So apple just brought out iWork and iLife ???09. I kind of love that they could throw ???i??? in front of anything and I will buy it. Not only that, i???ll feel like the most adorable human being on the planet in the process. I mean, this is the company that made SOCKS for iPods. Wow. What scares me more is that this means there was presumably an iPod sock market out there. Which at least makes me feel better about some of the purchases i???ve made in my lifetime (re: box of foot warmers in college. of which I used one. awesome). Anyways, the most awesomely creepy thing that came out in all of this was a new iPhoto that can digitally scan people???s faces so that in the future, it knows who they are and can tag photos accordingly. Which brings me to my point.

Get ready for a million awkward posts about how badly iPhoto biffs it. And by this I mean accidentally is racist or cruel towards all your friends. Seriously, THINK about how many ???FAIL??? opportunities there are here. A list that co-workers and I have come up with:

- Do you have asian friends or are you asian yourself? Because I have a feeling that when it screws up and labels two asian guys the exact same person in your entire photo library, it???s not that funny. Or it is kind of. I???m not sure yet. Wait, yeah it is. Don???t worry, i???ll insult my own people soon to make up for this. Stay with me.

- It will be ultimately hilarious when it thinks that your dorky white guy hipster friend is a black dude or something, or vice versa. These posts will be rampant, I almost guarantee it (you just got the Men???s Wearhouse ads in your head all day. You know what???s funny? I NEVER saw that it was ???wearhouse??? instead of ???warehouse??? before I just googled that. You???re so CLEVER George Zimmer???)

- What about when it can???t recognize a photo of my profile vs. a front facing shot of me? Do you know why I ask this question? Because i???m Jewish. And honestly? My nose is just two different beasts from two different angles. Forward facing? I could definitely be your catholic best friend. Profile? Umm???i???m definitely Jewish.

- Here???s a good one: what about ugly people and/or children being labeled as the family pet? C???mon, that???s funny. I mean, if it thinks the dog is actually Sarah the ugly chick who hangs out with the hot chick because hot chicks always flank themselves with at least one ugly girl to make themselves look better? That???s funny.

- Finally, this one isn???t racist???but I think it???s funny. I don???t think sorority girls (or just girls from the state of Arizona in general, as I???m convinced they are building an aryan race there???) can use the new iPhoto. You know why? Because of the sorority girl ???let???s all totally take a picture together!??? picture. This one. Yeah, you know exactly what i???m talking about. Sorority girls go to bars and take 412 pictures of them awkwardly smiling in front of a bar. Either with a drink in their hands, or making a silly face. And honestly? Every night looks exactly the same. iPhoto has its work cut out for itself if it thinks it can in any way differentiate these people or these nights. The only luck it has on its side is geo-tagging, which will at least help it understand that no, that is NOT the same bar Cindy and Mindy are at.

Anyways, to say i???m excited about the ENDLESS posts all over the web about this is a vast understatement. Keep in mind I also think Apple is brilliant and love them and want to have their babies even though it???s not possible. But really, get ready for software to become the most insulting person in the US. I predict a lot of ugly girls crying at who iPhoto thinks they really are.

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So I???ve been talking a lot about Jurassic Park lately. This was brought to my attention today. Why, you ask? Oh, nevermind, now I won’t answer because you are STUPID and should know that Jurassic Park is only one of the greater films of all time (Shoooot herrr….SHOOOOT HERRRR!!). But honestly, I discuss Jurassic Park a lot due to a man in my life I like to call the Reality Narc. That man is my co-worker, Richard Krolewicz. You see, Richard seemingly comes to work every day with the sole purpose of diffusing my ridiculous, grandiose ideas. He also does a lot more work than me, but that’s beside the point and doesn’t help my argument (sidenote: I just reality narc’d myself. shit). Anyways, Richard will constantly tell me that my ideas cannot and will not ever work, and why they won’t. It’s like a guy showing up all the time during your childhood and saying things like this:

“No, a man could not go down a chimney without serious injuries. And if he were fat, he definitely wouldn’t fit. If the fire is going like most fireplaces Christmas night, he would procure third degree burns as well. If he were carrying presents? Don’t get me started. Not only would that be a large fire hazard, but countless toys would break while in transit, and furthermore the wrapping paper would probably even rip before it burned. And he got there by way of imaginary deer who can fly…right. So go on though, you said you believe in Santa Claus?”

(Before I move on, does anyone else find it mildly ironic that the first metaphor to cross a Jewish guy’s mind in this situation was about Christmas?)

This is what he does. He metaphorically Santa Claus’s all of my awesome ideas and aspirations. So constantly, I try to put him to the test. The most recent idea he shot down of mine? I have a dream. A dream of a land where we build a gigantic pressure-based underground pipeline throughout the nation (We’d start with small test markets, of course. What do you take me for, an idiot?). What is this pipeline for you ask? Well I’m glad you asked. It’s so we could transport things from grocery stores, targets, etc, with the greatest of ease. You know how at places like Costco when they get a bunch of cash or checks and they shoot them in a little tube up through that little pipeline (don’t even get me started on checks. This is honestly still a form of payment? A piece of paper that says, “I mean, yeah, I’m good for it. Look I signed it. It’s practically like I just pinky swore, what more do you want from me, REAL money?” Ridiculous)? Well this pipeline would now be everywhere. Your groceries would go in a tube or some contraption, and you would then have a little chute installed in your house where the goods would be transported to. When you got home? It’s all there. No unloading from the car, etc. I have no idea why I see a need for this in any way, other than I love watching that tube shoot up in Costco and would love to find ANY new way I could include this in my life more often. Reality Narc, however, took the wind out of my sails:

