I am a bit of a social media whore.

For the most part, I think anyone reading this is (how the hell else did you get here?). But I think sometimes, I am to a fault. I check Facebook incessantly for no reason. I tweet when it’s unnecessary. I think in “that’d be a great Instagram shot” thoughts.

Hell, man. Just to blow time, I check Path. I’d imagine this is what becoming a drug addict or a rampant gambler feels like.

Then a funny thing happened.

Pinterest showed up. And I didn’t get it.

Unless you live in a dark cave, you’ve heard of it. I don’t know, at this point people in dark caves have probably heard of it. If you have a girlfriend, it’s probably helped you understand why women hate fantasy football. Whenever I’m not looking, it’s like she’s just checking the waiver wire, checking to see if any new pins are available for repin. And here’s the thing that really sucks…

I’m bad at it.

How can you be bad at a social network, you ask? I’ll explain.

Pinterest is really simple: It’s a digital pinboard that you post pretty pictures on. Do you like that outfit that one chick wore to that thing? BOOM. Pin it. Do you like that picture of food? BOOM. Pin it. Do you like that “anything that can be photographed”? BOOM. Pin that shit. Honestly: it’s a really simple way to tell people what you like, and I get that.

But when I started trying to do it, I realized I was too late. More than that, I just wasn’t good at it. It was the same reason people told me they couldn’t relate to Twitter the way I could: they just had nothing to say. And that’s the thing: I’ve got PLENTY to say but not that much to show you. So, essentially, I’m fucked. I’m a person who thinks in words. I lose Pictionary every time I play it but I am a certified sniper when it comes to Catch Phrase.

When I go on Pinterest, I feel like people are speaking Chinese while playing Mouse Trap and patting their head, all at once. I simply cannot keep up with the rate that things are shared. It’s not only that, though.

I am just not the demographic.

I’m not saying men can’t pin. Look, plenty of them are good at it. I’m just not one of them.

I tried to solve this. Could I emulate other people’s boards? Could I simply yoink titles that other people had for their boards and use them as my own? It was that exact moment that I realized just how out of my league I was.

However, I did notice some patterns. On that note.

This is my interpretation of how to use Pinterest.

Make a board about DIY crafting. 

It’s funny, no one seemed to be into crafting before Pinterest existed. You never heard people saying in passing, “hey, I tell you about that lamp shade I made out of sequins and old rubber tires?” Now? If i’m to believe my friend’s Pinterest boards, everyone spends a majority of their life creating random terrariums or hats that make you look like an owl. This brings up a larger theme that Pinterest has essentially made people more interesting even if they’re just lazily throwing pictures up on a board as a new way of hitting the “like” button. And, i’ll take it. Why not. I’d rather you be into crafting than the Real Housewives of anything.

Talk about the wedding you’re going to have before a man (or woman) has asked to marry you.

Seriously, it doesn’t matter: Pinterest allows people to be passive aggressive as shit. Angry he hasn’t popped the question yet? Drop a hint and just start posting what the floral arrangements are and what the rose petals will look like on the alter of the venue you’ve already selected (or all 1,894 of them on another board, entirely optional). While it would be creepy for a girl to do this in her bedroom, with or without a boyfriend, it is in no way creepy on Pinterest. Utterly fascinating to me.

While you’re at it, pin what your home is going to look like someday. 

For the most part, we all live in some unbelievably boring place. It probably has some chairs, a bed and some other furniture we can presumably afford (re: shitty furniture) and maybe, just maybe, it’s got some trinkets and doodads that make it “so us.” Go online, find pictures of rich people’s houses and post pictures on a board about what your home is going to look like when you grow up. Maybe a room with a nice lamp. Definitely a crazy nice kitchen with the crap you can’t afford at Williams Sonoma. Boom. You did it.

Talk about an eating disorder you may or may not have in way that is juuuust masked enough. 

This goes for both sexes. Sure, no one really wants to hear about if you think you’re fat or what weight you’re gaining or losing through Facebook or Twitter updates. Those are just words and they sound like someone bitching that you don’t want to have drinks with. That sucks, because you know what we all love? Attention (points finger at self as he writes this in the hopes that you will read it). But hey, guess what? Pinterest made it work! Instead, post a picture of good looking people or pictures of food you “can’t eat” and now it’s just a pretty picture that sorta doesn’t have anything to do with you in particular. It’s just close enough to sounding like self-improvement, too, so most people are into it.

Pin any well designed picture of a quote that is vague. 

HUGE bonus points if it’s a variation of “Keep Calm and Carry On.” That shit is so gonna get repined, just wait for the followers to get on your Pin-wagon. While your’e at it..

Find any infographic about anything. 

It honestly doesn’t matter. It could be about the ratio of pistachios that get left behind because their shell has that awkward opening that’s just not open enough so you can’t eat it to pistachios that you can definitely eat. Seriously. It doesn’t matter. If it’s an infographic? Pin that shit. If you’re a brand trying to get into Pinterest in a way that fans will relate to? This is your easiest way to offer kids candy in the back of a Pinterest van. Do it.

Pin pictures of babies doing things. 

