This blog is purely the (oft-wrong) opinion of the author and in no way represents the views of his employment, family or friends. Well, maybe his friends a little.
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.
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:
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: “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.”
If you found this page through Facebook, please scroll down to the “For the Facebook Folk” portion of the post. If not, continue as if you’d never read that…
Usually when someone is reading this blog, it’s for one reason: I peer-pressured them into it.
But this post is fundamentally different than any before it. There will be at least 30 people who visit this post that I’ve never even spoken to.
How did you pull that off Alex?
I thought you’d never ask.
This past week, I thought aloud to some of my friends,
“Wow, I’d love see that new Harry Potter movie with a female but I don’t know a single (x2) girl that would go with me even if I promised to pay for both tickets, drinks, and a large popcorn (and all the refills that come with it).“
I also thought in silence to some of my friends,
“Wow, I wish someone besides my two best friends and mom would read my blog”
So I put up an ad on Facebook in an attempt to kill two burdens with one stone. The ad went a little something like this:
The ad will show up only on the Facebook pages of single girls who go to Chapel Hill and have Harry Potter as one of their interests. In case you were wondering, that’s 640 unlucky girls who have to see my smiling face when they’re trying to look at pictures of the guy they met at the bar last night.
For the Facebook Folk
I know what you’re thinking, “Is this guy serious?”
And the answer is yes. Yes I am.
Here’s what I’m seriously offering:
- A ticket to the most recent Harry Potter movie
- Large popcorn (with butter)
- One [insert your favorite canned beverage here]
- Bring a big-enough purse since you will be sneaking this in
If you’re even considering considering taking me up on this offer, you’ll probably want to do some research first to see just what exactly you’d be getting yourself into. So here are a few of my previous date/girl experi (ences/ments):
- The Bookstore Date
- It’s just a movie…
- While we’re on the subject of Facebook #1
- While we’re on the subject of Facebook #2
- For those familiar with the Greek system: A Mixer
You’ve done some reading and you’re still interested? First of all, I suggest you take a second and re-evaluate your interests. Once you’ve done that, feel free to send me a Facebook message (there’s only one Alex Pomer out there) or email me at ‘firstname.lastname@example.org‘.
And if you feel like telling me how bad an idea this is, that’s why there’s the comments below.
Every blogging article stresses the importance of not apologizing for a blog post drought. So I’m not apologizing… but I do want to talk a little bit about what I’ve been doing for the last few months, making the transition into the real world…
See, I graduated college (on time), got a job, and have been doing a little growing up. But I say sort of because I still live in Chapel Hill, am still surrounded by college girls, and still stay out until past 2am.
I also say sort of because I have been making some changes in my lifestyle. Some sayit’s about time. Some say it’s too late. I say I’m maturing. So without further ado, the top 10 ways that I’ve decided to grow up…
Number 10: I signed up for my own VIC Card.
No more of this “Do you have a VIC Card?” “No, but I have my mom’s phone number” business. It was past time to take two minutes and get that little red triangular card to put on my keychain. Not to mention I felt bad that the Harris Teeter database still thought my mom drank Busch Lite.
Number 9: I purchase my own Propecia.
Cogito ergo sum: roughly translates to “I think, therefore I A.M.” I’m pretty sure Ol’ Descartes was talking about being at work before noon.
Number 7: I acquired a check book.
While your fraternity treasurer may let you pay your rent in cash, your landlord wants it in a check.
Number 6: The song ‘It’s five o clock somewhere‘ is finally starting to make sense.
Especially when Johny Kemp is singing his end-of-week symphony.
Number 5: Cream and sugar are things of the past.
There comes a point in every man’s life when he begins drinking his coffee black. For me, it was when including cream and sugar meant purchasing cream and sugar.
Number 4: Eating lunch is a treat.
Lunch in college was a social opportunity with my best friends and maybe even a girl (haha, just kidding). Lunch out of college is a relief from the 3+ hours of work you’ve already done.
Number 3: I now plan my day around getting to the bank.
The bank is open from 9-5. I work from 9-6. You figure it out.
Number 2: I’m finally moving out of my fraternity.
Goodbye peeing outdoors. Hello nice toilet paper.
Number 1: I work 9-5 Monday-Friday sitting in front of a computer screen.
Remember when you went to college and talked about how you wouldn’t end up in a cubicle? Don’t worry, you will.
I hope to return to posting at least weekly. I know you didn’t miss reading, but I missed writing.
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.Alex: “Hey, can someone jump my car?Friend 1: “Didn’t I just jump your car yesterday?”Alex: “Why yes Friend 1, you did jump my car yesterday.”Friend 1: “You should probably get a new battery.”Friend 2: “Yeah, you should probably get a new battery.”Alex: “It’s not the battery. Look, I don’t feel like explaining. Will you please just jump my car?”Friend 1: “Well I don’t feel like jumping your car.”Friend 2: “Yeah, he doesn’t feel like jumping your car.”Alex: “…I hate you guys.”
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.
I wrote a few weeks ago about how I gave up ‘not having a fish‘ for lent.
Easter is tomorrow and I’m sure you’re all wondering if I succeeded.
In short, no. I failed. But I failed in dramatic fashion.
A week ago I went to Wilmington for my friend’s wedding. While gone, I left the care of Walt (the fish) to my friend Chris.
He did a fantastic job and I don’t blame any of the following chain of events on him.
Last Saturday night, someone went into the library in my fraternity (where the fish was being kept) and smashed the bowl on one of the tables.
Lying in a tiny puddle of water for nearly five hours, he was discovered the next morning by another friend.
Miraculously Walt survived.
My friend filled up a styrofoam cup with water and poured Walt from his broken bowl into the cup.
When I returned from Wilmington, the story of the attack on Walt and his heroic survival was the talk of the town.
