My Life is NOT Like a Roller Coaster

"My life is like a roller coaster."

Lately, I found that I have come to deeply resent that analogy. When I really think about it, and I mean really think about it, my life hardly resembles a roller coaster. If some amusement park owner made the financially disastrous mistake of making a roller coaster based on my life and exploits, it would be pretty boring. Sure, I have my ups and downs like everyone else. But these ups and downs aren't roller coaster worthy. If someone had the idea to make a roller coaster after me it would probably be a straight line that would go roughly 76 feet away from it's starting point.. It wouldn't go fast either. It might be fast enough to blow your hair around a bit, maybe. Bugs wouldn't hit your face and you would scream in agony because a bug hit your face while you were going so fast. No, that would not be the case. In fact, on my roller coaster you would probably have time to swat the bug away before it reached your face. If my life were to be any amusement park ride, it would probably be the amusement park train that gives you a tour of the park. That would reflect my life a little bit more accurately. It would be slow, kind of boring but would have some highlights. My amusement train, depending on the day, sometimes passes by the amusement park zoo that is filled with sleepy and grossly neglected animals. Other tour train attractions include the ticket booth, 3 different restroom locations, the overpriced food court, and in the distance a slight glimpse of the main attraction ride but the view is mostly blocked by a large tree.

Rides that are made after superheros are fun. But I think these roller coasters hardly reflect the heroism and action that our favorite characters encounter. When I went to Six Flags in California about 8 years ago, I found this to be the case. The Batman, Superman, Green Lantern and Spider Man rides were all very fun. However, I felt like they really failed to capture the essence of their adventures. I didn't feel as though I had walked a mile in their shoes as a result of riding these theme park attractions. Sure it was fun, and I wasn't about to ask for my money back because of it. But I felt as though the amusement parks cheapened the names of my favorite superheroes by implying their adventures were much like high velocity corkscrews and random ups and downs. I really didn't feel like it gave me any idea of the danger of being a super hero or what it felt like to defeat a super villain. I was half tempted to write Six Flags, Marvel and DC Comics a strongly worded letter regarding my disappointment. I knew that would be a waste of time. I knew that hot little letter would never reach the CEO's hands like I would have wanted.

I think if you really wanted to make a really crazy roller coaster that reflected a real person's life and struggle, I would think a heroin addict failing at rehab would be the best. Those are real ups and downs, side to sides, jerking corkscrews and high velocity speeds. Failing addicts have it the hardest. Think of all the crazy shit they have to deal with that would directly translate to a roller coaster perfectly. The shooting up part would obviously be the climb of the ride. Then there would be that inevitable downfall that would represent the guilt associated with lying to your family that you're not an addict anymore. Then it would jerk you to the side at painful break neck speeds because you just stole from your sweet grandma so you can pay for your next fix. Then you go for another climb because you're shooting up again. Then you have another downfall that is steeper and more insane because it represents the guilt of performing embarrassing sexual acts to get the next fix. Then you get jerked around some more because you punched some hobo in the face because he was looking at you funny. But the hobo ends up kicking your ass because you're too high to defend yourself. Then the ride suddenly stops because you had to get narcan from paramedics after you passed out in a McDonald's and shit your pants. Then the ride gets going again slowly and then you suddenly take your last drop with a series of corkscrews because you are going through crazy withdrawls. Before you know it you're back where you started and the ride has come to an end. A cold computer voice says "You are dead. You are dead. Please exit the ride to your right and have a nice day."

Yeah, that would be a real roller coaster.

The Curse of an Introvert

It's no secret that I'm very introverted. I often prefer to be alone in quiet areas. I prefer thought over talk. I prefer observation over impulsive action. I prefer quiet over stimulating. 

Looking back at my childhood, I've always been this way. I often didn't mind taking long walks by myself on the playground. I preferred being alone just to think. Some kids thought I was weird, or lonely or felt bad for me. I could never figure out why. I would always tell them I was fine but they wouldn't believe me. I would prefer to watch other people for a long time before I got involved in their conversations or play time. I had to know what was going instead blindly walking in and hoping for the best. I didn't have a lot of friends, but I preferred it that way. I only wanted a few close friends. I wanted plenty of alone time.

I find that many of these traits have carried on to my adult life. I like it this way. I get most of these traits from my dad's side of the family. My only saving grace is that my moms side of the family is the exact opposite. I have managed to carry a few of those traits when it suits me. When I'm with people I know, like and respect I create the illusion I'm extroverted. Thanks to my mom's side of the families genetics, I seem almost well-adjusted in most situations. 

But often, I find that I fall back into old habits of being quiet and observant around people I don't know. It's both a power and a curse. On the positive side, I like being observant and seeing things that most people don't notice. I like reflecting on my observations and learning from them. On the negative side, it's almost shameful being shy and quiet these days. People see you as weak or childish if you're not talkative. I often wish I was more talkative and brave around strangers. I wish I was a little more quick to act instead of having to analyze everything 50x. I wish sometimes I didn't always have the urge to be alone so often, even when my friends and family want to be around me. 

I'm a lot better at this whole loner, introvert thing. It suits me just fine. Sure, sometimes I wish I had better, friendlier traits. But I'm happier this way. I like being alone. I like thinking. I like writing. I like not feeling socially obligated to be friendly to every random jack-off I meet just to get to know them. 

