My Eating Disorder

Relax people, it's not as serious as all that. What I'm trying to say is that, despite my 29 years of experience in chewing food, I still can't seem to get it right. I'll bite my lip a few times a month, and the inside of my cheek even more frequently. Of course that only exacerbates things and causes me to continue to pepper my every bite of food with another layer of cheek flesh, which is no one's favorite. But that's not even my main problem. Everyone does those things pretty regularly and will likely continue to do so because we're a nation of rushed eaters.

What I'm talking about is even more embarrassing than that nonsense. What I'm talking about is knowingly eating something that's going to fire up the inside of my mouth and not having the patience to wait for it to cool. The item in this example was a fish sandwich. A fish sandwich that was breaded and therefore needed to be fried. In oil. Oil that was hotter than two rats fucking in a wool sock full of lava. So what this breading did was to effectively cause a pocket of hot oil to be trapped in between itself and the other fishy layer of deliciousness. I knew this going in. And yet I still was somehow able to convince my stupid brain that the 4 seconds the sandwich had spent on my plate was enough to cool it sufficiently.

So I then did what any other retarded manchild might have done in that situation. I bit into it with reckless abandon. That Goddamn fish sandwich filled my mouth with liquid agony so quickly that my next seven generations of taste buds were flash fried instantaneously. My eyes watered up and all I could see from that point on was hatred.

I'm not really that mad about it anymore. I got what I deserved. All I'm really trying to say is that you should let your food cool before you eat it. And if you just can't be bothered to wait, give me a call. Because I'll gladly jam that first bite blindly into my food hole.

...Don't judge me.

Liar Liar, Arm's On Fire

Hey, you there! Have you ever caught fire? Have you ever not realized it right away? Well, if there was a competition for it, I'd likely be at least one up on you.

The other day I wanted to light a candle. Don't judge. I'm a sophisticated dude with a smelly apartment. Being that I had no lighter and nary a match, I did what any sophisticated man would do. I took apart a clothespin, lit it on the gas stovetop and used that to light the candle. Take a moment to revel in the brilliance of that.

Okay, now that you're done basking in my genius, prepare yourself for the dumb. So the candle is lit and is trying desperately to do a near impossible task (of making my apartment not smell like cheese and disappointment). I'm trying to enjoy it, appreciate it. While doing this, I'm also running my fingers through the hair on my arm (well how do YOU get to sleep?!) when I notice that it's all clumpy and crusty. "Asay Whaaaat?" I thought to myself (I often think to myself in the voice of a '70s pimp). I go in for a closer look and notice that almost all the hair on the underside of my right forearm is singed.

...I lit myself on fire and didn't even notice. I'm an adult. I live by myself. I'm in serious trouble.

Anyway, it took me a solid 15 minutes of precise pruning to effectively manscape my arm back into what might pass for normal. Let me ask you this. Have you ever had to do a combover on your arm? Yeah, uh, me neither.

Please just leave it alone.

Down a Peg

Let's talk a little bit about embarrassment. Now normally you would think that, in order to be embarrassed, you would need to do something embarrassing in front of other people to feel like a true dipshit. If you trip. And people are watching. And you know this. Bam! A little nugget of embarrassment wells up within you and quickly snowballs into you wanting to throw up. You try not to though since that would be embarrassing and you're already using your one broken paddle to navigate shit creek.

So then, it stands to reason that it would be impossible to become embarrassed when you are alone and you do something dumb, right? I discovered a few months back that this is not the case. I was in New Mexico and staying at a friend's apartment. A married couple actually. We had to get up early so they could get me to the airport for a flight scheduled for a quarter to fucking early. Anyway, so I wake up and I'm groggy. That's pretty standard for most. I can generally navigate my way through physical space when I'm tired, even in a place I've never explored before.

Well I head to the shower and disrobe like a normal person (by that I mean I rip my pajama bottoms off like an NBA all star), and I fire up the shower. I notice it's a pretty powerful beam of water and it's just tagging the back wall. Now, I don't know how often you've taken a shower in a place you're generally unfamiliar with, but you always have to plan out your method of attack in order to get in there. If the stream isn't very powerful, you sneak around the back so you can take your time getting used to the temperature. If the water pressure it too high though, you've got to sneak through the front and duck down like some kind of butt ass naked ninja and hope that the water's just right.

