-It has been said that a true friend is someone who knows all your flaws – and is still your friend.  In my experience, a true friend is someone who knows all your flaws – and seizes every single opportunity to make fun of you for them.  In fact, my buddies often say that my penchant for making jokes at their expense is simply a ploy to disguise my own insecurities.  God, how fucking dumb are my stupid friends?

-No matter what the context, if I ever mention a female in conversation, my buddy Chi will always stop me and ask, “Wait, was she hot?”  I’m like, “So the girl sitting next to me on the bus today was – ” and Chi’s like, “Whoah, hold on.  She cute?”  And if I tell him she wasn’t, he gets a sad little look on his face and stops paying attention.  I believe he has a mild form of ADD only triggered by the thought of unattractive women.

-My friend Shermdog continues to have the most impressive game I’ve ever seen.  The only way I can describe it is that when I see him hit on girls, I’m so awed that I’m almost subconsciously afraid I might hook up with him.  (Please note: I said almost.)  One time I was out with Shermdog when these cute chicks sat down at the table next to us and ordered sushi.  I made some lame-ass joke which they totally ignored.  Then I went to the bathroom.  By the time I came back, Shermdog was actually sitting at their table and feeding one of the girls a spicy tuna roll.  He had them eating out of the palm of his hand.  Literally.

-My buddy Jason lives with his girlfriend.  I always feel so awkward and immature when I call their home number and have to leave a message.  It usually goes something like this: “Hey Jason, it’s Karo… uh, and, um, hi to you too, Jocelyn.  Hello to the both of you, um, together.  Uh oh, am I calling too late?  Oh man, I’m definitely calling too late.  You guys are probably sleeping.  Or having sex.  Oh God I shouldn’t have said that.  OK, uh, Jason, just give me a call back.  Or Jocelyn you can call me back too, I guess.  I mean, I was calling for Jason but, you know, I don’t want you to be insulted or anything.  You know what?  Maybe it’s best if we never speak again.”

-I have another friend that recently moved in with her boyfriend.  She told me that in order to save time, she and her boyfriend shower together every morning.  I told her I had an even better solution.  It’s called “move out.”

-My friend Jen is an “I love you” friend.  Everyone has an “I love you” friend.  These are your friends of the opposite sex that insist on saying “I love you” at the end of every single phone conversation thereby forcing you to say it back, usually when you’re standing in front of your girlfriend, mom, or boss, and thus resulting in an uncomfortable moment followed by an equally uncomfortable explanation and finally concluding with the silent thought of how much you hate your “I love you” friend.

-Whenever Triplet #1 goes home with a chick, I ask him the next day if he got laid.  And it seems like every time he says, “Well, we were gonna have sex, but she said she had her period.”  I’m like, dude, I don’t think she wants to sleep with you – she said the same thing two weeks ago.  So either she’s a really, really good liar, or you didn’t pay very good attention in high school biology.

-As always, here are some random things I’ve been ruminating about lately…

-I used PAM cooking spray for the first time the other day.  The container says it’s “all-natural.”  All-natural what?  It’s processed butter in an aerosol can.

-I have just been accepted into the Writers Guild, which is a very prestigious labor union for writers.  I just don’t know about belonging to a guild, though.  I feel like an 18th century blacksmith.

-I can kind of understand why someone would want to be a NASCAR driver, but I don’t really understand why you’d want to work for the pit crew.  It’s like, “Who here can change a tire?  OK, who here can change a tire in four seconds while the car is moving and 100,000 people yell at you?  Well then, have we got a job for you!”

-Absolut vodka ads totally lost me about three years ago.

-I hate shopping at department stores in malls.  Is it me or are all the clothes Nautica and six sizes too big?

-The only places worse than malls are “express” stores, which are basically just smaller versions of the regular store.  I went to a Staples Express the other day.  They should just call it Staples We Don’t Have Shit.  The only thing “express” about it is that you find out much quicker that they’re out of even the most basic of products.

-“Lost” is hands-down the best show on television.  Here’s a question though – how do they even know they’re on an island?  It could just be a really big peninsula.  Or even an isthmus.  Chew on that for a second.

-Memo to the folks at ABC: every week, my DVR cuts off the teaser scenes from the next episode of “Lost” because you end the show at 9:02pm, thus causing me to scream in such anguish you’d think I was the one stranded on the island.  Or isthmus.  Please stop doing that.  Also, it’d be nice if every once in a while you gave us a mother-fucking clue as to what in all hell is happening in this goddamn show.  Thank you.

-And, finally, while on the ski trip I took to Vermont a few weeks ago, my friends and I were walking to the local bar, drinking some beers en route.  Suddenly, a cop car passed by and we all instinctively tossed our beers.  The cop stopped, got out of her car, and asked us if we just threw beer cans in the woods.  Staring into the gleam of her massive flashlight, we admitted we had.  To which she responded, “You know, it’s not illegal in Vermont to have an open container.  But now you’re littering.”  We sheepishly retrieved the beers and she let us off with a warning.  Back at the lodge, I tried to recount what I thought was a pretty funny story to the rest of the crew.  But before I could get to the punch line, my buddy Chi was like, “Wait, wait.  Was the cop cute?”  Fuck me.

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