territory, but I was willing to hear an honest opinion.

The overall consensus was:

My best trait is my ability to fit in with a wide variety of people.
My worst trait is that I can be really stuck-up.

Um, OK - those two traits really seem to contradict each other, but I guess they would have a better perspective of my attitude than I would.

There was also a girl with us who had the same worst personality trait as me. The only difference was that they said her shyness gave her the appearance of being stuck-up. They blamed the fact that she was attractive and shy. Apparently, shy attractive girls are automatically labeled as bitches.

Shy, or total bitch?

I tried applying that same logic to myself. I thought that perhaps when people saw me, they saw this hot piece of beefcake who thought he was better than everybody else. I'm not sure if the same thing can be applied to guys. Maybe I am just a jerk.

My shyness has been mistaken for unfriendliness on more than one occasion. The problem is that when I'm not smiling, my face appears to be scowling. When people ask me what's wrong when nothing's wrong, it gets a little annoying. I try to have a good attitude when I can, but sometimes I really see no point in gluing a smile to my face the whole day.

I'm a nice guy, damn it. Now leave me alone.

Assholes.

Interview Tips for Feature Writing

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 14:24:37 GMT

Yesterday, I was asked to accompany our intern while she interviewed a patient for one of our weekly full-page newspaper ads. The ads are written as a feature story from the patient's point of view. In short, it's a patient testimonial with a couple of facts thrown in about why our hospital is the bomb diggity.

She was assigned to write a story that would help promote our lactation consultants. Her job was to interview the mother and the consultant she used when she had her baby. My job was to take pictures and monitor the interview. I would only cut in if I thought she didn't ask an important question.

Right off the bat, I noticed two things about the interview that bothered me:

Our intern didn't bring a notepad.
She also didn't have any questions prepared.

The only thing she had was a pen and a printed-out copy of an old story my boss wrote about the lactation consultants from many moons ago.

She was only able to think of two questions and came to a dead silence as she scribbled away on the back of this old story she brought along. At that point, I basically had to take over the interview and hope that our intern took good notes, since I only brought the camera with me.

When we left, the intern thanked me for my help, and I saw this as a good time to give her some tips in case she had to do another story.

"Before I go into an interview, I usually try to have..."

"Hey girl!" said a voice behind us. The intern turned around.

"Oh my gosh - hey girl! How have you been? Oh, um, see you back at the office, Sam."

And that was the extent of my helpful advice to her. Oh, and today she emailed me asking for the first and last name of the mother she interviewed. Fortunately, I had her name on a photo consent form I made her sign right before the interview. I just thought it was funny that she didn't even know the first name of the woman she listened to for 30 minutes.

So since she decided not to listen to my tips, I will share them here instead:

Always bring a pen and a notepad with you to the interview. I usually bring two pens just in case an eagle or some other large bird of prey mistakes my pen for a delicious wiggly creature and snatches it out of my hand. Or it stops writing for whatever reason.
Have at least ten questions prepared before going into the interview. If you don't do this, you'll be struggling to think of questions to ask. Most of the time you'll think of questions to ask as the interview goes along, since you'll want to expound on details you weren't aware of before the interview. However, if you come without any questions prepared, you're not going to give the interviewee your full attention, because your mind is going to be in La La Land trying to think of the next question to ask. You'll end up panicking and most likely proceed to wet yourself.
Be friendly. This may seem like a no-brainer, but so does having a notepad and questions. Some people go into an interview really tense and nervous, or maybe they're having personal issues. Try to not let that show during the interview. The majority of my interviews have been in a casual setting, so it's alright to be laid back. For instance, when I interviewed a patient at her home the other day, she asked me if I'd like a glass of water. I said I would since it was so hot outside. She looked surprised for a moment and said, "You know, it's nice to actually have someone accept an offer like that. Most people would say no even if they really wanted one."
Show interest for cryin' out loud! When I interview someone, I don't just sit there with my face down in my notepad. Respond to what they are saying. Don't just make it an interview. Make it a conversation.
Always, ALWAYS, ask them to spell their name out in full - even if their name is as simple as Tom Smith. Because Tom Smith could be spelled Thom Smythe. I wrote a story for the city paper when I was in high school and completely butchered the person's name I interviewed, and let me tell ya, it's mortifying. But ya live and ya learn, and I will always have that mistake to refer to for future reference.
When the interview is over, ask this question: "Is there anything that I haven't asked you that you would like to talk about?" To me, this question is the cherry that tops it all off. I can leave the interview knowing full well that I've left nothing out. Also, don't hesitate to ask them to repeat something.
Always ask for a phone number you can reach them at in case you have any follow-up questions.

The important thing to remember is that it's an interview - not an interrogation. Be friendly, but don't be afraid to ask questions. You will be amazed at people's willingness to share their story.

My Mom, Queen of Befuddlement

Fri, 22 May 2009 12:11:14 GMT

My mom continues to baffle me on a regular basis - and it's not just when she's throwing her panties away at department stores.

I'm always learning something new about her that just makes me stare at her with a mixed bag of emotions - horror, intrigue, and confusion to name a few.