Bleh, I feel so dirty talking about myself this much. It seems wrong.

Coffee Dependent

It has come to my attention how much I rely on coffee to get me through my mornings, days and the occasional night. I used to never be a coffee drinker. I thought it was a gross beverage. But over time it grew on me. I credit this partly to night shifts and co-workers who were passionate about it's use as a prop to their sanity.

I don't love the idea that I'm somewhat dependent on a warm drink to help make me tolerable most days. People most often cite that as the reason they don't drink coffee. They don't want to be dependent on it. It's a noble thought but a delusional one. There is nothing better than that cup of coffee in the morning. That bitter dark taste makes school slightly more tolerable. The taste alone wakes me suficiently. I would even go as far to say that it has made me 4% more manly. And that's not even taking into account that I drink it black, without cream or sugar. Which probably means (and I'm just estimating here) that it increases my manliness by up to 9.6%, give or take.


In short, coffee improves the quality of my life and makes me a tolerable person to deal with in the morning. If everyone in the world had a coffee problem like I did, the world would undoubtedly be a better place.

If I Had Money....

I'm not talking about a comfortable salary kind of money. You know, a good job, security, and sweet benefits. I'm not talking about that kind of chump change money at all. I'm talking millionaire, billionaire rich. I'm talking the kind of rich where I would buy a cigarette company just for fun. And I don't even smoke! I'm talking throw away money. Using 100 dollar bills as toilet paper and then redistributing them to the middle class as "gifts."

If I had that kind of obscene wealth, it would transform me into something of a societal monster. A menace. Perhaps even the richest outlaw that ever was. The point is, my money would be an object of pure unadulterated entertainment. Balances of power in lesser countries would be altered just by my visit. Economies would boom, jobs would be created and perhaps even wars would break out over such an event. I could see myself flying into Bangladesh just to try a sandwich and 4 hours later single handedly rebuilding their economy by wasting my money on touristy gifts, alcohol and purchasing doomed businesses. The U.N might be tempted to enforce sanctions on me, but would think better of it when they realized that their $5000 massage chairs in the meeting chambers were a donation from me.

People always seem to ask "what would you do with X amount of money?" The typical answers seem to focus on cars, houses and traveling the world. Occasionally, you'll get someone who tries to sound benevolent by saying they would donate to science, churches and other noble causes. Some even claim they would spoil their parents. This person is merely running interference to distract you from the fact that their plans likely include world domination and your probable horrifically inhumane execution.

I never have any good answers. I would probably just buy junk until I'm broke and then be forced to retreat back into debt and obscurity. I barely know what to do with my money now, little alone hypothetically insane amounts of it. So I've done my best to not think about it and then sandbag people with bullshit answers when I'm asked. I would rather not focus on what I won't have and will likely never have.

That seems like a waste of time to me.

Long-Winded Writer

Today I noticed that I have a hard time keeping things short when writing. I tend to ramble on. But during these ramblings, I'll occasionally hit the mark on what I'm trying say. Maybe I need to work on that. I sincerely doubt people have the time or patience to read my long-ass blogs.

Or maybe I'll just keep doing what I'm good at:

Wasting the time of innocent people who thought they would be reading something interesting.



Yeah, I think I'll stick with that.

Holiday Horror

I find very few things redeemable about the holiday season. Aside from quality time with my family and friends, the holidays tend to be source of frustration for me. Part of that is my fault for letting such innocuous things get to me more than they should. However, I still feel justified in my general dislike of the season.

My most hated thing about the season is the inconvenience of going pretty much anywhere. I want to stop by the store and get a gallon of milk, but despite it being a grocery store, the lines are still horrific. Heaven forbid I have to go to Wal-Mart or Target to get something non gift related. The lines and crowds are still maddening to deal with. I just want to buy soap and some food and get the hell out of there. But that is made 10x more difficult by the holiday season. Bleh. 

It's probably widely known at this point that I have a passion for good parking spots. Anywhere I go, I pride myself on my ability to take good parking spots from pregnant mothers and the elderly. I'm not some sort of monster though. Parking spots clearly designated for the disabled and the prego are holy grounds. I shall not touch them. However, if there is a sweet-ass normal parking spot next to those clearly designated spots, it's fair game. But this time of year really puts my abilities to the test. My passion for not walking long distances just to shop knows no bounds. I hate parking far away. Don't bother trying to put a positive spin on it like "You'll get your exercise in if you park further." I get plenty of exercise through actual methods of exercise like running and sports. I'm not to the point of fatty denial where I can classify parking to the back of the lot as "exercise." Not to mention it's cold as balls these days. The less I have to be in the cold, the happier I am. But now everyone and their mom will be at every single store I need to be, thus destroying good parking spots for a little over a month. Now I'll have to work to get a good spot. Life is hard.

Don't even get me started on the driving during this time. Just about every annoying driving violation will be encountered virtually every time you get behind the wheel. You'll have the people who slow down to a near stop just to turn right into a store lot instead of gradually slowing down, pulling off the side and turning. These people will just practically slam on the brakes and then turn. Then there will be slow drivers clogging up the works on every major street. All the people who aren't supposed to drive such as the elderly, the medicated, the felons, the teenagers with permits will be out in force. All of them will be out to drive slow and "play it safe" for their own reasons. Conversely, you'll have the asshole with a death wish zig-zagging through traffic lanes in the unsafest of manners just to get to Mcdonalds. Perhaps the most egregious of all offenses will be the jerkoff who merges in front of you without using their blinker. Or my personal favorite is people merging in front of you but only turning on their blinker after they are more than 3/4th's in your lane. Road rage central. 

