i realize that some people may not like Shawn Oakman because of this or that, but i guarantee you that cat's not falling to the end of the fourth round. I hope he does, because I'm a carolina fan, but there's no way a DE that big and fast will last that long. He's kinda like Julius Peppers physically. except bigger.
I had my drink. Since Megatron's Mistress had to do something during the presentation, I thought it would be a good time to grab some food.
There was a macaroni and cheese bar in the back, which I was totally excited about. Unfortunately, I didn't really know what to do. There were three pots of macaroni and cheese, and all of them were closed. I opened each, and none of it was touched. I wasn't sure if it wasn't ready, or if we weren't allowed to touch it or anything, so I asked a group of Indian people near the table if I could have some. They said yes.
Wasting no time, I started dumping macaroni and cheese onto my plate. As I did this, the Indians started laughing at me. I could think of only three reasons why they would do this:
1. I wasn't supposed to touch the macaroni and cheese.
2. It was amusing to see a fat man such as myself hoarding all of the macaroni and cheese.
3. They poisoned the macaroni and cheese to avenge their ancestors from being driven off American land.
I was fine with all three possibilities, so I took my macaroni and cheese back to the table and began scarfing it down. Megatron's Mistress came over minutes later.
Megatron's Mistress: Do you like the macaroni cheese?
Me: NOM NOM NOM NOM!!!!
Megatron's Mistress: Which kind did you get?
Me: NOM NOM... wait, there's more than one kind?
Megatron's Mistress: Yeah, there's four-cheese, buffalo chicken, and I forget the other one.
Me: THEY HAD BUFFALO CHICKEN MACARONI AND CHEESE!?!??! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
So that's what those bastard Indians were laughing about. They saw me scooping inferior macaroni and cheese onto my plate, and found it delightfully amusing that they would have the buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese all to themselves.
Mark my words, Macaroni Indians, I will have the last laugh. Four hundred years from now, one of my ancestors will poison all your buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese. Muhahahaha!!!
3. The Least Interesting Man in the World:
As I was eating macaroni and cheese, Megatron's Mistress pointed a co-worker of hers out to me.
Megatron's Mistress: You know those Most Interesting Man in the World commercials? See that guy? He's so boring that everyone secretly calls him the Least Interesting Man in the World.
Me: He has no tattoos on his body. Not even fake ones. He has a pet hamster. His favorite snack is skim milk.
Megatron's Mistress: Hahaha.
Me: He watches reruns of Matlock on weekends. He goes to sleep at 9:30 every night. He reads the encyclopedia for fun.
Megatron's Mistress: LOL, hilarious.
Me: He's the least interesting man in the world! "I don't always drink beer, but when I do, I make it an O'Douls."
Megatron's Mistress: HAHAHAHA that's the funniest thing I've ever heard.
You know what's funny? I never said any of that. My mind was focused solely on the macaroni and cheese - even though it wasn't of the buffalo chicken variety. What can I say? I love macaroni and cheese.
4. Newest Employee:
I spent the rest of the night talking to Megatron's Mistress and her co-workers. The exception being when she had to do work stuff.
On one such occasion, she was talking to someone. I stood next to her in the hallway. As people filed out of the convention, they shook her hand, her co-workers hand, and then my hand. I thought I'd have some fun with this.
Random Convention Person: Great presentation.
Me: Thanks for coming!
Random Convention Person No. 2: Very impressive.
Me: Thank you, thank you, yeah, we hope you'll come by when we're back in Philly next year.
This continued until Megatron's Mistress saw what I was doing and scowled at me. I guess I won't be working for her company anytime soon.
I went home a few hours later. Just as I had problems finding the convention, I encountered major issues getting out of the city.
I tried following the directions as best as I could, but some streets didn't have signs, so I had no idea where to turn. Nothing pisses me off when there are no signs to tell you which street you're on. Seriously, just put up a f***ing sign. I know the city of Philadelphia is bankrupt because of the crooked politicians and ridiculous business tax codes, but how much can a f***ing sign cost? Fifty bucks? That's tip money for 10 Tom Collinses.
