The worst kind of postponing

Long story short: Georgia woman on death row, scheduled to be executed on February 25, 2015 lives to see another few days on account of inclement weather postponing the execution.

This is of course, the woman I brogged about almost two weeks ago, whose requested last meal consisted of some Burger King Whoppers and a whole shitload of buttermilk and buttermilk products, and I accused of basically trying to turn herself into a Left 4 Dead boomer.  So that her goal was to get fat, bloated, and full of gross disgusting waste for her to expel upon expiration, in an attempt to get the final laugh against the legal system that saw fit to put her to death for murdering her husband nearly 20 years ago.

Anyway, I can’t help but feel that this had to have been a devastating blow to the boomer-to-be here.  Sure, there’s the perspective of that she’s going to get a few extra days before the re-scheduled execution, but to me, that’s a few extra days to wallow in misery and postponed dread of maybe possibly having accepted death, only for it to be drug out for another four days.  After all, the state did deny her final bid for clemency, I can’t imagine that a few extra days is going to make anyone change their minds.

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Mega Uber dream

Recently, I had a dream in which I woke up feeling very aggravated.

I dreamt that I was riding a Megabus somewhere, and that somewhere along the line, while in Georgia, I got left off the bus and stranded behind, due to someone’s negligence.

For whatever reason, Megabus was operating in the same manner in which Uber operated, which is to say mostly via their app.  And while on the bus, when the employee was checking everyone’s phones to check their apps for confirmation of seat, somewhere along the line, the employee got ahold of my phone, and in some sort of scramble of people getting on and off the bus, I got pushed off the bus, and the bus took off without me.

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Do pants made solely for sagging exist now?

Of all the fashion trends that I’ve been privy to witness and even occasionally partake in, come and go throughout my entire life, there’s one that’s apparently defied the test of time, and somehow manages to exist even to this very day: sagging pants.

If you were to ask me where sagging pants seemed to originate from, I’d have said Kriss Kross.  My girlfriend (I know, right?) says that sagging pants originated in prisons as indication of being a bitch to someone else.  Really though, regardless of which of those are right, if either are true, the fact remains, why is it even considered cool enough to where so many people still do it to this very day?

This is one of those things that I’ll never understand, nor do I really want to understand.  I will always consider a person who willingly lets their underwear-clad ass hang out while their pants are literally draped underneath their butt cheeks as a low-life and someone I probably won’t have any interest with associating with.

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When phrases change meanings with the times

The last time I was up at my parents’ house, I was rummaging through some old personal effects, and came across an old binder of basketball cards.

It’s funny to admit this nowadays given the fact that they royally suck, and have been more or less the laughing stock of the NBA over the last decade or so, but back in the 90s, I was a huge New York Knicks fan.  John Starks, Anthony Mason, Charles Oakley, Derek Harper, and of course, the franchise himself, Patrick Ewing.  Loved them all.  Rooted for the Knicks against everyone, including Michael Jordan and the Bulls.  I felt sports-heartbreak in 1994, when the Knicks came so close, and lost to Hakeem Olajuwon’s Rockets in the Finals.  Was even too young to understand the magnitude of the OJ Simpson police chase, and was more irked that a championship game was being preempted.

The point is, I had a ton of Knicks basketball cards in this binder.  Primarily Patrick Ewing, because he was clearly the primary star of the team.  And while flipping through the sheets and sheets of Ewing cards, I came across this particular Ewing card from a ’95-96 Fleer set.

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While trying to be the prodigal son

Long story short: my parents’ separation isn’t going that smoothly.  Big surprise there.  My sister and I have been doing everything we can from afar, but there will always be limitations to what we can do for them, without actually being them, or at least, being physically present with them while we try and do things for them.

Naturally, the whole ordeal is often exasperating, and leaves the both of us on the phone with ourselves, venting to one another about just how they could possibly drive us even more up the wall than they already are.  Ultimately, the conversations steer back to the fact that they’re our parents, and we’ll do whatever it is we can to make sure that they’re okay, because that’s what supposed good children do once they’re adults, they help their parents.

To those paying attention, know that recently my bank account took a fairly substantial hit, on account of some decisions that my parents made, without necessarily doing enough (read: any) checks and balances to what repercussions may come about with spontaneously changing bank accounts.  Although the incident from a few days ago wasn’t the first time that this had occurred, it was undoubtedly the worst, seeing as how it completely zeroed out that particular bank account and rendered my daily purchases and ability to pay bills compromised until repaired.

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I give it two days, if not already

Impetus: MARTA introduces hi-tech “public bathroom of the future” at Lindbergh Center station. It is allegedly vandalism-proof, loiter-proof, digitally monitored in a variety of manners, and basically gives users pretty much nothing to do but do their business and leave. Hopes are that it becomes successful, and sets the standard for public restrooms to be implemented in transit stations all across the world.

Bahahahahahahahaha. MARTA.


Okay, now that that’s out of the way; it’s like I could switch my brog to feature absolutely nothing but stories about MARTA, and I could probably make like three posts a day for the next year or so.

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This, is what I get for trying to be a good, dutiful son, and try and protect dad and mom from the evil bill collectors that they’re not entirely sure of whom exactly they all are.

I expected another round of potential overdraft dings, but certainly not to the magnitude of completely wiping out this particular bank account.  Color me surprised when at dinner, I’m embarrassingly told that my card has been declined, and the mixed simultaneous feelings of dread and humility, before they were both drowned out by unadulterated anger.

Thanks dad and mom!

Continue reading “Envy”