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Child Psychology
08.15.2004 10:11 p.m.
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�
August is probably the worst time of the year to
catch a cold. In case any of you have plans to be sick during the hottest point
of the year, always remember these friendly tips: �
- avoid sitting in the sun for long periods of time
with your friends at a racetrack. �
- avoid drinking large cups of Dunkin Donuts coffee,
with an extra shot of espresso, just before you go to sit in the hot sun
for long periods of time with your friends at the racetrack. �
- avoid doing triple-shots of Jack Daniels while
sitting in the very hot sun for long periods of time with your friends at
the racetrack because most of your beer was confiscated at the gate since you
are a dumbass that forgot that bottles are not allowed, even though they were
expensive bottles designed to impress your friends and you cried like a
school-girl as you watched the guards throw them in the trash. �
- avoid thinking that because you just lost $30
worth of good beer, that you have to make up for it by betting more money on the horse races than
you originally intended to. �
- avoid telling your friend, in an effort to appear
macho, that the drink they just poured for you in the very hot sun which consists of 85% vodka and 15% soda is "just fine" when they suggest that they can "add more soda to it if
it is too strong". �
- avoid thinking that you have some mystical ability
to predict the outcome of a horse race after you have been drinking Jack
Daniels, Vodka and espresso on an empty stomach in the very hot
sun with a severe head cold just because the middle name
of one of the horse trainers is "Nigel", which sounds an awful lot like "NyQuil",
which you have also been drinking, so it must be a sign that you should
definitely bet on that horse. �
I rest my case. �
This is what happens when you play the childish game
of "Impress Your Friends". �
The only way I could have possibly lost more money
yesterday is if I had been doing heroin and fed my wallet to a horse. However,
it should be noted that the purpose of yesterday's visit to the track was NOT to
make money or have a good time. Not in the least. If either of those things had
happened, it would have been a bonus. The purpose of yesterday's visit to the
track was to impress our friends with how cool we are. �
You see, some of the friends that we were meeting at
the track (we'll call them The Jones') are ex-coworkers of ours. I used to work
in a large firm with Mr. Jones, and my girlfriend used to work at a different
company with Mrs. Jones. Mr & Mrs. Jones are an extremely cool, hip couple. They
even dress like superstars, and I mean that in a good way, not an
obnoxious-posing-wanna-be way. They are naturally cool and hip without even
trying. We admire them, and aspire to be more like them. �
A few years ago I quit my job working next to Mr.
Jones to start my own business, and have ever since wanted to show them (and
everyone else) that I could be successful at it. Likewise, Mrs. Jones has quit
working next to my girlfriend and has also gone to work somewhere else. Needless
to say, I knew that when the four of us got together again there was going to be
a lot of catching up on old office gossip, and questions like "so how is work
going?". �
I would be totally lying if I said that I didn't
want to hear Mr. Jones complain about things at my old office. I wanted
to hear him complain. I wanted to hear about the low morale and the pay-cuts. I
wanted to hear that half the staff had quit, that our old supervisor had a
nervous breakdown and that the bitch in section 24A was fired for biting a man's
head off - literally - and that now everyone there understands why I didn't get
along with her and that I wasn't really the bad guy after all even though I
tried to push her down the stairwell seven times and regularly peed in her
coffee. That sort of thing. �
It's kinda like going to a high-school or college
reunion. You want to arrive in style and show everyone how successful you've
been since you left that dump of a town they still call home. �
This was my mind-set getting ready to go to the
track. I could give a damn about my head-cold and whether or not we actually
could afford to be spending money gambling - this was all about appearances. As
such, we each took about an hour deciding what to wear in an effort to look as
cool and hip as Mr. & Mrs. Jones. This was completely futile, as my wardrobe
cannot live up to this challenge, and Mr. Jones showed up wearing an assortment
of clothing items which I would not be caught dead wearing, either separately -
or especially, together. His outfit looked like something he threw together from
pieces of clothing he found in a dumpster outside a modeling school in Paris.
Yet he somehow manages to look cool in it. �
SCORE:
Jones's: 1
Me: 0 �
I even made the mistake of "identifying" the brand
of watch he was wearing, which I thought was a "Fossil". He looked at me all-kinda-screwy-like,
as if to say "Hell, no. I wouldn't be caught dead wearing that." It turns out
his watch was made by some company I had never heard of like "Danshzliglietz
PodPod" and are all hand-crafted by an 87 year-old Czechoslovakian man out of
very thin slices of purple granite and scrap metal from the Mir Space Station.
�
"Oh." I said. �
SCORE:
Jones's: 2
Me: 0 �
I thought of lying and saying that I had read an
article about the watch a few months ago, or I had thought of buying one, or
something like that, but I was worried that he would say that the watch company
was only invented about 0.34 seconds ago, and I wasn't cool enough to know about
it, so I didn't. �
My last effort to compete on the "coolness"
competition involved my new cell phone. The other day my girlfriend and I used a
rainy afternoon to spend time "let's just go browsing" in the local shopping
mall, and ended up both walking out with new cell phones, among other things. We
didn't need new cell phones, but that's besides the point. We went home and
spent the next several hours playing with them and trying to program all the
right features and contacts into them. My new phone had a feature called
"Predictive Text", which means when you try to enter text into the phone, it
tries to "guess" what the hell you are writing. This feature is about as helpful
as having a defense attorney with
Tourette's Syndrome. The thing that kills me is that it made me feel very old. I
know that 10 or 15 years ago I would have been all over this predictive-text
thing like white-on-rice, and would have been able to enter the text of the
Treaty of Paris in three keystrokes. Instead, I couldn't even figure out how to
turn the damn feature OFF, let alone how to use it properly. The result of which
looked like this: � � �
[Trying to type "Uncle
Bill"]:
...U...n...c...l...e...B...i...l...l... � �
_______________________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Umbrella
Hilltop_? � �
_______________________________________________________________________________________________ �
No, that's not what I
want. *delete*
...U...n....c...l...e...B... �
_______________________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Tangent
Umbilical
Chord_? �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
Huh? No, dammit! *delete*
....U...n...c...l.. �
_______________________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Farstank
Nectar Whip_? � � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
Agh! $%$%@!!�
*delete*!!
