Tasty And Anti-Bacterial!

I got my cupcake.  But I had to wait until this morning for it because they were still unopened at the end of the day yesterday.  I hardly slept last night because of the anxiety.  But it was definitely worth it.  And I just looked a few minutes ago and there are another dozen in there.  So I'm eating a second one right now.

But some idiot sprayed Lysol in the bathroom that's 15 feet from my desk.  So this cupcake tastes like Lysol.  It's still one of the best cupcakes I've ever had.  And it's better that it taste like Lysol than for it to taste like whatever they were trying to cover up with Lysol.  Lesser of two evils, I guess.  And at least I'll know my mouth is clean ("Fresh Linen" clean).

Operation Dessert Storm

I'm not a nervous person. I don't get frazzled or frustrated very easily. And I'm rarely on edge about anything. But today is different. I'm jumpy and flustered and I can't sit still. A bakery whose owner is friends with our CEO dropped off a bunch of sweets today for the board meeting that's going on in our conference room. And as a thanks for ordering so many items for the board members, the bakery threw in 12 cupcakes as a bonus. And they're sitting in a box in the break room.

But these are no ordinary cupcakes. These are the best cupcakes in the world. They weigh a ton (because of all the butter and sugar) and you almost have to eat them with a spoon. And as a general rule, I stay away from cupcakes. Not because they're unhealthy… because they're stupid. It's all cake and no icing and they're never fresh and they're hard to eat. So I will always choose a different dessert if possible. But these cupcakes are the exception. They are nothing short of the best dessert I've ever had in cup form.

But we can't eat them yet. Because we don't know if our boss is going to offer them to the board members. And if he does, we don't know how many will be left over. So I keep getting coffee just for an excuse to see if any have been taken. And if any have been taken, that's my cue to grab one for myself. So I'm all jittery now. I don't want to miss out, but I can't jump the gun and take one. My hands are literally shaking. And I'm not sure if it’s the nerves or the 18 cups of coffee I've had to drink in order to spy on the cupcakes every 16 minutes.

And this might be the coffee talking, but if I don't get a cupcake today I might explode in a mushroom cloud of caffeine-laced anxiety. Stay tuned tomorrow to see if I got a cupcake. If I don't post, you'll know I've burst into flames because of the stress.

Still Good?

I'm not sure if there's an official rule, but I'm pretty sure I broke it.  Someone brought donuts to work two days ago.  And they brought about 30 of them.  So there were a bunch left over.  So I had one with lunch... today.  That has to be against the unspoken donut rules.  I think the limit is less than 50 hours for donut freshness.

But it's not my fault.  Who leaves a box full of donuts in the breakroom for two days?!  Every time I got coffee or went to the bathroom they were staring at me!  And I'm weak!  Weak I tell you!

Sure the outside was stale.  And the fruit filling wasn't entirely distinguishable as any particular flavor.  But food poisoning is a small price to pay for free comfort food.  And I've had a rough week at work.  Yesterday was as busy a day as I've ever had. (I had two meetings!)

But I have a feeling I'm going to make the same bad decision again.  There are still two donuts left.  And still two hours left in the workday.

Shake A Leg

Four years ago, I was helping my parents move a TV into their house.  It was a 32-inch tube TV, so it was very heavy.  But I think I'm cooler than I really am, so I didn't ask anyone to help me.  I just grabbed it and started walking towards the door.  And as I took a step over the threshold, I felt a sharp pain in my back followed by a sharp pain in my right leg.  I made it through the door and to the living room, but it felt like someone had stabbed me in the side of my leg.

The weird part was that my back stopped hurting almost immediately.  But the spot on my leg that started hurting turned numb within a few minutes.  And the feeling never came back.  So now, four years later, there's still a small part of my right leg that has no feeling.

Okay, I know what you're thinking.  And yes, I can lift a 32-inch TV by myself.  I am quite the stud.  But that's not important.  Because my leg is weird now.  See, I have these carpenter's jeans that I wear (because I'm awesome) and there's a cell phone pocket right over that spot. (It's probably not officially a cell phone pocket, but it's the perfect size to be one.) So when it's on vibrate, I don't really feel it.  Which means I miss a lot of phone calls.  And when I don't have my phone on me, I'll sometimes imagine feeling a vibration there.  So I grab for a phone that's not there.  Weird, right?

So I've learned my lesson.  Don't buy tube TVs.  They're too heavy and your son will hurt himself moving it for you.  Only buy flat-panels.  They're much lighter.  (And buy an extra one for your son who still comes over to help you move stuff.)

