Red Flag of the Week

myspace and Mustache combo

Today I'm in a bit of a pickle. My original M was myspace, but a voice inside my head kept saying, "Tell them about the mustache, the mustache!!". Since I deeply want this blog to be helpful, I decided to have 2 flags this week.

We can start with myspace. I had one, you had one, we all had one. And now, with the exception of bands and people using it as a tool for free ad space, no one else should. Who knows how things end up tacky? They just do. Too many shameless people opened accounts and it has become the 909 of social networks.

Speaking of 909, the mustache. I'm worried. A lot of guys in my life that I respect ascetically are now sporting the molestache and I feel they need to know the price they are paying: GIRLS DON'T LIKE THEM. We just don't. The ones who tell you they do are lying to impress you. Besides reminding us of the "warning: kidnapper" posters they would hang up at our elementary school, they aren't fun to kiss. And you want to be kissed right?

You'd think it would go without saying that girls aren't allowed to have mustaches either, but we all know that girl and we all want to know, "why?"

the ripe gripe

Self Check Out

These annoying “convenience” additions are a real problem because they function from the premise that people are basically intelligent; when in fact, they are not. My emotions swing from frustration to compassion as I watch the elderly gentleman, foreign family, and hung over frat boys try and locate their bananas on a touch screen. My local grocer- who shall remain nameless (Albertson’s on Harbor) has even started closing normal lines in favor of these traffic pile-ups. After a long day at work, wretched commute on the 405, and attempting to park in compact spots next to OC sized SUV’s- the last thing I want to do is do your job for you.

Red Flag of the Week

Lifted Truck

As I started to back out for work this morning, my review mirror was filled with the beautiful grill of the truck pictured below. My heart skipped a beat as I excitedly wondered if the owner of such a beast might be my neighbor. Or better yet, maybe he would walk out at this very minute to drive to his job at Chaparral. ... Silly me, he is probably sleeping in after a late night of downing Monsters and watching LA ink. (sigh) We'll just have to meet another day.