Ha ha ha! Comedy Eric Schneider, Comedian

I’ve never been much of a collector. I think it’s because I never focused my interest on any one thing long enough to amass a collection of anything. Sure, I made attempts: When I was younger, I thought it would be fun to collect polished stones from random places based on the color of that region’s handicapped parking spaces. I quickly realized that handicapped spaces only came in blue and green, and my collection soon came to an end. I also tried my hand at collecting state quarters; about 40 of which I found in one shot while going though loose change. I made it up to Hawaii, and somehow lost another state along the way. Now I have a book of 48 state quarters sitting on my shelf collecting dust.

Over the past few months, almost surreptitiously, I have accumulated a new collection. I’m not sure if I should be proud of it or ashamed, but I now have 20 shirt.woot.com t-shirts. It’s not an addiction, and I don’t think I’m out of control, but I have no intention of stopping and I’d rob my own mother to get money to pay for more.

My favorite part about shirt.woot is random shirt day, where you receive 3 completely random shirts. They’re usually shirts I would never pick for myself, but end up looking nice anyway. It’s like being forced to step out of my comfort zone one t-shirt at a time.

Anyway, below is my collection of woot shirts. If there are more than 20, it’s because the gallery will update automatically as I add more to my collection. Soon I will have them all!!!

Woot Shirts

“Ehhhhhh… what’s your point?” – Gary Schnitzer

You’ll be missed, my friend.

Although I was prepared for the shouted greeting, it still startled me nonetheless. I normally walk with my head down, so I almost broke my neck as I snapped to attention and looked around to see who just welcomed me to Subway. It was a man’s voice, but there was only one woman behind the counter.

Behind me another customer walked through the door. The alarm beeped that notifies the employees that someone has entered the store, and from the back, out bellowed another “WELCOME TO SUBWAY!!!”

I got a chance to see what I probably looked like a few seconds earlier as the person behind me perked up, looked around like God just spoke to him and responded politely, “Thank you?”

I’m noticing that this relatively new corporate mandated greeting is being adopted by more and more places, and frankly, I don’t get it. I’m sure it all started with some customer service brain storming session. “Everyone gets greeted! No exceptions! They hire retards to do it at WalMart, and look how well they’re doing. So we should do it too!” In fact I’m almost certain that’s how it all went down, because I saw it happen when I used to sell cars.

One of the managers had dinner at TGI Fridays for his birthday and he thought because the wait staff sang Happy Birthday to him, that we should sing to the customers when they buy a car. So, after the first sale that day, he called us all into the showroom to gather around the customer and we sang, “We sold you a car! We sold you a car! You’re gonna go far! You’re gonna go far! We sold you a c…” And before we could get out the word “car”, the customer was in his car. He drove away and never came back.

Look… when people come up with ideas like greeting every customer, I’m sure it’s not intended to be shouted out at inappropriate levels by some unknown voice scaring the crap out of 90% of the people who walk through the door. The fact of the matter is people just don’t give a shit. I know I’m right because, as an experiment, sometimes I’ll walk in and shout hello first! They never say hello back! In fact, they look at me with disgust because they hate that they have to yell “Welcome to Subway!!!” By the way… the mystery man who shouted “Welcome to Subway!!!” never came out from the back.

Why wouldn’t they just hire friendly people if they want their employees to act friendly?

Ok, this may be a bit gross, but have you ever taken a poo and have the odor remind you of some place or time from your past?

No? Me neither. I was just checking.

Every so often you come across a product that exceeds all your expectations and makes you want to tell everyone how awesome it is. To qualify for such a prestigious honor, the product must be perfect (for you) in both form and function. It must meet every single advertised claim plus add some unforeseen value to either your life or the lives of others. The item cannot be something you received as a gift even if you specifically asked for it, because part of the ownership experience is the sense of pride you feel to have had the wherewithal, savvy, and foresight to have purchased the item in the first place. I might even go as far as to say you should also have paid full retail price for it, because buying it on sale reduces the risk of disappointment should it turn out to be less than you hoped it would be. You need to be 100% committed to this product from the get-go in order to feel the full force of the joy it gives back.

This is such a rare occurrence, I can’t think of any other product I currently own that lives up to such high accolades. In fact, the last time I felt like this was when they came out with extra small condoms!

So what is it that has me all a hootin’ and a hollerin’? It’s my new, super-fantastic Vibram Five Fingers barefoot shoes!!! Click here to see them in all their footy glory.

Wait! Don’t go anywhere! Lemme splain! These shoes are, hands down, the best things I ever put on my feet! But enough hype… let’s get down to the meat and potatoes! Or should I say feet and my-ten-toes?!?! HA! I crack myself up.

I discovered Vibram Five Fingers while searching the Internet for shoes to wear when I do my yoga videos. I’d find myself sliding all over the carpet if I tried to do it barefoot. I’d get better traction with my running shoes, but they just felt too bulky for this type of low impact exercise. So, I did an image search for “yoga shoes” and there they were. Like many of you, I said, “What the poo are those things?!?!”

A few clicks later, I ended up at the Vibram Five Fingers website where I learned about the potential benefits of barefoot living. They claim that being barefoot stimulates the muscles in your feet and lower legs, and will not only make you stronger and healthier, but also improve your balance, agility and proprioception. (I have no clue what that last word means, and I’m not even going to bother looking it up.) They also suggest that being barefoot helps align the spine and improve posture. I have lower back pain, and If I didn’t know any better, I’d say I have at least one distant relative who used to live in a bell tower so they had my attention.

Vibram makes a few different Five Finger styles for all types of activities from Yoga to running to hiking. Aside from a very thin rubber sole to protect your feets from abrasions and road debris, they are as close as you can get to being barefoot. There’s no arch support, no cushioning, and no stabilizing ankle support. All the features you would expect to find in any athletic shoe are nowhere to be found. So how then can they possibly be comfy? How can you run long distances in them? And how do you not cut your feet on pointy or sharp things? I don’t know how, but they are, you can, and if you don’t walk on glass or nails, you don’t.

