Wub Wub Of Doom

Have you ever given anything thought to the side effects of modern day trends? Not like in Josie and The Pussycats where everyone was being brainwashed, I am talking like legit mental and physical health damage.

Let's talk about Dubstep for a minute. First of all, I don't really get it. What the fuck is dubstep? Isn't it basically just techno with a very predictable bass drop? It's not like we don't see it coming so why is it more exciting than regular techno? You don't get on a roller coaster and then get off going "Whoa man, I had no idea that first hill was going to be so intense!" Uhm duh and or hheellooooo. Anyways, me not understanding dubstep or its mass appeal is not my point. My point is the side affects it has on people.

1. They seem to lose any sort of color to their skin. Like they looked into the eyes of a basilisk and instead of going rigid they just lost any good taste in music.

2. The hair gets greasy. 'Nuff said.

3. Somehow their wrists diminish to about fifty percent their natural size. Don't believe me? Go to your nearest Hot Topic and grab the nearest obvious dubstep fan and take a look at their wrists. It is like their arms have been replaced with the branches from a willow tree.

4. The only adjectives they seem capable of using are words that should only be describing piles of garbage or dead babies. (filthy, sick, etc) They probably realize that is exactly how most people describe their music and are trying to make these words have a more modern day positive slang meaning (was that even a sentence?! You know what I mean...) so that eventually society will get confused and not know whether the people they are talking to actually like dubstep or not. Empires will fall and all the kittens will burst into flames.

5. This is the last and final sign that they are ill, when the hair on half of their head vanishes. There is no way of telling if this is an act done by choice or if it just falls out. We will probably never know for sure since it always seems to happen during the night when these kids are out snorting glow sticks and drinking code red mountain dew with other minors in someones garage.

If you or someone you know suffers from any of these symptoms, please see a doctor so you can start treatment.

Make an appointment today before it is too late. There is help out there and until we make the first move and tell our friends they suck and it's time to knock this shit off, it will only escalate.

My goal is to find a well known celebrity who has suffered from this epidemic and recovered and then get the rights to a Sarah McLachlan (because we all know that is the only way people will listen) to help spread my message of hope and salvation.

Skrillabeetus. It's never too late.

Where are you hiding the republicans?!

A couple of days ago Carolyn and myself were bopping around the coffee shop, doing our usual thing when this middle aged married couple comes in. Everything starts off normal.

The husband orders a small black coffee and the wife stares at the menu for about a week trying to decided. After a few minutes I ask her if she has decided on a drink yet and she looks me dead in the eyes and asks "Do you support Obama?"

BOOM: Red flag. Don't talk politics with tourists.

I kindly explain to her that I am not a very politically involved person and don't really have much of an opinion on either of the candidates for the upcoming election.

"Well, you need to vote for Romney. He is going to change this country!"

With a big fake smile on my face and a subtle hint of "go the fuck away" in my tone I tell her that due to my lack of knowledge on either candidate and how uneducated I am in the way of politics that I feel it is best that I do not cast a vote because I would be voting blindly and I fail to see how that would be helpful. Which is just my nicest way of saying, I really don't give a fuck. I know I should, but I don't. It is the same way I view personal hygiene and women's rights. Not interested. But even if I were going to vote blindly it sure isn't going to be for Romney. I am holding out for Rip Taylor to run, then I will vote.

She immediately snaps "Well, I REFUSE to buy ANYTHING in this coffee shop because you people support Obama and have an Obama flyer on that wall!"

"Ok ma'am! Have a great day!"

She continues...

"Yes ma'am! Have a great day!"

Still going....

"Of course ma'am! Have a great day!"

At this point Carolyn tries to explain to this bat shit crazy house wife who is clearly from one of the square states that the bulletin board holding the Obama flyer is a board for public use and as long as it isn't crude or offensive, it can go up and will stay up.

The woman finally just walks out and we both just look at each other "The fuck just happened?!' and bust out laughing.

We clearly didn't wait long enough to blatantly laugh at this woman as loud as humanly possible though because she heard us and came flying back in on her broom, looks me up and down and says "That flyer isn't the ONLY reason I refuse to buy coffee from you!"

I strap on my big (at this point very condescending) fake smile, look her in the eyes and simply say "Of course it isn't ma'am! You have a GREAT day!"

Subtle ya crazy bitch. So, you're a die hard republican and you're not headless. Clearly you have spotted that I am a homosexual with your keen observation skills mixed with the fact that I put on my BIG FAT FAGGOT charm the moment you told me to vote for Romney because one, I hoped you would take the hint and realize I would never vote myself into a position of having even fewer rights than I do now and two, just to piss you off.

What kind of a person wanders into an independent coffee house with chalk board menus and the smooth vocal stylings of one Ms. Jenny Lewis coming from the speakers and expects to find ANYONE behind the counter who is going to be all about voting Republican. Are you stupid?

In the future lady, you should know better. All you're going to find working in an independent coffee shop are Liberals, Homosexuals and Witches brewing up fresh batches of steaming free will and the dreaded gay virus.

Perhaps it would be easier for you to just stick to water because leaving your house seems far too stressful for you.

Also, a few hours later we noticed the Obama flyer was gone. I am worried she came back and took it along with a lock of my hair. I don't know what she would do with a lock of my hair but she is the last person I would want to have it in their possession. I've seen The Craft. I know how this goes.

