Get the Fuck Out 2017! Please come in 2018.

Wow. 2017 was a year. And it was by far one of my least favorite years. Never before have I been challenged to the end of my wits and patience. It was a long, long shitty year where there were only a handful of bright spots. It was a giant blur. School encompassed the majority of my year. Not in a good way either. It took over. When I look back, all I see is school and a couple of events that were nice and a lot more that were unpleasant. It was sort of a rough year. A year ago, I hoped for stability. It was stable in that I reliably had a schedule and something to do. But that was it. Otherwise, this was a year of bad news, bad breaks and some bad luck. I said goodbye to too many people I said goodbye to too many aspects of my life. I said goodbye to things that I thought helped make me, me. Of course, it wasn't awful. I'm sure if I told you the story, it would just be met with a giant eye roll.

Loneliness.

That's probably the best way to describe this year. Lots of feeling isolated. Lots of being scared, panicked or anxious. Lots of stress. Lots of shit I didn't want or need.

But at the end of it all, I got through it. I'm done with the more difficult aspect of school. Now it's time to start building a career this late in my life. Which I should feel accomplished but instead feel shame and embarrassment for having got to this point so late. All I can do is move forward and make 2018 my own. I'm hoping I'll have more time. More control. More money. More of my life to deal with. It won't feel dominated or wasted by outside sources. This year will still be a big step forward and so much is unknown. But perhaps that's what will make this year so grand. The unknown. Not knowing what's going to happen next. I'm looking forward to that.

For once, I have a year that feels like I can mold it.

A Button-Up Shirt

I've recently taken a a new step towards adulthood. A couple of days ago I used a significant portion of my personal funds to purchase casual button up shirts. Not shirts I'd wear for an interview, funeral, wedding, or possibly a Bar Mitzvah. But shirts I'd wear in a casual setting with close friends, acquaintances and possibly around HR personnel. Who knows. I purchased them thinking "I could stand to look a little nicer sometimes." Boy was I wrong. I looked like a bigger tool than usual. I'm a huge fan of my plain black shirts. But I've taken a step with generic plaid and long sleeves. I thought I looked nice at first until I looked around. Just about everyone and their mom was wearing plaid long sleeves. Seriously. Everyone!

While I do appreciate being a nameless face that just blends into the fabric of society, this felt like a step too far. I wasn't just blending in, I was submitting. I raised my white flag to the world and said "I can't look like a cheap 20-something-year-old-asshat forever. Now it's time for me to upgrade to cheap 30-something-year-old-toolbag who want to looks nice for his corporate superiors."

Three shirts. I bought three shirts. I got compliments each day I have worn them. It's either a sign that I look good when I try harder than being a disgruntled crumbum or that there is a chemical signal ingrained in men to turn them from dumpy young guy to average older chump.

Either way, I'm not happy about it. But I guess I'll keep wearing the shirts until I stain them with BBQ sauce or coffee.

Bad Hat Choices

So there I was in a parking lot getting out of my car. The sun was beating down on me at 97 degrees of pure melanoma-inducing hate. My plain black hat kept the sun out of my eyes so I could survey my surroundings before crossing the street to my destination. A large accumulation of sweat had pooled in the small of my back after driving 45 minutes in this arid, hellish landscape of a standard Utah summer. I couldn't wait to get indoors to enjoy the air conditioning awaiting me a mere 30 yards away.

Just as I was about to cross the street, an old car pulls up next me to park. Emerging from the vehicle was possibly the most insane human being I could picture at that time. A long haired kid (Kid = asshole in his early twenties) wearing a beanie and tight pants squeezes past me to cross the street. Listen, I remember what it was like to be in my early 20's. I wanted to look and be cool. But holy shit fucking crap! Tight pants and a beanie when the temperature is rapidly approaching triple digits is insanity! I was sweating my balls off in shorts, thin black t-shirt and sandals in a car that has great AC. This kid was driving in a car that was built while Gerald Ford ran the nation whilst wearing late fall clothing. I'm not even sure if AC existed in cars back then. The balls on this guy! I love the heat, but not enough to invite heat stroke. I could forgive the pants decision. Some people just don't like wearing shorts. As I sit in this coffee shop, I realize that I might actually be the only person in shorts here. But a beanie? A fucking beanie?! The sole purpose of a beanie is to keep your ears and head warm in the event the temperature drops below 50 degrees. The temperature was double that! Not to mention the long black hair this ass was sporting. That's a double whammy! Brain cells were possibly melting and leaking out of his ears. My hat is thin and made to cover up matted down unhygienic hair. It would be better not to have it, but it's not my first choice for cold-ish weather.

