6th Sense

As people celebrate remember the 5th anniversary of the 2001 6.8 Nisqually Earthquake, I think back to where I was 5 years ago and what I was doing when "the big one" hit.

It was Winter Quarter 2001 at Western. I had an Accounting 240 exam at 10AM that morning--I finished my exam in 40 minutes. After the exam I ran back up to my dorm room to get my laundry gathered and sorted for the 5-hour marathon that was Laundry Day. Fortunately for me, the laundry room was a few doors down from my own so eyeing the availability of washers and dryers was as easy as sticking my head out the door. As I sat waiting for the next washer to free-up, I was hunched over my computer playing Counter-Strike. I had just been fragged when my pot-head roommate Ryan awoke from a small coma and asked me, "what was that?" I asked him "what?" And then the Earth shook.

It was quite possibly the weirdest thing I've seen a human do. Like catfish moving violently, chickens that stop laying eggs, bees fleeing the hive, or dogs barking or whining for no apparent reason, my roommate had exhibited an animal-like reflex sensing the earthquake before it occurred.

Five seconds after the earthquake, my roommate Ryan returned to his coma only to return 2 hours later when his friend Jason showed up at the door. Before Jason even entered the room, my roommate Ryan sat-up in bed and indicated it was time to "smoke a fatty."

Tipping

This is one of my favorite scenes from "Resovoir Dogs"

MR. WHITE: I don't tip because society says I gotta. I tip when somebody deserves a tip. When somebody really puts forth an effort, they deserve a little something extra. But this tipping automatically, that shit's for the birds. As far as I'm concerned, they're just doin their job.

MR. BLONDE: You don't have any idea what you're talking about. These people bust their ass. This is a hard job.

MR. WHITE: So's working at McDonald's, but you don't feel the need to tip them. They're servin ya food, you should tip em. But no, society says tip these guys over here, but not those guys over there. That's bullshit.

MR. ORANGE: They work harder than the kids at McDonald's.

MR. WHITE: Oh yeah, I don't see them cleaning fryers.

I've Made a Huge Mistake

This morning on my way into work I stopped by the grocery store to pick-up some cough drops to help suppress the annoying and lingering sore throat my girlfriend gave me (she thinks it's cute when she passes her colds on to me--they impact me 10x more than they do her, yet it's still cute when I'm in the fetal position bundled under my sheets begging for the snot in my nose to stop running--yep, really cute). Anyhow, as I was letting my car cool down I noticed a guy across the lot looking over my car from a distance. I didn't think much of it and proceeded to turn her off and lock her up.

As I was walking into the store the same guy eyeing my car approached me from behind and asked if my car was turbocharged.

I could have said "no" and walked away, but instead I said "yes" and it was at that moment when the 'S' was rolling off my tounge that I realized I had made a huge mistake.

For the next 10 minutes I was bombarded with questions relating to how I managed to shoehorn a turbo kit in a tight engine bay or how fast my car goes or how much power it makes and comments of how any type of Honda/Acura are more powerful than V6's/Ford's/Mazda's, how his car would beat me in a street race, how he's only working as a landscaper until his dreams of being a fully-sponsored race car driver come true, how he's outrun every sheriff or state patrol car, and on and on.

Needless to say, I got sick of his talking and reached into my pocket and pretended as if I had received an important voicemail and that I ought to be getting on my way. He proceeded to follow me back to my car and he soon realized that I would be on the road and probably to never speak to him again. He asked that I write down his cell phone number so that we could speak again he could tell me his car was better than mine. I pulled a pen and my business card out of my pocket and as I was getting ready to write down his number, only to toss in my glovebox later, he asked why I just didn't give him my business card. And so I did.

S T U P I D !

Any day now I expect a call from this guy on my work phone or possibly an e-mail or possibly a personal visit if he can put the numbers and letters together. This is what I get for being sick and needing cough drops, this is what I get for being an idiot, this is what I get for having a sexy car.

Mt. Dew Saves

A goldfish gets its bowl drained of its water, then the water gets replaced by Mountain Dew and the goldfish dies. The Mountain Dew is then drained and replaced with water. The goldfish is still dead, but is ressurected with a 9 volt battery.

WTF!?!?!

My Life. My Card.

The following questionnaire was ripped-off from an advertisement I saw in GQ.

MY NAME:
Jessie

CHILDHOOD AMBITION:
MLB Pitcher or Rock & Roll Drummer

FONDEST MEMORY:
Too many to list

SOUNDTRACK:
Something with a bass line that grooves

RETREAT:
To my room or the Oregon/Washington coast

WILDEST DREAM:
Any instance of deja vu

PROUDEST MOMENT:
Graduating from the UW

BIGGEST CHALLENGE:
Life

ALARM CLOCK:
Circa Survive - Juturna

PERFECT DAY:
Waking up next to my girlfriend, bagel and cream cheese breakfast, playing music for a few hours, a grilled sandwich, throwing a wrench on my car, an evening with my girlfriend

FIRST JOB:
Delivering newspapers

INDULGENCE:
White Cheddar Cheetos or White Cheddar Popcorn, a Long Island

LAST PURCHASE:
GQ Magazine, cough drops, yogurt

FAVORITE MOVIE:
Saving Private Ryan

INSPIRATION:
Mom and Dad

MY LIFE:
is about making other people happy

MY CARD:
is the mail, expected delivery is 4-6 weeks

Sprint for the Win

This is one of my favorite commercials from Super Bowl XL.