Taco Tuesday Goes to Vegas

College. The only place where it's socially acceptable to theme a nightly event.  "Margarita Monday," "Taco Tuesday" "Wine and Cheese Wednesday," and "Thirsty Thursday" were my go to excuses to throw back a few gallons of alcohol. As any good college student knows, it's not binge drinking when you have purpose. 

Taco Tuesday became a weekly occurrence when my friends and I discovered two dollar tacos and three dollar "margaritas" at a local spot in Pasadena. I say "margaritas" because their definition of margarita was a glass of tequila with a shot of sweet and sour (I'm not complaining, just clarifying). Religiously we went Tuesday, after Tuesday, after Tuesday, organizing our outings around tennis practices, lesbian activist meetings, yoga, fuck buddies and homework. Needless to say we became a cult, but only on Tuesdays. 

A typical Taco Tuesday would go like this: 

8:00 pm: Arrive at Lexies' house. 

8:04 pm: Decide on a DD.

8:15 pm : Drive to Dona Rosa's. 

8:30 pm: Eat tacos and drink margaritas.  

9:45 pm: Drive back to Lexie's house.

10:02 pm: Smoke, drink, bitch about life. 

11:00 pm: Disperse back to our lives. 

Simple, short and sweet. However on a brisk October evening, everything changed...

As I'm selecting my outfit for tennis practice, my Blackberry beeps. I have one new email. This was a welcome distraction from deciding if it was a neon pink or neon green kind of day. I open my email to find tennis practice had been canceled due to "unforeseen" circumstances. In reality, our coach probably just didn't feel like showing up; at least this time he had the courtesy of sending us an email. My fashion conundrum was no longer an issue burdening my mind.  However, the two hours of empty space added to my intentionally busy social schedule were another story. For fear of becoming bored and irrelevant over the next two hours, I immediately texted Lexie informing her of the void in my schedule. This is when the magic happened. 

Lexie  didn't respond to my text. She actually picked up the phone and called me.   A rare occurrence by anyone these days, unless its a drunk dial or death related emergency. (Why people deal with a 20 minute text conversation as opposed to a 2 minute phone conversation still baffles me…yes I'm guilty of it too…) Lexie spoke as if she was stuck on fast forward. She quickly informed me a weird series of events had occurred over the last hour. Everyones usual Tuesdays activities had been canceled due to "unforeseen circumstances". Because of the phenomenon, a motion to begin Taco Tuesday an hour earlier was accepted and pending my approval. (I mean, you wouldn't buy a skirt without asking your friends first if it looks good on you, right?) Without hesitation, I approved. Shit was about to get real.  For a college student, an hour earned is two hours instantaneously wasted. I'm sure I could have studied for an upcoming test or started researching catalogs for an upcoming paper, but my cult life was far more important. 

Wishbone House was a cluster fuck of hustle and bustle. You may ask why I just referred to Lexie's house as "Wishbone". I wish I had an intriguing story, but I don't. For some reason unknown to me, all student houses around Occidental College are named. Yup, you heard me. You get a house, you name it. However, it was never that easy. The naming process typically set the tone for housemate living conditions. If you agreed on a name, chances were you would get along swimmingly. If you didn't, the shit storm of drama you'd probably endure over the next nine months would most likely result in a therapist, a search for new friends and a new residence. Students took house naming very seriously. You couldn't say "I'm going to Bob's house" because you would be instantly labeled as a lunatic who is detached from the social scene.  You'd have to say I'm going to Tribal House. Side not, most people knew me and my partying ways, so you could get away with  saying "Ross' House." I'm kinda a big deal ...

The car ride to Dona Rosa seemed normal at best. Sunny, Sebastian , Lexie, Dana and I bitched about life. When we arrived, we ate, we drank. It was nothing out of the ordinary minus this groundbreaking conversation of homosexuality:

Dana, immersed in her cell phone, ignored the group vigorously texting during dinner.

Me: " Pay attention to us!! Get off your damn phone."

Dana: " I'm sorry. My brother is having some problems at school. Everyone thinks he's gay!"

Sebastian: " Well is he gay?"

Dana: " NOO!! He is just musically inclined"

Insert hysterical laughter from Sebastian and I. I've literally never laughed so hard in my entire life. Musically inclined?! You've got to be kidding me. 

