Planes, Trains, and Automobiles (R.I.P. Uncle Buck)

It occurred to me on my 17 hour trek to Europe that traveling is about the closest thing to war I will ever encounter.  Granted it's no Little Big Horn, Desert Storm, or Jessica Simpon's fight to stay skinny, but it's momentous nonetheless .  Besides just trying to get to your destination, there are monumental battles occurring at every twist and turn:


Security
Short of dropping trou and doing the turn and cough, you're pretty much completely exposed to Num-nuts and his friends working the security check-point.  But that aside, I always feel like I'm on a time-trial to get de-accessorized, remove my shoes, and make sure I remove my laptop and liquids from my bags.  I push my 2 carry-on bags, 3 tubs of stuff, and my jacket through the X-ray machine and line up to walk through the metal detector.  BEEP!  Crap, time penalty.  Forgot to remove my belt.  Now I'm getting the evil-eye from Mr. Executive Platinum who's figured out a way to make it 6 days with 1 carry-on bag and a pack of gum.  The second lap yields a better result and now it's a race to collect my 4 carry-on bags, 6 tubs of stuff, and 2 jackets (yes, everything doubles in the X-Ray machine) . . . . . . .And we've crossed into enemy territory.  1 min, 33 secs.  Not bad.  


@ the Gate
Here's where the competition really heats up.  The enjoyment or general displeasure of your trip rests on how you position yourself.  Do you hit the enemy straight on and just set up camp right at the entrance of the gate?  Mr. Executive Platinum has and with good reason.  He just got a free upgrade so while you're boarding and walking to the back, he'll be the one already seated, reading his newspaper, glancing up with a "ha, ha, suckers!" look on his face, all while Billy, the gay stewardess - pardon me, flight attendant - offers him OJ or champagne in a plastic cup.   Or do you flank the rest of the passengers and either grab a seat near the gate or stand in the general vicinity of the gate ready to pounce when that first boarding announcement is called?  
And when First Class and Business Class boarding is called, half the people waiting line up.  Did I miss the announcement for free upgrades?   Nope, it's just the battle heating up.  After all, there's overhead compartment space at stake.  In London this time, I actually thought a 70 year-old, grey-haired lady was going to shiv the 19 year-old couple that cut half the line.  The look in her eye was the same look hat Dorothy had when Blanche got flirty with Stan. I know, right?  G.G. was the best!


Aboard the Plane
Once you enter, you're greeted, walk past Mr. E.P.  - yep, there's that look - find your seat and, if you're lucky and have strategized wisely, you find a spot for your carry on.  Hopefully you're the first to the that row so you can now move on to the Battle of Armrest.  
Now, with some perseverance and determination, here's where you can ensure that you will get 18" of seating room instead of 16".  The key is to stake the claim early and set a strong front.  Keep your arm or elbow firmly placed on that arm rest.  Someone needs to get past you?  Make 'em climb.  Someone needs help getting their bag into the overhead compartment?  Avoid eye contact.  Stand strong . . .wait for it. . . . hold. . . . .hooooold. . . .THERE IT IS!  The person next to you attempted a take-over of your armrest, but they were met with resistance.  Upon feeling that you've already staked claim to the real estate, chances are you'll finally be able to make use of that arm again, but only in time and only for short intervals.  Of course, there's always unexpected forces.  My most recent battle resulted in a loss.  I was out-done by back fat.  I got lazy.  She got comfortable.  I was no match for the spill over that ensued.  We almost lost some good men that day (namely my left arm), but managed to fall back and regroup.  


The Flight
You've already fought some big battles.  There's a little spat here and there during the flight - the look-back you have to give when little Timmy is kicking your seat; the look-away when Betty on the opposite side of the isle decides to stand up and take a stretch unknowingly going butt-to-face with you; or the uncomfortably long look-to-the-side you have to pull when homeboy across the isle finds what you're doing on your laptop completely enthralling.  It's called Yo Gabba, Gabba, dude.  Get your own!  Other than that, it's just the personal battle of butt-cheek numbness (not in a gay way).


Deplaning
The battle's almost won.  You've managed to avoid walking into the lavatory moments after your armrest enemy drops a deuce and re-supply your energy for the last stand.  You wait for the signal while the captain says something in airplane code . . .DING!  And as if everyone had just BINGO'd, the aisle people spring from their seats.  


mr. overly competitive - BINGO; guy stuck in the middle seat - BI


The race is on to get the overhead compartments open and your stuff removed.  There's always that one guy who thinks he's more important than everyone else and pushes his way up 2 or 3 rows before it gets completely blocked up.  And now we wait . . . and wait.  But once you step foot onto that jetbridge (or LiTTYTWaT... Little Tunnel Thingy You Take a Walk Through) the race is on.  Why?  I don't think anyone knows.  Most people have 2-3 hour layovers or have reached their final destinations.  Yet we all become Usain Bolt . . . or maybe his fat cousin.  And it never fails that when you get to baggage claim, you wait some more.  


