Archive for the 'ocd' Category

I’ll stop talking about my wiiner when I’m good and ready

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on May 6, 2008 @ 1:16 pm
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, beer, games, music, nerd stuff, ocd and sex
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Because I’m thrilled that Mrs. ACW doesn’t look with scorn upon the Wii, the only video game system I’m aware of to have accomplished that feat, I am constantly encouraged to buy more games and accessories for our Wiiner.

So we bought Guitar Hero.

This has introduced a number of interesting behaviors that I’m sure will become full-blown OCD tendencies in no time.

1) It is impossible for me to not rock out while I am playing. I’m constantly dancing around and bopping along with the music, even if it’s The (remarkably shitty) Killers and the horrendous douchebag among douchebags, Brandon Flowers, he of the “ironic” pedophile mustache, is singing. I’m glad I got five stars on that song, because I’d hate to have to play it again. Seriously, does he realize that when he sings he sounds like a whiny baby with a poopy diaper? What a knob. If I have one wish it’s that The Killers and Fallout Boy eventually get into a rumble and they all die.

2) It is impossible for me to not drink while I am playing. Granted, I’ve only played twice so far, but finishing each song to take a swig from that fantastic, long-necked, brown-glass teat of diminishing fine-motor skills is about as close as I’ve come to paradise. I only wish that I could play and drink at the same time, sort of using the bottle like a slide guitar, but I’m not that good yet. And the game doesn’t really work that way. And I would probably break something. Shut up.

3) I have yet to master the “Star Power” usage. On the 360 it seemed to be a lot easier. Just pop the guitar neck up a little bit and viola: star power. With the Wii it can get a little temperamental, so the chance of you seeing me successfully execute star power is lesser than the chance of you seeing me successfully jerk the controller up and down like I’m some sort of spastic freak living in a fantasy world of tiny guitars that are attacking me for some reason and I’m trying to kill them. Also, I’ve yet to successfully pull off a star power activation combined with a Pete Townshend-esque guitar move, so until that day comes, I’m going to keep jumping and swinging my arm until I wind up hurting myself, which is the most likely outcome.

4) This is probably the worst one of all. Now that I’ve played a video game about playing a guitar, I totally feel like I can hang with people who actually know how to play guitar and talk about hammer ons, pull offs, harmonics, and fingering techniques. Double entendres aside, that is, which is what I would normally talk about if I heard those terms.

5) The best thing about Guitar Hero is that I can finally put into practice all the awesome band names that I’ve ever come up with. Seriously, I’m a band-naming machine. Need a band name? Just call me, I’ll do it for cheap. Ready? Here are 10 off the top of my head:

The Crap Monkeys
Flinger
The Gravymaker Express
The Rooster Pothole
Disco School
Satan’s Daycare
Forget the Alamo!
Windsock
Dreampickles
A Bucket Full of Pudding

Now you can decide if you want to ever watch a movie with me

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on May 5, 2008 @ 10:34 am
in bitches, movies, ocd and people are idiots
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This past weekend I went to see Iron Man with some friends and despite every intention I had to have a good time, it was not meant to be so.

Don’t get me wrong, I really enjoyed the movie. It’s not going to win any awards or change the way movies are made, but it was an enjoyable comic book movie that didn’t take itself to seriously (I’m looking at you Superman Returns) or play things too stupidly (I’m looking at you Fantastic Four, specifically the vapid performance by Jessica Alba). It was just fun. One of us commented that it could have used more punching and explosions, and while that certainly wouldn’t have hurt things, I feel it is important to say I enjoyed it the way it was.

What really bothered me was the coterie of douchebags seated behind us.

Throughout the entire movie they were ridiculously irritating. They’d talk and make stupid jokes just until the point where I was ready to stand up and tell them to shut the fuck up when they’d clam up for a while. They’d throw popcorn at each other (or us. I’m not sure, but I gave them the benefit of the doubt) and I’d get hit a few times and wait for the next piece to hit me before getting up to tell them to stop throwing shit, but that piece would never come. The entire movie went that way. Five minutes of irritation every 15 minutes for 126 minutes. It was absolutely maddening.

It also didn’t help that the idiot man-child in front of me kept saying “boom” right before anything would explode, but his daughters were elbowing him in the ribs for that, so it was kept to a minimum.

(I’ve mentioned before about how OCD I am about movies, and you can read this if you want an extremely long digression.)

On the way out of the movie two members of our group went to the bathroom while my brother and I waited in the lobby. Outside I could see the dozen or so 14-year-olds, all with shit eating grins, carrying on and generally being awkward pubescent assfaces.