It’s just vague enough that it doesn’t say “I WANT A BABY”. It’s saying, “hey, don’t blame me, I’m just looking at adorable babies doing some adorable shit, what’s wrong with that?” Babies are the cats of Pinterest. They’re pretty much an easy go-to.

Pin pictures of tiny animals.

No matter what. Don’t think, just pin that shit. Baby giraffe? Boom. Monkey riding a pig? Boom.

Pin any picture of food. 

Food was the one thing that got a little left behind when Twitter started. Explaining food isn’t as cool as seeing food. Guess what? If you joined Pinterest, you just went from making Kraft Macaroni and Cheese to cooking some kind of dumpling you’ve never heard of with ingredients you can only buy in places that don’t exist. And you’re putting bacon on everything. Pinterest made everyone a foodie.

Finally, when all else fails…

Just repin anything someone else pins with a lot of followers. It’s just like any other social network, guys. We’re all just yelling the same thing at each other.

It’s not that I don’t like Pinterest. I actually really do. I just feel like I’m not good at that, and like a kid throwing things on the playground, i’m bummed out. It’s just like Twitter for me for a different breed of person: I’ve seen people become legitimate friends in real life because they liked someone’s boards. It blows my mind.

If statistics are correct, it’s gonna outgrow Facebook, Twitter, Twitface, Facer, Facertweet…it’s gonna be the next big thing. Hell, it’s already been the next big thing for longer than you think. And this is why.

Ever watched girls on a couch while guys watch football? They often look at fashion magazines/anything and just show other girls what they’re looking at and say, “that’s cute.”

That’s Pinterest.

Forget the “like” button.

Just make the “that’s cute” button already.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 59: Pin This Sh*t.

Stream the whole thing right here.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

For a lot of my life, people have said that I’m “sorta gay.”

And, I get it. I’m pretty effeminate for a dude. Which is funny, because I used the word “pretty” to qualify that statement.

But, no, I get it. I just don’t think “gay” is the right word.

I’m girly.

There’s a huge difference. I feel bad for gay guys who get pigeonholed into the thought process that being “girly” makes them gay. No, being gay makes them gay.  I can imagine this bothers gay dudes. They just aren’t that into girls, so I’m sure they don’t want to be told that they are one.

What I am is an entirely different thing.

See, in my formative years, I was raised by a single mom. A single mom who had wanted a girl since she was about -22 years old. Imagine the feeling, then, of not getting a girl. The feeling of getting a household full of burping, farting boys instead. Boys that would never appreciate her love of shoes or bags. Boys that would not appreciate the haircut she got, did you notice? Boys that, put simply, would never be her daughter.

And then I happened.

Sure, I have plenty of total “dude” qualities. Left to my own devices, I’d watch Sportscenter on loop all day. I love movies where shit blows up for no reason. I like whiskey and scotch. I don’t understand why it takes so long for girls to get ready. Fill in the next man cliche here. That’s the thing: I’m just “dude” enough that most guys don’t notice that I’m a girl in man’s clothing.

Because then there’s the “raised by a woman” part of me.

I love shoes.

Let me say that again.

I fucking love shoes. If buying pairs of them were a sport, I’m Tiger Woods pre-ambien meltdown.

I buy product. Not shampoo, or soap. I buy “product.” My shower houses two salon pumps of Bumble and Bumble, Kiehl’s and Bliss face wash, and something called “minty scrub soap.” I own eye creams. Notice the “s” there? That’s because I own multiple eye creams.

I just want to talk. All the time. About nothing but feelings. I have feelings bulimia.

I talk about celebrities using only their first names.

I say an uncomfortable amount of the phrases featured in the Shit Girls Say video.

I do like to dance like no one is watching.

I enjoy a good romantic comedy. So much so that I am ordered to take my best friend (a girl, obviously) to movies by her husband who doesn’t want to see them.

I own Ani Difranco albums (this one arguably makes me a lesbian, but they are still girls the last time I checked).

I’ve been the only male invited to not one but two baby showers.

I cry when I get too drunk.

I am the closest thing a male can get to having a period.

And you know what? Screw it, man. It’s who I am.

I’m not a gay guy.

I’m a f%*king girl.

The other day, I was sitting in a cubicle at an office of about 100 people I don’t know. I was blaring music in headphones when a song came on that I really liked. It was catchy as all hell, the hook was great. And this is what it sounded like.

Around the fifteenth listen, I wrote my friend Julie this exact statment:

“I’m sitting in a corporate office writing serious ideas about a large brand…with this playing in my headphones. No one around me has any idea. Is this what it feels like to be in the closet?”

To answer my own question:

Yes. This is what it feels like to be in the closet. But not the gay closet.

The “girly dude” closet.

You’re all invited to join. I’ve got at least one pair of shoes for everyone.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 58: Songs I’d Play For You If You Called Me (Maybe)

Stream Disc One right here or download the whole thing in mp3′s right here.

Stream Disc Two right here or download the whole thing in mp3′s right here.

I really love The Bold Italic. I have ever since I randomly stumbled on them one evening, when I was probably a bottle of wine deep watching a movie I didn’t want people to know about.

(A League of Their Own.)

(No, seriously. It was probably A League of Their Own. If you don’t like that movie, you’re a bad person and don’t laugh at commercials with talking animals.)