I didn’t purchase a pair right away. In my mind, I was still skeptical and saw them as more of a novelty than a viable option. At best, they’d be limited to yoga duty and would never see the light of day. With a price point between $80 and $100 bucks, I wasn’t in any hurry to snag a pair either. After a few more frustrating yoga sessions, however, I found myself back on the Internet trying to justify the purchase.

I read some independent reviews and almost all of them mentioned reduced joint and knee pain when running. This was a huge selling point since I have one bad knee, and one worse knee. It was also the additional motivation I needed to go try on a pair.

I headed over to my local REI and tried on the three models they had in stock starting with the cheapest. The first two, the Classic and the Sprint, did not really impress. The Classic, which has no straps, felt like they would fall off during any type of exercise, and the strap on the Sprint cut into my foot. Other than the uncomfortable strap, however, I really liked how the shoe felt. Then, I tried on the KSO’s and it was like my feet finally found their sole-mates. I wore them out of the store that day and haven’t taken them off since (other than to go to sleep and to wash them). Yes you have to wash them, because you don’t wear socks with them, and they can start to smell after a week or two of heavy exercise and all-day wear.

After a little over three weeks of use, I have greatly improved my yoga skills, and I can honestly say that my knees and back feel noticeably better during high impact exercise. I’m not going to pretend these shoes have healed me (praise Jesus), but when you live in pain all the time, any improvement is huge. I really believe they’re helping me build up the supporting muscles that surround my problem areas and alleviate the pressure in those places. But who knows… that can be complete bullshit and just the incremental improvements from my exercise program. All I know is physically, I feel better than I have in a really long time, and my new podiatric pals seem to be part of the reason.

I already bought a second pair.

Feel free to share your personal experience with a super spectacular life changing product.

I’ve never been an avid supporter of manscaping. Every now and then I’ll take the clippers to the ole sackaroo, but for the most part, I like to kick it old school. To me, there’s something kinda unmanly about it. If it were up to me, I would do away with this whole male primping and shaving and waxing and spiking and frosting and styling that seems to have taken hold of our country. I have a feeling, however, that unlike bell bottoms, hairy dudes aren’t going to be making a come back any time soon.

Anyway, have you ever seen those before and after photos of men who started exercise programs? Day 1 is always sad, pale, fat, hairy guy. Day 90 is happy, tan, shaved body guy. Always. No exceptions. Why do the guys always end up shaving their bodies?

Well I’m going to tell you exactly how that happens.

Since October of last year, I’ve been exercising and eating healthy. So far I dropped nearly 50lbs and put on a little bit of muscle. Thank you, thank you! I know… I’m awesome. Needless to say, I’ve been spending quite a bit of time in front of the mirror flexing, touching, prodding, pressing, and measuring (yeah even that too); and this weekend, I started wondering what I really looked like under all this body hair. So I charged up the trusty Norelco Bodygroom and went to town on my chest, belly, arms and nether regions. I was going to do my back as well, but by the time I was done with the front, I was too horrified to continue.

First of all, my body hasn’t seen the sun in literally 7 or 8 years. Maybe longer. My bare chest and belly are beyond pale. If I were to try to somehow get some color in my skin, I would have to do it in some secluded place where I couldn’t blind other people. I would be open to a tanning booth if it didn’t give you nut cancer and I wasn’t so vocal about how douchey it is for dudes to go tanning. I need an excuse to do some shirtless work in someone’s back yard while they’re away on vacation. That’s the only scenario where I could see myself getting a tan.

The second thing I realized when I was done grooming was the fact that my hair covered a network of ugly stretch marks across my midsection. I’m also convinced that the hair also acted as some sort of stabilizer or gave my belly more structure than it apparently has now. All of a sudden, I went from hairy guy with a little gut to someone who looks like they spent 10 weeks on the Biggest Loser Ranch with all the loose skin and a deformed belly button. When I bend at the waist, my stomach looks like one of those ceiling monsters from Half Life. Scary.

Shaving my arms was also the dumbest thing to do. It really seemed like a good idea because the hair on my wrists was covering my watch and it was hard to see what time it was. But after a day, I had 5 o’ clock shadow on my forearms and now it’s itchier than… than… I don’t know… something really itchy.

This wasn’t the first time I ever attempted a major manscaping project, but it was the first time I was surprised by what I uncovered. It was similar to the first time I got my hair cut short after my hair line started receding. I just looked in the mirror and thought, “Holy crap! You’re really not 18 anymore.”

They say that the sun shines on a dog’s ass every once in a while. I’m not exactly sure I know what that means, nor do I know who “they” are, but I’m pretty sure my ass just got exposed to some sunshine.

A few weeks ago I purchased a “gently used” M-Audio MobilePre Audio Interface off of eBay. It’s really not important to know what it is, but you can click on that link and check it out if you want. Feel free to buy it too… I’ll make some money if you do.

Anyway, I paid $75 dollars for it, and had to wait about 4 weeks for the jackhole to ship it to me. When it finally came in the mail, guess what? Exactly! It didn’t work. You’re very smart!

I emailed the seller and received the standard response: “It was working when I sent it to you. You probably forgot to plug it in, retard. Go F yourself.” (I’m paraphrasing).

So I went to M-Audio’s website to see if anyone else was experiencing the same issue. I thought perhaps I was forgetting one vital step to get it functioning properly. I found a post from someone who seemed to have the same problem, but there was no resolution. Feeling dejected, ripped off, and totally horse F’ed, I left a feeble comment at the end of the thread simply asking if anyone figured out a solution.

