See You in the Real World

T.I. put it very elegantly but I think he may have had something different in mind then what’s going on in my world right now.

I obtained a girls number (through surprisingly little trickery) on Saturday night and adhering to the two day rule, have waited until today to call her and invite her to join me in a meal.

During these two days, I always look at arbitrary events in my life as telltale signs of how the phone call is going to go.

If I get stuck trying to turn right at a red light behind a car going straight, the universe is telling me “Dude, don’t even call.”

If I successfully throw my Wendy’s wrapper into a trashcan across the room then there’s no way she’s not calling back.

You get the drift?

Two things happened in those two days that I’m not sure how to read. So since you’re the one reading this post, I figured I’d let you read the signs as well:

1. My friend’s car broke down (severe battery drain) after using it as a stereo for tailgating purposes before the UNC vs. ECU football game. He had to be at work in Charlotte today so I let him have my car for two weeks (when I next see him).

Yes, we tried jumping it. No, it didn’t work.

2. My phone echoes for whomever I’m talking to (I hear nothing). It horribly irritates everyone on the phone with me. Since I don’t hear an echo and like to hear the sound of my own voice anyway and can’t understand their complaint, it’s taken me 6 months to address the issue.

Because I was supposed to call this girl today however (and my mom yells at me to fix it every time I talk to her), I decided to suck it up and go to AT&T this afternoon and get it fixed.

Take a second here and analyze these two events. Seems to me like I should have some pretty good karma going into the call.

………………………….

Did you take a second?

………………………….

Really?

………………………….

Good.

AT&T gave me a new SIM card in hopes that it will fix the echoing problem. So I came home, inserted the new SIM card, and hooked up miPhone to my computer to activate it.

No, I didn’t lose all my contacts though I like where your head’s at. I had the same thought and copied down her number before syncing to avoid just that travesty.

Instead, I’m sitting here staring at an AT&T Account Information page demanding that I insert the last four digits of the social security number of the primary account holder.

I am not the primary account holder. My family is on a family plan. My mom is the primary account holder. I do not know her SSN.

In order to get that information, I need to call my mom and ask her.

I cannot do that because my phone has been re-set.

All of my roommates are gone so I can’t borrow one of their phones.

I cannot go anywhere to find a phone because my car is in Charlotte with my friend.

So I turn to you readers and ask you this…

Does the universe want me to call this girl?

…………………………………

I’m thinking the same thing.

I moved into my new house this week. And it’s amazing. I now have several things that I haven’t had since I lived with my parents (hi mom):

• A dishwasher
• My own bathroom
• A washer/dryer I can rely on
  • By that I mean my clothes won’t be lying on the dusty floor when I return, forcing me to re-wash them
• A closet with doors that work
• A private porch
• and a kitchen I’m allowed to cook in

Now you may be used to having most of these things. But to me, they’re a luxury.

Yep. Everything about the new house is perfect. Except one small thing…

I’m allergic to it.

What? you say.

Oh yeah… Allergic.

I’ve never been allergic to anything in my entire life. Not cats. Not dogs. Not even pollen.

But every time I step into the place where I am contractually bound to live for the next year, my nose starts running and I begin uncontrollably sneezing.

I know a bunch of you have moved into new homes this summer. If you’ve experienced a similar problem and have a solution, by all means let me know.

(picture thanks to Jacqui)

Every salesperson has their go-to lines.   The lines they think will seal the deal and get them that 3% commission.  But sometimes they use their go-to line on the wrong customer and have to quickly retreat, trying not to trip over the tail lagging clumsily between their legs.

And once in a blue moon, you get a salesperson that uses their go-to line on the wrong customer, never realizes their mistake and continues to beat their point into the missed mark.

I went shopping for a mattress the other day and happened upon the latter.

A few clarifying points:

1. I’m not picky about my mattress
2. I don’t have a ton of money
3. I’m not very good with girls

I walked into The Mattress Warehouse and was immediately greeted by a woman in her upper 20’s.  I explained clarifying points 1 and 2 to her and she began showing me the various options.

