Manly Moments

I woke up very groggy this morning. I got up, threw on a shirt, headed out to my yard to do a quick chore. Only then did I realize it was still completely dark outside. It was at this point I heard a rustling in the bushes and I look over in time to see two glowing eyes come charging right at me. And naturally, I took off.
I ran a very clumsy loop around the yard before retreating into the safety of my home. It didn't really click during the chase that the eyes were only a few inches from the ground. All I know is that when two glowing eyes rush at you out of the darkness, you run. You run your ass off.

After making it inside and reflecting, I realized it was probably an animal (which some later investigation confirmed to be a possum) but at the time, my natural assumption was some sort of demonic terror.

On the up side, the whole affair may have increased my street cred. I think I already have a reputation for being a little unbalanced for a few completely innocent and silly incidents. Now we have me, in the darkness, doing full speed sprints around my yard with a battle cry issuing from my lips. At least I hope it sounded like a battle cry and now what it probably really was: a girly squeal of terror.

Everybody floats down here

Untitled

 
Never mind how long it lasted
You’re still the best thing
That never happened

If you're a bird, I'm a bird.

I have the most ridiculous habit of watching sad/romantic movies when I am missing someone. I think I overdid it today. If I drank, I'd be getting ripped right about now. I feel like I at least should have had a gallon of ice cream to eat while I watched two such movies back to back, but instead I just stared unblinking at the TV while I foolishly let the cinematic adventure kick my fragile insides around for a while. What a productive way I spend my late, late Saturday nights.

Do you think of me, like I dream of you-
Do you wish you were here, like I wish I was with you
You loved me before; do you love me now?

Awkward Moments: The Police (not the band)

For being someone who never does anything against the law, I have certainly had some crazy (and unfair) run-ins with the police over the years. Between nearly getting arrested for "excessive drug use" (I've never done drugs a single time in my life) by a cop who could "sense drugs - even pills - when someone has taken them", to getting cuffed and slammed on the front of a police car with a gun trained on me for "kicking in a public bathroom door and stealing all of the toilet paper at a swimming pool" as my other friends with me at the time were calmly and politely interviewed by the many, many officers who came to stop the infamous Toilet Paper Bandit, I've had more than my share of misunderstandings with the law. With this in mind, I feel I am completely in my rights to get rather paranoid when a police car gets behind me, even though chances are I haven't done anything. 

...I should note that, as far as the toilet paper theft is concerned, I've never stolen anything (tp included) except when I was six or so and I took a 5 dollar bill off of the mantle in my grandparents home. And I thought the face on the bill was cool looking (6 year old me respected beards) which is why I took it. I still very vividly remember the shame of admitting my crime to my family.

The point is, there's other people out there the police should probably be focused on more than me, especially in my neighborhood, which is where this incident went down.

Last Friday, I was kindly invited to some sort of shindig at the zoo. I never did know what the official name of the event was, but it was sort of like Oktoberfest except with wild animals, which initially struck me as a bad place to have people consuming lots of alcohol. So I went and, while I don't drink, who doesn't love the zoo, hot dogs, and being with friends?

Important to the story; though I don't drink, I gladly try sips of different drinks to see what their flavor is and, basically, remind myself why I don't drink, as every sip of alcohol always does. And when I say "sip" I mean "wet my lips so the hint of flavor gets on there". I had a sip of about 5 or 6 different beers, each one tasting increasingly like wood, or feet, or wooden feet during the 3 hours I was there. The total volume of those sips would probably add up to a teaspoon. Far less than the shot of NyQuil I take when I'm sick which, due to my low alcohol tolerance, will find me afterwards going "WOOOO I'M SICK!!!" and ripping my shirt off like a professional wrestler.

When you arrive at the Zootoberfest, they give you an actual glass that you carry around to sample the various drinks and, upon leaving, you take it home with you. Obviously mine didn't see much use but at some point it was used for drinks when there was no water to be found to rinse out the other glass.

The actual zoo visit was uneventful; the line for The Grilled Cheesery was way too long, which was very sad but I was uplifted by seeing a 40 lbs rabbit, and eating a delicious pretzel and hot dog, and having good company, so all-in-all, great evening.

As we are leaving, I think, "perhaps having two open glasses smelling heavily of alcohol in the front seat with me isn't a great idea" but then I dismiss it, figuring I have to get the glasses home somehow, and besides, what are the odds of being stopped? High, apparently. Very high.

The last time I was pulled over, it was literally in my drive-way. The officer had seen my brake light was out, which I did not realize, then swarmed me when I pulled into my home. Nothing of note there; a bunch of people looking out of their windows, glad it wasn't them, and I was given a warning and off he goes.

Back to the zoo night, I am less than a mile home when I pass a cop parked in the very obvious "waiting to see someone slip up and pounce" spot. My first thought is "I hope I wasn't speeding" but that's pretty much always my first thought. I pass and he doesn't move, whew. Safe. Then as I get to the red light, he pulls out and behind me, but in a normal fashion. The traffic light changes and we proceed. My cars tail light had come to mind around this time, but clearly I was good to go or he'd have gotten me. I tell my friend in the car "last time I was this close to home, I got pulled over for a dead tail light. I'm glad they are both working this time.

Naturally, no sooner have I spoken than "booooeeeeeewwww" (siren sound), the lights come on and I'm pulled over. That's when a moment of panic sets in. The glasses!

