MY OLDER BROTHERS

Don't Do This

2011-11-17T16:10:00.000-06:00

When I was in high school, I had a few low-grade crushes. I wasn't obsessed with any particular girl, but there were a few female friends I wished I could impress into liking me. And in case you haven't ever read my blog, let me give you some insight. I am not charming, handsome, athletic, or outgoing in any way. And I was even less of those things when I was in high school. I was also way too self-aware when it came to interacting with people. ("Do I always breathe like this?!" "What are my arms supposed to be doing right now?") So I didn't have a lot going for me. You throw in the fact that I was driving a 1994 Geo Prism, and my prospects were limited ("limited" = nonexistent).

So one day, I was driving past a park near my house. And I saw a girl from school that I thought was cute. She was jogging on the path near the road. And I thought to myself, "Taylor, this is your chance! You can come across as friendly and slightly interested without embarrassing yourself!" So I rolled down the passenger window (manually) and honked as I passed her. I think my original plan was just to honk, wave, and move on. And at some point I decided to call out her name in case she didn't know I was addressing her. So as I leaned toward the window to yell, "Hey Sarah!" I stopped paying very close attention to the road. In fact, I pretty much forgot I was driving.

So as I waved and yelled her name, I let go of the steering wheel. Lucky for her, I only hopped the curb and skidded to a stop in the grass (no physical harm done). Unlucky for me, I skidded to a stop about 10 feet from her (tons of emotional harm done). And thanks to the proximity, she got a good look at my face (meaning I couldn't hide and stay anonymous). She stopped jogging long enough to stare at me with her eyes wide and her mouth shut. Then she slowly turned and continued jogging (a lot faster). And we never spoke again.

So if you're looking for advice on how to impress a girl you like, I've got some for you. If at all possible, try to avoid almost killing her with your car. I'm sure there's more to it than that, but that's pretty much all I learned about girls while I was in high school.

Adventures In House Hunting

2011-11-14T16:07:00.000-06:00

Today, I'd like to give a few tips to any home sellers out there. First, if you want to sell your home (ever) then don't let lots of animals live in it. You may not smell the soaked pet urine that permeates your abode, but every person who comes in your house will smell it. So that appointment from 1:30 to 2:30 will only last until 1:35. I'm not sure if there's an exact guideline I can offer for how many pets to keep in the house. But I know it's somewhere below seven (three cats and four dogs).

One house we looked at had three cats roaming freely and all four dogs shut in the utility room (barking and clawing at the door trying to escape and eat us). That's not exactly endearing to potential buyers. And it scares the children.

Speaking of scaring children, don't put a dirty, naked baby doll on the bed in the guest room. Especially if it's facing the door with its cold, dead eyes. And especially if it's clear by the rest of your possessions that you live alone and have no children there who own said baby doll. My nightmares are haunted by that doll.

And one last tip. If you know people are coming to your house... leave. Don't do yard work while they look through your house. And don't sit in your spacious master bedroom in a sports bra and look at your laptop. I'll never know how big that walk-in closet was because I felt awkward opening it with that lady sitting there. And if she couldn't find a shirt to throw on while we were there, who knows what was in that closet!

You Snooze, You Lose Your Cool

2011-11-10T09:33:00.000-06:00

One of the things my older brother always does at a new job is find a place for his lunchtime naps. A lot of people would suggest his car as the only appropriate place. But because he lives in Texas and doesn't want to waste gas running his air conditioner, that's not a viable option for him (except for the two or three days of cool weather per year). So at his last few jobs, he's found empty cubicles or offices to nap in.

Disclaimer for anyone wanting to hire him: He only does this during lunch. He doesn't nap during work hours.

Well at his newest job, he has his own office. So he decided recently that he was going to take a nap in the privacy of that office. He closed the door, turned off the light, and made a pillow out of a roll of paper towels covered by his gym towel (pre-workout). Then he set an alarm and fell asleep. About 40 minutes later (five minutes before his alarm), he woke up. And as he reached for his phone to look at the time, he noticed that a few inches from his phone was a mouse... scurrying towards his face.

(Please take a moment to gasp at this out loud and clap your hand over your mouth.)

Needless to say, he didn't go back to sleep. He jumped up faster than the kid at my high school who accidentally sat on his English teacher's lap during a power outage (me). He got up so fast that he scraped his elbow on the floor. And I'm guessing if there had been a camera on him, everyone in the country would be able to enjoy the clip on America's Funniest Videos (or YouTube for you youngsters).

The embarrassing part was explaining to his coworkers why he was so worked up about it (and why his elbow was bleeding). Because normal men don't panic about a tiny little mouse. So he had to explain that the only reason his heart was racing and he was acting all frantic was because he had awoken to the mouse directly in front of his face. Then he had to explain why he was lying on the floor in his office in the first place. And I don't think it's very easy to explain all that. So his coworkers either think he's a weirdo who lies on the floor to take naps during work, or he's a weirdo who's terrified of mice and lies about it to save face. So either way he's a weirdo who lies. (Homonym wordplay! Hooray!)

It's Just Laziness I Guess

2011-11-08T22:27:00.000-06:00

People still blog, right? This hasn't become a thing of the past like AIM away messages and dial-up, has it? I hope not, because so much has happened since I last posted on here. I joined Twitter (@thats_so_taylor), my wife and I started shopping for houses, we found out she was pregnant with our third child, and most importantly... I started working out! So in theory, I should have a lot to blog about now that I have so many new sources for stories. But that's just a theory. You can't hold me to that expectation (I'll get a lawyer).

So I won't share everything in one post. I'll start with the most surprising news I have. It's not my pregnant wife. We've experienced that twice already. And it's not the Twitter thing (@thats_so_taylor) because I've mentioned before that I wanted to do that. And it's not the home-shopping. We have a kid going into school next year, and we need him in a good district. No, in fact, the biggest news is the fact that I started working out! (Okay, not the most interesting news, but the most likely to provide my much-needed avenue for bragging.)

So far my favorite thing about working out is my ability to flex my pecs on command. You may have seen musclebound dudes bouncing their pectoral muscles and laughing about it. I've always found that disturbing. But the interesting thing is that just a few chest workouts and it's pretty easy to do the bouncy trick. The only problem is that instead of a bouncing muscle, I have incredible bouncing man-boobs. And it's not as disturbing as it is hilarious and embarrassing (hilarious for onlookers, embarrassing for me). So for the time being, I'll stick to doing it while I type (a.k.a. - right now).

So now I'm looking for ways to get rid of the piggyback effect of the chest flab. As disturbing as it would be to be able to do the pec dance for others, I'd still like to have that talent. It's similar to my desire to cry on command. It's not that people will think it's cool, it's that it's rare and makes people feel awkward.

Oh yeah, also... my Twitter "handle" (username? address? call sign?) is @thats_so_taylor. Check it out and tell your friends. So far I have one follower. And chances are... it's not you.

I'm In Shape On The Inside

2011-09-23T10:00:00.000-05:00

My older brother is overweight, but not grotesquely overweight. And he doesn't really have any horribly bad habits. He doesn't smoke or drink. He exercises occasionally. He doesn't overeat very often. But he's still overweight. But he's always had this theory about himself that I thought was crazy. He thinks that he's in relatively good shape, but it's hidden or "insulated" under a layer of fat. A specific example is when he said, "I think I actually have a six-pack of abs under here. But you just can't see it because I've got a belly on top of them." And while I give him credit for coming up with a better excuse than being "big-boned," that doesn't seem to me to be sound reasoning. It seems outright ridiculous.

And I have trouble arguing with him because I don't have any evidence to point to except his weight. He's never had major health issues, he doesn't sweat or breathe heavily, and he's played sports on occasion without incident. So if I didn't think his theory was total malarkey, I would see his reasoning.

But the other reason I can't argue with him is that he's never gotten a physical or any medical screenings done. So there have never been any numbers I can point to and say, "Ha! I knew you were pre-diabetic!" And I think he's avoided testing on purpose. Because if you look at him, you'd assume he has high blood pressure, bad cholesterol, high glucose, and all the other stuff we overweight people have that goes along with our physique.

Well, he got a free screening done at work this week, and he shared the results with me. And I'll tell you, when someone realizes that they've been wrong about something, their shock at the reality of the situation is kinda funny. Just ask my brother. Because his numbers came back perfect. He was in an acceptable range for every test they threw at him. His good cholesterol was high, his bad cholesterol was low, his glucose was in the "desirable" range, and his blood pressure was "normal." So his theory, as stupid as it sounds, seems to be correct. In fact, I was so shocked by his results that I almost checked to see if he'd been wearing a fat suit for 12 years.

So naturally, I have to go get my numbers checked. Because while I like being right, I like winning even more. And this has obviously turned into a competition.

Did You Say Tiny?

2011-09-21T11:00:00.000-05:00

I sat in my first department meeting this morning at the new job. And not knowing anybody, I kept my head down as everyone filed in. I didn't want any introductions, and I wanted to allow people to stare at me without making awkward eye contact. Then I heard a lady beside me start talking about getting measured for a dress. And while I didn't see her walk in, I thought I'd seen her out of the corner of my eye. Anyway, this is what I heard from her, word-for-word:

"Well, she measured me and said, 'Ugh, your waist is just so tiny!' And I said, 'Oh please, nothing about me is tiny.' But she kept talking about how little my waist was. She must have meant by comparison. But I guess that's what they mean when they talk about an hourglass figure!"

She didn't say this with a hint of sarcasm or self-deprecation, and she didn't laugh at the last part like it was a joke. It was a positive thing that she was sharing with a coworker. And I didn't immediately look over at her. I would look like a total creeper if I started staring at someone who just described herself as having an hourglass figure. But the next chance I got to look that direction, I looked at her. And I'll try not to be mean here. But she did not have an hourglass figure. But if I compare her to a shape, it'll come off as mean. So the best I can do is to compare her to a famous person. She was built like John Goodman (circa 1991).

Now I don't usually make fun of fat people. It's totally mean. And since I'm fat, it's quite hypocritical. But I'm not making fun of a fat person here. I'm simply pointing out the ridiculousness of her statement. First of all, I know what an hourglass looks like, and that ain't it. Second of all, I know that nobody could call her waist "tiny" without being sarcastic or mean. So my conclusion is that she made it up. And that makes her a liar. And it's okay to make fun of liars.

And if you're a fat person who wants to lie about something, lie about something vague or unverifiable. You can say, "I lost seven pounds this week!" and nobody will doubt you. Or you can lie about your diet. ("All I've had today was a stick of celery and four steamed grape skins.") Because nobody will be able to call you out on that stuff. But don't try to tell me that a person who measures people for a living told you that you had a tiny waist. That's not believable. And I will judge you.

"It Has Its Ups And Downs"

2011-09-16T11:00:00.004-05:00

There's a second part to the elevator/flyer/email chain story I posted yesterday, and it's awesome. You'll have to forgive me for lying to you yesterday. My brother did not sustain any injuries to his brain. I made that up for humorous effect. I hope you can forgive me.

After getting word that he had to remove all of the flyers from the elevators, my older brother went to the elevator bay and pressed the button. And the first two elevators were easy. He took the first one to the top floor, removed the flyer and then sent it back down so he could summon a second elevator. That worked fine. But then he got on and right back off the second one and sent it back down the same way. The problem was that the elevator he sent down first came right back up. And he kept trying to send them both down at the same time. But they kept alternating and coming right back up. So he just had to keep jumping on and off of two of the elevators.

And that would be frustrating in its own right. But making matters worse was the fact that people kept walking up to use the elevator. And my brother had already pressed the button. So when the new person got on, my brother had to stay on that floor. And given the strange circumstances and limited time available, he couldn't explain himself. It was something you'd expect to see in a sitcom.

He couldn't say, "Go ahead. I'm waiting on a specific elevator." Because then he'd look like a lunatic. And he couldn't say, "I'll just wait for the next one." Because you only say that when an elevator is full. And he didn't have enough time to explain about the posters. So he came off as weird.

But then it got worse. Because the one time he hit the button, and a group of people (of a different ethnicity than he is) came to wait for the elevator too. And when he refused to get on the elevator, they held the door and said "Come on in, there's room." And he only had a few seconds' time to succinctly explain his weird actions. So he said, "That's okay. This is the wrong elevator for me. I have to wait for a different one."

So now there is a small group of people at his office who think he's one of three things: really weird, really racist, or weirdly racist.

How Mental Breakdowns Happen

2011-09-15T08:00:00.000-05:00

So my older brother was in charge of putting up some signs for a charity drive at his office. And he emailed the building supervisor, let's call him "Richard" (because that's his name), and asked permission to post the signs in the elevators. Here's the exact wording of the email:

"Would it be okay to hang some 8.5 x 11 signs in the elevators? I wouldn't cover over any wording that's already there on the elevator wall, I was thinking I could put the signs in the black space above the buttons on the left side."

A reasonable question in my opinion. Richard quickly emailed back:

"Not a problem. Just try and keep them neat. Thanks"

So my brother went and posted the signs, one in each of the four elevators in his building. Then he got a call from someone saying that Richard wanted the signs removed from the elevators. So here's what he sent to Richard:

"Susan just called me and told me that you said the flyers in the elevators need to be taken down. I'm confused, you replied to me last time that it was okay. Could you please clear this up for me?"

Still very reasonable. And frankly, very logical. But here's what he got from Richard:

"I am talking about the ones that are posted on the inside of the elevators. They need to be placed like we discussed. Thanks"

When my brother read that email, his brain imploded. I know that sounds far-fetched, but it happened. He realized that the rule that Richard was implementing was basically this: "You're allowed to have posters in the elevators, just as long as they're not in the elevators." The physiological effect that statement had on him was the equivalent of his brain thinking it was drowning in its own confusion. So he collapsed and his brain shut down. The doctors are calling it "Unintentional Mental Waterboarding, Hemorrhaging, and Trauma" or "UMWHAT." He'll survive and recover fully, but he can't ride elevators anymore.

The Office

2011-09-14T08:26:00.001-05:00

So I got a new job. But don't worry, I don't have four now. I quit my other one because it was stupid. And the 20% pay increase I got for coming here means I'm quitting one of my side jobs. So I'll only have two jobs as of next week! And I like both of them! Isn't that exciting?! (Hint: Yes it is.)

It all happened very fast. I quit the last job on some pretty bad terms. I burned a very large bridge on the way out (metaphorically... I'm not even suspected in the bridge arson they're investigating). In fact, I quit and only gave a one-day notice. So I left the following day. That was rather satisfying because of how perturbed I was with management there.

Anyway, the cool thing about my new job is that I have my very own office. It actually has walls that go to the ceiling. And there's even a door! So I'm pretty excited about that. I've never had an office. In fact, the last two jobs I've had were in open-cubicle floors where the cubicle wall is only about 4 feet high, making it difficult to do anything that's frowned upon (like blogging or nose-picking) without everyone seeing it.

My concern is that my new-found privacy (and perceived superiority) will go to my head. It's common practice for the people here to close their office doors during lunch. That means I could take a nap without walking out to my car (or I could play with my son's Hot Wheels on the floor without the judgmental stares). But then my fear is that I'll oversleep (or make "Vroom!" noises too loudly). So I think I'll err on the side of caution here. I don't want anyone ~~knowing~~ thinking I'm a weirdo.

We're A Loving Family, Really

2011-08-31T15:48:00.000-05:00

My older brother emailed me a list today. The subject line said "Things I Hate."

-Low trucks with running boards

-Songs that directly address the audience

-Nickelback

-People who use their blinkers in "Exit Only" lanes

-Songs where you need more than one word to determine the gender of the singer

-The Fox network's NFL robot

-Songs that say "I can't hear you!" even though they're recorded

-Emo jeans

-You

He's such a nice man.

P.S. - He wants credit for this list, so just know that this was from my actual brother.

FYI

2011-08-29T13:40:00.000-05:00

So a major reason for my break from blogging is the fact that I currently have three jobs. I work full-time with my current employer, part-time from home for my previous employer, and part-time for another employer (mostly on weekends). So when you add that in with my desire to be a good father and husband, it doesn't leave a lot of time for writing blog posts. But I feel like I owe it to myself to keep blogging, because there's a point to all of this. And the point is not just to try to be funny. And I won't pretend that it's a way to work on my writing skills (because I don't care about my writing skills). A big reason for blogging is that I'm essentially keeping my memories somewhere to review later. It's a twisted, altered record of my life, but it's important. So it would be a shame to stop that completely.

Even with that in mind, a lot of these stories are not important to me. I don't care if I remember the Ford Mustang I saw last week with three queen-sized mattresses strapped to its roof (pictured below for proof). But I do care to remember how I felt during different parts of my family's lives. My kids growing up, my wife and I getting older, my crazy job-hopping. All of that is important to me. And I'll forget the little things if I don't make them bigger things via this blog.

So if you think I'm embellishing, you're right. I do that often. And if you think I make something out of nothing, you're also right. Because the little nothings are what I'm afraid of forgetting. And that's the reason I'll continue. And that's the reason this is important. Because my internal memory is terrible (as my beautiful wife would confirm). But if I write this stuff down, even if I alter it to make it more humorous, then I don't have to rely on my memory as much. And that's a good enough reason to continue.