Ceramic From Now On

I have this travel coffee mug that I got from my sister as a gift last year. And I love the mug. It's got a handle, it's easy to clean, it keeps my coffee hot, and it holds twice as much coffee as a regular ceramic mug. But I always close the little slider lid without realizing I'm doing it. And then I attempt to take a drink of the coffee. So I keep expecting a sip to come out that I can slurp without burning my tongue. And as a preemptive measure, I start inhaling so as to cool the coffee as I drink it. But when the lid's closed, nothing comes out. And I end up taking a huge deep breath while trying to get a sip that's not coming. And I always get frustrated with myself because instead of a sip of coffee, I end up with no coffee and I end up slightly out of breath.

If I were to rank my frustration feelings for I-think-I-know-what's-going-on-but-I-really-don't moments (which I do daily), this would rank up there with trying to get the first sip of a thick milkshake through a thin straw. And it ranks right below taking the last step while going down the stairs when you don't know there's another step left.

Well the last time I accidentally closed the lid on my mug, I wasn't thinking very clearly (which is no surprise because I hadn't had my coffee yet). So instead of realizing the lid was closed, I just inhaled more sharply and tilted the mug farther back. The result was a windpipe full of hot coffee and a pain I can't begin to put into words. Because, as you would expect, the lid came off when the mug hit a certain angle. And I was taking a deep breath at the time.

So I haven't made that mistake since then. I ruined a good shirt, embarrassed myself, temporarily lost the ability to speak, and (worst of all) poured out at least a third of my coffee. That was not a good day.

Warning: The End Of This Story Is Very Anti-Climactic

I brought some leftovers today for lunch.  And I also brought a bottle of water.  As I always do, I put my stuff in the refrigerator as soon as I got in this morning.  Then at about 10:00am, I went to the fridge to remind myself what I brought to eat (my memory is bad and I was bored).  And I noticed that my food was there, but the water was gone (cue dramatic music).

So I launched an investigation.  I immediately ruled out the big boss, because I'm too scared of his power to even care if he stole something from me.  He could probably drive away in my car and I'd laugh it off.  I won't do anything to jeopardize my job.  So that left 19 people who could have taken my water.  And none of them seem to be natives of Luxembourg, so I couldn't even narrow it down (Luxembourgers are notoriously sneaky).

I decided to ask my boss if they were cleaning out the fridge today or if maybe people play pranks on others occasionally.  And as I walked into her office, I saw her holding my water bottle (cue louder dramatic music)!  So I boldly confronted her.  I said, "Hey, did you grab my water by mistake?" (And yes, it was as intense as you're imagining.) And she looked at it, realized it was Kroger brand instead of HEB brand and apologized for mixing it up.  So I had to drink HEB brand water today with lunch.

The End.

I Gotta Take This

So my son has an imaginary friend. But he only talks to him on the non-working cell phone we gave him. So we're not all that concerned about it. And come to think of it, he's not entirely imaginary. His name is Eric. And he's loosely based on the recruiter that helped me land my new job.

A couple of months ago, I was getting a lot of calls from my recruiter. And Andrew witnessed the same scenario play out each time Eric called. I would look at my phone and excuse myself by saying, "Oh, it's Eric. I'm gonna step out for a minute." Then I would go to the next room and talk for a minute and come back. And this happened with enough frequency for a few weeks that Andrew picked up on the trend. So he started acting like he was on the phone with Eric, too. And he continued doing that even after I stopped getting calls from Eric. So that's what I mean when I say his friend isn't entirely imaginary. It's just that the conversations are imaginary.

So yesterday, my wife was trying to get Andrew to clean up some toys. And she was getting frustrated because Andrew kept taking phone calls from Eric instead of cleaning up. So she finally gave him an ultimatum. She told him it was his last chance to put the phone down and clean up before he received punishment.

So Andrew rolled his eyes, turned away from my wife, and said clearly into the phone, "I gotta go. She's about to yell as loud as she can." Then he tossed the phone onto the couch and cleaned up his toys. Then he got curious about where Mommy had gone and why there was so much noise coming from the kitchen. Because my wife quickly left the room in a fit of uproarious laughter. And once again, Andrew evaded punishment.

Not All It's Cracked Up To Be

It turns out that the sound of a marble hitting a tile floor is identical to a rock hitting your windshield.  I found that out this morning on the way to work.  Which makes sense, really, since in both cases it's glass and stone colliding.  And judging by the results I witnessed today, if you hurled that marble at the tile floor at 65 miles per hour, it would not break the tile.  It would chip the marble.