Anyway, I was on Broad Street, and I had to turn onto something call the Vine Street Expressway, but I didn't see the tiny sign they had for it until it was too late. I would have backed up or made a U-turn, but there were cop cars on the street. So, I thought it'd be easier to make a couple of turns and come back to Broad Street going the other way.
I made a right, a left and then another left. I expected to see Broad Street, but I drove into the slums of Philly instead. I was looking around to see where I was when I spotted this black dude wearing a sleeveless shirt. He was just standing there, leering at me.
Thinking I was going to either die or get challenged to a dance contest, I hit the gas. I kept making turns, but I couldn't find f***ing Broad Street. I yelled, "I f***ing hate downtown, I'm never coming down here again - not even for hot chicks who like fantasy football, and buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese!"
Fortunately, it was at that moment that I realized that I was actually on Broad Street, and the Vine Street Expressway was coming up on my left. I was saved.
Twenty-five minutes later, I was back in my neighborhood. I was hungry - even macaroni and cheese can hold me over for so long - so I stopped in at Wawa to buy a sandwich. When I walked in, I was pleased to see the hot red-head that I couldn't talk to because of Owl Girl about a month ago.
I guess the hot red-headed chick was impressed with the dress shirt and suit pants that I was wearing, because when I ordered my sandwich, she said, "You look good, where are you coming from?"
I look good? Score! Now, if only she had put roofies in my sandwich...
6. Asian Waiters:
The next day was pretty interesting. This cute chick came over my house to interview me for her class. She had to write a profile of someone in the journalism field, so she chose me, since she knew me through a mutual friend.
I was not taken advantage of, unfortunately, but this was probably a good thing because I had to go to my sister's birthday dinner afterward.
As you all know, I'm a big fan of food, but I wasn't particularly looking forward to this dinner because it was at a Chinese restaurant. I'm always weary of eating Chinese food because you never know what mystery sauces they put in their food. Like, I think eating the rat meat that McDonald's calls a "hamburger" is probably safer.
Actually, I find that eating all Asian food can be quite treacherous. And interacting with the waiters is even worse. My cousin Steve shared a horror story about a recent trip of his to a sushi joint. When he walked in, the Japanese waiter asked him a weird question:
Japanese Waiter: Soup or wata?
Steve: Soup or water? What kind of question is that?
Japanese Waiter: Do you want a soup or do you want a wata?
Steve: Uhh... actually, I want soup.
Japanese Waiter: Rearry? You want a soup?
Steve: Yes. I want soup.
The Japanese waiter brought the soup over to Steve minutes later, and it was this goo with conspicuous random stuff floating around in it.
"I guess you're not supposed to get the soup," Steve told me. "They were really surprised that I chose the soup over the water."
I wasn't taking any chances. Our Chinese waiter went around the table, asking us if we wanted Wonton soup or some sort of vegetable soup. Things got a bit complicated when he got to me.
Chinese Waiter: Do you want a Wonton soup or a vegetabre soup?
Me: Nah, no thanks.
Chinese Waiter: Wonton soup or a vegetabre soup?
Me: I don't want soup.
Chinese Waiter: You want a Wonton soup?
Chinese Waiter: Wonton soup?
Chinese Waiter finally got the message and walked away. Steve, who felt my pain, joked, "I think the default is Wonton soup. You may have been the first person not to order soup here."
You're damn right. I'm not getting poisoned by shady Wontons, or bonbons, or whatever the hell those things are.
7. Other Walt:
Saturday was mostly uneventful. I went out to dinner with some friends, which was cool. I want to discuss what happened a couple of hours beforehand, however.
I met this chick at my Halloween party last year. She's a skinny but cute 19-year-old with long, brown hair. Nothing really happened there, and the last time I talked to her was during the Astoria party when we exchanged a few texts.
I actually forgot about her, so I was shocked to see that I received a text from her Saturday:
Text Chick: Hey are you guys going out tonight?
Weird. Who's "you guys?" And I wasn't going out because I wanted to go to bed early because of football the following day.
Me: I'm not going out tonight because I have work tomorrow. You should come to the Halloween party though. I sent you an invite.
