Plum Toe and Sparty's Big Run . . . . .

Lots of goings on.  Lots to share. 

So, as I talked about recent post, we’re apartment hunting.  We finally met with Re/Max Mrs. last Thursday.  Not as cuckoo for cocoa puffs as I thought in person, but still a bit of a nut.  Saw the place and liked it.  Told her we’d probably fill out some applications for it.  Problem was, when we received the apps, there was blank spots and wrong info (for example – the date read October somethingerother, 2008 and the address was wrong).  Nope, not about to sign anything like that.  Then, we received an email Friday morning telling us we had until noon to get the apps in because the owner had another applicant interested.  I don’t deal well with deadlines of this nature.  It’s like if you told Tiger he could only pick one porn-star to sleep with.  Troublesome.  Especially when I still had an uneasy feeling about the whole deal.  In any case, we emailed and said we understood someone else might take it, but we weren’t ready to commit just yet.  Time to mull it over during the weekend, right?

Re/Max Mrs.:  “He said $XXXX (amount lower than before) if you’re still interested”.

Soooo, what happened to the other applicant?  Needless to say, we didn’t take the place.  Didn’t quite add up.

We ended up taking a larger apartment in the place we moved out of a year and a half ago when Step-on-me moved to D.C. to work for a while.  Boy am I relieved that that’s finally done with . . . . . I will not go homeless after all.

Friday was eventful too.  I had another soccer game where I managed to break a toe.

Chicks dig injuries, right?

I’ve been limping around all weekend w/ a plum attached to my foot.  FYI - it's worse than in this photo.

But alas!  To make up for all of that, my Spartans are back in the Final Four for the second straight year!  So, come Saturday at 5:07pm, you all know where I’ll be.  (maybe not, but you can bet there’ll be a TV and tall beer in front of me).

I know, Coach . . . .I can't believe they don't have Labatt's down here in Texas either!

GO GREEN!

I win.

mr. overly competitive


[Side Note:  Can someone tell me why the editing system for blogspot's about as useful as   braille on a drive up ATM?]

Road Rules

No, not the lame show that's still taking up valuable music video time on (not)MTV.  I’ve seen some things the last couple days while I’ve been driving and thought it a good time for an etiquette update – this one’s for the road so, please . . . take notes:


Rule #1 – when driving you may be in your car, but people can still see you . . . . .this means when you go mining for boogs at a stop-light, everyone sitting around you can see it.  You’re not invisible.  Nor are you working for DeBeers.  There’s no diamonds coming out of there.  Put the finger away slowly and, for Jimminy Christmas’ sake, wash your hands when you get home.


Rule #2 – singing in the shower is ok.  Singing in your car w/ the windows rolled up is still ok, but you risk looking like you have imaginary friends.  Singing loudly in your car with the windows rolled down at a stop light on a warm day?  Bad news bears.  Sorry Mastercard.  The only thing priceless about this is the frightened feeling I get when I think a pack of rabid wounded ducks are attacking the intersection.  Oh, and news flash . . . . .it’s even worse when you have your radio volume at a level only you’re able to hear, but anyone outside of a 5 foot radius can not.  So, listen Lady Gaga, try and tone down the bad romance.  Mouth the words.  Turn your radio up loud enough to drown out your squawking.  Or just don’t sing at all.  The corner of MLK Blvd. and Main Street (because every city has both those) is not the place to warm up your vocal cords for your next American Idol fiasco.


Rule #3 – I’m guilty of the Facebook driving.  Well, let’s say Facebook-stopped-at-a-red-light-driving.  When you can’t keep the car in your lane because your status updating your friends that you just hot-boxed yourself with a giant fart, you need to put the phone down.  And if you are tweeting “driving home to see my baby daddy”, or anything else that nobody else really cares about, you should stop.  You should have twatted before you drove or twit when you get home.

This has been a public service announcement from your friendly mr. overly competitive blogspot.  Stay classy, San Diego.

I win.
mr. overly competitive


UPDATE:  Going to meet up with Re/Max Mrs. tonight to view those town homes from the previous post.  I will let you know if she’s as cuckoo for cocoa puffs as I think she is.