"Oh crap. Hide the glasses".

That alone makes me sound pretty guilty.

My friend grabs the glasses and is about to put them on the floor when suddenly a blazingly bright light shines in HER window, right as she has both glasses held up and in front of the window. There's no way the glasses weren't seen. She puts them back into the cup holders and we fumble trying to roll the window down. It's my car, I know that the window control is on the center console, but we are both hitting every button but that one. Doors are locking, flashers are turning on and off, and it looks like we are stalling. I manage to pull myself together and roll the window down.

The cop is very laid back, "yeah I just wanted to let you know your tail light is out. If you'll get me your info so I can run it, I'll give you a warning and send you on your way".

Instead of just complying, I figure it's a good idea to tell him that, "yea, I was just telling my friend here about this happening before and how you're supposed to replace both lights but the other was fine so, despite it being $3 to replace it, I just went on my way" and rambling away like the Micro Machine guy. The ceaseless, inane rambling of the guilty.

"Sir, have you had anything to drink?" and by reflex I say "no" which, considering my less than teaspoon of manly "sipping", is true. However my first thought is "I'VE LIED TO THE LAW" and I mentally start to fall apart.

Normally in such a situation, anytime I reach for something, I tell the officer what I'm going for and where it is. But as stated, I'm falling apart and feeling guilty even though I'm not, so I reach (waaaaaay too quickly) for my wallet to get my license, as previously requested. I get a very quick, stern "SIR do you have a WEAPON in this vehicle" and his hand goes for his hip. Given the shadiness of my neighborhood, I'm surprised he didn't blast me out of pure anticipated self-defense. I replied (quickly) in the negative and told him what I was reaching for. Everything settles back down and he heads off.

He can't have been gone for more than half a minute when he gets back and says "our computers are going a little slow, can you step out of the car for a minute please". Oh boy. I join him on the sidewalk, which of course I trip over as I step up on it, and he says, "I want you to do this for me" and he describes how he wants me to put both hands over my mouth (as if I had just seen something shocking) and follow the pen of his with my eyes.

First off, I'm so nervous at this point that my hands are clamped down on my mouth and over my nose (which for some reason I covered as well) so very tightly that I can't breathe through my hands and I'm nearly causing myself to hyperventilate. But I'm worried moving my hands away will cause me to fail the test, so I leave them. I'm not sure my frantic breathing was helping me seem like I was innocent, though.

Second, it's pitch black outside. I am in front of him and blocking any light from his car, and behind him is nothing but darkness. And his pen is completely black. For a minute I thought he was completely messing with me and had no pen. I do my best to follow it but am basically just watching his hand move because I simply can't see the pen most of the time. 

After this, he holds it straight in front of me at arm's length and says for me to take my index finger and touch the tip of the pen. Pfft, easy. I go for it and as you might expect miss it by about an inch. Then it just all comes out, how it's dark and the pen is dark and he has a black outfit on and I can't see the black pen against the black background, maybe if I moved and let the light hit him, etc etc. More ramblings of someone who is clearly guilty-ridden. 

Thankfully, there's not really much after that. He looks to me and says, "did you just have one?" and I said, "no, no, I don't even drink at all" which, I now realize, is probably a bad reflex simply because it's not that believable. Most people drink SOME. I followed it up with a smooth, "I was the designated car driver type person from the thing at the zoo place". I get a warning about the light, and am sent on my way, and no cuffing or guns or anything like that. It could have been a lot worse.

The next day, I'm at a Taste of Nashville with another friend. It's a similar event but it has things for me to do as well, namely eat tasty food. But they do give you two plastic cups to sample the drinks when you first arrive. At one point I'm holding both my cup and my friend's cup as they are in the bathroom, mine filled with booze-free lemonade (but I had to ask for it specific because all the lemonade had booze in it) and another that was clearly alcohol, when who should walk by me but the officer from the previous night. I on reflex threw both cups into the nearby trash and headed the other direction. 

My friend was not pleased I had tossed away the drinks but at least I narrowly avoided jail yet again.

I Am Troubled

Today has been a strange day for me, and it's not even noon yet.

The word "betrayal" is a strong word. I don't feel like I've ever experienced it. Not in a way that would warrant a use of such a dramatic word, at least. I have friends who have and I've seen the results. It's pretty terrible. Sure, I've had relationships that fell apart, but I've never been cheated on (that I am aware). I've lost friends, but simply through growing apart and not something terrible happening. But never betrayed. I feel like I got a little taste of betrayal today.

I have a friend (or HAD, I guess) who I've known for over 10 years now. We've always been close, or so I thought. Over all the years while she was moving to various places for school, we always stayed in touch and talked often. She felt like one of the cornerstones of my life, of who I am, much the same way that my family does, or my best friend, or other such staples in my life.

I haven't heard from this friend in about a year which was after a very passionate - and I realize now, ironic - speech from her about how I was the only one in her life who was always there for her no matter what the situation was and how much she appreciated it And then I never heard from her again. That was over a year ago.

I couldn't reach her via phone, email, Facebook, anything. She had been really sick for a while and no one knew why, and I was afraid the worst had happened and she was dead, but I couldn't find out. I obsessively searched obituaries in the areas she had last lived. I couldn't find any news of her of any kind, and I'm usually pretty good at playing detective. So naturally I was terrified. Not knowing was awful.