Panic.

Dirty Hipster: It's a disease, not a choice.

We all know that when you go into a small little coffee shop you are going to find the dirtiest of pretentious hipsters behind the counter steaming milk and feeling superior to every single person they have ever crossed paths with.

I know I have always found myself annoyed with that hipster and found myself thinking "Chill dude. You steam milk and pour things into cups. It's not like you're job is really THAT important. It's not like you're an EMT or a blogger."

Then it happened. I became that dirty hipster.

Obviously, it wasn't over night. It was a slow process. I have always been a little "hip" if you will, but never to the severity I am currently experiencing.

When I first started at the coffee shop I was pretty much clueless to anything hipsters obsessed over. 

After a while I was buying a new iPhone. Then a Timbuk2 backpack. Then an iPad. I felt myself slowly understanding the way of the hipster and why the lifestyle was so consuming.

Eventually I found myself obsessing over designer wallets. I needed a Louis Vuitton wallet. I had to have it.

I bought a road bike and upon riding it thought to myself "this is literally so much better than any other bike I have ever ridden"

But, the final stage of the transformation was when I started actually telling people why my new road bike was so superior to their cruisers and mountain bikes.

I froze and pondered aloud....

"What the fuck have I become?!"

That is when I sat down and traced all of these things back....I realized something:

Dirty Hipsters don't get jobs at Coffee Shops.

Coffee Shops turn people into Dirty Hipsters.

I fear there is no turning back and that this is just who I am now. But I have learned the hard way and am able to share my discovery with the world. People be warned, being a Barista will change you.

If only I had had a crystal ball to show what was going to happen to me and how consumed by the dark side I would become so that I may have taken the necessary precautions to not become so loaded down with apple products and a deep rooted boner for dudes with mustaches.

Save yourselves my friends for it is too late for me.

Why My Job Is Better Than Yours: Part One

My life at coffee shop can be hectic some times. We are pretty much non stop busy at all times and it can be hard to remember to breathe let alone what drink you are making.

How do I survive? What makes it amazing?

Well for one, my boss. The owner of the coffee shop is a dream boat dipped in awesome and wrapped in candied bacon. Anyone rolling their eyes right now and thinking "what a kiss ass..." has clearly never met her and should just give in and be jealous. Anyone who has met her obviously knows what I am talking about.

Anyways, I have decided to start a series of posts every now and then about this woman and some of the things she says that keep me smiling and slinging those lattes for the common man.

Episode one: The Thirsty Grizzly.

John came in to the coffee shop one day with a fresh bag of delicious cherries and started chopping them up. He tossed them in the blender with some strawberry ice cream and blackberry syrup. Delicious.

Then he added (a bit too much) honey. No longer delicious. Thankfully Carolyn was there to offer her silver lining to the situation and help us realize the true nature of this beverage.

Obviously!

One day she will most likely be ruler of the free world.

Can I get a Spicy Kony Value Meal, to go?

You know, this Chick-Fil-A situation is about the dumbest thing I have ever heard of.

Dear homosexuals, you want to be treated fairly and be supported? Well, that is fair but other people still have their rights to freedom of speech and just because they don't support you doesn't mean you need to part your hair aggressively and go Z-Snapping in the parking lot of the nearest Chick-Fil-A.

Do you really think those employees have anything to do with it?

Do you think it's fair to attack them when they are just trying to earn a living at some crappy minimum wage job?

Do you really think shoving your sexuality in their face and pissing them off is going to open their eyes and make them suddenly realize: "Holy crap. This parking lot full of gay guys, who clearly have nothing better to do with their time, making out has changed my views and in no way angered me further!"

I fully understand how frustrating  it can be to deal with blatant intolerance in such a public fashion.

I am angry too.

But I also realize that we don't have the rights we desire. We don't get treated the way we should in far too many ways. It isn't fair.

However, corporate America, the catholic church, politicians and Donald Trump (he plays a part in everything, I just know it) have the upper hand here. They are the ones who can make our lives or break them.

You know how I like to get things (that can't be charged to my visa)? Patience and manners. Proving that I deserve them. Earning them.

When you were a kid at the dinner table with your parents and wanted ice cream for dessert, did you ask for it nicely or did you strap on a pair of roller skates, crotchless chaps and skate around the dining room table while blasting "Born This Way" by Lady Gaga until you got your way? Didn't think so.

I realize that gay rights shouldn't even be in question, but unfortunately they are.So be patient and be kind.

When some one is ignorant and rude to you and your knee jerk reaction is to put on your sassy little fag pants, turn into a screeching howler monkey and start spraying your moronic poorly thought out arguments in their face they simply walk away thinking "Yea, I was right all along. Fags are out of control and unnatural"

But if you simply respect a persons right to their own views and stop attacking them for thinking differently than you, they may start to realize that homosexuals aren't really that big of deal.

They don't support gays because they don't share the same views.

You don't support them for not sharing your same views.

Hypocrite.

Maybe I am just over thinking this...

It would probably be easier to just strap on my gayest of faces and update my status twice a day about how Chick-Fil-A is a brain wash factory producing an army of homophobes bent on world domination and in no way just a fast food restaurant...

Afternoon Tea: Attendance Mandatory

This summer there are a lot of British employees and tourists on Mackinac Island. It is something I had noticed but not really given any thought to. I enjoy tea and crumpets as well so if anything I just felt more comfortable.

