Debbie Downer

One of the SR Squared duo asked me to join in the blog fun, and give them a change of pace with a guest post. I do feel that I’m somewhat connected to them, not only because Scott and I are often mistaken for brothers (the sibling kind, not the kind we’ll never be mistaken for), but I also share the SR nomenclature. Scott and I can recite quite proudly how we’ve known each other since he was 1 going on 2 and I 5, how we lived next door for most of our lives, and how our names happen to be contained within each other. We’ve told many uninterested people (much like you now) how I am Brian Scott Russell and he is Scott Russell Owens. And even more amazingly, if his father Russell is thrown in the mix then the three of us make up my full name. This is one of our joys in life, so stop mocking us!!

Now on to the point of my post. I was trying to sum up all my worldly ideas into one concise posting, but that’ll never happen, so some weekend events gave me the chance to concentrate on one observation and maybe throw in some other thoughts along the way. This past Monday was my birfday (I’m still waiting for my Garfield card Scott!!). And the Saturday before some of us went out down the street to the pier for some bar hopping. Already I can see that much background explanation is needed. But first let me state my problem so that you can see the universal applications. Basically the idea is that we were out having a great time, and one of my friends came along with her group of friends and almost ruined what turned out to be a fantastic celebration. This is always happening with this friend. She is always the one that I have to worry about, because I know she’s going to complain or just be negative in some form. So we were happy when it turned out that she decided just to leave instead of waiting in the line and paying cover to get in. I know I sound like an ass, but just read on.

I hadn’t really categorized her until the next day. There was a short skit on SNL that I watched Sunday, thanks to Tivo, the greatest invention since the IPod, which involved a group of friends at Disney World. Most of the group was having a great time, excited about their trip, but then there was Debbie, who always managed to bring the group down with negativity. Although everyone was laughing by the end of the skit, it was only because Fallon and Sanz couldn’t get through a eulogy without cracking up. The real lesson was that there’s always that one person that brings you down and ruins a good time.

So here’s the background on the celebration. I live in paradise, I’m not gonna lie. Not even a quarter mile down the street is a beautiful beach on the Pacific, it’s sunny everyday, there are scantily clad hot women everywhere you go (yes some are pumped with silicon which is a whole other rant, but even setting the fakies aside, guys have it good here), all that is LA with Hollywood and Beverly Hills is only 20-30 mins away (like 15 miles but traffic’s a biatch!), and there’s a group of bars at a happening pier right at the beach which we easily can walk to (picture living at the New Haven Green area, without the cheesy meatheads, the cold winters, the humid summers, where right behind Bar is the nicest beach you’ve ever seen, and the bars don’t make you question all of humanity after a night of drinking). I can’t stress enough how much I’m not exaggerating the Utopia that is Hermosa Beach, but descriptions mean nothing until you experience it. So basically there’s not much to complain about here. Now my friend, Debbie Downer, lives up in downtown LA in the ghetto. She chooses to live up there because it’s next to Hollywood and all the artsy fartsy liberal, down with SUV people live. Now even though the weather is just as nice there, I wouldn’t move 3000 miles to live anywhere but right at the beach. We do have fun going up there occasionally so it works out.

Even when I mentioned to her that we were going out, and she said she’s definitely in, I knew it was going to be bad. I mean, I want her there because she’s friend, but I know that it means worrying about babysitting her, and impressing her with my town. The problem is that the bars get crowded fast, and you need to go out early between 9-10 to avoid lines and cover. I warned her of this over and over all week. I really do want all my friends to have a great time when I’m out with them (to the point of calling it an affliction), which is why I knew if she got there any later than 10 and had to wait in line, there would be trouble. So of course.. she shows up in her usual fashion at 11:45, calling and complaining about my dumpy ass town where all the bars suck and the beach sucks and this sucks and that sucks.  So I decided that I’m not dealing with it, since I warned her and knew that there was no pleasing her, I told my friend Jeff that he’s dealing with her. And like a good friend he did. In the end she left, and left another nasty voice mail berating my terrible town in paradise, while we were having a classic night of fun.

I promise you, if it was someone I was thinking that was going to be positive, like my pal Scott, I’d have gone out of my way to make sure he stayed and got past the line and we all got together somehow. The bar, the girls, the drinks all don’t matter if one of the good friends can’t be there to join the group. A bar group is a funny thing. The collective mood is very important. Introduce the wrong part, and the sum suffers. Adding a Debbie, is like adding “Trouble” to your party mix cd, sure you actually enjoy listening to the song when you’re in the mood, but not when you just finished screaming the words to “Ants Marching” (and to complete the simile, adding a Scott would be like adding Ants, no matter what your mood, it’s always elevated as a result).  We all have our negative days, but since I’ve known her, she’s been a Debbie Downer, as has her group. I came to a realization that there’s no time for the Debbie Downers in your life. All the worrying about keeping them happy, and listening to them bitch and moan is only going to ruin your mood and possibly the mood of those around you as well. We must avoid these people at all costs!! And if people are avoiding you, then it’s time to look yourself in the mirror for the Debbie Downer in you.