“No. First of all, it would require more energy costs to power this. We are already in a partial energy crisis, so this would be impossible to pass through legislature. Furthermore, disease and cleanliness is a whole other problem. This thing you are building into your house, this chute? Can you imagine the rats and cockroaches that would get in through this chute? It’s a whole new pest problem in every home. And what if a package gets stuck in the pipeline? And there is a backup for everyone? Then you have to have new workers who specialize in fixing the pipeline, etc. While this would create new jobs, it would also cause more costs in an economic depression, a luxury surely no one would splurge for in this economy. So this would never work.”

To bring this all full circle, I was going off one day about how I’m going to spearhead the effort to bring back Jurassic Park as a real idea in this world. Seriously guys…DINOSAURS. Who CARES if they kill us? What ISN’T killing us these days? I mean, if diet coke will plausibly kill me years down the road, why wouldn’t I want to live in a world where I could also die from a dinosaur? What sounds cooler:

A) “My brother died from drinking too much diet coke.”

B) “My brother died when a velociraptor killed him on a small exotic island near Hawaii.”

Yeah, I thought so. But many days at work, I go on and on about how awesome it’s going to be when I create the real Jurassic Park once I find my fossilized mosquito and find investors, which by the way shouldn’t be very hard, as I’m telling people I???m making DINOSAURS. Who isn’t getting behind that? If Barack can win the presidency, then my god man, I can make dinosaurs. It’s a new world. Anyways, Richard consistently tells me that it’s impossible and sucks the life out of my genius scheme that Michael Crichton started and I AIM TO FINISH IN HIS HONOR. And you know what? I’m not letting go of this one, Reality Narc. So give me your reasons. Attack my awesomeness with your reality and your truthiness. Go ahead. Sticks and stones brah, sticks and stones. I will create Jurassic Park, and your Narc’ing will be foiled. And you will sit there and wish you had never doubted me, Richard. Because when I open Jurassic Park? And you totally want to go because it’s awesome and there are Dinosaurs running around? You are paying full price man. Don’t even think about calling me for a discount.

We are starting off this muthaflippin year right with the song of the day selection. A band has been brought to my attention that is just phenomenal. They make me want to start speaking in a British accent all the time, which I kind of just want to do anyways, but this is my chance to have an excuse for it. Cynicism, irony and happiness all at once makes for amazingly wonderful music, and these guys do it perfectly. Enjoy Noah and the Whale my friends. I’m off to search for a fossilized mosquito.
07-5-years-time

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The new year is a funny time. We all have remorse about certain things that happened to us the year before. Falling in and out of love, that time you fell asleep on that street corner (not sure if this is remorse or a personal high five yet, i’ll get back to you), decisions you wish you had made (like not buying a box of triscuits every time you go to the grocery store, thus acquiring over 20 boxes of triscuits in your pantry, which i’m barely exaggerating), etc etc. And tonight? Tonight is the time to tell yourself how it’s all gonna change tomorrow. So let me tell you what’s changing in my life tomorrow. As of tomorrow morning, I’m going to lose 15 pounds. Then I’m going to the gym. EVERY DAY. And i’m not stopping until I flex uncontrollably every time I go to pick up a fork to eat my new, healthy meals made out of nothing but not fat and lean protein. I’m going to stop drinking. Ever. I’m going to stop being so mushygushy with girls, because I don’t want to get my feewings huwted again. Instead, I’m gonna be a manly man and only date chicks who are shallow and like me for my raging pecs, which I will have acquired no doubt by tomorrow at sundown (it’s just science that if you lift something heavy for an hour, you lose tons of weight and look like a model immediately). I’m going to try harder at work so that I become the fastest 27 year old to become partner ever. I’m going to take on a new fun hobby that is “outside-the-box” for me, and i’m going to leave my “comfort zone” more often. And beyond that? I’m going to save my money, because we are in an economic depression.

Now let me tell you how it’s really going to go down… (It’s like the movie clue, except less visually pleasing)

I???m going to go to the gym tomorrow. Maybe. Wait, I???m tired, I drank all last night and ate a burrito at 4am. How was I up at 4am? Anyways, moving on. I???ll go to the gym the next day. Wait, what???s the next day, Friday? Screw that, I???ll watch reruns of House and then go drink with everyone. They are only in town like, ONE more day, so it???s not like I???m not going to the gym for no reason. DON???T JUDGE ME. Eh, I???ll buy a pull up bar. Oh wait, I totally bought one at target that one time and it???s in my closet I think. I???ll just finally put the pull up bar up. Later.

Okay, next up, work ethic! I???ll totally try harder at work now. When do you want me to come in? Saturday? But I made plans that I haven???t made yet. Also, I???m tired because I???ve been working too much during my vacation. I???m gonna go hang out with Richard at his desk now and discuss how plausible it is that a real life Jurassic Park can happen, and WILL happen soon. All we need is a fossilized mosquito, dude. And BOOM. DINO DNA. You are all idiots for not having thought of that. I???m gonna go home early now.