The crowds are just as bad as driving. Everyone is stepping in front of you, bumping into you, cutting you off, trying to take your place in line. Large groups of families will walk slowly in the middle of hallways and aisles to keep you from going anywhere you need to be. Or even better, someone has a huge basket full of crap that gets rung up, they use their card only to find that it gets declined. This person inevitably asks the cashier to run it again because it has to be a mistake. Nope. Declined. Now this person has to hold up the whole line while they take things out of their basket while estimating how much they might actually have in their account to afford the rest. The card almost always gets declined again. They will take more crap out until they can afford only two of the items, and in most cases, none of the items. While this is all going on, you'll look longingly at the other register aisles that are passing you up. You always think retrospectively, "I knew I should have got into that line," even if you didn't have the slightest inclination before to get into that line. 

All of this hassle just so I can be broke, give a few people gifts and then forget about it for another 364 days.

Shades of Character

There are a lot of things that I am. There are a lot of things I try to be. There are a lot of things that I am not. I often try to be a man of true character. A man that doesn't come off as an unfeeling robot or an immature kid. 

While I'm most certainly not a great man, I do try to be an honorable one. I don't consider myself a bad person, although I think I can be better. I do my best to keep my word and help others in need when I can. I do what I can to be honest and reliable. I try to be strong for those who cannot be for themselves, even if I have to fake my strength. I try to do what's right, even if it hurts me in the process. However, when I look back at what I try to do, I find that I fall short of what would constitute a decent a human being. I find that I am often noble in thought, yet weak in action. The better sides of my character that I try to achieve do not shine through as much as I would like. 

“If we could change ourselves, the tendencies in the world would also change. As a man changes his own nature, so does the attitude of the world change towards him. … We need not wait to see what others do.”

-Gandhi

I spend way too much time thinking about how my actions affect others. I always hope that I affect people positively. I hope that when people think of me, that it's in general fondness and they don't think of me the same way I think of myself. I've tried to model my behavior in a way that when I do something good, that someone else catches on to that and does it better than I. If I cannot be the good that I want, I hope that I can only pass it on to others who can be that and more. 

While I recognize I cannot defy the gravity of my own shortcomings, I realize that there is always room for improvement. I can always be nicer. I can always be more helpful. I can always be more honest. I can always be more reliable. I can always strive to be a better person. But can I realistically accomplish these things without falling back to the mediocrity I've always known? When I think of people that I admire, I feel their characteristics are beyond my reach and that trying to emulate them would be petty. After all, who am I trying to convince is a good person anyway? Me or the world?

The shades of my character are wide and varied. I wish that they were more consistent and likable rather than inconsistent and perhaps even questionable. The only thing I can do is carry on the best I can with what I have and hope for the best.

Nicknames

I always wished I could have a cool nickname as a kid. I tried hard to make several names for myself in a misguided attempt to be unique. For some reason, I fixated on food related nicknames as those seemed to be the most common, most liked and most funny. My first attempt at this was in the 4th grade. I tried to spread rumors that kids were starting to call me Mustard for some reason. My plan worked for the first day or so but it quickly fizzled out. Kids would call me Mustard and I wouldn't respond to it at all. I kind of forgot that I should be keeping an ear out for people calling me Mustard. They would eventually just call me by my real name to get me to respond. After it fizzled out, I tried to keep it alive with limited success. It seems that kids only called me Mustard when they were blatantly reminded of the actual condiment itself, which it turns out was pretty rare.

I wanted a cool nickname that made me seem like a badass. Something like "Oh no! Here comes Potato! We are going to get our asses kicked now!" In many kids cartoons and shows, the beefiest and often fattest dude was nicknamed after some bulky vegetable. I thought that was cool. But the problem was, I wasn't fat or beefy at all. I tried to think of skinny foods that would be cool and masculine but it never worked out. Names like celery or carrot didn't seem to fit and would likely just serve as a new way for me to get my ass beat. I tried to expand my horizons and think of other non-vegetable skinny nicknames. I thought popsicle might work, but by 5th grade I even thought that was kind of gay. Maybe non-food names might work. How about Bullet? That would be cool. I was short and fast. That would be cool. Or maybe Jet. That would be awesome too. However, my efforts were impeded by the fact that I couldn't think of a way to get my cool nickname to stick. It was obvious another disastrous rumor campaign wasn't going to do it. I couldn't think of anything else, so my childhood ambitions for an awesome nickname were dashed. Instead, I would have to settle for a myriad of random nicknames that served to identify who I was based on what I liked most. I got stuck with "The Star Wars Kid." It was a known fact in elementary school that I loved Star Wars and Star Trek. However, Star Wars seemed to stick out the most. I didn't mind it, but deep inside I was hoping to get "Basketball Kid" or "Sexiest Boy in Class." But those never made it out.