Things My Older Brother Has Learned While Working His New Concert Job

2011-08-24T16:30:00.000-05:00

- If you walk into a venue with a laptop bag and a pair of big headphones around your neck, nobody asks for credentials or a ticket.

- People with eyebrow piercings rarely say the word "yes." They prefer to say "For sure, man," or "Oh, totally."

- Some guys wear eyeliner.

- Some girls wear neckties.

- Every singer is shorter than you'd expect them to be.

- Even the most skilled accordion player is not talented enough to make you forget how lame accordions are.

- If your favorite band says goodnight and you haven't heard their most popular song, you should probably hang around and cheer for about 3 more minutes.

- Music is loud in person.

- The older you are, the more ridiculous you look dressed like a member of the band.

Bueno, No Bueno

2011-08-22T15:00:00.005-05:00

One of my older brothers has a really cool job. He goes to concerts and uploads song lists and band pictures to the iPhone app for the company that books the venues. So he parks in the "gold" parking lot (for free), sits in the booth behind the audience (for free), and then eats the catered food that the band gets (for free) while doing minimal work. And on top of that, he gets $150 per show, and he gets reimbursed for mileage!

Now before you get too jealous, there are some drawbacks. For starters, he doesn't just get to pick his favorite bands and go to their shows. He gets assigned to shows at random. So he may get to work the sold out show of a major artist or… he may have to work a local Tejano concert where he can't understand a word of what's going on. And that happened to him last week.

My brother can say two things in Spanish: "gracias" and "por favor." Other than that, he can barely pronounce the names of foods at Mexican restaurants. So he is grossly ill-prepared for an all-Spanish concert. In fact, during the two-hour accordion-filled show, he was able to identify exactly two songs. And he was only about 50% sure those were correct. So anyone looking to find out what songs were played that night was pretty much out of luck.

And the funniest part is that he didn't have the faintest idea when the show was ending. Because he didn't know the Spanish version of "you've been great tonight" or "this is our last song." So he had to wait until the main singer waved and said "Gracias!" and the audience got up to leave. So that meant he couldn't cut out early and avoid the crowd. So imagine my brother, the only dorky-looking dude holding a laptop bag, jostling for position to the exit. He must have looked really out of place.

Soup Klutzy

2011-08-18T11:00:00.000-05:00

Today I realized that the physical comedy used in movies and TV shows is not nearly as funny when it's happening to you in real life. So next time you laugh at a prat fall or a giant mess on TV, remember how terrible it would be if it happened to you.

(Wouldn't it be weird if I didn't have an example story to share right now?)

So I was getting ready to fix my lunch today at work. And I have a can of soup. So I started to pour it into my Styrofoam bowl when I realized the bowl was too small for the amount of soup. So I picked up the half-full bowl and attempted to pour the soup back into the can. In the process, I broke the flimsy bowl, spilled soup all over the counter and floor, and nearly died by slipping on the soup puddle at my feet. So I mopped up what I could, soaked to the forearms with soup shrapnel (celery, tomatoes, etc.).

Naturally, this is when the previously empty kitchen filled with people waiting to use the microwave next to me. So they got to see the rest of the ordeal, wondering how in the world I managed to spill soup when the only things involved were a bowl and a can. So I scooped, scraped, and mopped up the spill and went on my way.

And if this had been on Friends back in the 90s or on 30Rock this year, I would laugh at whoever was acting it out. But in real life, it's not all that funny. It's quite embarrassing. Especially embarrassing if you keep mumbling "broken bowl" and "didn't know my own strength" between bursts of your own nervous laughter while people watch you slide around the area in vegetable-flavored puddles.

The good news is that I got to eat McDonald's for lunch today. The bad news is that the only reason I got McDonald's is because I'm underqualified to microwave a bowl of soup.

The Age/Old Questions

2011-08-17T11:00:00.000-05:00

I realize I'm getting older. I realize my hair is falling out faster than I'm comfortable with. And I'm starting to think I've passed the age where I could conceivably dunk a basketball. And I'm okay with all of that for the most part. I think I'll be able to avoid a midlife crisis when the time comes. But every once in a while I'll get a stinging reminder that I'm not as young as I used to be. And let me preface this with a little disclaimer: I do not think I'm old, and I'm not lamenting anything about my age. I'm just sharing a few recent reminders that things are changing.

One thing that hit me recently was the fact that in a decade, people will look at pictures of me now and say, "Wow, look at all the hair you had!" or "Hey, here's one from when you still had hair!" I felt physical pain when that notion entered my consciousness. And the kicker is that I have a giant (probably lumpy) head. So I can't even jump the gun and shave it off. I'd look like a total weirdo.

The other thing that happened recently was worse (maybe). The job I have now is at the same company as my oldest brother. And while we don't share a resemblance (luckily), we share a last name. So people I haven't met will often come to me and say, "Are you, by chance, related to Mike?" And when I say yes, they inevitably over-share about their work experiences with him. But last week, a guy I'd never met threw in one little accidental jab while over-sharing. He said, "Yeah, Mike and I go way back. I knew he had a brother in his thirties, but I didn't realize you worked here." And I didn't correct him, because I was shell-shocked. But I'll be honest. That stung. I'm not thirty yet. And while I'm fairly close, it's important to note that I'm not thirty yet!

What really hurt is that he didn't say "around thirty." He said "in his thirties." And the age range where I am willing to tell someone I think they're "in their thirties" is between 34 and 43 (you know, to be nice). They have to be old enough so you know you're not overshooting, but young enough that you're not obviously trying to compliment them.

So my conclusion is that he thinks I'm at least 34 years old. That's older than I was prepared to hear from a stranger. I don't smoke, I don't drink, I don't tan, and I've never done meth or tried boxing. So there's nothing I've done to my face over the years that would age me enough to warrant that.

And I bet now, people will look back at this blog post in a decade and say, "Hey, here's one where you were upset about getting older! And now you're bald and in your fifties!"

The Donut Is A Lie!

2011-08-15T16:48:00.000-05:00

My older brother started a new job last week. And he's not too happy about his commute. At his last position, he was 6 miles from the office, so he only spent about 20 minutes in his car each day. But now, he drives 35 to 40 minutes each way. Which means he puts almost 250 miles on his car each week. So with the extended hours and longer commute, he's away from home about 12 hours a day. So considering what he had, he's unhappy about it.

Well, I encouraged him to try to find the silver lining for the new job. There's always some perk that you can focus on that makes it worthwhile. Well, he didn't get a pay raise, he spends an extra $200 per month on gas, he spends an extra $100 per month on toll roads, and the area he works in smells like a poot (sorry, that's what my kids call flatulence). So it's hard to find the silver lining. But he's a generally positive person, so I figured he could do it.

Well, on his first day he saw boxes of donuts everywhere. It seemed there was some kind of unspoken Donut Monday rule, and he was thrilled about that. There were about 6 boxes of donuts throughout the office and there were still some left over at the end of the day. Obviously, he was excited. So much so, that all the other stuff that he found out during the week (broken vending machines, slow elevators, disgusting coffee, invasive cavity searches), he dismissed as trivial. Because, hey… Donut Mondays!

Well he found out today that there is no such thing as Donut Monday. It was just a fluke that all the donuts appeared last week. So despite his frantic searching this morning (with the fervor of Indiana Jones during that scene in the Temple of Doom when he's trying to get to the antidote), there was nary a donut in the office. So now, all that stuff that he ignored last week as trivial in comparison to Donut Monday has come rushing back in a wave of devastation and despair.

It's actually quite sad. Imagine if you put up with a lot of hassles because you knew there was a big payoff, only to find out that the payoff was a lie. You keep telling yourself, "I can put up with this, because there's a long term benefit." But Santa's not real, your investment broker is running a Ponzi scheme, your meticulously-built Beanie Baby collection is worthless, and Donut Monday doesn't exist.

Precocious Moments

2011-08-11T16:57:00.003-05:00

I've found that there's usually a fine line between something being awesome and something being annoying. Examples:

(My apologies for the quality. I'll try to get a better copy up later.)

And the difference almost always comes down to quality and circumstance. And that is definitely true of my content today. Because one thing that can be either very awesome or very annoying is kids acting like adults. If my four-year old tells me he's ready to be a castaway on Survivor, that's adorable. But if he corrects my grammar, that's irritating.

So I'm usually pretty careful about sharing moments like that, in case I come off as one of those braggy parents who think their kid is going to be the first toddler president. And most of those moments are just my kids figuring out the context of their parents' words and using them correctly the next opportunity they have.

So in the interest of avoiding the perception of bragginess, please read the following precocious anecdotes without judging me for thinking they're precious.

Story 1 - My daughter has heard me say a few phrases for 2 and a half years. So it shouldn't surprise me that she can use them correctly. But last week, she said the following: "Mommy, I want to go play. And we have two options. We can go upstairs and play in my room. Or… I can go get some toys and bring them down here. So which do you want to do?"

Now re-read that quote and imagine it coming from a two-year old who's holding down fingers for each option. Precious, right?!

Story 2 - That same sweet girl that understands playing options, does not at all understand knock-knock jokes. The only one she knows is the one where the person at the door is named "Boo." And the joke ends with "Don't cry. It's just a joke." But she doesn't remember the setup. So every knock-knock joke she tells ends with "Don't cry. It's just a joke." Example:

Madeleine: "Knock, knock."
Me: "Who's there?"
Madeleine: "A bird."
Me: "A bird who?"
Madeleine: "Don't cry. It's just a joke."

Very cute and very funny because she requires the listener to laugh along with her "joke." But the other day, she decided to mix it up a bit. And I think she got the punch line from me (the guy who always loses stuff).

Madeleine: "Knock, knock."
Me: "Who's there?"
Madeleine: "Where's my debit card?!"

I don't get it, but I laughed for real at that one.

Fine. I'll Start Blogging Again.

2011-08-10T13:36:00.000-05:00

So here's my defense....

You know when your brakes need to be replaced and they start to do that light squealing thing when you stop? And they build that into the brakes so you know it's time to change them. But then, after three weeks of ignoring it, it goes away. So instead of realizing the truth (you're about to ruin your car), you pretend you never heard the original squealing and you bask in the relief of the self-fixing brakes. But in the back of your mind (along with the knowledge that you should be flossing daily) is the knowledge that brakes don't magically fix themselves. So one day, instead of lightly squealing, your brakes begin to crunch. And after you check to make sure a coffee can is not lodged in your wheel-well, you remember the squealing. And after you pay $450 for new brakes, pads, shoes, rotors, and labor… you really start to miss the squealing.

Okay, I think somewhere during that analogy I lost my train of thought. But the point is, I blogged occasionally and that was enough to make me feel better about not blogging. And then I realized that I was doing what all those other (stupid) people do when they blog. I was putting it off and then apologizing, so that every post was an apology for not blogging enough. So I ignored this blog altogether. And then one day, I heard the aforementioned "crunch." And it was in my brain. It was the realization that I had family, friends, and followers that I had essentially ignored. And perhaps more honestly, I had the realization that something funny must have happened to my older brothers (or me) in the past two months and I really should write about it.

In summary, I'm back. And I'm sorry. Wait, no. I'm not sorry. I'm just back. Okay, maybe a little bit sorry. I'm like 10% sorry… but still… 90% back.

Losing It

2011-06-30T16:00:00.000-05:00

Things I've lost:
-My bowling ball (yes, seriously)
-My copy of Iron Man 2 on Blu-ray (I've looked everywhere!)
-The desire (and possibly the physical ability) to watch MTV
-Sleep over which seat to take (thanks to Rebecca Black) and which reality I'm in (thanks to Inception)

Things I wish I could lose:
-My crippling fears of public speaking, spiders, and Willem Defoe
-These last pesky 85 pounds
-A game of Trivial Pursuit (to prove I'm human)

Things I'm losing:
-My hair
-My dignity (because of the hair)
-Ground in my battle to lose weight
-My patience with the lack of response from President Obama to my letters (asking him to bring back Arrested Development)
-The ability to write good blog posts (as evidenced here)

A Penny Saved

2011-06-22T16:00:00.000-05:00

My older brother likes to brag about how good he is at finding deals. He claims that he doesn't buy anything at regular price unless it comes with something better for free. He even jokes that MSRP stands for "Management Suckering Rich People" (he's frugal, not funny). And because of all that, he's part of every free membership you can imagine, from Best Buy Reward Zone to coupons.com. So even when he buys something at a huge discount (or occasionally free), he gets points towards another purchase later. There's really no telling how much money he's saved. Actually, there is telling. He tells people all the time how much money he saves. In fact, he doesn't stop talking about how much money he's saved.

And I'm not knocking that at all. If you can keep all that straight and remember where and when to buy what, then good for you. But that doesn't mean I won't give him a hard time about it if given the opportunity.

Last year, my brother wanted to buy a converter cable for his computer that could turn his HDTV into a large monitor. And without doing much research, he bought one for about $12 online. And he happened to buy it from a retailer whose email newsletter I subscribe to. And he also happened to buy it the one week it wasn't on sale. So I keep getting these emails with sale items, and about half the time, the exact cable he bought is on sale for $5.99. So every time I get the email, I forward it to him and say, "Hey, weren't you looking for a converter cable like that? Can't beat 6 bucks." And he never responds.

He responds to all of my other emails. But he never responds to that one. And I know it just eats him up that he paid twice as much as he should have for something like that. I like to imagine that he reads my email, realizes he failed for once and then starts silently weeping. And I hope that every time he uses his overpriced cable, he remembers that he could have done about 5 minutes of research and saved himself six dollars.

Also, this post is a lie. It's all about me. I bought the stupid cable and didn't look for a sale. Now it goes on sale all the time and I hate myself for not getting it cheaper. And by the time I realized it, it was too late to return it. Why do bad things happen to good people?!

Seen And Unseen

2011-06-21T15:30:00.001-05:00

Things I wish I could see more often:
-People falling asleep where they're not supposed to (conference calls, church, driver's seat)
-My dad "proving" he can still dance
-Watching golf with my grandmother, who's never even touched a golf club ("Are you kidding? I could have made that shot!")
-My golf ball after I hit it
-The face of the drive-thru worker when I order in an accent
-People getting hit in the face by projectiles on reality television (see below)

Things I wish I didn't have to see so often:
-Guys wearing skinny jeans or capri pants (a.k.a. Old Navy commercials)
-Facebook statuses that are just copy/pastes of lyrics (you know who you are)
-Wal-Mart bathrooms
-The face my wife makes when I order food in an accent
-Kardashians

Things I've never seen (and therefore must not exist):
-Aurora Borealis
-The interior of a Smart car
-A shiny new Dairy Queen
-A clean public bathroom
-Someone who thinks the movie was better than the book
-A better reality television moment than this one:

Get Off On The Wrong Foot

2011-06-16T15:45:00.002-05:00

I know it's been a while since I blogged. I can't pretend that three weeks is normal. But on top of being really busy and a good bit lazy, I just couldn't find a good spin on some of the funny stories I'd heard. So instead of spewing out mediocre to low-level blog posts, I figured I'd just wait until some good inspiration came to me naturally. And lucky for you, that was today!

Driving back to the office today after my lunch break, I saw a van in the parking lot of an abandoned Smoothie King with homemade sticker lettering on the windows. In block letters, it said "Foot Massages - $15." And directly below that, in all caps was "Cash Only." And I thought it was worth sharing this with you.

I didn't get a picture, so you'll have to take my word for it. And you'll have to believe me when I tell you that there was no phone number, business name or website URL on the van. And the windows were very heavily tinted. And it was in the back of the parking lot.

So, my question is this: Is there any possible way that was not a portable future crime scene? Is there anyone in their right mind who would get a foot massage from a stranger that only takes cash in a van in a secluded, easily-ignored parking lot? Because anyone who would do that deserves the CSI episode that will be dedicated to them when they get killed in that van.

Which brings me to my next question. Do these "foot massagers" (you're welcome to read that the way I meant it, which is "serial murderers") get any business? I know that 1983 GMC Vandura's are fairly cheap, even with the A-Team nostalgia they elicit. But I can't imagine that you'd get enough business rubbing people in a parking lot at $7.50 per foot to make a living. I must only assume they are criminals. And even if they're not murderers, they're drug dealers, at the very least. Right?

Which brings me to my next question. Do you think they'd attempt to murder me if they saw me taking a picture of their van on the way home? Because I need proof or no one will believe me that this death van exists.

Another Reason Nelson Mandela Is Cool

2011-05-25T16:30:00.002-05:00

I really like talking to people with accents (with one specific exception). I can't really explain it, but a person with a good foreign accent is just awesome. A radio station in town has an Irish traffic lady, and I catch myself listening to her in the mornings even though I only travel on two streets to get to work. It just puts me in a good mood when I hear an Irish person say "three-car pileup" or "expects delays."

And I found out today that one of the prompts on our help desk 800 number switches to a recording of a Scottish guy explaining the different options. I've called it four times today even though I don't need help with anything.

So you may wonder what the one exception is to this (unless you have ADD and already forgot the first parenthetical of this post). Well, it's South African. But don't get me wrong. It's an amazing accent. I think it sounds really cool. But I'm completely unable to imitate it. All the other major ones I can impersonate to some degree. English, Irish, Indian, Spanish, French, German, Russian, Australian… no problem. In fact, even though you can't tell, I'm actually writing this post with a Scottish accent (not joking). And I occasionally order at the drive-thru window with a weird accent just because it's fun (and because my wife hates it).