Well, within hours, a representative from M-Audio responded to my message letting me know he would send me a FedEx air bill in the mail so I could ship it back for a replacement. I told him I bought it used off of eBay, only paid $75 dollars for it, and I didn’t have the original receipt. He said not to worry about it, and two weeks later, I have a brand new, in the wrapper, M-Audio MobilePre!

That may have been the best non-face-to-face customer service experience I have ever had in my life. I have to specify non-face-to-face because I’ve been to a Mexican strip club, and they take customer service to a completely different level.

So, thank you Paul from M-Audio, and suck it Mr. Ebay Seller!

If you’re not familiar with lifehacker.com, I strongly recommend making it one of your daily blogs to follow. Essentially their articles follow the format: “Did you know you could use this to help you do that?”

“This” can range from a piece of computer software to a skateboard, duct tape, and a camera tripod. And “that” could be anything from organizing your appointments to making your own camera rig to photograph insects.

Anyway, today I found a post about how to handle a kitchen knife to reduce the chances of stabbing yourself or severing fingers. That post linked to the source article which went into more detail and also recommended a few kitchen knife brands. I did a double-take when I saw that one of the brands was called “F. Dick.”

Now, I’m sure if you’re knowledgeable about cutlery, you’ve heard of F. Dick before, but for the rest of us (well the rest of us with the mentality of a 12yr. old) it’s comedy gold!

I immediately Googled the brand to see how much their knives were. If they were reasonably priced, guess who was going to be the proud new owner of a genuine F. Dick knife?!?! Me, that’s who!!! What could possibly be more fun, or more juvenile than to show off my new F. Dick to all my friends?

Well, I’ll tell you what could be more fun, and more juvenile, and ridiculously more expensive…

Showing off my new 30lb F. Dick Manual Sausage Stuffer!!!

WHAT THE… WHO THE… WHAT THE HECK?!?!

Some things just make life worth living.

click to view larger image

Well the Super Bowl is over, the New Orleans Saints won, the devastation from Katrina can finally be put behind us, and the best part is I won’t have to hear about Fantasy Football for at least 7 months. Once again, the world seems balanced.

I didn’t get to watch the game as I was being a good little worker bee and finishing up a freelance web design project. I’m pretty excited, because it’s my very first legitimate client that’s paying me with money, not food. So, pat pat on the back for yours truly.

When I was done being a responsible grown-up, I popped over to hulu to see if there were any new shows in my queue. It was empty, but they did have all the Super Bowl ads posted. Although as a general rule I hate advertising, like many other Americans, I look forward to watching the Super Bowl ads. It’s the one time during the year where advertisers deviate a little from the norm and show off their creativity.

This year’s submissions were nothing to write home about, although I did like the Google ad and the CareerBuilder Casual Friday ad. What struck me as both strange and frustratingly annoying was the fact that the ads had ads. The page itself had the Coke logo on it, and before every other clip or so, I had to hear “The following clip is brought to you by Coca-Cola. Open happiness.”

I was planning on making this post a giant rant about advertising, but I just don’t have it in me tonight. I’m just mad because if you’re going to voluntarily subject yourself to 61 commercials, it should be without commercial interruption. Except for the commercials. You know what I mean!

By the way, part of the commercial marathon was a 13 minute short film called “Hotel Hell Vacation” with Chevy Chase and Beverly D’Angelo, resurrecting their roles as Clark and Ellen Griswold. They stay at a hotel, get a really small room, receive bad service, and then are charged lots of crazy fees when they check out. That’s about it. I’m not even sure exactly what it was supposed to be about, or if there was a sponsor somewhere in the film. All I know is it sucked huge sack.

The street I live on is commonly known for its prostitution activity. I have my own personal homeless guy security guard who sleeps near my car at night. I can’t go to the Circle K without someone begging me for money. On several occasions I’ve had to wait in my car for a drug deal to finish, and the participants to move out, before I could get get out and go to my apartment. The apartment complex itself is flanked by a used tire yard on one side and a vacant lot on the other. The area’s residents are predominantly those of a higher melanin content variety, and are described by Zillow.com as low-income and foreign-language-speaking urbanites; most with a high school education or lower.

Okay, I live in a shitty neighborhood. I get it. But does that mean all the grocery stores in the neighborhood have to be shitty too? Do the grungy, low-life inhabitants of our tiny little patch of Phoenix not deserve fresh produce, properly stocked shelves, or dry goods that have yet to expire? Must we be forced to first walk through cigarette-smoking store employees gathered out front before entering the store? Can a brother get a gallon of milk without dirty fingerprints all over the jug? And what the hell is that weird smell in Food City?

I’ve always wondered about the relationship between economic class and the quality of goods and services in their respective communities. Do you naturally get a substandard shopping experience in a low income neighborhood because the quality of the employees and managers isn’t up to par? Or do the people of a poor community just ruin everything no matter how nice you try to make it for them? Even if the latter were the case, that doesn’t explain why all the fruits and vegetables at my local Sprouts are consistently bruised, rotten, damaged, and discolored while the produce at the one in Paradise Valley looks like it could be used for print advertising. It’s seriously like night and day.

I think, at a corporate level, the stores set aside the B-grade products for the poor people. This may sound cynical, but I might go as far as to say that they transfer the “unpicked” produce nearing the end of its shelf life from the nicer stores to the crappy ones. Either way you look at it, in my mind, that’s discrimination! Why should my bell peppers be wrinkled and soft while others enjoy firm, unblemished ones? Why should my cilantro be limp and brown, while someone only 10 miles away gets to have lush green cilantro that snaps when you bend it? Why?!?! WHY?!?!?