Last night I had a dream about her. I don't recall the subject, just that when I woke up, the worry had set in and I ran upstairs to begin the search anew. But it didn't take long; Facebook saved me some time, seeing that she finally had some activity going on. Unless someone hijacked her account, she's alive and active. I'm now torn between relief and fury, and people who know me know that 'fury' isn't a word that can ever describe me.

Obviously I'm relieved she is alive. I had no idea how much stress that was causing me until I felt the overwhelming weight lift from my shoulders that I didn't realize I was carrying. But with the good comes the back, and her being fine means she's received my many attempts at communication, my frantic inquiries on if she was alive and she knows how worried I was. And she didn't give a shit. Instead of even the quickest reply of "I'm fine", she thought it was totally fine to let the guy who she said is always there for her assume she might be dead. That is what I'm worth to her. I feel bad for her friends who weren't as reliable as I was.

What kind of person is this? My friend April says I am very good at seeing through the BS of people and seeing what kind of person they really are. So how is it that I could be so completely fooled by the quality of this individual for over a decade? How is it so possible to be THIS wrong about someone? And how will I ever find rest and comfort in knowing another person when in the back of my mind this memory will nag at me and constantly remind me that, hey, you might not know who they truly are even a little bit.

Good Times

I saw one of these today for the first time in years. It reminded me of when I was a teenager and someone special to me used to randomly give them to me during the day on occasion. They appeared sealed, but upon opening one I would find a loving message carve out of the strip. A silly thing, but I miss that.

I also miss having my patterns carved into my apples.
(And that is a literal comment, not a sexual euphemism).

It's not my destiny-
to be the one that you will lay with

Awkward Moments: The Restroom At Work

We have an unfortunate restroom situation at our new office. When I first moved in, we only had one functional restroom, which was located downstairs. It was a bit of a hike to get to the restroom, and you had to walk through a whole floor of people you didn't know. Aside from that, it wasn't really a big problem. It mostly meant I had to stop making a habit of waiting until the absolute last second when my bladder was at maximum capacity to take a bathroom break.

Shortly after we moved in, they installed a new set of restrooms on the second floor, where I am located. I was out of work at the time and didn't realize it was open and proceeded to use the old restroom downstairs for about 2 weeks before I was told the new one was open. Oops.

Unfortunately, with the new one open they shut down the old restrooms for a remodel, so we are currently having to deal with 1 stall and 2 urinals total for the entire building. Not an End of the World type of problem, but it has led to some awkward situations.

I wouldn't think designing a restroom would be all that complex. I mean, I have never done it (and I have drawn a surprising number of diagrams of what I thought was a better way to show my teammates) but I would expect people who do it for a living would be pretty savvy at it. This doesn't seem to be the case.
The design of the new men's restroom is horribly thought-out. A friend told me before I'd seen it that the door opened outward in such a way that people in the department across the hall could see inside to any guy who was using one of the urinals. I thought this had to be a joke. Turns out he was right.

During my first adventure to use a stall, I'm standing there, doing what you do at such a location, when the restroom door opens. As one naturally tends to do, I looked back to see who had entered the room (without making eye contact; it IS the men's room, after all). Having seen who was entering, I start to turn my head back around when my sight goes beyond this new person, out the still open door, across the hall... and my eyes lock with a very uncomfortable looking woman in the department across the way. I think I could see a little part of her die inside, even from that distance. Now I spent half my time trying to ninja my way around the office so I don't bump into this person.

The stall itself is another adventure. The inside of the stall is HUGE. The toilet is so far back from the door of the stall that you can't see if anyone is in there by looking at the floor to find feet. And the stall door closes on its own so there's never a time where you walk in, see it open, and know it's safe to enter. Now you either have to knock or bend over to look under the stall. Both obviously quite awkward. I've tried to figure out a good angle to use the mirror to see feet, but so far, when I've thought the coast was clear, it proved to be very unclear.

So it comes down to knocking, which isn't nearly as reliable as you'd expect. If I'm in a stall and there's a knock, I can't yell "OCCUPIED" - in a fake voice to disguise my identity - fast enough. Much to my surprise, not everyone is like that though. Twice in a row I had exhausted my other options to see if it was safe to open the door, and proceeded to knock. Loudly. No answer. I pull the handle, there is resistance and a very angry shout of "I'm IN HERE". Twice. By the same person. The first time was evidently not enough of a lesson.

In the old location the cleaning lady would come by and knock on the restroom entrance and yell "is anyone in here?" while knocking. It was really weird to yell out something to let her know someone was there, but it was even worse if one of the other stalls was being used. You didn't want to shout out and let the other person know who you are. So you'd wait it out and hope they answered. It was like a really strange game of chicken. In the end, you'd both wait too long and the cleaning lady would come in anyway and there would be three very embarrassed people instead of just one semi-embarrassed person.

I'm starting to think those people who refuse to use any public restroom are on to something.

Hot Yoga

I learned about Hot Yoga approximately 8 years ago from a show called "Dead Like Me". Due to that single episode which featured a class filled with trim, gorgeous women, I assumed for the longest time that 'hot' meant 'sexy' instead of temperature, so I avoided looking into trying a session, fearing I might be denied access and have my self-confidence shattered.

I overcame my fear after all these years and went to my first class today and I learned something very important. It's freakin' HOT in there. I should have known I'd be in trouble when I was at home getting ready to leave for class and I thought to myself, "it's sweltering in here" and it was only 68 degrees. Clearly I was going to do well in a 110 degree room while doing difficult yoga poses.