As an adult, I still kind of hope for a cool nickname. My regular name itself practically serves as a nickname since I'm often called by my full name. From time to time, I wish that I had accrued a nickname as an adult. Maybe something ridiculous like "The Hammer." I would walk into places and people would be like "Hammer!" Kind of like Norm from Cheers. Maybe I could say "It's Hammer Time," every time I was about to conduct some serious business or take a test. I would consider other tool related names like "The Drill" or "Wrench." But these names seem like they would better suit a big construction worker, with cliche tattoos like a pirate flag or a heart with a banner that says "Momma Never Loved Me." Plus it seems that anyone who would have a tool-related nickname might actually be a tool themselves. I can also envision douchebags with Jersey Shore haircuts inheriting such names.

I've decided I can just let go of my dreams of having a cool nickname. My real name will just have to suffice. I guess I can put a positive spin on this and say, I'm thankful this Thanksgiving for not having a douchebag nickname that humiliates me daily.

Happy Thanksgiving, people.

Birthdays Are Funny Part 2

Birthdays are a peculiar thing. We celebrate people just for being alive another year. I think it's odd that we don't celebrate the opposite of that. Most cultures like having a reason to celebrate, so I don't see why no one has ever celebrated death days. I'm not talking about the death of your beloved grandma or anything. That's kind of morbid. I propose something much more meaningful. I think we should celebrate the death days of histories biggest pieces of shit.

Marilyn Manson is finally dead. Yay! Let's all go out and get drunk knowing that there is one less horrific human being taking up oxygen and resources. We should be celebrating Hitler's death. There should be parades with people dressed up as dead Hitlers everywhere. Yahoo for histories greatest monster being buried 10 feet under being devoured by worms and bacteria and then being pooped out again. Sure, that would be a little morbid and probably slightly inappropriate. We shouldn't be glorifying them. Why give those bastards a holiday for being terrible people? Maybe this would inspire more freaks to get a holiday named after them for being so bad. Perhaps it's not the best idea I've ever had.

But still, I can't help but envision a world where once a year we bust open Ted Bundy pinatas with military grade explosives. Or a day we take Osama Bin Laden dummies, strap them to rockets and then launch them into the sun. We can do boxing or MMA fights featuring fighters dressed as Stalin beating the holy crap out of each other.

But I guess the cons far outweigh the pros in this case. In my defense, I feel like it stands to reason. Celebrate being alive, celebrate being dead. You have got to have both sides of the coin showing here. I just present a slightly more morbid view.

Talked About

I never quite know what to say when someone mentions they were talking about me to other people. I'm not talking about gossipy, shit-talk. But when someone mentions to your face that they, and a group of known or unknown people, were talking about you, what do you say? Usually if someone tells you they were talking about you, it's usually good or why bother mentioning it at all.

But it still makes me feel weird. Why were you talking about me? How do I even come up? There are a lot of people worth talking about in this world. People with talents, funny personality quirks, people of power and so forth. I've never really ever considered myself much to talk about. I can hardly see why I would come up in a random conversation when there is so many better things to talk about. Besides the fact I share a name with a famous scotch, I can't think of anything that would come up about me otherwise.

I can only think of a handful of things that would come up that might make people jump to me as a subject.

"Oh yes, speaking of douchebag....."
"You're right this food is dry...Oh speaking of dry....."
"Atheists are evil. Speaking of which......"

That's really about it. I can't really conceive any other reason why anyone would need to talk about me while I'm not there. I'm relatively unspectacular.

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to write about this. I just find it strange. Does anyone else find it strange when other people talk about them or am I just crazy?


I'm probably just crazy.....Anyone else would probably take it as a compliment.

Birthdays Are Funny

As a kid, birthdays were just another holiday by which I could score some sweet new toys. As a teenager, birthdays signaled another year closer to driving, another year closer to graduation, another year closer to freedom. As a young adult, birthdays were a step closer to being able to legally drink. If you were dorky enough, it was a step closer to being able to rent a car without a co-signer. 

After I turned 12, I started to have ambivalent feelings towards birthdays. What was the point of all this exactly? In my teens, I started to somewhat despise my birthday. As an introverted shut-in, I didn't care much for the attention that birthdays brought. 

I do think it's nice that once a year, people do act nice to me and wish me well. That's nice. I'm not one of those people who advertises my birthday is coming up and hinting that people should get me something or do something about it. I think that's crap. In fact, I've tried to keep my birthday on the down low as much as possible this year. I do like when people wish me a birthday because they remembered or saw it in the corner of their Facebook and at least took the time to say something. But even then, if nobody said anything about my birthday, I would be ok with that. I don't think birthdays are that big of a deal.

I don't care for attention in general. A friend at work said it's a day that should be about you, where you should be pampered. I don't think I would want to be pampered for any reason. I can't justify having a day be about me for no reason. Even if there was a reason, I would feel guilty that people were actually going out of their way for me. 

I'm sure back in the day, birthdays served a purpose. Being alive another year really was something to celebrate. I think birthdays were more congratulatory than anything. Good job on not being killed by the plague! Way to go on not dying during that horrific war! Strong work on not yet succumbing to poverty! Congratulations on not being eaten by a saber tooth tiger! That's some real shit to celebrate right there. Surviving against the odds. Celebrating not being weeded out by Darwinism.