It wasn't until my friend Hanna came in to the coffee shop and we got to talking about this sudden influx of Brits that I became suspicious. The further we discussed the more we pieced together and the more we pieced together the more aware we became. Obviously, the British are trying to take back Mackinac Island.

First of all, I have worked on this island for five years now and not once have so many British people been here all at once. Seems fishy.

Second, a large number of these employees were hired by a fellow Brit who has been in the states for years. I have seen Salt starring Angelina Jolie, I'm no fool. I know what's up.

Third, the Olympics are currently happening in London. Distraction. The entire world has there eyes on London which makes it the perfect time for them to strike us and attempt a siege.

Lastly, this year marks the 200 year anniversary of the battle of 1812 here on the island. I'm pretty sure
Elizabeth II has been Queen since then and is two hundreds years of bitter.

Four perfect examples of how and why the queen is most likely sitting in a conference room at this very moment surrounded by various influential people in the UK preparing to take back over.

The more I think about it, I am actually totally fine with Queen Elizabeth reclaiming Mackinac Island.

Due to my extremely charming nature I am confident in the fact that she would put me in a position of power.

Who wouldn't want to live under my rule? Everyone would be treated greatly and showered with glory. Unless you're a ginger, have bacne, own a single Tapout shirt, dislike anything I like or buy the last frozen burrito, you would be totally happy. Promise

The Plight of the Self Hating Gay

I have always been annoyed by the type of person who instantly loves another person based on one simple fact about them.

For example, me being gay tends to make me a target for the "desperate to be a hag" type of girl. The girl who just loves hanging out with gay guys because she views it as a social status. As if having a small army of fags who are like, so fetch and better than everyone around them will prove to the world she is also the most fabulous because she is part of the gang.

I'm sorry but Mary Ann shared an island with Ginger for three seasons and it in no way had me convinced that she wasn't a post op tranny with a secret fetish for balloon popping.

These types of girls need the kind of gay guy who is simply that, a gay guy. No other personality traits. No thoughts that weren't planted by MTV News. Nothing. A blank canvas for her to train. It's basically like adopting a small pedigree dog but you don't have to clean up its poop and you can take it to restaurants with you.

I am not very good at being that guy. I was when I was younger and hella fat because I was insecure and just liked being validated, as meaningless as it was. And I LOVED the look on my older brothers faces when I had a bunch of girls around me at all times. Then as I grew up and found out more about who I am as person I started to realize, I don't give a fuck what color you paint your nails and it should not take us all god damn day to find you a new sundress at the mall. I will give you 30 minutes to find one while I tenderly embrace and eat a food court pretzel and then I'm out. I will leave your ass there. 

Basically, I hate being gay. It's too much pressure and holy mother of fuck it is a lot of work.

At 24 years old I have lost all patience for these situations. When a girl comes up to me and the first thing she says is "Are you gay?! Oh. Em. Gee! I love gay guys!!!!" I immediately shut down socially and start planning my escape route because I know damn well that our thought processes and interests only have two to three things in common. The rest are polar opposites. She wants a talking Chinese Crested and I want the fuck away from her. So, I try and scare her off and prove right away that I am not that fabulous little homosexual she desires.

Usually being gross about my bowels scares them away. And lets be real, if you can't handle me telling you I have to poop then we could never be friends.

If that fails I just get mean. I subtly try and put her down or point out her flaws. Starting off slow until the dumb broad doesn't get it and then I just pull out the big guns.

What, you think that's mean? I shouldn't point out her flaws and make her feel bad?

Well, most of the world tells me on a regular basis that my homosexuality is disgusting and I should be ashamed of it and here is this girl throwing it my face. So, if I want to tell her "you can hardly notice her cankles in those sandals or her "side boob is sweating" or her "back fat looks like a hot young version of Al Roker" you can't stop me.

Boats! Boats everywhere!

The first yacht race of the summer has begun. Everyone be safe and swagger like it is going out of style.

Make me proud kids, make me proud.

Color Me Jaded

I don't know if it's because I have been working in customer service for so long, I just have an over active imagination combined with my quick and blatant judgements or if I am just a down right monster but I have been categorizing customers into various fields of my imagination and then sketching them down to their most simplified version.

This will most likely be an ongoing thing but for now, here are the first three.

1. Intergalactic Diabetes: The customer who makes you think to your self "Does it really make a difference at this point...?" Most commonly a woman between the ages of 35-55 and generally traveling alone. You want to feel sorry for her because she seems sad but you also want to tell her, just go for it. It's too late to turn back now.

 
2. The Tube of Exploded Biscuits: This is the type of customer who is very aggressive about what they want because they know you're staring at their stack of chins and making (correct) assumptions. The TOEB is generally the early stages of becoming Intergalactic Diabetes. They usually dress for the body type they wish they had and want other people to think they have. While fooling no one...