But for the life of me, I can't pin down the South African thing. But it's not for lack of trying. I've seen Invictus like 150 times. And I made friends with South African people just to study their dialect. But I make no progress. And it haunts me. I just know that I'll be "discovered" one day for my dialectical talents (like a male Meryl Streep) and they'll offer me a part in a big-budget Hollywood film. But they'll fire me and laugh me out of my expensive trailer when I'm told the movie is based in South Africa. And my dreams will be crushed.

If you want to know how this feels, try saying "mama" with your mouth wide open. Don't let your lips touch. It sounds like nGa-nGa, doesn't it? See how frustrating that is? You know you can do it, but no matter how hard you try, you can't get it to sound the same. That is my curse.

It's Just A Cup, But I'm Neurotic

2011-05-24T16:00:00.000-05:00

Everyday, there is a paper coffee cup on the counter in the men's bathroom. But there is never a potential owner of said cup in the bathroom with it. And the cup is dry, inside and out. And it doesn't have any trace that it's been used to hold coffee. And everyday, I pick up the cup, and look inside to find it utterly empty and unused. Then I throw it in the trash, shaking my head.

One day I decided that it was probably just weird timing. Maybe someone brought it in there and the few days I found it, they were about to waltz back in to grab the forgotten cup. So I left it there. And it sat there in the same spot for two days. So I threw it away again. And the next morning, a new cup was on the counter.

I've also paid attention to where it sits on the counter, thinking it might be to catch a leak from the ceiling that starts after I leave for the day. But the cup is in a different spot every time I go in there. And one day I saw it at 8:15 in the morning. So I threw it away. And lo and behold, when I went back in at 10:00, another cup was there.

And I've come to a conclusion that you must have come to while reading this post. I am steadily going insane. "It's just a cup, what do you care?" you might ask me. But it's not just a cup. It's a series of cups with no perceivable purpose. And someone who doesn't know me (because nobody in this office knows me) is doing this simply to mess with me. And they're destroying my slowly unraveling mind.

I don't think I can win this one. They have an unlimited supply of cups, and I can't stand in the bathroom and wait to catch them because that's frowned on (it's in the handbook). But if I leave the cup in the bathroom, my brain will explode. So short of leaving an ill-received passive-aggressive note, I'm not sure what to do. I think I have to quit.

Preventing Daddy Issues

2011-05-23T16:30:00.001-05:00

I have this fear as a parent that I'm going to miss a big event in one of my children's lives. I'm not sure why I have this fear. Oh wait… yes I do. It's because there are so many movies where parents miss important events because they're selfish or career-driven. And if you need proof, go watch the movies listed below; because of each of them has a plot element where the parent misses something and the child is hurt by it. And in most cases, the relationship between the parent and the child has been damaged almost beyond repair.

Hook
The Sixth Sense
Austin Power 3
Despicable Me
Save the Last Dance
Liar, Liar
Man of the House (1995 Chevy Chase/J.T.T. film)

And since I believe any theory that's present in at least seven movies must be irrefutably true, I know that I can't miss a single important event in my kids' lives. So I can't miss any ballet recital, no matter how lame, or any school play, no matter how laughably boring. And I certainly can't miss a sporting event, because there will be last-second heroics that I won't be there to enjoy. And if I do miss an event, the only valid excuse for it is a near-fatal car accident.

So anyway, my son's last soccer game of the season was Saturday. And I had a tee time to play golf across town that required me to leave halfway through his game. So my big fear (given the examples above) was that Andrew would score his first goal 30 seconds after I drove off. Then he would look to the crowd with his hands raised and try to make eye contact with me for that perfect moment of paternal validation. And all he would find would be an empty chair next to my wife (who would be silently weeping).

But that didn't happen. He did score his first goal, but I was still there to see it. And he was wholly unaware that he had even scored due to the fact that he's four years old. So there was no meaningful eye contact. He was too busy sliding on his shin-guards for the fun of it. But I'm very glad I didn't miss it. When he gets older, I have to start planning better. I don't want to ruin his life over a round of golf.

Let The Good Times Roll

2011-05-19T16:30:00.000-05:00

If you ever want to feel like an idiot, do what I did today. Drop a roll of toilet paper when there's someone else in the bathroom at work. And make sure it hits your foot and rolls under the stall door and goes 15 feet to the other side of the bathroom and stops at the paper towels. But be sure it rolls so that it rolls off the roll as it travels, leaving a 15 foot train of toilet paper as it goes. Then, instead of just leaving it there, try to pull it back by end you're still holding. It won't come back to you, but it'll roll in place while you collect a giant wad of paper. That'll ensure that it rolls right on out the door.

Then, just to make sure you've thoroughly embarrassed yourself, make sure to speak to the person that now thinks you're a moron. And don't just say, "Sorry." Begin a ridiculous conversation with your unnecessary explanation. In fact, say exactly what I said, "Sorry. That got away from me. It bounced right off my foot!" And then, when it dawns on you that they might try to return it, say, "But don't worry about it. I'll pick it up when I get out. There's another roll in here, so I don't need that one."

Also, make sure your voice cracks when you nervously say all that. And make sure one of your legs is asleep so when you try to stand up a minute later, you almost fall down. And be certain that your name badge is clipped to your belt during the entire episode so it's visible under the wall when this goes down.

There you go. That should be all you need to know. Now you're guaranteed to be completely humiliated. Just trust me on this one.

I'm Lazy And You Probably Haven't Read This Post From August 2009

2011-05-17T16:30:00.000-05:00

I think someone should write a list of elevator etiquette rules. Because sometimes I don't know what to do. Like if you're on the elevator with an old guy on a Segway. Do you offer to hit the button because he's old and he's on a motorized vehicle? Or do you warn him to watch his head on the way out? I did the former. But he said, "I got it" and zipped up to the buttons and pressed his floor, then zoomed right back to the wall next to me. So I felt really weird standing next to a towering man on a glorified scooter who I'd just implied was impaired. I guess that's a pretty rare scenario, though. But there are plenty of situations that happen all the time where I don't know what to do.

There are some rules that are unwritten, but universally understood. For example, if you're waiting for the elevator and someone you don't know walks up to wait with you, you are required to look at each other and give a half-smile while raising your eyebrows. No need to make small talk or say hello. That's just protocol. It's an unspoken agreement that basically says, "We're about to ride for an undetermined amount of time in a closet-sized space where we are required to look forward the entire time. Let's not make it awkward by interacting before we even get in there." And if you want to see me squirm, turn around and face the wrong way in the elevator. Nothing makes that ride more awkward than trying to avoid eye contact with someone who's facing you from two feet away. It's just unnatural.

But where I really need help is repositioning after someone exits. I was on an elevator the other day with four other people and we were all lined up against the back wall. We stopped once and the three people on the right got off. So that left me and the other guy standing really close on one side of the elevator. I wanted to move over so I didn't have to stand so close to him, but I didn't want to make it seem like I had to get away as fast as possible. I didn't know what to do to convey, "I don't think you smell bad, but I don't want people thinking I'm purposely standing right next to you." So I had to kinda shimmy down a little, leaving enough room so we weren't almost holding hands, but not moving so far as to imply that he had cooties. I think I did the right thing, but I still felt weird.

The only thing I've found to be a concrete rule (for me anyway) is to wait until the doors open before making your exit move. I can't tell you how many times I've made the mistake of taking the preparation step towards the door only to wait 10 more seconds for the doors to open. So I look like I'm trying to sniff the doors while everyone else just stares at me. If I weren't so lazy and overweight, I'd just take the stairs.

Two Things

2011-05-12T14:47:00.000-05:00

There are two things I know for sure about my milk allergy. First, I know that as soon as I say it, people think I mean lactose intolerance. But that's not the same thing. Second, I know that after I explain the difference between the two, people will simply file away in their brains the memory that Taylor is lactose intolerant. The problem I have with that is they will inevitably see me eating cheese or the occasional bowl of ice cream and they'll say, "I thought you said you were lactose intolerant." And the fact that they didn't listen to me will somehow turn into me being a liar.

No, I am not lactose intolerant. There are no digestive consequences involved with my consumption of dairy products. I have an allergy to milk, specifically a protein in milk called sodium caseinate (thank you, Google, for teaching me about this). What that means is that if I have too much milk and/or ice cream, my throat starts to hurt and my nose starts to run, and I get sick slowly. And the really sad part about that is that I'm a sucker for cereal. I have yet to try a cereal that I didn't like. I could literally eat cereal everyday and not get sick of it. I would get sick from it, but not of it.

I tried soy milk a few years back and decided it would be better to die of my milk allergy than drink soy milk ever again. I hated it. And it contains the protein I'm allergic to, so it's useless in my fight against my condition. But a fortnight ago (that's two weeks), I tried almond milk for the first time. I put it in some Raisin Bran, and gave it a shot. And I was surprised to find that it tasted good. There is no perceivable difference between regular milk and vanilla-flavored almond milk when added to a bowl of cereal (except my lack of an allergic reaction). It's like I've been reborn. So I've gone a little crazy on the cereal since then. I'm eating two very large bowls a day. In the past week and a half, I've gone through four boxes of cereal by myself.

And I realize two things now. First, anyone reading this is going to think I'm a weirdo for loving cereal so much. But I don't care, because it's awesome. And second, everyone reading this is only going to remember that I'm lactose intolerant.

Just Sayin'

2011-05-11T16:21:00.000-05:00

Things You Won't Hear Me Say:
- "Sixths" - (it's too difficult to say unless you say it in slow-mo)
- Any words with "th" in the middle of them, like "mythic," "method," or "lethal" - (they make me think I have a lisp)
- "I'm a hugger."
- "I think just a salad this time."
- "Extra mustard and pickles."
- "I'm buying."
- "I just finished the Twilight series."

Things I Regret Ever Saying:
- "My kids will never do that."
- "It's okay, I don't think the mold got on the other end of the loaf."
- "I think it'll be easier to lose weight once I get married."
- "I can't wait to see King Kong."

Things I Regret NOT Saying:
- "Wait, are there free refills on this mango juice?"
- "Dude, you have a booger."
- "Dude, your fly's open."
- "Dude, you have something in your teeth."
- "No, that's okay. I'm full."
- "Andrew, do you need to go potty before we get in the car for 3 hours?"

Busted

2011-05-09T16:30:00.000-05:00

My older brother decided at a party once that he needed to impress a girl. He thought she was cute, he wanted to take a chance, so he talked to her. And he decided he'd try his hand at lying.

Sidenote, here. My brother is not a liar. He's a very truthful, albeit somewhat boring, person. So this was out of character for him.

So to try to impress this girl, he told her that he played football. And being about 6-foot 5 with the build of a lineman, that's not a stretch. He's definitely got the physique of a football player. So he told the girl that he was on the offensive line for the University of Houston Cougars. He figured it was a safe lie because most girls don't follow collegiate sports enough to call him on it. And in this case, he was wrong.

Her response was excitement, as he had hoped. But her excitement was that she had met one of her boyfriend's teammates. She said, "No way! My boyfriend plays left tackle for the Cougars! So you must be a friend of his!"

I wasn't at this party, but I wish I had been just to see my brother's face. He realized immediately that this was a bad idea. She has a boyfriend - strike one. He plays football and you just pretended to do what he does in order to impress his girlfriend - strike two and three.

So my brother had to try to quickly explain his intentions before the boyfriend showed up again. And he thoroughly embarrassed himself by explaining that he'd never played football, and he was just trying to impress her. I don't think she even responded out loud. She just looked at him in disgust and then walked away.

I assume he left pretty quickly in case of retribution from a giant boyfriend was coming. And I honestly feel a little sorry for him. The one time he decided to lie. But I also have to give him credit. He at least picked a persona that she'd like.

How To Make Other Parents Mad

2011-05-05T16:00:00.000-05:00

There's a moment in the life of every parent when they realize that no matter how careful they are and how pure their intentions, they just can't win. This moment came for my mother when my older brother was a little kid (maybe 5 or 6). He invited a whole bunch of friends to his birthday party, and he was getting excited about getting gifts. And he wondered aloud what each kid would be bringing him. But my mother, being a well-intentioned woman who's always looking out for the feelings of others, gave him a little heads-up. She told him that some of the kids who were coming may not bring a gift, and that he shouldn't be upset if they didn't bring one. And when he asked why, she explained nicely that some people don't have a lot of money to spend on birthday gifts for other kids, but that was okay because the party was about having fun, not having money. And she left it at that.

But come time for the party, my brother got a gift from every kid there. And he opened one gift to find that it had cash in it. And instead of thanking the person like he'd done for every other present, he looked right at my mom with a confused look and said, "But Mom… I thought you said they didn't have any money."

So that was the day my mom learned that you just can't win sometimes. And I'm not sure we ever saw that family again.

Well, my day to learn that lesson was this week at my son's soccer practice. I was trying to help Andrew learn to be a little more aggressive on the field. And kicking the ball away from people and putting your hand out to get around them is against all the stuff we've taught him outside of sports. So I explained to him on the way to practice, as best you can to a four-year old, that he needed to be a tad more aggressive in his attempt to get to the ball. I didn't tell him to be mean or hurt anyone. But I thought it would be more fun for him if he really committed to playing the right way. And while my intention was for him to improve, it blew up in my face. Here's how it went at practice:

Andrew (yelling to me from the field): "Daddy, I pushed that boy like you said!"
Me: "Let's not push anybody, pal."
Andrew: "But you said in the car that…"
Me: "Okay buddy! Go kick the ball!"

I Shouldn't Have To Explain It, He Should Just Know

2011-04-26T16:30:00.000-05:00

One of the more frustrating things about trying to be a nice person is the amount of weird stuff you have to completely ignore. And if I could develop a program to help people increase their self-awareness, I'd be a rich man. Because while it might be funny on The Office for Michael to push the barriers of awkwardness and ignorance, it's not as funny in real life.

EXAMPLE #1

One of my older brothers thinks it's normal to clip his fingernails at any time… and in any place… in the presence of anyone. He actually carries nail clippers with him and isn't shy about pulling them out during dinners, meetings, or even weddings (yes, weddings). I understand that a person should be well-groomed. But I would much rather see a semi-unacceptable fingernail length than hear that clicking noise over a bride's vows. Especially when I'm sitting right next to him while he does it.

EXAMPLE #2

Another one of my older brothers doesn't seem to understand proper phone etiquette. He calls from elevators and concerts, he hangs up on me without any signal that the conversation is ending, and he puts me on speakerphone while brushing his teeth. Utter ridiculousness. But there's a new leader atop the list of infuriating phone etiquette breaches: eating fruit while on the phone. I know he's not messing with me, because he's totally oblivious to anything he does that might annoy other people. So somehow in his brain, it makes sense to chomp on a pear while he tries to tell me about the weather. It's like listening to Hooch drink from a bucket of pudding while a concussed person speaks in the background. And that's usually when I pretend I'm in an elevator and I "lose service" long enough for him to finish what is apparently an amazing pear.

(And in case you don't know who Hooch is, he's the one in the picture below that's not Tom Hanks. Now imagine him drinking from a bucket of pudding. Now you know what I hear in Example #2.)

All The Right Reasons

2011-04-25T16:30:00.000-05:00

This is my 400th blog post. And since I've reposted so much stuff and borrowed so much other stuff, 400 means absolutely nothing. Except maybe that I've spent a lot of time posting to this blog.

So let me assure you, my purest desires for this blog are still here. And in case you're wondering what those desires might be, here they are, each with an explanation:

1. Money. Lots and lots of money. - I'm not entirely sure how this works yet. Maybe some sort of benefactor. Maybe a rich cyberstalker with little to do with his/her money. Time will tell.

2. Fame. Lots and lots of fame. - Again, not sure how that works. I'm pushing two years on this thing and I'm not sure my parents even know I still post here. And if you make a graph of my followers by date (which I have), you can see a noticeable plateau since I stopped putting my link on craiglist under the title "need to sell this car quick before moving overseas - $300".

3. Creative Outlet. Lots and lots of outlet. - This one I'm feeling successful on. I rarely even share anecdotal stories with my friends anymore. When they ask me what's been going on, I just shake my head and hand them a napkin with my blog URL scribbled on it.

I'd like to pretend that I'd still write here if people weren't following me or actively/occasionally reading it. But we both know that's a lie. I do it for the people. I do it for the tens of followers I've amassed (only 6 of which are dummy accounts I created out of self-pity). Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go write my URL on a bunch more napkins. My supply is running low.

I Had To Google "Non Sequitur" For The Correct Spelling

2011-04-20T16:30:00.000-05:00

I'm not gonna lie. I recycle my jokes. I'm not funny enough to come up with something new all the time. So if I say something that I think is funny on Facebook, I usually use it here at some point. So it's time again to reimagine some of my Facebook statuses as a non sequitur blog post. Again, I apologize for the two of you who are my Facebook friends who also read this blog.

It's okay to be jealous of your children, right? I sure hope it is. Because my son sat up in his sleep a couple of nights ago (eyes still closed) and excitedly asked, "You have puppies?!" And considering my last dream involved finding a five dollar coupon for raisins, I'm really jealous. I want to dream about puppies, too.