But, no. I like them a lot. They embody everything I wanted to be a part of when I decided one day that I’d actually like to be a writer. So, I sent them a wacky idea that was pretty (wait for it) self-deprecating and they were into it. And they published it. And made pictures for it. Which makes it feel like I’m a real boy.

The link below is the post I wrote for them about my ridiculous identity crisis that has been boiling up for over six years in San Francisco. Thank you so much to The Bold Italic for being the first pub to put a little faith in Rocket Shoes. Here’s hoping I can write 4,934 more for you.

The Life of a Bro-ster.

A couple of weeks ago, I quit my job to go out into the world of freelance writing.

Which basically means I stopped receiving money on purpose.

Which basically seems like a questionable life choice.

But frankly, when you do this, there are a few things that can happen: people will think you are funny and/or talented and hire you to write words again or you will die in an unemployed fire (or just be unemployed, develop an extreme drinking problem which will, in turn, cause you to be a fantastic writer again. I know, right? I love this job)…

Or you will realize that everything has words attached to it. Everything. And someone…SOMEONE is going to have to employ you. Hear me out.

Have you ever looked at crap and wondered:

A) WHY is this a thing? (Prime examples: an electronic tie rack, capri pants a.k.a.the pant that can’t decide what it wants to be, 1,308 varieties of dish soap named after mountain peaks that do not exist that you have not gone to because they do not exist, etc)

B) WHO the F*CK wrote the words explaining that thing?

You probably don’t experience “B” a lot unless you are a writer or a stoner (or both, which is usually the case, let’s put our fingers on our noses and point at ourselves).

I think about “A” and “B” a lot. And I think about “B” so much so that I thought a full-time job wasn’t required. You know why?

Because it leads me to believe that there are a lot of things that need words out there. A lot of useless, unbelievably strange things that can’t even be explained by the people who make and sell them (!!).

I know this because every time I’m on an airplane, I read SkyMall.

SkyMall is perplexing because it’s like 4,897 of those kiosks in the middle of a mall that oh my God WHO is going to that thing to buy a cell phone cover?

That’s SkyMall: the mini-mall of mini-malls.

It’s even more perplexing because someone IS going to that thing. They are buying things from SkyMall. They are buying things that are inexplicable, unnecessary…and amazing. And those things have descriptions.

Here are a few of my favorites. Remember: THEY ARE SELLING THESE THINGS ON AN AIRPLANE, AND PEOPLE ARE ACTUALLY BUYING THEM, SO MUCH SO THAT THE MAGAZINE HAS BEEN IN PRINT FOR UPWARDS OF FOUR DECADES.

And, yeah: These are real things that I may just write for someday.

—

Product: Protein Ketchup

Tagline: ”Finally, a ketchup that’s good for you!”

Analysis: Was this a ‘thing’? Were people really avoiding ketchup because they couldn’t load up on it before a workout? Was that the #1 problem with ketchup? Did they hire anyone to research this, or just get drunk one night and write this and send it in before thinking? I hope their next product is “Water: It won’t drunk dial you.”

—

Product: Military Binoculars

Tagline: “See the color of an eagle’s eye…FROM A MILE AWAY!”

Analysis: I want to buy a pair so that this conversation can go down at my apartment someday:

Friend: “Wow. Drew. These binoculars are AWFULLY big. What are they for?”

Me: “Seeing the color of an eagle’s eye.”

Friend: “Why would I ever need to do tha-”

Me: “Brown. Slight green tint. It’s hungry, and it’s girlfriend’s name is Sandra. It’s lonely, but it knows it will see better days once the winter passes.”

Friend: “Nevermind. I get it. I. Get. It.”

—

Product: Gravity Defyer Trampoline Shoe (GDefy for short, obvi)

Tagline: “Now you can escape the power of gravity.”

Analysis: I mean, that’s just an extremely aggressive statement. Just extremely, extremely aggressive.

—

Product: Sound-Activated Video Camera Pen

Tagline: “Perfect for collecting solid evidence that requires discretion.”

Analysis: Is James Bond flying coach? Are people getting so sketchy that they’d buy a $179 pen to see if their significant other is cheating? Here’s an easier way: ask them if they are cheating. Maybe don’t buy the $200 decoder ring pen.

—

Product: Litter Kwitter Cat Toilet Training System

Tagline: “Potty train your cat faster than most people can potty train their kids.”

Analysis: What I really enjoyed about this one (beyond the cat pissing-pissing-in-a-toilet visual and the fact that only “most” of America could potty train their kids faster than a cat, not “all”) was the use of “kw” instead of “qu”. It wasn’t like being interested in this product was enough to secure that you’d die alone…the fact that you’d buy a product that spelled the word quitter with a “kw” really puts it over the top. Like, just buy 42 cats and lock the door to your apartment and become the next episode of CSI. You’re already there, you don’t even need the product.

—

Product: The Password Vault (A small LCD electronic device that stores all of your passwords that…requires a password)

Tagli…no, you know what? No. I’m not even bothering. Let me say that again: it’s a device that stores your passwords in a small, easily losable device that requires a password. NO. NNNNO. 

—

Product: Bigfoot, the Bashful Yeti Tree Sculpture

Tagline: “If you’ve never spotted Bigfoot, perhaps it’s just because he’s been hiding behind the nearest tree!”