“These are your standard mattresses,” she said as I flopped backwards onto the first bed she pointed at.

Convinced, I got up and was ready to pay and get out of there.  Seeing my eagerness to leave, she decided to take a stab and up-sell me on one of their nicer options.

“Before you decide,” she added, “you should check out this bed over here.”

Reluctant but polite, I followed her to her prized possession.  And as soon as I lay my head on the pillow came the line…

Saleswoman: “What do you think?”
Alex: “It’s nice, but I think I’m going to stick with…”
Saleswoman: “Watch this!”

(The saleswoman jumps into bed with me)

Alex: “Watch what?”
Saleswoman: “Did you feel anything?”
Alex: “Not really?”
Saleswoman: “Isn’t that amazing? A lot of people don’t like when they can feel every move of the person in bed with them.”

(I begin to get up)

Alex: “Oh I’m not really concerned with anyone being in bed with me.”
Saleswoman: (insistently) “Oh I’m sure you’ve dealt with it some.”
Alex: “Not really…”
Saleswoman: “Well think of how much a girl would like spending time on this mattress…”
Alex: “I’m sure she’d love it.”
Saleswoman: “Exactly.”

(uncomfortable silence)

Saleswoman: “So what do you think?”
Alex: “I don’t think you’re following me. I don’t really need to worry about a girl’s comfort on this mattress.”
Saleswoman: “But she would be VERY comfortable.”
Alex: “No, I get that.”
Saleswoman: “So what do you think?”
Alex: “I think I’m just gonna stick with the first one…”

I made my way to the cashier with the saleswoman right behind me, repeating something about how she just didn’t believe I wasn’t concerned with my mattress’s co-inhabited comfort. I considered pulling out mIphone and showing her my last post to put an end to the issue but decided against it, not wanting to hurt her salesmanship confidence.

As I paid the man at the cash register, he said “Wow this is a great mattress, your girlfriend is really going to enjoy this!”

I retrieved my debit card, looked at the man. Then looked at the saleswoman, smiled to myself and replied…

“She sure is.”

(Image thanks to SWP Moblog)

I wrote a while back about my car’s transmission problems.

A brief recap: my transmission had to be completely rebuilt because I hadn’t changed my transmission fluid ever…

…because I didn’t know there was such a thing as transmission fluid.

On Wednesday, I brought my car back to the same transmission shop because my car would no longer accelerate.

And as it turns out, accelerating is an important part of driving.

So with my car once again in the shop, I was forced to borrow my step-dad’s old minivan (see below).

For those of you who don’t know your minivans, that’s a ‘94 Chrysler Town and Country, or ‘The T and C‘ as I call it.

And it’s no ordinary minivan.

No, this minivan comes specially equipped with a broken A/C, a moody right window, faulty automatic locks and a gas gauge that only works for the first quarter-tank so you have to just drive it until it conks out.

But it accelerates.  And that makes it superior to my undriveable Acura TL.

That is until something happened.

Two days ago I went out to my car to run some errands only to find the battery dead.

‘That kinda sucks,’ I thought.

Little did I know that it actually sucks way more than kinda.

The T and C no longer registers when a door shuts.  So even when all the doors are closed, the lights in the car stay on…

and as a result the battery dies…

Every. Single. Night.

In order for you understand the full extent of my little battery quandary, I’ve prepared a little skit.

The scene: A bunch of Alex’s friends are sitting comfortably on the couch watching The Masters in stunning hi def.  Alex needs to go to the bank.

(End Skit)

Now imagine that scenario everytime you want to go anywhere.

It hurts, doesn’t it? I know. I’m sorry.

Any of you had any annoying car problems? Let me know.  We can whine together.

This is the Part 2 of the Gender Equality blog posts. You can view Part 1 here and Part Zero here.

Last night I met a girl. Let’s call her Amy for now…

…mostly because that’s her name.

Background: Pomer and Amy are discussing the cons and cons of online date sites when Pomer makes a very predictable move…

…or does he? (queue music).