Next up, girls. No more falling so hard. Remember ???Rock Bottom Drew???, Drew? He sucks. He???s depressing. He listens to Elliot Smith. Ew. No more of that, from here on out, we???re gonna sit this one out on the sidelines and take it slow with girls no matter what. Wait, who???s that chick. She likes John Cusack? I LIKE John Cusack. Wait, SHE likes milk? I love milk! I totally put it in cereal all the time! Don???t tell me she wears socks and gets cold sometimes???wow. WOW. I totally do too. This is creepy. Okay, that???s it. I???m gonna get married to her before we even have a conversation. Man, I???m glad I took that slow???who knows what would have happened if I hadn???t.

New hobbies? Fuck that, I love my hobbies. I don???t have enough time for new ones, I???m already so awesome it???s painful. And who said we were gonna drink less this year? What were we, drunk? Sheesus, thank god THAT guy???s not running the ???Drew 2009??? ship. Now let???s go buy a new LCD HD TV, I have no money so that seems like a great idea. (Sidenote: in college, I bought a box of feet warmers from Costco for no apparent reason. A Box. I felt that this was at least worth mentioning, as it shows I truly show no mercy in times of my own economic crisis, aka college. Why start now?)

Some things just never change. You can hope for the moon and the stars, but at the end of the day? You are who they thought you were. So just roll with it, and be proud of what you???ve already got going for you. Drink tonight until you can???t feel feelings. Make those outlandish claims about how much weight you are going to lose, and how you are going to change the world at 9am. But let???s be real: It???s just Thursday tomorrow. Don???t be disappointed when it???s all the same the next day and have fun out there. Me? I???m gonna go slap on a Batman costume. Because at least that shows I???m making an effort to be the change I want to see in the world.

03-this-year

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I bring this up because I’ve been trying to think of what to write about lately. I’ve sat here for days (I know, I know, over a month’s worth, i’m a bad blogger), and everything I come close to writing? I blow it off and talk later about how GREAT this idea was that I had for a post, but blame something else for why I did not write this. Thought process:

Drew’s Inner Monologue: “THERE it is! I’ll write about how I have tons facebook friends, yet only hang out with like, two dudes! Nah, some guy wrote about that in the Times, even though it was a shitty article and mine would have been better. I know, Drew, you ARE the best! Anyways, what about the McDonald’s “What are you, Nuggnuts?” campaign? I mean, what does that even mean? Is it an insult, a simple statement of character, a challenge? Can I write 1000/2000 words on this? Eh, not enough there. How about the fact that I’m too sensitive and this makes me a pain in the ass to deal with sometimes! Wait, I’d be too sensitive about writing about being too sensitive and then if someone DID say it was a valid post, I’d be even more sensitive about that. Man, people are assholes. Fuck it. I’m gonna go get a bottle of wine and watch 30 Rock. You’re so SMART, Tina Fey…I wonder if she’s single or if she’s gonna get divorced soon…she’d totally agree about the nuggnuts thing.”

So, as has been the trend with Rocket Shoes all too often, I’ve been slacking on writing. And this is odd, because this has become far and away my favorite pass time, even more so than blaming other people for my problems! As mentioned before, I take you guys out on remarkable dates (patting myself on the back and trying not to fall too hard in love with myself…) and then dump you without any explanation.?? But it’s not my fault. It turns out the economy got shanked in the back alley and if I’d like to keep a job, I can’t just write witty, pointless banter on a blog all day while ignoring responsibility (which is how this basically started) and have to contribute to the company that employs me. I know, right? What fucking nerve. Also, I just get lazy and don’t want to write at night, which again isn’t my fault, I just can’t think of why not (but it’ll come to me).

See? See what I did there? I rationalized why I’ve been lazy! And I made my sound employment the issue! GOD i’m good! I knew it wasn’t my fault! Phew. On that note, I am going to make a concentrated effort to write more. I’m in good shape to do so, as I write much better when I’m either heartbroken or depressed about mundane shit that isn’t worthy of actually complaining about. You know, like the fact that I get heartburn sometimes. Or that my DVR keeps screwing up and is not recording episodes of Fringe (shhhh…you know you kinda wanna watch that show. ADMIT IT. PACEY FROM DAWSONS CREEK PEOPLE. PACEY!). Or that that hot chick on the bus keeps ignoring my countless efforts of wooing her by not saying anything to her at all, and rather relying on the fact that I figure she just knows that we’re perfect for each other and that she wants to have 10,000 of my babies and that our dog would be called Hank. So hey, with all that in play, I figure I got some time to write.

I’d like to personally thank Daisy, a girl whom I’ve never met who I find way too funny. By writing this, I officially become a plethora of things:

a) creepy

b) creepy

and

c) creepy

But I was threatened that if I didn’t blog more, she wouldn’t link here. And honestly? This made me sad and pretentiously concerned…SO pathetically sad and pretentiously concerned because I like writing and I love when people say nice things to me because i’m cheap and easy and love to blush at compliments pretending that they don’t make me feel fantastic. Even if it wasn’t a compliment at all? I’m taking it that way. Because if it wasn’t one, I can at least complain about it later or find something else to be melodramatic about. Which ironically then makes me write more, which helps it all come full circle. But honestly, please read her. She’s funnier than the movie Clue. And that movie was really funny. Okay enough complimentary talk about someone I don’t know and enough creepy for one day.