 3. Siamese Indie Kids: This is my new favorite type, the hipster couple. They are the type that are always side by side because they are convinced that together they are very interesting but when separated they are dull and predictable. The "you complete me" syndrome. However, they are wrong. Together or separate they are always bland and just like the hipster couple before them. The guy seems to feel the need to try and impress (or possibly intimidate?) by dropping various facts about himself and his lifestyle that he knows other hipsters would immediately attempt to one-up with something even more obscure and possibly non existent. But it's me and I don't give a shit. Then there is the girl, she never seems to have much to say but just stares at the boy. Probably thinking "he is so interesting....everyone is probably so jealous of me"

DO NOT WANT

Today was just another day at the Lucky Bean, for the most part. Everything was going awesome, slinging lattes, cracking jokes and pretty much just being charming as hell in general to help fill up our tip jar.

Then it happened.

It was about half way through my shift when it happened.

This stereotypical white trash family came in. Nothing too unusual at first. The mom was convinced she was an expert at ordering espresso and ended up just ordering a cup of coffee with so many pumps of flavoring and chocolate in it that I would be worried we gave her diabetes if it weren't for the fact that I know women like that have diet mountain dew running in their veins, not blood. So no worries.

The dad mumbles something that sounded like "dey took er jerbs" which I translated to: black coffee. He seemed content.

First son orders a frappe, which he misread and pronounced "Flappy." No big deal, I can keep myself together and not openly judge you. Just save it for later to put in my blog for everyone to judge you.

Second son orders lemonade, nothing funny happened. Not much can go wrong with lemonade and ice. Sorry guys.

Then the mom pays for all the drinks so I assume the third kid doesn't want anything. I take the cash and she tips me a couple bucks (which I found to be very generous since she was using her own money and not a Bridge Card). I wish them a good day and turn to clean up the prep area. After a few seconds I realize the third son is still standing there...

"Oh I'm sorry, did you want something to drink?" -Me

"What's in your Mango Smoothie?" - Jethro Bubba Jr, in a thick southern accent.

"It is a Mango Puree, ice and a splash of milk." -Me

"But...what flavors are in Mango?" -J. Bubs

"Uh, it's just Mango. No additional flavors..." -Me, trying not to explode with laughter

"Yea but what flavor IS Mango?!" -J. Bubs, looking frustrated

"Sir, uhm...a mango is a fruit. Have you ever had a mango...?" -Me.

At this point I am on the verge of tears. I am trying so hard not judge this poor guy who has never heard of a Mango before but at the same time he looks to be about 23 or so years old and I can't find a valid reason to go 23 years with out ever having come into contact with a mango or at least the general idea of what a mango is....

all I can think is:

But then I realize he could very easily be a distant cousin of Aaron McKinney or Russell Henderson and we all know that homophobia induced homicide is genetic. I should tone down the sassy gay voice that implies obvious judgement...but how do I finish his order with out speaking or moving?!

Then he opens his mouth again:

Does this dude think mangoes come from Mackinac Island...? No, he couldn't possibly...

Wait....why didn't the mom buy his drink? Hold up....where did the rest of his family go...? Where did this dude come from?!

Oh no. It can not be. This guy is not a human at all. He is an alien from some mangoless frozen planet disguised as a southern redneck to make people assume he is just slow and simple and not a blood thirsty martian out for smoothies and lynch mobs!

My mind halts and I realize it...
No...
Not today....why?!

I can fix this. I can keep Earth at peace. I believe in myself....

"Well, I could mix it with peach? A lot of people order mango peach smoothies!"

Come on under cover redneck ET, take the bait.....come ooonnnnnnn....

"Yea, I'll try that."

       SUCCESS!

Now, I don't know if I actually convinced him that I did not suspect him of being an alien or he just assumed he had scared me so badly that I would never tell another person. Either way, I win.

Besides, aliens don't use the internet. Science, obviously. 

Game On.

A few weeks ago Megan watched some insanely attractive dude hit on me.

I showed no interest.

He tried again.

No response from me.

He put his hand on mine and said "Lets go outside and smoke" in a way that was clearly meant to be flirtatious

What did I do? I through cigarettes at him and told him to have at it then ran away.

When the fuck did I become a celibate nun....? I mean, I know I put my little guard up because I am insecure...blah gay blah...don't want to get hurt, gay blahblah feelings. But I mean come on, man!

So, after a discussion and a few (all of the) beers Megan and myself have decided it is time for me to enroll at Whore Academy. The professor: Megan. The student: Cody.

I'm sure you're thinking "Oh sweet baby jesus this can not possibly end well." and you are probably correct.

Either way, being a good guy is fun and all but getting laid is more fun. So, Megan will be the Obi Wan to my Luke Skywalker and teach me the ways of proper lightsabering. 

The main reason for this decision is that for the sake of my own well being I have to stop being so damned sensitive. Like most of you know at this point, I am a magnet for the sexually confused and socially awkward. I have crossed paths with far too many dudes who decide to tell me in secret that they think they may love the peen and expect my guidance. Well due to my oddly misplaced maternal instinct I always care and want to help. Which leads to me developing feelings and then getting rejected when they have finally become comfortable and found some other dude.

I am basically the walking gay version of a Molly Ringwald film, and I will have no more of it. I am done being a tour guide through the Butt Secks Theme Park. No, I'm not even a tour guide. I don't get to ride the rides or see the attractions. I am the janitor. I clean up garbage and direct traffic. Fuck. That.

Now, I am not saying I plan to become some thunderous whore monster. But I am done putting so much emotion into everything. It seems like everyone is too self involved or blissfully unaware to what is happening to realize when I am like "yo mofo, my heart has a boner for you."