Note to the people who make Banquet frozen entrees: If your instructions include the phrase "stir the lasagna," then it's not lasagna. Worst 84 cents I've ever spent.

A spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down. Unless it's insulin.

I never know when it's appropriate to say "apropos."

Conan O'Brien says he got this for his birthday. Now I want one too.

Fore!

2011-04-19T16:00:00.001-05:00

A few weeks ago I told you about my older brother picking up golf. I can now reveal that this was one of the many times that the "older brother" was really me. So all that stuff I said about how bad it was going to be and how funny it was going to be to see my older brother fail, was really all the stuff I was most fearful would happen to me.

So, anyway, I played my first real round of golf this past weekend, and everyone who expected me to fail miserably (perhaps just me) was pleasantly surprised. Because it seems that I'm picking up on the game quite nicely. I mean, I'm not a prodigy by any means. I shot a 132 (that's 60 over par in case you're curious), but all-in-all I could have done a lot worse. And I mean, a LOT worse.

The group I'm playing with determined as part of the rules that your score can never be more than five strokes over par. So the highest score you can get on a par 5 would be a 10 (9 on a par 4, 8 on a par 3). This means if you hit it into the woods on your 10th shot when the par is 5, you just move on to the next hole and take a 10 for your score (let's call that "maxing out"). And I'm happy to say, that I didn't max out a single time during the 18 holes. I mean, I did take 10 shots on a par 5 a few times, but the 10th shot was always when my ball actually went into the cup. The 132 swings I took accurately reflect my score. And most importantly I didn't fall down, sprain a muscle, fall into a water hazard, or hit anyone.

I even got par on one of the holes. In fact, I got about 6 inches away from birdying that one. And that made me think that I could probably start playing on the PGA in a few months. All I have to do now is practice and get used to tucking in my shirt and having a tan exclusively on the bottom half of my face. Because if there's one thing I learned Saturday, it's that golfers look stupid when they don't wear a hat.

Nostalgia Just Ain't What It Used To Be

2011-04-15T15:30:00.000-05:00

Okay, this is gonna sound weird, but I just remembered Binaca. I hadn't seen it, heard about it, or even thought about it in a really long time (like as long as it's been since I called someone collect). And I don't know what triggered it, but I just remembered it. Isn't that weird?

Well, maybe you don't think it's weird, but I was curious to see if Binaca was still being made. I figured it went away like a lot of other things from that era (baggy carpenter's jeans, cell phones with antennas, decent alternative rock, etc.). But lo and behold, it still exists! And that's not all. They actually have a Facebook fanpage and a Twitter feed! And you can't argue that that's weird. Okay, maybe you still don't think it's weird. But let me explain why you're wrong.

Binaca is from the 1990s. Period. That's when Jim Carrey asked someone (via his Canadian booty) if they had any Binaca in the heartwarming 1994 drama, Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. And now the Binaca people are doing all the new social media advertising that's become so popular for companies these days. But they're from the 90s! See? Weird! It's something nostalgic trying to be modern!

Still don't agree? Fine, it's analogy time. It's like Ralph Macchio (aka The Karate Kid) at age 50, on Dancing with the Stars. Or it's like finding out that the little kid you babysat when you were in junior high is married and has a couple of children and builds websites in his spare time. Or it would be like realizing that not only do slap bracelets still exist, but there's an iPhone app to design your own (I wish).

Still don't see how Binaca being on Twitter is weird? Fine, I give up.

I Can't Commit To One Spelling For That Color

2011-04-13T16:30:00.001-05:00

There seems to be some sort of struggle going on at the top of my head. Because all the hair on the sides of my head is turning grey (or gray). But the hair in the middle seems to hate the very idea of changing color. So they're going out, seppuku-style instead of facing the shame of the gray (grey) movement. So all the hair from my forehead to the tip-top of my head is making a grand exodus. What that means is that pretty soon I'll be mostly brown with a giant forehead, mostly grey/gray with a semi-full head of hair, or some horrible combination of the two. In other words I'll be one of the following:

A) George Castanza

B) Anderson Cooper

or C) Dick Cheney

If I had a choice, I'd choose gray (or grey). I would rather have a full head of radiant silver locks than a brunette comb-over. In fact, I'd rather be born with gray/grey hair than lose all of it. But I have a very strong feeling that it'll be option C before I'm 35.

And that brings me to option D; buzzing/shaving my head. I can throw up the white flag and skip all this nonsense by grabbing my clippers and choosing my own destiny. But due to my pale skin and the dark bags under my eyes, I'm really afraid that option D would look something like this:

Soccer!

2011-04-11T16:30:00.000-05:00

Whenever I go a long time without blogging, I feel guilty. And I always feel like I should explain why I took an impromptu hiatus. Because I've tried relatively hard not to become one of those bloggers who disappears and only returns to apologize for disappearing. So in lieu of an apology or a valid explanation, I will simply continue as if I had never disappeared.

My son started soccer last week. He's four and his instructor (me) has never played before. So given that combination, this was bound to be an interesting first team sport experience for him. And my goal was to teach him a few things that I thought would come in handy to help him perform better than the other less-athletic four-year olds. So I taught him one basic thing. And that was to use little kicks on the way to the goal and a big kick when he gets close to the goal. Brilliant advice if you ask me. Most kids that age just get in a big group and kick it as hard as they can. So that was the only insight I shared with him.

And we took him to practice and he performed wonderfully. I stood on the field with him and instructed him when to use big kicks and when to use little kicks. And my over-confident adult brain could not conceive of any possible problem with this strategy. Then came the first game.

What I failed to prepare him for was the fact that there was a completely separate team that was coming to the game. And they were going to attempt to kick the ball away from him at every opportunity. And needless to say, that was a shocker to him. And in hindsight, I should have predicted that. Because as far as he knew, soccer was just playing around with your friends and sharing. But the game started, and it was a rude awakening for him.

I imagine it was something akin to picking up golf with the impression that it was a no impact sport, only to be tackled as you take your first swing. He would do nothing but stand near the sideline and well up with tears. And that was completely my fault.

The happy ending to this story is that he got to play goalie for the last five minutes of the game. And he loves playing goalie. There's no fear of impact, he gets to purposely fall to the ground when he goes for the ball, and he gets to throw the ball over everyone else's heads. That was the saving grace for game day. And the other good news was that he had no less than 14 people there to cheer him on. So no matter what apprehension he felt during the game, it was quickly erased by the congratulations and high-fives he received afterwards. So all we have to do now is get him ready for next week.

Bad With Faces... And Names

2011-04-04T16:20:00.000-05:00

My wife's hometown is about 3 hours away from us. And we've visited there enough times for me to have met some of her old friends and some of her mom's acquaintances. But I don't usually run into anyone I know when we go there. So I turn off my "do-I-know-that-person?" radar when I go out in public while we're there.

As is my custom on these visits, I usually go to Best Buy to kill some time while my wife goes shopping with her family. And a few months ago, I was doing just that. I took my son into Best Buy and we just wandered around. And as we passed the laptop section, I glanced over and saw another customer staring at me. And I was about to look away when he said, "Hey!" and pointed at me. I turned around to make sure he was actually pointing at me and then returned a confused "Hey" right back to him.

And he said, "Don't I know you?" But I could honestly say I'd never seen this man before in my life. But before I answered I ran through the very short list of people I knew from that city. And when his face didn't match any of the faces I knew, I told him that I didn't think so. But he wouldn't let it go. He said, "Are you sure? I know I've seen you before. What's your name?" So I told him my name was Taylor and explained that he must be mistaken because "I don't know you and I'm not from here." I explained further that I was just visiting my in-laws and I needed to be on my way. So we cut our Best Buy time short to escape the crazy guy who thought he knew me.

Then the next morning, I saw the same guy! And I would have thought it was a weird coincidence if it hadn't been while we were walking into church together. And that's when I recognized him (because people look different in dress clothes). So I embarrassedly shook my head and tried to avoid eye contact. But he held the door for me and mumbled as I passed, "I told you I knew you."

So now, every time we visit, I have to make a point to say hi to him as we walk into church or as I pass his seat. But for the life of me, I can never remember his name! So I just say generic stuff like, "How ya doin', man?" or "Hey! Good to see ya!" Apparently I can only remember a face and a name if people never change clothes and always wear name tags. What is wrong with me?

Add It To The List

2011-03-31T16:30:00.000-05:00

People always assume that if you're getting an English degree, you want to be a teacher. And that was not the case with me. I have trouble handling misbehaving children (when I'm not allowed to strike them). And I have a crippling fear of public speaking. So if I became a teacher, someone would end up crying in the corner by the end of the first hour (most likely me). But people always asked me in college, "Are you gonna teach?" And my response was always a very emphatic "NO." And the apparently obvious follow-up question to any non-teaching English major is, "So what do you want to do when you're done with college?" Most of the time I would just say, "Graduate," and they'd laugh and we've move off the topic. But some people wouldn't let it go. So I had to basically tell them that I wanted to get my degree and then just get an office job and see what comes of that. And that's not exactly the answer they're looking for when they're asking a member of the next generation about their life plan.

So my point is that I still don't have a noun answer when people ask what I want to be. All the things I want to be are adjectives. Things like "successful" and "healthy" and "immortal." But I've never had a profession to point to as my goal.

But I have started a list of things I definitely don't want to be. It's basically a list of people I've seen that do a job that I could never do successfully. And that list includes (besides the obvious one - teacher) things like "Retail Manager" and "Toll Booth Guy" and "Mall Santa." But it's nothing against those people personally. If anything, I'm complimenting them. Because they have the courage and strength to put up with more than I can handle. It's just that I've seen their jobs and what people like me put them through. So I'd like to avoid those professions.

And after my lunch break excursion today, I added another very specific job to my list: "Guy Who Cleans Out the Vacuum Hoses at the Carwash." His job is essentially to clean out the evidence of my poor judgment. I spent 20 minutes experimenting, testing, and goofing around with that vacuum hose, and it's gonna make him hate his job. I'm sure he'll have a very different reaction than I did to the things that were discovered today. Where I was surprised that the hose could handle half of a month-old ham sandwich, he'll be disgusted. And where I was impressed that an array of dirty Kleenexes could glide effortlessly into the hose, he'll be repulsed by the clog he has to remove. And most importantly, when I quickly closed my doors and sped off from the ominous rattling noise I'd initiated, he'll be furious that his entire system shut down because of one very stubborn pair of sweaty tube socks.

If Superman Can Have Them, So Can I

2011-03-28T16:30:00.000-05:00

I have this problem where there are really dark, puffy circles under my eyes. I can't remember a time when I didn't have them. And I didn't mind them so much because I saw Superman with them in one of his comic books as a kid (see here). But people can't seem to get over them. I was asked constantly at my first real job if I'd gotten into a fight the day before. And I had to reassure my coworkers that my eyes just turned blue and puffy if I got up too early.

And I can usually trace the dark circles down to a couple of factors. Number one is lack of sleep. But since November of 2006 (the birth of our oldest child), I've given up on getting enough rest. If I can function, I'm good. And my diet seems to play a part in the color saturation and puffiness. But I don't see myself changing my eating habits any time soon. So I think I can deal with the eye bags.

But it seems that recently, they've started getting worse again. I'm not so vain that I've noticed it. But people keep asking me if I'm alright when they see me before 10am. And just last week, I had a friend come up to me at church on Sunday morning and ask how I was doing. I replied with my usual, "I'm doing fine. A little tired, but I feel good." And his response was not "that's nice" or "glad to hear it." He went with, "You LOOK tired. Did you sleep last night? Are you alright?" So I had to go to the bathroom to make sure I didn't have a busted blood vessel in my eye or something. And sure, I looked like I had two black eyes, but anyone who's seen me more than once in their life knows that's just how I look. So I figured he can get over it.

The Once And Future Employee

2011-03-23T18:44:00.000-05:00

You may have noticed that I haven't posted in a week. Or maybe you didn't notice, but I just alerted you. Or maybe you don't really care, in which case I wonder why you're even here.

Anyway, here's my ~~excuse~~ reason. I quit my job last week. It seemed that there was some shady stuff going on and I was forced to make a tough decision for my family. With the stress of having to break that news to my very shocked employer and then having to organize all my work for the remaining people, I didn't have the time or positive attitude to blog.

So with the new job (which is actually going back to a former job), I should have more time and positive attitudes to think of funny stories. Blogging for realsies should commence shortly.

What If I Skip The Setup For Today's Story?

2011-03-16T16:00:00.000-05:00

My older brother was standing in the kitchen at his job the other day (not the same brother who works with me). And he thought he was alone, so he relieved himself of some pesky methane. Or as my little cousin used to call it, he "bubbled." And not two seconds after he "bubbled," a coworker walked into the kitchen. The coworker obviously smelled the newly released methane emissions because he wrinkled his nose and frowned.

My brother was gonna try to play it cool because he'd seen this guy before in meetings for his department. So it wasn't a complete stranger. So he just continued washing his coffee mug, and turned to leave when he was done.

The funny part was what the coworker guy asked him. He didn't say, "What's that smell?" or "Did you do that?" or any other embarrassing attention-drawng question. He asked, "So are you new here?"

And the reason that's so funny to me is that my brother knows for a fact that he's met this guy on several occasions. And they've worked together for about three years. So the coworker was really saying one of these two things:

1. "So are you new here and you don't know that our company considers it rude to pass gas in a common area?"

-or-

2. "I know you're not new here. We've met on occasion. But I want you to know that I am now disavowing any perceived or actual acquaintanceship with you. I hereby and forthwith deny any knowledge of your existence as a fellow human being in my department. Good day sir!"

It had to be the second one, right?

Work Stories

2011-03-10T16:30:00.001-06:00

My coworker was telling me today about her bratty little sister and how selfish she was. So as a joke, I said, "Wow, that's bad. Is she an only child?" And my coworker didn't catch it. She just said no and moved on with her story. It made me sad that she didn't get the joke. Sad for her, though. Not sad for my joke.

We interviewed a guy at work today who had put "Graphic Design" on his resume under Experience. And then we asked him about it and he said, "Actually, that's a bit misleading. I haven't done any graphic design." And my coworker (who I now know is the coolest person in the world) said, "Yeah, that's misleading. Lies are often very misleading." And then he sent him out the door. It was awesome.

We have an empty warehouse attached to our office. Today to relieve stress, my older brother put on his headphones during lunch and danced to music on his iPod. He didn't know I walked in because he didn't hear the door. He's got some moves for a big guy.

You're Hired!

2011-03-09T16:30:00.000-06:00

A few months ago, my company was hiring an intern. And I thought it would be funny to anonymously submit a resume to my boss with ridiculous accolades and skills. I never owned up to it, and I used a fake name. So my boss might have thought it was a real submission. It's a shame an email wasn't sent for an interview. I would have sent an actor in to play Curtis. Anyway, I've copied the contents below for your entertainment pleasure.

Curtis T. Wonderbuck

1600 Your Mom St.
Awesome, TX 77777
myolderbrothers@gmail.com

Education
     Harvard University - Harvard, Puerto Rico
        Masters in High-Kicking
        Ph.D., Reverse Psychology
        Bachelor of Arts, Exuberance
        Bachelor of Science, ChuckNorrisology
        Bachelor of Scientific Arts, Awesomeness

Experience
     British Parliament - London, England
        Queen of England August 2001 - Present
             -Acting monarch of British empire.
             -Won 2008 Nobel Peace Prize.
             -Won 2008 Best Dressed Award from MAD magazine.
             -Trained and befriended 64 turtles.
             -Designed a new spaceship that runs on hopes and dreams.
             -Led 25 deaf/mute soldiers in conquest of Western Argentina
             -Utilized and implemented new dress code policy.

     Enron - Houston, TX
        Lead Shredder from November 2004 - August 2001
             -Won award for fastest shredder.
             -Taught secretaries and security guards how to shred stuff.
             -Made tons of money "legally".

Skills
-Can fit my entire fist in my mouth.
-Fluent in 86 languages.
-Never make any speling misstakes and I never forget punctuation especially the important ones

References and recommendations available upon request (not really, though).

The Gary Busey Of Golf

2011-03-08T16:00:00.002-06:00

I'll spare you the apologies for not posting more often and skip the empty promises of more frequent posts. I'm an important person with a real life outside of blogging and I don't need to explain myself just because you have a tiny picture on the right side of my blog.

Also, in case you're wondering, I'm waiting on a good Twitter name to come to me (or at least some more suggestions) before getting into that.

So anyway, my older brother is taking up golf. He's never played golf before in his life. I'm not even sure he's watched golf before. But he's gonna give it a try. And I think I'm gonna volunteer to be his caddy just so I can watch him. It's gonna be a train wreck.

And everyone has been giving him advice on what to do. They keep telling him to go to the driving range with a friend first and learn how to swing before hitting the course. But I know my brother. He's not gonna do that. He's gonna assume he can pick it up as he goes (like he tragically assumed with break dancing). And then he's gonna go all Happy Gilmore when he gets out there and do a running start on his first drive.

And my older brother is out of shape. So he's gonna be sore by the second drive. And then his performance, despite what you might think is possible, will decrease dramatically. And that's when the real fun will begin.

So I think I'll have to bring my video camera and get some YouTube evidence to post on here one day. I'll let you know how it goes.