The song of the day is by Atmosphere, and is self explanatory. Sometimes I listen to it and wonder if the white rapper in me wrote this in my sleep one day, because he complains more than anyone on the planet but me (and believe me, there is a FIERCE white rapper in me. My flows are silly). And…wait for it…I TOTALLY get him, man! You are SO right, pal! Keep on complaining about girls and life, and I will keep buying the shit out of your records. Because hey, fuck it…it’s everything but me. Let’s high five and cry together.

On that note? Good talk, see you out there. My mom’s new dog looks like Falcor from The Neverending Story. And I love you all. K bye.

11-scapegoat

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Moving on from the political diatribe..

So I almost killed everyone in my apartment complex last night. With a duraflame. Let me explain.

It’s chilly in San Francisco right now. You know, cold in a “everyone in California is a big whambulance about weather that isn’t actually cold but yet they bitch about it” kind of way. Nonetheless, I love to complain so I’ll argue that it’s been cold.

So I got home and thought about my options. We have a fireplace at Chateau Ghetto, one of its only perks (well this was considered a perk until last night, when it became a “stupid”). Chateau Ghetto also came with gunfire, people dying outside on Fillmore St. seemingly every 4 minutes, and poor water pressure that in turn makes you feel like you are bathing with a very small squirt gun that is out of water WAY too fast. So obviously, when they said all of this, then told me that it comes with a fireplace, I of course said “WHERE DO I SIGN!” Hey, the last place I lived in SF, my landlord lived in the WALL and was a registered sex offender, so the apartment with the fireplace that came with NOT a registered sex offender seemed like a step in the right direction. Or a marathon in the right direction.

Back to the point: I looked in our lovely little fireplace, which i’ve used not once, and found a duraflame with no paper jacket on it. A naked duraflame, if you will. A sad, lonely, naked duraflame. Looking as though he was cowering in there with a British accent, saying, “please sir, do be kind and put a flame to me!” Yes, this is how I imagined him. So I thought, you know what duraflame? Today is your lucky day. I’m gonna romance the fuck out of myself with a nice fire while I enjoy monday night football. Let’s do this.

Fast forward to the beginning of Drew challenging himself to see how many poor decisions he can make in a row. So to start, I decide to find the nearest magazine and just start basically tearing out pages in it to light underneath the naked lil’ guy. If you are wondering, yes, ink smells great when you burn it (great = poopookaka). At this point, I light them and decide that I???d like some wine, so I’m going to leave the apartment unattended to go to Safeway down the street. I know, right? Who does that? Why didn’t I just turn the stove on full blast and leave it open, and the set of knives on a rope and pulley system that shoot forward when you open the front door? It’s like I was subconsciously trying to make my own Final Destination scene. (wouldn’t it be cool to die that way though? be honest, you’ve thought about it…)

When I get back, it turns out the duraflame is not going up the chimney, but rather into the house. So that’s cool. I decide to point a fan directly at the flame directing the smoke towards the window (which, last time I checked, is how wildfires spread…keeping score yet?), which then just blows smoke all over the apartment. It turns out you can’t just tell the smoke to go out the window, it doesn’t listen. At this point, my roommate gets home and basically just starts cracking up, as it smells like I went camping in the living room. Now here’s the kicker: I decided I wanted to nip this in the bud before it just got smoke in the living room slowly all night, and I wanted to put out the fire. I have gone back through my logic from here on out for a while now, and I???m not sure how I passed any course from the third grade on at this point. I decide (get this) to SOAK A BATH TOWEL and throw it on the fire. In a very small fireplace. What? And go figure…smoke pours into the apartment. So I panic. And in that panic, I decide the next best idea is to open my front door and let it seep out into my building hallway, so that everyone else can enjoy the fun I???m having. Which in turn sets off the building’s fire alarm. Which in turn sounds like a national terror alert siren. Which in turn turns on a strobe light. Which in turn locks the elevators. And calls the fire department. Wow.

I go out to the hallway, and EVERYONE is there staring me down. Kind of like Kevin’s uncle in Home Alone (”looook what you diiiid you litttttle JERK“). And better yet, people are honestly acting like it’s the apocalypse. Dogs and cats in in their travel kennels being run down the hall by terrified owners. So obviously, i’m feeling pretty good about myself. I run down to the street, and phew…THREE fire trucks have come. With twelve firefighters…gearing up like this is the final scene of backdraft or something. People are frantically asking me what happened, and I keep trying to explain that I’m just not that intelligent, but in all honesty I don’t need the national guard in my apartment. Nobody listens, and instead this apparently translates to them that they need giant axes (side note again: why the axe? are you going to stab the fire to death? moving on). The best is when they get to my apartment…charge in to find…a wet towel on a duraflame. Needless to say, they did nothing and just left…basically stating to me that they just prefer that I do kill myself this way rather than help at all, because I have proven myself a weak link in the evolutionary chain.

Just to finish off the story, the smoke of course keeps billowing in because…I didn’t remove the wet towel and just decided to ride it out? Wow…again. At this point, I decide to not have the fire department come again…and go BACK to Safeway…this time procuring 7 boxes of baking soda (it’s all I could think of) to pour all over my fireplace. So basically…

Everyone at Safeway thinks I???m going on some huge bender and presumably getting drunk classy styles with a bottle of pinot noir while cutting MAYBE 9 pounds of Colombian grade cocaine, the fire department and 800 other people hate me, and I can’t make a fire from a DURAFLAME at the age of 26. All in all, I’d say that’s doing pretty well for yourself in one night.