So I got to work and surveyed the damage.  And sure enough, there was a half-inch wide chip in the glass (and a two-inch wide chip in my heart).  But I remembered someone once telling me that you can get those fixed for free through your insurance if you do it before the chip gets too big.  So it was a race against the clock!  I flew down the freeway like an ambulance driver!  I weaved in and out of traffic with reckless abandon!  Never mind the consequences!  My car needed me and I wasn't going to let it down!

No, not really.  I just went on my lunch break to one of those tents at a gas station where a guy in a polo shirt and khakis injects superglue into your winshield.  And he filled the crack in 10 minutes after calling my insurance company.  So it's all good now.  But the really weird thing was sitting in my air-conditioned car, trying to avoid eye contact with the sweaty guy leaning over my windshield repairing the chip.  Because it's about 102 outside today.  And I felt like a complete jerk for sitting comfortably while he baked in the heat.  And I've seen enough movies to know that you don't anger a person who a) serves you for their living, b) works with superglue and razor blades daily, and c) knows your address.  So I bought him a cold water to make sure he didn't murder me for having air conditioning while he worked in the Texas heat.

Of Macs And Men (And Clash)

Since I'm using a Mac at work, the PC settings for my virtualized machine reset every day. And since I wouldn't have understood that sentence two months ago, I don't expect anyone else to understand it. So what it boils down to is that every morning I have move my Taskbar and then check "Lock the Taskbar" on my Windows PC. And that means every morning I get that Clash song, "Rock the Casbah" stuck in my head for a good hour. So my brain keeps singing, "Lock the taskbar! Lock the taskbar!" And I don’t know the rest of that song. So I just repeat it silently until I can think of something else.

Fact: You can't create a folder in Windows named "CON". It automatically changes it back to "New Folder".

I told my older brother about the above folder naming trivia, and he immediately tried it (like almost everybody reading this probably did). And it made him really mad that he couldn't do it. He acted like he was being controlled in some way. So, being the good brother that I am, I told him it was also true for "AUX", "LPT1", "NUL", "COM1", and "PRN". So he tried all those too. And much to his dismay, all of them ended up as "New Folder". So he got really upset that Microsoft had so much say in his folder naming abilities. (If you're having trouble seeing how someone could be upset about that, it helps if you imagine John Locke screaming, "Don’t tell me what I can't do!")

I've already gotten so used to the trackpad on my MacBook that I find myself trying to use my work desk as a multi-touch device. I keep dragging two fingers across my desk and wondering why my Firefox page won't scroll down.

There's A Nap For That!

Why did I fight naps so much as a kid? That seems so short-sighted now. I would beg and plead with my parents not to make me lay down on Sunday afternoon. And they'd make me do it anyway. Then I'd lay there and try as hard as I could to stay awake just to prove I wasn't tired.

It's only in recent years that I've learned how foolish I was. Someone was letting me sleep in the middle of the day. And I couldn’t have been called lazy for doing it. But now, if I close my eyes for a few minutes before 10:00pm, I feel like I've done something wrong. And I've paid dearly for it recently. Because my son likes to run full speed into my "lap" when I'm leaning back in my chair.

And in college I took naps when I didn't need them. If I was bored and didn't feel like watching TV, I would just lay down for an hour or five. I remember one night I was bored and waiting for my friends to get off work, so I took a nap from 7:00 to 10:00pm. And I wasn't even tired!

Now I take naps without even meaning to. And that's is irresponsible when I'm at my desk and terrifying when I'm behind the wheel. It's like I went from unwanted naps to unneeded naps to unintentional naps. And from what I've seen from my parents and grandparents, the rest of my naps from this point on will not be planned. In fact, now that I think about it, I can't remember one nap in my life that was necessary, desired, and completely on purpose. That seems a little unfair.

Flip Your Lid

So I may or may not have just clogged the toilet, semi-flooded the bathroom, and had to run to the warehouse to find the mop and bucket so I could clean it up before people started getting back from lunch.  I may or may not have done all that (but I definitely did just do that).

See, I flushed and walked away like normal.  But I realized that I hadn't heard the water exit through the bottom.  So I glanced back to see water pouring over the rim of the bowl.  Luckily, I am a big believer in courtesy flushes, having executed one about 5 minutes prior, so the water was completely free of... additional contents.  But judging by the brown color of the mop in the warehouse, others have not been as lucky in the past.  And also luckily, I had the presence of mind to take the lid off the tank and grab that little black bulb thing so the water wouldn't keep coming.  The only problem is that the moment I grabbed the bulb, I had been in the stall for exactly 9 minutes and 59 seconds.  So precisely one second after I grabbed the bulb, the timer-configured lights in the bathroom went out.