Analysis: I mean. I’d make fun. But let’s be real…I came real close to buying this, but I do not have “a tree”, let alone many that would require the phrase “nearest”. There was also a Texas Armadillo Beverage holder that I thought was ridiculous. I love that I drew the line there.

—

Product: Bigfoot, the Garden Yeti Statue. (Different company makes this one.) (!!)

Tagline: “…guests will be doing a double-take as they admire your creative home or garden style!”

Analysis: Who cares about the writing: I’m just mind blown that two different companies are competitively marketing bigfoot statues against each other in the same magazine/at all. Can you imagine if the neighbors got the statue after you had already bought the tree sculpture?

Husband: “Did you hear? Don across the street brought the Garden Yeti Statue.”

Wife: “Seriously?”

Husband: “Seriously.”

(long, long pause)

Wife: “Unbelievable. Un-F*%KING BELIEVABLE.”

—

Product: The Big Pitcher (it’s a big water pitcher)

Tagline: “Water is life! Drink healthy with The Big Pitcher!”

Analysis: (golf claps) Oh I see what you did there. 

—

Product: No! No! Skin

Tagline: “No pimples in no time.”

Analysis: I get it. You wanted to say the word “no” twice to reiterate that not only would you have no pimples, you’d not have them in no time. Here’s the problem: your product is a laser that I point at my face. A robot that shoots a laser at my face. So saying “NO NO SKIN” makes me feel like I will have no..no skin. And that sorta bums me out. Maybe have a look at the ad before you just give SkyMall the green light next time. People might be reading this wrong. (No! No! Hair was available too. But I already have! have! that).

—

Product: SkyRest Travel Pillow 

Tagline: “This person is able to sleep comfortably in any seat. Can you say the same?”

Analysis: I mean, no. You know what? Wanted to argue this one, because I’m not sure who has the balls to bring this (and use it) on a plane. But you’re right, SkyRest. Your threatening tone is right: I can’t say the same. +1 for terror pillow marketing.

–

It’s a competitive job market out there for writers. I imagine there will be plenty of times I live in fear in between jobs, no doubt.

But hey, let’s face it…

I can probably always write for SkyMall.

Probably always.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 57: Songs That You Can Enjoy With Any Backyard Bigfoot Statue

Stream the whole thing at the link above (or by clicking on the picture with the SkyMall magazine in it that you would probably be reading if you were on an airplane).

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

If I were a cop, I’d just park across the street from a KFC/Taco Bell every night. I mean, it’s gotta be a 100% arrest rate when people drive out of the drive-thru, right? Anyone buying an actual bucket of chicken or a sandwich with two pieces of fried chicken used as the bread are on drugs 1,976% of the time. If you are a policeman and you are reading this, congratulations. I just got you promoted to a job where you don’t have to sit outside of a KFC/Taco Bell arresting people.

I am confused by people who sign up to be urologists for a living. Look. I’m just sayin’. I don’t know how much the money differential is, but I’m guessing it’s a lot or most of these guys are closeted, because I have one and even I would argue that I don’t really want to look at penises for a living. Like, you had a choice. Of ANY body part, and you said, “Penises. I choose to look at Penises for a living.” Really? Were the check boxes like this?

YOUR CHOICES:

Face Doctor – 200k w/ benefits.

Foot Doctor – 300k w/ benefits, because feet are weird.

Penis Doctor – 1 BILLION DOLLARS. ANY AMOUNT OF MONEY YOU WANT. SERIOUSLY. YOU’RE GOING TO LOOK AT PENISES ALL DAY.

*My favorite part about writing this…when I did about two months ago…was finding out approximately one week later that my cousin Laura is a urologist. I’m sorry Laura. I’m a dick. HEY-O!

I have a pediatric electrolyte supplement drinking problem. You should read that back, but out loud this time. It turns out it’s a killer way to cure a hangover. The only catch is that you’re drinking something that a baby drinks when it has diarrhea. So, you can imagine how that conversation is when you ask a Walgreen’s employee where the baby formula aisle is with no baby in sight. Or what it looks like when you are feverishly pounding a bottle of grape on your way to work and people in other cars are looking at you. Ready for this? I now even eat the FREEZER POPS that they sell, because that’s not weird. But hey, guess what: I’m hydrated, motherf*cker. What are you?

I don’t understand how people design traffic light systems. It just seems like it would be really complicated. I know, because in Sim City I was terrible at it and it had to be the most stressful thing in the world when my not real people were getting in not real traffic jams that were making them late for their not real home lives, which presumably caused them to get not real divorced and THAT’S ON ME AND I LIVE WITH IT EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Oh, Republicans. You guys had it so easy in the coming election year. I say that because America is generally batshit crazy and I just figured that they wouldn’t be cool with having a black guy as our president for more than four years before they had a “THE CIVIL WAR ISN’T OVER” panic attack. To be fair, it sort of still sounds like that’s happening. And in that instance, it seems like to win the hearts of your batshit crazy cohorts, all you had to do was nominate two “not black guys” and…no, you know what? You honestly had to just nominate anyone who didn’t sound like they had been drinking all morning before they started filming things and you probably would have had the next President elect. But you sure found a way to…not do that. Your current nominee options are Rick Perry, Mitt Romney and Newt Gingrich. So basically:

1) The only guy in Texas who manages to make George Bush look like a Rhodes Scholar.