Text Chick: When is it? Is Freems going?
Who the hell is Freems? I guess Text Chick thinks she's texting someone else, quite possibly another dude named Walt.
How dare another Walt game a cute chick that I was once somewhat interested in? This means war!
Me: Not sure about Freems. It's on the 28th.
Text Chick: I can't go on the 28th because I'm babysitting. I was hoping it would be on the 29th.
Me: That's too bad. You're always babysitting.
Text Chick: Haha no I'm not. But yeah that blows dude. All right I'm gonna text Freems.
Me: OK have fun tonight.
Text Chick: Wait, are you at home?
Text Chick: Home home, or dorm home?
Me: Home home.
Text Chick: Boo. Then I guess I'll see you tomorrow :-(
Me: OK, see you then :-)
What I would give to see the look on Other Walt's face when she showed up unannounced the following day and asked why he didn't go out Saturday night.
Hey, I need something to make me feel better about myself. This Other Walt is probably getting roofied and raped by her as you're reading this, and all I can do is sit here, type random crap, and think about the time I almost ate buffalo chicken macaroni and cheese.
And now I'm depressed.
Jerks of the Week for Oct. 24, 2011
JERK OF THE WEEK: Jerks of Megatron's Mistress Weekend
I had a rather interesting weekend recently. It all started last Thursday when I met up with a girl I'd like to call Megatron's Mistress.
One of the perks of running this Web site is meeting hot chicks who love to play fantasy football. They're rare, but they're out there. I wrote about one a year ago when Awesome Kelly in Arizona came to visit.
Another such girl is Megatron's Mistress. That's her fantasy football team name because she loves Calvin "Megatron" Johnson, since she went to Georgia Tech. We've been communicating over e-mail for more than a year, talking about football and awesome TV shows like Mad Men and The Walking Dead.
Two months ago, Megatron's Mistress told me that she was coming to Philly for a work convention. I suggested that we should meet up, and she told me that I should attend her convention. She also mentioned that there would be food and an open bar there.
Free food, free alcohol and a hot chick who loves fantasy football? The only way a night like that could get any better is if some random hot girl roofied me and had her way with me against my will.
The only downside is that this took place downtown. For those of you reading this for a while, you know that I absolutely hate downtown Philly. Bums scare the hell out of me, I can't parallel park, and one-way streets confuse me. Now it's even worse because these smelly #Occupy idiots are protesting everywhere, accomplishing nothing whatsoever, as all hippies do.
I drove downtown, and naturally, I got lost. I had to call my friend Josh for directions. I eventually found it, but was a half hour late. I met Megatron's Mistress for the first time, and then encountered a bunch of jerks...
1. The Open Bar:
I hit the open bar right after I said hi to Megatron's Mistress. They apparently had everything, so it took me a few minutes to decide what to order. I went with a Tom Collins for some reason. The two bartenders laughed.
Bartender 1: Bwahahahahaha!
Bartender 2: Bwahahahahahaha!
Me: What? I want a man's drink!
Bartender 1: Bwahahahahaha!
Bartender 2: We don't know how to make a Tom Collins.
Wow. How did you become a bartender without knowing how to make a Tom Collins? Granted, I went to Penn State for six years, so I know all about alcohol, but that's pathetic.
I had to explain it to them. Like, I actually had to guide them through it step by step. I would have ordered something else, but they just pissed me off. Unfortunately, it took them 10 minutes to make one because one of the bartenders had to get some Sour Mix.
I didn't tip them. It took me a year to get my drinks, and the smallest bill I thought I had on me was a $10. I wasn't going to give them a $10 tip for a 10-minute drink.
At any rate, I got another Tom Collins about half an hour later. The bartenders didn't laugh this time, but I actually overheard them talking to each other:
Bartender 1: Did this guy tip us?
Bartender 2: Nope.
Fumbling through my other pocket, I found a $5 bill and pulled it out so they could see it. They quickly made me my Tom Collins, and that was that.
I wonder what they would have done if they thought they weren't getting tipped. Would they have spat in my drink? Maybe - but I'm sure I would have had to guide them through doing so step by step.