I wasn’t sure if they were the ones who had been such amazing dicks during the movie, but I didn’t see any other teenage groups in the theater with us, so I was pretty sure it was them. Despite that I was again willing to give them the benefit of the doubt and allow bygones to be bygones.

That is, until we were outside and one of the shrivel-dicks leaned toward me and said, “Yeah! Iron Man rocked, right guys?” at which point I lost it.

I was a ball of pure unbridled OCD rage and I was focusing my hate on the prick that had been unlucky enough to speak up. I’m not sure what I exactly said, but I’m told I called them all “cockbags” before getting in the face of the loudmouth. He kept backing away as I kept walking toward him, and I remember saying something along the lines of, “You little fuckers think you’re fucking funny? You like to throw shit and ruin the movie for everyone else you little piece of shit?”

Then one of the other kids told me to calm down so I got up in his face and started asking him the most ridiculous question I could think of:

“What’s your name you little shit?”
“What?”
“Tell me your name.”
“Nothing.”
“What’s your fucking name?”
“Uh… Joe.”
“Fuck you.”

Then I stepped towards him, he flinched, and I knew I had done enough. Or possibly too much. I’m still not sure. I never touched any of them, and I never would have, but I was still really fucking pissed. Then I remembered I had a bag of M&Ms in my pocket.

“You little fuckers think it’s funny to throw candy? Huh? You think that’s funny? Yeah, it’s real fucking funny. Let’s see how you like it.”

And I threw a huge handful of candy at them that I had been gathering into my hands as I was talking to them. I only hit 3 or 4 of them with the candy, but that was enough. I was done with them at that point.

I walked over to my friends and we started walking to the car. Once we were far enough away they started to laugh, and I could tell it was false bravado, but at that point I didn’t care what they were doing.

In retrospect I’m still not sure it’s something I would have done again in the same situation, but at the very least I hope the little shitfucks learn that if you irritate the wrong person at the movies, it could come back to bite you in the ass. Or throw candy in your face, in this case.

It’s really frustrating to not pick up the spare

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on May 2, 2008 @ 9:15 am
in Mrs. ACW, awesome, happy hour, nerd stuff, ocd, potty humor, sex, suhmuhmuh bitch and the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs
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The happy hour last night was pretty cool. As usual, there’s never enough time to get to really talk to everybody, so there are some folks that I would have liked to talk to that I didn’t really get a chance to talk to. To those people I say: your loss.

Also to those people who ridiculed me for having to leave early to feed my cats, I’ll have you know that since Wookie was starving she ate so fast that when she threw up a few minutes later I could see that she hadn’t even chewed any of her food. Her vomit is on YOUR hands.

Finally, Charissa wanted me to tell a story about how I saw a little kid with poop on his face jump out of a car or something. This is what she thinks my blog is about. Well, besides it being a lie, because everyone knows I would NEVER lie, the thought of a kid with poop on his face actually kind of grosses me out. Apparently Charissa is into that short sort of thing.

Let’s commence with the narcissism!

My favorite event on Wii sports is bowling. But like everything in my life that I enjoy, once I begin to enjoy it I also try to start finding a way to measure it. Unluckily for me the Wii measures how good/bad I am at bowling for me, so I’m constantly playing games as fast as I can just to see if I’ve improved rather than slowing down and enjoying the game for what it is: a distraction from the restraining order issued by Zack Efron and the entire cast of High School Musical that keeps me out of New York. Wait. What? That’s not even close to accurate. What I meant to say is that the stats distract me from playing the game as a game.

So I’ll try to keep that in mind as I slow down and try to have more fun with game until I don’t get a strike and find myself screaming at the remaining pin, “Go down you fucking slut! FUCK YOU!” and then angrily mumbling to myself about how the game cheats.

Then I usually switch to boxing so I can punch the bejesus out of a goofy looking cartoon boxer and alleviate some frustration. It’s a nice healthy workout.

This year’s haul

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on April 25, 2008 @ 1:52 pm
in atheism!, awesome, food, jesus is fo' shizzle, meta blogging, ocd, travel and work
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Hotel Swag

Items of note:

The Book of Mormon (score!)
Popcorn
1 “Do Not Disturb” sign (a record low)

Last year’s stuff.

Answers to your questions on Monday, and maybe Tuesday too. And also possibly Wednesday.