This hat decision blew me away. I thought I had seen it all. Believe me, I've seen some shit in my day. But a beanie in late summer is unfathomable. It just screams "Help me! I'm trying to look cool while actually being physically overheated by my own dumbass decision! If I was in any other country, I would have died of dehydration and heat stroke by now!"

Bad hat decisions are bad decisions that affect us all as a society. Stop the madness now!

Inspirational Posing

This might be the dumbest thing that has popped into my head in recent memory.......

But why can't I have good quotes to be remembered by? If I died tomorrow, no one would have inspirational stories of how I would often say something inspirational or say this one line that everyone adored. Maybe something along the lines of "Don't worry about it, el tigre. Keep your chin up and give em' hell." (Nonsensical nicknames seem to make motivational phrases more endearing) I need some sort of amazing phrase that is normally reserved for wise dads, grandpas, influential uncles or sagely neighbors. Ideally, this sort of phrase would be on a banner or tombstone next to an equally inspiring picture of me. Memorial pictures shouldn't look like audition headshots. Good memorial photos are of someone confidently standing in front of a jet/car/heavy machinery, or someone holding a shovel, or maybe even casually tucking a helmet or ball under their armpit in one arm and a strong thumbs up with the other. You have to look like it was taken in the midst of hard work and then in the throes of photographic passion, you make the perfect pose for future generations to admire.

(Other acceptable poses include: leaning up against a fence/wall, confident arm fold with smug smile, shirtless with sunglasses in sunshine)

I can only hope to achieve such inspirational greatness via confident photographic posing or broad and empty inspirational rhetoric.

This picture from the 90's cartoon "Red Planet" perfectly embodies the inspirational pose I so desperately want to achieve in my life. Note the ideal tame but slightly long hair and hyper-macho stance. Some day........Some day.

Perfection is Stupid: My Thoughts from the Shower

As a society, our culture is obsessed with perfection. Living the perfect lifestyle. Having the perfect items. Having the perfect people in your life. To complicate this unrealistic goal further, we use social media outlets to display that never ending chase.

What really pisses me off is how we perceive others as "perfect." We compare ourselves to others and anoint them as "perfect." Anyone who claims or comes off as perfect is lying. Perfection is a giant lie. Do you know what's easier than being perfect? Pretending to be perfect. It's so much easier to go online and post pictures of your brand new car, home, jewelry, always smiling kids and family, and all the good news that happens in your life. It's easier to present being perfect than being perfect. Even in small samples of time with people face to face, you can continue that facade. Long enough to perpetuate the myth, but not long enough that people can see the cracks in the dam. More often than not, we don't get to see the struggles of these people. They don't talk or advertise their fears, insecurities, and failures outwardly. When behind closed doors, away from the spotlight, away from the image they sell to others, this concept of perfection does not exist. This world of make believe that people create for others viewing and judgement is the farce we often suspect it to be. It's too good to be true. But we go along with it, perhaps convincing ourselves "what if it were true? What if perfection does exist?" Don't we all just feel a little inadequate in that thinking?

Online quotes are a tricky thing. There have been a lot of great sentences uttered in the world from a lot of great people. There have also been a lot of less than great sentences uttered from nobodies but attributed to great people. However, the quote "Comparison is the thief of joy" is widely attributed to President Theodore Roosevelt. Whether he said it or not is debatable, but the truth of it is not. Perfection is unattainable, happiness is attainable. There's a big difference. Comparing ourselves to others is a rather sad way to live life. Going through life with the intention of making others compare themselves to you is a hellish life far more depressing than I could possibly ever concoct.

There are far better things to do with our finite time on Earth than pretending to be perfect. We should be spending our time finding those things instead.

I Wore Pants!

This is not a drill! My dry spell with denim has finally come to an uneventful close and also simultaneously started back up again. It's a suspensful story of love, family, drama and even hatred.......Hatred for comfort!

I'm sure you as the reader are thinking, "Quit the charming banter and bullshit filler and give me the god damn details about your denim pants adventure!"

Settle down there, eager beaver! You'll have your story. And it will in no way waste one second of your time.  Because if you're here reading on this site, you're definitely not killing time that you could be spending more wisely elsewhere. This story is so full of passion and thrilling enigmas that you might actually crap your pants. You could completely evacuate your bowels upon finishing this post. I probably should have warned you to have a fresh pair of pants nearby in the event this extremely likely scenario takes place. Hopefully you stopped reading at this point and are now near a fresh pair of pants, a shower, and nobody you love enough to not want to embarrass yourself in front of them. Or if you're really smart, you're just sitting on the toilet while reading this. Work smarter. Not harder.

Anyway, I wore pants to my family's Super Bowl party.

