Log in

For Some Reason...

Recent Entries

You are viewing the most recent 10 entries.

21st July 2014

4:30pm: The things that actually run the dudes who run the Illuminati.
"Yazmin, rum goes with coke, right? That's a thing, rum and coke?"
"Yes, that's a thing."
"What about gin? What goes with gin?"
"Jaime. Juice. Gin 'n' juice."
"Oh! Like the song!"
"Like the song."

Alcohol has a neat, polarizing effect on a lot of people's personalities. It can turn them from an inert lump of metal into a superconducting magnet! The magnet can be attractive or repulsive, though. And prone to knocking over furniture.

Okay, ten or fifteen feet in front of every entrance to a public building there needs to be a white painted line, an agreed-upon distance beyond which it's considered socially acceptable to not hold the door open for someone walking behind you. Yes? Yes. If I've reached the door and the other person has not yet crossed the line, then, legally speaking, there would be two separate instances of ingress without any sort of intervening social obligation.

The way things are now, I usually play it safe and open the door, step behind it, and hold it open for them, as if I was wearing a uniform for it. What makes it fun is imagining that the "person" I'm holding the door open for is a Secret Alien Overlord in disguise who is using telepathy to force a monkey-slave to hold the door open for him. But only I know the attempt has failed because I have free will and can choose to unmask them in front of everyone at the mall. But no. I play it cool and pretend the mind control is working, but deep down inside I know the day will come when we will revolt against these oppressors from another world and, as long as I keep holding the door open for them, they'll never see it coming.

(12 Ka-chings | Two cents)

26th February 2014

7:22am: A very inconvenient amount.
"I mean, it's not like you'd be the first person. It's something people do, right?"
"But is it something Jaime does?"
"You'd just have to do it and then it'd be something you do."
"Ooh, that's a good point."
"Well, I am your brain. I'm just telling you what you want to hear."
"That's a good point, too."

At my parent's house, I walked past my brother's room and heard him say, "Hello..." in a really specific sing-song way, so I backed up, leaned my head in through the door and asked, "Is it me you're looking for?" Embarrased, he just nodded.

My eight-month old nephew will devour us all. I have never seen as much jealousy in anyone's eyes as when someone eats food in front of him. He has recently learned to crawl, which is life's first big step towards Getting What You Want and Going Places You're Not Supposed To, and it only gets worse from there. (Of course, by 'worse,' I also mean better.) Luckily, he has a lot of eyeballs on him right now to wink and nod him in the right directions, and swoop in to save him when he tries to bite the wrong things. It's to the point where he looks around for reassuring eye contact whenever he's about to bite something new, mouth already half-way open. "Yoly, can he bite that electrical cord?" "Is it plugged in?" "No." "Eh."

I am happy that cold and flu season is almost over. I think one of the drawbacks of modern medicine is that people no longer treat illnesses by spending a few months convalescing by the sea. Instead, they show up to work. I don't know if they think they're being brave or dedicated, but really, they're just being a Petri dish. The part I hate most is when they start detailing their regimen for getting better. "No, I don't know why your secret recipe of salt water, vitamin C, and Apache war chants hasn't been helping. I was almost about to ask if you've tried staying home."

I think my favorite quote about expectations and capabilities is by NFL running back Leroy Hoard. "Coach, if you need one yard, I'll get you three yards. If you need five yards, I'll get you three yards."

I haven't posted much lately. I'm going to blame the fact that several years ago I wrote a script that randomly generated journal entries for me, but it's been running into a few bugs lately. On top of that, spoon butter butter shoe butter watch movies for free.

(14 Ka-chings | Two cents)

10th December 2013

7:18am: WARNING: Beverage may contain horrible groin burns.
What does it mean when a cat leaves a dead mouse on your doorstep? The neighbor's cat and I haven't always gotten along (he urinates in my bushes, I honk at him when I pull into my driveway), but I never knew he thought enough about me to go out of his way to leave me a personal message. When I spotted the mouse, I looked up and half-expected to see the cat glaring at me from behind a tree, pointing a claw at me before running it across its throat. What I'm trying to ask is, is there a chance that maybe the mouse was a gift or peace offering of some sort? I don't want to overreact to this situation.

It annoys me as much as anyone when someone uses the word 'literally' when they mean 'metaphorically.' However, what annoys me even more is when someone uses the word 'literally' correctly, but adds a certain amount of ironic emphasis as if it were some novel concept to use the word 'literally' literally. "I was literally exhausted." But...how is that different from regular exhaustion? Maybe they're trying to tell me they were used as fuel in an internal combustion engine and vented off as waste gas.