I told the friend that invited me that I might not be able to make it because I couldn't find any (clean) pants that I could do yoga in. She laughed and said, "oh no, you want to wear shorts". This troubled me because I find the idea of doing any sort of deep lunges as a shorts-wearing male to be risky business. Plus I recalled the last time I wore shorts to a class (a spin class), I nearly exposed myself. And I don't want to be like this guy.

 

I didn't have time to run to the store, so I had to make due with what I owned. 2 pair of shorts and 3 pair of boxers (that's right, no briefs and certainly no tighty-whiteys). I thought about doubling up on either underwear or shorts, but I figured it would kill my mobility, so I had to find some way to keep myself decent for the duration of the class. And let me tell you, I felt pretty weird sitting around testing to see if I could do a squat without my cash and prizes making an appearance. Not to mention that some of the phrases I googled to get advice on the 'situation' probably made me show up on some sort of national pervert list. In the end, I tried every possible combination of shorts and undies until I finally found a combination of slightly longer shorts with slightly tighter boxers that gave me the best chance of keeping myself covered.

Longer shorts. Tighter underwear. I had done all I could. The rest was in the hands of fate.

Naturally when I got into the studio, my friend had reserved us a spot in the very front by the mirrors. I was hesitant, needless to say. But I think I safely made it through class without showing off anything. I certainly was keeping an eagle eye on my shorts to make sure. I guess I could have asked my friend if she noticed anything, but I think that's probably a pretty awkward conversation to have. I'm going to assume the whole class managed to stay PG and make sure to buy some tighter shorts before I go back.

I doubt anyone paid me any mind, being so focused on their own workout, but if they did I'm sure they were wondering why the new guy in the front was staring at his own crotch in the mirror the whole time.

Buckley

I don't really post videos, but I had one that I felt needed to be shared with the world.

My dog Buckley is very well-behaved at home. He's mostly quiet, doesn't chew things, and was house-broken very quickly as a puppy and has an accident maybe 2 or 3 times a year, thankfully always on the hardwood in the same exact spot by the door. But when I visit my family, he acts like he has never had a day of training in his life

He's always been a little skittish and I believe that was because he was abused before I adopted him. I don't KNOW that he was, but it's just a guess from how he used to act as a pup. He's gotten braver over the years but he's still pretty timid at times, especially around guys that aren't me.

My mother has three little dogs; a 16 year old 2 lbs chihuahua, and two dachshund. And they also scare him, though you'd never really know it by watching him. He just acts like they aren't there. But sometimes their barking makes him nervous enough to cause him to tinkle (I have 5 nieces and a dog, so yes, I say things like "tinkle" and "potty") JUST a little on the carpet. My mother is not a fan of this. So she forces my poor dog to wear a diaper. I especially like when she puts on the tiger-striped one that makes him look like David Hasselhoff.

This is a video of what he does literally ALL day when he has a diaper on:

The weird thing is he does this dance even without the diaper, but only when I'm sitting down. He'll back up between my legs and then start doing the weird dance, bouncing the back half of his body between both of my legs like he's in a pinball machine. He's strange.

Awkward Moments: Doors Are Complex

I had a ridiculous moment this morning. I work on the second floor of a six story building. The elevator section of our floor has a balcony and overlooks one of the first floor entrances. As I was walking across the balcony, from one door to another, a woman who looked to be late 20ish walked in the entrance below. I gave her a quick glance of curiosity and that was it. It wasn't any sort of stare, despite her being cute, because staring is creepy. But at the instant I looked her way, she looked up and we locked eyes and she no doubt thought I'd been ogling her the entire time.

At that moment I reached the other door and went to open it and somehow failed to succeed. Rarely daunted by failure, I tried again, pulling mightily this time, but to no avail. Then I realized the problem; I wasn't turning the doorknob.

To be fair, the opposite door I'd just come from, while the exact same design, doesn't have to be turned and you just pull on it and in you go. I'm going to pretend I was still in that mindset and not that I just couldn't figure out how to work a door.

Regardless, I'm sure all she saw was some dude staring at her and then being defeated by a door. I decided I had to play it off to save a little of my rapidly depleting dignity, so I KNOCKED on the door. I will point out that this leads to a hallway and there's no one around to hear a knock. But the girl below did not have any clue that this was the case, so I knocked. And I knocked again. I waited until she was JUST out of my line of sight before I opened the door, and then said aloud, "thank you!" so she'd think someone had opened the door for me and I was politely thanking them for it.

Who knows, maybe I made her day because she thinks she was looking so good today that she caused a random guy to stare and forget how to turn a knob.

More

I've been having an odd few months. I spent my 20s going to college, then moving to a new city and creating a career for myself that had absolutely nothing to do with the things I did in college. I did pretty well. I'm certainly not a wealthy person, but I don't need to be. I can afford to do the things I enjoy for fun, I sleep comfortably and warm at night, I never go hungry. Not everyone can say that. Yet I feel more and more unsatisfied with my life, and that's an impressive feat I think, being the type of person who is nearly always positive and upbeat and able to find fun in the little things.