Some of it's small stuff, like when she finally told us she doesn't like bananas or broccoli. Nobody in the family knew this until about a year ago. For 20 years, I'd seen this woman eat banana pudding and broccoli and cheese soup countless times for dinner. Then one day, I noticed her broccoli and cheese soup sat untouched, so I asked her if she felt alright.

There was a dramatic pause as she slowly looked up at the family with mournful eyes.

"I'm not a big fan of broccoli," she said quietly. "Never have been..."

It was like her soul couldn't take one more bite of the broccoli that we had seemingly been forcing her to eat all these years.

I found out about the bananas when I was clearing the table and picked up the bowl of banana pudding she had been eating. She had consumed everything but the banana slices, which remained perfectly intact. I questioned her about it, similar to the way she questioned me the time she found a Playboy in my sock drawer.

"What is this?" I asked, holding the bowl in front of her face.

"I'm....not a big fan of bananas."

"But....all these years...you've never said a word about it."

"I know," she said. "I know..."

Her most recent WTF moment was yesterday. She was regaling the day's events to me and my step-dad, and in her usual fashion, she made sure to leave in every mundane detail.

"I was meeting the girls for lunch today, but I had to get gas and was running late. When I went inside to pay, there was a line! It was so frustrating, because I was in a hurry, ya know? Anyway..."

I interrupted.

"Wait, why didn't you just pre-pay at the pump?"

She stared. Cue dramatic pause.

"I...I don't know how."

My step-dad, who had been deeply involved in an episode of Property Virgins on HGTV, turned the television off and stared at her, mouth agape. I stared as well.

"What do you mean you don't know how to pay at the pump?" I said panicking.

"I just...never learned how."

"My God, it's not sign language! You put your card in, and that's it!"

"I've just never taken the time to learn the instructions, and when I'm in a hurry, it's just better to go inside and pay..."

"No, mom, you don't understand. What you just said makes absolutely no sense, and I can't even find the words to express the frustration I'm feeling right now. You just got done saying there was a line inside the station, so wouldn't it make more sense to pay AT the pump, without ever having to bother going inside the gas station?"

"Well, I suppose, but I've just never learned. Don't get mad at me."

"Quit saying you never learned! It's ridiculous of you to even think paying at the pump requires enough effort that it would be considered 'learning'!"

So tonight, on our way back from my nephew's kindergarten graduation, I stopped at a gas station with my mom and forced her to learn how to pay at the pump.

"Go slow so I can watch and learn how to do this," she told me.

Exasperated, I took my debit card out of my wallet, held it in front of her face, slid it into the pump, chose my fuel, and began pumping.

"Well that seems easy enough" she said excitedly. "I can't wait to try this tomorrow on my van!"

My mom is officially a big girl now.

I Have a Blog (and I Like It)

Sat, 02 May 2009 21:37:22 GMT

This is my own special version of "I Kissed a Girl" by Katy Perry. It's dedicated to Xanga, and I know you'll probably want it on your iPod. However, for medical reasons, it's probably best you not wear headphones while listening. And make sure your volume isn't turned up too loudly.

So without further ado, here's the song. I've included the lyrics so that you can follow along, because some parts are probably indecipherable to the human ear - or any ear for that matter.

Audio at the bottom
It's got a Bee Gees feel to it, don't you think?

This was not something that I planned
Didn’t think, I was the blogging type
I was so bored, mouse in hand
Needed, some attention
I want people, to like me
I don’t really have a life
So I went to x – a – n- g – a dot c-o-m

I have a blog and I like it
Damn look at all the Asians
I got a blog just to try it
I hope my overbearing mother don’t find it.
Pics of me in wigs, dancing for my cat
I’ll probably do that again tonight
I got a blog and I like it
Oh, a footprint!

No, I don’t even tell my friends
About wherethefishlives
Xanga’s my experimental game
To be completely insane
I am a comment whore
Not as bad as Cakalusa
My fingers are so numb
I think I got carpel tunnel!

I have a blog and I like it
I ended up getting featured, how ‘bout that?
I got a blog just to try it.
I hope Dan and John will rec it
It felt so wrong, it felt so right
Posting pictures of me in pink tights
I got a blog and I like it.
Fuck MySpace

I’m such a nerd, I blog about turds.
L-M-A-O R-O-F-L
Hard to resist, I’m lovable
????????
You need to sub, that’d be really nice

I have a blog, and I like it.
Leave a comment, even though you might hate me.
I got a blog just to try it.
But really how could you hate me?
It felt so wrong, it felt so right.
Theo’s question was really dumb tonight.
I have a blog and I like it.
I like it.

I'm Trollin' Ya (Disturbia Parody)

Tue, 21 Apr 2009 12:07:47 GMT

On my way to work the other day, the song "Disturbia" by Rihanna came on the radio, and because I'm somewhat of a computer nerd, I started substituting the lyrics with "I'm Trollin' Ya".

When I got to work, I realized I was caught up on most of the stuff I needed to do, so I had two choices: I could start more work, or I could write a ridiculous parody song. I'd like to think I made the right decision.