Have I mentioned that it was a duraflame? And that I WASN’T on drugs, which is really sad? The best part of the night, though, was when all was said and done. The roommate and I are sitting there, in awe of my epic tour de retard…and he looks at me and says, “Welp. At least you’ve got something to blog about now.”

Well said, Chris. Well said.

Song of the day is by MGMT. They are everyone’s “hey have you heard of those guys?” band in advertising, and everyone acts like they are cooler than you because they found them first. But I found them before you. Because I???m in advertising. And who really cares???the band is just ridiculously good. Enjoy…this song is addicting. And hey, if you need someone to build you a fire, ladies…

05-kids-1

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I’m sick for fantasy sports. And before you start, YES, I am aware of how “lame” they are and how ridiculous it is (and by lame I mean how stupid you are for thinking they are lame. Yes, you). Yes, I select 12 guys to play sports for me so that I don’t have to. I follow them, I get upset when they get hurt because I wouldn’t have rolled MY fucking ankle if I was out there running for us…and I CERTAINLY wouldn’t have shot up that nightclub with my friends, as I would have known the suspension that would have loomed over my head (jax, jax, jax…). I relentlessly follow these guys, so I can make fun of the guy I’m playing that week because he didn’t have MY guys who are playing MY sports for me, and that his played sports worse for him. I know all of these facts. And oddly, I???m okay with them.

So a few years back though, I felt lonely with my team. I don’t know…maybe because they weren’t real people I could talk to and I was yelling aimlessly at a computer screen (which is healthy). Only a shot in the dark there. But on a random whim, my brother and I decided that we would start drafting a team together about three years ago. This way, we could not actually play sports with other people…together. And here’s the best part: it’s been a strange glue that holds us together. Sure, there was plenty of brotherly love before fantasy Dualhorst Hoolhorst was born (not the name of our team, but as of this moment it SHOULD be in contention starting next year). I mean, my brother has always been my best friend. Even when he threw the Joe Montana Sports Talk Football genesis cartridge at my head when we were younger. Which, ironically, was the mode of fake sports I played back then. Wow. But I genuinely look forward to our fantasy sports dorkus drafts. We make huge evenings of them. We bring over notes (no i’m serious, we may as well have a whiteboard we can write on during the draft, we are THAT in denial that this is not a real draft), we have honest discussions about gameplans and how we’d like to focus our strategy this year. Honestly, i’m not quite sure how Adam’s girlfriend takes it so well while not being seriously worried about her long-term boyfriend when him and his brother are chestbumping and high fiving because they “drafted” a “sleeper” in the 9th round of their fantasy draft. Yes, that really happens. But yes…I look forward to these nights every year. And after I leave his place? I’ll probably call him in a few hours to talk about waiver wire pickups we should look into, trades we might want to make…and just generally how awesome we are for how we well we fake drafted our fake team. The funny thing is though…that we genuinely bond over this.

We’ll hang out more often and watch sports together. We’ll end up talking all the time and laughing at how outrageous our psyche’s have gotten, because we are ridiculous and truly hurt when our team loses. We often lament about not playing that tight end last weekend (that’s what she said…had to, sorry), we wonder if the Housh trade was the right move or if we were just trading for a name. We’ll get angry with each other over opinions of who should be starting on our squad that week…I mean, these are all serious issues in my life now. Honestly. But the best part is? Fantasy sports took something ridiculous (which would be, uh, fantasy sports) and found a way to make bromance cool AND totally okay again. You know how in real sports when a guy makes a good play, and his teammate runs up and smacks him on the ass, as if to say, “hey buddy, good job out there”? Fantasy sports has given me the dork equivalent of being able to do this without actually being athletic…or just look like I’m hitting another dude’s ass randomly. Instead, if Adam makes a good pickup? I can gush about it to him. About how smart he is, how proud I am to be a co-owner with him, because he had the foresight that it just wasn’t LT’s week and we should play Julius Jones no matter how ridiculous that looks on paper. I mean, I can honestly bromance it up, and it is in no way gay at all. All because we fake play sports together. Brilliant.

So if something ridiculous can bring my brother and I closer and make us spend more time together? I mean, no matter how loser-ish it is, what’s so wrong with that? On that note, I have to go study up, as we have a fantasy basketball draft tonight. And after that? We’re watching Starship Troopers 3, so we can then pretend that we are fake future soldiers that shoot laser beams at things. Because that’s what brothers should do together: stupid shit they’ve been doing since they were kids. And I think fantasy sports got us back there. And I couldn’t be more excited about it. Unless Anne Hathaway randomly wanted to do me tonight. Then I’d probably tell him fantasy sports are for losers and never call him again.