2) A crazy Mormon who believes in magical underpants. (!!)

and

3) ….Newt Gingrich. Who I’m pretty sure has been running for president since 1848. (Probably not gonna happen, big guy. Maybe sit this one out.)

What’s even more amazing is that you ruled out one other guy because he was quoting Pokemon in his speeches. (!!!)

So, in advance, may I say thank you from every Democrat. We’re running against the equivalent of mouth breathers in sweatpants with weird mustard stains in the corner of their lips. Things are looking up.

There are too many toothpaste options these days, and my neurotic brain can’t handle it. 

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want whitening?”

Drew: “Sure.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want tartar control?”

Drew: “I mean, I’d assume so, sure…you guys are the experts.”

Toothpaste Brand: “Do you want extra whitening?”

Drew: “…well, sure. Why didn’t you just put the ‘extra’ in the last batch..”

Toothpaste Brand: “3-D whitening?”

Drew: “Wait, what?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about cavity protection.”

Drew: “Dude, what the f*ck. Why wasn’t I getting that before?”

Toothpaste Brand: “How about an extreme clean?”

Drew: “…”

Then again, I guess I’ve never been able to make up my mind about this. Ever.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 56: A Mix For Cops To Listen To Outside of a KFC/Taco Bell

Stream the whole thing at the link above (or by clicking on the picture with too much toothpaste in it).

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Dude, I got so sober last night.

Ridic. Like, shit went off. Were you even there? At Trader Joes? I can’t even remember man, I was so sober, just buying lentils and shit. At one point I think I was grabbing affordable chicken breasts marinated in balsamic and rosemary and totally eating handfuls of those everything pretzel chips, straight out the bag, yo. At one point I saw people throwing those pretzel nuggets with the peanut butter in them in the air. No dude, seriously, girls were catching them in their mouths. I tried to snap a pic , but then I got caught up looking at those sweet sunrise pics I took at the beach the other day when I went for an early run. I dropped a Brannan filter on that shit, dude. You should see it. Light flares were everywhere, I was tweetin’ like, “Look at how sober I am on a Saturday, yo!” I sure wish I had those chicks eating the pretzels now though, man. That was hot.

We went to get tapas at around four o’clock that day, dude. I was like, “WHERE THEM SMALL PLATES AT? Don’t skimp on the Tuna Tartare, I’ll send it back if their aren’t at least four wonton crackers carefully balanced between those cubes of freshly caught ahi, motherfucker.” When the waiter was like, “you guys want still or sparkling?” I was like, “oh hell no, bring that stuff with bubbles, man. We’re getting straight sober tonight.”

I left for a bit to hit a spin class. Yeah, just to get a little cardio in so I could get good, restful sleep that night and not feel bad about my caloric intake from all those tapas. Some people have been doing that hard shit. Pilates and that Bikram, yo. But I dunno, I’ve got an addictive personality, and I don’t want people judging. Anyway, I get pretty high off a good spin class, so no need to overdo it.

Yeah, I’m so awake today, dude. I haven’t been this awake since that last time we got all sober on that one Wednesday. Yeah, man, remember that? That one in April? You came home at a moderate hour and were like, “man, I might catch up on my DVR tonight.” And then I was all, “cool, I’m pretty tired and might just fall asleep about three quarters of the way into a documentary on Netflix.” We got crazy sober that night and were like, “NEVER again!” Guess what? BOOM. Blew that one.

I know, I know. I’m thinking of slowing down, don’t worry. It’s just like, it’s always “I just gotta get one thing at Target” or “I’m totally out of t-shirts and gotta do laundry and they shut off the dryer at 9pm.” And then before you know it, i’m all crazy sober again talking about training for a half marathon with four other sober people. I sorta wonder if everyone at work notices when I get in all early.

I can stop whenever I want though. It’s not like a problem. I could seriously go out tonight and get drunk. But like, I don’t want to, you know? Like, whatever: I wanna send out massive amounts of network invitations on LinkedIn tonight, so what. I’m almost 30 and it’s like, this is what I’m into. If you aren’t, you know…no big deal. You live your life and I’ll live mine. I hate people who are all judgmental.

Anyway, I gotta run. This girl I just started seeing hasn’t seen a single episode of Friday Night Lights and I was like WHAAAT. We have GOT to get all sober and watch that on your couch! I’m just happy I finally met someone as wild as I am. Can you imagine the crazy sleep we’re gonna get together?

The other day I was talking to my friend Lesley on the subject of how other people are doing that we haven’t spoken to in a while.

By that, I mean we were casually judging the shit out of people’s lives that we:

- Don’t know that well anymore.

- Never knew that well to begin with.

- Actually do not know. Are we friends with them on Facebook? Of course. But we are in no way friends in real life with them because we share absolutely nothing in common besides a casual like of television. Or eating (which are amazing things to be able to “like” on Facebook, ps).

But that’s my point: we were sitting there talking about people’s lives as we know them to be, entirely based upon facts we’d gleamed from reading their Facebook status updates and monitoring the crap they hit “like” for on the internet. Which is the equivalent to deciding whether a baby is doing well or not based on what he made a noise at that day. Spoiler alert: presumably everything.