I am realizing that the things I do for a living don't matter. Sure, somewhere down the line they matter, but they don't matter to me. I always just assumed I'd do something important with my life and I didn't notice that I wasn't until that fact presented itself to me by surprise one day. I'm 31 now and that's still young in the grand scheme of things, but I'm not gaining more time and I have no road-map on how to do the great things that I, when I was much younger, just knew I'd be doing by now. I don't think I even know what I consider to be important or great. Even if I had that map, would I know what direction to head?

We won't even get into my relationship woes. I'd need a book for that. It weights on me the most, though. The world has been trying to kill the hopeless romantic in me for the last decade and at times I thought it had succeeded, but on rare occasions I will meet someone who stirs that part of me and makes me realize that I'm still clinging on. Or I will remember; and in doing so realize that while those things I recall - sometimes fondly, sometimes painfully - didn't work out, that there's still a chance new and possibly greater things will.

Considering the state of the world, I really have no room to complain. Things could be a lot worse. But realizing things could be worse doesn't mean I can't wish things were better. Or at least, different.

  

Tell me it's nothing-

try to convince me that I'm not drowning
Oh, let me tell you; I am.

Only in East Nashville…

I just saw a family (mom, dad, little boy) walking down a busy section of road in my area. The mother was wearing some sort of denim dress in an...unusual way. You know how people roll up their pants legs so they can walk in the ocean ankle deep without getting their pant legs wet? Well she had rolled DOWN the top part of her denim dress, due to the heat I'm guessing. Unsurprisingly (at this point), the mother was bra-less. Man, child, and topless mom were all walking down this busy street acting like everything was normal.

Awkward Moments: Public Dancing

Someone, though I don't recall who, was asking me about the "dancing incident' I sometimes refer to when I'm in perilously close to being forced to dance. I figured I'd share publicly here, because if anyone knows how to laugh at their own misfortune, it's me. I've had plenty of practice. This incident is the reason I don't dance in public. Ever.

Around 10 years ago (ugh, so old) I went to a birthday shindig at this place called Mr. C's, a blues lounge, back in Huntsville. It was the birthday of my friend Laura's sister Lindsey. We had a pretty big group, with about 10 girls that went, and then 3 or 4 guys total.

The dining/dancing area of Mr. C's is a standard rectangular room, with a large rectangular dance floor that almost cuts the room in half, and then 3 tiers of tables that go around the dance floor in a 'U' shape. We sat in the farthest tier away from the dance floor, which suited me just fine.

Everyone ordered their food and then all of the girls headed out to the dance floor. After the food was brought out, they would all come back, eat a little, go back to dance, then repeat. Now, normally this wouldn't have mattered at all to me, but the main reason I was there was because my first love/high school love (who I'd not seen in a few years) was there, and the more time I could spend with her the better. One of the older guys with us must have seen some pining in my eyes each time she left for the dance floor because he started trying to talk me into going out there to dance, which I naturally declined to do.

The girls would return and he'd eyeball me but say nothing. When they would depart, he'd start in again, "come on Nick, just get out there". "You can do this, go for it" and on and on. He must have said something more inspiring than simply "get out there" because I actually started thinking, "yeah... YEAH... I CAN do this" which I'll spoil the ending for you now and tell you that was some heavy self-deluding, because it turns out I absolutely could NOT do it.

But there I was, starting to nod my head and tap my foot to the beat, thinking "even I can dance to this." The ladies returned for another bite of food and then started to head back out when the ex high school love stopped and said, "well, I want to go back out there but I don't want to keep leaving you here by yourself" to which I replied, "I'll go dance" with the attitude of "pfft no big deal I do this ALL the time". She was clearly surprised but didn't try to stop me, so off we went.

I strode towards the dance floor with great confidence. I was about to...I don't know...bust a move? Get funky? I was about to do SOMETHING. Whatever it is people do when they dance, that's what I was going to do. I was about to make it rain up in there. But as soon as my foot hit the dance floor, the song changed to something I felt considerably less confident about. I tried not to let it unnerve me, but I was a little shaken. I was in the middle of a giant circle of pretty girls, so I should have been feeling like some sort of crazy dancing pimp (without the hat) but my boldness was rapidly draining. Everyone else had their hands raised above their head, yet mine seemed paralyzed near my chest, never straying from their comfort zone, doing the painfully obvious "white guy who can't dance" move. My motions became even more jagged and ghastly and I could see the unease in the face of the guy who talked me into going out there, clearly realizing he was now reaping what he sowed and it was indeed a bitter harvest.

I turned back to the circle and tried to pull myself together but it was far too late. Usually you can pinpoint a person who has no idea how to dance, but they tend to be having a good time so you don't think anything about it. Not only could I not dance, but I obviously was not not enjoying myself. A moment later I felt a tapping on my shoulder and I turned around to come face to face with my ex's mother, who had come along (she was one of those "one of the gang" type of moms). She stood up on her toes and pulled my head down so she could whisper, "just go with the music."

Oh God, this was the end. I knew I had been doing bad but I had no idea it was THAT bad. The smile on her face, plus her making the rather long trek from our table to the dance floor, told me all I needed to know.
When I turned back around again, the circle had CLOSED on me, with almost an audible "SNAP". So now I looked like some sort of random creeper trying to dance up on a circle of girls. At least I wasn't air-grinding.

It was about this time that a spotlight hit me. And only me. A freakin' spotlight was pointing me out to everyone who already hadn't seen me making an ass out of myself. Someone in the A/V booth had a sense of humor. I happened to look to the corner of the room about this time and I noticed two people I'd not noticed before; the parents of my best friend. Huge smile on their faces, they simultaneously lifted their glasses of beer my way.