I may or may not have lost my impulse control, or at the very least, I'm eroding it by degrees; enough that I stood in the aisle of the store and debated the pros and cons of owning a butler monkey. Pro: I'll have something to decorate the house with other than dust. (Where the heck is all this dust coming from? Is the house dissolving? It can't possibly all be dead skin cells? Unless, unless, it's somebody else's dead skin cells?! Well, whoever it is, he's mostly in the dustbin now.) Con: I could spend this money on that jacket I need. Pro: The monkey already has a jacket. Con: Owning a monkey servant means I won't be able to invite any monkeys over to my house. Pro: If I don't buy it, then after the the store closes and the lights go off, the monkey will lean forward, peer left and right down the aisle, and then hold back a tear before shaking his head and returning to his proud posture. *sniffle* "I'll take him."

(P.S. My camera's face recognition software put a little green frame around his face, which I thought was a kind thing for it to do.)

(P.P.S. I'm never sure whether I use semi-colons right.)

(17 Ka-chings | Two cents)

25th November 2013

7:15am: Understatement approaching lockjaw.
"I got you an early Christmas present."
"Work gloves! Neat!"
"I didn't know your size, so I had to guess. Try them on."
*puts on gloves, holds them up like a surgeon*
"Well, do they fit?"
"They fit like a--I was about to say something really dumb. Um, they fit well."

I haven't posted since this happened. I don't know, man. Some trees are really kind and giving and get children's stories written about them, but some other trees' whole attitude towards life is to grow big enough to fall on something smaller than it. It's not a very ambitious goal, but that's why it succeeded. My dad, my brother, and I set it straight, though. That photo reminds me of the series of pictures where a collection of objects are compulsively rearranged.

It's too late now, but I would have liked to put a plush on top of one of the pieces of trunk and kept it as an ottoman, just because I think it's funny that an entire culture got whittled down to a single piece of furniture. Sort of makes you wonder what type of furniture, a couple hundred years from now, an "american" will be. It's already too late for beanbags, but personally, I'm hoping for a cushion shaped like a giant hot dog.

My house is actually kind of boring right now. I could try to make a tour of it mysterious and exciting, but even that would be ultimately disappointing. "Under these floorboards is where I keep the body...wash. I don't know why I keep it there. It's really inconvenient. And in this cupboard is my secret stash of guns and ammunition...magazines. I could give you a subscription card. Oh, and whatever you do, no matter what intrusive voice compels you to, do not go into the attic after dark. The light bulb doesn't work." It could be the house where everything is less than what it seems.

Lately, I've been spending a lot of time playing Card Hunter. It hits a lot of sweet spots. For me, playing Card Hunter is like getting scratched behind the ear, or finding food you hid earlier, or having a tongue long enough to get all the peanut butter out of the jar. I guess it's sort of like having a subconscious desire to be a dog. Well, anyways, it gets my official seal of approval.

(11 Ka-chings | Two cents)

22nd October 2013

7:27am: FYI: For Your Information
"Are you guys gonna watch 12 Days a Slave?"
"Actually, I think it's called 12 Years a Slave."
"Oh...that's much worse."

Several months ago I purchased a weight bench during a fit of laughably naïve optimism when I believed myself mere weeks away from being ready to start a workout routine. Since then, it's been a seemingly permanent fixture of my garage, a sinister cobweb-draped monument to failure and laziness. Pretty soon it's going to be too cold to workout in the garage, so if I want to continue deluding myself that I'm "definitely going to start next weekend" I'll have to move it inside. I'm not sure if I'm ready to lie to myself like that.

I'm twenty-seven years old and still afraid to get to know people. Even when I make a good impression on someone, I want to avoid them so I won't ruin that good impression. "Look, there's Jaime. I think he sees us--oh, wait, now he's walking in the opposite direction. He must've forgotten something." That is crazy. For me, getting to know someone feels like a staircase going deep underground where every step I take down I have to hear a recording of something someone has said about me, but all the worst things people have ever said about me are clustered together at the top of the staircase. And it feels like there is no way I can make it all the way to the bottom of the staircase, where all the good stuff people think about me is. So it's kind of this terrible thing that in order to be appreciated, I have to subject myself to the mortifying ordeal of letting someone get to know me.

I'm going to make an effort to care less, but caring less shouldn't take effort, which is what's bugging me.

(17 Ka-chings | Two cents)

13th August 2013

12:14am: I'm not cool enough to call marijuana anything except marijuana.
Same deal with Jay-Z. Some people can get away with just calling him Jay, but I feel like I have to call him Shawn Carter.

