Where in the World is Nick Jarvis?

As most of you know, I am a man-child with a taste for the finer things in life. One of those fine things is fancy foods. So what does a man-child with a taste for the finer things in life do as a college freshman? You work as a bus boy at Ruth's Chris steakhouse and fight your coworkers over the pieces of steak those fancy women with shiny rocks didn't eat off the plate before you give it to the mentally unstable diswasher.

We were a fine bunch at Ruth's. C.O.F. (Classy as Fuck)

In our Kingdom of degenerate fuck-ups...we had no king. We had what I would consider the King's drunk brother who was always...well drunk. And large, he owned feet that resembled building bricks. (I promise, I will go into detail later about this ogre of a human. He literally makes zero sense.) We had probably 4 jesters, 2 clowns, and a wizard who was really just the occasional drug dealer. No queen either. just many many many community whores. 

If you worked at Ruth's Chris in Columbia, SC there was a 76% chance you were of the homosexual variety. I remember one of these active members used to take his cigarette breaks with me. "Girl, Imma turn you gay before you're done working here" he would threaten..... First of all, I'm not a girl. But, as a 19 year old kid living away from home for the first time....my mind was fragile. If someone told me not to think of the color red...my mind was immediately thinking of firetrucks, stop signs, lava, and the most flavorful of play-doe flavors. You telll someone not to think something, they're gonna think it. So when a confident gay server tells you he is going to turn you gay...you think to yourself "don't think gay thoughts. don't think gay thoughts." I spent 2008 thinking the gayest thoughts anyone could ever think of. I swear I didn't want to. I couldn't help that Urban Myer was a sneaky son of a bitch that would sneak his way into my mind. (That one's for you D) I feel like I should remind you all that I am in no way attracted to the same sex (not saying it's wrong if you are) but seriously....even a gay guy would have told me to take it down a notch. 

There I go on another gay tangent....Anywayyyy! Hellooooo! Ughh.... I was seriously making a point there! ~~~~~~~ (I just added those symbols because that is the gayest thing I could find on my keyboard) "What about your fingers??? That's the gayest thing on your keyboard"  "Fuck you!"

There I go on another gay tangent....Anyway....one of my friends at Ruth's went by the name Nick Jarvis. If Nick was still in my life, I really wouldn't care that much. It's just, well, he left us too early.

No. He didn't die.      

He just fucking disappeared. Nick was the only person I knew from Arizona. He was probably as interesting as that moment when I told you that I only know one person from Arizona. However, there was something about him that I personally loved. No one ever knew what he was ever thinking. This one time, he came over to that drunk ogre's house I mentioned earlier. (Forreal, I'll talk about him later. Like I said...he does not make sense physically, definitely not psychologically.) There was a group of the degenerates at the house hanging out and Nick Jarvis comes in after work to hang out with his white button up wrinkled, stained, and untucked, reeking of the dishpit, and shoving Wendy's Late night menu in his face. He sits down...finishes a whole fucking sandwich and says "Oh yea....someone is breaking into Brandon's car." This dick fuck was so unimpressed with the fact that one of our mutual friend's cars was getting broken into, that he waited until after he ate that 99 cent JBCD. (junior bacon....it doesn't matter it was a sandwich)

Years latter, my friend and I were catching up and chatting about Nick Jarvis, when we came up with the brilliant idea to hire a private investigator to find him. So while we were on the phone with each other, I three-wayed a P.I. I found in Arizona. He didn't answer. I left a message. He never called back....

That is literally the extent of me trying to reach him. I wish I had more to the story, or at least made up a better end to the story...but I'm no liar. Everything I ever say is 110 percent truth. 

Rest in Peace Nick Jarvis. You gave a new meaning to the term "wet garbage," you sack of shit. Rest in Peace. As a memorial,  here is a picture of Nick and myself. Along with pictures from Facebook. Nick didn't have a Facebook, but these ass clowns named "Nick Jarvis" do.

Nick and I

"Nick Jarvis"

Seat 34DD

I've been flying a lot, and boy are my arms smart! Fo realz though. Today I flew from Portland to Medford (45min,) worked for 45 minutes, then hopped on a plane home. Real quick side note... Where the flux is a brotha supposed to put a goddamn comma with a parenthesis?, 

Anyways, this crossword-cheating, obese mutant comes and plops down next to me, takes one look at me, grunts, and puts on a mask. She literally left wherever she came from, travelled to the airport, went through the airport, went through the plane, got to this seat next to me, THEN looks at me and decides "Now's a good time to put on this mask." I have enough trouble with the TSA. I WOULD APPRECIATE SOME DECENCY ONCE I GET ON THE PLANE. She is currently sitting next to me, and 80% of me wants her to be as nosy as I am and to read this as I type it. The other 40% is water. Water that is full of molecules that also want this bitch to read how much I despise her.

I've had this fantasy since I was a kid that I'd sit next to a beautiful girl on an airplane. "I love the way your arm hair continues to your knuckle hair," she would flirt. 

I'd say something witty yet romantic like, "Thanks."

I've flown from Orlando to Portland. Charleston to Chicago. Seattle to Atlanta. New York to Jordan. 16B. Who is in 16A? The definition of Type 2 diabetes. 7D. Who is in 7C and 7E? The Indian onion salesman who is playing barefoot footsie with himself and a character from Ahh! real monsters. That's who is fucking next to me at all times. I get these peasants, and they get the privilege of sitting next to the ethnic Bradley Cooper. 