Although in a way, it feels good to finally be part of an oppressed group, I believe this is an injustice that has gone ignored for way too long. I’m going to boycott!!! I’m going to plant my own fruits and vegetables in the vacant lot next to the homeless guy! I’m going to open my own Farmer’s Market! I’m going to use my own waste to fertilize my crops (and maybe to throw at my neighbors for disturbing me at night with their domestic violence!) And then we’re going to South Carolina and Oklahoma and Arizona and North Dakota and New Mexico, and we’re going to California and Texas and New York! And we’re going to South Dakota and Oregon and Washington and Michigan, and then we’re going to Washington, D.C., to take back the White House! Yeeeeeeeeeeah!!!

Who’s with me?!?!?

It’s been a little over a week since I’ve been without my cat. I’d be lying if I said I’ve been coping well, but I imagine it’s all a part of the grieving process. I never realized how much impact my cat had on my life; not just emotionally, but physically as well.

I have to keep reminding myself that I don’t have a cat anymore because I still unconsciously move around my apartment as if there were an invisible cat weaving between my feet. When I wake up, I look to see where she’s curled up so I don’t kick her when I swing my feet out of bed. I leave the bathroom door open just a tad so she doesn’t start meowing while I’m in the shower. I open cans of beans very quietly so she can’t hear (I think it’s mean to make her think I’m opening up tuna.) Every time I open a cabinet door, I expect her to run inside. When I leave the apartment, I open the door barely wide enough for me to fit though so she doesn’t sneak out. I look expectantly for her behind the door when I come home. I make sure not to throw my jacket on the bed so she doesn’t cover it with hair. When I first sit down at my desk I lean to one side to give her room to jump up on the chair. When I go to bed, I get into my sleeping position quickly because I only have about 5 seconds before she jumps up on the bed to find her spot.

Now, those five seconds pass, and then there’s nothing. It’s an incredibly lonely feeling.

I put my Kitty to sleep today. She had a terminal kidney infection and was in a lot of pain. She spent the last half hour of her life purring in my arms.

My cat was my best friend. I love her and I will miss her.

The first rule of grocery shopping:

You DO NOT talk about grocery shopping.

No, wait… wrong rules.

The first rule of grocery shopping is not to shop on an empty stomach. Everybody knows that, but it leads us to the age old question: where are you supposed to buy food when you’re hungry? Fast food? Try to convince yourself that you’re only going to get the salad and only use 1/4 of the dressing that comes with it? Tonight I took my chances at the grocery store.

My total shopping experience lasted about 2 hours. For the first hour and 57 minutes, my basket contained a bag of seedless grapes, a pack of 60 watt light bulbs, two squishy stress balls, and a new paperback off the best sellers rack. Don’t get me wrong, I touched everything in the store: different cheeses, meats, breads, pastries, cakes, fruits, veggies, pre-made sandwiches and salads, and chocolates (Halloween is coming up and they widened the sweets aisle to the size of a 4 lane freeway).

Grapes were the only edible item to make the cut. I was feeling pretty confident and proud of myself that I didn’t succumb to temptation, but grapes weren’t enough to get me through the night. I decided to pick up a bag of sunflower seeds as well. Wasn’t sure how they’d go with the grapes, but it was the best “not so bad for you” snack I could think of.

With the seeds in the basket, I made my way towards the checkout line, down the snack aisle, and past the Doritos display. I passed it three times already. The first time, I took note of the display’s football theme: two football players running into each other with the word “COLLISIONS” sprawled in high-impact lettering across the top. Football season started up again this weekend, so of course, the consumers need to see an image of two football players colliding, because how are we supposed to know what to snack on during a football game if there isn’t a picture of a football player on the display???

I’m not going to pretend that I’m not swayed by marketing. Believe me, I’ve wasted more than my share of money purchasing products simply because they looked cool or yummy on TV. I just hate the fact that I do. It makes me feel so used.

Anyhow, the second time I passed the Doritos display, I realized “Collisions” wasn’t just describing the actions of the football players, it was, in fact, the name of Doritos’ NEW product, touting, not one, but two flavors of Doritos in the same bag. Oooooh… the FLAVORS were “colliding”!!!! Get it? Get it???

Well, woopdie scoobity doo!!! How ingenious to mix two flavors of Doritos in one bag!

Honestly, who gives a crap, and how stupid must they think we are with their slogan: “With two BOLD flavors in one bag, YOU control the ultimate Doritos flavor combination.”

Wait. What?!? Are you serious?!?! Hold on just a second. You’re not saying what I think you’re saying are you?!?

I control it??? I control the flavor combination???

Holy crap!!! WOW!!! I’m finally in control of my Doritos!!!! Before, I felt so OUT OF CONTROL; like the Doritos were controlling ME!!! In the past, if I ever felt like having two flavors of Doritos, I’d have to buy two bags! But not anymore! Oh no… not anymore!

So the third and final time I passed the display, I gave it one last disapproving glare, and that’s when it hit me. Twice before, I merely looked at the display. All of a sudden, I was actually SEEING it for the very first time. My eyes widened, my lips parted, and the words “No way!” fell out of my mouth and landed right on my shoes. What i was looking at, was NOT, what I had assumed would be, a bag of Cool Ranch and Nacho Cheese Doritos mixed together, but in fact, was a bag of Doritos Brand Hot Wings & Blue Cheese Collisions Tortilla Chips!!!

All of a sudden I was in control of the ultimate Doritos flavor combination!!!

The bag was open before I even left the store.

OMG!!! Did someone order chicken wings? What??? What do you mean I’m not eating real chicken wings?!? Doritos??? Come on!!! Well then how do you explain the blue cheese dressing that I… what??? Doritos too?!? How is this possible??? Waitress!!!

I sat in my car with the engine idling for 20 minutes, widening the hole in the ozone layer, and basking in the flavors of my new favorite snack. Looks like it’s grapes and sunflower seeds for dinner tomorrow.