Tweet Your Heart Out

2011-03-02T16:45:00.001-06:00

I'm thinking of starting a Twitter account. I'm on the fence because it's essentially a Facebook status site. But based on what I've learned from Charlie Sheen over the past few days, I think I might be able to gain a following there more easily than on here. And as you all know, there's nothing I like more than people following me (on the internet and in real life). So I need suggestions for a username. And then I need everyone to follow me from here to there (and then to my house).

And for those of you wondering what I'll be tweeting about, here's one that I'll probably roll out pretty quickly:

Just finished watching a movie called "The Perceived Superiority of Printed Media," and I gotta say, the book was much better.

So that's what you can expect if/when I go a-Twittering. And if you're my friend on Facebook, you've already seen that. So it will be double redundant if you read it on my Twitter feed.

Anyway, I'll take any suggestions you have for usernames. But I'll probably decide I'm funnier than you and come up with my own.

Parenting Advice

2011-03-01T16:30:00.000-06:00

There are some things I will never do to my kids. I've heard of people telling their kids that they're going to the store, but then they take them to a dentist appointment instead. And then when the kid finds out what's happening, they start throwing a fit and you have to drag them by their feet out of the car. And then people start staring. And then the kid pouts and throws a fit in the waiting room. But that's cruel. I won't do that to my kids. My children may whine and cry the whole way to the dentist, but they'll know where they're going. And they'll know I'm not a liar. But I found out today that it's perfectly acceptable to trick your older brother.

I didn't feel like eating lunch in the office today, so I asked my older brother if he wanted to go to lunch with me. He asked where I was going, and I knew if I told him the truth (Quizno's) that he wouldn't want to go. But I wanted to eat relatively healthily. So I said we could go to Taco Bell if he drove. And he doesn't know this area very well because he just started working here. So I gave him directions, turn-by-turn to what he thought was Taco Bell. And then right before the last turn, I said, "I don't want Taco Bell. Let's go to this Quizno's." He knew immediately that I'd deceived him. And as expected, he started throwing a fit. I had to drag him by his feet out of the car. People started to stare. And then he pouted and threw a fit while we were in the restaurant. But I got what I wanted and he finally gave up and ate a sandwich.

So here's today's tip. Just because you can't do something to your kids because it's cruel doesn't mean you can't modify it and use it on an adult instead.

The Jittery Feeling Means It's Working

2011-02-28T16:30:00.001-06:00

I got sick about a week ago. And I do two things when I'm sick. I get as much sleep as I can, and I take a maximum strength nasal decongestant. And I don't trust the garbage "medicine" that's just lying out there on the medicine aisle. It's easily accessible for a reason. What you have to do is ask the pharmacist for the good stuff… Pseudoephedrine Hydrochloride. Then you have to sign for it because they're trying to stop the druggies from making it into meth. That's right... it's such a powerful nasal decongestant that people can turn it into meth. And if that isn't a good enough reason to use it, I don't know what is. It shouldn't say "Maximum Strength" unless there's a real risk in taking it.

Anyway, that's what I do when I start to get sick, and it works for me. But the problem is that I usually take one dose of medicine too many. It's always when I still have a little congestion at the tail end of the illness. And I only find out after I take the final dose that I didn't need it anymore. So that means that every time I get sick, I finish it with four to six hours of heightened focus and misguided energy. And this last week was no exception.

I took my meth-like meds with dinner at about 7:00pm like I'd done for the previous four days and then started to wind down for the night. And taking "Non-Drowsy" medication when you're not really that sick anymore is a mistake. I tried going to bed at 10:00 and realized it just wasn't gonna happen. I was just lying there, with my eyes open and a faint buzzing in my ears (which was probably coming from my brain). So I decided I'd start putting together some bunk beds we'd recently acquired (see here for that story). I just thought I could start the process and stop when I got tired. But I didn't get tired. In fact, the more I worked on them, the more I wanted to finish assembling them.

So 3.5 hours, 34 screws, and one sweat-drenched shirt later, I finished. I assembled the entire set (which took two people to disassemble). And it made me realize something; the war on drugs would be a lot harder battle if the only side effects were heightened focus and extra energy. And the ad campaigns wouldn't be as convincing.

"Just say 'NO'… unless you have a project you want to start."

"This is your brain [shows an egg]. This is your brain on drugs [shows a delicious Western Omelet]."

Nice Addition

2011-02-25T15:30:00.002-06:00

I wrote a note to myself at work last week about a report I needed regarding some unknown product categories. And then I forgot about it for about a week (because I'm a slacker). And then I looked at my notes to see if I missed anything and I saw that note to myself. Only, instead of writing "Unknown Categories Report Needed" like a normal person, I had decided to abbreviate. So I wrote "Unknown Cats Report - ASAP." And one of my coworkers happened to see the note on my desk when I wasn't looking and decided to add his own little note underneath it. So my note looked like this:

Unknown Cats Report - ASAP
"SERIOUSLY?! WHO ARE THESE CATS? I NEED A REPORT!"

It was pretty funny. And you can trust me on that because I know funny. I write a humor weblog on the interwebs that's followed by almost 78 people! Jealous? Yeah, that's right.

It Worked! It Worked?

2011-02-24T16:30:00.000-06:00

I don't catch a lot of breaks. Some people get stuff to fall in their laps without even trying. They get the first spot in the parking lot, they find a $100 bill on the sidewalk, they win stuff on the radio. I am not one of those people. Rarely does anything convenient happen to or for me. And don't get me wrong, I'm not bitter about that. I don't need a bunch of cool coincidences and good timing to be happy. It's just that I have to set up my story before I tell it.

So I mentioned recently that my Xbox 360 died. It was old and past its prime, so it was no big surprise. And then as luck would have it, Amazon went out of stock of the newest model the day mine broke. So I waited. And I found a cash back deal that would give me $15 back if I bought something on Amazon for more than $30 by February 17th. Then the 17th started getting closer. And Amazon didn't get any models in stock. And on the last day, Amazon had a deal on the smaller model (with a Kinect included). So I decided to roll the dice and buy the smaller model in an attempt to exchange or trade it later for the model I wanted (since they're the same retail price and I already have a Kinect).

And this is the weird part for me. I looked up my desired model on craigslist and texted the first person I found (good thing that part is in context), asking if they'd be willing to trade. It was a long shot, but I figured it was worth a try. And not only was he willing to trade straight up with his brand new model, but he lived less than five minutes from my house! So I met him (in a well-lit, crowded area in case he tried to abduct or murder me) and we traded Xboxes right then and there and the whole trip took 12 minutes. It could not have gone any smoother.

And I have to reiterate, this never happens for me. The first person I contact just happened to want the exact same trade I was proposing. And then he lived in the same part of town. Usually the way it works out for me is that the guy lives 150 miles away and he doesn't have what he says he has. And I get pulled over on the way home for speeding. And I get a flat tire as I pull into the driveway. So this was a nice change of pace. Now it's off to play video games for the first time in a month!

DIBS First, Ask Questions Later

2011-02-22T16:30:00.001-06:00

Since I'm such a fan of free stuff, I'm always on the lookout for giveaways and coupons and stuff like that. Whenever I hear someone start a sentence with, "Hey, does anybody want…" I immediately say "DIBS!" And I usually do it before they even finish their sentence. That's how I've gotten a free pool table, a Duracell induction charging station, a digital copy of Inception, and (perhaps most impressively) a Spicy Chicken Biscuit from Chick-fil-A. So when someone at our church emailed everyone last week saying they had some bunk beds they were giving away, my wife and I emailed immediately (even though she wouldn't let me respond with a simple "DIBS!").

The catch was that I had to go to their house and dismantle them, load them into my car, and unload them into my house once I got home. A small price to pay for beds that are stackable. And step 1 went smoothly. I dismantled the bed pretty quickly. But loading the bed components was a nightmare. It wasn't for lack of room. I'm very adept at packing a car with boards and beams. It was the mattresses being tied to the roof-rack that became the problem.

Now if it was just me doing it, it would have taken about three minutes. But as luck would have it, the family that gave us the beds is a family of scouts. Their son is a Boy Scout and the wife is the troop leader. And I'm fairly sure the husband can build a fire with wet pinecones and a piece of cement. The problem was that they had special knots they wanted to use to tie the mattresses down. And they spent a good 10 minutes just deciding which knot would be best for each corner. Then they took another 5 minutes on each knot, making sure the mattresses were secure enough to survive driving them through a hurricane. Even if my car was torn apart by 650 mile/hour winds, the mattresses would still be tied securely to the roof-rack.

Then I got home and had to untie each of their 12 different knots to unload everything. Now my fingers hurt and I'm not convinced they weren't messing with me.

It Can't Be Comfortable, Even If It's Velvet

2011-02-21T16:30:00.000-06:00

I'll apologize in advance for those of you offended by the words "butt" or "wedgie." I will be using them multiple times during today's post. So if you're not comfortable reading them, please skip this post. And for those of you sticking around, let us venture on into today's story!

So I went out to eat with my family recently and we decided to try out a newly-opened Mexican restaurant in town. We weren't sure what the dress code was since it was a new place, so we took a chance and wore jeans. And after comparing our clothing with that of the people at the table next to us, we realized we were highly overdressed. I say this because the people at the table next to us were wearing artistically torn Ed Hardy shirts with trucker hats (for the guys) and crushed velvet tracksuits (for the girls). And I don't think the tracksuits were meant to be "crushed" velvet. I think they started out as velvet and were overworn to the point of crushing.

Now I'm sure some or most of you are familiar with a brand of clothing called "PINK" or "LOVE PINK" (I'm not sure on the official name, but that's what's plastered all over the outfits). And across the butt is usually the word "PINK" with the "PI" on the left and the "NK" on the right (I didn't want to say "cheek" but that's what I'm talking about when I say "left" and "right"). Now in my family, instead of talking about wedgies openly, we try to come up with creative ways to discuss these backend clothing anomalies. An example of this would be one of us saying "Her pants are so far up there, I wonder if she can taste them." Or my personal favorite… "I think her butt is hungry because it's trying to eat her pants."

Well, one particular young lady was wearing a "PINK" tracksuit and had the most colossal wedgie I've ever witnessed in my life. It was so intense, that her butt simply read "PK" instead of "PINK." Her butt had actually devoured the middle two letters of the word! And the normal ways of describing wedgies were just not enough. So we spent the rest of the meal trying to figure out a new term that would do it justice. We decided on a term and I think we're going to keep using it because it's so fun to say. So the next time you see a monumental, gravitational-pull-of-a-planet type of a wedgie, join us in referring to it as "The Very Hungry Butt-apillar." (Now say it out loud. I told you it was fun!)

Comments On My Comment?

2011-02-17T16:15:00.000-06:00

I saw a zebra car the other day. And I don't mean a car with a zebra paint job. I mean a zebra car. "What's the difference?" you might ask. Well, a car with a zebra paint job is just that. But a zebra car comes complete with a 6-foot tail and floppy ears.

I posted this on my Facebook status and my older brother told me he was disappointed in me because I didn't provide pictures (using the word "disowned" in his comment). And I took that as a challenge to respond with a super funny comment. You be the judge of whether or not it's funny. Here's what I wrote:

In my defense, I'm kind of an idiot. Also, the last time I took a picture of something weird I saw, it ended up being a hallucination. And the lady I mistook for a "hobbit clown" was offended.

So what do you think? Funny enough? Original enough? If not, what should I have said?

Nepotism Schmepotism

2011-02-16T16:15:00.001-06:00

My older brother got hired on with my employer. Which is great news. He's needed a new line of work for a while, and I think he'll be good at the new job. But I do have one complaint.

Just five minutes after my older brother walked in for his interview, he was already showing me up. I was immediately told that I'd lost my cool nickname ("Grizz") because my facial hair paled in comparison to that of my brother's. And I was bombarded with questions ("Wow, how tall is he?" and "Is he really named after the legendary Dallas Cowboys' coach?") which all translated to "Why aren't you as cool as him?"

And if that wasn't enough, he got a cooler nickname. They're gonna call him "Grizz 2.0" because he's the new, improved Grizz. So not only did I lose my nickname, but he got an improved version of it.

Okay, it wasn't really that bad. He's a likeable guy and everybody who met him agreed. And I will do my best not to pretend I got him the job. I'll try really hard not to tell him that he "owes me one." And I won't necessarily hold it over his head and make him buy me lunch (Taco Bell) or remind him what I had to do to get his resume in the right hands. I won't do that (probably).

But I will blog about it. And I think having my older brother working with me will give me some more material for this blog. But if he embarrasses me too much, I'll be forced to destroy him. Landry, if you're reading this… you've been warned. And congratulations on the job!

Proof That Inception Is Possible

2011-02-15T15:30:00.000-06:00

When my wife and I were dating in college, I would go hang out with her and her roommates a lot. One day I had a class that was cancelled (okay, I skipped). So I showed up at their apartment and noticed that one of my wife's roommates (we'll call her "Eva") had left her keys in the door. I figured it was an accident, so I decided to mess with her. Since they weren't expecting me to be there that early in the day, I grabbed her keys and moved her car around the corner out of view. Then I waited about 10 minutes for good measure and knocked on the door.

And this is where the beauty of a good prank is… in the details. It's too easy to say, "Hey, someone just drove off in your car." And it would be too obvious. You have to let the prank recipient come to their own conclusion. It's a lot like what they did in Inception. You have to make your subject believe the idea was their own.

So as soon as "Eva" answered the door, the following exchange took place:

Me: "Hey, did I just miss your brother?"
Eva (confused): "What do you mean?"
Me: "Lloyd. Is he borrowing your car again?" (It took me ten minutes to remember his name.)
Eva (looking at her empty parking spot): "No, he wasn't here. But where's my…."

That's when "Eva" looked around the parking lot and stared into space for a moment. Then she suddenly looked at the doorknob and clapped her hand over her mouth with a gasp. So I had to keep playing my part:

Me: "What? What's wrong?"
Eva: "I left my keys in the door!"
Me (holding back a grin and acting thoroughly confused): "For Lloyd?"
Eva: "No. Oh no! Oh no!"

Then she bolted into the apartment and told her roommates that someone stole her car. And since I hadn't let either of them in on the joke, they reacted perfectly and they went into a tizzy over what might have happened to her car. I let her freak out about it for a few minutes (while everyone kept saying "oh no" and kept looking up and down the street with both hands on their heads). And as soon as she picked up the phone to call the police, I handed her the keys.

She learned a valuable lesson that day (don't live with anyone who would date me). And while I lost a friend forever, it was totally worth it. You should have seen her face!

All Is Well

2011-02-14T16:15:00.000-06:00

Sorry for the delay. The day of my daughter's surgery was obviously very hectic. Then my wife and I had the brilliant idea to get a horrible stomach bug for three straight days as soon as we got home. So we were out of commission for a while there. I had trouble remembering who I was a few times, let alone remembering I had a blog to post to.

But anyway, the surgery went great. My little girl has a giant bright pink cast for two weeks and the doctor said everything went perfectly. She's already realized that the cast makes a great weapon against her older brother. We're just thankful that it's all over now. The pre-surgery nerves are finally gone.

But I do have to tell you that we picked the worst seats in the entire hospital right before the procedure. We inadvertently sat at the door that leads to the operating rooms. So we were eyewitnesses to every parent saying goodbye to their children right before surgery. That is not a fun place to be for three hours. And we had nowhere else to sit.

On a lighter note (literally), due to the stomach bug and no desire for food, my wife and I each lost 10 pounds last week. So all-in-all, a good week. Although I wouldn't have said it while it was happening.

Pre-Op

2011-02-08T16:00:00.001-06:00

My little girl is having surgery tomorrow morning. She injured her finger about six months ago, and it's been determined that she needs a skin graft to straighten her finger. I'll spare the details because it's just sad and unnecessary, but basically she hurt her finger and then started healing faster than most little kids do. And while that sounds really awesome and Wolverine-like, it's really bad in reality. Because it means that her scar tissue was harder and caused her finger to heal in a bent position. And that means they have to fix it in the operating room.

The hard part is that she really has no idea what's coming. She's two, so the most she can grasp is that a doctor is going to fix her finger tomorrow. We don't want to scare her with details about being sedated, and she really can't understand much about it anyway. So we feel like we're tricking her or something.

And I have to admit, I'm really freaked out by this whole thing. I'm usually pretty level-headed about things like this. But just the thought of her being put out for the procedure is scaring the daylights out of me. I don't like it, and I don't like thinking about it. And if I say that to my wife, I'll just scare her even more (which would be a bad idea). So I'll just confess it here on the blog. And she'll find out a month from now when she's bored with Facebook and decides to catch up on my posts.

So anyway, no funny story today. But at least I have a better excuse than the usual laziness. I know we have nothing to worry about, but that doesn't change the fact that I'm worried. I guess that's just part of the parenting gig.

Am I O-blog-ated To Post?

2011-02-03T16:30:00.001-06:00

Today I'm having one of those classic blog probems. Nothing interesting or funny has happened to me. None of my older brothers has told me a funny story. But I feel like I should blog more often since I actually have followers.

So do I make up a ridiculous story that no one would believe? Do I over-embellish a boring story just to post something? Do I post my Facebook statuses? Or do I just call it a day and try to blog tomorrow?

