Just A Little Bit Of History Repeating

Sigh. Another Monday, another bout of mind-numbing depression. Another hangover from watching the cruelest joke God ever played on mankind: The Browns. And now I sit here asking the one question that every Browns fan asks an average of, oh, 12 times a season.

"Why do I do this to myself?"

It defies science, really, that hundreds of thousands of us put ourselves through the same emotional train wreck every week. It goes, from what I can tell, something like this:

Monday: The second-worst day. Sundays are, not surprisingly, the worst. Monday you wake up tired after crying yourself to sleep. The day begins with denial (was it all just a horrible, horrible, dream?) and generally culminates with demands for the resignation of at least one player and usually the coach. Then you're forced to watch two halfway decent teams play REAL football that night. Which is just cruel, in my opinion.

Tuesday: You wake up tired after crying yourself to sleep. However, you finally feel strong enough today to read an article or two about the game and watch a few highlights. This is typically when the nausea sets in. That asshole Bills fan in accounting decides that it's safe to come up and chat with you about Sunday's game. He is very wrong. You spend the rest of the day saving porn to his public folder and thank your lucky stars that you don't have to watch football tonight.

Wednesday: You wake up tired after crying yourself to sleep. You put on a brave face, though, because today it's time to start scouting this Sunday's opponent. Hopefully they have a lot of injuries, because you KNOW the Browns will. In fact, you're waiting for a report that in their first day back at practice, Kellen Winslow accidentally ran over Braylon Edwards's hand and Josh Cribbs's head with a snowmobile and Brady Quinn was injured during a knife-throwing drill (kids will be kids.) Despite every shred of evidence to the contrary, you start getting your hopes up again.

Thursday: You wake up refreshed. You also must have suffered a small stroke in the middle of the night, because you now wholly believe that there is NO way the Browns are losing this week. You even go so far as to make a bet with the asshole Bills fan in accounting, who you already owe $50 bucks worth of Blimpie sandwiches. You buy another favorite Browns t-shirt since your old one has been reduced to ashes in your friend's portable grill. Bar patrons resurrect the cheers of "Here we go Brownies, here we go," and you reply with "woof woof", even though you know you sound absolutely retarded. You decide the third-string Browns could annihilate either of the teams playing Thursday night.

Friday: You completely forgo work projects to study film from last season and coordinate the most elaborate tailgate yet. You spend hours posting predictions and threats on the opposing team's blog in all capital letters. Although it is still two days away, you have serendipitously come up with the final score of the game, which you yell to anyone within earshot. You consider a Browns tattoo again.

Saturday: You project all of your Browns-related hopes, dreams, fears and excitement onto the Ohio State Buckeyes. They lose. You quickly get over it because the Browns are going to destroy tomorrow and you didn't even go to that college anyway.

Sunday: You watch in horror as your favorite team on the planet plays exactly like they played the previous week. You get drunk. You cry yourself to sleep.

Now repeat.

Remember When Shopping Was Fun?

In the good old days, my mom and grandma used to take me on what I consider quite extravagant shopping sprees. You know, kinda like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, except we were at an Abercrombie & Fitch somewhere in Toledo, not a boutique on Rodeo Drive. Also, I wasn't a prostitute.

Anywhoozle, shopping used to be fun. Lately, it's become quite unpleasant. Not hot-poker-to-the-sphincter unpleasant, mind you. But maybe stepping-on-a-discarded-prophylactic-in-sandals unpleasant (Only one of those scenarios has actually happened to me. I'll let you guess which one. Hint: I think I have toe crabs.) I believe this decrescendo of fun is happening for two reasons. One: I am only shopping for things I NEED. The things I WANT are reserved for Christmas gifts or shoplifting. Two: I'm shopping with my own money. Which...well...sucks orangutan ass, really.

The purchase I currently NEED to make is a new coffee table. The glass top cracked during an unfortunate piping-hot Lean Cuisine incident. My brother, the genius, exacerbated the situation by resting his feet directly on the crack. Now there's a giant shard of glass missing from the table (remember the giant shard of glass that killed Carl Bruner at the end of Ghost? Yea, like that) and it needs to be replaced. Of course, when you get a new coffee table, you have to get a new end table. And when you get a new end table, you have to get a new pair of designer jeans. It's just science, people.

So in the interest of being thrifty, I decided to scour Craigslist for coffee table sets. My first thought: the people on Craigslist are LYING ASSHOLES. They lure you in with words like "beautiful" and "like new" and then they show you the biggest flaming turd of a coffee table you've ever seen. My second thought: there's is a lot of crappy crap on this site.

