Shame on you, Khloe

Didn't you mother teach you not to pick on old people? And not to pick on the technologically-challenged? And not to pick on the transgendered? OMFG, Khloe, you have done it all this time!

When Caitlin needed advice on how to communicate with her family, many of whom were offended by various statements she made to the media, Khloe recommended that Caitlin send....wait for this...

mass texts.

First off, who wants to be included in a mass text? Second, it may sometimes be okay for an invite to a social gathering, but for a much needed apology to your loved ones? And if you need Khloe to teach you how to mass text, you are probably going to screw it up and your heartfelt apology will be followed by a bunch of "who is this" and "take me off this list."

Then, after Khloe teaches her how to mass text, Caitlin has the brilliant idea how to make everything better: a tweet. No, not facetime or a private email, a tweet. I have ruled out that she would recommend actually seeing someone in-person.

Well, this is the new reality we are faced with. Don't worry though, I'll probably only watch this episode one more time before next week's episode.

Laura, Laura, I'm in danger of being sucked into reality TV again!

I blame Caitlyn for this. I guess this is one (and probably the only one) thing that I have in common with the social right wing. They blame all their own personal shortcomings and insecurities on a transsexual. I blame all my insecurity over my reality television viewing on her.

It is a normal thing to tune in once for Caitlyn's new reality show. I mean, after getting to know Bruce for years of "Keeping Up...." it's not really a big deal to check in on a Sunday night and see what she has been up to after all these years. But the whole thing was a ploy by E! to get me roped in to something far more sinister. Something bound to create a tantalizing mixture of pleasure and self-loathing: Stewarts and Hamiltons. A show about the children of Rod and George (you know, the kids they had with a woman, not ass babies). And based on one episode and the trailer for the rest of the season (someone gets arrested!?!?!), it's going to suck me in like The Hills did.

And this time it's like they are marketing it to me. Kimberly and Ashley are like my age. These are people that I can really relate to. Well, other than the whole celebrity based entirely on their daddy thing. This first episode really makes me want to get a fake tan.

OMFG, you're shirtless!

Just when you forgot about me, I go pulling this shit again. Anyway, there is a perfectly good reason that I posted a shirtless pic of me on Facebook and got you to click on This Blog. You see, the last couple times I posted a link to This Blog on Facebook, it automatically put that pic up. And I would frantically click until the picture disappeared. And I would think 'OMFG, you can't send that shirtless pic to all of Facebook.' Well, this time when I went on there I thought 'OMFG, you have to send that pic to all of Facebook.'

I guess Facebook just pulls up the last picture that was posted in This Blog. Now that I got to share it again, I can put more pictures on This Blog.

Now you have seen a shirtless pic of me from, what, I don't know, 7 or 8 years ago. I don't know if this is some sort of catfish situation or what. This is all a throwback to a douchier time, when I was looking for excuses to do things like post shirtless pictures of myself on the internet. Oh wait. But, by the way, I didn't really have an armband tattoo in that pic, it was fake. It is one thing to be stuck in the 90's. It is another to bring the 90s with you....to 2015....and have a fucking armband tattoo. I have explained to many of you how I once threw a 90s party at the Phi Sig House in 2001. It quickly devolved into an Ace of Base party. I have karaoke'd Tubthumping by Chumbawumba. I saw Spice World at the movie theater (I'll let you assume I was on a date). Well, I don't need to advertise my 90s bona fides. It is obvious that the 90s were awesome because I was awesome in the 90s. Well, maybe like one year of the 90s. But still.

Are you ready....wait for this....I'm blogging about daycare now?

For those of you who read The Blog years ago, this may be the last thing would expect. I'm blogging about daycare now? OMFG, what have you become?

Dada. Dada. Anyway, I love Johnny more than myself, which is saying a lot because I'm really fucking awesome. But I'm still getting used to some things about being Dada. Like the language. After I dropped Johnny off today and was walking towards the door of daycare (which I actually call school and has complimentary coffee by the door):

Other dad: Oh, there's no coffee today.
OMFG: Fuckin' A.

Uh, I really couldn't stop myself. Pretty bad. Luckily, I did this outside the infant room so no one likely noticed.

Then I walked outside. And I saw another dad who is usually clad in khakis and polo shirts. But today he was dropping off his daughter Mayden and wearing shorts to show off his tribal calf tattoo. And I never thought much about the fact that his daughter was named Mayden; I mean, in Portland, people just make shit up to name their kids. But he was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt. Fuckin' awesome. He named his daughter after that! I suppose he is still a little stuck in the 80's. I, however, despite being stuck in the 90's, will not name my next child Chumbawumba.

If a blog falls in the woods....

Would anyone care? There’s no 4G out there.

