It Didn't Have A Flux Capacitor

I feel kinda bad. I replaced my cell phone's wallpaper picture of my wife to the DeLorean I saw the other day. But really, I see her beautiful face everyday. I've only seen a DeLorean once.

Tiffany Didn't Like Me Back

There are times in every man's life when they realize that life's not fair. Santa's not real, jean shorts and a flat top were never cool, and your team won't win the championship. And every one of these revelations hurt. Especially when there's a school picture of me with my shirt tucked into my "jorts" while sporting a flat top. And it makes it into every slideshow I’ve ever been in. So that one still stings.

Another one sticks out in my mind pretty harshly, too. I learned in fourth grade that "Secret Admirer" gifts and cards are not as cool as the movies make them out to be. Because I had a crush on Tiffany. And Tiffany didn't know me all that well. So I snuck over to her cubby (remember those?) and covertly slid a homemade Secret Admirer Valentine into it. But I wasn't as covert as I should have been. Because stupid idiot moronface Tim saw me do it. So he snatched the card as soon as I walked away and then read it in front of the class. And everyone laughed at me because he made sure they all knew that I'd been the one who delivered it. Tiffany never spoke to me again, fourth grade was ruined, I became terrified of girls, and Tim was mean to me the rest of the year. And that wouldn't have been so bad if Tim weren't the teacher.

For Goodness Sake

I'm a list person. I like listing stuff. I make grocery lists when my wife will let me. I make lists for the errands I need to run. I once made a list of all the lists I needed to make. It was wonderful. So, being a list person, I really like this time of year. I get to make a list of stuff I want for Christmas, a list of things I need to buy for others, a list for grocery items we need. And right now I'm considering making a list of things I want to consume during the Christmas holidays (eggnog, sugar cookies, white chocolate, an entire glazed ham). I don't really care if I ever cross stuff off the list. I just like making them.

Well, last week I was able to add an item to a list. And that can be just as fun. I was able to add something to the list I call "Things That Scare My Kids Even Though You'd Think They'd Like Them." Recent additions to this list have included vacuum cleaners, puppies, my Louis Armstrong impression, and drive-through car washes. But I now have photographic proof that my kids are morbidly terrified of Santa Claus.

Now, they like the idea of Santa Claus. He's a nice man that brings gifts to children for Christmas. So, in theory, they're on board with the whole process. But to see him in person is a different story. From the way they screamed, you'd think we were letting a crazy homeless man in blood-stained clothing take them forever. And I see now why they got that impression. Wildly uncontrolled white hair and beard, red suit, their parents handing them over and running away at top speed. It's scary stuff. And abandonment issues aside, Santa is not as jolly up close as he is in the cartoons and books (and he had a weird accent and surprisingly musty smell). But my wonderful wife obligingly gave up any hope for a lovely picture and abandoned her expectations for good behavior. So while the picture wasn't as nice as some, it was definitely worth the $18 we paid for it. I've never seen so many Facebook comments on one picture.

Does That Say Faylor?

My favorite blog is Cake Wrecks. For those not familiar with it, just click the link and enjoy the sarcastic goodness. Now it may be my favorite blog mostly because it's the only clean humor blog I know of. But still, it makes me laugh almost daily. And it never ceases to amaze me how bad professional cake decorators can be. Well, my younger sister's hobby is decorating cakes. So for my birthday this year (December 1st if you want to jot that on your calendar), she made me my very own cake... wreck.


She took all the best aspects of Cake Wrecks that hurt me most as an English major: misspelling, improper punctuation, poor penmanship, and taking people too literally. Then she fused them together in the awesomest cake I've gotten this year. So behold! My personal cake wreck:















The real shame is that I can't submit it to the Cake Wrecks blog. My younger sister is not a professional baker, so it doesn't qualify. If only I had my own blog! Then I could display it!

*Also, I should clarify that this was an intentional wreck. She's not an idiot. And if she was, I wouldn't make fun of her so blatantly. She reads this blog, after all.

Name Game

I'm a nickname provider, not a nickname receiver. And I really wish I could get a nickname to stick with me. I don't have any outstanding skills that would garner a nickname. And my last name sucks (those who know me personally might catch the pun on that one). So I always try to say stuff or do stuff that will get me a nickname. My only unusual skill is the ability to balance a broom on my foot, then transfer it to my hand, then my chin (Enrique, send me that video). That's if you don't count my ability to breakstuffwhenIdance.

What's really frustrating is that during college, my older brother came to visit me for a weekend. And he joined our weekly game of Ultimate Frisbee. And he's tall and hairy and he played really well that night. So people started calling him "The Mammoth." So all my friends who'd known me for a year assigned him a nickname on his first night! I almost cried. At this point I'd even accept "Baby Mammoth" or something to that effect.

I guess I'm just not talented or crazy enough for a nickname. Because if you think about it, a lot of the people with cool/enviable nicknames are either very talented ("Air" Jordan, "Magic" Johnson) or very insane ("The Unabomber", "Boxcar Willy" from my neighborhood) or both ("Iron Mike" Tyson).

So I'm gonna start taking suggestions for talents I should try to develop. Also, I'll take suggestions for questionable behavior I should start displaying. Because the closest I've ever gotten to a nickname is my dad calling me "Tank" when I was a chunky two-year old.