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.

A Fond Farewell to 2016 and a Welcoming Hand to 2017

2016 was an exceptional year. At least for me it was. I know the collective world is groaning due to the insane list of beloved celebrities that passed on and the joke of a presidential election that took place. However, this year was personally gratifying.

This year started out rough in that I had to say goodbye to people whom I worked with and admired for years. Some died, others moved on to different jobs. I've had to say goodbye to friends, some cherished, others background characters. Some moved on to job opportunities while others moved on to much deserved brighter horizons. I've said goodbye to family members whom I just assumed would always be around. I've had to say goodbye to some aspects of my youth and aspects of my personality that no longer serve their purpose. I've said goodbye to old habits and hello to new ones. There were more goodbyes than I can ever remember having before.

The one event that sticks with me this year is starting nursing school. Despite how busy and stressful it is, I feel.....full. Full of purpose. Full of meaning and strength. Although it was not my intended goal, this is where I am now. I'm glad this is where I am. For once I feel like I'm driven by something real and tangible. Something I can really achieve and see through. Something meaningful. Something I love. I turned 30 this year and I can't say I handled it super well. Though it was an event surrounded by good company and good times, I struggled with saying goodbye to my 20's and a decade that symbolizes youth and energy. Both events seemed to tie into each other. They both made me feel like an adult. The adult I should be and not some lost, disappointing man-child. I also got in shape and stayed in shape for the majority of the year (Except December. It's never nice to my fat ass) This year also marked a dedication to health. Being healthy. Feeling healthy. Living healthy. I know, it sounds all terribly pretentious. But few things feel as good as feeling fit.

For once, I feel like I'm being propelled towards being the man I want to be. I feel like I've gained meaningful ground on being somebody. Although I feel like I've lost more friends and gained few in return I feel not so alone anymore. This is life. People change. Dynamics change in relationships. Shit happens. Shit gets broken. Shit gets fixed. The only thing you can do is roll with the punches because there is no going backward.

I can only unrealistically hope that 2017 is a year of similar prosperity and consistency. I'm not holding my breath. I'm not stupid. But hope is all I have when I can only control so little. I will strive to make this a good year and continue on with what I have and hopefully build towards what I don't.

This year was about growth. Perhaps this next year can be about stability.


Ok 2017, let's make the next 365 days worth recounting.

A Hat Too Far

Kids these days, am I right?!

Today I stepped out to the vast emptiness of holiday shopping to witness the bone chilling hollowness of commercialism gone awry. Christmas doesn't make sense to me. Today's youth doesn't make sense to me. Put them both together and I'm as confused as a lobotomized kitten in a sea of warm milk.

Anywho, today I saw not one but two members of today's youth sporting 2 hats. One hat resting comfortably upon their skull where it belongs and another fastened to a belt loop as if it where an open-carry pistol. A back-up hat? For what fucking reason would you ever need a back up hat readily available on your person? In case one hat didn't look "as fly" as you originally thought and changed to the one you thought might potentially be "dope as fuck" instead? Or perhaps you encounter a cute girl and get the feeling the Chicago Cubs hat just isn't her thing. Instead you slowly reach to your side and unholster your trusty Boston Red Sox hat to turn the tide, leaving nothing to chance in your strong hat game.

As a lover of all things hats, I agree with this trend in principle. In practice, this is dumb as shit. Perhaps if I were born in the far off year of 1998 or 99 I would be a valued subscribe of this back-up hat trend. I would never leave home thinking I wore the wrong hat again. But I grew up in a time where you chose the hat you were going to wear for the day and just dealt with the consequences of that choice, for better or worse. I'm an antiquated product of my time. Sure, I'd love to live in a world where I could just change hats in a pinch, on the go, in public, in an emergency fashion crisis.

But you can't teach an old dog new tricks..............or trends.

Time

Time.

It's our most precious commodity. It is ours to use and to waste however we please. It is finite. Whatever we use it for, we cannot get it back. Whoever we use it on, we cannot take it back.

We often worry about how much money we are spending, how we are spending it and where. Similarly, we don't worry that much about our time and how we spend it.

Like money, we sometimes spend our time foolishly. Perhaps with people who don't deserve a second more of our precious time. Unlike time, we can recover money by working harder or getting another job. Nothing in the universe allows us to gain back time, youth or moments wasted. Time is entropic. It keeps on being dispensed without our consent and leaves it up to us to keep up.