So in conclusion, Mr. Listen to you talk about your feelings and offer advice and guidance has retired. But, he can do house calls for those who have paid their dues and put in the time. Mr. I am super charming and ready to get down to business is taking the wheel on this struggle bus.

...whoa.

So, this probably isn't interesting to any one else but me. Or maybe everyone else already knew this and I am just slow as hell, likely.

But I just found out the lines on SOLO cups actually mean something. 

I mean, lets be realistic. We all know to just fill it to the top no matter what the liquid is. I just found it interesting that those lines I had never given any thought to before had a purpose.

It makes me wonder what else I have looked past that I should have given more time and thought to. Like, my self respect or that ugly baby I left at a fire station.

Anyways, I find it funny that SOLO would think that anyone drinking from these cups would measure a damned thing. Not exactly a lot of class at frat parties or various county fair beer tents across 'merica.

Coffee shop gem.

As you all know, I have been working full time at the Lucky Bean Coffeehouse on Mackinac Island this year. Needless to say I love it.

I have also decided to start blogging about the dumb people who come in.

For example:

Today, a mother and teenaged son come in. Mom orders a mocha, easy. Boom. Done. Happy Customer.

The son orders an iced coffee and takes a sip. I think nothing of it because that's what people do with drinks, they drink them. So I start cleaning up and then I hear it...

 "Excuse me?"

I turn around and look at her and she hands me her sons iced coffee.

"He doesn't care for this."

Naturally, I assume I have done something wrong when I brewed it and ask what exactly is wrong with it.

"Oh, its just doesn't taste anything like McDonalds!"

......what?

Of course at this point all I want to do is smack them both and tell them to leave.

But I can't. So I "kindly" explain that in a coffee shop that isn't affiliated with the coffee experts over at McDonalds House of Beans and Diabetes, an iced coffee is in fact cold coffee....with ice in it.

And then I loaded it up with milk and sugar and sent them on their way while I shook my head and pondered what is wrong with the world.  

Subliminal

I started reading Subliminal by Leonard Mlodinow tonight and I can already feel myself getting weird because of it. Something about having the unconscious mind and the ways in which it changes your behavior explained seems really cool....at first.

I am thirty pages in and I am already second guessing the reasons for every choice I have ever made and how aspects of my life and environment helped in making these choices.

By the time I finish this book I imagine I am not going to be able to make any decisions with out someone forcing me because I will be sitting there with a note pad taking my temperature, measuring my hair and reading the lyrics to the last ten songs I listened to just to see if any of these things played a part in weather I choose to eat swiss or cheddar cheese.

I already over analyze myself and worry far too much about everything to be reading a book that is just going to make it worse.

Whatever, so far it is very interesting.

Just promise me that in a few weeks when I have retreated to a fall out shelter...or a bubble that someone will come visit and make sure I am not chain smoking in a confined space. I doubt I will have given any thought to installing any sort of ventilation system.

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!

Like stupid gay, not gay gay.

Alright, so DC Comics has decided to make The Green Lantern a homosexual. To be honest I am at a loss with this.

At first I was annoyed because well, people need to stop making everything "gay." Especially in this situation. Unless these comic books featuring a gay Green Lantern are also going to depict graphic butt sex and the occasional drawn in cameo by whatever pop diva the gay community is obsessed with that week, I just can't see them being all that interested in reading a comic book. So basically, DC Comics has just managed to make a lot of lonely straight dudes feel really uncomfortable in their parents basement. Way to go.

Then I thought to myself: Well, a lot of kids read comics books and it might help a lot of sexually confused youth feel more comfortable with themselves. Oh wait, no. Now any kid carrying a Green Lantern comic book is going to be a target as well and the only self defense they will have learned from reading about the Green Lantern is to put on a big tacky ring and try to use it to make things happen. So, steal your moms jewelry and defend yourself with jazz hands.

Finally, I decided it was actually a very subtle homophobic move on DC Comics' part. I mean come on! You couldn't make Batman just admit he is gay? Batman already seems pretty gay so it would have made total sense. No, the new Batman films are way too lucrative to mess up the image of Bruce Wayne. So instead they make the Green Lantern a homo, conveniently after the movie came out and totally sucked.

"Whoa guys, that Green Lantern movie was pretty bad. How are we ever going to make a come back after that?"

"Oh I know, we will give him to the gays! The gays love men in spandex pants!"

Well, you're right DC. We do. But it doesn't change the fact that I am on to your ways.

Really....magical....?


Sigh. 

Attempts at adulthood

I bought a new cell phone and naturally got a new number. Most of you who know me know that I average about 3-4 cell phones a year and with each cell phone comes a new number. So, what makes this time so different?

Well the key factor here is that I actually signed a two year contract for a cell phone. Sadly, this is probably the most adult decision I have ever made. I have been a prepaid phone user for far too long. Naturally, when I signed this contract I had a small panic attack and died a little on the inside.

My point is, I am making my way towards becoming a functional adult in this crazy mixed up world. One small step for my phone bill, one giant leap for my personal development.

A lot of you are probably thinking, "Dis bitch for real? It's just a cell phone..." But trust me, at this point in my nearly 24 years of life I am way behind where I probably should be. And don't give me that "you're fine, you are who you are, yolo" peace loving bull shit.