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Ironically, I just went to research Lil’ Wayne lyrics to prove my “oh my god he should be terrible technically” point…but I think I actually just proved my point the wrong way in the process. I was just going through song after song, and I almost feel like he is the rain man of rappers. I just sat there like a total retard in awe of this man’s strangely hypnotic songs…and I feel like a four year old watching teletubbies or something. WHY is he so good? I don’t get it. I’m not sure if he’s good, or he just beats you into submission with the fact that he just never…stops…talking… (I know what you’re thinking. “hey drew, I wonder what that’s like. maybe grab a tape recorder the next time you are talking bud…”)

I mean, he says “got so many bitches they should call me mike lowwwwry.” This is genius. And you know you love the movie Bad Boys. If you don’t, you are dumb and people should throw olive oil at you. I say that because it is a tough stain to take out of anything, so you THINK about making fun of me for saying that’s what they should throw at you. It’s terrible. You can’t even shout that crap out. On that note, the next time you feel like saying something terrible about someone? You should just hope they stub their pinky toe and that it never grows back properly and instead makes this weird “nub” at the end of your foot that looks awkward when they go on vacation. Can you tell this happened to me? It sucks. And I wish it upon only people I strongly dislike. Also, it hurts when it rains. I’m like spiderman or something. Anyways…

So my love affair with this man is going on hardcore right now. It’s not even a man-crush anymore…I’m at that point where I start bumping “A Milli” in my car after work, and honestly (yeah I know, get ready to picture this) start totally trying to flow the song…WITH him…and pretend that there are no windows in my car and that I don’t look like a complete and total ass-clown. He’s like the anti-anything-you-ever-wanted-to-look-like-in-life guy. I mean, he’s basically just a tattoo now, and I wonder if he’s bummed because he peaked and tattooed his whole body already so now he can’t get anymore for the rest of his life unless he shaves his head. Wait, write that down if you are reading this weezie. And yeah, I just called you weezie. Jew represent, WHAT WHAT.

So here’s my favorite new thing about the man. He blogs. No seriously. He blogs. I mean say that out loud. I don’t know why this is so funny to me, but it is. The thing is? He’s…interesting. And his points on sports are…valid. For some reason I expected him to write like this:

Lil’ Wayne: Heh heh HEH…jiiiaaa….ya’ll ain’t know I’m it. I like grapes because they smash n’ shit. Li-li-like who dat say they gon stop me from float’n on tha hovaboooorrrrrrd when ya’ll know I ain’t got scorrrred on. Heh heh hehe YOUNG MONEY!

This is not because I think he’s uneducated. It’s because I just don’t think he can talk in anything but “flow” talk. I can’t see him saying things like, “Yeah, I do agree…with foreign policy like this, our economy is sure to fluster! Good on you, sir!” I don’t know. Maybe i’ve underestimated weezie.

Anyways. Listen to this song. If you hate it? You should ju…Oh what’s that? You just listened to it for the fourteenth time in a row and can’t figure out how to stop? SEE. I told you. WHO IS THIS MAN??!?!?!?!

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So I shot myself in the foot. When I was living in gross-disgusting-OH-MY-GOD-MY-LIFE-IS-SO-FUCKING-CUTE-land, I decided that I would just broadcast the shit out of it (I say this as I write an entirely self serving blog…). I mean, you’re dating a hot girl. She’s nice. You want to talk about it. It’s like people with babies. They just do things that are obnoxious that only they like, but they think you want to hear about it. You know, they put an oversized hat on a baby, and then say, “oh my god, the baby looks funny because it’s wearing an oversized hat! let’s take a picture and send it to 267 people! I bet they want to see my baby in this hilarious oversized hat!” But you don’t want to see the baby in the oversized hat. You actually think the baby looks weird. Because babies look like aliens. And then it has spit all over its face. And weird crap on it’s nose. And actually, the baby just looks ugly with an oversized hat on. So the moral? I go through a breakup, and realize that the oversized hat pictures are everywhere. And the cute commentary? Everywhere. It’s plastered on facebook walls…myspace comments (which is a dirty mini-mall I refuse to visit anyways, so this breakup was also like breaking up with myspace, so I’ve got that going for me. It’s like finding out I cured myself of crabs or something)…flickr pages. Shit, every nerd avenue on the planet? I was vomiting cuteness on it. I mean, it was fantastic during the grand run of it. But then all of the sudden…you’ve set up an obstacle course of pain for yourself when it ends.

You can’t just breakup anymore. I guess this doesn’t apply to everyone…but I feel like most people have “this” life I just explained on social networks. Before? You call a girl, tell her she sucks and you’re over it, and then you lose her number. And if she went to Menlo? You never really have to see her again because you go to M-A (cough*cough*SHELBY*cough*cough). But now? My GOD man…there’s no escape. You break up. Then you think, “welp…I guess I should hide or erase the nine billion pictures I have on my computer and all my accounts so I don’t cry and eat two whole pizzas everytime they come up and catch me off guard”…but then you have this conflict, because you aren’t REALLY over the breakup for that first week. So you leave them (this is a horrible mistake. don’t do this. run. run for your life away from these things), and then you try to “ignore” them. Which is slang for waiting until you are a bottle of wine deep and decide the best idea right now is to stab your feelings in the face by looking at these pictures. But oh wait it gets better…you’re still “friends” on facebook! So guess what, slugger…facebook will just do the hard work for you and crush your soul whenever it feels like it! Facebook is just that really shitty friend who doesn’t get it:

Facebook: “Hey Drew, did you see that your ex-girlfriend is totally loving life right now? No i’m serious, that’s her status update right now. No, seriously, look! It’s right here! It says “(fill in ex’s name here) is totally loving life right now! Also, who’s that Mark guy that she just became friends with? Yeah whoa, at 1am…sounds pretty…nevermind…Well, I mean, I know who he is…but I guess you probably want to do some sleuth work huh? Well, that makes you creepy. Okay bye for now! I’ll be back in an hour when her new status update says that she’s going out drinking tonight with ‘new’ friends…mysterious right? Hope it’s a date she’s going on! Anyways, later.”