One of humanities most egregious flaws is how poorly we spend our time. We sometimes don't spend enough time with those closest to us. We don't always spend it with those whom we cherish the most and likewise cherish your time together. We don't always spend it on matters of the most importance personally, professionally nor globally. We don't usually spend it with those who would kill to have some of our time if only to enhance theirs. We are time killers. We use our time staring into our phones, staring into tv and computer screens, watching shows we have probably already seen......alone. We find silly games to play in the middle of "downtime" not realizing for a second that these seconds will never come again. That once these seconds happen, they are gone and and gone for good. We rarely take into account that one day, we ourselves will become old and will have wished for something better. We might have wished to have done something differently or to have paid better attention to someone/something else. We will never fondly remember the times we played a mobile app game while in line at the grocery store instead of calling a friend from out of state or a family member you've lost touch with. We will never fondly remember binge-watching a tv show for hours/days on end at the prime of our youth when we could have spent that time outdoors, falling in love, trying new foods, or being with family or friends. It seems we are doomed to not realize that all of the things we know and love are also finite and that their existence on this earth is just as limited as our own. Not everything and everyone will be here tomorrow.

Yet here we are. A race lost in screens. Lost in our own worlds of technology and denial. This isn't a call to live every day like it's your last as I have never subscribed to such an unrealistic and horrifically selfish philosophy. This is the call from someone who is akin to a financial advisor. Spend your time more wisely. While it is impossible to spend every second like it counts for something greater than yourself and the world at large; it is very much possible to spend our time knowing that we won't be here tomorrow with no guarantees of an afterlife where we see each other again like it's a high school reunion. We are all guilty of spending our time poorly.


Maybe tomorrow we can change that.

Almost Lost a Hat

At this point, my blog should be called "Hat's and Things: My Head Fashion Accessory Odyssey." But it won't be. I've had a few ideas to write in here that I simply neglect to write about. So instead, I bring you another hat post. Another glorious hat post. Enjoy, simple reader.

Last week, I almost lost my "special teams hat." If you've been reading my blog then you'll know that my "special teams" hat is strictly used for exercise, manual labor and fishing. I left it at the boxing gym I was at. By the time I realize it, it was too late. The place was closed. Could this be the end of a hat that I created? It used to be a such a dark shade of black. Now it's sweat and sun stained to the point of no return. I worked on that hat for years. I needed that special hat for special things. I thought it could be gone for good. Forever. My hat with a special purpose, lost in the blink of an eye because I let it loose in an unfamiliar gym. What was I thinking? I don't want to start over creating another one. Years of work went into that hat. Years! But I got lucky. My hat was in the lost and found, waiting for me. It almost got thrown out too but the owner decided to keep it since it was a recent addition. He knew which one it was too. My hat was safe along with my mental health.


And that is the story of how I almost lost the world's grossest hat.

Moment Pie

Moment pie is an idea I've been kicking around my head the last year or so. Everyone wants a part of a special moment. People like being apart of unique and novel moments which they can talk about with others for years to come. To share and be a apart of something. To be apart of the story. Everyone wants a slice of that sweet moment pie. I see it all the time. Maybe someone just announced they got pregnant and everyone in ear shot immediately floods that person. Now they too can reminisce about "the day it all began" many years from now with that person. Did you get engaged? How many people tried to figuratively crawl up your butt and wear you as a suit to be as close to the news as possible? Probably a few. Did some tragic news befall you in public? Which people tried to shoehorn their way into your shit during that time?

Moment pie. That sweet moment pie. Everyone wants a slice. Everyone wants to be apart of that moment. We humans are social creatures for the most part. Perhaps we have evolved to crave that moment pie to help us build community and camaraderie. To ensure teamwork and ultimately our survival.


Well stop it.


Get your own slice of moment pie you mooching bastards. I'll share it with who I choose or keep it all for myself.

Another Hipster Philosophy I Hate

I can't definitively confirm hipsters are responsible for a vast majority of bad quotes that float around the interwebs. But I can say that I'm 97% sure they are actually responsible for these terrorist attacks on the English language. I don't appreciate quotes that are meant to sound deep but lack in realistic grounding. And the deeper they sound, the bigger the name people try to attach to them. Ghandi and Lincoln are the most popular choices of the Internet to attach lame quotes to. It's all utter nonsense. No one attaches their own name to these bad attempts at deep-sounding rhetoric. Many fear sounding like pretentious douchebags. Others fear that no one would give them real credit because they are nobody. They are right on both accounts. 

