For the Love of . . . . .

Some new shizznat here at mr. overly competitive.  Prepare to be bedazzled!  


So I was driving to work today.  In the rain.  Getting cut off 3 times.  By the same douchenozzle (thanks to Life on a Hanger for that clutch gem of an adjective noun).  I also had just been privy to the "Grind My Gears" episode of Family Guy.  So, in my infinite wisdom, I decided that my blog needed a reoccurring theme of things that "Grind my Gears".  So, welcome to the first episode of For the Love of . . . . .


1.  For the Love of blinker fluid - people in Dallas think that a blinker is a signal for "I'm going to squeeze into this lane because I told you I was doing it, not because there is room for my Violet colored VWAss Bug."  First off, bugaboo, you're a man . . . .driving a Beetle. . . . .that's violet .  Secondly, you're a man.  Minus 1 Man-card for you, sir.  ThankYouVeryMuch.  For the Love of blinker fluid.

Burn in H-E-double-hockey-sticks!

2.  For the Love of video game envy - I am pretty addicted to this game Modern Warfare 2 for XBox (this is my stand-up-and-admit-I-have-a-problem portion of the show).  I'm a nerd like that when it comes to this video game.  Like Louis Skolnick nerdy.  
(Damn this blog and my admissions of nerdery)
Anyways, I really get infuriated when I get killed online at this game only to hear a shrill, prepubescent 12 year-old voice telling me how much he's whoopin' my arse.  Of course, I'm also envious.  Envious that this little shit-streak just shot me in the face and is beating me at this game.  Thanks, 1980.  Thanks for birthing me before video games were a main-stay in households across America.  For the Love of video game envy.


3.  For the Love of Beggin' Strips - Ok, here's where I have to rag on myself.  Why?  Because self deprecation is what keeps my ego in check.  Kind of like being in the band in high school.  I wasn't, but I heard.    
So, my new dog has a bit of separation anxiety.  She doesn't like her crate.  Whines like a little bia-tcha-cha when I put her in there.  I am sure my neighbors love. . . .love. . . love. . . . . . .love.love.love.love.love.love me.  I've been trying to figure out ways to break her of it, but I'm not as Cesar Milan as I thought I was.  She learned to shake in under 10 minutes the other night, but I can't break the whining.  Maybe I should break her off some Beggin' Strips . . . anyone have any other suggestions?  For the Love of Beggin' Strips

This is me if I was not Caucasian and had come up 

with a really cool superhero name like The Dog Whisperer

I win.
mr. overly competitive

Devil Dog

I gotta puppy, I gotta puppy, I gotta puppy, hey Hey Hey HEY!  (If you can name the movie reference, you win a prize).


Dun Duh-du-DAAAAAHHH!  

She's an all white Boxer.  Not albino.  Not deaf.  She's about 9 months old (we think) and her name is Brooklyn.  We rescued her from NorCal Boxer Rescue.  

Now, on to the fun part of raising a puppy.  I thought "Why not get a puppy that's just a little older than that pooping, peeing, whining, chewing, hump-your-leg-like-it's-a-glory-hole puppy stage."  

Pee in the house ü(check)

Whining ü(check)

Puppy - 2; , mr. overly competitive's floor - 0

So, it wasn't all fairies and butterflies the first weekend, but she is pretty well behaved and trained fairly well for her age.  Sits on command, walks great on her leash, lays down, plays well with others, and hasn't defecated on our floor yet.  

But the most Ri-gosh-darn-dunculous part of this dog is her eyes:

Yes, that's right, she has one light-blue, cute-as-a-button eye and one dark brown/black, I'll-cut-you-in-your-sleep eye.  Now, it's really not as bad in person as you see from the first photos, but it is a little freak-on-a-leash.

In any case, I have a new moderately well behaved puppy so I think you know what's coming . . . . . .

I win,

mr. overly competitive

Bathroom Etiquette

I've always thought there were some unspoken rules when entering the men's bathroom, but my experiences lately have made me think that mr. overly competitive once again needs to bring some things to light (Ladies, I will need a run-down of your unspoken rules since my experience only extends so far and, let's be honest, we gentlemen assume that it's all perfume and glitter in there.  SPARKLE!)

Here's a few rules for Los Caballeros that you may or may not know:

 . . . . @ the Urinal

1.  Eyes front . . . .ALWAYS! - this is especially true when you work with a concentration of Canadians (guys whosa likesas the guys).    