So there I was, with a foot on either side of the ever-growing lake on the floor, holding a ten-pound porcelain tank lid with one hand, and clutching a slippery rubber bulb in the other... all in the pitch-black company bathroom.  You might think at this point I would just give up.  Put the lid on the seat, release the bulb, step in the water, and walk out to turn on the light.  But no.  I shifted the tank lid under the arm that was holding the bulb, reached in the side pocket of my carpenter's jeans (it's casual day and I don't keep up with jean styles), and pulled out my cell phone.  This allowed me enough light to open the stall and wave at the motion sensor.  Then, when the light turned back on, I used our 79 cent plunger to unclog the toilet (which took 57 plunges because of the cheap plunger and I kept spraying more water on the floor).  Then I discreetly asked the nice lady in the office around the corner where the mop and bucket were.

It could have been much worse, I guess.  I could have kept walking, washed my hands, and left the bathroom without even noticing the problem.  Or I could have lost my balance and slipped on the giant pool of toilet water.  But none of that happened.  I came out relatively unscathed.  The only embarrassing part was the group of people who happened to be talking in the hall outside the bathroom.  They got to see me wheel the mop and bucket past them into the warehouse.  So I'm gonna spend the rest of my day trying to locate my dignity.

The Itsy, Bitsy... Horrifying Omen Of Eternal Destruction

The times in my life that I've been closest to death almost exclusively involve spiders.  I've never been bitten by a poisonous spider or chased by a 10-foot spider, but I have come inches away from instant death on quite a few occasions.

Because spiders have this fascination with the inside of my windshield.  Not so much the outside, though.  They never seem to be on the outside of my car.  And I hate spiders.  And I mean it when I say hate.  They creep me out with the way they move and all those extra legs and the hair on my neck is standing up right now.  And I feel like one is on me as I type this (I literally just got the chills).  So I'm kind of a girl about spiders.  I blame it on my parents letting me watch Arachnophobia when I was 7.  I was not ready for that film.

So when I see a spider in my car, I'm sure that at any moment the spider will decide that the windshield is boring and he needs to feast on human flesh.  So I frantically try to find a large envelope or a grocery bag (blowtorch) to take care of the problem.  And the times I've been closest to dying are when I miss.  Maybe you've seen that "funny" video of the guy who tries to catch a huge spider on his wall with a glass from his kitchen.  He swings blindly and plants the glass against the wall.  But he doesn't realize that he missed it when he hit the wall, so the spider goes after him and he freaks out.  I've had nightmares because of that video.  And I've missed the spider on the windshield a few times.

Swinging at and missing a spider in your car while driving is the third-leading cause of non-lethal traffic accidents in this country (texting is number 1 and staring at other car accidents is number 2).  Because when you anger a spider, you immediately forget that you're behind the wheel.  You just start flailing and stomping and spitting (in case it flew near your mouth) until you can exit the vehicle or run into a tree.  And the next thing you know, you have an ice pack on your head and a police officer is laughing as he writes down your story in his little pad.

The Cowardly Blogger

I'd like to think that in a serious and scary situation, that I'd have the courage to fight for something.  But when ever I seriously imagine a situation like that, my imagined self ends up crying.  I feel like the lion on The Wizard of Oz.  And I usually try to chalk it up to being "non-confrontational."  Nobody respects a quick temper, so that's what I hide behind.  But for me, that's just an excuse.  I am terrified of hurting someone's feelings or stepping on anyone's toes (literally... I don't walk through crowded rooms).

But I've also noticed that I'm a coward in almost every way.  I was about to delete an email from my Inbox today from an insurance agent who'd sent me a quote.  And I thought, "I don't really need this.  But what if I accidentally answer his call?  He's going to ask if I got his email.  And I'm not gonna lie to him.  So then I'll have to explain that I got it, but I deleted it.  And that will be awkward."  So instead of deleting it, I ignored it.  So now I have this email in my Inbox that feels like a splinter in my brain.  I hate having junk in my Inbox.  So I think I will delete it.  I just realized that it will stay in my Trash until I delete it there too.  So I'm covered.

I'm such a coward.