Dana punched me because Sebastian and I were "being mean,"  but probably because she secretly knew her brother was a huge homo.  If people have concluded you are gay, newsflash, you are probably gay and not in the "I'm a swimmer I shower naked with guys after practice" gay way but a " I hang back and let another teammate suck my dick in the shower" kind of way. 

Back at Wishbone, the tone was lack luster to say the least. The whole moving Taco Tuesday up and hour really seemed to make the night longer. Naturally we found a way to kill time.

 Sunny decided I was the key hole to who is key, Dina was throwing a fit over her "musically inclined" brother all while Sebastian and Lexie were practically having sex on the couch. How boring had we become? This was not the night I had imagined. I contemplated going home to watch Netflix. I remembered seeing Oceans 11 had been added to instant stream when suddenly I had a bout of ESPN. Some how, deep inside, I knew this night was meant to be something legendary and thanks to my sixth sense these powerful words came to fruition, " Lets go take a picture in front of the Bellagio Fountain."

Silence. 

My heart started beating a billion beats per second. My mind started envisioning the epic adventure right in front of us--

More silence. 

I began thinking this was the worst cult ever. 

FINALLY Lexie spoke. " Sounds awesome. I just have to be back for a 10 a.m. class."

An explosion of ecstasy raced through my mind!!! I was so fucking excited!!! Next thing I knew it was raining T-rex's as I navigated a dangerous mountain pass while searching for the fairies to guide us to the light. 

Miraculously we ended up in Vegas.

After an hour long photo shoot at the Bellagio there was really nothing more for us to do. (Some people were not of age, buzz kills). The night was relatively young so we grabbed fourth meal at the Grand Lux Cafe in the Venetian. After a balanced breakfast of waffles and ice cream we were back in the car with Lexie serenading us to a mix of Ricky Martin and Disney songs. 

Lexie made it to class by 10 a.m. and our one night Vegas excursion became the talk of Occidental College by lunch.  

Never again have I been able to get a group of friends to go drive off to Vegas on a whim. 

I attribute to this night to the beginning of #RossVegas

Our photo:

And this one...just because I look adorable. 

-R

Splash Mountain is a Big Gay Acid Trip

It's common knowledge I'm obsessed with Disneyland. I guarantee you I've gone more times in the last 7 years than you, your children and your future grandchildren will ever go in their respective lifetimes.  When you've gone as many times as I have, you start notice little things here and there such as:  Oh the fire in Indian Jones isn't working, oh the music on Screamin is off, oh they repainted that wall over there etc.

A theory I've been contemplating for the better part of 6 months, and recently tested with my friend Alex, is splash mountain is super gay. Here's my take on the narrative:

This is Splash Mountain. It follow's Brer Rabbit and his path towards becoming a raging homosexual.

Brer Rabbit lives in the deep south where there aren't many gay animals; naturally he is scared about coming out. Luckily for him, Brer Fox and Brer Bear are out, loud and proud. They offer to take Brer Rabbit to Gayville Mississippi.

How do we get there you ask? Slippin Falls.... (yes that is what the sign says..kinda gay if you ask me)

When we arrive, we are only met by male birds. Yes everyone at Slippin Falls is a boy....

Looks like Brokeback fishing to me...

This one has a cute outfit. 

This is Brer Fox and Brer Bear's favorite activity at Slippin Falls. (Fox is off to the side holding the rope)

Bondage much? He clearly wants something in his butt.

The ride continues and we see more and more of these males birds and there monotonous day time activities. Shit gets real once night time hits and Brer Rabbit goes to a gay club called "Rainbow Ponds." This sign actually exists. Here's what he finds...

The formerly monotonous male birds are now dressed in pink top hats, vests and boas...drag queens anyone? 

AND they sit on rainbow mushrooms like this:

Oh, you can't forget about their use of spirit fingers either:

This is all happening in a room of rainbow colored lights. There also happens to be some old dog who I'm pretty sure is selling E.

After his adventurous, Brer Rabbit isn't sure what to do. He tries to fight his homosexual feelings but everywhere he looks he sees giant multicolored "mushrooms" (lets be real, they are penises).  He is horrified to tell his mom but Brer Fox really pushes for him to do so (with a little bondage). 

Despite thinking she is going to kill him, he finally takes the plunge and tells her....she is happy. Everyone has a zipadeedoodah day. 

There's also Brer Fox doing god knows what to Brer Bear while an alligator watches....I'm going to go out on a limb here and say he still wants something in his butt. 