But I digress. I'm getting way too far away from the subject I wanted to really write about. Yesterday I saw this quote and simultaneously shit my pants and threw up in my mouth a little. It's so fucking stupid that it literally assaults my eyeballs every time I begrudgingly read it. 

"What others think of you is none of your business."

Shut.

The. 

Fuck.

Up.

This advice is well-meaning in a way. It wants to tell you to not care so much all the time about what others think about you. Which is fine. But just say that. Not this sentence that sounds like it's commanding you to not make it your business. 

So I feel like I'm talking in a circle. But that's ok because I'm about to drop some truth bombs all over your shit. My biggest problem with this quote is that it's not realistic. As a human being that lives on planet Earth, it is necessary to care about what others think about you at least a little bit. You have to care a little about what others think about you. For instance, you have to care about what your boss thinks if you want to remain gainfully employed. If your boss thinks you're a lazy piece of shit with a 5th grade education. Wider than that, you probably care a little about what your coworkers think about you. If your coworkers label you as "the crazy one" or "the lazy one" you're screwed. Get ready for a career full of burnout and drinking rubbing alcohol in an abandoned swimming pool. The people you work with have a big potential to make your life hell. If you've ever had a shitty job because your coworkers sucked, you know what I'm talking about. What about your friends? Of course you care about what your friends think. You want to keep them as friends, right? If they think you're a monumental bitch whose company does not enhance the quality of their lives, you don't get to have friends anymore. Even wider than that, you have to care a little about what strangers think. Not to a huge degree because that's just silly. But you don't want to trip in a huge restaurant and look clumsy or yell at your spouse at the grocery store. You don't want to read porn magazines on a bus, or smell like tuna in a crowded mall. You have to care a little because that's how other humans get along with each other. It's how our race has evolved. We have to care a little and cooperate to survive/cope with our crazy world. If that means caring a little what strangers think, fine. I'll take that. 

Of course this quote is designed for our anxiety, over-analytical friends who care what everyone thinks and tries to please everyone in a 10 mile radius. You don't have to care deeply what people think. Just enough to not be the most hated douchebag on the planet. 

Goodbye 2015, Hello 2016..... and Stuff

Every year I have done this end of year recap. And every year I don't really care for it. So this year I'm not going to do it. 2015 wasn't like any other year. 2015 was a year of radical change and growth. And to top it off, this year will be the first time in years where I don't celebrate New Year at Joe and Randi's. The tradition has been broken. So I will break tradition by not writing the recap. I will write this short post about not writing the recap and call it good. So much has happened this year that writing a summary recap would be insulting. 

So there you have it. 

I'm not doing a recap. 

But I did manage to write on New Years Eve in here. That's at least one tradition I didn't break. 

Hair Like Joe Namath

It's that one time a year where I let my hair grow out a little. This year, it's driving me fucking crazy. It's uneven and I feel like a child. I feel like I should have a hat with a propeller on it at this point. For years, I've always thought of my long curly hair as a good sign of youth. As if it somehow made me look cool and free, when I'm actually kind of lame and boring. It was a good disguise. In my mind, my hair is the cool and rebellious hair of Joe Namath of the 60's and 70's. Long flowing hairy that commands a sense of awe and begrudging respect. Hair that reminds you of youth and fun.

Instead, if the wind catches my hair, I look like a dog that just got out of the bath on a windy day.

Which makes me feel grungy and stupid. Lately I feel like a lot of the patients and people I see treat me as if I'm at least 15 years younger. For most people that's a good thing. It's not as great at work. It's only a matter of time before I start wearing the propeller hat at work. 

If I'm ever caught wearing one, I am asking/begging someone to hit me in the nuts so hard that reproduction would become virtually impossible or too painful to attempt. It's really for the good of the human race that I don't reproduce if I'm wearing this. 

Anywho, it's not important. Joe Namath was sort of a douche anyway and not that great of a quarterback. But that hair was legendary. 

Mine is turning into a dried up quilt of lint from an abandoned dryer. 

(I know what you're thinking: Did I really just read another post about hair and hats and other pointless shit? Yep. You sure did. This blog has hit new lows.)

Hat and Hoodie Update

I'm sure many of you were wondering about the current hat and hoodie situation that was going on since I haven't update the public in a few days. So here's the juicy scoop. 