But now, it's just getting indulgent to celebrate. We aren't celebrating just being alive. I think for kids that would still be an applicable theme. At 9 months, if you haven't died of sudden infant death syndrome, we can celebrate that at the one year mark. That's worth while. Or if you're kid gets to be five years old, there's a lot to celebrate. Your kid has managed to not swallow a toy truck or choke on a handful of Cheerios. Sweet, let's celebrate that. If your kid has manged to make it to eight, that's also worth celebrating. Mom and dad have managed to not accidentally back over you in the drive way. Your kid hasn't been hit while riding their bike in the middle of the road. Bring out the fuckin' cake and candles, let's celebrate that! If your kid makes it to age twelve, there's plenty to celebrate. They have made it to the cusp of puberty without succumbing to an unknown congenital defect, rare disease, or any other catastrophic event. 

After that, birthdays aren't worth celebrating. Kids pretty much take care of themselves after that. Even as teenagers, they are probably fine. Sure they do a lot more dumb shit, but we don't celebrate for them surviving their own dumbass decisions. After age 12, we can forget about birthdays for a while and start celebrating them again when people start getting into their 70's, when it starts to get much harder not to die. You're 75? Good job on not tripping in the middle of the night and breaking your hip! You made it to 80? Way to not give in to your many heart attacks! 85? Congrats on shitting your pants and still wanting to keep on going with life! 95? When will you die already?!

Anywho, I really don't know how to close this blog. So I'm just going to end it here. 

Mustache Villainy Part 2

The only other villainous mustache that I would even consider is the curly mustache. You know, the one that's like Salvador Dali's or Captain Hook's (Just to be clear, I mean the Captain Hook from the movie Hook. Although Captain Hook's mustache in the old Disney cartoon is pretty menacing)

Yeah, that's the one

In this life of mustached villainy, I would cruise around in a giant blimp or hot air balloon. I would dress pretty classy. Maybe in a black or purple tuxedo, accompanied by a matching top hat. I also haven't ruled out the use of a cane, monocle or pocket watch to this ensemble. However, my crimes would be far less nefarious than world domination. But they would be crimes that would certainly make the world raise an eyebrow or two. I'm thinking my first major crime would involve stealing all the cakes in the world, followed closely by stealing all the worlds easy cake mix. At first, the world would just roll their eyes and say "That's stupid. I can just make a cake by scratch or eat pie or some other pastry." But soon the world will realize the error of their ways. Pies are horrible substitutes for birthday cakes and bachelor parties that feature strippers coming out of cakes. No one wants a stripper to burst from a pie. She would have to shower after her emergence from this heinously large pie or else smell like a pie and look sticky and weird. Also, the world will realize that while cookies, donuts and muffins are decent substitutes, they are no match for cake. Finally, people will realize that 98% of the population is simply too lazy or too stupid to make their own edible cakes from scratch. They will be begging me to give back cake and cake mixes. As any good villain would, I would demand a ransom in return. But I wouldn't ask for money or jewelry. No, I would ask for my own TV show that would need to be broadcast on all channels, once a day, at the same time. Or maybe I would demand that someone teach me to cook my own food for life. Or perhaps I would ask for my own pet wolf that would be made entirely of muffins. 

Man, I would make a good villain. It's not even fair.

Mustache Villainy Part 1

Disclaimer: Ok, this is my last series of posts that will be about mustaches. It's too risky posting mustache-content on my regular blog instead of on my mustache blog. It will bankrupt me of good mustache material when Mustache March rolls around again. However, I have felt that my writings have been rather dull and kind of a drag lately. So I figured posting a few funny light-hearted posts should liven things up a bit.

As I was driving in to work this morning, a thought had popped into my head:

Why can't I just quite my job, sport an evil mustache and pursue a life of villainy?

But which evil mustache would I choose?

A Fu Manchu Mustache pretty much commands evil and villainy. I wish I could just instantly grow a Fu Manchu mustache and carry out diabolically grandiose plans for world domination. I could see it all now.... I would be in my large castle/fortress that would be up on a mountaintop, looking down on the cities below. There, I would stand alone on the balcony, reciting my fiendish plans aloud to myself. I would pace to and fro, back and forth whilst ringing my hands menacingly. A gentle breeze would blow my gentle Fu Manchu 'stache to the side. Yes, my plans are at hand. My armies and unnecessarily large ray gun stand ready to conquer the world. Soon everyone will bow before my insane superiority as supreme dictator of the world. As the world's new benevolent leader of the semi-free earth-sphere, I would make the world spend it's grand wealth on research........Research on how to keep me alive longer so I can rule the world forever. Yes, that's crazy and grandiose. And then I would forbid wearing pants on Tuesday and shorts on Saturdays and every other Wednesday. I would make it mandatory to wear shorts over your pants on Fridays. Then I would take all the worlds nuclear weapons and immediately point them towards the moon. It's high time that smug Lunar rock got what was coming to it. 

Yes, the Fu Manchu is villainy incarnate.

Maybe I would be happier with the other brand of evil mustache instead?

Of Mice and Mustaches

After a full weeks worth of growth, I decided that it was time to shave today. I was sad to do it too. My mustache grew in thicker this time than it did during Mustache March. I felt like this was something out of "Of Mice and Men." It was like the powerful climactic scene where George has to kill Lenny. I walked into the bathroom slowly as to not arouse suspicion for my mustache.

Mustache: Where are we?

Me: Just in the bathroom.

Mustache: What for?

Me: Uh.......

Mustache: Are you going to show me those mustache combs you were telling me about? Oh boy that would be great!