I figured it was time to get out of there as fast as possible. I'd like to say I calmly walked away from the dance floor, but I'm pretty confident I almost sprinted. And so embarrassed was I that I couldn't bear the burning, judgemental eyes for a moment longer, I got to the table and sank so low into the chair that only my eyes poked above the table, like a crocodile peering out of the water. I should mention this wasn't OUR table and I was nearly half a room away from being back at the table with my friends.

The next day I happened to run into my friend's parents, who I'd actually not seen in several years at this point. Did they say "good to see you" or "how have you been?"
No.
They said "nice dancing last night, Nick."

Anymore

One of the ways I realize I’m a dork is that I recently had a really long email discussion with a friend about the differences in the way people from the north use the word 'anymore'. I’ve realized for a long time they use it in ways I wouldn’t but I had a hard time pinpointing exactly why, which was a problem because no one I ever mentioned it to had ever noticed it.

I’d never say “I’m so tired anymore” like northern people do.
I’d say “I’m so tired these days” or “I’m so tired lately”, even though the phrase means exactly the same thing if you use ‘anymore’.

We decided that down here ‘anymore’ is used in the negative (“I can’t drink dairy anymore”) but only in combination where ‘anymore’ can be interchangeable with ‘these days’ or ‘at present’ except, as with pretty much every “rule” in English, there are exceptions where this isn’t the case, and in some of the exceptions ‘any longer’ can be interchangeable too but only in cases where ‘any longer’ couldn’t be interchangeable with “from now on”

The point is, my friends from up north need to stop using the word weird so I can devote my time to things less ridiculously trivial.

Darn Kids

I realized I was getting old this weekend when I nearly wrecked a teenage and thought to myself, "take that punk kid!".

But I was in a go-kart at the time so that probably cancels my oldness out.

Quirks (that Facebook aggressively forces upon me)

I have always been a fan of social networking, since way back when Myspace was actually relevant and not just a way to get yourself email spammed.  And I'm not a fan simply because suck sites cater to my sometimes ridiculously introverted personality, and not because it's probably the only way I could possible keep up with friends these days, but rather because it allows me a voyeuristic (yet totally legal and completely un-creepy) peek into some of the quirks my friends have.  Which is also a reason I don't tend to post much at all on Facebook; I'm aware enough of my many, many ridiculous quirks and odd habits that I don't want to call attention to them, let alone make them forever available on the internet to a plethora of individuals.

I find that I never really pay much attention to the news feed on Facebook these days.  If I'm wondering about a specific friend, I'll just check on them directly so I don't have to wade through all the people trying to trade me cabbage or salted pork on Farmville or whatever is popular these days. And I tend to block a lot of people.  In fact, I likely have 90% of people on there where their posts don't show up in my feed. I've left my best friend unblocked, who never uses Facebook anyway, a few other close friends, and perhaps a girl I'm pining over so I can be heartbroken when "such and such is in a relationship" pops up on my screen.

The odd thing I find is, a lot of the people I tend to block I specifically will go to their page to see if they are doing any of the strange stuff I blocked them for in the first place.  It's one of those train wreck situations, except instead of not being able to look away, I was able to look away, drive down the road where I discovered a better route to take so I never had to go the original way again, but then I not only take this new way but keep circling back to check the site of the wreck again to see if another, possibly even worse wreck has taken place. And there always is.

It's not even that I mind their behavior/posting habits, it's just sort of that I want to keep certain things organized in a given way. It's almost like I'm trying to organize information that gets pushed into my brain like I would with bookmarks. Do I want to see a person constantly complaining about their spouse?  I have 3 friends I can check out for that. How about if I want to see some funny videos that everyone has already seen about 4 years ago? I know who posts that stuff in present day. And maybe I want to see all the posts that scream "mid-life crisis"?  I know where to go for that too.

What made me actually start this post before I got extremely side-tracked was a friend's photo post that got me laughing.  It was as if this person was trying to fit ever possible manly stereotype into a single photograph. Let your imagination paint this for you.

The photograph is a self-taken photograph.  Even if later evidence didn't make this obvious, it just had that look to it.  The distance from the subject and the angle. If it had been a teenage girl in the photo, she'd have been making the duck face.

In the photo, the guy: 
- has sunglasses on.
- has headphones from his iPod in.
- is actively drinking from a beer bottle.
- has a giant cigar (picture Baby in Roger Rabbit) between his fingers in the same hand that is sipping the beer.
- has a newly purchased sports car in the background.
- ALSO has a grill in the background, on which steaks are cooking.
- and has on a sleeve-less shirt but I'm not sure if that adds or distracts from the overall image.

The only thing missing is a hot girl in a bikini and the big game playing on a giant TV.

Honestly I have to say I'm pretty impressed he was able to fit all of this in a single shot by taking an arm's length self-shot cell phone photo. That takes skill. Or a lot of proper placement and practice.

Oh and as far as HOW I know it was self-shot.  You could see him holding his phone in the reflection of his sunglasses, which I found oddly hilarious. The best part is you could also see several people sitting at a table watching him take this photo, which makes me wonder why they didn't do it for him. Maybe they didn't want to be involved in something so ridiculous. 