I started this blog a little while ago, then my cat sat on my keyboard (which has a “back” browser button) and erased everything I typed. Does anyone want a fat, too affectionate cat before I make kitty burgers out of her?

Anyway as I was saying…

I’m one of those people who never gets sick. However, once every year or two, the “never” turns into “hardly ever” and today is my day to pay the piper. I stayed home from work on account of a sore throat, runny nose, heavy eyes, and some pretty gross congestion. What a perfect opportunity to catch up on a little blogging.

The only real blog worthy event of these past few months was probably my recent trip to NY for Thanksgiving. Every time I go back, I kick myself in the ass for leaving in the first place. The good news is I got to spend some quality time with my family.

The flight over was very turbulent and I had to sit next to some guy who played with his penis for 5 hours. Like, he didn’t just adjust himself repeatedly, he literally rolled his penis between his fingers through his pants the whole flight. Maybe I should feel lucky he didn’t ejaculate. Either way, I was happy to get off the plane. I ran into a two hour weather delay in Baltimore. Surprisingly, however, the flight from Baltimore to NY was much smoother even though I was in one of those propeller type planes.

My family planned to have the traditional Thanksgiving dinner on Wednesday instead of Thursday. So when I arrived at my dad’s house, I was treated to a great meal, highlighted by Grandma Blanche’s stuffed cabbage. I’d been fiending for some stuffed cabbage for about 2 years now. Just writing about it makes me want some more. So good!

Thursday night, we went to Caffe on the Green for the official Thanksgiving Dinner. In attendance was yours truly, my two brothers, Justin and Jordan, Justin’s girlfriend Michelle, Dad, Helene, Blanche, Uncle Steven, Cousins Andy and Phillip, Steve’s girlfriend, Grandma Blanche, and Dad’s gay friend Jeffrey. Jeffrey recently emerged from the closet, but considering he looks and acts just like Christopher Lowell and has the voice of Harvey Firestein, I’m sure no one was all that surprised.

Dinner was very nice (I had the fish), however Helene prepared a banquets worth of pre-dinner snacks right before we left for the restaurant, so I could barely finish dessert. I did give it my best shot. The evening’s notable moment came when Helene (my step-mom) was having a discussion with my brother Justin about what he wanted to do with his life. She told him that whatever his thing was, whatever he wanted to pursue, it should make him happy, and she wanted him to be happy too.

What made this a classic moment was, by some comedic force of nature, the entire restaurant seemed to go quiet right after Helene finished her sentence. So what everyone there recalls was a sudden silence, followed by Justin’s response, which was “What if my “thing” is just hanging out and having anal sex with Michelle all day?” Because just seconds earlier, the restaurant was bustling and exceedingly noisy, Justin practically screamed his remark across the quiet room. The entire place spun around and stared at our table with horrified looks of shock and disgust. The reaction at our table was mixed. Jordan and I thought it was hilarious. Grandma, not so much.

Friday I spent most of the day helping my Dad and Helene tag merchandise for an estate sale they were running. Although it’s kind of creepy rummaging through dead people’s belongings, it’s also fun trying to piece together what kind of lives they lived. After a long day of work, we capped off the evening with some amazing Korean food.

By the way, my father happens to be famous at every restaurant in New York, so if you’re ever there, just say you know David Schneider, and they’ll give you a free glass of water. Seriously though, my dad and his wife are like local celebrities. When we go out to eat, everyone knows who they are, and they get free food. It’s incredible really. One Italian place we went has a dish on the menu called “The David and Helene”.

Saturday was more Estate Sale stuff, and we also went to the Mercedes dealership to test drive a few cars (unfortunately not for me). Jordan joined us for dinner at some sushi restaurant where my dad embarrassed me by letting the waitress know I was single. The funny thing was, before we got there, my dad informed me that she was single as well, but once she saw me, she miraculously had a boyfriend. When my dad introduced me, she said, “OH Meesta David… dis yaw numba won son? Oh.. I’m too old faw heem. Prus I would haf to reeve my boyfriend fust. Ha ha ha ha!”

Saturday night, I went into the city with my brother Jordan to celebrate his friend’s 21st birthday. After drinking 40′s on the LIRR like a bunch of thugs, we went to some Romanian club where all the women were smoking hot and all the guys they were with were… well… Romanian. They all wore tight American jeans with pointy shoes and were very… um… interesting dancers. We had our own interesting dancer in our group so we were able to take on all dance challenges and emerge victorious. I was even able to simulate Romanian dancing to the point where I was mistaken for one of the brotherhood. One guy in particular put his arm around me and spouted off several Romanian phrases to which I responded “Noooo!” I figured “no” in English is the same as “no” in Romanian. It seemed to work because he just laughed and walked away.

We had a late night snack at a Cuban sandwich shop (deee-lish!!! by the way), and then decided to go to a strip club to look at boobs. Unfortunately we ended up with the only cab driver in Manhattan who didn’t know where any strip clubs were other than the most expensive one in the city, Scores. It cost $30 just to get in the door and we all chipped in to get Mark, the birthday boy, a special on-stage dance in his boxers. We were promised a bottle of champagne as part of the package, but we were totally horse fucked on that deal. The worst part was when the DJ announced Mark’s name to go on stage, he introduced him as the “21 year old virgin”. Ironically, Mark happened to really still be a virgin, and thought we told the DJ to say that. Needless to say, he was terribly hurt and pissed off. I yelled at the club manager, but got no restitution. We didn’t stick around too long after that.

By the time everyone was back in their beds, it was after 6am and the sun was clocking in for another day. I spent most of Sunday watching TV and recovering from pretending to still be in my 20′s. Grandma Flo showed up in the afternoon with Aunt Marilyn. Grandma just turned 81. Happy Birthday Grandma!!!