...U...n... �
_______________________________________________________________________________________________ � �
WTF!? Spk
Eglsh!! � � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
I AM speaking english,
you stupid &%$#@&%@.....*delete*!! �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
HaHa!!
Stupid
American! � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
Fuck You! Damn *delete*
*delete* *delete* *delete* �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
All your jobs are belong to us!! � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
......*delete* *delete*
*delete* *delete* *delete* *delete* *delete* *delete*......*POWER OFF*....*POWER
ON* �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
Welcome to
Nokia
これは日本語のテキ�� ストで��� 読めますか �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
......uh oh.
� �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
企業向けソリューション_? �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Oh shit. What the fuck?
Japanese!? I thought you were a Swedish company! � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
Ja...Kest�vyytt�
ja suojaa.� :P �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
...Crap.......*undo*...*undo*...*undo*...*undo*... � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
What are you trying to do, stupid
American? �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
....stop calling me
stupid! Oh! Wait! English! Great! Ok....
....U...n...c...l...e... � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ �
Dailing Emergency
9-1-1.... �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
NO!!! Wait! Stop! �
911 OPERATOR: "Hello -
911. What is your Emergency?" �
Me: "Nothing! There's no
emergency! My phone dialed you by mistake!...I'm sorry!" �
911 OPERATOR: "Sir, are
you in trouble?" �
Me: "No...it was a
mistake.." �
911 OPERATOR: "Sir, if
you are in danger, and cannot speak freely, say the words 'I AM FINE.' ok?" �
Me: "No, really I am
fine. NO WAIT! I take that back! I didn't mean that...there is nothing...I
mean...SHIT." � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � � �
Hahaha! ROTFL!!! � � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
911 OPERATOR: "What was
that? Are you saying that you are NOT fine, Sir?" �
Me: "Wha? No, I
mean...yes...NO. There is NO problem. �
911 OPERATOR: "I
understand. Please stay on the line so we can...." �
Shit! *hang-up* Stupid
fucking phone! � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � � �
You like, yes? � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
No, I DON'T like!! Stop
screwing with me you stupid piece of shit! � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Haha! You like I dial girlfriend
parents when you have sex? They hear pleasure goodness from pocket! � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
No, no please don't do
that! I just want to program my phone numbers..." � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Uncle Bill_? �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
That's amazing! How did
you do that? � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
I guessed. � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Thank you. Now, what did
I do with his number..... �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
Do I hear sirens? � �
___________________________________________________________________________________ � �
So that is pretty much how I spent my night
programming numbers into my new phone. I felt like an idiot. I eventually
managed to turn off the predictive text feature, but don't know how I did it, so
I suspect that someday I will accidentally turn it back on again. �
So I used the excuse of having a new phone to whip
it out and ask for Mr. & Mrs. Jones' phone number while they were there with us
at the track. It turns out they weren't impressed with it - they don't even have
cell phones themselves. They don't like them. �
Damn. �
They are so cool they don't even HAVE cell phones. �
I never even thought of that angle. �
SCORE:
Jones's: 3
Me: 0 �
I spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to
downplay my obvious symptoms of heatstroke and insobriety while throwing money
around like it was candy. The idea was that if they see me throwing money
around, it would mean that my business must be doing really well, and I would avoid the need to do things like brag and lie. This seemed like
a pretty smart plan at the time. �
Mr. Jones and I had fun catching up on old times and
comparing notes about work. I was satisfied to learn that he had many complaints
about our old office, and that things there were just not very good. It turns
out that a lot of people have left the company, and that moral is pretty low. He
even said that it was a good thing that I left when I did, because after that,
things went to hell. �
That's what I wanted to hear. �
SCORE:
Jones's: 3
Me: 1 �
And then....
Mr. Jones: "So, business is going pretty well?"
�
Me: "Yeah."��� *throwing money at
passing horses* �
Mr. Jones: "Cool. Glad to hear it. You get lots of
free time?" �
Me: "Oh, Sure. I make my own schedule, after all."�����
*blows nose with $20 bill and discards on ground*� *sniff* �
Mr. Jones: "Great. Hey, you wanna hit the casino
with me on Monday? I am getting in on a poker tournament." �
Me:�� *retrieves $20 bill and wipes on
pants - puts back in pocket*�� "Sure, I'd love to." �
Girlfriend: *angry look*
Mr. Jones: "Great. Give me a call on Monday. You have our number, right?"
Me: "Yeah, lemmie check...." *reads listing in cell phone* JARSLANK SLAPTYDANCE_?
Me: "Yep."
�
SCORE:
Jones's: 3
Me: -5 �
Oh, goody. �
I can't wait to see how that is going to turn
out.
�
Anyway, gotta go now - I have to go buy some stylish clothes and do some research on what this game called "poker" is.
Wish me luck! � � �
(!!セキュア!!)
By the end of the day I had managed to lose $30 worth of beer, lose every race I bet, bet more money than I had budgeted, lost my ability to think rationally, pickled my brain with intoxicants, caffeine and cold medicine, sun-baked to the point of hallucination and agreed to do most of this again on Monday. Nice job. The only thing I didn't do was vomit, which I count as a major success.
By the time my girlfriend and I left the track I was already getting a first-class hangover, and we were on our way to have dinner with her parents. I'm quite a catch.
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