2a.  No talking.  - Period.  During the washing of the hands (and Lord help you if you skip this crucial step) talking is fine.  

2b.  Like your pee, Silence is golden - please don't let out the sigh of relief as you get comfortable.  It can be misconstrued and I don't want to be the next one walking out the door.

3.  Pick the furthest urinal away from me - I don't care if there's 4 or 20 urinals.  If I'm on the end station, I chose this one with intent.  The intent - to avoid a pee buddy standing next to me.  

4.  Don't walk away before you pack back up - First, nobody wants to be waiting and get a eye-full of Peter.  Second, I'd prefer not to know that you are wearing a banana hammock or that you like them white and tight with a brown streak down the middle.  

5.  No. 2 is reserved for the stalls - you may think this is fairly obvious, but one time at band camp (or in the 8th grade) I caught a 6th grader taking a dump in the urinal.  Fair to say I only caught a glimpse of the kids face, but when I went back to class and was explaining the disgusting hilarity of this situation as any self-respecting 8th grader would do, my teacher heard me and told me to find out the kids name.  Nice, now I'm the Sherlock Holmes of the shitter.  The Dora the Explorer of defecation.  In any case, my buddy, Aaron, and I proceeded to hunt the kid down at break and used the "My sister likes you, what's your name?"-line to get his credentials.  Mystery solved.  Cue Bette Midler - "Did you ever know that you're my hero?"

. . . . . in the Stall

1.  See 2a and 2b.  Sometimes there's a little extra push needed and nobody wants to hear, "So I was thi-ugggggh-nking the other day that we should hit up the g-uggggh-ame this weekend over at Bob's".   Drop the Cosby kids off at the pool in silence.  

2.  See 3 and change "urinal" to "stall" and "pee buddy" to "poop pal".

3.  No Cell Phones! - First, nothing's weirder than someone talking to themselves in a stall.  Second, that person on the other end has no idea that you're shitting while shooting the shit and hopefully, if they did, they'd kick you in the baby-maker.  Third, it's not a cubicle with a toilet.  Fourth, YOU DIRTY BASTARD!  

4.  Try to practice your Dropping of the Deuce when nobody else is around - if you walk in and nobody's in there, try to proceed to the checkout as quick as possible.  If your mid poo and someone walks in, try to hold off on any noise makers until the person has left - trust me, they're hurrying too to avoid hearing you.  Finally, wait until the joint clears out before exiting the vehicle especially if you were audible.  It's just awkward.  When in doubt, wait it out.  

To wrap things up, treat your local restroom (specifically your office restroom) as the drive through - You're in, you're out, done and done.  No lally-gagging for Pete's sake.  And for the love of Blanche Devereaux, wash your hands!

This has been your friendly PSA from mr. overly competitive.

I win,

mr. overly competitive

Blogging Woes

I realized something last week . . . . my life just isn't that exciting to be blogging about.  Plain and simple.  Period.  End of story.  Aside from the many, many victories I take home . . . . .my bowling trophy from this weekend, my Modern Warfare defeat over Austin's roommate, Ben, our indoor soccer win 3-2 (I scored 2 goals thankyouverymuch), etc . . . . . I do have some things that I just can't compete at.  I know, I know, you're world was just flipped upside down (kind of like when you found out for the first time that Sophia was younger than Rose and Blanche in real life. GASP!).

In fact, I was all ready to concede to by buddy over at fake.british.accent and shut down mr. overly competitive when he made me see the light . . . . . just because my blog isn't the best (the first step is admitting it folks), doesn't mean I can't continue.  

From the wise words of Austin, "if nothing else, it allows you a forum to say things you might never otherwise say".  

Right on, my brother.  Right on.  Fo Shizzle, my Nizzle (case and point right there, although I am going to head off any comments straight away from Blondie in which he will accuse me of thinking I'm of a different race simply because I listen to the occasional hippity-hop song and throw out the occasional Fo Shizzle).  That's right, I'm down with O.P.P.  WORD!

So, Austin, a giant Grassiass to you.  mr. overly competitive will live on for now.  Hopefully your first inclinations to avoid the Amazon lived on Saturday night . . . I'm not holding my breath, but just be aware . . . . there are parasites that crawl up your penis in the Amazon and kill you.  
Plus, this:

I win,

mr. overly competitive