These pictures aren't the greatest, but trust me, next time you ride Splash Mountain you'll see a whole new world. 

Big Bad Gay

Being gay is the latest trend to hit America. At this point, for younger generations, being gay is as Joey would say, a "moo point." No one cares. Being gay might as well be synonymous with being cool.

***

I've put myself in a very precarious position in life....well not necessarily "put myself," but most certainly fallen and have yet to come out.  It's a well known fact I hate gay people. And by "hate" I mean try to avoid.  Personally I don't like the stereotypical overly flamboyant gay men who act as such because they are so insecure with the fact that they are gay they feel the constant need to radiate gayness so it is never an issue of contention. ( I mean very few people actually are born with a lisp). Why we as a society put SO MUCH emphasis on who you sleep with as a defining characteristic of who you are as a person is stupid.  Inherently, I'm attracted to a more bro type of guy.

Never in a million years did I think being attracted to bro's and non stereotypical gay men would lead me to being a half way house for guys teeter tottering from raging homosexual to homophobe extraordinaire (this may be a bit of an exaggeration but you get the point). How did I get here? I myself am not quite sure. In college, I hooked up with someone who everyone thought was straight. From there, it happened a handful of other times with a football player and a Fraternity President. Next thing I knew, I have the gay midas touch and am being called "The Flipper." The game of "flipping" became a staple in my life. With my superb gaydar and god like midas touch, I was an unstoppable force. It was, and is, remarkably crazy.

To say I don't enjoy "flipping" would be a flat out lie. I love it; I relish in it; I thrive on it. But as they say in Once Upon Time, "magic comes with a price" and flipping is no exception.  95% of the relationships I have had have been under the radar. I can't tell you how many times I've had to jump out a window, hide in a closet or be completely shunned by a guy because of a girlfriend or roommate randomly popping up. Let me tell you, after a while, the dog and pony show gets old. With that said, I do understand where these guys are coming from. If you aren't ready to admit you are gay or bi or a vampire, you aren't ready. Although I think its fucking ridiculous you have to "come out," at some point you do have to admit it to yourself.

I'll be the first to admit I have a big mouth and perhaps on occasion happen to say too much. But lets be real for a second. If you think you are going to sleep with a guy and it's never going to get out, you might as well stick your head in the sand while playing hide-and-go-seek at the playground. Typically I'm pretty hush hush about my Brokeback Mountain endeavors, only telling a handful of close friends. Believe me when I say I understand you are trying to figure yourself out.  Here is where I have issues, which in turn, result in the world knowing about your homosexual tendencies....

Don't treat me like shit after we hook up or have a "relationship." ( I say "relationship" because anything that involves hiding from girlfriends, friends and family doesn't strike me as the pinnacle of stability.)  Some examples being:

1) Lets say we were friends prior to our extracurricular activities. You would know I am a huge flirt and pretty much flirt with anyone in my surrounding area. It's a well known fact. I mean, I've been engaged to a handful of women on Facebook for god sakes. I know how to work it. Next time we are at a party and I happen to throw something salacious your way, I don't need a text or conversation about how it was a "one time thing" or "I'm being super gay" or my personal favorite "you have a weird gay crush on me and it needs to stop."

2) "You are looking at me funny." Actually, dip shit, I'm not. You're the one eye fucking the shit out of me.

3) Being flat out ignored.

4) Pretending like nothing ever happened.

This fucking sucks. It genuinely makes you feel like a shitty person. With in seconds your entire life is invalidated. Everything you've struggled to overcome is instantaneously thrown in your face as a negative and its absolutely not fair. Am I supposed to say I'm sorry for being comfortable with who I am? Am I supposed to say I understand why I am now your chew toy? Am I supposed to go crawl in a hole and hide until you decide its acceptable to be around me?

Fuck no.

The problem here, is in fact, you.

As much as I would love to have the gay midas touch and a plethora of other magical powers, my only ability is to make you feel comfortable with who you are, or at least, think you might become. Granted I may have pushed the boundary once or twice but don't make the villain, make me the friend and ally.

My own personal dealing with this issue got me thinking how tough it might be for straight and gay guys to understand one another. Are straight guys afraid to be mistaken as gay because they go out with a gay friend? Are they afraid a gay friend might fall in love with them? Are gay guys pressured to act differently because they don't want guys to think they are hitting on them or doing something too gay?