I just felt the need to explain myself and make everyone aware of why my cell phone number changes so much. In case you were thinking I was a drug dealer or running from the law...well, I am really not that interesting. I just have Cellular ADHD and severe commitment issues.

Moving. On. Up.

Oh...what a night!

Last night I hung out with my new favorite person Michaella. To no ones surprise, shit got obnoxious.

The highlights:

Helping a Dominican girl learn English. How, you ask? By having her watch Baby Mama with subtitles. Great success.

Fixing the curls in a strangers handle bar mustache at the bar like the freaking mustache whisperer that I am.

Attempting to heat up a can of soup by putting the sealed can under hot running water and then realizing I don't own a can opener.

Waking up this morning to a text I had apparently typed to Stephanie that read "Not until Rob Schneider ties his shoes" and never sent.

Long story short, we are freaking awesome.  

Oh hey, Elliot Stabler!

Today some awkward teenager came in to the gallery and tried really hard to put the moves on me.

"You're beard is way hot, I wish I could grow one!"

"That piercing is so cute on you!"

"What are you doing after work?"

Three of my favorite quotes.

Don't get me wrong, I am not saying I was too cute for the kid, but he was no older than 16. I am not about to end up on some sort of list and spend the rest of my life having to introduce myself to everyone on my block everytime I move.

Sorry kid, not this time. But thanks for the boost to my ego!

Are you real?!

The other day I was working at the gallery. You know, selling paintings and feeling superior in general.

Then, out of no where in walks an angel. At first I thought to myself "Holy fuck Cody! Are you dead?! Is this heaven?! IF THIS IS HEAVEN WHY AM I STILL ON MACKINAC FUCKING ISLAND?!"

But no, I was not dead. The angel was real.

My little angel was a chubby little girl sporting a fake mustache with a toy gun across her back.

When I said hello, she stuck her hand out. Naturally I took hold to shake her hand and little did I know she had a toy zapper in her palm to shock people. I yelped and she pulled out a rock candy, popped it in her mouth and skipped away laughing.

She was perfection.

She was my hero.

I want to be her when I grow up.

Cody vs Natural Selection

This morning while I was still sleeping the fire alarm in our house went off. Not just the smoke detector, the giant alarm that rattles the entire house. Naturally my first reaction was to be annoyed that it woke me up.

I imagine most people would jump out of bed and figure out where the fire was then vacate the building in a neat and orderly fashion.

My reaction however, was to roll over and look outside to decide that if it came down to it I could jump out my second story window and most likely survive, then fell back asleep.

Thankfully I woke up a few hours later to find that the house had not burned down and that my beard was in no way charred. Phew.

So I learned that in any sort of emergency or epidemic I am certainly going to die if it happens while I am sleeping. 

Cherry Snow Cones

We currently have a school group in house and I am sitting here speculating many things about these kids.

For example, what are they doing with so many buckets of ice? I mean, they are like 8 years old so I assume they are not trying to keep their beer cold, none of them seem smart enough to perform any sort of operation to remove someone’s kidney and none of them seem athletic enough for a pulled muscle. So, I have ruled out the option that they are filling a bath tub with ice. Maybe one of them is running an under ground snow cone franchise from his hotel room and is cutting anyone who brings him a bucket of ice a small portion of his profit. If that’s the case, some one better be bringing me a damn snow cone. Cherry please.

Another thing, so far they have clogged like five toilets. How? These kids are like four feet tall and can’t weigh more than like sixty pounds. The toilets in our hotel could probably flush the better part of a discarded baby. So, what are these kids being fed that is causing them to clog so many toilets….and does it have anything to do with ice?! 

The presence of these children has raised more questions than I could have ever anticipated. However, I’m not sure I actually want answers. Unlike Jane Goodall, I am perfectly fine not knowing if it allows me to avoid being hit in the face with a turd or having to run for my life from some sugar crazed fourth graders out for blood (in my head the under ground snow cone business among Americas youth is very cut throat).

My Face: The Cat Feast

The other day I realized how and why I am single.

The answer? Texting.

When conversing on the phone or in person I can do a much better job of keeping my shit together and acting normal.

When texting I do the exact opposite. I become 2% self control and 98% special olympics. It is obviously worse when I am drinking and lose track of a few chromosomes. For example:

Stupid beer always taking over my brain.

I like Pinot and chest hair.

After being back for a week I have remembered why I love this island so much.

The people.

I have already made more new friends than I know what to do with and I pretty much love all of them.

Ryan Goslings look a like, who I very bluntly informed of this and proceeded to show him off to people to prove my findings accurate (vodka).

A boy who I am convinced may be part robot due to his very literal views and formal social interactions (bourbon).

A Sommelier who I told I had no idea what that is and then offered to braid his chest hair. He declined my offer and explained to me what a Sommelier is and how you become one. Sounds a lot like becoming a wizard...or cult member (all the bourbon). 

And my new personal favorite, the little blonde bomb shell who has random kitchen dance parties and works the desk with me.

In conclusion, fuck yes. 2012 is going to be one helluva summer!

Just another Rex Manning day

Well I am back on Mackinac Island and working full time!

However, after being unemployed and as lazy as humanly possible while still maintaining the pulse of a living person, working literally makes my entire body hurt. I feel like Lindsay Lohan doing court ordered community service.