I’m also a somniloquist

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on February 15, 2008 @ 9:10 am
in Mrs. ACW, devil cat, house and ocd
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Yesterday morning I was reminded of a strange habit that relates to my sleeping. Well, maybe habit isn’t the best word. Nuance? Foible? Peccadillo? Idiosyncrasy? I think any of those might fit. Anyway, basically what happens is that in the first few minutes or so after waking, my mind will occasionally be furiously paranoid.

An example: The other morning I woke up to the sound of metal hitting wood or plastic, and there was a high-pitched tone that resulted from the metal, sort of like the vibrations from a tuning fork. I very rationally thought, “Oh, there goes my ring off the dresser.” Then I went insane. My next thought was that one of the cats was going to ingest the ring (probably because of this), so I was scrambling around on my hands and knees looking for it on the carpet. After not finding it I checked the dresser and found it exactly where it was supposed to be, so my next though was EVEN CRAZIER. Mrs. ACW sometimes leaves her rings all over the damn house all the time. On the coffee table, on top of the toaster, on the window by the kitchen sink, on her dresser, on her nightstand, on my dresser, on the computer desk, on her scrap-booking table, on the bathroom sink, et cetera ad nauseum. So upon finding my ring where it was supposed to be, I crawled back into bed and had angry paranoid thoughts until I fell back asleep.

“God damn it, the cats are going to eat her ring. Then we’ll have to pay out the ass to get the ring back. Then the ring will be ugly and Mrs. ACW will be like, ‘I need a new ring,’ but I’ve got news for her: there won’t be any more new rings after this. She just leaves them all over the place. She doesn’t care if they fall in the trash or the toilet or anything. She always does this with everything. She just leaves things laying around because she’s so materialistic. She thinks we can just buy anything we ever need.” And so on.

For those of you who know Mrs. ACW, you know she’s not really materialistic at all, so I have know idea where this craziness comes from, but it tends to go away after a few minutes, or once I fall back asleep. I’ll wake up later and think, “What was I thinking? What a ridiculous train of thought.”

Another time I didn’t fall back asleep, but actually came out of my paranoid delusions as I was going about my morning routine. As usual the cats were being little bitches and whining for food, so I got up to feed them and found their food container empty. No big deal, I just have to refill it with a fresh bag. But that’s not what my brain was thinking. “I can’t believe this, Mrs. ACW left emptied the cat food container and didn’t refill it. She knew I was going to wake up first and find this. She is intentionally sabotaging my morning. I can’t believe that someone would do something like this. How hard is it to put a new bag of food in the container? In fact, why isn’t she doing this right now? I should be sleeping, I can’t believe this.” And on and on as I gave the cats their food and water. But then as I was walking down the hall to brush my teeth and get in the shower I began to think, “What the hell was that all about? Why would Mrs. ACW intentionally do something like that? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever thought. I can’t believe I thought she was trying to sabotage my morning. Sabotage?! What the hell?”

And before all you people with Psych degrees put on your Dr. Freud hats and start chomping on your phallic cigars, know that Mrs. ACW has only been the target of my delusional mind those two times. The other times that it has happened it’s been focused on any number of people, animals, and inanimate objects. And this doesn’t happen every time I wake up, just once every few weeks or so. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m crazy, and I was really pissed off at a lamp one time. Whatever. Shut up. Eat a dick.

I don’t know why it happens, but I think I have some idea. I know when some people wake up they take a while to get going, and it takes them a bit for their brain to warm up. Like starting a car I guess. For me, on the other hand, it’s like instead of my “car” being turned off overnight, it is instead driven onto a treadmill, where it slowly builds speed throughout the night, then at the point of waking the treadmill is shut off and my “car” rockets forward. Most of the time I keep going, like Bo and Luke evading Boss Hog, but occasionally the car bottoms out, hubcaps go flying, an axle snaps, and all the passengers are killed. On those mornings, I have the paranoia.

Has anyone else ever experienced anything like this?

Then, as tears of bubbling pitch stream down my face, my dark work will begin.

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on February 6, 2008 @ 11:46 am
in Mrs. ACW, bitches, devil cat, meta blogging, movies, ocd, suhmuhmuh bitch, the worldwide information super-tubeterwebs and work
. 6 Comments

I’ve been evicted from my office today. We have a ton of people interviewing for some new positions, and we ran out of conference rooms, empty offices, and lobby spaces, so I’m sharing an office with my boss for the time being. I’m not exactly sure where I’ll be throughout the day, but I don’t think I have to explain that typing on a shared laptop in an office shared with your boss does not exactly provide the same level of anonymity as typing at one’s own desk with the monitor facing away from the door to the office.

Despite these setbacks, I’ve composed this entry in Word and when I have a second will copy and paste it to the intertubes.