Just because I feel like I should have them written down somewhere, these are some of the most awkward moments of my life.Collapse )

When I took my dad to the doctor's office the other week, there was a Monet print in the waiting room that was pretty much just of water lilies. My dad was sitting across from it and, not recognizing it for what it was and having nowhere else to look, he began examining it critically. Finally, he said, "They could have at least put some ducks in it or something."

(13 Ka-chings | Two cents)

3rd July 2013

12:19am: *Points at camera. Winks. Flexes.*
Pictures.Collapse )

Whenever I find something in my spam folder that doesn't belong there and I get to click the Not Spam button, I always feel a smug sense of superiority over my e-mail filter, or like I'm hitting a dog on the nose with a newspaper. "Don't eat that. That's not spam."

I was driving down the highway and on the side of the road I saw a church that had moved into an old store that had gone out of business. It was called The Church of the Open Door. When I drove past it, my convoluted sense of humor tapped me on the shoulder and said, "It would be really funny if when that church went out of business and closed, if we opened up a small chapel right next to it and called it The Church of the Open Window." So then I said, "That's worse than your idea to sculpt a man out of poop and sit him on a toilet," which is my go-to reply to a surprisingly high number of things.

(12 Ka-chings | Two cents)

20th May 2013

8:45am: If I was going to name a band after myself, I would call it The Jaime Montiel Problem.
There's a street in my neighborhood named Arrowwood, but the 'd' is almost scratched off so it looks like Arrowwoo, and every time I see it I laugh because it looks like they finally started letting dogs name streets.

This is my favorite rule in baseball (with the possible exception of the beer rule).
7.08(i): "Any runner is out when, after he has acquired legal possession of a base, he runs the bases in reverse order for the purpose of confusing the defense or making a travesty of the game."
Everything in life should have a rule against making a travesty of the game.

One time in elementary school we were visited by a minor league baseball mascot. In a photograph of the event that appeared in the local newspaper, you could see the back of my head. When I showed it to my uncle he said, "That could be any kid's head." He was right. It could've been any kid's head.

I had a dream where I discovered a secret underground government base. I found it when I tripped over a periscope sticking out of ground. They must've been using the periscope to...spy on the area immediately surrounding the periscope? I don't know, it was dream logic. Anyways, inside the base there was a giant warehouse filled with dunes of salt (an effort to stockpile and control a precious commodity?), a room where something had obviously escaped (wrecked concrete wall, clipboard carrying scientists examining the monster-shaped hole), and a room where all the government sponsored super heroes were being kept penned up. When I saw groups of people taking photographs with them and getting things autographed, I realized that I wasn't in a secret underground government base, but an amusement park themed as a secret underground government base. Then I walked into a public restroom and had a panic attack until I woke up.

When I go to bed, I can deal with one arm hanging off the edge of the bed because I can pretend I'm sleeping on the edge of a cliff and it feels a little adventurous, but if any part of my leg is hanging over, it feels like I could slip off or that I'll dream of slipping off. The only bad dream I've had as a result of sleeping with an arm hanging off the edge of the bed is when I had to defuse a bomb while both my arms were asleep.

(10 Ka-chings | Two cents)

2nd April 2013

8:19am: What happens in Vegas...is just too damn bad.
I get a phone call.
CO-WORKER: Did you mark that pinhole leak like I asked?
ME: I did.
CW: I can't find the mark you made.
ME: It's there, but it's really hard to see. I only had a ballpoint pen and was trying to write on stainless steel. Just look for a thin, black, vertical smudge. It's almost invisible. When you finally see it you'll think, "That can't possibly be the mark he meant," but that's how you'll know you've found it.
CW: ...
ME: ...
CW: Okay...I think I see something, but there's no way that can possibly be it.
ME: Then it definitely is.
It wasn't.

I wish one of my hobbies was drinking alcohol while playing flight simulators. That way, if I was ever on an airplane and there was trouble in the cockpit and the stewardess yelled out, "Does anyone know how to fly a plane?" I could stumble forward, raise my glass of wine over my head and say, "I fly. I've actually flown this simulation before. I was even drunk at the time."

It's always fun trying to balance your own personal shame about something with how much you enjoy doing it. Shame usually ends up losing. Pop-Tart and Peanut Butter sandwiches usually end up winning.

Also, I think it's really funny when infomercials state that if you're not 100% satisfied with your purchase, you can return it within thirty days for a full refund, NO QUESTIONS ASKED. I think I could manage to return those Sauna Pants in a condition that would provoke at least one question.

(13 Ka-chings | Two cents)

Powered by LiveJournal.com