Well I don't remember why, but even though the water pressure was nailing the back wall, I remember thinking that the only way to get in there was to go through the back. I had to do it quickly though because the longer it took me, the more water would end up on the floor, which I hate. Well, in my retarded non ninja like quickness I failed to notice that they had a shower mat, I think probably because it was the size of a playing card. So I plant my foot in the shower back and at an angle. Dumb. In an act of defiance, it shot out from under me like I was on fucking roller skates. I proceed to karate kick the mat out from under me and in my still-waking-up haze, I thought it was a squid or something that was touching my foot (stupid little suction cups). I also manage to simultaneously hit my knee on their toilet, ram my elbow into the wall, nearly rack myself on the edge of the bathtub, and pull down part of the shower curtain.

There is no possible situation in life that will embarrass you more when you're by yourself than falling down naked in the shower. Picture that scene from Tommy Boy with the deer tearing the car apart. Okay, now couple that with the scene from Ace Ventura 2 when he's coming out of the rhino's ass. That's what I imagine I looked and sounded like. Just terrible.

So I'm trying to fix everything as fast as possible while water is still shooting out like I popped open a fire hydrant, and I'm thinking that it can't get much more embarrassing. And then I thought "How did they not hear all that?" And then I remember thinking "Oh shit. Please oh please oh please don't let them have heard that." Silence. ...And then the last possible phrase you want to hear in that situation. "Is everything okay in there?" Ugh. What do you say to that? "Yeah, I'm good. As good as a person can be who just racked himself on your bathtub." No! You lie. You lie your ass off. "I'm good. The shampoo just fell." Yeah, your 200 pound bottle of shampoo just fell and managed to somehow tear your shower curtain down. You guys should stop buying shampoo from Costco.

The strange thing is that I'm not nearly as embarrassed telling any of you people about this after the fact as I was when it happened. So, please, learn from my experiences. If you're ever in a new bathroom, showering for the first time, and you see a bath mat, it's there for a reason.

And so that's just one way you can bring yourself down a peg ...almost literally.

Post Office, You So Crazy!

I was at the post office yesterday mailing some crack rock and a bomb when I was accosted with an odd inquiry.  It's not like it was even something new, but it's the first time I really paid attention to the question.  It doesn't matter what you're there to purchase or ship at the post office.  You always get asked the same question before you pay.

"Would you like to buy any stamps today?"

Seems harmless enough, right?  Wrong, idiot!  Come with me as I spin you a tale of why this is the dumbest fucking question they could possibly ask you.  You ready?  Here we go.

Let's say you're at the grocery store.  Let's say you've picked up the items that you require and you head to the checkout counter.  You're standing there as the elderly lady in front of you is, for whatever reason, trying to pay by check.  You figure you've got some time so you start to browse the impulse items.  Nail clippers, breath mints, gum, candy, random tiny toiletries, etc.  "Oh," you say to yourself, "I forgot that I was almost out of gum."  So you grab a pack and check out.  Boom, you're done.  It makes sense.  You went to a store that carries a large variety of merchandise, forgot something you needed while checking out, and were reminded of it before you left.  That's nice.

But at the post office?  EVERY SINGLE PERSON that's visiting that building is there with a specific purpose in mind.  They're either mailing a package, picking up a package, picking up their mail, buying boxes, or buying stamps.  That's FIVE things.  If you need to do two of them on the same trip, I'm guessing you can probably keep that stored in your memory bank for the duration of your visit.  It's not like you're gonna get to the front of the line and be like:

"Damn.  Now I know there were two reasons I came here today.  Let's see... I'm holding this package, so I'm most likely here to send it somewhere.  Fortunately I've already written the address out in full.  But the second reason... The second reason escapes me.  Let me run through the list of things I could possibly do inside this building, of which there are only five... ...Nope, no idea."  

"Would you like to buy some stamps?" the clerk asks.

 "Holy shit, you've done it!" you exclaim.  "Can you dive back into your crystal ball and tell me how to now exit these premises?  ...What's that you say?  The same door I came in?  What kinda wizard...?"

I guess my main point is that I think it's unnecessary for them to ask you.  They've surrounded their little work area with piles of stamps which should be enough of a reminder.  And if that visual subtlety doesn't key your brain into your checklist of post office needs, you probably shouldn't be mailing things to people.  Seriously, someone's gonna get hurt.

Thinking more about it, I'd be willing to bet they ask you that as more of a retaliation than anything else.  Think about it.  How many times in a given day do you think someone walks in there, hands them a package, and says something to the effect of "Yeah, uh, I'd like to mail this." as though the clerk is unaware of what their own job is?

  ...Come to think of it, that's exactly what I did yesterday.  ...Dammit.  It would appear as though I've brought this upon myself.  

Touché post office lady.  Touché.

I Have the Ability to Make Grown Men Cry

Sadly, this includes myself.  Allow me to explain.  About a month and a half ago, I got to do one of the cooler things I've ever done in my life.  I had the opportunity to be a surprise guest at the wedding of a close friend.  If you get the chance, I highly recommend it.