I want to thank the SR Squared duo for letting me rant on their blog. Some thoughts before I go. First.. when did this blog thing become so big? I develop web applications for a living, I feel like I just found out about this new thing called email. B) Is it possible to propose to someone via blog? Cuz I’m thinking I want to marry Shannon right now. I know I don’t know you, but I mean seriously, Bill Simmons is your favorite sports writer?? I read him religiously, and I can promise you that everything he says about being a Boston sports fan is to a T. If he ripped the thoughts right out of the neurons in my brain, it wouldn’t be any more exact. So if it’s possible to marry someone based on their favorite ESPN sports writer then I’m in. The sad thing is that my sister met him and Jimmy Kimmel and got invited to Adam Corrolla’s house to hang with all of them (although she didn’t go), but had no clue who Simmons was. Once my cousin (the only other female I know who even knows who he is) and myself found out, we acted like she had just met Jesus and thought he was just another crazy robe-wearing, God worshipper.  Finally, I’ll warn ya, if you don’t like those skirts (I get your point, but as a guy, god bless them) then don’t come out here.. just trust me.

BSR

Hi There Fellow and Faithful readers.  Here at SrSquared we have decided to allow a few guest posters share their thoughts with the rest of you.   Sure we love posting, but we also love giving our friends the chance to rant and rave as well.  So let us know if you ever have anything to say, we'd be glad to post it.

Our first guest poster is none other than Mr. Steve Alessi, or as he likes to call himself, "Skuba."  Enjoy!



 


SPORTS: THE FIRST INSTALLMENT


Welcome to Installment Numero Uno from Skuba...

Now I know what you're thinking, this is neither Shannon, NOR Scott.  However, I feel that I can bring insight into this lovely and might I say extremely colorful Blog.  Today, my rantings consist of the usual banter.  The weather, domestic politics, the economic decline in Russia.  Ok, who wants to hear about that garbage...the weather?  "Boy it's a hot one."  "Yeah Cleatus, it's definately hotter than yesterday."  ...awkward silence...  "So, how about that NASCAR race.  They really got around that
track fast."  There, you see my seguay into what I REALLY want to rant about today.

There are two sports, ever popular among two different cultures of the American species...One...baseball.  The "American Pasttime" as the good, cultured folks at the Hall of Fame in Cooperstown, NY like to refer to the game as.  And Two...NASCAR.  The "American Hoolahoop" as myself, from Blue Point, NY likes to refer to the game, I mean competition, I mean the most blatant waste of a fossil fuel that in a time where gas is $2.25 a gallon, that there is.  Wow, how's that for a run-on sentence.  Go back and read that a few times...it will make sense, trust me.  But these two sports are the first on my hitlist for my most hated sports (if you can call NASCAR a sport and even though I love baseball).

First for baseball.  Today I walked into 7-11 probably God's gift to the java-john (Quinnipiac reference) fan.  No place can you get a cup of coffee and a pack of condoms both of which will please you for hours!  But I digress, inside The Taj Mahal of Slurpees (7-11), at the counter, next to the register, was a bottle opener.  For you english majors, that was a model sentence for prepositional phrases...  But this bottle opener was no ordinary bottle opener.  While this bottle opener is bestowing upon you the tasty froth of a cold barley and hops beverage, it is also bringing you to the depths of the place Christianity has deemed, HELL!!!  When opening the carbonated delight, one notices the dreaded NY Yankees logo on the side of the bottle opener.  As if that isn't enough, a tiny sensor, probably created by that robot, Bill Gates, is activated and you hear the voice of John Sterling, the NY Yankees radio announcer saying, "The Yankees Win! Thhhheeeee Yankees Win!"

