OMG. ANOTHER FREAKIN' SKITTLES ENTRY?

They say that there is no wrong way to eat a Reese's peanut butter cup. Well, that isn't the only candy to which that phrase applies. There is also no wrong way to eat Skittles. At least that is what I learned Thursday night at work during one of our many Skittles discussions. (The vendor came Friday and filled the rack back up. Still five cents, baby.) Here are the different ways the T-P staff eats the rainbow of fruit flavor:

JRap: Eats them two at a time, no matter what color.

Lopes: Doesn't eat the purples.

Me: I eat them one at a time. I don't eat the yellows.

Sandy: Eats them one color at a time, starting with the lightest and finishing with the darkest.

Jelly: Has to consume them (the same color) in even numbers.

Derry: Puts them down one at a time, saving a red for last.

AGG: Takes them all out of the bag and separates them into colors. She then eats them so as to make all the colors have the same number left. For instance, if there are 15 greens and the next highest color is yellow at 11, she will eat four greens. Then she will eat green and yellows until that total equals the next highest. When all the colors reach the same number, she eats them in a row. And always ends with an orange. (I hope I explained that correctly. It's pretty sick.)

Then there is Liam, who eats them the way a normal person would. He grabs a handful at a time and stuffs them in his mouth. He didn't particularly like our game of discussing the ways we down Skittles. He said at various points:
1) Ya'll are such fucking freaks.
2) This is the friggin' funny farm.

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom and I are watching the Redeem Team beat Argentina. "Is that (Team USA's uniform) black? What the fuck? Oh. No. It's navy."

Mom hits the wrong button on the remote. "What the fuck did I do?"

Mom is walking from the kitchen to the living room when her phone rings in the kitchen. "Oh, fuck!"

On the last few days dealing with Terminix and whatnot: "I've been working my fucking ass off."

Mom watches this show Swingtown on CBS. "What's with fucking football on CBS tonight? Taking the place of my fucking Swingtown."

THE GENE POOL DIP (I MEAN TIP) OF THE WEEK

If you go to a fast food restaurant that has self-serve refill drinks, don't purchase a meal (i.e. a No. 1). Buy the sandwich and the fries. Don't get a drink. Instead just bring a cup from home. When you collect your napkins, ketchup, etc., whip out the cup and fill it up. I did this the other day at Popeye's, and no one batted an eye.

Look, the fast food workers don't give a rat's ass. It's not like one of them is protective of the franchise and will go out of his/her way to report you. Maybe the manager of that particular establishment will. So avoid him. Keep the cup in your pocket or a woman's purse until the time is right. Then when you leave, don't forget to refill that bad boy to the top and enjoy. Don't judge me. I'm just trying to save you a little dough.

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, AGAIN

In the midst of my grand celebration of my 50th consecutive blog Wednesday, I forgot an even more important anniversary. Wednesday marked my seventh anniversary of working at the T-P. On August, 20, 2001, I began training to take prep calls. I think Billy showed me the system, and I filled out some paperwork. I want to say I made $45 that day. I've come a long way since.

Some are predicting that I may become the longest tenured employee in T-P history when all is said and done. Finney is in his like 62nd or 63rd year. But he can't keep going much longer, can he? To equal that mark, I will still have to be working here when I am 80. Good God Almighty. Of course, Finney had a head start. He started here when he was 16; I waited until I was 17. Cheater.

THE WHACKY WORLD OF SPORTS

1) The Cubs had three members of the Northwestern women's lacrosse team sing the seventh-inning stretch Tuesday night. Really? Are they getting that desperate for singers? Up next: The top-selling hot dog vendor.

2) Braves man called for his score during the relay race that gave Phelps his historic eighth gold medal last Saturday. Talk about living under a rock.

3) I did a fantasy football draft Friday afternoon live on nola.com. Seriously. Go and vote for my team.
http://blog.nola.com/fantasysports/2008/08/experts_nfl_mock_draft_results.html#more

This was the description posted by nola's so-called fantasy guru after the draft finished: We had a 10-team, head-to-head NFL Fantasy mock draft involving some of the best from the world of journalism and the Fantasy Sports realm on Friday.

You get that, folks? Derry and I are some of the best in journalism. Take that, Finney.

PARTING SHOTS

Marcus and I are talking about my trip to Houston in April (for the family reunion, Nick).

Marcus: You going to Yao's?
Me: He has a restaurant?
Marcus: Yes. (shakes his head)
Me: Is it Chinese?
Marcus: No. Soul food. Ribs and collard greens.
Liam: No, Marcus. Seoul is in Korea.

Liam and I are joining a fantasy league together. We decided on our name Friday: Dos Agateers.

Derry: That's better than the name of the other new team in the league.
Liam: Which is?
Derry: Friends with benefits.
Lopes (to Derry): Just be glad that that wasn't their team name.

After Liam mentions agate for the Saints special section, I tell him that the agate people don't need to do any more for the Saints section because it goes to press Monday. Not ten seconds later:

Doug: Max, did you move a NFL TV schedule?
Max. No.
Doug: Can you find that and code it and move it over?
Max. OK.
Lopes and I both start laughing. Liam zips his mouth shut.

THE DAILY TOP LIST
My top five bone-headed moments. I make one of these everyday, but these five stand out in my mind.

5) I locked my keys in the car the first day I had one. November 11, 2000.
The first place I drove was Elmwood Fitness Center. I was so excited. Felt like a big boy. I start walking to the building and realized I didn't have those new keys. I call mom to ask her to bring the extra set of keys: "You can't handle any fucking responsibility."

4) I didn't know who Luther Vandross was. July 1, 2005.
D: Damn. Luther died.
Me: Who?
Sandy: Luther Vandross. Do you know who that is?
Me: Never heard of him.
Marcus: How can you not have heard of Luther? He's the reason you're probably alive.

3) My second wreck. October 28, 2003.
I was in a hurry and didn't bother to stop at the stop sign. I didn't even slow roll. I just went through it at about 30 mph. Big problem was that the intersection was Tchoupitoulas, a fairly busy street. A truck slammed into the back driver's side and basically destroyed my car. I was fine. The other dude sued Allstate, my second lawsuit. I was put on the bad driver's list for five years, which would expire in October if I hadn't switched to GEICO.

2) I failed a fifth grade science quiz. September 1994.
On the first Friday of the term, the teacher tells us to memorize the seven scientific classifications in order, no pun intended. Being the incredible student I was, I memorized them right away and spent the weekend reciting them. Even had a little jingle. Monday rolls around, and Mr. Mac tells us to take out a sheet of paper.

"Put your name at the top." The next thing I hear is: "Now pass your papers forward." So I did. Without writing the classifications. Just my name. For my effort, I started the term with an 0-for-35. Since I never heard him say to write down the classifications, I didn't. I figured the name on the paper was for some larger purpose. Mom's response: "What the fuck were you thinking? We're going to send you to a fucking public school!"

On the positive side, I pulled one of the great comebacks of all-time (eat your heart out, Kansas) and finished the term with an A-. In grammar school, a 93 was a B+. To review, I started 0-for-35 and still finished with a 94 percent. Who's the bonehead now?

1) I made an ass of myself at Airline Skate Center. Summer 1999.
The song "Genie in a Bottle" came on. I get excited. I scream "That's my jam" and head out to the rink. I'm all into the song, skating around in those wonderful circles. I'm moving my hands, bopping my head and singing along when I notice something very different about me compared to the other skaters: I'm the only male. Apparently, the announcer had said: "This next song is for the ladies only." I tuck tail and remove myself from the ice. Maybe that's why my summer crush of 1999 didn't work out.