Awkward Moments: Harry Potter

A friend was reminding (i.e. mocking) me about a shameful moment I'd once had and I figured I'd share it with everyone.
I like the Harry Potter books.  That's right, I said it.  But this isn't the shameful part believe it or not.

An old boss of mine got me into reading them back in 2001 I believe it was.  I was interested in reading them but not near interested enough in buying them to read them, so he let me borrow the first 4, or however many were out at that time.  I continued to borrow them up until book 6 when I was at the point where I enjoyed them enough (and was invested enough, time-wise) that I bought them myself.  The 6th I waited for paperback but 7...no, not number 7.
I've read so many long series over that years that never seem to have a conclusion (still waiting on the final book of a series I've been reading since the mid-90s), so I was pretty excited to bring at least ONE series to a close. And while I wasn't eager enough to stand in line in some sort of themed outfit with a fake scar on my forehead, I did order the book and have it delivered overnight so I'd have it Saturday morning.  And yes, I finished it in nearly one sitting, long before Monday rolled around.
The usual UPS guy who had been delivering stuff to me for 3 years at this point arrived early that morning and as I'm signing for the package he starts to make small talk as he always does.
"So, you like those Harry Potter books eh?"
Naturally, I tried to play off this outrageous accusation.
"Uhhh... they are alright I suppose," I said as straight-faced as I could.  "I hear the new book comes out pretty soon.  I'll probably borrow it from someone one of these days."
He stared at me for a moment and I felt he didn't believe me for some reason.
He rolled his eyes and said, "Yeaaaaaah," and then walked away without another word.
It was only then that I noticed the package that he handed me was a custom box COVERED in Harry Potter quotes and images, with a giant warning label that said "ATTENTION MUGGLES: Do not open until July 21st".
So naturally I had to move.

Awkward Moments: Tornados

The weather in my area has never been especially consistent. It's freezing out one day and then hot enough for short-sleeves the next, all the while the clouds may randomly drop some rain without a moment of notice and if things get really crazy it might turn into snow and hail. Lately we've been enjoying some near spring/summer days even though it's still February, which is the kind of inconsistency I can handle.  Being used to all of this, it wasn't much of a shock when we had to suffer through tornadoes last week, with more on the way as I type this. If we have some southern deity who controls the weather like Apollo does with the sun, he's completely drunk and the horse that pulls his chariot only has two legs and is hitched backwards. I'm a tornado vet having been through many over the years, proudly showing off my wounds from surviving each. All psychological. There have been some unsettling moments over the years, but nothing worse. This was the first time I expected to actually die in one. I hadn't been paying a bit of attention to the weather, assuming as always that ignorance against bad weather would be my shield should it strike at me. 
I was in the shower when it first began, otherwise I might have noticed that unsettling silence that always falls first.  When I stepped out of the shower, I heard the wind louder than I'd ever experienced, roaring and shaking my house like a train was passing right by.  I peered outside and I couldn't see more than a few inches out of the window.  It put me in mind of when I was a kid and I'd open my eyes underwater in a dirty lake and all I could see was brown-ish green.

I decided it was a good idea to evacuate to the lower level and hide out (manly-like) in the only 'safe' place I have, the bathroom.  About this time there was a huge crash and I thought something had hit my house.  Something thrown from the tornado or perhaps the twister itself. Immediately after, the power died with that slow, powering down sound like in horror movies.  I anticipated at any moment that zombies would break into my house.  Or raptors.  Or zombie-raptors.  Regardless, I braved the darkness and not recalling where my flashlight was, I used the soft, feeble glow of my phone to find my dog Buckley, scooped him up and then made my way downstairs to the bathroom.

The guest bathroom is a pretty small space, so it reminded me less of a safe spot and more of an upright coffin with a toilet.  Buckley was oddly calm if rather indignant that I had picked him up earlier, putting on a brave face and looking bored.  I had my pitiful excuse for a pillow perched atop my head, which is barely good enough to rest my head on at night, let alone protect me from falling debris.  We sat there huddled in this small cramped space, literally freezing my butt off on the cold tile floor, and all I could think was "I'm going to die in my boxer shorts, how humiliating" followed closely by "I hope the toilet water doesn't spill on me if the house gets hit." The rest of the time was spent trying to decide which friend I trusted enough with the knowledge that I had polka-dot boxers on to ask them to try and cover up my indignant corpse should the house flatten me.

Thankfully my worries were for nothing and then as quickly as the storm began it was over, as is always the way.  Like with the big flood last year, I was quite lucky.  My house sustained only minor damage.  My neighbor's car was crushed but somehow the fallen behemoth of a tree had managed to avoid all of the nearby houses.  The tree I must assume is what made the amazingly violent crash that shook my home earlier.  Down the road, another neighbor had her entire house demolished when a tree landed on it, leaving only one room intact, which happened to be the room she was hiding in.  I didn't ask if it was the bathroom or not. 

The Invisible Dog and His Incessant Barking

The other day I had company over at my place around noon for nothing in particular and we were just hanging out and chatting.  At some point during our conversation, we both noticed a rather deep sounding bark that had been going on for quite some time.  My neighborhood is filled with dogs so the lone barking of single dog is usually of little note.  I just sort of tune it out.  And I’ve been here long enough to recognize the barks of the various dogs.  This bark was actually a bit odd because it was coming from the side of the house and there’s no neighbor that way that has a dog with such a bark.  We made a joke about how the dog sounded like he was on a timer because of how evenly spaced the barking seem to be and at one point I stuck my head out of the door to see if I could spot the dog.  Then we promptly ignored it for the rest of the day.