For example, this is the posting I clicked on:

Like New Living Room Set

And this is what they are actually selling:

Like new? This shit hasn't been LIKE new since LIKE 1982. I honestly think I saw this living room set on ALF. The seller claims it was "really never used." Really? What the hell has it been doing this whole time? Occupying space in a time capsule next to some Air Supply albums and a Teddy Ruxpin?

Or how about this gem, posted as a "Bamboo Asian Coffee Table"

See something missing? Oh yea, the freagin' top. This pile of douche is trying to get me to pay for what I already have: a broke-ass coffee table. His suggestion? "Get creative and make a top for this guy or get some glass!" That's not selling a table. That's selling work. And I will pass.

Then there's this:

A fish tank table. Certainly a conversation piece. Although something about it struck me as a little fishy (HA! Yick. I disgust myself.) From the seller: "Never had fish in it. I paid $550 for it." Say what? You paid almost $600 bucks for the thing and never put fish in it? What DID you have in it, then? Turtles? Aquatic hamsters? Parts of dead hookers? No thank you.

Or how about this one?

I think it's a table. Maybe? And the seller's description is just about as unclear: "Was a display cube that is 32" square. Makes a great misc table. You pick up." A display cube? Did you jack this from the men's section at Kohls? Sorry. I no pick up.

I guess I'm starting to realize that even if I found something I liked, I'd always wonder about the previous owners and what they did on or around their table. For example, I GUARANTEE you that someone did blow off of this table:

And I can tell just by looking the below item that the seller probably hates gay people. I'm just sayin'.

And clearly this person beats their kids:

Okay, I don't know that to be true. Maybe I'm just getting tired of looking at other people's "barely" used crap.

But that picture reeks of child abuse.

It's Going To Be A Bright, Bright Car-Crashy Day

I've been late to work three days in a row. Did I oversleep? Nooooo. Did I spend too much time obsessing over my appearance? Noooo (it really doesn't take me too long to put on last night's jeans and not wash my hair.) So, you're probably wondering why I've been tardy all week. Aren't you? Just a little?

Sun glare. FREAKING SUN GLARE. According to the traffic bimbo on the radio, the reason I'm puttering down the interstate at an average of 7 mph is sun glare. Not a fiery, explodey, bloody, severed-limb-scattering car crash. Not a bridge collapse or deadly brush fire. Not even construction (and where I'm from, the roads are always under construction, even though there are still potholes the size of small aircraft every-freaking-where.)

No. I am in a four lane, bumper-to-bumper traffic jam because...ahem...the sun is bright? ARE YOU SERIOUS? Am I driving amid a sea of Powder people? Come on, you Vitamin D-hating sissies!

It's not that I enjoy driving directly into cornea-shearing sunlight. It's just that, being resourceful, I've found ways to deal with it. Sunglasses, for example, are a great way to combat the issue of sun glare and drive at a reasonable speed (which is over 50 mph on the freeway, if you were wondering). If you don't have sunglasses, pop into your local Big Lots and pick yourself up a pair. I guarantee that they're under $5 and probably have had only limited contact with insect parts or rat feces.

Don't have $5? Skip the sunglasses and just pull down your bloody visor. It may obscure your view a little bit, but not enough to slow you down to, say, Amish buggy speeds.

Don't have a visor? Squint your eyes a little. Drive in reverse. Better yet, kindly get your piece-of-crap car off the road and out of my way. Trade it in for a bike and ride that directly into oncoming traffic. You suck.

What, Two Posts A Month Aren't Enough?

What is with you people? I start dating someone, start being a little more artistic (read: making SHITTY pottery), start being a little more active (read: cramming my ass into some John Ritter shorts and thrashing about rather unathletically on a volleyball court), start getting writing work--and all you want to talk about is why I haven't posted lately? CAN'T YOU BE HAPPY FOR ME FOR JUST ONCE?!!

But alas, I do feel a small twinge of guilt--or is that gas?--about not posting lately. Honestly, summer is generally when I like to spend time outdoors and away from my computer, save for that healthy regiment of celebrity gossip blogs and food-related internet porn. And I imagine all of you are busy doing your own thing, which I imagine (ooh, I'm imaginative today) is a whole lot more interesting than the contents of this page at this very moment. Well, except for a handful of you. You know who you are, laaaaaame people.

I'm not promising much, since this blog has turned me into a pathological false promiser (liar is a bit harsh, doncha think?), but I hope to be able to get on here a bit more soon. Until then, hope all is well in your worlds!