His bride-to-be sent me an email about a month before asking if there was any way I could make it since there was potential for some of his key friends to not be able to make it.  I had already told him I couldn't twice in the past year since I knew I would be busy with school, so he was already sold.  However, a request from the bride seldom goes ungranted.  So I immediately bought a plane ticket and worked out my housing and car situations with some friends.

The plan was for me to show up at the rehearsal covertly and then, when they were practicing the vows, I was to make my big entrance during the whole "If anybody has any objections..." part.  So I did, and it was amazing.  He looked shocked and all the other groomsmen got all choked up.  I got choked up, but avoided actually speaking so I could dodge the whole shaky voice syndrome.  It was pretty great.  The wedding itself the next day was also great.  Easily one of the best ceremonies I've ever seen.  

I know this entry isn't necessarily funny, but I just had to get it out there because whenever I think about it I smile.

Also, I found out that there is no way I could ever be a ninja or a spy.  As I was waiting in hiding, I was giddier than a kid cracked out on caffeine on Christmas Eve.  I couldn't stop giggling.  When most people see a strange grown man giggling to himself hiding under a desk in their own home, they'd probably call the cops.  Thank God I got the right house.  Also, there was a moment when I almost got caught, but narrowly avoided it by diving to the ground (with ape-like agility) and doing a marine crawl into the next room.  I then locked myself in the bathroom.  The things we do for friendship.  Then I tittered some more.  

I couldn't imagine being an assassin of some type.  I'd be hiding in the closet ready to hit someone with a brainstem shot and then I'd chortle or guffaw or emit some other kind of equally retarded laugh, effectively giving away my position.  I'd be useless.

Regardless, Jamie and Jami, thank you for letting me a part of your day.  You two are great.

Breakfast for Dinner

Does that phrase get you as excited as it does me?  If so, I'll allow you a few moments to go and change your underthings.  I know I just peed a little, so I can only imagine what you did ...sicko.

Okay, and we're back.  So, few things in life get me as excited as the simple string of words "Hey, we're having breakfast for dinner."  ("Free pizza!" comes to mind as well as "What are you doing in my apartment?" but both to a much lesser degree).  I don't know if it's because it feels like you're breaking some type of implicit rule of the universe, or what.  It's very name suggests that there's only one time of day you should be eating it and that anything else is just pure insanity!  But no, we cannot be limited, universe.

So like some type of chubby vigilante, I eat whatever type of meal I want regardless of the time of day it's name implies.  Hell, I'll create new mealtime names just to make it right.  And I'm not talking about "Brunch" or "Linner" or anything cute like that.  I'm talking about creating something new altogether.  Something bad ass.  Something like "Dreakfunch."  ...Actually wait, no, nevermind that sounds kind of gross.  I'm a little less hungry than when I started writing this.   

Regardless, I still refuse to obey the meal name/meal time law.  Actually, I also refuse to obey the law of gravity from time to time.  It's true.  I'm that impressive.  It's like crouching tiger style ...but a tiger that's crouching because he's about to pounce, and not because he's about to poo.  That would be far less bad ass.

Anyway, I'm gonna go have a waffle.  It's okay.  Jealousy is a normal reaction in a situation such as this.

To Be Young Again

I'm sure you all remember the oh-so-clever 'riddle' we used to ask each other as kids titled "Pete and Repeat."  If you're not clear on it, the comedy gold went something like this:

Pete and Repeat were in a boat.  Pete fell out.  Who was left?  

You would answer "Repeat" which was the correct answer but, because of the incredibly clever naming of the characters, your 'friend' would intentionally misunderstand and the game would go on and on.  And you'd laugh and laugh and then go eat bugs or sour patch kids or whatever you did as a kid.  Maybe play with your pogs or slap bracelets (as you cleverly put one over your eyes so you looked like that blind guy from Star Trek.  You know the one.  The guy from Reading Rainbow?  Yeah, him.).

The thing I always wondered is why were we so concerned about the guy still in the boat?  Pete's fucking drowning and we're worried about who's already safe?  Where are our priorities people?  More to the point, what kind of assbag friend must Repeat have been to just let his buddy flail around in murky, crocodile-infested waters? (I'm assuming the worst)  I'll bet you to add insult to injury, he used his name to shirk any real responsibility for the situation.  While Pete was fighting for his life, Repeat probably continually shouted "Are you okay?" and would then giddily wait for Pete to shout his name back before repeating the same question a dozen times until poor Pete lost his battle with buoyancy (and those damn crocodiles).  All the while Repeat was probably giggling to himself.  

Between his father, Saywhat, and his mother, Comeagain, they probably had a blast at the deposition.

I hate that entire family.