At some time that night I left the house for reasons I cannot recall and when I returned home it was getting on towards midnight.  I was exhausted so I performed the usual bedtime rituals and moseyed off to bed.  And by “bed” I mean “the couch”.  My bed is so terrible that I find I sleep better on the couch and thus I often wind up there.

After settling in and being pushed to the edge of the couch by my dog Buckley, I started to drift off.  It was in the silence – as silent as my neighborhood ever gets at least – that I noticed distantly the deep, almost even barking of the mystery dog.  I pushed it out of my mind.  Or tried.  I lay there and couldn’t help but notice it and soon my ears attuned to nothing but this sound until it was thunder in my ears.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

I tried to focus my mind on other things.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

I put the pillow over my head.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

Finally I could take no more and I arose to go check on him/her.  It was nearing 1AM but this is not an uncommon event for me.  There have been several times in the wee hours of the morning that I’ve gone out to check on one of the dogs next door because they are barking non-stop and their (terrible) owners never do anything about it.  But I’ve seen how they treat their dogs and I’d rather deal with the barking then have the owners discipline the animal, which would probably end up with the poor dog being beaten with a stick or that fence board that has fallen and they refuse to fix.  I can usually just bring them a treat, pet them for a minute, and they are good to go.  The dogs, that is, not the neighbors. 

Now honestly I probably shouldn’t have gone out to find this dog because he sounded like he was the size of a bear and if he was aggressive I’d have been in for some excitement.

But I needed sleep and a man will make silly decisions when all he desires is a few moments of blissful slumber.

I open the door and stick my head out just to look for the dog.  And he stops barking.  Excellent.  That was easier than I expected.  I close the door and head back to the couch.  I crawl back under the sheets blanket, get comfortable and start to drift off.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

Grumble.  I ignore it, thinking it will stop, but of course no such luck was to be mine.  Back to the door, I yank it open and let out a very manly “SHH!”.  I may have pressed my index finger to my lips too, I can’t be sure.  Silence.  Done.  I get halfway back to the couch.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

I grab a flashlight, throw my shoes on and head outside.  The dog again has stopped barking but I know he’s there.  I look all around the house and surrounding area, but no dog.  I must have scared him off.

I get back in, head back to the couch.  My bum hits the cushion…

Woof… Woof… Woof…

As I’m walking back to door through my kitchen, I realize that the barking sounds like it’s coming from under my floorboards.  I instantly remember my crawl space entrance has no door on it.  Clearly the dog has gotten under my house.  At this point I’m both exhausted and worried in equal measure that the dog might be trapped or hurt and stuck under my house.  I also have an app on my phone that tells me about lost pets in the area and I’m always keeping my eyes out for them.  Maybe it was one of these.  I know how distraught I’d be if I lost Buckley so I wanted to check. 

I throw my shoes back on and grab the flashlight.  Walking to the entrance of the crawl space I don’t hear the dog but I know where he is now.  I kneel down and shine my flashlight in all directions under the house but I don’t see him nor hear him.  I call to him and try to sweeten the deal by displaying the slices of deli turkey I had brought with me.  But he doesn’t take the bait. After about 10 minutes of this, I give up, leaving the meat just outside of the entrance, hoping to lure him out when the scary human has gone away.

Back inside, I lay on the couch and try to rest.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

There’s only one thing I can do at this point.

It’s about 2AM by now.  And there I was.  In track-pants, a t-shirt, a flashlight in one hand and turkey in the other, under my house for the first time, crawling on my stomach, through bits of insulation (which is extremely itchy if you’ve never experienced it on your skin), covered in dirt and mud, with bugs and spiders crawling all over me, hoping I don’t get bitten in the face by 1) a rabid, scared, or wounded dog 2) a snake 3) a freakin’ spider.  I crawled under every inch of my house looking for this dog, who was ninja quiet at this point.  And I never find him.  He must have gotten out between my first visit to the crawl space and when I went back in the house.

I get back inside and I’m amazingly eager for a shower.  There are spiders all in my hair.  I can feel them.  I resist the urge to let out a high-pitched scream, slap violently at my hair and then run upstairs with my arms lifted high, waving my hands to and fro.

And then I hear it.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

But there’s no way I’m going to look for it again.  I open my fridge to get some water before my shower and then, oddly, I hear the dog more pronounced.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

…?

I open the freezer…

Wzzz… Wzzz… Wzzz…

The mechanical arm for the ice-maker that rotates had apparently gotten stuck against some ice and become jammed causing it to reset itself over and over and make this noise. perpetually  But when the door was closed, it apparently sounded like a dog to me (and my friend from earlier!) 

I closed the freezer door.

Woof… Woof… Woof…

Still amazingly dog-like. 

The sad part of this adventure is that I had been in the freezer earlier and noticed the noise but didn’t really pay it any mind at the time.

My ice-maker is now turned off just in case this happens again and I somehow forget that it’s not a dog making that noise.

Farewell

My grandfather passed away mere hours ago. I had thought to write about his many fantastic qualities, but I find myself speechless and unable to form my thoughts.

I will simply say he was an amazing man and the world is diminished now that he is no longer in it.

I love you Pop. I'll miss you everyday.

Nobody said it was easy, oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be this hard