Roger Federer????

I'm sure we all get physically compared to someone.

Perhaps it's someone you know like a friend or a family member. For example, I've had friends tell me I look like my friend Brandon. Aside from one picture in which we kinda... sort of... slightly resemble each other, I still cannot see the resemblance between us.

Or to a third party (e.g. "You look just like my friend ________!").

Or you could even be compared to a celebrity. The celebrity comparison can really go both ways; it can be a compliment or an insult. If you're lucky, you are told you look like an attractive celebrity. I've been told on multiple occasions that I look like Wilmer Valderrama, specifically as Fez on That 70s Show. I do not consider this comparison a compliment in the least. Being compared to a douchebag playing a stereotype is not flattering.

Yesterday at work, however, I got a new one. I was helping a family of 5 and one by one they began telling me how I look like Roger Federer.

"You look like someone," says the patriarch.

"Ummm.... I do?" I reply.

"I got it! You look like Roger Federer. Yes, that's it. You look like Roger Federer."

"You do!" says Daughter #1. "You totally look like Federer."

"The tennis player?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah! You look a lot like him," says Daughter #2.

"Well... thank you. I suppose," I say with an awkward smile.


Later that night I told my dad about this alleged resemblance.

"They said I look like Roger Federer. But isn't he Swiss?"

His response: "He is..... but... hmmm... huh..... yeah."

"Yeah what?"

"I guess you do kinda resemble him. I wouldn't say you look just like him, but I could see some similarities."

I looked him up on Google Images and, honestly, I don't see it.



For one thing, my nose is not nearly that big. At least, I hope not. Also, I don't think my eyebrows are that nice. But I suppose this picture bears some slight resemblance to me, particularly when I grow out my hair. We kinda smile the same; our cheeks cause our small eyes to look even smaller.

But women seem to find him very attractive, so I guess I will take the comparison as a big compliment.

And you, dear readers? Have you ever been told you look like someone -- celebrity or otherwise -- and just can't figure how or why?

If so, do tell!

Cheers,

- R

An unwelcome homecoming

Seeing as I finally got some time off from work, I decided to head over to my parents' house for some much needed alone time. My parents wouldn't be coming home until the weekend, so I had two days all to myself.

After an hour-long drive in the heat that won't seem to go away, I pulled up to that oh so familiar driveway. I bid the remote to open the garage door. I begin to slowly drive in. But I stop. Something is wrong.

There is a bit of a mess. Stuff has been knocked down. I drive in an inch more, but once again come to a sudden stop.

I see a shape on the ground. There is something in front of the door leading into the house. My mind races with ideas as to what the shape is, but I can't quite discern its identity. I have a feeling I know what it is, but I really don't want to be right. I take off my sunglasses to get a better look at the unidentified object. Then my suspicions are confirmed.

It's an animal. It had yet to move, but I was still unsure that it was actually dead. I finally turn off the car, but still don't want to get out of the vehicle. Like I said, the animal could just be sleeping.

I eventually get out of my car. The animal blocking the entrance to my house is... er, was an opossum. A juvenile opossum, to be exact. It looked dead. But what to do? I did what any 24 year old man would do in this situation.

"Mom! There's a dead animal in the garage!"
"What? How do you know?"
"I'm looking at it!"
"Well, how did it get in?"
"How should I know? I don't live here."
"Just pick it up with something and dispose of it."
"Are you insane!? I'm not touching it! What if it isn't really dead? What if it's just... umm... playing 'possum?"
"Throw something at it."
"Ok."

I throw some balled up napkins at the opossum. Nothing.

"It didn't move."
"Then it's dead."
"But what if it's really good at pretending it's dead?"
"Oh just pick it up with a broom or something and get rid of it."
"Can't I just leave it here for you to dispose of it?"
"You are NOT leaving that carcass in my garage! Now man up and dispose of the giant rat."

I hang up the phone and stare at the dead body before me. I must have stood there for at least 10 minutes before actually doing something. Finally, testosterone returns to me and I take action. I grab a broom and prepare to transport the dead animal to the garbage. But first I poke it a few times just to make sure it is really dead.