What I settled on today was a glimpse into my internal struggle. But who knows what I'll decide tomorrow.

Sidenote: It's supposed to snow tonight in my warm-climate Texas town. It's hard to think about anything else.

Snickerdoodle-Doo!

2011-02-02T16:30:00.000-06:00

My older brother told me today that Blue Bell now makes a "Snickerdoodle" flavor. It was all I had not to leave my desk and drive straight to the grocery store the moment I heard this. If you don't know what Blue Bell is, you're missing out. It's a Texas-based ice cream company that has really good ice cream. And if you don't know what a snickerdoodle is, then you haven't lived. It's basically a cinnamon sugar cookie. But honestly, that description doesn't do it justice. A well-made snickerdoodle is more like a cookie-shaped piece of happiness, sprinkled with pure joy, and deep-fried in hugs. It's the best cookie ever.

So I found out about this ice cream. It combines my favorite cookie with my favorite ice cream. And I was excited. Then I found out that the ice cream has actual chunks of snickerdoodles mixed right in!

Now I need to mention that I have this pesky allergy to milk and ice cream. It's not lactose intolerance (because that's lame). I can have cheese and yogurt all I want. But I think it's some kind of allergy to a protein in milk. Anyway, it means I can't eat too much ice cream or drink too much milk unless I want to get sick.

So it seems that Blue Bell is trying to kill me… with awesomeness. And I'm thinking it might be worth a near-death experience just to have three bowls of this ice cream.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!

2011-02-01T16:30:00.001-06:00

Well it finally happened. I was playing Xbox, and the video signal started going out. I started getting horizontal lines all over the screen. The reds looked orange. The blue looked green. Something was wrong. So I borrowed an extra video cable from my older brother and hoped for the best. That turned out to be false hope. My Xbox is now dead. After three years and hours upon hours of play time, my Xbox is dead.

I looked into tutorials online to fix my problem, but they involve soldering things on the motherboard (which sounds too sci-fi for me). And one of the tutorials warned of the risk of electrocution. So there's no hope that I can fix it on my own. And that means having to buy a new one.

And yes, I do need to replace it. It's my only hobby and it's what we use to watch DVDs and stream Netflix and communicate with some of my online-only friends (aka "ugly people"). So it's not just about the gaming. It's mostly about the gaming, but not all about the gaming.

Anyway, now I have two choices. I can either buy a used one for fairly cheap and risk it going out on me without a warranty, or I can buy a new one with a wonderful warranty for three times as much money. The pros and cons lists aren't helping. It's a dead heat due to the price factor. And as soon as I settle on one choice, I chicken out and start over.

But I know myself well enough to know what I'm gonna do. I have enough money in my Amazon account to buy a new one today. And look at the difference below. It's obvious I'm gonna get the sleek new black one, not the chunky boring white one. I can kid myself with pros and cons lists and argue all the good points for buying a used one. But I just know I'm gonna get the new one and blow that $300. Goodbye Amazon balance!

Status Update

2011-01-28T16:30:00.000-06:00

In case you guys wonder what my Facebook statuses are (except the few of you who know me personally), here's a sampling from the past month or so:

"I just realized today that I'm an English major who got laid off at an engineering firm and then got a job at a marketing firm through an IT-recruitment firm. That's weird. I wonder what I'll be when I grow up."

"My biggest fear is that someone will find out my biggest fear. (Uh-oh)"

"Being a parent means getting to say really weird things… 'I can't eat this fajita any more. Madeleine's tears dripped into it.'"

"My hamster would have been 22 today."

"My wife just informed me that she has the ability to determine an actress's age by studying the condition of their neck skin."

"Is this a rhetorical question?"

"What if there were no hypothetical situations?"

"Stereotypes are a real time saver."

Only In Dreams

2011-01-27T16:30:00.000-06:00

My older brother called me during my lunch break today. And I was in the middle of a very intense dream sequence during my nap. So the only thing I remember him saying to me was, "Why are you breathing like that?" Then I mumbled something about naps and the line went dead. I went back to sleep and then back to work eventually.

But I just looked at my phone and it shows that I talked to him for five full minutes. So now I'm worried. I'm worried that I said something really weird or mean or insulting. And even if I didn't, I'm still worried. Because if I carried on a normal conversation with him without him noticing or me remembering, then there's no telling how many conversations I've had like that. Apparently, sleeping me is very convincing as a normal person.

I wonder if I've promised something or agreed to something in a sleep conversation. I bet I have. I bet I've told someone I'd meet them and then stood them up. I've probably lost friends while sleeping. I'm such a jerk in my sleep.

In The News

2011-01-26T16:30:00.001-06:00

I decided to try my hand at satire. And after writing a fake news story, I found out that The Onion does not accept, read, or appreciate user-submitted content. And I didn't want my efforts to go to waste. So that means you get the pleasure of reading my first attempt at a mock news story. Enjoy:

Study Reveals Children among Dumbest Americans

MADISON — A new study from the University of Wisconsin has uncovered a shocking trend regarding education and intelligence. After a decades-long research study conducted by top minds, it has been found that over 20% of the least intelligent Americans are below the age of 12.

"We're as surprised as anyone at these results. We've been told for years that children are our future. And the numbers we're seeing make that future look a little scarier," lead Education researcher Tony Brandaroni told reporters at a press conference today. "To think… we're allowing this specific group of people to stay out of the workforce at the cost of billions of dollars by the government! And it's all under the idea that these little morons will be running our country one day!"

The study was based on standardized testing data available for all age groups. So scores on SATs and state-required exams were taken into account. Researchers had a difficult time finding certain data to begin with; causing wind of a conspiracy.

"Of the miniscule data we found, it was apparent that adolescents don't have a clue what's going on. 98% of children in elementary school scored below 800 on their SATs," continued Brandaroni. "And we were only able to find a handful of elementary students' scores. This astounding lack of test results only confirms our suspicion that there's been an attempted cover-up."

The statistics they do have are quite poignant. Only one in 1000 children below the age of 9 have even finished elementary school. The jobless rate among kids between the age of 5 and 14 is well over 78%. That staggering number is astronomical compared to the national average of 14%. And of the children with jobs, not one profession was deemed to be "intellectually challenging." The bulk of work done by children was limited to the fast food industry, grocery store sacking, and factory work.

But the study hasn't come without opposition, and certainly not without some controversy. Child equality advocacy groups are crying foul. And critics of the research dismiss the claims as blatant ageism.

"Well that's just another prejudice you can add to the list these days," famed Education blogger Glenda Frenski stated. "Obviously they didn't conduct the research correctly. I know plenty of intelligent children. It's clear that these researchers wanted some attention, so they fabricated their test results to match their preconceived ideas. Children have been fighting for years for equal rights."

But the researchers are standing by their findings.

"These numbers don't lie. If you're an American under the age of 12 (and realistically more like 15), you're an idiot," said Brandaroni. "And we can quantify that idiocy with telling statistics about your lack of intelligence. It's hard to argue with verifiable fact. Especially when you're an idiot."

The Dead Language Of Love

2011-01-25T16:30:00.000-06:00

My older brother gave me a Latin desk calendar for Christmas. It has phrases in Latin with phonetic spellings and translations. And no where on the box did it say it had a theme. It didn't say "Funny Latin Phrases" or "Weird Latin Phrases" or even "Conversational Latin Phrases." It just said "Latin Phrases." So I put it on my desk at work and didn't think anything of it. But now I'm beginning to think it was a prank. Because after 25 days with the calendar, I've only seen Latin phrases that are related to dating (or could be construed creepily as relating to dating).

The first few days, I didn't notice it. They were innocent enough… things like "I'm just looking." And without knowing the context of the other phrases, that wouldn't mean anything. But by the second week, they were turning into outright pickup lines. ("You come here often?") And now they're getting into creepy stalker phrases, like "I'm crazy about you" or "Look deep into my eyes." And I think it's starting to creep out my coworkers.

So when I go back to work tomorrow, I'm gonna thumb through the rest of the pages and see if they get any creepier. If they do ("Your hair smells like happiness"), then the Latin Phrase-A-Day calendar people have a weirdo on their staff. Of course, it's entirely possible that this has all been planned out by my brother. It would be just like him to spend a ton of time and money on a joke like this. And if he did, kudos to him. But if he didn't, then there's one really weird calendar employee out there, working on a gem for 2012.

Well Played, Indeed

2011-01-24T16:30:00.002-06:00

One of my older brothers (no, not the weird one… no, not the angry one) really likes messing with people. I've probably mentioned this a few (37) times on this blog. But his latest Facebook exploits are priceless. This is what I saw yesterday:

Brother's status: "This is so cool! Facebook blocks you from typing your password when you comment! Check it out: ********* How awesome is that security feature?!"

I know my brother too well to believe that. Plus, I only make comments on Facebook when absolutely necessary (grammar mistakes by adults). So I didn't fall for it. But the first person to comment was the best. Because he really sold it:

Facebook Accomplice: "*******"
Facebook Accomplice: "That's awesome. It only changes after you click 'Post'."

And that's when other people started falling for it:

Facebook Victim 1: "whosthere"
Facebook Victim 2: "ilovecheesetoomuch"
Facebook Victim 2: "You jerk! Now I have to change my password!"
Facebook Victim 1: "Well played. Good thing my password isn't as embarrassing as his^^^."

I thought it was pretty clever. I might try it in a few months to see if I can trick anybody.

I Just Hope It Wasn't An Employee

2011-01-21T16:30:00.000-06:00

My older brother was walking through Wal-Mart recently and saw an overweight guy walking towards him with a v-neck t-shirt on. (Hey! Three hyphenated words in one sentence!) And in case you didn't know, guys really shouldn't ever wear v-neck shirts by themselves. And overweight guys definitely shouldn't wear v-neck shirts (try not to think about hairy cleavage).

Anyway, my older brother (after mentally moving past the v-neck fiasco) saw what looked to be a medallion on the guy's chest. And he thought it strange that a fat guy with a v-neck would be wearing a medallion. Granted, it's a little less strange to see that kind of thing in a Wal-Mart. But still, it was weird. So as he walked closer, he chanced a few more glances at the guy. And at about 30 feet away he realized he couldn't see a chain holding up the medallion. So he thought maybe the guy was using fishing line or something like that. But then he got close enough to see the "medallion" and realized that it was actually a very large piece of food that was caught in the man's chest hair.

Okay, let me know when you're done vomiting, so I can continue….

….

….

….

You good? Okay, let's continue….

Actually, there's not a whole lot I can say about that. It's self-explanatory grossness. If you're so over-confident as a hairy fat guy to unabashedly wear a v-neck in public, that's one thing. But if you can't even feel a tortilla-sized piece of food clinging to your body, that's when you have a problem.

I like to imagine the moment when he realized there was food on his chest. Was it a courteous passerby who mentioned it to him? Was it when he got in his car and looked down? Was it when he reached down at the register to pick out a candy bar and saw it fall down to his feet? I hope it was the last one. Because I bet he thought someone had thrown some food at him, and I bet he jetted up really quick to see who it was.

Accidental Naps Are Fun Too

2011-01-20T15:00:00.000-06:00

I took a nap in my car during my lunch break today. I've found I do that a lot more frequently when I stay up until1:30 playing video games three nights a week. I'm such a child. But anyway, it was the best nap I can remember ever taking (well, purposely taking).

I found out today that the driver's seat in the Legend goes so far back that you're practically horizontal. It went so far back that I thought it was broken. And then I had the pure genius idea of removing the passenger headrest and using it as a pillow, which worked beautifully. And a light rain started as soon as I laid back. And it was about 50 degrees outside, meaning my car was about 65 degrees. So I used my jacket as a makeshift blanket and nodded off.

The reason I know it was the best nap ever is because I woke up and forgot where I was. I was like, "Oh, I'm awake. Wait, where am I? Am I in a bed? No, my pillow is leather. Oh, it's a car. Weird. What time is it? Oh, yeah… I'm at lunch. Man, that was good nap!" And I was totally okay with getting up and walking inside. It was the perfect amount of sleep for a nice power nap. I didn't even miss my Snooze button.

The only problem now is that I'm afraid that in reality I'm still in my car, and everything I'm experiencing right now is a dream. And I might spend days, months, or years in this dream without realizing it. And then I'll wake up in my car and realize I've woken up for real. And then I'll miss the dream world so much that I'll want to go back and I'll spend all my time sleeping. Okay, maybe I should stop watching The Matrix and Inception and The Chronicles of Narnia back-to-back-to-back every weekend.

Shh! It's A Secret!

2011-01-19T16:20:00.001-06:00

So my older brother started a secret blog. It's basically where he rants about stupid people in his life. Family, friends, coworkers… you name it. He mocks people relentlessly and calls them names and stuff like that. I'm not sure he even cares about gaining a following. I think he just wants to vent. And I've read some of his posts. He's not really holding back. It's pretty intense. If you were the target of the post, you'd probably have to stop being friends with him because it would be obvious that he hates you.

Well, he forbade me from telling anyone we both know that he's doing it. He doesn't want to end friendships because of a blog post. He's intense, not crazy. (Okay, a little crazy… but not psychotic.) And I think I'm the only person he's personally given the URL to. And I'll honor his wishes on that. I don't want to essentially end his friendships with people by letting them read his angry diatribes about them.

But what I really learned about my older brother in all this is that he doesn't hate me. Because if you think about it, he would never give me access to the place he keeps all his personal angry rants if one of them was going to be about me. So I took pride in that. Of all his friends, family, and coworkers, he's absolutely positive that he won't be blogging about me. That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy (like a Furby with a fever).

Of course the alternative explanation is that he has another blog entirely dedicated to how much he hates me, and the blog he gave me is just a misdirect to keep me from finding out how much he loathes me and what his plan is to murder me. So let's hope he just doesn't hate me.

Bazinga!

2011-01-18T16:30:00.000-06:00

When I can use technology to do something cool or fun, I feel really young. I can stream Netflix on my computer, my phone, my Wii, and my Xbox 360. That makes me feel young. But other times, it makes me feel old. Like today, I downloaded an app on my iPhone called "Stealth Tone" that only young people can hear. And I can only hear it when I put it right up to my ear. And I can only barely hear it. That makes me feel old.

But what I really dread is going home to my family and testing it on them. I know my kids will hear it. But I'm terrified that my wife will hear it way better than me because she's younger than me by a year and a half. I know that's ridiculous. But I can't help it. If she can hear it loud and clear and I have to hold it up to my ear like a grandpa, I'm gonna cry.

The only solace I take is that old people wouldn't understand the second sentence in this post. So I guess I'm not old. But I don't like those little instances where I feel my youth slipping away.

On a lighter note, we finally got Netflix! I watched Star Trek on my phone during lunch yesterday and then finished it on my laptop last night! And I'm also gonna watch Mythbusters and Man Vs. Food and Big Bang Theory and all the movies that I missed because my wife doesn't like nerdy stuff. It's gonna be awesome!

That's Supposed To Be Funny?

2011-01-17T16:30:00.000-06:00

People often ask me, "Taylor, what made you want to become a writer?" And I tell them, "Nothing, stupid. Writing is dumb. I just like to blog." And that's usually when they tell me I didn't get the writing job for which I was interviewing. And then they ask me to leave.

Okay, that's obviously not true. I'd never say writing is dumb. And I'd certainly never interview for a writing job. But it is true that I like to blog. It's a creative outlet for me to spit out some humor without having the unwanted stigma of being a goofball for doing it so much in real life. (Plus, I can write run-on sentences like that last one without being graded on it.) And I've always enjoyed good humor writing.

I remember being introduced to the world of humor writing back in the fifth grade… bathrooms. Kids would write jokes and limericks on the wall for all to enjoy. And I learned a lot about what was funny and what wasn't funny. None of that is useable now due to the graphic nature of most elementary boys' wall musings. But what I really like is some good satire. For those of you unfamiliar with satire, it's basically The Daily Show and The Onion. They mock media by imitating the style and changing the content.

The first time someone told me about The Onion, I typed in the website and started reading. And I thought I was a complete moron because I didn't get any of the humor. It just seemed like a regular news site to me. And it wasn't until the 6th or 7th article that I realized I'd typed in theunion.com instead of theonion.com. The Union is a local paper in California that does not publish satire. And I'm willing to bet they get a lot of their web traffic from idiots like me who can't type "onion" very well.

Love Means Never Having To Say You're Wrong!

2011-01-14T17:00:00.008-06:00

Three days ago, I posted about my And1 slip-on shoes and how I like them. Well, I'm wearing them at work today as a testament to how functional they still can be. And I remembered very suddenly this morning why I stopped wearing these shoes 10 years ago. You see, when I walk on carpet, it feels like I'm walking on Crisco-coated glass. And on linoleum, it sounds like I'm walking on latex.

So I almost fell down when I walked towards my desk at 8:00 this morning because there isn't any traction on my soles. And when I walked through the breakroom to get coffee, it sounded like I had a terribly loud "gas leak."

But there was a reason I wore these today. I'm proving to my wife that I should keep them. And I will not accept that they're unwearable. So no amount of falling down or perceived flatulence could deter me from proving my point. Let my coworkers think I'm a big, farting klutz! I don't care! It's worth it to avoid being wrong again (and they probably already thought that). So I'll keep wearing these ridiculous shoes. And I'll keep standing for what I believe in (as long as I can keep my footing).