Pomer: “So, do you have any Valentine’s Day plans with your boyfriend?
Amy: “…I don’t have a boyfriend.”
Pomer: (nice) “Do you have any Valentine’s Day plans at all?

(3 seconds pass as she considers the question)

Amy: “Um… I’m going to The Vagina Monologues.”
Pomer: (…nice?) “Oh, so you’re a feminist?”
Amy: “I guess…”
Pomer: “Great. Do you want to be my Valentine’s Date?”

(5 seconds pass as she considers the question)

Amy: “Um…sure?”
Pomer: “Perfect. How about this, I’ll cook a meal and you pay for it all.”
Amy: “Why would I pay for it?”
Pomer: “Because you want women’s equality and so do I. We’re just switching roles for the night.”

(Amy looks confused)

Amy: “But wouldn’t it be more equal if we split it?”
Pomer: “Fine. Let’s have our date, I’ll see how it goes, maybe call you back, wait two hours after you text me to respond, and if we make it to a second date, I’ll consider paying… but probably won’t.”
Amy: “That sounds horrible.”
Pomer: “Doesn’t it?”

(Amy is visibly frustrated)

Amy: “I see what you’re doing. Fine. Here’s my number. Call me tomorrow and we’ll see what happens.”

End dialogue.

What happens:

Dinner will be waiting for her when she gets back from The VMs tomorrow night.

I hope she likes Mexican because I used to work at Qdoba and that’s the only thing I can cook.

This is going to be the best Valentine’s Day ever.

Thank you equality.

A friend of mine wrote a blog post today about the frustrations of haircuts and it got me thinking (about haircuts).

After 2-3 hours of thought, I realized that while haircuts can be frustrating, they can also provide an opportunity for a little fun.

I know, I know. What do you know about haircuts? You don’t have any hair.

Well guess what… It wasn’t always that way. I used to have hair and I’m trying desperately to grow it back. So stop hating.

Besides, I have plenty of friends who’ve gotten haircuts before.

And in my experience, girls and guys have very different views of/responses to haircuts.

Lets start with responses why don’t we…

What?

You want views first? Really? Are you sure?

I’m telling you, responses would make a better intro…

Fine. If you insist…

Views of a haircut:
When a girl gets a haircut, it’s not just a haircut. It’s an event. It’s an experience.

She plans it months (maybe even years) in advance and when the day arrives, she wakes up early, gets dressed up and puts on makeup.

She even does her hair.

Which makes no sense.

I asked a friend of mine last week why she was fixing up her hair to go to the barbershop (or is it salon?).

She began explaining something about how “it’s like cleaning your house for the cleaning lady but with hair.”

I don’t get that either so I just nodded slowly and let it slide.

For guys, a haircut is a haircut.

Here’s how it goes:

One day, a guy looks himself in the mirror and says, “Man, I need a haircut.”

Then, he walks over to the closest barber, sits down and gets his hair cut.

End of story.

You ready for responses now? You ready?

Good.

Responses to a haircut:
A girl never gets a good haircut. The hairdresser/stylist/designer always cuts it too short.

Does this sound familiar?

“I told her to take off two inches! Two! And she went on a cutting frenzy! I didn’t even have a choice. She just put the scissors to my hair and then chopped it all off!”

I thought it might.

When she gets back though, everyone who sees her had better recognize that she got a haircut the right way or they’re in trouble.

Allow me to illustrate three settings where I did NOT recognize a girl’s haircut the right way:

Setting 1:
Girl friend 1 (note the space) got two inches of her hair trimmed off but I didn’t realize because her hair was 14 inches long before and a two-inch difference wasn’t enough to recognize.

I spent the next two hours trying to figure out why she was treating me like I killed her cat.

Finally, when she went to the bathroom, her friend asked me,

“Why haven’t you said anything about her haircut…?”

And it all made sense.

I mumbled something about how “I thought she looked especially good today but couldn’t figure out what it was” and though I don’t think she believed me, at least I had some kind of excuse.

Setting 2:
I immediately realized that G F 2 had gotten a haircut because, as she would later complain, the hairdresser cut off way too much.