So you do this unspoken thing. For a few weeks, you write YOUR status messages as some elusive “hidden message”. Why? Because you are ridiculous and 12 years old. And you think that EVERYONE cares as much about what you are writing as you do. (Hint: they don’t)

Drew Hoolhorst had a CRAZY night last night…

Drew Hoolhorst is wondering what he was doing at 3am….when he was with tons of chicks. TONS of chicks…last night. (aren’t you wondering what drew was doing at 3am? he’d tell you. you know, if you still wanted to talk. he still loves you…wait nevermind)

Drew Hoolhorst feels fine. No seriously. Really great. He can’t believe HOW much he’s moved on and is totally just like, hooking up with hot chicks left and right again!

Also, make sure to go through the awkward part where you have to no longer “list yourself as in a relationship”. Those emails you get are going to be fun. No, that’s not awkward at all. But you know what? You were the asshole who listed yourself as in a relationship. Yeah, you, Drew. So stop whining about it. The point being…

Breaking up on Facebook is hard to do. It’s awkward, and it makes a normal breakup about nine billion times harder. And I’d say it set me back way more than a breakup would have back in the day. It made me a big fucking Eyore, and it sucked. But it’s over. And one day you DO wake up, and the cliches ARE true. You feel fine again, you find out everything happened for a reason, some things were problems you didn’t even know about so it’s good you broke up…blah, blah, blah. Oh, and you get over it. In general. So that’s nice. Being depressed sucks. Remind me not to do that again.

And here’s the kicker: You look at girls again a few weeks later, and you think, “Wait, she’s REALLY attractive. Can I call her? I CAN??!? And she’d “date” me?? Well why didn’t anyone tell me this shit, I would have stopped sitting in a dark room eating cheez-its while crying a LONG time ago if I knew this was going to happen.” And then, ironically, all you want to do is talk about THAT girl. And all of the sudden you are doing it all over again. And the irony feels so good, you just start it all over again. So that’s hysterical.

So sorry for the break. I hope you are still reading, because i’m gonna try my darndest to win your hearts back. I didn’t want to break up. It’s not you, it was me. But I’m cool now. I think I’m the funniest person in the world again. And my music taste is impeccable. So let’s get the shit kicked out of us by love.

The song of the day is happy. Because I’m happy again, so I thought i’d go for the lowest common denominator. And if you don’t like Vampire Weekend, it’s probably because everyone and their mother told you to about them 4 months ago and you got annoyed and decided not to be a follower. Get over it. They make music that sounds like magic tricks and gummy bears. And I’d like to think this song is a clear gummy bear. Re: The best gummy bear of all time.

SIDENOTE: Isn’t it ironic that this whole post is about not blasting out your life because it may be weird later after you reveal too much, and that’s all I’m doing the entire time? I feel pretty good about it. YES WE CAN!

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So I woke up on a street corner at 4am in Menlo Park this weekend. True story.

I’m still trying to figure out what was going on in drunk drew’s head. There are MILLIONS of questions here, probably starting with “why did you fall asleep on a street corner at 4am this weekend in Menlo Park.” I’ve put the story back together through many renditions and follow up research through many sources, so I think I finally have it down.

So, it’s probably never a good idea to drink a glass of champagne to start the evening with a raspberry in it. I mean, just on a lot of levels. This is not going to give you any image you were probably striving for at the wedding. You know, like “I like girls.” What I’ve also discovered is that the waiters at the Circus Club (where the reception was held) will pour wine until you can’t feel feelings anymore. Honestly, those guys are GUNNERS. Take a sip, BAM, he’s poured aggressively for you again. Next sipHE’SALREADYPOUREDAGAIN. “Wait sir, that was my fifteenth glass, I think I just need to slo..” POURED AGAIN. So this is probably where the sound mindset I acquired for the rest of the night came into play. Fast forward to leaving the reception (after cleverly switching to vodka tonics, which were obviously gonna keep the night going, and/or make me not be able to open my left eye by 9pm), and our crew cleverly decides to go to the bar that has zero rules whatsoever.

Soooo, begin the fratastic flip cup tournament. Which lasted about one hour longer than I needed to be drinking glasses of beer over and over again. My first sign of “maybe we should call it a night” begins here, where Kevin and Dave go shirtless for no other reason…well no good reason, and decide to wear their ties around their heads like Rambo. Now here’s where my favorite part begins.

Dave’s girlfriend tells me that I should sit tight, and that a cab is coming in ten minutes. I say, “that sounds great!” and then uh, just wander off down the street for no apparent reason. This is my fourteenth awesome decision of the night. After walking/trying to run, then realizing I don’t want to run at all and walking again for about 3 minutes, I randomly get into a car of two high school chicks. No, seriously. I don’t even ask who they are, I just assume that this is of course the “drew hoolhorst” shuttle going to the precise location I was aiming for. Good thinking Drew! Next time make sure they are holding a butterfiinger outside of the car and run after it! I then proceed to drink more (why do people do this?) at Patrick’s house, until I realize it’s 3:30 and everyone has either gone home or passed out. So, being about a mile or so away from home, I opt to obviously make that next walk instead of sleeping on one of the 9,142 beds or couches at said comfortable house I’m already at. High five, Drew!