I have a feeling that posts for Wednesday are going to become “movie review” type posts because Mrs. ACW leaves for class at about 6:15pm and doesn’t get home until about 10pm. That usually gives me time to watch about two movies. Three if they’re all short, and if I’m efficient with channel flipping and dvd swapping.

Last night I tried to watch 3 movies, but the first movie was so boring I couldn’t help but stop watching it. And if you read last week about my OCD around movies you’ll know that this means the movie must be really really really really boring and/or bad. This week I tried to watch “The Return” featuring Sarah Michelle Gellar, but after about 30 minutes when nothing had happened, I just turned it off in favor of my Netflixed dvd of The Avengers. And let me tell you something- the Avengers sucked. I’m not sure whose idea it was to have two people with British accents banter back and forth and occaisionally swap relatively not unfunny puns, punctuating the dialogue every thirty minutes or so with a stingy dose of action, but that person should be dragged through a swimming pool of peanut butter and thrown to grizzly bears.

Lucky for me Cinemax was showing A History of Violence, so I was able to watch SOMETHING that was good. So good, in fact, that when Mrs. ACW walked in the door during the last 5 minutes of the movie, the douchebag Sherlock decided to scamper out the front door and hide under the neighbor’s porch. Thanks a lot, fucker! So instead of lounging on the couch and watching the conclusion to an exciting movie, I was shoulder deep in 200 years of leaf detritus trying to get a hold of the walking shit factory.

I made it back inside just in time to see the credits rolling! Argh! You have no idea how crazy this makes someone like me. I can’t function. It’s like someone switched the prescription on my glasses without telling me, and I just have to deal with it. Add to that the fact that I don’t even have my own computer to work on today, and thus can’t search the internets for the final scene, and you’ll realize that I’m starting to mentally unravel at the seams.

Don’t be surprised if posts for the rest of this week amount to nothing more than, “Teddy bear want my bear teddy bear bear blanket where’s my bear blanket teaddy bear blanket bear teddy bear picnic tea party teddy bear picnic bear blanket satan bear blanket teddy satan bear ba’al teddy Beelzebub satan satan Lucifer bear hail satan satan sacrifice human sacrifice hail satan kill eat souls rend this world in twain and banish all souls to eternal torment and strife when a black icy wave of abysmal darkness envelops this plane of existence and expels all but hatred from the hearts of men teddy bear.”

You might be tempted to watch it now. Don’t.

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on January 30, 2008 @ 10:39 am
in movies, ocd, potty humor, sex and suhmuhmuh bitch
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I’m not sure how many people know how much I love movies. If I’m flipping through the channels looking for something to watch and I see the stars spinning up over the Paramount logo, or the TriStar pegasus running towards the camera, or the Universal globe, or the MGM lion, that’s it, I’m done for. Whatever the movie is, for good or for bad, I’m watching it. Even if I all I catch is the opening credits with the theme music starting, I may as well be shackled to the chair.

For example, I once won free tickets to the over-long and under-entertaining Four Feathers (I realize the recently departed Mr. Ledger was in it, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t suck balls)*. Free tickets. FREE. And 7 hours into the first half of the movie when my friends wanted to leave, I was like, “No, let’s stay. I’m sure it will get better.” And two days later, it did get better when it ended. They must have shot that movie for 37 years for as long as it felt like it was. IMDB says it was only 130 minutes, but I’m pretty sure when I left I was collecting Social Security benefits.

A further example: Dr. T. and the Women. Dr. T and the Women is by far, bar none, the worst movie ever made. And I mean “worst” in every possible way. Everything about it was a horrible eye-sodomizing punch in the brain. The acting, the directing, the story, the music, the free merchandise distributed with the movie. Again, I got free tickets to see this movie, and even when I wanted to firebomb the whole theater before the opening credits were over, I still sat through the whole thing. They were giving out movie t-shirts before the movie, and once the movie was done I stood up, tore the tshirt they gave me into pieces, threw it on the floor, and stormed out of the theater. I hated every minute of that movie. I’ve never been so angry and unhappy in my life. I would gladly relive the horrible three month emasculation that was the breakup with my high-school girlfriend rather than ever watch that movie again.

Many people don’t believe me when I tell them how bad it is. Well, let me try to get you to where I am at this point. Imagine your least favorite movie. Whatever it is, Biodome, Chicago, Blair Witch, whatever, just picture watching it. Now, staple your genitals to a car battery, put your legs in a tree shredder, submerge your head in a bucket of shit, cover your left arm in leeches, and pay a sadist to peel the skin off your right arm. Imagining that? Good. That’s how the first 10 minutes of Dr. T and the Women feels. And I sat through the whole damn thing. I’ve blogged about my hatred of this movie before, if you’re interested, but I feel I must move on.