I personally think if you are good enough friends none of this should be an issue of contention. But, maybe I'm lucky to have good friends or just stupid for having a naive outlook on life.

The point I'm trying to make with this epic, probably too personal and not very humorous blog post is people should never be afraid of who they are. You should never live your life looking at yourself from someone else's perspective. Closeted guys shouldn't be afraid of figuring themselves out, and flippers should never feel invalidated because they know who they are. A straight friend shouldn't be worried a gay friend is going to try and sleep with them (unless you are friends with me); A gay friend should never be worried about being gay. If issues arise just remember it takes two to tango and both parties need to realize how their actions eaffect the other.

***

Being gay is cool. If people find out you are messing around, who cares!? You should be worrying about how to get rich or fend off a North Korean nuclear missiles attack because your friends will still love you no matter who you sleep with(and if they don't, you shouldn't be friends). It's 2013, if you haven't dabbled you aren't living. Plus everyone is gay until proven otherwise ;) - That's a moo point. 

The Cover Letter that Should Have Turned into a Job

There are those who send a generic cover letter and those who are super creative. I thought for sure this was a winning cover letter....apparently I was wrong. 

To Whom It May Concern,

My resume has absolutely nothing to do with blogging, social media, or pop culture. If you've glanced over it already you are probably wondering if I think BuzzFeed is a local swim team (I know it’s not, don't worry). However, if you look at my life, it’s all about critiquing culture.

As I sit here in an office of a job I absolutely despise, I comb through BuzzFeed, Perez Hilton, EW, The Superficial, Thought Catalog, reading and laughing at peoples opinions and posts about our society. It brings happiness to my day. However, it also makes me extremely jealous. I think to myself, I'm loud, blunt, opinionated and ruthlessly sarcastic. I could do this! Of course, like everyone else in this world I have started blogs, I made a YouTube show called My Weekly Bitch, where I bitch about what's going on in the world of pop culture and I even use my Facebook as if it were my own little section on BuzzFeed.

This morning I was watching ESPN in hopes of catching the newest college basketball rankings. Being from New Mexico, who has been having a fantastic season, I couldn't wait to see where in the Top 20 the AP would place UNM. A quick disclaimer - I constantly talk shit about New Mexico, because the entire state is really a joke. I love it, but no one takes New Mexico seriously. The rankings were posted and sitting pretty at number fourteen was none other than Mexico. Yes, Mexico. Mexico apparently has a team in the Collegiate Basketball Association. I immediately took a screen shot of my TV and posted it to Facebook, Twitter and Instagram. What is the point of this story? I knew this needed more attention than simply my 1,000 FB followers. Yet again, New Mexico has been kicked out of the United States. I decided to email the photo with a little blurb to BuzzFeed and you guys made a beautiful post. I was overjoyed with happiness for a whomping twenty seconds until I was overcome with jealousy, again. I wanted to be in your offices, creating these articles that I've come to know and love.

I'm the annoying person relentlessly posting on Facebook. Whether it be a funny news article, what I think is the next viral video, or simply my opinions on how stupid or ridiculous our culture is. Although, if I'm being honest, sometimes I construct funny posts simply to see how many "likes" I can get. In case you wondering, it can average about 60 - 100 likes. (Did I mention I can be a bit narcissistic?) I'm the one live tweeting the 2013 Oscars. I'm the one Instagraming the ridiculous outfits people wear out on the town. I live and critique the world through social media.

An intern asked me today, “Why don’t you work at BuzzFeed? You would be perfect for a site like that! ” I thought about it for a moment. She was right, why don’t I work at BuzzFeed?

My name is Ross Arias; I graduated from Occidental College with a BA in Film and Media Studies and am looking for a new job. I’m an extremely out going person with great people skills and leadership abilities. I work hard and at the very least, I’m good for a laugh or two.

Sincerely,

Ross Arias

@RoarinRoss

Instagram: RoarinRoss

The Greatest Day of My Life

This is not an exaggeration. There are very few people who can claim they have had one single day in their lifetime they consider “the greatest day”. If you do, I’m sure its one big cliché. I’m sorry people—your wedding, your first child, your college graduation—not your greatest day.  People say these examples because it’s considered the "appropriate" response. People expect it. I on the other hand have no problem facing the wrath of society. I have, and always will claim, the best day of my life is (drum roll please!) the day I finally got an Xbox 360. I have no shame in admitting this. 