Me: Yes. Mustache combs. That's what we are here for.

Mustache: Tell me more about the mustache combs. It sure does make me happy.

Me: Close your eyes and I will tell you.

Mustache: Oh boy, gee golly wiz I'm excited! Tell me, tell me!

Me: The combs are so soft and gentle, it's like being touched by a cloud.

Mustache: Tell me how they work. Please!

Me: Oh they work wonderfully. Their superior design allows them to smooth out even the most malformed under-developed mustache hairs. 

Mustache: Like me?! 

Me: Yes. Just like you. 

Mustache: Oh gee that sounds nice! When do I get one?

Me: Soon...........soon.

Mustache: Oh boy, I can feel the soft bristles running through me now. So soft and gentle. I'm excited!

Me: Maybe one day. For now it's time to sleep.

With tears escaping my eyes, I brought my razor to my mustache and went to work. I thought it would be a quick couple of swipes since it wasn't at full strength. Much to my surprise, my mustache was surprisingly stronger this time. It took multiple swipes just to get one side! I could hear my mustache's cries of agony. It was like executing someone by shooting them in the chest only to find out that they were wearing a bullet proof vest the entire time. After my mustache was done, I got to the rest of my face. I went to work on my nasty neck and chin hair. They took it like a man and went down without a scream or a fight. 

I eventually regained my composure after brutally butchering a piece of classic literature. I got ready for my day, looking like a normal human being again. 

This has got to be one of my most shameless writings. Sorry, John Steinbeck for making you roll in your grave.

It was worth it. 

Goodbye mustache and affiliated facial hairs. See you again, someday. 

Productive Cough=Productivity?

No, that's stupid. Hacking up lung butter has not made me more productive. That would be kind of cool though, right?

"Oh man, I need to get my homework done."

I then follow-up this statement with a horrible wet cough that makes even the strongest of stomachs turn. 

"Wow, I feel like doing my homework and don't feel compelled to do funner distracting things in the least."

Ok, this is really stupid. I had a subject to write about earlier, but I just plain forgot it. So instead, you get my half-assed attempt at improv. I really got nothing relevant to say other than I was spectacularly productive today. All my major homework assignments are done and revised. It's surprising what a little relaxation, rest and laziness can do for one's soul. I feel rejuvenated again. I feel relieved that much of what I've been stressing about is over for now. I can breathe a little easier and focus on other things. 

So yeah, suck on that, Life. I win this round.

In other news, it's still cold as balls outside.

Super Lazy Sunday

I haven't had a Sunday off at home in years. I think it's been years. I think the times I've had a Sunday off, I've either been too sick to care or I've been out of town. I usually work every Sunday so this is why it's significant. I've worked Sundays for at least two years now.

So what have I done with my Sunday?

Nothing.

Not a damn thing.

And I have to say, it's awesome!

Right from the get-go, today went well. First off, I got a very nice near eleven hours of sleep. Secondly, I woke up feeling noticeably better. My cold has finally broke. No more nasal or sinus congestion. My cough is hanging in there, but it too has weakened. Sweet.

I then proceeded to take a half hour shower. I almost never take showers that last this long. Most of my showers last 8 minutes or less. On occasion, I'll make it a 15 minute shower. But rarely do I ever dedicate a half hour of my life to being in the shower. Let me tell you, that rocked. Speaking of showering/hygiene, I still haven't shaved. While in the shower, I decided that my tradition of not shaving because of being sick will now forever be called "Sick 'Stache Syndrome."

After getting relatively clean, I changed into lazy clothes. Sweatpants, baggy long sleeve shirt, warm socks and slippers. I was prepped and ready for laziness. I had already made the conscious decision to do nothing today. I might as well dress for the part. I then casually marched to my kitchen. Today needed a good hot breakfast to kick off my lazy day. I immediately went for the hashbrowns and eggs, the only edible thing I'm capable of cooking. Before I could get to work, my dad stopped me and suggested we go to breakfast. I agreed. (I begrudgingly changed out of my lazy clothes to do this.) It was nice to have breakfast with my dad in a a little hole of a restaurant.

Upon returning to my home, I went directly to the TV. I had to catch up with an old friend of mine: Sunday football. I have greatly missed the past time of sitting on my ass and watching Sunday football. I used to do it all the time from grade school through high school. Then I had to start working real jobs and so football watching soon ended thereafter. In fact, I'm still watching football as I write this. I have sparsely moved from the couch.

I really needed a day like this. I have spent all my days off doing nothing but homework, 10+ hours per day. I was starting to get really really really burned out on that. I had made it a conscious objective to make today as relaxing as possible. Now I'm bristling with hopes for coming back as good as new tomorrow. I wrote two papers over the weekend that I wasn't happy with. I haven't needed to turn them in yet thankfully. I'm hoping I can look over those again with a fresh mind and revise them.


Better. Feeling much better.

When I'm Sick, The Mustache Comes Back

The last couple of years, I've done really well in not being sick too often. I've been averaging 2-3 times per year. This year it's 3 times. The last time I thought I was sick was in September though it ended up just being allergies. In any case, when I get sick I feel like it's always this theatrical production. I don't do being sick very well. I'm not implying this is a unique trait. No one loves being sick. Some people are just better at tolerating than others. I don't tolerate it well. I do my best to tough it out but it always wins out.