After several pokes I conclude that the opossum is definitely not going to suddenly rise to its feet and viciously attack me. I take the broom and carefully try to slide it under the body. Unfortunately, it doesn't go as smoothly as I would have liked. I continuously drop the opossum and toss it around. I find myself apologizing incessantly to the dead body.

"So sorry."
"Oops! Sorry!"
"Oh god, I'm sorry."
"Ack! Sorry."

After what seemed like an eternity I manage to dump the body into our garbage. My dark deed was at last complete and I could put it behind me.

I confess that a large part of me was tempted to merely back out of the garage, walk into the house through the front door, and pretend that there was not a rotting corpse in my garage. I could easily have left the body for my parents deal with. I was certainly tempted.

At least now I have an interesting story to tell my co-workers.....

Cheers,

- R

Things I overheard #13

The following overheard conversation requires no introduction or conclusion. I think it speaks for itself.

Customer: "These shoes are great. I'll take this pair."

Customer's daughter: "Mom, can you buy me these shoes?"

Customer: "No. I've already bought you shoes."

Customer's daughter: "You suck!"

Customer: "Only your daddy."

Me: ......................

In which I borrow a heading style from a fellow blogger

Because I could not come up with a sufficiently pithy title for this particular post, I decided to take a page from my blogging buddy over at Badass Geek. So thank you, my good man.

The other day I actually locked myself out of the house.

I grabbed my things and made my way out to the car. But wait... where were my keys? Oh shit, I thought to myself. I checked my pockets several times as though the fifth pocket pat would reveal that familiar metallic jingling. But no. I had indeed left my keys inside the house.

As my luck would have it, this was also the one time I closed all the windows before exiting the house. I could not even ask the neighbors to let me go through their backyards so that i could climb in through a window. I called my work and let them know that I was standing on my driveway trying to figure out a way to get to my keys.

There I stood. Cursing the heavens and any name I could think of.

"Shit. Crap. Fuck. Damn. Bitch. Cock. Ass."

I was like a sailor with Tourette's.

The only people with keys where my parents, but they were merrily on their way to a 2-week vacation in Cancun. Figures. "Who else? Who else? " I kept repeating to myself. I vaguely remembered that an aunt and uncle had an extra key.

I called up my uncle. "No. Sorry. Don't have a copy of the key. Try your aunt."

"I'm sorry, honey. I don't have one either. I lent it to your uncle Pepe for some reason and never got it back."

There was no way in hell that I was going to call him. I would either pay an arm and a leg for a locksmith or try to break a window before I would ever call him. Why, you ask? The story surrounding this particular uncle is long and drama-filled.

Let me put it like this.... This uncle of mine and his venomous snake of a wife are the most greedy, egotistical, vindictive people I know. Their daughter is even worse. The girl is most likely to become a sociopath. I despise them. I would never ask them for the slightest bit of help because they would never let me live it down. They would have me be in their debt for the rest of my life. You are probably thinking that I am exaggerating, but I most certainly am not.

Like I said, calling that uncle was not an option.

Eventually it came to me. My neighbor. I think she was given a key in case of emergencies. Luckily, she was home. And she was given a key for emergencies. Turns out that she would be out golfing, but was waiting for a new toilet to arrive. Thank god for that toilet. I used her spare key to retrieve mine and even made it to work on time. Barely, but I made it.

So really this post should be titled thusly (and I'm still borrowing from Badass Geek on this one):

In which a toilet comes to my rescue.

Cheers,

- R

Call me Lemming

I've succumbed to peer pressure. I just got myself a Blackberry.

It didn't really hit me until I was driving home. My god, what have I just done? I thought to myself. I can no longer judge others when I am now part of the crowd.

But let me explain. I switched to the crackberry out of need rather than desire. My life has been consumed by this job of mine. All I do is work, so I no longer have the time to just sit down at my computer. Moreover, this lack of time has resulted in my missing out on emails from editors. If I want to be a successful freelance journalist, then I need to be constantly connected.

That being said, I concluded that I needed to switch to a smart phone.