Because I'm Worth It!

2011-01-13T16:30:00.000-06:00

I got in a ridiculous argument with my wife last night. I'll explain it in a completely unbiased way so you can decide on your own whose side you're on. We went to Target to pick up some household essentials (soap, shampoo, Double Stuf Oreos) and I remembered I was about to run out of deodorant.

Flashback Backstory!

Six months ago, in the name of saving money in every way to benefit my family's financial situation, I switched deodorant. My wife found out I was spending about four dollars for each stick of deodorant and "we" decided that was too much. So I switched from Gillette to Right Guard. And I noticed during that time that the last few hours of the day are a little challenging for me, scent-wise. I've had to mask my musk with cologne if we ever leave the house after 5:00pm because Right Guard seems to lack the staying power Gillette provides.

Flashforward Currentstory!

So I decided to start using Gillette again, and I figured my better half would agree that it was worth the extra $1.50 per month (that's $18 annually) to smell good all day, everyday. But I was wrong. My wife was absolutely furious when she looked at our receipt (I'm exaggerating). She launched herself into a profanity-laced tirade that shook the very fiber of my being (I'm really exaggerating now). She got so mad that she hit me with our car (Is anyone even reading this anymore?).

Okay, but really, she said, "Your deodorant costs four dollars? That's ridiculous!" And I thought it was strange that I was trying to convince my own wife that $1.50 per month (that's 37.5 cents per week) was worth a better smelling me. Shouldn't she be trying to convince me to smell better?

I Know You're Out There

2011-01-12T16:30:00.000-06:00

This post is for all the people out there reading my blog secretly. Although you're not followers and you haven't told me you read my blog and you never leave comments (except when Anonymous), I'd like to thank you. Because you've recently become my greatest comedic challenge. Because of your secrecy, my goal has become to draw you out into the open. Every time I gain a follower or see a comment from someone who's never commented before or hear from my wife that her friend's husband's ex-roommate reads a post, I feel a little better about myself.

In fact, just this thing happened last week! I found out via a comment that two friends of mine have been "stalking this blog for a while" and finally admitted it publicly. That's why I do this stupid blog!

Okay, not really. I do it for the fame and fortune. But as of yet that remains an unrealized dream. So for now, my goal is thus: to be so funny or tell such funny stories that people choose to associate themselves with me and my humor without me having to beg them.

So keep stalking, blog stalkers. I'll draw you out eventually. I'll earn your trust and win you over with my subtle charm, rugged good looks, and ironic over-confidence. And you'll have no choice but to shout it from the virtual mountaintops… "I read your blog!" And then I can work on that whole fame and fortune thing.

You're Killin' Me, Smalls!

2011-01-11T16:30:00.000-06:00

I remember watching The Sandlot as a kid and hearing my Dad talk about how much he missed the PF Flyers he wore as a kid. (Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez was the man!) And I tried to tell him how ridiculous he would look wearing those today. He said that I just didn't understand. And I couldn't understand why he felt that way.

But today, I know how he felt. I put my 10-year old Doc Martins boots into our garage sale pile last night. And although I haven't worn them since high school, I don't want to let go. I felt so cool wearing them. (They had bouncing soles!) And now I'll be selling them to some weirdo for like five bucks in our Spring garage sale. That makes me sad. I'm going to miss them. I mentioned this to my wife, and she didn't really sympathize with me. In fact, her response was to tell me that my And1 slip-on shoes were going next.

For those of you unfamiliar with And1 slip-ons (pictured below), they were essentially tractionless slippers that had no function except to make you look like a complete tool. But because of my wife's little insult, I'm keeping them. And I've been wearing them out of the house every chance I get just to show her that they still have use.

As you'd expect, I look like a complete tool. That hasn't changed. But I feel better about myself when I wear them, like I'm still grasping firmly (delusionally) to my youth. And one day I'll see them in a movie about the 90s and I'll tell my son how much I like those shoes. But unlike my dad, I won't be saying that I miss them. And that's because I'll still be wearing them... in 2025. As usual, my goal will be to embarrass my kids and further embarrass my wife.

FYI, Protractors And Contractors Are Not Opposites

2011-01-07T16:30:00.000-06:00

My older brother parked next to me the other day in a parking lot and thought it would be funny to park six inches from my driver-side door. I decided I'd squeeze in anyway, thereby negating his lame prank and proving to myself that I could be temporarily thin if necessary. What I didn't decide to do was put my travel mug of coffee into the cupholder. So as I snaked my way into the car, I tilted my mug 91 degrees (yes, I measured with my protractor) and it poured a good 6 or 7 ounces of coffee (with French Vanilla creamer) directly onto my split-leather seats ("split-leather" means exactly what it sounds like it means). Then I had to go back inside to get a towel and realized my brother had watched the whole thing and was laughing heartily at me.

So now my Acura Legend has coffee in the leather and the seat is still a little sticky. The good news is that the whole car smells like French Vanilla coffee. Also, it was raining. Also, I missed a spot with the towel and accidentally mopped it up with my Dockers. Why, oh why, didn't I splurge for a pair with Stain Defender technology?!?!

Disproportion Control

2011-01-05T16:30:00.002-06:00

I learned a valuable lesson last month. I learned that it's not polite to laugh at people who are disproportionate… even if you're only laughing internally. Tiny head, big body. Short arms, big head. Just accept people the way they are and don't find humor in their weirdly-shaped frames.

I was in a crowded department store doing some Christmas shopping. And in most cases, I try not to make eye contact with people in public. Some strangers are weird and think that eye contact is an invitation to an awkward conversation. So generally I don't raise my gaze above a person's elbows. Well, I was waiting at the edge of a walkway for my wife when I saw a guy close by out of the corner of my eye. So I glanced over quickly and saw it was an overweight guy wearing shorts (we can do that in December in Texas). He was about 50 or 60 pounds overweight, but it was all in his torso. He had tiny little legs and the thinnest ankles I've seen on a fat guy. I took in all of that in the half a second I glanced at him. And I shook my head and laughed internally at how ridiculous he looked. I couldn't believe someone with those proportions would wear shorts. How could he not know?

That's when I learned my lesson. I decided to chance another glance at him. And I noticed he had the exact same shoes as me. Then I looked up and saw that I was looking at my own reflection in one of the big department store mirrors.

It was an eye-opening experience. And it taught me not to judge people based on their proportionality. Because that giant guy with the mosquito ankles might be you. And I'll use this story to announce my New Year's resolution. I resolve to gain as much ankle and calf weight as I can so I can wear shorts and look proportional again.

Schadenfreude!

2011-01-04T16:30:00.001-06:00

Okay, stay with me on this one. There are several seemingly unrelated facts at the beginning of this story that you need to know. First of all, I got my hair cut during lunch today. And I was seated at the far end of the room in the last barber chair next to the wall (with the wall on my right). And while the lady was trimming my right sideburn, I noticed she had a bit of a cold or maybe allergies or something (don't worry, this isn't a gross-out story). So she sniffled occasionally and she sounded a little congested. Then she realized she needed to sneeze. So she used the appropriate retail-service-employee-shoulder-sneeze method. Then she came around to the left side and started cutting my hair on that side.

Then she felt another sneeze coming on and decided the more polite thing to do would be to go around the wall into the next room and sneeze there. The problem was that she had to close her eyes before she made it around the corner. And her sneeze came faster than she anticipated. So as she came to the corner, she sneezed into the brick wall.

And I want to be clear here. I'm not telling you that her sneeze hit the wall. I'm telling you that her face hit the wall… hard. So hard, in fact, that she had to take a break from cutting my hair to regain her composure before resuming. And she had a big red mark on her cheek when she came back.

Now I'm assuming it was the slightest bit of pity for her that kept me from laughing out loud. But it was one of the funniest things I've seen in my entire life. I had to sit there for another 15 minutes with that scene replaying in my head over and over again and not laugh at her. If you want to see it, check my YouTube channel. Okay, not really. I don't have a YouTube channel, and I can only wish I had the incident on tape. But if you want to imagine it correctly, just envision someone sneezing while jogging. And then add a brick wall directly in front of their face. I can't describe it any better than that. Oh! Maybe I can call the manager and request the security tape!

(Now go ahead and look up the title of this post. You'll understand its appropriateness now.)

Guess Who Sets The Clocks After A Power Outage

2011-01-03T16:30:00.001-06:00

Last month my mom replaced her 1999 Chrysler 300M with a 2008 Mazda CX-9 (she apparently hates cars with actual words in the name). And since technology has changed quite a bit from 1999 ("It's got a CD changer!") to 2008 ("It's got a touchscreen!"), there's a bit of a learning curve with her and the car.

And like most parents with technology, it's not about learning how to do something. It's about learning how to undo something. It seems that if anyone born before 1964 configures a setting on an electronic device (computer, television, microwave), then that's the way it's gonna stay for eternity. And yes, my older blog followers, I know there are exceptions. So don't flood my comments section with your defense of the greatest generation (actually, please do flood my comments section, it strokes my already large ego). Because the reality is the vast majority of people from that era are fairly predictable in this respect. That's why the clock in my father-in-law's truck will never celebrate Daylight Saving Time and why my Dad's ringtone will always be "AT&T Tone."

Well my older brother and I know this fact all too well. I once changed my mother-in-law's cell phone wallpaper to a picture of me wearing a child's fireman's helmet with my eyes crossed. And it stayed like that for almost two years (until she upgraded to a new phone). I don't know how many times I heard her say to people, "I know. But I don't know how to change it." And my older brother can make the outgoing message on my parent's answering machine say whatever he wants because they don't know how to re-record. ("Hi, we're home, but we're screening your call because we don't like you. Please leave a message at the beep that we can immediately delete.")

So my brother was riding with our mom in her new car and helping her set up her Bluetooth speakerphone voice controls. He guided her through her contacts list, and she went through everyone's names and spoke them clearly and saved them to the system. But when she got to his name, she said "Landry" and he added "favorite son!" really fast to the end of it. So now, because my mother has no idea how to change it, she is forced to say "Landry favorite son!" whenever she wants to call him from her car. And you might think that would bother me since it implies that I'm not her favorite, but you're wrong. Because it's too funny to get upset about. (Plus, I know I'm her real favorite.)

And... Break!

2010-12-29T22:01:00.000-06:00

Alright, I'm callin' it. With one day of work left this week and no motivation at all, I'm just gonna stop blogging for the rest of 2010. I'd really be forcing it if I tried to think of funny stories for even one more day. And if I try, I'm just gonna over-promise and under-deliver, and nobody wants that.

But hey, at least I'm honest with you about it. I'll pick it up again next week/year (maybe).

String Theory

2010-12-28T16:30:00.000-06:00

My older brother called me today to complain about something. And it's one of those things that never bothered me before, but now it's really bothering me. He said he was driving behind a Tombstone pizza distribution truck, and the back doors had an enlarged picture of a finished pizza. And he noticed (as I have a thousand times without realizing it) that the pizza was cut, but the cheese was still attached to the pizza and stretching out as the piece was pulled off (see below for an example of this).

And he said that normally this wouldn't bother him. But he was stuck behind that truck for a good 35 minutes because it was a winding two-lane road. So he had to keep staring at that pizza slice. And he sat there trying to imagine a scenario where you cut a pizza and the cheese still strings off like that. The way he figured it, there were two possibilities.

First, the pizza could have been cut from the bottom. That would allow you to cut the crust underneath while leaving the pizza untouched on top. But that would mean using some sort of anti-gravity oven or flipping the pizza over to cut it. At the very least, that seems highly unlikely. And the other option is that after cutting the pizza, the temperature is still so high that the cheese remelts into a solid topping. But considering how fast my frozen pizzas cool off, I don't consider that very likely either.

So the only conclusion I can get from this (unless I'm missing something here) is that the Tombstone Pizza people are lying cheats who use false advertising. I thought about boycotting them for that, but then I realized I'd have to boycott all the pizza companies. Because I can't remember ever seeing a pizza advertised without the cheese melt string thing included in it.

Clean And Clear

2010-12-22T16:00:00.000-06:00

I guess I should have updated you guys on my hearing situation. I mentioned a few posts back that there was an issue with my ear, and I couldn't hear out of it. So I went to a clinic and got it taken care of. I'll spare the details, but basically it was a build up of earwax and they cleaned my out with some contraption that shoots water into your brain at high speeds. Well, at least that's what it felt like.

But I won't complain about that. Regaining my ability to hear was worth the discomfort of having cold water shot into my ear. Although it was strange how dizzy I got just from them unclogging it. It made me lightheaded and a little nauseated. It was like I'd just spun around in my office chair 65 times (trust me, I know what that feels like). But again… not complaining about that.

However, I will complain about one thing. If you're a doctor, nurse, physician's assistant, or some other version of a medical professional, then please remember this. If someone comes in seeking medical attention and the first thing they tell you is that they can't hear out of their right ear, don't sit on their right side and mumble your way through the appointment. It's very mean and kinda stupid.

The guy helping me out kept asking me questions about what was going on. But he wouldn't speak up and he wouldn't talk to my left side. It was one of the most frustrating things I've ever experienced. If it was on purpose to mess with me then kudos to him. But if he did it accidentally, he's just dumb. And that concerns me. I felt like I was in an appointment with Charlie Brown's teacher. Everything he said sounded like "wah wah wah."

Anyway, the good news is I can hear again. No verdict yet on whether I'll develop super-hearing. But I'll keep everyone posted.

Blah

2010-12-21T16:40:00.002-06:00

This late in the year and this close to Christmas makes it very hard to get motivated for anything productive. And my definition of "productive" seems to broaden considerably. So I haven't shaved in a while. And I've been too lazy to wait for my PC to shut down (I just hold the button down). And it's even creeping into my blogging. Because I have little to no desire to attempt blog humor right now.

So instead, enjoy the picture of a ninja I've hidden on this page (don't waste your time, ninjas are invisible).

It's A Trap!

2010-12-20T15:00:00.000-06:00

My older brother and I wear the same type of Hanes undershirts. But he wears one size smaller than me because he's not a fatty. Well, I accidentally took one of his when we visited him a couple of weeks ago and I didn't realize it. So my wife washed it with the rest of the whites, and I tried to put it on this morning. And I thought I had gained 25 pounds while I slept. I got it over my head, but my arms got caught when I tried to pull it down.

And then I got in a position where I had to either stretch out the shirt or ask my wife for help. So to avoid the embarrassment of having to be assisted out of a piece of clothing, I kept struggling. It was like a Chinese finger trap for my torso. The more I fought, the more I became entrapped, until finally I dislocated my shoulder and escaped the clutches of the evil shirt.

And since it was early in the morning, my brain wasn't working. It took me another five minutes to figure out what happened. I knew I hadn't gained that much weight overnight. So I thought maybe my internal organs were swelling or something. It felt like I was trying to remove a powerful anaconda or octopus from my body. I never want to go through that again.

Good Thing I Didn't Drop My Kids When They Were That Young

2010-12-17T15:45:00.001-06:00

I don't usually hug people. Family and friends know this about me. And most coworkers have figured that out about me. But I almost went against my hug-resistance movement yesterday at the Apple store. Because I dropped my phone on the concrete a few days ago and severely cracked the screen, exactly 13 days after getting it for my birthday from my parents.

Side note - Mom, if you're reading this. I'm sorry I broke my iPhone. I didn't want to tell you because I knew you'd be disappointed (parentspeak for "MAD"). You can probably figure out why I kept this from you. But don't worry, there's a happy ending to this story.

So I took my 13-day old phone to the Apple store and asked them what I could do about it. After making an appointment for 6 minutes later (complete with a confirmation email that I didn't get until I got home) and waiting for 5 minutes, I showed it to one of the workers at the Genius Bar. And she said it would normally cost $199 to get a new phone if the display is cracked.

And I'd like to say I turned on the charm and suavely convinced her to give me a discount. But I just frowned and fought back the tears. And she said that one word that hope dangles precariously from in such situations. She said, "But...."

And I just knew she was gonna tell me she could charge me half of that. But, even better than that, she said, "But... I can go ahead and replace it for free today. Merry Christmas."

And I'm not lying when I say I almost hugged her right there on the spot. I've never felt so much fondness for a complete stranger, except when I saw that 65-year old man do a handstand on a street corner in college. That was awesome. And yesterday was awesome too.

I Wouldn't Say I'm A "Proud" Owner, Though

2010-12-15T16:30:00.003-06:00

I am now officially the owner of a 1993 Acura Legend. I went to the courthouse again today and laid out my seven documents in a row (seriously, seven of them). And the lady behind the counter said, "Wow, you came prepared!" She, of course, had no idea that this was my fifth time coming through the line in the last few weeks. If I have five tries to get something right, I think I'll always be prepared by the last try. Anyway, I walked out of there as the official owner of my car. And I celebrated by getting a flat tire on the way home.

But I didn't let that damper my mood. In fact, I'm so used to changing flat tires (I've done it about 12 times now) that I got the spare on in less than 10 minutes. I felt like a member of a pit crew. Then I went inside with my hands all grimy and my shirt covered in grease and wrestled a grizzly bear while growing a beard and chugging a Mountain Dew. Very manly stuff.