Which brings me to the amazing portion of the conversation.

Drew: “Have you seen (name of person I am judging) lately? He seems to be doing really well.”

Lesley: “Oh, you’ve talked to him recently?”

Drew: “No. But I saw him standing in front of an expensive home with a nice car and a girl with fake boobs. So, you know. Did the math there.”

Lesley: “Yeah but, who puts shit on Facebook that’s actually happening in their life? If you did, it would be wildly hilarious, or depressing.”

Yes, Lesley. Yes it would.

So I began to think about a world where people actually wrote on Facebook and took the statement, “What’s on your mind?” a bit more…literally.

And these are the funny things I think people would actually say if they were telling the truth on Facbeook.

“Today was pretty great! Went for a run and thought about my ex-girlfriend the entire time and the guy she’s probably sleeping with! I feel great, physically, but mentally I’m a total trainwreck!”

“Sarah is attending ‘Tara’s 31st Part-ay’ on November 6th. She has no idea why, she fucking hates Tara. But, I dunno. Other people are going and she doesn’t want to look like a bitch.”

“Drank an entire bottle of wine last night. Woke up borderline worried I’m an alcoholic.”

“I just made weird faces in the mirror for no apparent reason.”

“I don’t know the capital of Montana.”

“I just paid too much rent for my apartment that I can’t afford again. Tonight I will go to bed terrified of things like bills and whether or not I’m on a good enough life trajectory.”

“I just cried.”

“Just spent a good portion of the night stalking that one girl I saw the other day. I feel a little weird about it. But at least now I know her favorite movie is Weekend at Bernies. Which, to be fair, surprised me a little.”

“Just read my ex’s Facebook wall for about 20 minutes. Who the fuck is Paul? Why is he writing all over her wall? Also: if you want to check out his profile, he always takes out of focus pictures and he’s not funny. I can’t believe she’s dating this douche. (Jenny, if you’re reading this…this is the guy you’re dating now? Are you dating Paul?)”

“I just had an awkward conversation with my boyfriend about moving in together. We fought. So now I’m posting a funny inside joke on his wall that will detract from the conversation that I will bring up again in about a week when I’m drunk and we’re out with friends!”

“I just liked…I mean you know what, I have no idea why I just liked that. Wait, that shit showed up on my newsfeed?”

“Just posted a really great picture of myself someone took two years ago as my profile picture! I never look like that, i’m actually much heavier these days!”

“I just searched ‘male pajama onesie’ on Google. To detract from that, here’s a picture of me without my shirt on looking masculine.”

“I wonder if I’ll be alone forever! LOVE YOU, GIRLS, SAT NIGHT WAS TOTES FUN!!”

“I have diarrhea. It’s pretty terrible.”

“I just liked a photo on my friend’s wall. But only because there was a hot girl in it, and I wonder if she saw that I liked it and then checked me out. Probably not. Mike, are you dating that chick? I mean, if not. Just sayin’.”

“I just watched an entire season of The Wire in one sitting. I haven’t showered yet today. I smell terrible.”

“I just went to the bathroom.”

“I am now friends with your friend Jenny. Because I slept with her after the party last night, so logically, now we’re Facebook friends, in a roundabout way of letting everyone know that yes, we’re sort of into each other or at least had relations.”

“I haven’t gone outside yet today. I have no itention to.”

“I went to a fancy restaurant with a one word name so I could tell people about it later!”

“I just played the song ‘A Milli’ by Lil Wayne over and over again until I memorized that one really hard line that I could never get, so that the next time it plays at a party, I’ll know it and recite it and people will notice and be impressed with me.”

“I am searching random diseases I may have on WebMD right now, because I’m neurotic. Oh, and it’s a Saturday night.”

“I just searched ‘Kim Kardashian’ sex tape. For no apparent reason. I’m surprised at how easy that was to find.”

“I just talked to my dog. Like he was a person. I’m home alone.”

So.

You know.

I basically just explained Twitter.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 55: Unicorns Aren’t Real, Just Like People’s Emotions on Facebook.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Dear Guy/Girl in the Costume on October 20th,

Hey! What’s up? Where you headed to? I only ask because you’re wearing a slutty maid costume and it’s a Thursday evening around the middle of October. What’s that? A Halloween party?

Oh. That’s Weird. Because Halloween isn’t for another week.

You’re not alone. I saw on my way over here:

- Three guys wearing a makeshift Gosling-From-Drive costume.

- 1,829 Charlie Sheen “Costumes.”

- A girl who was wearing a “costume”, but I think she just bought a bunch of spandex and a headband.

- Wayne and Garth (to be fair, this one was pretty good)

So maybe I missed it but…isn’t Halloween this week? And if so, why are we all wearing costumes a week before?

Look. I get it, we’re all excited. Hell, when I was a kid? I had a “bucket of swords” and couldn’t leave the house without grabbing one. I also wore a cape pretty much every day, but I suppose that’s another issue.

The thing is, the phrase there that should stick out is “when I was a kid.”

I’m asking as a favor: please stop jumping the shark. Or else the world is just going to collectively become one big Burning Man event…and lord knows we’re all terrified as fuck of that.