 

Cassie thought it was ridiculous that I had to update my app, MapMyRun, before I could do a run. Like I started running, I couldn’t get the app to work, so then I walked for about a half mile while I updated the app and made sure it worked. I wasn’t going to tire myself out running if it wasn’t getting logged in the app. It would be a complete waste. I really only say something clever a couple times per week; thus I need to immediately get to a keyboard in order to broadcast it over the internet. In fact, people that I interact with in RL likely say “OMFG, you made that joke last time I saw you, why are you repeating it on here?” Because it’s all I got.

Sure, I’m pretty bad now. But I can’t imagine if I was smoking weed in the age of digital ubiquity. I didn’t even have texting back then it was so long ago. I would have been taking pictures of nuggz with my phone and posting them to Facebook or Instagram. I would be wearing a floppy hat on Tinder and my profile would make clear that I’m only into girls who are down with 420. I pointed out to Cassie how intolerable I would have been if I was constantly “checking in” the different strains on some app or taking pictures, and she reminded me that now I just post pictures of Joose. “It’s actually way worse” she said. The only thing that pisses her off more than my idiotic internet postings is when I turn the Karaoke Channel on On Demand at home.

Is the Untappd app awesome, or just depressing

So far I love it. I drink beer. I check it in to the app. I get medals. I see what my friends are drinking. I realize that I'm fucking awesome. Repeat. I drink a bunch of whisky, no one knows, because I don't have an app for that. Good deal.

But then I look at some of my friends and take pause. It's a Wednesday and you've already drank three Imperial IPAs. "Bro, you've got kids."

I finally found “Ugly Cassie” on Facebook!

So, in 2000, Dickmeyer and I had Latin class together. There was a girl who sat in front of us. Dickmeyer spoke of her one day. I’ll imagine the conversation went something like this: “Bro’, I know this girl who looks just like your girlfriend….but she’s ugly.”

Wait, wait, wait. Cassie is good looking. But “Ugly Cassie” is ugly. How is it so?

It should be noted that if Cassie herself were in fact ugly, this girl would have just been her doppelganger. But Cassie is good looking. She was always kind of pissed off that there was an ugly version of herself walking around Kirksville. This raises a second issue; usually, when someone says that you look like someone else, you are almost always going to be disappointed. Maybe you have an overinflated sense of self, or your friends are just assholes. Case in point: someone tells me that I look like that dude from the Wonder Years. I angrily shout “No! I don’t look like him! He looks like a pussy!” I’m not sure what point I’m trying to prove here, but I don’t look like that dude damnit.

Anyway, Laura has wanted to see “UC” for the last 15 years.

OMFG: Laura, Laura...I did it! I found Ugly Cassie on Facebook! With very limited information it took hours, including looking through an old Truman State yearbook, but I found her!

L J: Message me. This is very important.

So I messaged Laura and gave her UC’s name. I felt a little bad about it. Sure, the old OMFG would have just posted Ugly Cassie’s pics on here. But I’m a different person now. Ugly Cassie looks very happy, and very successful, in her Facebook pictures. And she is not that ugly. At least that’s what I told myself. Dickmeyer was a total asshole for calling her ugly, right?

L J: How does that potato chin look like Cassie?

OMFG: You may be missing one of UC’s most salient features. She is ugly.

L J: But I don’t see Cassie.

OMFG: Dickmeyer and I sat behind her in class. She only looked like Cassie from the side. Then when you would see her head-on, you were like “whoa, she’s ugly.”

And that is the story of Ugly Cassie. Next time you tell a friend that you know someone that looks just like them, make sure you make it clear that your friend is way better looking.

OMFG! I'm back, and maltier than ever

I’ve really been on a Facebook diet for the last couple years. I look at people’s statuses a couple times a week and check-in every once in awhile. I have been focusing on RL. Lame. For those who remember the days that I was blogging on Myspace under OMFG It’s Kevin, and later switched to Facebook notes, I was like, totally broadcasting my life to the internet. Or at least broadcasting my inane observations. It was awesome.

I looked back at some of my old notes today. I would say that most notes concerned hipsters, douchebags, malt liquor, The Pearl 24 Hour Fitness, or some combination of the above. However, part of the reason I stopped doing it was because I ran out of material. And then I went to a party yesterday where there was a cooler full of 4 Lok’s and Joose. In Northeast. Awesome party/pinball tournament. And then there was a drunk older fellow from the neighborhood who decided to make himself at home at the party. It’s like these dudes can smell the malt. Quite disheveled. Greasy hair. Totally wasted. Trolling for dudes? Yes, I was inspired.

But I mentioned this to Cassie and she was like “please OMFG, don’t start blogging again.” OK, she didn’t call me OMFG. But she did plead with me. I suppose she is worried about repercussions from the malt liquor lobby. We’ll see if I really start creating more notes about such exciting topics as my shoe haul from DSW and my CougarLife profile.