Middle school is a rough time for everyone. Puberty alone is enough to cast you to the outer tables of the cafeteria, however for my younger brother and I, the lack of owning a video game console sealed our fate. For some unknown reason, my mother came to the conclusion video games where bad. I mean who wouldn’t want their child to sit in front of a TV for hours, murdering aliens in utter silence?  (My mother did not figure out video games are the best and most reliable babysitter a parent will ever need until my sister was born.) Regardless, I was only able to play video games at my friend’s houses. I missed out on countless hours of Golden Eye, Mario Kart and Halo. As a result, I sucked balls (figuratively. I literally didn't start sucking balls for a few more years). 

To me, practicing tennis was equally as important as practicing a first person shooter. Lets be honest, I needed all the practice I could get. Middle School was not a great time for me. I was fat, walked around wearing Aeropostale while sporting braces and highlights in my hair. I was not winning by anyones definition. 

Halo was very popular amongst my friend group. And by very popular I mean it was a religious cult. Everyone lived and breathed Halo. Even the girls were forced to watch the boys play for hours in hopes of winning a minuscule amount of affection between battles. Halo parties (yes that's what we called them) were modern day Harems with the winners getting all the "it" girls while the losers were battling for leftovers. It was a dog eat dog world. How was I going to get someone to play with my battle rifle if couldn't win a game of Halo? Constantly the butt of everyones joke, I was determined to be seen as someone with murderous intent (something I did not fully achieve till College, but not from video games. More on this later). But how could I when my mother refused to purchase any gaming system?

 

At a young age, I quickly realized I was the "Golden Child" of the family. For starters, I was the first child born of my generation. All my cousins and siblings came years after me (to my disliking). During my "Golden Age", everyone from aunts and uncles to distant relatives living in Israel sent me gifts. I wouldn't be surprised if the Pope sent his blessing my way. Everyone wanted a piece of me and my sheer adorableness. I was the new kid in town and loving every second of it. Sadly, life happens and my golden age fizzled away, almost. Enter my grandparents. 

Growing up, I was fortunate enough to have my mothers parents living a few miles down the road. For a portion of my life I was raised by a single mother. When she decided being a teacher was not financial viable for us to sustain the lifestyle I would soon desire, she went to law school. During her long days and treacherous hours, I spent a good portion of my time with the grandparents, Grammy and Kep (no idea why I called my grandfather this) and my nanny, Lupe. Long story short, my grandparents spoiled me silly. Naturally by the time I was thirteen I had them wrapped around my fingers. It's like I had a magic wand. With a simple swish and flick the world was mine. 

One afternoon, my grandfather and I were dining at one of the "finest" pizza places Albuquerque, New Mexico had to offer. I knew the quickest way to deal with my middle school crisis was coning my grandfather into taking me over to Walmart and buying me a Playstation 2. As I carefully ate my green chile pizza I subtly dropped phrases such as " feel so left out" and "social suicide" throughout our conversation. Next thing I knew, I was in the electronics isle of Walmart, seconds away from being handed a Playstation when my mother called. 

" Hey honey. Lunch was good. I'm just over at Walmart with Rossy getting him some play school game system." 

Hours of ground work, instantaneously crushed. Thanks for spilling the beans grandpa.  Foiled by mother yet again, I went home empty handed with not a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel. 

It was not until the end of middle school when my mother randomly came home with a Playstation 2. To this day I'm still not sure what possessed her to do it. Was it my pre-teen angst and adamant desire to be part of social hierarchy? Or her simply needing a babysitter?  Who cares! The Playstation 2 had already been out for years; it was too late for me to become a master gamer. Luckily, America is run by giant corporations who crank out new products every five years knowing dumb people like myself are the first in line to purchase the newest item. A few years later, Microsoft announced the Xbox 360 with Halo 2  as the flagship game and I began to vigorously plan my purchase and domination of the next gen gaming world. 

At 12:01 a.m. on November 22, 2005 the Xbox 360 was launched and I was lying in bed sound asleep. Why? you ask. "Your bedtime is 10:00 p.m.! No exceptions. And you have school the next day". My mothers words when I graveled  for her permission to go to Walmart at midnight. Crushed doesn't even begin to express the state of depression I was in. Normally I'd ask my grandparents to over rule her decisions but I had persuaded them into giving me the five hundred dollars I needed in order to purchase the damn thing. My grandmother also happened to believe school was of the utmost importance. Literally I had no other option but to go to bed wishing a 360 would be waiting for me in the morning. 