Monday, I flew back to Arizona without incident, and the gentleman I sat next to kept his hands off his penis the entire time.

When we last left our lovable, yet unlucky hero, I was being “evicted” from my apartment. I have since left that crazy situation and found a nice little place only a mile and a half from the last one. Although the commute is not as convenient as it used to be, I don’t have to worry about drug addicts and well… drug addicts. I think that’s enough to worry about.

I’m now shacked up with two new roommates, Seth and Hector; both of whom are 110% gayer than gay. I guess that makes them 420% gay. Seth, however, claims that he’s not really gay because he has no interest in fashion nor interior design, he just sleeps with men.

Being the only heterosexual person in our house, I have acquired a renewed sense of masculinity. I started exercising again, and I was successful in luring two ladies back to my bedroom (not at the same time). Now I’m not going to go as far as saying I fulfilled their every sexual desire, but let’s just say, one of them, I haven’t seen since, and the other is now moving to a different state and doesn’t want to talk to me anymore. They don’t call me Mr. Lova-lova for nothing.

Both jobs are still going well. Tonight was the annual talent show at the retirement community. It was a full half hour of non-stop singing, poetry, and dancing. A grand time was had by all! I really love those old folks.

As I watched them sing and dance tonight, I thought how sad it is that many of them may not be around for next year’s talent show. That’s probably the only downside to this job. You never know who will be there the next day and who won’t. So I do my best to do as much as I can for them while they’re here.

That’s about all that’s going on right now. I keep saying I’m going to write on a more consistent basis but you know how that goes.

Hope everyone is doing well.

Schneider… out!

Good morning, childrens! Today we’re going to learn about the letter “F”.

“F” is for FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!

Ok I’m done. So here’s the update:

I called the landlord, Harold, on Tuesday and introduced myself.

“Hi I’m Eric Schneider, I live at your property in Scottsdale. Do you know who I am?”

“No.”

“Have you ever heard my name before?”

“No.”

“Well then we have a little problem.”

I told him the whole story about how the crazy ass bitch rented out both rooms of his condo, using a fake name, pretending to be the owner, and now she’s living on the couch, has no job, and she’s selling his furniture for extra cash.

Well good ole’ Harold almost had a heart attack. He really liked the part about the furniture.

“WHAT?!?! THAT’S MY FURNITURE!!! YOU CAN’T SELL IT!!! WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON OVER THERE?!?!”

“I’m sorry, Harold… it’s gone. Sold, paid for, picked up, and gone.”

I thought he was going to cry. Harold confirmed that Jools was supposed to be renting the place while his sister was away, but he hadn’t received a single penny of rent in over two months. The funny thing is Jools has been charging me $550 and Rob $450 per month, and guess what? Her rent to Harold is $800. She’s been pocketing all the money and using it to buy $50 meals every night and cocaine! I was actually relieved to find this out because there’s no way this story would be complete without a fucking drug addict. Did I forget to tell you she hasn’t paid the utilities either?

During my conversation with Harold, I told him, “Harold, I can only imagine what might be going through your head right now. However, I want you to know I am willing to do whatever I can to help you out. If you need me to make a statement to the police, or whatever, just let me know. In fact, if you want to have someone take over the lease on your condo; someone responsible, with a job, and references, I wouldn’t mind staying. Whatever you need.”

And what do I get for my efforts? What do I get for doing this fuck the favor of informing him of the scandalous shit going down here? What do I get for saving him from further financial loss and having to spend time and money finding a new tenant? A giant, straight on, full force kick to the fucking ball sack. Well, that and he also threatened to call the cops and change the locks, and informed me I’d be receiving an  eviction order. That’s odd, my birthday isn’t for another 11 days, but one should never underestimate the generosity of your fellow man.

So I have to move out of here as soon as possible; preferably before that nut job, Jools gets back from Lake Havasu.

Before I moved in here, my father warned me to make sure these roommates were alright, and I told him “Yeah yeah… I know. They’re fine.” Needless to say, I didn’t take his advice. What fun would that have been?

Excuse me, can you pass me the cyanide?

As entertaining as this story may be, it is just further validation that I am starring in a painfully tragic, yet funny sitcom written and produced by God Herself! For those of you who are not in the know, there is only one God and her name is Jennifer Garner, and I forgive her for that whole Ben Affleck thing.

Sooooo I got a new job. Actually I got two new jobs. The full time job is working for a web development company which builds websites for attorneys. The other is a weekend gig as a chauffeur / activities coordinator for a luxury, independent living, retirement community. Both jobs are great by the way, and I discovered I really love old people. I drove a group to the Cat Show last Saturday, and called BINGO on Sunday. Don’t be jealous.

Anyhow both jobs are in North Scottsdale, and since I had been living in East Mesa, 20 miles away, I decided I should look for a place closer to work. I started checking Craigslist, and after only a day or two, I hit the jackpot. Here’s the ad:

*************************************************
Date: 2006-06-14, 2:22PM

Room for rent in two bedroom, two bathroom condo. Room comes fully furnished, with 1 queen sized brass bed, 1 set of dreeser drawers, a desk, and 1 nightstand. Room has local telephone service and cable. Room has walk-in closet with organizer shelves. Room also has his and her sinks, vanity mirror, and private bathroom. Room has own private patio with sliding doors and private outside storage closet with lock. Condo has washer and drier in unit. Rent includes all utilitys and renter will have full house privilages. Please contact Jools at 480-XXX-XXXX. Will except couples for a hundred dollars more. I am looking for someone A.S.A.P.
*************************************************

Fine, she cant spell, but the place was in a great neighborhood, literally across the street from my chauffeur job, and less than 5 miles away from my full-time job. So really it was practically a no-brainer.