I also learned that nothing will make you judge yourself and all of your posessions more than when you have to unpack everything in to a room you will be sharing with a british dude. Hopefully my very adult bed, Sesame Street lunch box, dinosaur sippy cup and star wars pajamas don't make him uncomfortable...or make him think I shop at Kid Diddlers R' Us....

Fun Fact: I am living in my usual house but am sleeping in the hotel for a couple weeks while we get the hotel up and running. Aside from having to live in two seperate yet equally old and creepy buildings, I feel like a freaking rockstar.

I just want to dance on my hotel bed in my underwear and sunglasses while drinking whiskey from a bottle and blasting Faith by George Michael.

If you don't know what I am talking about, we can't be friends.

Just how cute is it?

The answer is balls.

Cute as balls.

Does that make sense when you really think about it? Nope. But if it does make sense to you and you find the male ball sack to be "cute" then please identify yourself because chances are you belong on some sort of list.

Work it in to your daily phrases. It slides right of the tongue and when not over thought, just makes sense.

Someone asks you if you like thier new hair cut? Say "Yea, it's cute as balls!"

Someone asks if you if thier baby is cute? "Totes. Cute as balls"

Someone buys a pair of crocs and wants your opinion?

TRICK QUESTION!

"Those are ugly as balls"

See how it goes both ways? No?

Well, either you get it or you don't.

Thanks Evan.

(4am....enough said)

They like me, they really like me!

Just wanted to say thank you to everyone who takes the time to read my blog. I really appreciate it.

This was brought on by my friend Daniella kindly informing me that she and her boyfriend Jacob actually take the time to read and enjoy my sometimes humurous and possibly offensive ramblings.

My natural response was to say thank you and attempt to act modest and flattered when in reality I was panicking that everyone in the room was going to be suffocated by my rapidly inflating ego.

I felt like I had been freakin crowned Miss Universe.

Thanks guys!

All the flavuhs!

This past Thursday was Lindseys birthday and sweet baby jesus what an awesome day.

The day started with us wondering where the stray black guy had come from the night before and where in the hell had he bought his pants (imagine a hybrid blend of JNCO and FUBU). Finally we got our asses motivated and went to the mall where we, to no ones surprise I'm sure, ended up with matching outfits. We looked like the alternative version of Barbies Dream Prom.

If you are finding that you feel insanely jealous so far don't  worry, you should be.

After returning home we got dressed and then the bottles of wine started to arrive. Do I mean guests? No. The bottle of wine to actual guest ratio was so unbalanced that it probably would have turned Courtney Love into a born again christian because the proportions were something of a biblical nature.

And then BOOM: Birthday Cake. Let me just say it was huge and delcious enough for me to cut a chunk and hide it under lindsey's bed so I could find it in the morning and have breakfast in bed. (For explanation on cake logic see above paragraph about the all you can drink wine buffet). Anyways, I don't want to say too much about the cake or my phone is likely to get diabetes.

Then the best part of the night. The group trip to The Old Miami in Detroit, which it turns out was a veterans bar. Kind of wish I had known that before I dressed up like the poster child for the religious movements motivation to  abolish gay rights. And what was the FIRST thing that happened when I entered the bar you ask? I almost got kicked out for using what turned out to be the girls bathroom...thanks Nicole.

So finally we all settle in (by settle I mean scatter like roaches in the light leaving me to babysit a stack of coats and purses which I pawned off on a walking stick of cotton candy at the first opportunity) and watched the Air Sex Competition.

What the hell is an Air Sex Competition you ask? Imagine an Air Guitar Competition but instead of...well actually if that doesn't explain it to you then you need to go ask mommy and daddy where babies come from.

After the competition was over the birthday party proceeded to the stage for our very own dance party where I twirled some polish chicks and scowled at a cranky ginger. Then the bouncer came and told us that we need to "get down" which we were clearly already doing. Bouncer 0. Us: 1.

Naturally after that things get a bit fuzzy and I just remember declaring a middle aged black man my new best friend, kissing him on the forehead to validate our new found BFFness and the bartender repeatedly saying "Do NOT sass me Cody!"

Asking a drunk Cody who is sporting a bow tie to not sass is like asking MTV to actually play music. Never gonna happen.

In conclusion, I like wine and cake.

It was great to see everyone and I miss you kids already.

(Posted from phone. Forgive any spelling or grammar errors I may have missed)

The Great Escape

Megan and myself decided to take the month of April off the island. As it turns out this was a decision that was much easier said than done. We packed up our apartments and had to relocate all of our stuff into town. Anyone who is familiar with the hill up to the millennium building knows how much it would suck to move everything.

Several times during all of this I considered just burning everything I own and starting over.

So, I am down state with Megan at her moms house eating all the fast food I can get my hands on and watching more Jersey Shore than I am proud to admit.

We should probably be doing something productive like going outside and enjoying the nice weather but after so long on the island the world is big and scary.

Anyways, I am glad to be getting some real world (taco bell) in to my system before I get back to the island and start working 75+ hours a week (no taco bell).

Can't wait to see everyone once the season starts and am really happy to get to see all my non-island friends before the summer starts.

Dead Disco

So my trusty steed has finally died. And by steed I mean laptop and by trusty I mean shifty.

I have given my faith to an app. But who hasnt these days?

Anyways, I want to apologize for the spelling errors and any other mistakes I am sure to make with the english language.