Let's just hope this is not the first step on the road to degradation. Pray that you won't find me wearing two polo shirts with the collars popped and sipping on iced tea while texting away on my Blackberry during dinner.

Cheers,

- R

The future

I haven't yet mentioned this, but I got news from my boss last week. They would like me to stay on as a regular employee. Yes, folks. I now have a permanent job. I can stop worrying that I would soon have to start seeking employment elsewhere. As you can surely imagine, this is a great weight off my shoulders.

So let us raise a glass to my good fortunes!

Also in the future is the arrival of my Boston buddy, Brandon. He was one of my first grad school friends and I am excited to be reunited. He will soon begin an epic road trip from Boston to a new life in LA. He will be finishing up his schooling on the West Coast and then, life allowing, stay on indefinitely.

I feel really guilty though. Another great Boston friend also came to LA to finish up grad school and is still living here. I came back from England, but have not spent a single moment with her. At first there were legitimate reasons for not driving up to visit her. There was that month where I had the neverending flu. Then one thing or another got in the way. And then my fruitless job hunt drove me into a depression that took me away from even my best friend for a very long period of time. I don't think any of these circumstances are my fault, but maybe they are. Life just kept getting in the way. I just feel guilty that I'm in a better place with this friend as opposed to my other good friend. On the plus side, they'll both be in LA and I can make up for lost time with the both of them. I'm sure everything will work itself out.

And now I raise my glass to your good fortunes!

Cheers,

- R

From the twisted mind of Roberto

It's a fact that I have the strangest and most vivid dreams.

Take last night's show for example......

It featured an opulent mansion that was the site of a fancy dress party. This mansion belonged to my best friend's ex. Emily and Richard Gilmore (of The Gilmore Girls) were my grandparents. I had to fetch a tuxedo from within the mansion, but had to convince the butler that I was actually performing a task for the lady of the house and not just trying to steal the tuxedo. The butler gave me a choice between the Berton (pronounced with a French accent) or the Burberry tuxedo. I chose the Berton. Upon acquiring the tuxedo I was informed that my essay (I apparently had submitted an essay into a writing contest) was chosen for publication. The four judges could only speak French, so we start having a conversation in French. After leaving the French-speaking judges, I enter the party inside the mansion. Within I find my high school French teacher. Also there are some of my Nordstrom co-workers, but I recognize them as classmates. I start having a drink to celebrate my win, but my former teacher informs me that no drinking is allowed at school functions. I apologize (still in French), but she allows me to finish my drink since it's a special occasion. At this point my friend's ex comes home and I follow him up to his room. I help him fold a large wool blanket and put it on his sister's water bed.

Then I wake up.

Someone make sense of this for me. I have no explanation whatsoever. Then again I can never explain any of my dreams.

Like the one where I am flying around in a little rocket ship. My ship is hit by an enemy missile and I crash into the water surrounding San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge. I then realize that there is a shark in the water. I stand/float perfectly still so that it won't attack me. The shark puts its face right next to mine and I can feel one of its teeth graze my cheek as it wonders whether I'm actually alive. I woke up frightened and the physical feeling of that graze still present on my cheek.

But the most terrifying dream I have ever had was one that bothered me all the next day. I dreamed that my sister was late in coming home. My mom and I go out looking for her. We eventually find her on the driveway of some house, her body lifeless and limbs all askew like a rag doll. We discern that she was raped, murdered, and thrown off the 2nd story balcony of the house we find her at. I could physically feel my body tensing up as my mind registered the shocking image. Then my mother emits a blood-curling scream that is filled with such indescribable pain, disbelief, and rage. I woke up from this dream a sweaty and terrified mess. My poor girlfriend lying in bed next to me was just as scared because I practically threw her off the bed as I violently awoke.

Of course, not all my dreams are nearly this exciting. There was one where I simply stood at a sink and shaved. That's it. Nothing else happened. I just watched myself shaving. I woke up from that one confused and bored out of my mind.

What is the most bizarre/scary/vivid/boring dream you've ever had? I can't possibly be the only person with a crazy imagination.

Share with me, people.

Cheers,

- R