This terrifies me. People are going to start opening Christmas presents in October. Pumpkin Spiced Latte’s will be served in May (throwing off the entire female space-time-pumpkin-spice-latte continuum). We’ll start having fourteen new years eve’s…which we sort of do anyway, because it involves “drinking at midnight.” So there’s that.

There are a few people who are allowed to be in costume anytime they’d like. Those people are, as follows:

- Strippers (their costume is “sadness”, mainly)

- Old People (because old people are sort of accidental costumes…think about it.)

- Homeless People (another accidental costume)

- Firemen

- Anyone who works at Hot Dog on a Stick.

But the problem is: you’re ruining it for everyone. Just have a little patience. You’ll get that day. And when it comes? Slut it up. Be a children’s sized super-hero costume. Be whatever your little heart desires.

But it’s not Halloween on October 20th. Knock that shit off.

Love,

Drew

I was informed today by someone with a medical degree that I have not been able to close my eyes my entire life.

I’ll wait while you digest that.

No, seriously: A doctor told me that I am incapable, and have been my ENTIRE LIFE, of closing my eyes. (!!!)

This was the actual conversation.

Drew: “My eyes just feel really tired. And dry. Pretty much always. So there’s that.”

(Doctor inspects eyes.)

Doctor: “Well. You can’t fully close your eyes it appears.”

Drew: “…”

Doctor: “Yes. You have a slight opening between your eyelid and your eye. Has anyone ever told you while you were sleeping that your eye is sort of open?”

Drew: “Wouldn’t it be more strange/creepy…take your pick, really…that they were just staring at me in my sleep?”

Doctor: “Well, you can’t close your eyes fully. So you’re eyes are just permanently dry. We’ll have to get you some eye drops and..”

Drew: “Can we go back to the part where I’ve never closed my eyes my entire life?”

Doctor: “Sure.”

Drew: “Could we fix that?”

Doctor: “No. I mean, technically you’ve always had one eye open!”

(Doctor laughs at her own joke.)

(Drew does not laugh at doctor’s joke.)

I’m clearly presented with two options: be wildly depressed that I’m always going to be sort of tired looking, or simply embrace the fact that oh my god there are so many funny jokes that could come out of this.

I’ll obviously choose a healthy dose of both. But the latter is way more fun.

Here are some things that I now know about my life, and/or things that you could laugh about due to the fact that I have theoretically never actually closed my eyes.

I have technically been cheating at hide-n-go-seek my entire life. So, sorry if I ever was “it” and found you really quickly. Apparently I was looking.

I have never lost a staring contest. Ever.

I’m apparently better at not getting shampoo in my eyes than you are. Because we weren’t on an even playing field. On that note…

It totally makes sense why I ALWAYS get suntan lotion in my eyes. This has been a running joke with my friends ever since we were little. We figured I was just the worst at applying suntan lotion, ever. And that may still very well be the case. But still. This makes so much more sense now.

I have never kissed a girl with my eyes closed. So technically, I could be that “creepy guy who always kept his eyes open” to some girl. Sorry, some girl. I was trying.

I could be in a few films and they’d be sort of amazing. 

FILM 1: Don’t Blink – The story of a man whom, after scientific testing by the government gone horribly awry, could no longer keep his eyes closed. Though a tortured soul, I’d become a huge asset to the government, as I would be an ideal sniper and/or guy who stays up on watch all night. Sample dialogue:

Bad Guy: “Blink and you might miss it.”

Drew: “Don’t worry. (GUN COCKING NOISE). I won’t.”

FILM 2: Cries WIthout Tears – The story of a man born into a Native American tribe who is originally cast aside…but then brought in as one of their own when they realize he can’t close his eyes and they realize his gift for “seeing everything” they cannot, both metaphorically and literally, of course.

I can’t wink. At least now I have a bad/good excuse.

I have a really good excuse for having red eyes if anyone ever says I look high. I can just tell them that my eyes are open ALL THE TIME and i’m NOT LYING. Like, what?

And finally…It’s always going to make me laugh now when Aladdin says “Don’t you dare close your eyes!” during the song A Whole New World.

Because I can’t, Aladdin.

I can’t.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 54: Songs That Are Great, Even If You Can’t Close Your Eyes. Ever.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I am not a competitive person by nature. I’m certainly not someone who’s ever going to get something by means of bargaining or having that “killer instinct” that people speak of that gets you ahead in life.

(Side note: Can we talk about how messed up the term “killer instinct” is? We casually throw around that people have an instinct that gets them ahead in life because it resembles a cold blooded human being who kills other people for sport. That’s cool. You can have the last Tostito.)

I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized that this is why I’ve always been terrible at board games. And, inversely, why I’ve been terrible at a lot of rudimentary things in life. Money management. Property acquisition. The ability to completely screw someone over without wanting to talk about their feelings afterwards.

And when you think about it: board games are actually just a really f*%ked up way to learn about life and how it’s going to go down. Essentially, we’re providing children an oddly solid grasp of how the world works through a man with a monocle and a game revolving around murdering people in rooms with silly names.

So. Of course. I went fifteen steps further and started overanalyzing it.