I started an absurd tradition a couple of years ago. Every time I get sick, I decide not to shave. I don't know why. I just think it's nice not to shave when I'm sick. Of course, there are varied exceptions. I generally shave if I have work for a couple of days. Just because I feel like crap doesn't mean I have to look like crap when dealing with patients that are sometimes sicker than me. However, I have foregone that a couple of times and just let my patchy face hair grow in all it's glory for the masses to see. I've shaved for special occasions that I was sick for. Funerals, weddings, birthdays, etc. But it's rare that a sickness lands on these occasions.

In any case, my mustache is starting to show through after nearly 4 days of growth. I've really let myself go with this cold. It's like in a bad action movie where the hero goes into seclusion after being defeated or suffers a traumatic event. The hero inevitably disappears from public. When he reappears, the hero has grown a gnarly scruffy beard and dresses like a simple hobo. The hero staggers to and fro without meaning or direction. He doesn't care. He has been defeated and can't let go.

That's me. Except that I can't grow a sweet scruffy beard on command.........or ever, for that matter. So instead I have to settle for approximately 38 individual disproportionately distributed facial hairs that I let get kind of long. I just let it go. No shaving. Just pure unadulterated mustache growth.

When I start feeling better is when I will shave. So far, I still feel like shit and I don't have to return to work for another four days. It looks like my mustache and other affiliated facial hairs will be sticking around for a few more days.



And no, I will not be accompanying this with a picture. The mustache is too camera shy and I'm too lazy to take a picture.

Last Stop for Warm Weather

Yesterday was the end of warm weather for 2012. All day long it was my favorite type of weather. Warm and windy. It was a nice 70-something degrees all day accompanied by a strong warm wind. It was perfect weather to be out and about..............and yet I was inside all day doing homework, sick as crap.

As I walked out of the coffee shop I was studying at, the wind had gotten stronger. I stood there to revel in it for a couple of minutes. The wind blew through me. It blew my hair and clothes all around. I felt happy about it. I don't know what it is about a strong warm wind that makes me so content. There is something oddly pleasing about standing against it. No matter how hard the wind blows, I stand my ground to enjoy it. Of course, I have to be doing nothing to enjoy it. I can't be trying to go fishing or hiking or whatever. It certainly can't be cold. Cold wind is arguably tied with snow as my least favorite weather. I have to be doing nothing of importance to really enjoy warm wind.

I wanted to make it a point to go back outside later to enjoy the last warm wind of the year. I went home, relaxed for a bit. Without realizing, I had taken Nyquil for my cold. I then suddenly remembered I wanted to go back outside. Maybe go for a drive to enjoy it. But then it occurred to me I had just taken Nyquil. It was only a matter of time before the medicine put me off to sleep for the night. I had lost my chance. I was disappointed. I knew this would be the last time I would experience a day like this until late Spring.

Today, a snow storm has arrived to remind me that winter is practically here. My favorite days of warm sunny weather will soon be a thing of the past. This isn't just any snow storm. It's the real deal. Heavy snow piling on inches across the valley. It's the real sign of my future discontent. I just hate snow on so many levels. I hate driving in it. I hate walking in it. I hate how cold it makes everything. I hate how it makes everything slippery. On occasion, I admit it's a nice change of pace. But this is Utah. Snow isn't just a random change of pace. It's a way of life. Once you get snow, you're committed to it for a few months. You would think after all these years I would be used to it.


I guess I better just quit my bitchin' and deal with it. It's here to stay.

One Week Off But Yet Still Screwed Over

Well it's not quite a week off. It's more like 6 days off from work but I still have school obligations to fulfill. I requested this time off thinking I would be going to Seattle tomorrow. But since that fell through, I have 6 days to stay at home. That's good, right?

Normally it would be good. However, life has made it very clear that it hates me. Let me run through the list of things going against me here.

1. No trip to Seattle. That blows.
2. Shitloads of homework to do.
3. No money. I spent most of it paying off this semester so I could register early next semester.
4. Shitty weather forecast. Snow for the next 3 days. So much for getting out.
5. To top it all off, I got a gnarly cold that's kicking my ass.

I'm sure you're thinking "Quit being a Negative Nancy." To that I reply a prompt but polite "fuck you." Yep. I said it. I don't mean to be cross but there are no redeeming qualities to this list. Sure, perhaps life will throw me a curveball and give me a sweet 6 days off full of adventure and fun. However, now that I look at my homework load, I see that is very unlikely to happen.

It wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't sick with this cold. I should have known the stress I've been in would kill my immune system. It was only a matter of time before some cowardly virus made it's way in to run amok in my body. That virus is a douche.

Maybe tomorrow it will get worse. For all I know, some asshole will total my car then proceed to steal all the expensive belongings from my backpack while I'm unconscious. Ok, maybe that's too cynical.

Maybe tomorrow will be nice and neutral. Nothing good. Nothing bad. Just plain old neutral. I would gladly settle for that............and a cinnamon roll.

Politics and Your Mom

What do politics and your mom have in common?


None. I just wanted you to think I was about to make a brilliantly offensive joke. But alas, I have no punchline or a desire to make one up.