So I called Jools and scheduled a visit to check out the place. When I got there, I noticed there was furniture everywhere. Well everywhere where there shouldn’t have been furniture. For example, there was bed in the breakfast nook, two dinette sets in the living room, and random end tables, shelves, and upholstered chairs scattered here and there.

Me: “Whats all this furniture doing here?”

Jools: “Well, I bought the place from the lady that was living here before, and she sold it to me with all the furniture in it because she didn’t want to move it. We just moved in and now we have extra furniture and we need to get rid of it. In fact, we have more furniture in storage which we’ll get out once we sell this stuff.”

Me: “Who is we?”

Jools: “My friend Rob.”

Me: “Well where does Rob sleep?”

Jools: “In the other room.”

Me: “Where do you sleep.”

Jools: “We share the room, but were just friends.”

So we continued the tour of the house and we came to the room I would be renting. On the plus side it was a very nice sized room, and was pretty much how the ad described it, except for the fact that it was disgustingly filthy. Dominating the entire room was this monstrous king size bed covered in sheets that looked like someone wiped their ass with them. Yes, I know the ad said queen size bed, but as you’ll soon find out, not everything was how it was first represented.

Jools then showed me the bathroom which was even dirtier than the room. Every inch of it seemed to be covered in mounds of hair, wadded up toilet paper, soap scum, and more filth.

Me: “Why is this room so dirty?”

Jools: “This is where the lady stayed, and she left the house exactly how she lived in it.”

Me: “Well if it’s ok with you, I’d like it cleaned up before I move in. Also, I don’t want any of this furniture.”

Jools: “Oh of course it’ll be clean. It’s just that we just moved in and I haven’t had a chance to get to this room yet. And I’ll get rid of the furniture. No problem.”

Me: “Great! Another thing, I notice you have a small TV in the living room. I have a big screen which I was thinking of selling, but maybe I should just bring it with me.”

Jools: “Don’t bother, I have a 50 inch in storage, and once we get rid of all the old furniture, I’ll move it in here. That small TV came with the house.”

Me: “Oh ok, then I’ll sell it before I move. One last thing, I noticed you have a full-size bed in the breakfast nook. If that’s an extra bed, maybe I’ll sell my current bed, put that one in my room, and you can sell the king.”

Jools: “OK sounds good to me.”

So, I told Jools I’d take the room, and her and I spent the next few minutes getting to know one another. Jools told me she was originally from New York, so, according to her, we were bound to get along great. She said she was in a band, she was a chef, and she also ran her own clothing business. “Have you ever heard of 4Hate0 Apparel? Like the area code? 480? Get it? Get it? 480? 4Hate0? Get it? That’s my business.” Got it.

So, that was the short version of my first visit, but if you’re a fan of my writing, you know its also a set up for the total unraveling of all my expectations.

After I left Jools, I headed home and immediately put my couch, dinette set, TV, coffee tables, and bookshelves up for sale, and within 24 hours, everything was sold. I hadn’t planned on selling my bed right away, but the person who bought my shelves was looking for a bed too. I had to sleep on the floor a few days, which I don’t recommend doing.

The night before moving day, I decided to stop by the new place with a pizza in order to introduce myself to Rob, and to make a little nicey-nice with the new roommates. Rob seemed nice enough: younger guy, not too quick witted, but whatever. Before I left, I took one last peek at my room to make sure it was ready for move in. It wasn’t. It was still full of furniture and shit and dirt, but Jools assured me that she would get the room cleaned out before I got there.

The next day, I spent about 8 hours packing, loading the truck, and cleaning my old apartment. I showed up at the new place during the hottest part of the day, exhausted, sweaty, and smelly. I hoped since I brought over a pizza the night before, they would be eager to help me unload the truck, but I was wrong. Rob said, “I’d help, but I had a hard day at work, and I’m really beat.”

Jools, however offered to help. First, she went outside with no shoes on, picked up one pillow from out of the truck, and slowly padded back into the apartment. She put the pillow in my room and flopped back down on the couch. “PHEW!!! It’s fucking hot out there!” And that was it.

Oh yeah, guess what? The room was still filled with furniture, and covered in filth, but at that point, I had no choice but to move my stuff in. It took me a few hours to unload the truck and find a temporary spot for everything. When I was done, I returned the U-Haul and went back to my old apartment to pick up the kitty.

The very first thing I wanted to do once I got back to my new place was take a shower, but there was no way I was going to get in there without scrubbing the shit out of it first. I grabbed my cleaning supplies, and turned on the shower to start rinsing off some of the grime. I reached up to adjust the direction of the shower head, and CRACK!!! The whole fucking shower arm popped off, ripping a giant hole in the wall! Water sprayed out of the opening all over the bathroom and behind the drywall. As fast as I could, I turned off the water, and called out for Jools who came meandering in to see what I wanted.

Me: “Hey Jools! What the fuck?!?”

Jools: “Oh shit! Ill call the handyman tomorrow to fix it. Good news is, we don’t have to pay for it.”

Me: “Why don’t we have to pay for it?”

Jools: “Well the owner pays.”

Me: “You said you were the owner.”

Jools: “Well actually, my dad is financing it with the owner, and until its paid off, the owner pays for repairs.”

Me: “Oh.”

So, you’d think Jools would offer to let me use her shower instead. She didn’t. I found that very strange at the time, but it would all make sense soon enough. I ended up sleeping on the dirty sheets, on the dirty king sized bed, in my dirty clothes, and went to work dirty the next day.

I called Jools from work at 8am and asked her if she called the handyman. She said she did, and he told her he’d be over in a few minutes to fix it.

At 4:30 pm I came home from work, the shower was still broken, and no one was home. A few minutes later, Jools walked in the front door, spotted me, and said, “Oh, didn’t the guy come back yet?”

Me: “What guy?

Jools: “The handyman.”