But really, I went to Target and the grocery store with my family and did Christmas shopping and picked out fresh produce. Equally as manly, but not as obviously so.

Traffic Court Is Nerve-Racking (Or Nerve-Wracking)

2010-12-14T15:45:00.001-06:00

I think I know what it feels like to quit smoking. Because I have the jitters, and my stomach hurts, and I'm nervous. So if you want to know what it feels like, drink an energy drink with breakfast, an espresso with lunch, and then plan on going to the court house in the afternoon. I'm nervous because I'm afraid I won't get through the line at the courthouse. And I'm jittery from the caffeine. Anyway, it's a weird feeling.

And it made me look like an idiot during my meeting today. I couldn't get a sentence out because I was trying to talk so fast. It sounded like I was interrupting myself to say what I was already saying.

Speaking of interrupting myself, I have to cut the post short today. It's time to go to court.

Relax, It's Just Air

2010-12-13T16:30:00.000-06:00

I found out recently that not everyone can make themselves burp. It's a simple thing if you know how to do it. You just swallow a little bit of air and then pull it back up before it makes it to your stomach. I didn't realize that people couldn't do that. I just assumed that most people chose not to do it because it's gross. But as gross a talent as self-induced burping is, it's quite useful at times. In fact, I'll go ahead and give you two scenarios where it's very helpful.

The first scenario is when you feel a burp in your chest that just won't come out. It's that one where you duck your chin to your chest and then stretch your neck to try to coax it out, but it just sits there like a lump of air that's caught next to your heart. Those of us blessed with the gift of self-induced burping can swallow air and send it down to the trapped air. Then they fuse together and shoot back up your esophagus. I call this one the "rescue burp" because it acts just like a rescue worker when someone is trapped in a well or a collapsed building.

The more impressive scenario is when you want to really gross out your wife. This one has a more personal meaning to me because I've employed it for great use in the past. What I'll do is start off by complaining about some stomach pain. And I'll tell my wife that I don't feel so good. And I'll start to get up from my seat and say, "Oh no." And then, right as I get up, I'll turn my head and release a giant self-induced burp that shakes the walls. But I'll also add a little groan to it. The resulting effect is a very realistic vomiting sound. It's quite convincing (my wife usually tries to jump out of the way of the impending splatter). It's only funny for a few moments though, because it's always followed by a nice little fight about pranking people and how mean it is to do that to one's spouse.

The Most Wonderful Time Of The Year

2010-12-09T16:30:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow is our company holiday party. We're closing the office 6 hours early so we can all go to a high-scale Italian restaurant downtown. And then we get to go home after we eat. So I'm looking at a half-day tomorrow with a free/awesome lunch, and then I'll be home by 2:30 in the afternoon! I've been waiting all week for this.

And from the rumors that have been floating around, the boss insists that everyone order dessert and have coffee afterwards. So now it's a toss-up as to what I'm most excited about. Free fancy food, half of a work day, and required dessert consumption. I really love Christmas-time.

Speaking of the holidays, I feel like we're losing the month of December too quickly. I haven't had egg nog once. And I've only listened to Christmas music on four or five occasions. And I haven't watched Elf yet. But it's already December 9th! I better kick it up a notch. I think tomorrow during my completely free afternoon, I'll put on a green and red sweater and listen to Jingle Bells over and over while drinking egg nog and watching Elf ("What's a Christmasgram?! I want one!")

One Less Thing To Worry About

2010-12-08T16:45:00.000-06:00

I had to defriend my first person on Facebook. It was my little sister. But I had good reasons. For starters, she updated her status about 6 gajillion times a day. And it was never anything interesting. It was always "doing dishes" or "why does this always happen to me" or "can't WAIT". And I know I can take that stuff off of my news feed, but that wasn't all. She also liked to make electronic holiday posters and tag all of her friends in it. So I would see a notification saying I'd been tagged in her photo. Then I'd go to the photo, and it would be a WordArt drawing of "Happy Holidays" and it would have 435 people tagged in it.

And it felt really good to defriend her. It was like taking out the trash after it's started to stink. Or like sitting down after being on your feet for a long time. It was such a relief. I think I might find more people to defriend. It's very freeing.

Speak Up!

2010-12-07T16:45:00.000-06:00

The way my desk is positioned at work makes it to where 98% of the conversations I have are on my right side (your left). The only thing I have to listen for on my left is someone coming in through the front door of the office. And when I play video games, or talk on the phone, or do anything having to do with listening with one ear, I almost exclusively use my right ear. So naturally, when one of my ears decides to stop working, it's the right one.

I'm not sure exactly what's going on, but I woke up last week with what I can only describe as a muted ear. I can hear out of it, but only a little bit. And everything I hear on that side sounds like I'm hearing it from underwater. And up until today, it cleared up after a few hours. Something would unclog, and my hearing would come back. But today, I've sat at my desk unable to hear my coworkers, feeling lopsided and unbalanced.

I've tried everything: eardrops, Q-tips (against the recommended use), peroxide, warm water, pounding my fist against my sideburn. But nothing has worked. Everyone still sounds like they're talking to me in an aquarium. And it's starting to make me dizzy.

I'm almost to the point that I would try one of those ear candles (which always sounds like a mad lib). But sticking something into my head and then lighting it goes against my gut instinct. So I might hold off on that until it's both ears.

Curl Up With A Good Book

2010-12-06T16:45:00.000-06:00

I finally got an iPhone. My parents gave it to me for my birthday, and I love it. And I realized that I'm fast becoming a Mac snob. I have two iPods (a Mini and a 5th generation Nano), my wife and I each have an iPhone, I'm typing this post on a MacBook Pro, and I'm seriously considering getting an iPad next year. But being a Mac snob doesn't really bother me that much. Mac snobs are way cooler than regular snobs.

No, in fact, the thing that concerns me is that because I'm so used to using an iPhone (my wife's), that the "wow" factor has been missing from my newest toy. I feel less like a snob in that respect and more like a spoiled brat. But I did find one thing that I hadn't used on my wife's iPhone. I downloaded the Kindle app and started reading Sherlock Holmes on it. It was pretty sweet.

But the real story here is that I was reading Sherlock Holmes for the first time today. And because I saw Guy Ritchie's film before I read the series, I can only imagine Robert Downing, Jr. as Sherlock Holmes and Jude Law as Watson. I don't think those were the faces Arthur Conan Doyle had in mind when he invented those characters.

But the real real story here is that I was reading Sherlock Holmes in the bathroom at work today, and both of my legs fell asleep. Then the automatic-timer on the lights went off, and I had to wait for my temporary paralysis to go away before I could wave my arm out the stall door to turn the lights back on. And then someone walked in and found a person sitting in the bathroom stall with the lights off. Luckily, I had locked my phone so there wasn't an eerie glow coming from under the stall when they walked in. So I think from now on I'll limit my reading destinations to places that have chairs and manual lights.

"Don't Wanna Be An American Idiot"

2010-12-03T16:00:00.002-06:00

Every year when I was a kid, we spent a good portion of the summer in South Carolina with our extended family. We'd drive up to my grandmother's house and stay a while with her, visiting some cousins in a different part of the state occasionally. One summer, my aunt and uncle had a foreign exchange student with them. And she was there while we were visiting for a few weeks. And due to my cousin's accelerated, South Carolina-accented speech, the Spanish girl who barely spoke English (I think her name was Olga) got confused a lot. So I took it upon myself to translate his fast, Southern English into slower, unaccented English to keep her from feeling lost. I didn't want her to be completely confused the whole time she was there.

So I turned into her English-to-English translator during that time. And she got in the habit of looking at me whenever she needed something explained (or simply slowed down as was often the case). Well, one day we were planning a trip into Atlanta to see a baseball game, and someone mentioned taking a bus instead of parking downtown. And Olga looked at me and said, "A bus?"

This is where there was some confusion. When she said that, she meant it as, "We're taking a bus? Why would we need to take a bus if everyone here has their own car?" But what I took it to mean was, "A bus? What in the world is a bus?! I've never heard of such things!"

So I said, "A bus? Well… how do I explain? Okay, it's basically a really long car with LOTS of windows." And when I said "really long car" I put my arms really wide and raised my eyebrows as high as I could.

So then she had to explain to me that she knew what a bus was. They have buses in every country, and it's a fairly common English word. And then she explained that she wanted to know why we were taking a bus. Then, the little Spanish girl who barely spoke English did her first truly American thing. She shook her head and rolled her eyes at my ignorance. And though it really hurt my feelings, I couldn't help but feel proud of her for learning to judge people when they're stupid.

There Are Better Ways Of Getting Your Fiber

2010-12-02T16:30:00.000-06:00

My older brother works for a company that gets a lot of promotional merchandise. It's usually useless stuff like baseball caps and mousepads and stuff like that. But at this time of year, they get a lot of gift baskets and holiday items. And a lot of them have baked goods or candy in them. Well, one of their suppliers sent them a box of Mrs. Fields cookies. But instead of just regular cookies, they sent cookies with the supplier's logo printed on the top.

Now some of you might be familiar with fondant. And if you are, then you may skip this paragraph while I explain it to the naïve ones. Fondant is a ~~sorry excuse~~ replacement for good icing. It is ~~not even close to~~ edible (meaning it won't kill you), but it's ~~disgusting~~ not very tasty. And bakeries use it on cakes ~~because they're lazy~~ to keep a flat, smooth surface. And they can also print stuff on it a lot easier than they can on regular icing. So think of ~~sugar-flavored Play-Doh~~ thick, edible paper when you think of fondant.

The supplier had the logo printed on a circular piece of fondant that was then slapped onto the cookies. But as soon as my older brother opened his cookie, the logo fell off. Not one to waste a semi-edible piece of paper that had some cookie shrapnel attached to it, he took a bite of the fondant logo disc. And that's when one of his coworkers walked up and saw him.

But the coworker didn't know the logo had fallen off of a cookie. It looked very much like my brother was eating a supplier-sponsored coaster at his desk. And the "you-caught-me" look he had on his face didn't help. So now that guy thinks my brother eats flimsy coasters when people aren't around.

My Facebook Page Is Blowing Up Today!

2010-12-01T14:30:00.009-06:00

Today is my birthday. So today's post is the one where I wax nostalgic about years gone by and lament my ever-fading youth. But I won't do that. It's a waste of time, really. And I'd rather stay in complete denial of my aging and talk about other things.

My (actual) brother and I share a birthday. And we share that birthday with our mother. And as weird as that may seem to anyone on here who doesn't know me, it's true. Three family members. Three different years. Same birthday.

In some ways, I like it. It means that I'll never forget my mom's birthday. And growing up, it meant two different birthday cakes (and sometimes three) on the same day. I can't complain about that. But in a lot of ways, I hate it. My brother thought it was funny while we were kids to say "Happy Birthday" to me just so I would have to say it back. And I rarely get to use the phrase "my birthday." It's always "our birthday" or "THE birthday." So it's an unusual situation. I would compare it to being a twin, but without the twin perks (clothes-sharing, switching places in school, twin ESP).

The one complaint I have about getting older is that my age will continually get harder to type until I hit 30. Ages 21 through 24 were easy. I could get those with my left hand while typing. Then I started to have to use two hands to type my age. So the bigger the distance between the "2" and the last digit, the closer I am to 30. And I realize that is probably confusing. But just try it on your keyboard above the "W" key, and you'll see what I mean.

So anyway, I'll leave you with a quote from comedian Steven Wright:
"I plan to live forever... so far, so good."

It's Still Good!

2010-11-29T15:45:00.000-06:00

I'm not a smoker. I've never had the desire to smoke, and I've never understood its appeal. The D.A.R.E. program was a waste of money on me because there was never a chance I would be tempted to smoke. And no one I've ever known has been a smoker either. I'm telling you all this because I want you to understand how little I know about smoking. So when I tell this story, it may actually be that I'm the weird one (although I seriously doubt it).

My wife and I were standing in line last week for a Black Friday event. To be specific, we were standing in line outside of Old Navy to get one of the free Xbox Kinect games they were giving out if you made a $25 purchase (we got two of them, by the way). So it was about 15 minutes before the doors were supposed to open, and an employee walked out to get something from their car. Of the 150 people in line, 149 of us realized the store was not opening early. But one lady, who was out of line to smoke a cigarette, panicked when she saw the doors open. She thought for sure they were opening early, so she threw her newly-lit cigarette to the ground and scurried back into the line as quickly as she could. Then she realized it was a false alarm. She laughed at herself a little bit and got a little embarrassed. Then she did something I didn't expect.

She walked back over to where she'd been smoking and started searching the ground for her cigarette. Then she found it, brushed it off, and put it back in her mouth. Then she said, "Hey… five second rule, right?! Ha!" And all the people in her group laughed. The other 144 of us stood in horrified silence.

Again, I don't have any experience in the area of smoking. So maybe this is normal for smokers. But it was new to me. And I was not able to fathom it. Because in my opinion, even the official five-second rule is deemed invalid when you're outdoors. If I drop something edible onto the cement outside a retail store where 150 people are standing, it's no longer edible. There's no way something that touched the ground is going in my mouth. The only exception I can think of would be if I dropped the antidote to a poison in my system. And even then, I would hesitate. But a cigarette that you've already put in your mouth? If that hits the ground, it'll have that layer of germ-collecting saliva on it that kicks up the nastiness to all new levels.

In conclusion: Smoking is gross. And secondhand smoke is inconsiderate. But a five-second rule on a used cigarette is simply unacceptable.

Falling For Fall

2010-11-24T14:54:00.001-06:00

I took eight steps down the stairs this morning. Unfortunately, our stairs have 9 steps. So I dropped 8 inches on the last step and fell forward, twisting my ankle and tearing a hole in my jeans. Luckily my wife was there to help. And by "help" I mean "laugh at me." I disappeared from her view completely in a terrifying instant of panic. And her response was uproarious laughter. She thought it was absolutely hilarious. She started chuckling before I even resurfaced. And before she even knew I was still conscious. Then she immediately called her sister to tell her all about it.

On a lighter note, I now have a reason to get new jeans at Old Navy on Black Friday for $15!

Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

Crazy Cruise

2010-11-23T16:20:00.005-06:00

My older brother went on a Caribbean cruise last year. And for some reason, he thought that an appropriate carry-on item for his cruise was his trumpet (he plays with a community orchestra). I think he figured that being out of town for a week was no excuse to miss out on practicing. And this didn't seem unusual to him. In fact, when he came back in town and told us about his trip, he turned it into a complaint about someone else.

He was in the middle of telling us about the activities they had on the cruise, and he stopped to say the following:

"You know, there was one crazy guy that almost ruined the whole trip for me. On the third morning, I got up and had breakfast. And then I went back to my room to practice a little bit."
I stopped him at this point and asked him what he was practicing.
"My trumpet."
My brother didn't seem to notice my dumbfounded look, so he continued.
"So it was at least 8:30 when I finished breakfast. So I went back to my room and started practicing. And after a few minutes my phone rang. It was a cruise employee asking me to stop playing my trumpet because it was waking up my neighbors! So this idiot (probably hungover because he got wasted the night before) stopped me from playing because I was waking him up! Can you believe the nerve of that guy?"

And believe me when I tell you that my brother was not lying, being ironic, or trying to be funny. He honestly thought the other guy was the weirdo. So he had to limit his practices to the early afternoon from that point on and keep them under 20 minutes.

The two things that bother me about this should be pretty obvious. First, why wouldn't you know that playing your trumpet in the morning on a cruise ship would disturb others? That seems like such common sense. And second, why such a high level of dedication to a community orchestra? I could almost make an exception for a world-renown trumpet player practicing on a cruise ship. But I would doubt that even a famous trumpeter would bother to practice while he's on vacation on a floating apartment complex. There's no way that playing an instrument is more fun than being on a Caribbean cruise.

I Gotta Remember That One

2010-11-19T15:40:00.000-06:00

My older brother had his yearly review at work recently. And his boss told him that he might want to work on how he takes constructive criticism. My brother should have graciously accepted this criticism and pledged to work on it. But my brother finds it too hard to pass up an opportunity like that. So, the hilarious comedian that he is, my brother decided it would be funnier to respond with a joke. So he told his boss to "shove it."

Needless to say, that didn't go over very well. He had to backtrack pretty quickly and explain to his boss that he was merely making an ill-timed joke and he didn't really mean for him to shove anything. But his boss didn't find it as humorous as one would have hoped, so the yearly review was wrapped up quite nicely with a written warning.

I think my older brother learned a valuable lesson that day. And I learned a really good response if someone ever tells me I should work on accepting criticism.

Ew, Gross

2010-11-18T16:30:00.001-06:00

You learn a lot about yourself when you're stuck standing in line for hours at a time it a courthouse without a smartphone, iPod, iPad, laptop, or book. I learned that I get bored very quickly. But more importantly, you learn a lot about other people. For example, you learn that someone with 7-inch fingernails can still use a touchscreen phone. I learned that because she was standing entirely too close to me and one of her nasty, craggy nails almost touched me.

I also learned that people do not dress up to go to the courthouse. It was like the worst casual day ever. I saw more cutoff jean shorts and fewer shoes than a homeless person convention (if that doesn't exist, it should).

Anyway, I've vowed to myself to never set foot in another courthouse without at least a book to keep my attention. I would hate to go through that again.