Because wearing scrub pants in front of them would have been more trouble than it was worth. So I wore regular pants. I can't say that I missed them. The whole time I was left wondering what my scrub pants were doing back at home. Were they ok? Were they happy in my absence? Would they still be there when I returned? The answer to all 3 of those questions was a resounding yes. But that's not the point. The point is, I wore pants to appease my family. I regret every second of that decision. I should have gone for comfort, not style. Upon returning home, I found my denim pants to be quite restrictive. The amount of salty foods I had ingested increased my waistline. Things were getting tight. Uncomfortably tight. Unflatteringly snug. My denim pants appeared to mock me as they clung tightly to my thighs like an obsessed lover. Judging me over my poor nutritional choices. So I did what any reasonable person would do: I broke up with my denim pants. I dropped them like it was hot and immediately went back to my nonjudgemental scrub pants. Scrub pants understand me. They fit with the light tug of a compliant drawstring. And just like that, I was back to normal and happy.

True story.

You may now change your pants.


Also this story was worthless and only partially true.

The Last Time I Wore Pants

Jeans. Levi's. Denim over-garments. Whatever you prefer to call your pants. That's what I'm talking about when I refer to pants. Not just a broad spectrum of long-legged clothing in general. This isn't a post about how I've been waddling around in my underwear or worse, in the nude for several weeks. No, this post is about the fact that I can't remember the last time I actually put on a pair of jeans. I think it's been about 19 days. Possibly 20-21. I'm not sure.

Why does this matter? Well if you're a normal productive member of society, you typically put on pants to go out and about. However, if you work full time, go to nursing school full time and fill precious moments in between with going to the gym and homework, pants/jeans become an irrelevant piece of your daily wardrobe. I'm in scrubs for school 3 days a week and work 3 days a week. On my day off, I'm usually at home studying. When I'm not at one of those places, I'm at the gym in baggy gym pants (not jeans because I'm not a tool and don't wear denim whilst participating in athletic activity). And if I'm not there, I'm at home in old green scrub pants or pajama bottoms studying. And on the slim chance I'm not home, I'm at a coffee shop in scrub pants studying. Scrub pants allow for maximum comfort when sitting. Breathable cotton makes sure I'm not too hot but certainly cold enough if a draft catches me just right. Baggy enough that it's not restricting my ability to contort my legs in a variety of positions to read boring textbooks from. But not too baggy that someone doesn't assume I stole the wrong size of scrubs while at my last unnecessary visit to the hospital. It's the perfect combination of comfort.

This may not be a big deal to most people. But jeans signify that at some point that I was out in public doing something else that wasn't homework related or possibly even enjoying social interactions with people whom I don't strongly dislike. In fact, now that I think about it, I was literally at Walmart the other day in scrub pants and a hoodie. My give-a-fuck-o-meter was running on the rather empty side that day. No denim to be found upon my person.

How long will this streak last? It's certainly not a streak that I'm going to be breaking today. Even now I'm sitting in old green scrub pants, sipping coffee and watching the X-Files. Shortly, I'll change into gym pants and return to change back into my green scrub pants and study. I have no intention nor desire to put on jeans and go out and about. What business do I have doing something so absurd? Should I go to the mall and endure the annoyance of modern youths and the general public? Fuck that. I could go to a nice outdoorsy store but I have no money to spend on things I don't really need so no use in torturing myself there. I have plenty of groceries to last me at least another week. There is literally nothing I need that would require me to put on regular social pants and go out beyond the premise of my home.


I've had a good relationship with denim jeans most of my life. But I think our relationship is starting to fade. People change. My needs have changed. I just don't see the need for jeans. Maybe in a few weeks I'll catch up with my old denim friends. We'll go out, maybe see some friends, make some jokes, see the streets.

Or maybe I'll blow them off and stick to my trusty comfy scrub pants and not move for a while.

Why Keep This Going?

There are very few positives of writing in a blog for 12 years. Aside from having a large back catalogue of my truly dreadful attempts at writing, I'm really writing for no one. No one writes in blogs anymore. Only a handful seem to do so anymore. Even I fade in my posts with each passing year. So why am I writing? Who is honestly reading? In some regards, this is an open journal that I occasionally write in about generally useless things. Nothing of importance about my life. I suppose a more private journal I write in daily has taken over the function of this blog. Though this blog tends to be written with a bit more intentional comedy.

At this point, this blog is written in when I'm bored or I feel compelled to write in here so it's not so bare. I'm on the cusp of having 500 posts. I suppose that's a lot more than I ever thought this page would get. I'll keep this open for whenever I feel like writing general musings.

This page just ain't what it used to be.