I was so caught off guard by her hair’s lack of length that I panicked and asked, “Did you get your haircut?” She bitterly responded, “Does it look like I got my haircut?”

We then sat in silence while I tried to think of an excuse to leave.

After five minutes, I blurted out something about needing to change my tire and ran out the door crying.

Setting 3:

Me: “Did you get your haircut today?”
G F 3: “No”
Me: “Oh”

End Settings.

Guys don’t ever get good haircuts either. But they also don’t get bad ones.

That’s because for guys, a haircut is just not that big of a deal.

And as a result, most guys don’t care if someone does or doesn’t notice a recent haircut.

But that’s most guys.

I care a lot.

In fact, my goal when I get a haircut is for nobody to know that I got a haircut.

Let me rewind real quick:

Until this year, in college I’ve been buzzing my head. It’s cheaper, easier and makes it harder for people to tell that I have a rapidly receding hairline.

This year however, I decided it was time to grow my hair out again and as a result, I’ve had to go back to the barbershop.

Play.

When I go to the barber, I intentionally do NOT tell anyone.

In fact, I usually make it a point to tell a bunch of people that I’m doing something other than getting a haircut.

Why? You ask…

Because I play a little game whenever I get my haircut.

It’s called, Wow, I really thought he got his hair cut. I guess I was wrong. It usually works something like this:

The Scene:

I get my haircut without telling anyone. I get almost nothing cut off, just enough to clean things up a bit. I see a friend of mine and we begin talking…

Action:

Friend: “Hey man.”
Me: “Hey.”

(Idle conversation goes on for a few minutes…)

Friend: “Did you get your hair cut?”
Me: “No… Why?”
Friend: “I don’t know, something just looks different…”
Me: “Really? Yeah, no haircut for me.”
Friend: “…are you sure?”
Me: “Uh…yeah. I think I’d know if I got my hair cut…”
Friend: “I guess so… Oh well.”

(The conversation goes on for a while. We go our separate ways. Later on, Friend runs into Another Friend.)

Friend: “Hey man.”
Another Friend: “Hey…”

(More conversation, blah blah blah…)

Friend: “Did Pomer get his haircut?”
Another Friend: “I think he went to refill the ink cartridges in his printer but I don’t know anything about a haircut.”
Friend: “Wow, I really thought he got his hair cut. I guess I was wrong.”

(Pomer – 1, Friend – 0)

I don’t know about you but I feel like I’m always running out of toothpaste.

Not in the beginning I guess. When you buy a fresh tube of toothpaste, you get that invincible feeling. It’s like a full tank of gas, an empty laundry bin, or a box of q-tips from Costco. You’re on top of the world and it’s never going to end.

Well it does end.

And with toothpaste, it starts ending earlier than you think.

About a week into a toothpaste tube, it has transgressed from a beautiful, flawless cylinder and begins taking that flat, deflated look.

After another week, you begin considering getting a fresh tube even though you know if you really work at it, you can make the one you have last one, maybe two more months.

So for the next two months, every morning, you wake up and in addition to preparing to face the day, you also have to do battle with your toothpaste.

The tube’s last week is the worst. The battles are fierce, bordering on epic. And each day’s victory is more uncertain than the one before it.

And eventually the day comes where you lose. You simply can’t muscle out a single drop of mouth-cleansing glory.

For me, that day was today.

I woke up, like most mornings, dazed and inexplicably angry.

Gathering my Old Spice Body Wash, Sexed-Up Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste, I headed to the shower.

When I got there, I mentally prepared for the upcoming tube duel and then after 20 seconds or so, made the first strike.

Earlier in the week, I’d begun using the slide-against-the-edge-of-the-counter method to great success so I began with that tried-and-true method.

No dice.

I stepped back, caught my breath and, vowing to get a new tube today, went to my ace in the hole.

I cracked my fingers, stretched my forearms and then pressed my thumbs against the backside of the opening, pushing with all my might.