I will meet Miss 13A to my 13B....its destiny. Time for a side story real quick! I was going to Jordan one time when I was 9 years old. I had this irrational fear of flying as a kid...mostly because I was just a scared little bitch. Well my brother and sister rented a movie from Blockbuster days before our trip. That movie was Final Destination. No matter how bad I wanted to, my sister would NOT let me watch the movie with them. So I went to bed and played with Omar. I knew why she wouldn't let me watch it. I knew it was because this movie HAD to have some brief nudity in it. I was determined. I was gonna see me at least 2 boobs. I'd have been much happier with a larger number like 6 or 7... But, I wasn't greedy. The next morning, I woke up early, popped the movie in the VCR and hit play. Spoiler alert. The movie begins with the most vivid, horrific, explosive plane crash I've ever witnessed. My sister was trying to protect me from my fear, not boobs. Needless to say, I was scared shitless and as a consequence always think of plane crashes at the sight of a woman's bust. 

Anyway, the bitch next to me just ordered a ginger ale. I'm interested in seeing how she's going to drink it through her mask. I'm gonna dip my finger in her drink.

Cheese Snacks

The Cheese Nips Corporation can all go fuck themselves and burn in hell. If you are a muncher of these shit squares....you have a gutter-pallet and don't deserve to be a part of any worldly discussion. 

Now Cheese-Its, on the other hand....I like those. I like those a lot. You can't not like those. There are two types of people in this world: 1. Cheese It lovers. 2. Goddamn liars. 

A childhood friend of mine has an interesting connection with these salty polygons. A box sat with her and her family at every meal.

"But Omar, why? Why would a box of..." Shut the fuck up and let me finish talking, that's why. 

The real reason why was because my friend's father preferred the mother's cooking when it had two handfuls of the deliciousness crumbled on top. I used to think  that's hilarious! Soon it turned into that makes sense once I tried a bite of her attempts at what she calls food. (This wonderful friend of mine ate breakfast for dinner 8 days a week)Imagine, a snack so good that the mere dust on top of shitty meatloaf can transform it into something I'd inhale. This was my first billion dollar idea, a Cheese It grinder to be presented with the salt and pepper shakers. 

If I was in the same situation at their dinner table...but with a box of Cheese Nips and a gun...I'd shoot the box of Cheese Nipples and go next door and shoot the neighbor's dog before taking myself out. It's a bit much, I know...but seriously, ew. Cheese Nips are gross and Cheese Its are god. 

No One's Original

No one's original. As I write this thinking "Oh, this is an originally ironic thought...." tens of you have thought it before. In fact hundreds of you have thought that before....

I'm saying "in fact" as if I had any evidence behind my bullshit theory. But statistically, I feel it is safe to say millions of us  have thought the thought that the thought of thinking we have a thought that no one has ever thought...well, it just cannot be true. No one's original. 

Before the days of the triple-W, the dot coms, and away statuses that I spent too many hours to perfect to paint a picture of a guy who "gets it"...I used to be an explorer. A shitty explorer, but an explorer nonetheless. I hated the mosquitos outside, but the feeling wasn't mutual. They would destroy my sweet young middle eastern perfect boy body. I did the majority of my explorations into the depths of my own curiosity-driven, fucked up little mind in the comfort of my living room.

"Why does Quantario's hair grow upwards and look like a velcro carpet while my hair is nice and thick and flows down with gravity? Why does God love me so much, but hate Quantario so much to give him hair like that" If you couldn't tell that Quantario is black from the context clues, than you are ignorant. Ignorant or so scared of being racist that you bore me. First clue that he was black is how creative the name is! The black community shows no boundaries when it comes to naming their children. They have no fear to throw in an apostrophe or two even. That's badass. One of my best friends got in trouble with his Mimi (grandmother) when he was younger for lying to her. She asked him what the name of his new friend is that he made on the first day of school...."What's your friend's name, honey?" asked Mimi. "His name is Sandacker."

Sandacker! That's fucking gold. Am I lying? No. Did this individual have a name that resembled something of the Black and Decker tool line?  Yes. Now, whenever I meet a black guy named Sean, or a black girl named Chelsea...I discredit them immediately and inform them their parents should have tried harder and move on with my life in search of Shawn'quacks and Kashieras. 

What the fuck was I talking about?

Oh yea...younger Omar was an explorer. I used to catch myself thinking..."How many other people in the world at this exact moment are cracking their big toe knuckle like I am?"...."How many other people in the world at this exact moment are rubbing their teeth dry with their finger and resting the top lip high on the teeth to look like a freak like I am?"....You can only imagine when a young boy hits puberty and starts "exploring" parts of their body late at night and thinks "I wonder how many other guys in the world are....?" The answer was and is always around 75% of them are. Every minute on earth is in some way the world's largest circle jerk. 

I now live on the opposite side of the US from where I grew up. I have come to realize that everyone I met has a twin somewhere in the world. And that twin has a twin somewhere else in the world. Not in looks (although also in looks) but in personality. The mannerisms, the laughs, the expressions. It is rare that I meet someone that strikes 0 resemblance to someone else...but when I do...it is safe to assume that I haven't met that person's twin yet. No one's original. 

My grammar not good, my spelling sucks dik, but I think Imma start writing some blogs. Until I get bored. I get bored easily. I'd be surprised if I even finish writing this sen