Here’s a breakdown of a few popular board games you probably grew up with and the life lessons they were probably striving to teach you.

Monopoly

Monopoly is a game that, title alone, should be a red flag. When you grow up, you learn that having a “monopoly” over anything is everything that is wrong in the world, so much so that we’re having a bunch of protests regarding such behavior right now. But guess what: slap a shoe or a small terrier and some colors on it, and you’ve got yourself a hilarious game in which you strive to push your friends into bankruptcy.

Let’s go through this.

The point of the game is to buy property while every now and then crossing an ambiguous place called “go” to sustain a bank account (pssst: in the real world it’s called “paycheck every two weeks”). The larger goal is to “monopolize” the board. To literally buy everything and charge anyone for going near it. From time to time you go to jail (which oddly just sorta flies under the radar, I mean..who’s like “Whoops! Carl went to jail again, I sure hope he rolls doubles!”). Oh, and also? There’s a part of the board called “chance”, slightly indicating to children that from time to time things might go horribly wrong or great for no apparent reason. Oh, and once a friend gets poor? You become a maniacal, horrible person who sits and waits to literally charge the crap out of them for nothing.

This game apparently did nothing for my property owning and renting skills, as I still seem to be playing the board game in real life, except now I make the same horrible fiscal decisions but with real money:

Drew: “So the place comes with -398 sq feet, the bathroom is pretty much inside of the room, which, let’s be real Bob, we’ll just call it a room because the bedroom is a part of the ‘room’ i’ll be renting out. The stove doesn’t work. There is a Mexican coke dealer who lives next door, and my hallway looks like the scene from The Shinning with the two little girls.”

Landlord: “It’s about $1400 dollars and..”

Drew: “I’LL TAKE IT!”

The game takes 4,978 hours to play, is run by an adorable man with a silly monocle and most people die before they can even finish it or reap the benefits of their investments.

Just sayin’.

Battleship

Battleship is a game that lets people know how the world works if you were to ever go to war. Basically: fire missiles with blatant disregard as to who or where you are shooting them at, hope they hit something, and if they do continue to do so until someone dies a horrible death. If this game is correct, it takes approximately 3-5 ambiguous missiles to destroy ships.

So that’s cool.

Life

Life is probably the most wildly accurate of any game. Ready?

The game literally emulates life in the most depressing regard ever.

It’s tag line? It’s a game of twists and turns/Where will your choices take you? (I mean, Jesus.)

You go around a board and either get a good job or a bad job. If you go to college? You can make more money and eventually end up at a place called Millionaire Acres. If you don’t? You can actually go to a place called the poor farm (I mean, again..Jesus).

When you have children in the game, they are identified as a peg you throw in the back of your car. If you obtained a fifth child, you had to lay them sideways in your vehicle because that was the board game way of saying use a goddamn condom.

And there was a tile on the board that you could land on titled “Revenge.”

That shit’s real, kids.

Guess Who

During your childhood, you are taught to never talk to strangers. When you grow up, you learn that the entire goal of life is to talk to strangers until one of them eventually sleeps with you and you make babies with them.

Guess Who emulates for children the practice of going to a bar: you throw out random attributes that someone may or may not have. When you eventually get close enough to guessing what you’re looking for, you win.

Fairly accurate.

Operation

When you grow up, you may want to go into the field of medicine. When you do, if you want to make the big bucks, you should look into being a surgeon (or a lawyer, Mom, I know…I KNOW).

If you do become a surgeon, this game is really going to f*%king pay off.

Essentially, just try to open someone up and do not hit the ambiguous “sides”. Make sure to use tweezers to remove the bad things. If you do this successfully, you make a shit ton of money. If you don’t, their nose will illuminate. That or the red light that signifies their heart has stopped beating.

I was bad at this game. Sorry, Jewish family.

Clue

Clue was pretty amazing. A big no-no in life is killing people, in general. A big yes-yes in life is pointing the finger at people and blaming them without much real reasoning or backing: just have a vague idea that they were the one that did “it” (‘it” being anything, really) and throw the book at them (turns out the legal system is pretty close to the game Clue, which is in no way terrifying).

The best part about Clue is that they didn’t just let children know that people are probably going to kill people when they grow up, they let them know that they are presumably going to do it in some of the most f*%ked up ways possible.

For instance, one day you may be trapped in a place where an attractive woman will either have a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that she will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench. When people aren’t looking, she is going to kill you. Good luck.

So, you know. Don’t kill people. But if you are ever in a situation where someone has a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that they will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench? It’s best to at least know what room they are going to do it in.

At least then you’ll win.

Sorry

Sorry is, without question, my favorite board game. There doesn’t seem to be a lot of real life going on here. But ohhhhh that’s where you’re wrong.

The whole point of Sorry is to just get home. That’s it. You just want to get your people home. Which, metaphorically, seems sort of heartwarming.

But here’s the catch:

Do not EVER turn your back, kids, because some fucker is going to come out of nowhere and he/she is going to ruin your goddamn day and completely stab you in the back. To make matters worse, they are required to say, “sorry” when they do.

But. I mean.

At least they’ll say sorry.

It’s the little things, I guess.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 53: In Retrospect, Board Games Are Sorta F*%ked Up

Stream the whole thing at the link above.

Or.

Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.