Within 15 seconds, my thumbs began cramping. In 30 seconds, I was covered in sweat. When a minute passed, I’d almost fainted.

As the minute and-a-half mark was rapidly approaching, I gave up.

Toothpaste – 1, Pomer – 0.

Defeated, I turned to a friend of mine who was also in the bathroom and asked to borrow some of his toothpaste.

He said “Sure” and handed me this…

What the hell?

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no neat freak. Far from it.

And I’m not saying you need keep your toothpaste rolled up with a chip clip like my grandmother does…

But what the hell?

What happened?

Did my friend not ever put the top back on the toothpaste when he was done?

Did he not use a toothbrush at all and just rub the toothpaste on his teeth, directly from the tube?

I have no idea.

But I didn’t ask. I had to use the toothpaste. And at that point, I just didn’t want to know.

Taking a deep breath, I held my nose, squeezed out a crusty-minty blend and did the deed.

When I finished, I considered throwing up but decided not to when I realized I’d have to brush my teeth again.

All in all, it was a horrible experience and one I hope I never have to endure again. As soon as I finish this blog post, I’m going to CVS and spending at least $20 on toothpaste tubes.

And if you’re in the last week of your war against toothpaste, I suggest you do the same…

I just bought $25 worth of pudding and apple sauce at CVS.

Shall I explain?

Just kidding, dumb question.

It all started Saturday. I woke up and felt a little under the weather. Not really unusual for me. I’m not really a morning person.

Actually I’m not a morning person at all. In fact, the second I wake up is the worst second of my day.

Everyday.

So waking up and feeling crappy isn’t really out of the ordinary. I started to get suspicious however, when a shower with Sexed-Up didn’t rouse me out of my funk. I started to get really suspicious when I didn’t feel better after a quesadilla and some chips and guac at a restaurant/bar in Athens while watching the Georgia-Auburn game.

As the day went on, the feeling got worse. Saturday night, I definitely had a fever. Chills, sweating, light-headed, sore throat. Not good.

By Sunday, the fever had gone down and by Monday, I felt like a new man…

…except my throat was still killing me.

Every time I swallowed food, it hurt. And each swallow was worse than the one before it.

Naturally, I did nothing and figured I’d be fine when I woke up Tuesday.

Naturally, I was wrong.

Tuesday morning I woke up and had a sip of water. As the water crawled down my throat, I eeked out a painful scream (a high-pitched, girly scream, not a masculine, shot in the arm in a bar fight scream).

I choked down 3 generic brand Tylenol and decided that a nice warm cup of coffee was the antidote to my ailment.

So on the way to class, I stopped by Alpine (a bagel joint on Chapel Hill’s campus) and picked up a large coffee. Unfortunately I couldn’t drink any of it on the way to class because it was too hot (I’m very sensitive). When I got to my class however, I took a gulp and had to punch myself in the (you know, down there) in order to distract myself from the pain. I then vowed that I would call my step-dad/doctor as soon as class let out and figure out what the hell was going on.

After class, I recounted the above story to my step-dad and he asked a couple questions before telling me what to do. The conversation is kind of fuzzy because most of it was doctor-talk (which I don’t speak/understand but he pretends I do) but a few quotes stand out in my sitting memory:

“You ate Wendy’s, Arby’s and Qdoba with a sore throat? What were you thinking?”

“Wait, you ate Wendy’s twice?”

“You thought to drink coffee? That’s like pouring battery acid on your throat.”

I think two things are clear here.
1. I don’t know what to do when I’m sick.
2. Regardless of whether or not I’m sick, I need so change my diet. Soon.

The conversation ended with instructions to get some Prilosec OTC (which I later found out is ‘frequent heartburn’ medicine) and to only eat ’soft’ food.

I then convinced a friend to go with me to CVS in exchange for accompanying him to Wendy’s.

We went to Wendy’s first and I decided to try my luck with a large Frosty and a large Dr. Pepper ($4). I immediately regretted the purchase after my first sip of Frosty hung on my throat like a girl on whatever guy is standing next to me on any given night.