If there is anything in the world that frosts my tits more than hearing that is Yankees fans.  "We are a dynasty, 26 World Series wins."  Just a second.  You're not a dynasty.  The Yankees are.  You are just lucky your father was a Yankees fan, that's why you are.  And if your father wasn't, you were probably a Mets fan and started "loving" the Yankees because you were a bandwagon fool.  I feel bad for Yankees fans, I really do.  When they have nothing left in their life, at least their measly Dominican baseball team is managing to win more than 3/4 of their games.  Something smells a little fishy with that, wouldn't you agree??
Lastly, NASCAR...who finds NASCAR infatuating?  I certainly don't.  I could sit in my backyard and watch the squirrels run around in a circle too!  DUDE!!  You're watching CARS drive in a CIRCLE for 3 FRIGIN HOURS!!!!  WHAT, dare I say, is ENTERTAINING about THAT?!?!?!  NOTHING!!!  We pay enough for fuel, why are we wasting it on hicks driving suped up cars, wearing Oakley sunglasses and donning the VIAGRA label on their lapels?  I could think of a few more things more interesting than watching NASCAR.  NASCAR...Another acronym that comes to mind...PBS.  I could watch PBS instead, because what is more exciting than cars driving in a circle?  Watching the migratory patterns of the African Swallow, that's what...And one more thing about NASCAR.  You see the fanatics with NASCAR numbers all over their cars.  8, 3, 24, 99...etc.  I mean, you don't see a baseball fan with Mets, Yankees, Kansas City Royals, Oakland A's and Texas Rangers on their car.  PICK A CAR if you're going to be a fan of that white trashy competition, for Christ's Sake!!

Well, for now, that's it.  Until my next installment, if you don't agree with me, too bad.

In this world, you will come across your fair share of crazy people. But.... girls, women, chicks, whatever you want to call them. They take the cake when it comes to having the crazies. Before you go getting all feminist on me... relax. I am a female. I'm allowed to say this stuff.

There's a little something I like to call the inner psycho. Every girl has one. I'm sure you could argue this about men too. But most of my experience is in dealing with psycho girls... so let me continue. (Although I have dealt with some wacko exboyfriend things too... but we'll save that post for another day.) So yeah, back to my point. In my opinion, deep down in every female lies the inner psycho, you could even call it the inner psycho/ inner bitch. Or as I often call it, the IPB.

Don't get me wrong. I am not calling every girl a psycho or a bitch. Here's the trick. Some women can CONTROL this feature. And control it very well, I might add. You might never see it, or see very rare glimpses of it. (FYI: if you found a girl like this, you better do your best to keep her. they don't come around that often.)

The women that can control the IPB are some of the coolest chicks you'll ever meet. They are laid back, very understanding, like to have fun, etc. However, the broads that can't control the IPB are some of the scariest people you'll ever meet. These are the whiney, bitchy, over-emotional, lunatic, up-your-ass kind of girls. The kind that when you're dating them want to spend every waking moment with you, and can't understand why you need your space. The kind that when you break up with them they still stalk your every move, and any new person in your life. You should do your best to steer clear of these girls.

The girlzzzz in my life rule. So I hope none of them take offense to this. None of them possess a high IPB, and this is why I am able to be friends with them. However, to any other chicks out there who are reading this and getting angry... ha, I think your Inner Psycho/Bitch is coming out full force. You might want to get that taken care of.

 -SRG.

p.s. As a side note, and nothing to do with this post... the st. anthony's community lost a very important person yesterday. Mr. Perrino. May he rest in peace.

Being single is like body surfing, having a significant other is like owning a swimming pool.  Now hear me out.

Everyone enjoys going body surfing. (if you don't, shut the hell up and don't ruin my awesome metaphor)  It's fun, exciting, whenever you tell someone you went body surfing they get all jazzed up about it too.  "You went body surfing, awesome I love body surfing, I wish I could go" (If this isn't how you respond, play along anyway) 

The main problem with body surfing is that good waves don't come along too often.  Most of the time you're sitting around looking up and down the surf like an idiot.  (I'm sorry but no one can look cool waiting for a wave unless you're wearing a wet suit. But wet suits don't figure into my metaphor, so forget that)  The other problem is when you do hit a good wave, it lasts for about 10 seconds.  After that, you're scratching your stomach on the shore with sand up your ass, surrounded by dead jellyfish.

Now, owning a pool.  Owning a pool seems like the best thing ever.... for people who don't own pools.  Most pool owners become disenfranchised with their ability to swim on a whim. (Check out that rhyme)  As soon as you talk about maybe owning a pool instead of sporadic body surfing with a pool owner they get all huffy.  "Owning a pool is overrated, I'm always cleaning shit out of it.  And vacuuming is a bitch. I'm usually cleaning the damn thing more than using it." they say.   You say that they’re crazy for saying such things.  Being able to swim anytime they want, even naked sometimes, why that has to far better than not knowing when you’re going body surfing next, let alone the next time you’ll see a good wave.

Buying a pool is a big commitment, and fucking expensive (let’s not get started on that, cause parking at the beach all the time is pricey too).  Most people body surf until the desire to swim on whim becomes so strong that they’re willing to put up with the day to day bullshit of upkeep.  And some just body surf forever, but they usually end up with rashes and jellyfish bites.

-SRO