Celebrating, I fed Walt and made plans to buy him a new home the next day.
I went to bed Sunday night proud of the strength and courage of my betta fish.
I woke up Monday morning only to realize that our caretaker had thrown Walt away, thinking it was just another leftover cup of water.
Was I sad? Yes. Was I angry? Not really.
Walt and I made many memories during the four weeks that he was my pet but at the end of the day, he was just an $8 fish.
And I like to think that it’s the end of the day that matters. Because that’s when it’s night. And night is where the fun part of college happens…
For those of you celebrating, happy Easter and Passover. For those of you not, have a great Saturday.
I believe a few things about athleticism.
1. Everyone thinks that he is more athletic than he actually is.
2. Once you get into college, your athleticism begins to decline.
In an effort to justify doing #1 since #2 is becoming more prevalent, I’ve begun finding new ways to identify myself as an athlete.
How you ask?
By not limiting ‘athleticism’ to only traditional sports and expanding its definition to anything that could remotely be considered a competition.
I’ll give you a quick example of someone else’s atypical athleticism before I go back to talking about my own natural superior skill-set.
One friend in particular (Byrum) was in charge of manning the remote. He successfully executed two straight hours of perfect channel changing. We never had to watch a single commercial, never missed an important play, and never felt like we were watching something that was unentertaining.
It was one of the most amazing athletic achievements that I’ve ever witnessed.
I am not an athletic remote control-er. But there are a few fields in which I’m incredibly athletic (see #1 above).
Here’s a list of my top 10 athletic skill-set:
- Calling Shotgun
- Sleeping on airplanes
- Gmail Keyboard Shortcuts
- Obscure Star Wars References
- Facebook Pokes
- Playing with Yoshi in N64 games
- Eating Sunflower Seeds
- Calling ‘Fives’
- Snoozing alarms
- Avoiding cracks on the sidewalk
What kinds of things do y’all do that are athletic by my new terms of the word?
Who doesn’t love a good prank? I know I do.
For the fraternity/sorori-literate readers, let me start with a quick definition before I get to the good stuff.
A social function where a Sorority and Fraternity meet a central location, usually a bar or club, to mingle. These events typically have a quasi-risqué theme such as ‘golf pros and tennis hoes,’ ‘dirty professors and naughty schoolgirls’ and occasionally your standard ’80’s.’
She told me that Alpha Chi was supposed to mix with a Fraternity on Tuesday (today) but they had to cancel. She was wondering if my fraternity had any social events planned for Tuesday night.
For those of you who don’t know, my fraternity is known in the greek system as ‘the smart fraternity’ so naturally, we did not have any social event planned for Tuesday. I’m sure Jordan was as underwhelmed by that fact as I was.
I called our social chair to make sure it was okay to mix with Alpha Chi. It was. So I called Jordan back to get the details.
She told me when we were supposed to be there, how much it costs, and the unsurprising theme – Saint Patty’s Day.
Saint Patty’s Day-themed mixers are pretty standard. Everyone dresses up in absurd green clothes, no one gets pinched, end of story.
So I decided to spice it up a little bit…
I sent the following email to my fraternity’s listserv to tell them about the mixer:
Alpha Chi had a fraternity cancel on their mixer for Tuesday night and they’ve decided that we’re the fraternity most likely to be able to mix with them with only one day’s notice. Fair enough. We are.
We’ll be mixing at Uptown from 11pm-2am.
The theme is ‘Stoplight’
For those of you who don’t know what a ‘Stoplight’ theme is, I’ll put it in Facebook terms:
Wear…Green if you’re SingleYellow if It’s ComplicatedRed if you’re In A Relationship
You get the metaphor,
The talk around my fraternity today is, “What color are you going to wear tonight?” Most guys seem to be going with yellow so as not to appear desperate.
I’m not sure what I’m looking forward to more, seeing my friends’ eyes light up when they see every girl decked out in green or seeing Jordan’s eyes darken when she realizes that her entire fraternity looks desperate.
Either way I think the score is pretty clear:
(Pomer – 1, Friends – 0, Jordan – 0)
WARNING: This post contains material that some might consider foul. If you’ve just eaten or are about to eat, I encourage you to bookmark this page and return later.
A few days ago, I went to a local bar after a UNC basketball game. While there, I was approached by a friend of mine name Jordan (yes, the same Jordan who sent this email to her Sorority listserv).Jordan: “I’m bored, give me something to do.”Pomer: “Okay, let’s play a game.”
(She didn’t know that games are one of my specialties.)Jordan: “Alright, what’s the game?”Pomer: “It’s simple. You tell me anything to do and I have to do it, then I tell you to do something and you have to do it.”Jordan: (smiling, as if she has a great idea) “Okay… go stand on the outside railing and scream as loud as you can, I LOVE BOBBY FRASOR!!!”Pomer: “That’s it?”Jordan: (confused) “Um… yeah.”
As agreed, I stood up on the railing and screamed, “I LOVE YOU BOBBY FRASOR, I DO. I LOVE YOU!!!”
Dodging strange looks, I returned to Jordan who was very satisfied with herself.
“My turn,” I said.
“I want you to get a chair, walk up to the girl’s bathroom and bang on the door with the chair screaming, ‘I have horrible diarhea! Please let me in! I’ve been pissing crap all day! Please!’”
Horrified but sticking to the deal, Jordan walked over to a table next to the bathroom, grabbed a metal chair, confidentally walked past a line of girls and began banging and screaming.
Compared to the looks Jordan got from the girls in line, the strange looks I got resembled an adoring puppy.
After two minutes of begging, someone let her in.
When she got back, she looked at me frustrated and said, “Wow, that was really embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” I said. “But are you still bored?”
(Pomer – 1, Jordan – 0)