At CVS, frustrated and starving (I’d eaten a burrito and four chicken nuggets in the last 36 hours), I picked up some Prilosec OTC ($10) and $25 worth of apple sauce and pudding ($25).

A lot of people wake up each morning with a full day planned. Sometimes though, unexpected things happen and you have to change accordingly; you have to make do with what you’ve got.

And right now, all my friends are downstairs eating chicken and broccoli on rice with breadsticks and drinking sweet tea…

But hey, I’ve got tons of apple sauce to eat…

…and a melted Frosty to drink.

It’s important when arguing for or against something that you get your points across. Not half the point, the whole point.

Let me start this post with some clarifications.

Clarification #1:
My vision of a fraternity or sorority cocktail is as follows:
A group of dates dress up, go to a nice restaurant for a classy meal and then head to a central location where they meet up with the other members of said (fratern/soror)ity and dates for an evening of socializing.

As a fraternity member, when hosting a cocktail, I do my best to ensure that my vision comes to fruition. And barring a few exceptions, it usually does.

Clarification #2:
I am a supporter of gender equality.

I believe in equal pay for men and women, I’m a supporter of women being the major breadwinner of her family (even openly suggesting a future profession of ‘house-husband’ for myself), and I believe that women should hold the door for men just as men should for women.

Clarification #3:
Because of Clarifications 1 and 2, I often argue that when attending a fraternity cocktail, the man should pay for the nice dinner and when attending a sorority cocktail, the woman should do the same.

UPDATE: Particularly in this economy.

Clarification #4:
I’ve been to 20-25 sorority cocktails in my college career and at all but one of them, the dinner prior to the evening of socializing has been ordering in pizza and drinking cheap beer.

Clarification #5:
A nice dinner and drinks for two usually costs around $60. Pizza and beer costs around $15.

I’m fine with pizza and beer every once in a while, but it’d be nice if occasionally, the woman decided to treat the man to the same quality meal that she’d expect at a fraternity cocktail.

End clarifications.

And now for two quick tales…

Last Friday was a big night for sorority cocktails. At least 20 of my friends attended one but for the sake of this blog post, I’m only going to talk about two of their experiences (and my own of course).

Let’s start with me first (since I’m incredibly selfish and this is my blog after all).

Early last week, I got a phone call from a girl who I was to be eating with before the cocktail (not my date).

It went a little something like this…

Non-date Girl: “Hey, you’re going to dinner with us on Friday.”
Me: “Cool, where are we going?”
Non-date Girl: “I thought we’d just pick up some pizza and eat at X’s house. It’ll be nice and relaxing.”
Me: (You’ve got to be kidding me) “Sounds great, I’ll see you there.”

Now my two friends…

(Note: I’ve lectured both of their girlfriends on the discrepancy in arguing for both equal pay for women and also insisting on pizza and beer.)

Because of the Note above, I was thrilled (and a bit jealous) when I heard that the girlfriends had decided to join three other couples and go to a nice restaurant before the cocktail.

When my two friends (who share my pizza/beer sentiment) got to the restaurant, they decided to treat their girlfriends to a nice drink as an unspoken thanks for the upcoming meal.

After their meal however, when the check arrived, both of my friends’ girlfriends had conveniently forgotten their wallets.

End tales.

I was astounded when I heard the stories from my friends the next morning. I didn’t know what to do. Obviously, my (what I thought was flawless) argument against pizza and beer wasn’t getting the point across.

And when something isn’t working, I believe in changing your approach…

A great man once said, actions speak louder than words.

So for our cocktail tomorrow night, for the sake of women’s equality, I’ll be hosting the first ever Pizza and Beer Pre-Fraternity Cocktail Dinner.

Anyone in the fraternity is invited and encouraged to come. The more people in attendance, the more we can maximize cost efficiency.

Email me (pomer@email.unc.edu) if you’re interested. When I get a tally of how many people are planning to come, I’ll order the pizza and you can all chip in (you’ll be on your own for beer though since I don’t want to worry about underage drinking, which I do not condone).

Payback will be oh so sweet and oh so cheap…