Smells Like A Golden Girl

We stayed at my parents' house over the weekend.  And I always leave something behind.  And this time, it happened to be my deodorant.  And I don't like dropping 4 dollars on a whim to buy something I already own. (I'm not made of money!) So my wife said I could use a stick of deodorant that she no longer uses.  And my gut reaction was to say no.  But then she explained that the reason she doesn't use it is because it smells like men's deodorant.  So I figured that it was okay, since it wouldn't make me smell like "Bluebonnet Spring" or some other weird girly smell.  Then I found out that my wife has no idea what she's talking about.  Because this lady deodorant smells very lady-ish.  And not just that!  It smells very old lady-ish!  And not just that!  It reactivates the smell when you start to sweat.  So when I start to get overheated because it's 101 degrees outside, I start to smell more and more like a grandmother!

So I went to Target on my lunch break today to avoid any future issues.  Then I saw the candy aisle and they had 8-packs of snack size Twix, Kit Kat, and Reese's for just a dollar!  So I got a couple (okay, five) of those and some nasal decongestant I needed (I may be allergic to this deodorant), but I neglected to pick up any men's deodorant.  And since I'm lazy and it's so hot outside, I'm not gonna bother with a return trip to the store.  So it looks like tomorrow I'll smell like a sweaty nursing home (and delicious chocolate candy).

My Posture Is Better, Though

A lot of people may have guessed this about me by now, but I have a bit of a tendency to overthink things. But I think I know why I do it. My older brother is a person with no discernable amount of self-awareness. He has no idea if he's offending people, hurting someone's feelings, grossing somebody out, or making himself look like a weirdo. And in my ever-increasing desire not to be that way, I've found myself thinking about some pretty lame things. I've analyzed my walk to make sure I don't hold my hands in a weird way. I've perfected the ability to eat an entire meal without the need of a napkin. And I've even relearned how to drink soda from a can so I can avoid any possible slurping noises.

But every once in a while, I'm completely stumped about what to do, even after analyzing it. And I know I'm being stupid about it, but I still do it. For example, last week an acquaintance of mine gave me a ride home. We're not buddies or anything, but we're friendly. And I needed a ride when my car wouldn't start. So he picked me up in his Honda Civic. But when I got in, I noticed that the passenger seat was in a very rigidly straight position and scooted up towards the dashboard quite a ways. Also, the passenger-side sun visor was halfway down. And if this had been someone I knew really well, I would have simply flipped the visor up and moved my seat to a comfortable position. But people are weird about their cars sometimes. I know I hate it when people turn my air conditioning down or my radio up, so I don't think it's a stretch to imagine taking offense to seat moving and visor readjustment. Maybe he had a really good reason for that particular configuration. Maybe there was a delicate piece of furniture in the backseat (perhaps constructed entirely out of balsa wood), and I'd crush it if I moved back an inch. And maybe the only way his car would run is if the visor was halfway down.

So I just sat there. With my face about three inches from the downed visor and my back as straight as it's ever been in my entire life. But I was too afraid to even ask if I could mess with his car. And I figured it was just a 10-minute drive, so I could deal with that. But have you ever spent 10 minutes sitting bolt upright with your view of the road obscured? It's quite off-putting to say the least. You never realize how much you look at the road when passenging until you can't see it anymore. So long story short, I was uncomfortable and felt weird. But he never even realized there was a problem. And that's all that matters.

The Mac Of Power

I'm typing this post in the breakroom on my brand new 15-inch MacBook Pro.  I can't even explain how awesome this is.  I feel like I'm borrowing it from somebody else.  Or like I stole it.  And I spent a good three hours last night just configuring it in weird and interesting ways.  I didn't need to spend that amount of time, but I wanted to see what it could do.  And I've only just begun to realize its awesome power.  I feel like I'm already becoming Gollum.  It's mine, my own, my precious.

And I already ordered my Iron Man decal for the back of it.  So pretty soon people will walk in to the breakroom and see Iron Man ready to shoot an energy pulse right at their faces!  And I'll laugh maniacally.

Okay, back to work for me.  I have to pretend I care about work on a Friday when I have the one laptop to rule them all just sitting on my desk.

Like Brother, Like Son

Since we were both little boys, people have thought my brother and I were twins.  Even though we're two years apart (and I'm much more handsome).  But I just don't see it.  I mean, yeah, we both have dark hair and dark eyes.  But beyond that, I think we're pretty distinguishable from each other.  I am clearly wrong in that assessment, however.  Because we each get called the other's name at least once a month.  My mom couldn't say one name without the other right behind it.  In fact, I heard other people do it so much, that I've actually called him "Taylor" on a few occasions.