Without a real keyboard....what an awful (first world) life. Lets face it, my fat little sausage fingers are not designed for this tiny touch screen.

This mobile blogging will probably end badly too. Who wants to place bets on how long it takes for a drunken blog post?

Ransom Riggs

I am very happy to know for sure that there will be a sequel to Miss Peregrines Home for Peculiar Children.

No clue on the release date, but it can't come soon enough.

You haven't read the first one? What the hell is wrong with you?!

Get off the computer and go read that book fool. It will make you feel like you're dancing in a field of flowers with Jim Henson and muppets. It's that good.

I also read an article that Tim Burton may be directing the film. At first I was like "Oh that could be cool."

Then I really thought about it...
Miss Helena Botham Carters House for Johnny Depp.

"Oh that would be way less cool."

Some Photographs

There has been a photo shoot that I have been wanting to do for some time now and I did some test shots today to get a better idea of what I am looking at project wise. The basic idea of the photographs is to display something meaningful to the model/subject on them with a projector like the photo above.

Also, I have been wanting to work more with make up and paints so I took a few skeleton shots.

There are a bunch more photos from both of these shoots that I need to edit. I will get them up eventually.

Release The Kraken

Well, I have decided to quit smoking. I was worried that I was going to go bat shit crazy and start attacking people but with this lovely little patch on my arm, well I am pleased to say it hasn't been that bad. As long as you don't count the fact that I have been eating everything in sight and on several occasions have considered rolling up a nicotine patch and smoking it.

I am two days in and haven't failed yet. Which is two days longer than I have gone with out smoking since I was fifteen years old. Fifteen years old, you ask?

Yes, fifteen years old.

You can take the boy out of the trailer park but you can't take the trailer park out of the boy.

Keep it street Sashabaw Meadows, keep it street.

Planet Hoth

We have been hit with a bit of snow here on the island which has made it very difficult to motivate myself to venture in to town out of fear of frost bite or getting lost and freezing to death. Obviously, I am being dramatic because I live less than a mile from town and it was only a little bit of snow. Either way, I don't have a pet Tauntaun that I can ride to town and crawl inside of in case of an emergency and am using that fact as an excuse to be lazy and avoid putting on pants.

Anyways, the free time has spun me down a rabbit hole of self evaluation and reflection. Which at first started badly because I started thinking about all the big plans I had for this winter:

1. Paint
2. Read
3. Write
4.Go to the gym
5. Eat healthy
6. Save money
7. A general task of getting my shit together

Then I started to cross reference the "To Do" list with the list of things I have actually done this winter:

1. Spend a couple hundred dollars on painting supplies
2. Not use the new painting supplies
3. Spend hundreds on a bookshelf of new books
4. Read three out of the 30+ books I bought
5. Write only text messages while drunk
5. Eat everything

6. Spend everything
7. What the fuck is a gym?!

Activate shame spiral of palm sweating, self hating and pants splitting proportions.

Well the more I thought about it the more I realized that I may not have done ANYTHING on my winter task list but all the time to myself has really allowed me to (go-go gadget hippie jargon) learn a lot about myself and what I want out of life. Not to mention that if the circus ever switched out their lions for 24 year old hot blonde chicks that were 1 part nicotine and 2 parts vodka I could easily get a job taming them.

With all that being said, I have made the decision to stay put here in Michigan and finish up school. I will be closer to some friends who kick ass and a few key members of my family. I spent a while toying with the idea of moving back to Seattle but the more I researched and thought it over I realized it is far more realistic for me personally to manage my life as a student here in Michigan (rent costs, tuition costs, the heartbreaking sense of homesickness while in Seattle, etc).

We all know how I often I change my mind and plans though. I have the attention span of a goldfish on speed. So if anyone hears or reads about me talking of other plans, please do call bullshit. A simple punch in the face will suffice.

Drifting

Ever have a friend that makes you feel like this?

 

Then one day something changes and you're faced with this?

 

Well, its probably best to call it quits.

Sorry it didn't work out for you and your friend.

I know how you feel.

The Flight of Marty Mcfly

Yesterday I took my first flight back in time. I boarded the plane in 2012 and landed in 1865 on Mackinac Island. I was hesitant to do so due to my severe fear of flying/heights, not to mention the plane that crashed a few weeks ago on its way to the island.

Anyways, I knew the plane was going to small, I just didn't realize HOW small. It was like climbing in to a sardine can, being launched in the air by a sling shot and hoping for the best. I ended up riding the plane with four kids from high school who were on their way home from some sort of sporting event and had clearly done this several times before. For them it was no big deal. For me, however, it was probably the scariest thing I have ever done. I couldn't stop shaking and/or sweating in places I didn't even know I could sweat from.

Great, surrounded by a bunch of 16 year olds who aren't even slightly bothered by this obvious death trap AND they play sports. I have never felt more like a tiny little girl.

And then came the Carriage ride back to my apartment downtown. Which to be honest was almost as scary as the flight. A horse carriage down snow and ice covered hills was really just me holding on for dear life as the carriage slid all over the road at full speed.

So after being gone for six weeks I am finally back home. It was nice seeing all my friends downstate but it's also very nice to be back in my own bed where privacy allows me to sleep in my underwear, drink coffee in my underwear and dance in my underwear. Six weeks of having to wear pants at all times can really bring a guy down.