This song makes some references to the internet that some of you may not recognize if you're not "down" with all the modern computer lingo.

Internet troll - someone who makes personal attacks against anyone and everyone on the internet. They just post random obscenities and will usually go away if no one pays them any attention. Stereotypically speaking, they're usually antisocial and weak in real life, but they try to make up for it by sounding like a total badass online.

Flame wars - a phrase to describe an online argument.

lolz - lots of laughter (the "z" makes it extra hip).

pwn - to "own" or dominate someone online.

Be prepared to hear the haunting tune of a sad young man, and listen as he tells us how and why he came to be an internet troll...

Dumb dumb de dumb dumb dumb de dumb dumb (What's wrong with me?)
Dumb dumb de dumb dumb dumb de dumb dumb (Why do I smell like this?)
Dumb dumb de dumb dumb dumb de dumb dumb
Dumb dumb de dumb dumb dumb de dumb dumb (I'm goin' trollin' now.)

I’ve got gas, hate my dad, oh damn I think I sharted
I’m a turd, hair is red, and never seen a girl’s tit
All my life, peed my bed, let’s just not talk about it
I think my family’s insane, yeah

My mom queefs in the night and wears a tutu
Sister hooks on the side and smells like gym shoes
Only way I can cope is to harass you
It’s time for a flame war, whoooaaa

Get ready for a fight, your blog is shitty you dumb whore
Ain’t gon play nice, trust me I’m hard to ignore
Better think twice, respond and I’ll be your stalker.
My future’s not lookin’ so bright.

Tonight I’m gonna troll ya, because I’d lose a fist fight
I’m trollin ya, am I scarin’ you online
I’m trollin’ ya, you’re a fat ugly dyke,
I’m trollin ya, I’m trollin’ ya.

Fucked a life size Barbie doll, the only thing that loves me
Masturbating for the lolz, alone, always will be
I gotta troll now, type immature sh*t out
I’ll call you “retarted”, ohh

So much grief in my life, I’m scum and hate Jews
I’m a creep and I lie, I’m really 5’2”
Online teasing aside I’m just a sad dude
I’m a trolling monster, whooaaa

Get ready for a fight, your blog is shitty you dumb whore
Ain’t gon play nice, trust me I’m hard to ignore
Better think twice, respond and I’ll be your stalker.
My future’s not lookin’ so bright.

Tonight I’m gonna troll ya, because I’d lose a fist fight
I’m trollin ya, am I scarin’ you online
I’m trollin’ ya, you’re a fat ugly dyke,
I’m trollin ya, I’m trollin’ ya.

Pwning you online is full of win
Going to the prom with my next of kin
If I can’t tro-oo-oo-oolll
I think I’d wanna, die ah ah ah ahhh

Get ready for a fight, your blog is shitty you dumb whore
Ain’t gon play nice, trust me I’m hard to ignore
Better think twice, respond and I’ll be your stalker.
My future’s not lookin’ so bright.

Tonight I’m gonna troll ya, because I’d lose a fist fight
I’m trollin ya, am I scarin’ you online
I’m trollin’ ya, you’re a fat ugly dyke,
I’m trollin ya, I’m trollin’ ya.

A Little Worried

Fri, 17 Apr 2009 01:24:22 GMT

The following is an actual phone conversation my mom and I recently had:

*ring*

Me: Hello?

Mom: Hey, honey...

Me: Hey.

Mom: You need anything here at Wal-Mart? I'm fixin' to leave.

Me: Nope...um, what's wrong? You sound worried.

(Whenever my mom is worried about something she sounds really out-of-breath and exasperated. She should have been a soap opera actress.)

Mom: Well, I just went to the bathroom here, and it wasn't very pleasant.

Me: I would imagine a Wal-Mart restroom isn't exactly pleasant.

Mom: Well...when I went in the stall, I saw the toilet hadn't been flushed, but I was having one of my emergencies - you know, one of my famous emergencies. There was no time to flush, and it was the only stall that wasn't being used...

(My mom is known for having to take a shit at the most inopportune times, especially when out shopping. And it's not your typical shit - we're talking explosive diarrhea. Like that time when I was 12 and we had to suddenly leave Sears. I believe her exact words as she pulled me out the door were: "I had to throw away my panties." Do you know how psychologically damaging it is for a 12-year-old boy to hear their mother say that?)

Me: Um, Mom, do I really want to hear what happens next?

(Apparently she took this as an invitation.)

Mom: Well, when I sat down, it came out so suddenly that it splashed the toilet water...and some of the toilet water...splashed up inside of me. The toilet water with someone else's pee splashed up in me, Sam, and I'm a little worried.

Me: ...

Mom: I mean, do you think I could get anything from that? Lord, no telling what kind of person used that toilet before me - I mean it's Wal-Mart for Christ's sake.

Me: I honestly have no words for how disgusted I am by this right now. So...you're actually worried you might have contracted an STD from using the bathroom at Wal-Mart? Does this mean you're going to get tested or something?

Mom: No, I'm just a little worried.

Me: OK...well thanks for sharing.

("Just a little worried" - story of her life.)