Well one of the things that's weird about having a doppelganger brother is that my kids look a lot like their uncle.  And that's a little creepy.  In fact, they even act like him sometimes.  And make the same facial expressions I remember seeing him make as a kid.  Here's a good example.  My brother is on the left and my son is on the right. 


How creepy is that?! It's the exact same pose!  And they're both doing something weird with their left hand! And this wasn't staged!  Does this mean my son is going to end up like my brother?  He's gonna graduate high school early and drive a Firebird?  He's gonna be 6 foot 5 and wear size 15 shoes?!  Actually, now that I think about it, that would be kinda awesome.  He could be my body guard when I'm older.

Lower Expectations. Everyday.

I had my pre-employment drug-screening yesterday. I've already logged 22 workdays, received two paychecks, sang "Happy Birthday" to a coworker, and attended two company-wide meetings. But I just had my pre-employment drug screening. So my question is this; are my employers just really laidback about the drug test or did they observe some kind of behavior in me that made them think I might need a drug test? I sincerely hope it's not the second option. I mean, I know I'm weird sometimes, but I don't think I'm so weird that people would assume I'm on drugs.

Speaking of random subject changes....

I went to Wal-Mart on my lunch break today to buy some new Hanes t-shirts (a flash-mob of ants decided to chew through our collection of white laundry).  And I made the mistake of wearing a blue polo and khakis today.  I usually catch that when I go to Best Buy, but I forgot about Wal-Mart.  So I had two packages of Hanes products and I was perusing the computer accessories aisle.  And if you're carrying products through the store without a cart and wearing a blue polo (untucked), then you look like a Wal-Mart employee.  So I helped her find the cell phone counter and then left the area quickly in case she had a more difficult question.  I've found it's simpler to ask them what they need rather than embarrass them by saying, "Uh, I don't work here, you stupid old hag."  People don't take too kindly to being yelled at by a stranger in accidental uniform.

But she figured out pretty quickly that I wasn't an actual employee.  I was standing in plain view, wearing a clean shirt, and I was polite and helpful.  And I've never met a Wal-Mart employee that matches that description.

The Exception Is The Duck-Billed Platypus

My older brother texted me last night and asked, "Is a turtle a reptile, an amphibian, or a mammal?"  I responded (correctly) with "Reptile."  And his next text said, "Are you sure?  Because it lays eggs like a mammal, but it lives in the water like an amphibian."

It took me a few times reading that to fully comprehend what he was saying.  My brain was so convinced I had misread it, that it wouldn't allow me to read his text all the way through.  So to avoid more confusion (and to allow me to make fun of him more easily) I called him back instead of texting him back.

Me: "Um, mammals lay eggs?"
Him: "Yeah, don't they?"
Me: "Are you a mammal?"
Him: "Yeah."
Me: "And what kind of egg did you hatch from?"
Him: "Well, not all mammals lay eggs.  We're the exception."
Me: "So have you ever seen a cat or a dog lay eggs?  Or have you been to a farm to watch the cows hatch?"
Him: "No, but....  Oh... okay, oops.  I got mixed up."
Me: "Yeah.  You got really mixed up.  And a turtle isn't an amphibian because it is born with lungs and never lives completely underwater."
Him: "Okay, got it.  Wait, so are birds mammals?"
Me: "...."

That "...." was me blinking slowly and shaking my head while hanging up.  I wish my brother would learn how to use Wikipedia before texting me.

Yeah, Baby!

My MacBook Pro shipped today.  So, as promised... "Yeah, baby!"  But enough about that for now.

I played basketball Saturday for the first time in about a year.  And it looked like I had never even heard of basketball before with the way I was playing.  I was pump-faking a guy that was 9 inches shorter than me.  And I fell down more than Rusty, the narcoleptic dog (look it up on YouTube).  And the soles of my basketball shoes fell off.  That part wasn't that shocking actually.  If a kid was born the day my shoes were put together by And1, that kid would be going into the fifth grade this fall.  What has athletic shoe quality dropped to that your shoes won't last a full decade anymore?!  It's just shameful.

But the saddest part about me playing basketball is how sore I am.  Apparently it is entirely possible to strain the muscle behind your ear.  I don't know how I did that, but I did.  And you can only imagine how sore my normal muscles are if my Posterior Auditory Sinew is strained (yes, I made up that muscle name).  My abs are so sore that I had to try three times to sit up in bed this morning.  And lifting my coffee mug today has been a chore.  Why do people keep telling me that exercise is good for me?  They're such liars.