Today is voting day and just about everyone and their mom has asked me who I'm going to vote for. In truth, I don't vote. Nor am I registered. I've never felt compelled to vote. Now don't take me for some sort of unpatriotic hipster. In truth, I actually care about politics. I read the news every day, I subscribe to several news magazines that I read every week, all of which have different political views. I feel that I get a pretty well-rounded view from all sides of the arena. I think it's important to keep informed on world, national and local events. It's important to know what our leaders and other leaders are doing and/or not doing. I think it's important to pay attention because in some way it affects us directly and indirectly. Overall, I feel like that I'm pretty well informed.

Despite my interest in this type of news, I can never bring myself to vote. I don't take for granted the struggle of my fellow countrymen in the past. I'm grateful that I live in a country where I am able to vote and have that voice should I choose to use it. Conversely, I'm just as grateful that I live in a country that I don't have to vote either. That ultimately, my decision to vote or not vote, is my choice and free of penalty. It is my right to have that freedom. Whether you disagree with that or not is not the issue. We live in a nation that was built on this type of freedom of choice. While I certainly have my own political views, I don't feel compelled to share them or be that involved with them. I also certainly do not discourage voting either. I believe that it is essential and empowering. I believe people should vote. In no way, do I discourage involvement in exercising the right to vote and to be involved in your political beliefs. I just choose to not participate.

Maybe one day, I will vote. Maybe one day, I will feel compelled.

But today is not that day.


In any case, go out and vote! Or not vote! It's your choice!

Or encourage your mom to vote. That's cool too.

A Little Bit Better Today

I might be climbing out of this rut/funk thing finally. I've felt better the last couple of days despite all the stuff that has been going on. I've slowly been getting back up on my feet and feeling a little bit more positive again. I don't feel as mopey. I hope this isn't temporary. I'm ready to kick this thing out of my life.

It's been officially decided that I'm not going to Seattle next week which is a huge bummer. But there really isn't anything I can do about it. I could have really used that break. On the positive side, I still have all those vacation days off for work which gives me a full week to figure something out. I hope the weather stays decent so I can go fishing or do something similarly awesome. Just anything to make the break worth while and nice. I'll figure something out.

In any case, this post doesn't just exist to update everyone that I feel better. It's also helping me procrastinate on a paper that I just possibly couldn't care less about. I really don't want to do it. It's horrible. It's a waste of time assignment. But I can't change that so I might as well suck it up and just do it, right?

In any case, I feel better. Let's keep that trend rolling.

The Parting Glass

Oh all the money that e'er I spent
I spent it in good company
And all the harm that e'er I've done
Alas, it was to none but me And all the harm that e'er I've done
Alas, it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

Oh all the comrades that e'er I've had
Are sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I've had
Would wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and I'll softly call
Good night and joy be with you all




For some reason, I've had an obsession with this old Irish-Scot parting song. There is only a couple of people who have done this song right so that it actually sounds good. For some some reason, the song speaks to me and I'm not sure why. 

Weird, yes? 

Yes.

Writings That Shouldn't See The Light Of Day

For some reason, I felt compelled to go over my old writings in my computer. I'm talking about my old old old old writings. My old scripts, my old short stories, my old blogs and mostly my old songs/poems. Holy effing crap, they were horrible. Every last one of them is a literary abomination that no other human eyes should meet. They were just so angry, selfish, and self-indulgent. Nothing else mattered to me except for myself and my friends. Everything was in the immediate present. My emotions got the best of me at every turn. Sadness, anger, hate, rage. Everything. I was one bi-polar kid. I'm surprised I still have the same group of friends. 

The funny thing is, at the end of every one of my song/poem transcriptions, I request that my work be published if I die. I'm here to tell you right now that I hope that never happens. I hope those words never make it to paper. Teenage anger is not good writing, it's crap! At the time, I thought of myself as artistic and misunderstood. When I read it now, it just smacks of trying too hard and just being angry for no good reason. 

Also at the end of every transcription, I would talk as if someone would be curious enough to find my old poems and read them without my knowing. Yet another feat of being crazy self-involved. I doubt anyone cared about what I was writing to the point that they had to break into my laptop and see for themselves. Likewise, I don't think back then or even now I would be brave enough to show them the horror of my attempts and "literature." It's just so bad.

Back then, I was so much angrier. Everything triggered me. I think I get irritable just as easy, but not to the point of full out rage and anger over trivial things to the point it ruins my day. Thankfully, I'm not as big of an emotional wreck now as I was then. I'm happier now than I was then. I'm certainly a lot more cautious and less impulsive. 

What's the point of all this? Nothing really. I just thought it was funny to read old writings from 8 years ago and then read what I have on here now. My writing style now is at least tolerable. Kind of. 

Be thankful for that. 

Gone Are The Days Of October

October came and went so fast. Where did time go? One minute I'm enjoying nice weather in the sun, another minute it's November and I have to face the prospect of the cold winter. Halloween is gone and now we have Thanksgiving to look forward to. Before I know it, it will be December and Christmas will be in my face.

Screw that.

I'm hoping November will be a bit better than October. I can't say I was a huge fan of this year's October. This rut is still sticking with me it seems. I hope it leaves me before this month ends. I can really use a break. I've decided that I will be unable to go to Seattle next week. It's simply too expensive. So much for a vacation. So much for a trip away from it all.

I need a break. This rut is stealing my soul.

I guess I don't really have anything meaningful to say here today. Which I guess begs the question: Why did I even bothered posting at all?