Me: “Come back? From where?”

Jools: “He was here and I guess he needed to get his tools or something.”

Me: “No, no one came back. I thought you said he was coming at 8 am. What time did he leave to get his tools?”

Jools: “A while ago.”

Me: “Then why did you leave and lock the door if he was supposed to come back?”

Jools: “Uh… I didn’t know when he was coming back. But he should probably be back pretty soon.”

Jools sneaked off into the other room, but I could hear her making a call from her cell phone: Beep bop beep beep beep bop bop. “Hi is Bob there? Hi Bob, this is Jamie from 120, there’s a leak in the shower, can you come over to fix it?” PAUSE “Uh I don’t know I think it’s…” PAUSE “Um, I don’t know.” PAUSE “You know what, hold on, I’ll let you talk to Eric, and he can explain it to you.”

So Jools (or Jamie?) came back into my room and handed me her phone.

Jools/Jamie: “Here, it’s Bob.”

Me: “Who’s Bob?”

Jools/Jamie: “The handyman.”

Me: “What does he want?”

Jools/Jamie: “Explain to him what’s wrong with the shower.”

Me: “I thought he was here and saw it.”

Jools/Jamie: “Oh.. no he sent over one of his guys, and I guess they couldn’t explain to him what was wrong, so maybe you can.”

Me: “So the handymen sent over another handyman with no tools in order to report back to the first handyman what the situation was, but he was unable to describe a broken pipe?”

Ok, intelligent readers, you can see where all this was going. Lie after lie after lie after lie. Bob did come over, and I talked to him. It turns out that Jools never called him until I got home from work, and he didn’t have “another guy”. Go figure. He also wasn’t a handyman, but that’s not really pertinent to the story. I ended up paying $125 bucks out of my own pocket for a real plumber to come out and fix it.

I’ll spare you the rest of the play by play for everything that followed, and instead, summarize the rest of the lies Jools told me:

• Jools is not her real name. Not even her nickname. Just made it up. Her real name is not even Jamie.
• She doesn’t own a business.
• She doesn’t work as a chef.
• She doesn’t work anywhere.
• She used to follow a band around, but was never in one.
• Her dad is not buying the house. It’s owned by a real estate investor named Harold in Seattle. Harold has no idea she’s renting out the rooms, but a nosy neighbor called him to let him know that Jools has two men living with her. Now Harold is pissed off.
• She doesn’t share a room with Rob, nor does she share his bathroom. She sleeps on the bed in the breakfast nook and lives in the living room.
• She used to live in my room, and it was her filth that I had to clean up when I got there. Now that I’m there, shes been using Rob’s bathroom without his permission and telling Rob she’s been using mine.
• Rob had no idea she was getting another roommate until I walked in with the pizza the night before.
• She doesn’t own any of the furniture in the apartment, and has no right to sell it. I found this out after I sold the dresser and the king size bed. Now I’m stuck with no bed and I’m sleeping on the floor again.
• She told me she gets $3000 per month because she’s part of a Native American tribe. She told Rob that she is petitioning the Tribe to get her share which is more like $500. Rob and I both think she’s not even Native American.
• It’s very possible, although not verified, that Jools is only subletting the apartment temporarily while the real tenant is away for a few months visiting her brother. Her brother just happens to be the owner, Harold in Seattle. This is only a theory, but we’ll see.

There’s a whole slew of additional lies, but they don’t tie into the story very well, so we’ll overlook them for now.

To top it all off, I came home from work today, and my women’s intuition told me to check the history logs on my computer. Sure as shit, she’s been snooping around on my computer while I’m at work.

Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I haven’t confronted her about anything yet, but Rob and I had a meeting of the minds and compared notes. Everything that she told him is different from what she told me and none of it is true. She’s supposed to be going away for 10 days, so were going to enjoy the peace while she’s gone, and when she gets back, we’ll kill her. Just kidding.

Neither Rob nor I want to move out because it’s such a great friggin location! Were thinking there might be a way to contact the real owner, get Jools evicted, and then take over the lease.

What a fucking headache!

My real estate career has officially come to an end, and I can safely say, it was a complete and utter failure. I sold a total of zero properties, and in the process, managed to incur a letter from my former employer’s attorney threatening a law suit and criminal prosecution for stealing and distributing client lists. That’s untrue by the way.

Fortunately my newly acquired unemployed status doesn’t impact my financial situation, since, for the past 6 months I haven’t earned any income. So my confidence is high because it appears that things can only get better from here. No wait, my toilet sprung a leak yesterday and flooded my bathroom and my bedroom. So things can only get better from there. No wait…

I have been officially invaded, violated, and infiltrated in the worst possible way! My mother found my Myspace profile! What once was a haven of relative privacy is now just a haven for my relatives!

My mother is no stranger to the Internet so I suppose this was bound to happen sooner or later. I just happened to be at her house when it did. I was sitting in her living room watching television, when, from the office, I heard her scream out, “OMG, Eric, you have a Myspace?!?!” followed by, “Who are these people on your friends list? Do I know them? Hey look it’s your sister! She has a Myspace too!!! I want a Myspace!!! How do you make a background on your profile? Will you make a profile for me??? Who is this Tom guy?”

Granted, I don’t have anything to hide; I don’t secretly stalk teenage girls, and I don’t post naked pictures of myself hittin’ the bong, but honestly, I don’t know if I can continue to maintain my Myspace identity with the level of scrutiny with which my mom will surely monitor my profile. So, I am unofficially announcing my Myspace retirement. Unofficial because I will still log on and read various people’s posts and such, but more than likely, my blogging days have come to an end. Ok, maybe not an end, but much less frequent than before which was virtually never. Well, fine… nothing really is going to change, but I’m going to call all of YOUR parents and show them YOUR profiles just to make me feel better!