Clearly, I was delusional. I should have just left my house in the middle of the night but my balls still hadn't dropped yet and rebellion was not flowing through my veins. I did however stroll into Walmart at 6 a.m. frantically looking for an Xbox 360. The young lad working electronics said, " Dude. You're kidding right? Of course we don't have any in stock. It's been like .....6 hours since they were launched. Plus we only got like 6 consoles. Better luck next shipment. Maybe plan a head."  First off, I was moderately surprised he could tell time. Secondly, leave it to New Mexico to only get 6 consoles. Finally, plan ahead? PLAN AHEAD? I retorted with " Listen douche bag, do I strike you as the type of person who doesn't plan ahead? Yeah I didn't think so. And if you must know, I've been planning for longer than you've been in school. So why don't you do your job and scurry along to find out when the next shipments is." The Walmart employee stared at me blankly. I'm certain I lost him at douche bag.

Both Target and GameStop sold out of consoles by 12:10 a.m. In their defense they had maybe three each. My life seemed over. I couldn't imagine going to school empty handed, but I knew I had too. I had to endure. Of course my  good friend Steve camped out all night and wouldn't shut up about how cool his new Xbox 360 was.  Steve was a "real gamer." He played ALL the time. Video games were his life. Every time we played Halo it was a matter of life and death. If things weren't going as planned, controllers were known to "accidentally" leave his hands and fly through a television. Luckily for me, NO one else acquired a 360. The playing field could not have been more even. The search was on and I was certain to be successful. 

The following weeks I felt like a dog chasing cars. Every minute of every day I was calling Walmart, Target or GameStop trying to figure out when the next shipments of Xbox's would arrive. I never seemed to be able to locate one. Have you ever felt destined to fail? I never had until now.

Thanksgiving had arrived a week later. Bags appeared under my eyes, I had not shaved or showered in days. My obsession over the 360 began to take a tole on my family and I. During dinner, my aunt and uncle expressed concern over my mental well being because every other word out of my mouth was Xbox.  My mother called me crazy, my grandfather told me he liked my drive and my grandmother simply wished I got what I wanted to "end this madness." Talk about mixed signals.  Their opinions of me meant nothing. I knew what I wanted. However, despite my better judgement, the hunt was put on hold due to a minor event in life called finals. 

It's the morning of December 10, 2005. My phone was continuously ringing, disturbing my slumber. I thought to myself-- It's they day after my last final. What could possibly be more important than sleep to any high schooler right now? Begrudgingly I answered my phone, " Jay. What do you want. It's 6:00 a.m.?"

"Target has one Xbox left. They can't hold it. Come now!"

Before he even finished that statement I flew out of bed like a bat out of hell, grabbed my car keys, slipped on my flip flops and sprinted out of the house. A land whale has never moved so fast. 

Thirty seconds into my drive I realize two things: (1) I don't have 500 dollars on me and (2) Im in a t-shirt, boxers and flip flop. The money problem was an easy fix. Obviously I would call my grandmother and tell her it was time to cough up the five hundred dollars she promised in order to achieve full fledged happiness and "end this madness". Lets be honest though, this would only lead to temporary happiness and I don't think I have ever been sane, at least by my grandmother standards. My apparel however would be a greater issue. Any normal person would have taken the two minutes to change their apparel. I ,however, was not willing to let anything stop me from getting my fucking xbox. In case you weren't aware, or haven't seen Breaking Bad, New Mexico has a meth problem.  I carefully concluded the Target employees would simply attribute my attire to my meth addiction.  Really my attire wouldn't be anything out the ordinary. Well thats the story I told my grandmother. 

Thirteen minutes after I received Jay's phone call, I stormed Target. Running down isles for what felt like eternity, I found myself in the electronics section. I can only imagine how ridiculous I looked. Target security guards must have been watching me through security cameras feeling sorry for yet another kid who has been exposed to meth at a such a young age. 

An inch of glass stood between me and my xbox. 