I have successfully worn a hat every day since October 6th. It's possibly the happiest I've ever been. Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. My streak of wearing a hat will stop at 55 days when I return to work. I'm most upset about it. 

The hoodie situation has progressed substantially. I've gone from just one black U of U hoodie that I've worn 16 out of 30 days, to now owning 2 black hoodies to rotate. I don't want to work my hoodies too hard. That leads to hoodie fatigue and hoodie burnout. Both are top causes for Hoodie Spontaneous Combustion Disease. It's always fatal. 

Now that you know what I'm wearing lately, you can go back to sleeping comfortably. 

Non-Zip-Up Hoodie

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm a huge proponent of zip up hoodies. They make up about 80% of my Fall/Winter/Spring clothing choices. From the dark grey hoodie to the dark black hoodie, I have a plethora of choices to compliment my poor choices to combat seasonal coldness. Recently, I have rediscovered my love for the original pull over hoodie. No zippers. No mercy. Just protective layering from the elements. It's been the best 26 dollars I've spent recently. This hoodie functions on just about every level possible. It satiates my desire for the utmost laziness that I'm known for. Just put it over my shirt and I'm out the door! It practically doesn't matter what I wear underneath. I could be wearing a bra or a shirt that says "I Love Anime Girls." No one would know because I never take off my hoodies unless I'm extremely hot. Which is rare. I embrace the heat and soak it up like a sponge and/or desert reptile. But I feel there is a strange stigma with pull over hoodies. With the zip up ones, it seems to create the illusion that I carefully picked it out of my closet to match whatever I'm wearing, even if I wear the same one for many days in a row. With the pull over kind, it seems that people think that I'm some sad sack of shit who just recently gave up on life. Something about pullover hoodies seems to signal to the rest of the world that I am no longer taking care of myself and might also possibly be hiding food within its deep pockets. If I wear the same one every day, people just assume I'm dirty as fuck. And they wouldn't be wrong but how is it different from the zip up hoodie?

No one has an answer for that.

But suffice to say, I don't care. I have worn this hoodie as a pajama hoodie on my days off. A social hoodie when I'm out and about and a centerfold piece of my daily fashion choice. I haven't worn a hoodie like this since I was 16. And that one got stolen by a girl who didn't like me anyway. I don't think I've gone back to the pullover ones since. I believe it might stem from my general awkwardness of having to sometimes take it off in public. I risk having it pull up my shirt and blinding everyone in sight with my obscene paleness and currently unflattering physique. I don't want to see that. No one does. I don't blame them. But at this point in my life, I am embracing this next step in my lazy evolution. Victims be damned if I have to take this thing off in front of them.

They could never understand the convenient love I have for this sweater.

Age Appropriate Skateboarding

I walk my dog near a skate park a few days a week. It's fun to sometimes stop and watch people do tricks and practice. It reminds me of my time being a preteen/teenager skateboard wannabe punk. Those were fun times wandering to skate parks and other buildings that had some sweet stairs and rails. However, I would like to you remind you that I didn't make it big with skateboarding and do not do it as a lucrative living. Skateboarding is a lot like music, sports, and other forms of art or athletics in which only elite handfuls can make a successful living of it. Only handfuls of bands make it to the rockstar heights of AC/DC or the ideal thug rapper lifestyle. Major league sports may have thousands of players but many are lost to injury or do not have sustainable talent to progress in a certain league (Stay with me here, I'm going somewhere with this. I promise). Big name journalists, photographers and writers are the biggest grains of salt in bottomless salt shaker. Many wield a camera or a pen with hopes of being the biggest name. Yet only handfuls are household names or big names in their specific niche.

Skateboarding is the exact same way. Like various sports, writing, photography and other art forms, it's fun to do as a hobby. Some are lifelong hobbies and some are passing hobbies that come and go with age. Skateboarding is definitely transient. There are few professional skateboarders over 50. There are notable exceptions but they are EXCEPTIONS. It was the cool thing when I was young and all the young girls thought that careless grungy skateboarders were awesome. I was never one of those people. For I was rarely careless. I was the most up tight of all my friends, I attempted to be grungy but it wasn't the "hot" kind of grungy. I just looked like a misfit human in grunge attire. Some people carry out and live that dream of skateboarding professionally. And that's cool. I respect that. However, I feel there is a certain age where you can probably drop the idea of skateboarding professionally. Any age over 25 is probably an ideal age to stop trying and get a real job. If you've already made it by that point (and most professional skateboarders make it before that age and continue with it as a career) then good for you. You're the exception. For everyone one Tony Hawk or Bam Margera there is thousands of deadbeats chasing the skateboarding dream well into their late 20's and 30's .