So, how is the war won?  The only real satisfaction to this epic battle is if your bag comes out first.  Between you and me, I think they always send out dummy bags first just to keep you waiting in anticipation.  You never see anyone pick up those bags - they just go round and round and round.  I'm just saying. . . . think about it.  I tell you this because I love you.


And so, the war rages on . . . . . .


I win.
mr. overly competitive

Finkle's Fur Lips

If you got the title reference to Ace Ventura: Pet Detective, you know that Finkle refers to Ray Finkle, the infamous Miami Dolphins kicker who missed a field goal to claim a championship win (in the movie of course).    If you don't recall this, I will now provide an interlude of both the dialog and a short clip:





http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nx3-sxhewlo

Ace Ventura: Hi, I'm looking for Ray Finkle.

[Shotgun comes out of door, pointing at Ace.]

Ace Ventura: ...and a clean pair of shorts!

Mr. Finkle: What do you know about Ray Finkle?

[Ace sucks in a huge breath of air.]

Ace Ventura: Soccer style kicker, graduated from Collier High June 1976, Stetson University honors graduate class of 1980, holds 2 NCAA Division One records, one for most points in a season, one for distance, former nickname "The Mule", the first and only pro-athlete to come out of Collier County, and one HELL of a model American. [takes deep breath]

Mr. Finkle: Are you another one of them Hard Copy guys?

Ace Ventura: No, sir, I'm just a very big Finkle fan. This is my Graceland, sir!

---

Dan Marino: Hey Ace, got anymore of that gum?

Ace Ventura: That's none of your damn business and I'll thank you to stay out of my personal affairs.

Dan Marino: You're a weird guy, Ace. Weird guy.

---

Lois Einhorn: The laces were in! They were IN!

[Lois then shoots one of the TV sets.]

---

Mrs. Finkle: It was all that Dan Marino's fault, everyone knows that. If he had held the ball, laces out, like he was supposed to, Ray would never have missed that kick. Dan Marino should die of gonorrhea and rot in hell. Would you like a cookie, son?

Ace Ventura: Hmm, what do you know. They're little footballs.

Mrs. Finkle: LACES OUT!

Classic stuff . . . . simply brilliant.

Anyhoooo, back to the point of this post . . . . . .

During the month of November, I along with some colleagues/friends are raising money for the Live Strong Foundation in a month long endeavor called MOVEMBER - our team name is Finkle's Fur Lips (thus the title).  The cause raises money for prostate cancer. . . . .yes, saving men's balls across the globe because without balls, we'd all just be a bunch of p- . . . . . well you get the point.   mr. overly competitive is a PG rated blog. 

In an effort to raise money, I've been growing this dead animal across my upper lip and hoping that my mustache reigns supreme over everyone else's . . . . . . . . . . . 

Yes, it almost looks like balls on my chin . . . . . . it's since been trimmed.  Ahthankyouverymuch!   (Blondie, save your jokes for Abe's 5 hairs he's been able to squeeze out as a "mustache").

Unfortunately for me, Spanish (previously DWM) created a Zorro-esque 'stache, DJ MC Squared (old boss, used to be a wedding singer, I mean DJ) displayed more chest hair than necessary to mimic Tom Selleck and B.Little (furry guy in the office) had more of a mustache on day 4 than I do now.  

I've got about 5 days left and am told daily that I should avoid school zones.  I choose to look on the bright side - I don't look like Gene Shalit

mr. overly copetitive's mustache 2.5; Gene Shalit's mustache 1.5

Finally! A victory.

I've been trying to come up with a good slogan to help encourage people to donate money.  Here are my top 3 so far:

1.  Cause For The Balls!

2.  (reference earlier statement) Saving men's balls across the globe because without balls, we'd all just be a bunch of p- 

3.  (for the gay men out there - *ahemm* Blondie) Dick brooms:  Sweeping prostate cancer under the carpet.

And now the hard part . . . .asking for money.  But in reality, I'm really just trying to save your balls or the balls of your loved ones.  Aren't they worth $5?  Don't make me grow this Hulk-Hogan-balls-on-my-chin-mustache for nothing . . . . . . .

http://us.movember.com/mospace/290652/

I win.

mr. overly competitive

Line etiquette . . . .

Friday night . . . . . . I mean, Saturday morning at 1am or so, Step-On-Me and I headed up to my office to begin a long and arduous night of waiting.  You see, there was a Friends and Family sale going on and I made the mistake of telling Step-On-Me about said sale.  Bad, dog!


First some back history (not black history in case you read that quickly and misinterpreted):
This will be the 4th Friends and Family sale at Fossil I have gone to.  The first year I rolled up at about 3 in the afternoon to discover that the pickings were slim . . . . . mostly because some employees and each of their 14 children had ransacked the place hours earlier.  The second year, we showed up just prior to opening only to discover that we were 100 people back from the beginning of the line (this is the year we didn't come prepared and nearly froze).  Last year we rolled up around 5 in the morning and were a modest 10th in line (by the time the store opened we were pushed back to around 20th because of all of the spot saving going on. . . . .I think I even saw some Chinese Cuts occurring.