In typical fashion, there was not an employee in sight to unlock the damn case. Fear the current love of my life would be "called" by some other meth addicted teenager, I sat my fat ass down in front of the case, attempting to hide the xbox from the world. I would have sat there yelling for someone all morning if need be. Fortunately my arms were long enough to hit the "Push for Assistance" button. I pushed. Then I pushed again. And again. And then I finger banged the shit out of the button. I picture Target security having another discussion about the meth addicted teenager having a breakdown in the electronics isle.  Eventually, a meth addicted community college student waddled down the isle asking if I needed assistance. Obviously. 

I finally got my xbox. My life as a second class video gamer were slowly coming to end.  I called my grandmother to tell her the good news. Our conversation went like this:

Grammy, " Did you get it honey?"

"Yeah I did"

" Great! Now get out of that store as fast as you can. I was watching the news, people are getting jumped over those game squares!! Good heavens what has this world come to! You should have let your grandfather go with you. Call me the second you get home. Keep your bag close. Make sure no one follows you, lock your doors…"

 

I hung up the phone. Her rant and ludicrous accusations could have gone on for hours and I knew I needed to call Jay and thank him for getting my lazy ass out of bed. As I was walking out of Target I heard a man say "Hey kid, is that the new xbox?" I bolted for my car without ever turning back. Maybe my grandmother was right.

To this day my parents reenact me running into my house like a deranged drunk man yelling, "this is the best day of my life. I'll never forget it!!!" Guess what? I never forgot. 

Introduction

A high school teacher once asked us to describe ourselves in one word.  My classmates began spewing out words left and right as if they had thought about this one question for decades. Let me tell you, they had not. The future stoner said "driven", the girl who got knocked up our senior year said "christian" and the guy who knocked her up said "chivalrous". When it was finally my turn, I didn't give an answer, but a rant. I told my teacher it was dumb to subjective ourselves to just one word. I related her assignment to my feelings on standardize testing--our whole lives we are told to be individuals and march to our own beat then BOOM--our entire future is based off one test? It's just not fair.

Naturally, the class laughed as my teachers face brewed with anger.  I mean one word?! Is she crazy? How could I characterize myself in one word? Typically I would delay the productivity of class intentionally, however this time I was truly dumfounded and perturbed with her ludicrous assignment.  A normal teacher would have applauded my critique, this bitch saw my questioning as an act of defiance and "encouraged" (threatened with detention)  me to give a word. My word, supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. Again the class erupted in laughter and my teacher lost her shit. In retrospect, I could have said indescribable, but how boring is that?

I'm not quite sure what went wrong during my gestation period. Maybe my birth mother was a crack addict? Perhaps she was a genetically engineered woman who escaped from a government testing site? Maybe she was an alien who fell in love with her captor in Roswell, New Mexico? But lets be honest, I was born in Texas, so I'm sure that has something to do with it. Regardless I have come to realize I am supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. What does that mean exactly?  It mean's I'm narcissistic and incredibly loud. It means I love glitter and Britney Spears. It means I'm your best friend and worst enemy. I'm stubborn, materialistic and have no soul. It means I hate everyone. It means my life is magnet to CW type drama. It means I have this effect over people and situations I can't quite understand but have no problem using. It means people think I am funny when I'm just being blunt. It means I get myself into hilarious situation normal people only see in the movies.  Really I can continue with my definition of supercalifragilisticexpialidocious (because Webster has yet to define it), but I'm sure you get the point. If you don't, close the blog now because your life is square (do you drive a Nissan Cube?) and you'll probably understand a book in swahili better than this, or the Bible.

If you did not close the page and plan to continue on this literary adventure to discover how my life is better than yours, and that may not be in a good way, here are some rules, better yet guidelines, I have used to successfully make it through life...thus far.

1. Tequila and Glitter can fix any problem.
2. Don't do what's expected.
3. 50 years from now when you look back at your life don't you want to say you had the guts to get in the car?
4. Never live your life looking at yourself from someone else's perspective.
5. Everyone is gay until proven otherwise.
6. If Britney survived 2007, I can survive this.
7. I'm always right.

Now then, brace yourself for impact because you are about to get hit with a lot of supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. I hope you enjoy my life as much as I have enjoyed living it.

For all my friends who are worried about being caught as an accessory to my shenanigans, I've created alias' to protect your wellbeing.

-R

P.S. Every time you see the word supercalifragilisticexpialidocious you are supposed to take a shot. It makes reading WAY more interesting.

P.S.S. The blog title has nothing to do with anything. On the plus side it is a very catch title. Click "Stories" to get started.