So this is where I was going with all of this. Back to the skate park where I walk my dog. Once or twice a week there is a guy there who is easily my age if not older who skateboards there and hangs out with people at least 5-10 years younger. This in itself isn't egregious but it's a little weird. But on top of that, he brings his daughter with him who is definitely under 2 years of age. She sits there restless and confused as to why her dad doesn't pay attention to her while he hangs out with guys who look like they may not be able to legally drink. She cries and asks for him and he keeps telling her to hold on while he attempts trick after trick with no success. He wasn't very good at all. He had the look of a novice. He would skate back to his buddies and begrudgingly console his daughter while commenting about her "bitch mom" who couldn't even watch her for the day so he could skateboard. The most baffling are his remarks about when he "some day" makes it big skateboarding and he won't have to worry about anything anymore and he can pay for a babysitter so he can hang out and skate all day.

Dude, seriously? Are you fucking 10 years old? Are you still humming the "I don't want to grow up" song by Toys R Us in your head? Are you possibly retarded or just lazy? Probably just lazy but I'm not willing to exclude both as possibilities. I understand parents need hobbies and can't sacrifice everything. But the one thing you hold on to is skateboarding? You're almost fucking 30. Easily. How about you put down the board and pick up a job application. It's a little late to cling to your youth now. And what about that poor girl who somehow decided it was a good idea to sleep with you? Is she 18 and still thinks skaters are so hot? What a mistake for all parties involved. For the daughter who can't get her fathers attention so he can skateboard and live in Neverland. For the dad who may never grow up or give up on childish dreams. For the mother who carried a baby from a man that is incapable of facing reality. Now they are all inseparably intertwined. There is no winning situation here. In the movies, the dad would realize the foolishness and error of his ways. Get a job, go back to school maybe. The mother would be supportive but firm for the dad to do something besides skateboard, but still support the dream until it was harshly apparent that this wasn't the way. The daughter likes her dad's passion and picks up his mannerisms throughout childhood but realizes the reality of what her dad was and doesn't follow in his footsteps in chasing the stars.

But it's not the movies. This is the real world and the odds are always against us. That family is fucked and never had a chance because some 30 year old dude is chasing a preteens dream.



Remember kids. Safe sex.

Irritation Issues

If you're looking for a juicy blog about my dry skin or dry eyes, or there minor medical problems having to do with mild irritation you'll have to look elsewhere. Instead, you'll get a thrilling post about my general frustrations over a couple of stupid things. Additionally, I just want to call it irritation and not something about anger. I feel that "anger issues" and "anger management" are severely overused words and concepts. I'm not angry. Just annoyed at really dumb things. However, this will all sound coincidentally angry.

So I'm walking through a few stores in search of a heavy jacket for the winter. In this particular store everything is about 4 sizes too big. I know I've written about this before. The plight for fashion of the short and skinny white guy (This plight is indeed real). But this is getting ridiculous. There were plenty of sweatshirts, jackets, hoodies and such that were quite appealing to me. Unfortunately the smallest size they had as a medium. But even so, the mediums were huge. To be fair, I've never seen a small size in this store ever so I shouldn't complain too much. And it's not because they are sold out. (And no this wasn't a store for "plus-sized gentleman") They just simply don't sell them. Their key demographic is for tall, fat guys apparently. Every article of clothing in there was generally large to triple extra large. The crazy thing is, employees were restocking those sizes heavily because they run out of them in a week. You could argue that I shouldn't shop there knowing they don't carry my size and seem to exclusively cater to their planetary sized clients. You could also suggest something equally horrible such as "order the small online." I'm going to politely shoot down those suggestions with a mad scientist-sized ray gun of destruction. True, I shouldn't shop there knowing that, but would it kill them to stock something that doesn't drown even an average man? And also why order it online? I'm just not a wild child who can order something online without having trying it on first. (Side argument: you could also say I could return it if it doesn't fit. Fuck that. Once I have it, I'm too lazy to send it back. What a hassle for a lazy piece of crap like myself)

I was going to write about something else that annoys me, but I've decided to save that for another day because I'm lazy and tired of writing.

I bid you a good day sir or madam!