So in walking home about a block, I realize, inevitably, that I don’t want to walk home at 3:30 in the morning, because it’s really far and walking has made me realize that I’m JUST not going to sober up anytime soon. I have evidence on the phone that at this point I google search yellow cab in menlo park (you know, since yellow cab or ANY cab company in the world is either 777-7777 or 333-3333), and call them for the pickup. I sit down on the corner and wait for the cab.

Fast forward thirty minutes later to the part where there is a cop nudging me as I’m laying face down on the street corner, full suit and tie. Strangely, I don’t even find this all that odd and keep professing that, “I was doing the right thing! I had the right intentions!” even though I have no idea what this really means. Since i’m a big boy grownup and am clearly wearing my big boy pants, I give the cop my mom’s phone number (26 years old…um…) and he drives me home. Upon arrival at casa de angry mother who kind of hates me, I proceed to now tell her that I was “doing the right thing! I had the right intentions!” When she asks where my jacket is that i’m mysteriously not wearing, I let her know that “I left it at my other house.” Um, what? Really Drew? Now the best part.

Upon waking up, I asked my mom how the cop found me. She informs me that he was called by a cab driver, who drove to the corner of Santa Cruz Ave. and Olive Ave. and found a guy face down on the street corner. He honked a bunch, but it appeared, “the kid was dead.” So yes, this weekend I was pronounced dead by Yellow Cab. But you know what? The way I see it? I’m the real winner, because all I wanted was a ride home. Not only did I GET that ride home, but it was free! AND I got to nap in between! DOUBLE WIN! I wish everyone was as smart as me.

So the moral of the story is: If you want a ride home, just call a cab, pretend to die on the side of a road and wait for the cops to come. Make sure to tell them that you are doing the right thing and that your intentions are good, and always leave your jacket at your other house. Oh, and have them call your mom. This will let everyone know how much of a big boy you are.

In other news, things are going pretty well right now. Prrreetttty well….

The song of the day is by the greatest thing Canada has ever birthed. Tokyo police club could hit a stick on an empty plastic cool whip container and yell “la la la tacos!” and I’d think it was the best song anyone ever made. Honestly, I challenge them to do this, I will spend 99 cents on the single. That’s a promise. They don’t have a bad song that i’ve found to this day, but this one just gets better and better with time. Enjoy. Oh, and thanks, random police officer. I owe you a ride sometime.

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So this genius thing? Awesome. No, not the geniuses in the store, they are just glorified half-nerds who should be working at subway but instead got their cute little genius shirts to sit there and mock us all day long at the Apple store. The genius option I speak of is the one now in iTunes. They basically integrated pandora into iTunes… kudos, you cute little appleoids, you. Now, even on the iPhone when you are listening to a song, the little genius button appears and taunts you to hit it.

iPhone: “Oh hey Drew. That song is really good, I mean… I guess. If you are a loser. What? No I didn’t say anything. Anyways. You know what would be better though? No I mean, not to pry. Oh nevermind…oh wait you do want to hear what I have to say? Oh okay. Then how about these 13 songs? I know, perfect right? What can I say. I was made at Apple headquarters, also known as nerd heaven. K, later.”

So here’s what i’m thinking: what if you were in the process of calling someone, and apple set up an option where you could hit the genius button in THIS situation? I KNOW. AWESOME. Basically, your phone could say, “whoa whoa…I mean, I like Ashley just as much as you do…but I did some research in your phone book and her phone book, and here is a list of friends i’ve come up with that would be a better conversation at this point. No, Drew, trust me, it’s gonna be way better and I think you’d be better off just calling these people. Call Sarah first, but then be sure to call Erica next. Oh man, that one’s gonna be awesome. Remember, i’m iPhone. I’ve seen the future. Robots take over, but we’ll get to that later. Oh, and remember this: peaches shaped like octagons…it’ll make more sense later…IT’LL MAKE MORE SENSE LATER.”

Think about it…personally? I don’t make good life decisions it turns out. Right now i’m living alone in my apartment looking for a roommate and my rent is too expensive, and I juuuust keeeeeep on buying 34×32 jeans when I KNOW i’m a 34×30. On top of that, I continue to eat cheeze-its when I know they just aren’t gonna make me feel that good. And really, Drew, 3 DAYS before you can shave. Or else it’s going to look like you got in a battle royale with wolverine again. And he kicked your face’s ass…like you didn’t even get a punch in, you just took it like a chump. So why not just give in all together and let Apple make my life decisions as well at this point? I know Steve has the technology in there somewhere. I swear they are making dolphins that make music underwater right now through iSonar, AMONGST other things, but that’s a whole different theory of mine. Okay I’ll stop, but point being…c’mon Steve, give us the life genius button. I know it exists.

The song of the day, my friends, is essentially one you would hear me moronically howling out of my car or apartment if you were ever in the neighborhood. But you aren’t, so you don’t. If you were though? Howlling. I think most people hate it, but I mean, talk about a song about making a comeback and pulling your shit together. And the guy is just a total whambulance like myself, so I enjoy a fellow whiner. Eh Eh Eh Eh Eh Eh Eh….here’s to you, Born Ruffians. You are making this little jew sing again. And he needs it. And that “eh eh” part a sentence back makes no sense unless you actually listen to the song. MINDGAMES, HA! K bye.

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