This year Step-On-Me insisted on getting there early.  I convinced her that midnight was short-bus retardedly early . . . . .so we got there at 1am which was only heavy speech-impediment early.  I had accepted the fact that I wasn't going to sleep that night and that my reward would be entering the sale first and possibly finding something for myself for once. 


But. . . .
Oh Contraire Mon Frere!


We ended up to be the 2nd group in line because someone's Grandma and Grandpa showed up at 10:30pm the previous night!  Really?  Somehow Grandma and Grandpa's kid shows up at 7 am with a couple friends and the employee and her 4 guests (limit was 2) rolled in ahead of us.  


mr. overly competitve 2 guests; Susie Cuts-a-lot 4 guests


No worries though, I found myself some product that was deal-worthy and got a bit of Christmas shopping done early.  We also avoided the line that rivaled any ladies' restroom line at a sporting event.  So . . . . .


I win.
mr. overly competitive

Glass Jaw

So it's no secret among our friends and family that Step-On-Me likes to punch me every now and then.  When I say punch, I mean bring down the hammer - usually the punches land on my arms or chest.  I generally take it like a man (wincing only to add effect) and let her punch away.  However, I do punch back sometimes. . . . .  


Last fall was one of the more memorable moments of our relationship . . . .a punch to the forehead with a large stone ring.  Do you know what happens when you get punched in the face with a ring?  Dents.  Dents happen.  The rest of the evening I walked around with a large (literal) dent in the center of my forehead.   But it's cool.  I had my friends there to console me with ridicule and laughter.     


Sunday the punching escalated to downright abuse. . . . yours truly being the victim.  Step-On-Me went on one of her punching extravaganzas.  My mistake was teaching her to throw her back into it.  I tried to block the punches with with my shoulder, but failed.  Her clenched fist of fury sped towards my face and I took one on the chin.  The punch was solid.  So solid in fact that there was some jaw cracking as the punch landed.   The voice in my head said "You just got domestically  violenced!"  Shut up voice.  Be a man.  


Step-On-Me 1, mr. overly competitive 0


I keep losing somehow. . . . . 


  

Ping Pong

My first thoughts when starting this blog were that I'm not that interesting . . . . chances are I will still not be that interesting even if people actually read it.  But i figured, what the heck, why not give it a shot, right?


My next thought was what do I name it and what do I write about to make people say, "Hey, that is interesting".


First - the name:
If you know me, chances are you're well aware that I like competition.  I'm fairly competent at most sports - soccer, basketball, volleyball, running, etc. - and am unusually good at things people may or may not consider sports, but invite competition - ping-pong, mini-golf, darts, noodling, etc. - so I don't mind a friendly challenge.   In fact, here's what I am competing at currently in my life:

• Ping Pong - I set up a tournament at work so I have a standing reason to leave my desk every day and play a game.
• Soccer - I play outdoor soccer on what has become Friday and Monday nights and indoor soccer on Saturdays . . . . .my fiance (we'll call her Step-On-Me) could not be more thrilled .
• Movember - a mustache growing endeavor in which a handful of guys at work are vying for the most Chester-free look by growing a mustache.  Thankfully it's all for charity so when I cross into a school zone, I can simply direct sneering parents to the website to calm their fears.  
• Making a fun blog - this one may drop off as I begin to realize that nobody is reading it.

Second - the content:
This is the hardest part about this whole blogging thing.  There's already 8,547,450 celebrity blogs and frankly I don't care thaaaat much.  There's too many "cool" design web-sites and I'm not a designer so it wouldn't be cool, and blogging about movies would mean I couldn't just Red Box my movies anymore for 99 cents because nobody wants to read about a movie that is 5 months old.  Of course, maybe I could start a straight-to-DVD movie blog?  Hmmm . . . .good idea to add to a Million Dollar a Day blog . . . someone should start one of those.
So, I think I will stick with what I know.  I will try to enlighten my audience with the competitive mantra that is my life.


Day 1 of mr. overly competitive:


As I said, we've been having a Ping Pong tournament at work so I've been practicing.  Yesterday, the guy I play daily, we'll call him DWM (Dick With a Mustache - due to his prepubescent 'stache he's growing for the aforementioned contest), brought an event invite to the Neiman Marcus here in Dallas where Blake Mycoskie, the creator of TOMS shoes, was challenging anyone to come and play him in Ping Pong - you lost, you bought a pair of TOMS shoes; you won, he gave you a pair.  I figured what the heck . . . . . .


Here's me playing in front of my adoring fans (notice the kid by the pillar in awe of my 'stache):

Ok, it was a group of some of the snootiest people I've been around . . . . Needless to say I bought a pair of shoes.  I thought maybe the 'stache would distract him, but he was already a goofy enough looking dude that he was unfazed.


Shoe Guy 11, mr. overly competitive 8
  

And do you think I wasn't just a little mad inside the rest of the night?  Yes.  Yes I was. . . . .but in the end, Step-On-Me got some new shoes and I contributed to charity.


I win.
mr. overly competitive