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9:43 p.m. - 2001-11-28
Where did my brother learn to be such a punk?
Today I went over to my pop's house and assembled a desk that he bought for my little brother. It was one of those two ton particle board and veneer deals that you can pick up at any huge department store. He ordered this one from Office Max.

If you have ever put one of these things together you are familiar with the system of unusual hardware and poorly labeled pieces that they all include. Cams. Cam bolts. Five kinds of screws, each needing a different driver. Dowels and a little McDonalds ketchup packet of glue. Teeny little nails. And an instruction booklet the size of the local yellow pages.

Well, yours truly has put together more than my fair share of this crap in my life, so I wasn't intimidated in the least. The trick, I've found, is give yourself plenty of floor space to work on, and follow the damn instructions. NEVER GO AHEAD. NEVER.

Even if you see that there is an obvious fit for piece "K" to piece "V", don't turn the cam bolt fool! You'll be sorry when you get to page 29.

It goes smooth as silk if you follow these rules. Although, I don't know…as a carpenter I do have a little more mechanical knowledge than some, a fact proven to me when I came upon two of my friends attempting to hammer a screw into the wall in order to hang a picture.

Since my little poo-head brother tricked me into feeling guilty over complaining about trivial things, today I backlash by getting my bitch on proper, like the over privileged white male punk that I am.

I hate when you are using the water fountain and the pressure changes. I'm not even talking about when it gets harder and squirts you in the grill, I mean when it gets lower, forcing you to take a sip of air. Sucks.

I also do not care for it when I'm enjoying a blueberry milk shake and a whole blueberry gets stuck in the straw creating a berry barrier between my mouth and the creamy milkshake goodness in my glass. Fuck that shit.

This third complaint is not sip related, but nearly as annoying. Can't find my favorite sweatpants.

And yes, while I know that there are people in the world who have to dip their heads under a tap to drink water, and only have the choices of chocolate, strawberry or vanilla for shake flavors and have never had the pleasure of wearing sweatpants as well made and comfy as my missing favorites, today I say oh-fucking-well.


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