This is a transitional sentence!

I think there are two reasons why I’m so drawn to movies now. Part of it definitely has to do with the fact that I’m OCD and once I start something, I have trouble thinking clearly until I finish it. The other reason is that as a kid my parents never really took us to the movies. It was sort of a once yearly thing. I think they saw them as a big waste of money. I’m kind of inclined to agree with them, but still, my Netflix queue is 495 movies long, and it would be longer if Netflix allowed me to add any more than 500 movies. Case in point, I have the move “Medicine Man” in my queue which I’m pretty sure was roundly ignored by the entire planet, and yet, since I saw a commercial for it when I was 12, I still want to see it.

So what’s the point of all this? A pathetic attempt at self defense for the oncoming suggestions that I’m metro… because last night I watched The Lake House. Alone. I was flipping through the channels to see if there was anything I could watch before putting on Fast Food Nation, and I came across the Lake House just as the credits were rolling. Not knowing what it was, and OCD kicking in high-style, it took me about 20 minutes to realize I was watching dreck, but by then it was too late.

Lucky for me two of the themes of the movie are architecture and temporal relativity, otherwise I may have been bored out of my mind, and also luckily for me, this movie was really bad, which made it easy to laugh at. The cinematography was ham-handed and hackish at best, culminating in it’s crappiness on a wobbly zoom of Keanu in a reflection of a window and then holds there until he eventually sneezes. If it sounds stupid and confusing and dumb, you’re right, it is. But still, I watched it from beginning to end. From one tortured monologue to the next. Seriously, at points I was expecting the director to trot out holding a sign that says, “Here comes another tired and worn out cliche from chick flicks! Prepare yourself for the banality!” A little counter in the corner counting the cliches would have surely exploded within the first half hour. The movie was really that terrible.

I know some of you out there will want to argue with me. “But ACW, you have to admit, it was a sweet movie.” or “It was a good story, even if it was kind of stupid.” or maybe even, “Hey, my names Sandra Bullock and I was in that and I didn’t think it was that bad. At least, the cash wasn’t. Ch-ching! Ha ha, suckers!”

You are all wrong. The movie was terrible, and every DVD should be broken into a million pieces and stabbed into Richard Gere’s face lest he make another Dr. T and the Women. God how I hate that movie. I guess the fart and necrophilia jokes can wait until tomorrow.

*I think this counts as a “dick” joke.

Peccadilloes

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on September 18, 2007 @ 11:45 am
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I guess we all have these little things that we do to get ourselves through the day. Always watering the flowers on the way out the door. Taking the dog for a walk before taking a shower. Scheduling the dominatrix before putting on the full-body bondage leathers. Maybe not. Maybe I’m just viewing everyone’s behavior through my own OCD framework. Whatever.

I do things a particular way and in a particular order because it’s easy to rely on habits. I don’t like the way the water in my office tastes, so for the past few years I’ve been bringing in a water bottle to work. Sometimes it’s a hassle, but on days like today where I’ve forgotten my water bottle, I find myself getting thirsty and grimacing every time I take a sip of the stagnant water in my mug. Mmm… liquid butt.

Forgetting the water bottle, however, has apparently thrown a wrench into my other habits. For example, when I fill my water bottle at home, the very next thing I do is take my daily vitamins. Then I refill my water bottle and head out the door, but before doing so, I check to make sure I’ve got my wallet, keys, phone, and sunglasses… and belt. And today I also forgot my belt, which makes me look like a total fucking tool.

I realize that I’m probably pissing people off by saying this, but if your shirt is tucked in and you’re not wearing a belt you look like a fucking idiot. You look like a twelve year old boy who has no idea of how to dress himself. You look like a pedophile. Drive back to your mommy’s house and ask her to dress you properly, because you’re clearly incapable.

I can’t stand being dressed without a belt. Some of you who have met me might be thinking, “I’ve seen the way this guy dresses. His clothes are frequently mismatched and are often in tatters. What the fuck?” It’s true. When I get home I have absolutely zero-interest in how I look. I really couldn’t give a shit about what some Glen Burnout in a wife-beater and NASCAR pajama bottoms thinks about my clothes. But when I’m at work I want to exude an air of professionalism, and I can’t very well do that when I look like some belt-less thumb-sucker who’d be more comfortable wearing diapers and shitting himself than wearing a shirt and tie.

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