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Month: January 2023

But Dad! I’ll Never Get Sick And Tired Of Being Unique!

7 Min Read

You ever wonder why you fought with your dad so much when you were a teen?

Oh, if only we could ever get to the root of it…


“Dammit, son, not again…again! You’re an embarrassment to all the farmers of Morton County…dear lord, why me?!? Why am I stuck with the kid who can’t appreciate his G0d-given beautiful blonde hair?”

Honestly, I’m not sure how I was expecting Dad to react when I unveiled my latest hairstyle featuring half-red/half-black on top, with natural sun-bleached blonde on the bottom.

I mean, I was doing it for the proverbial sh*ts and giggles during an uncharacteristically boring stretch of my final summer on the farm before college. Yes, yes, you remember that summer right? The Crazy-Ass Summer of ’99? Yeah, that one. This was the product of the sole week that defied one of our mantras of that summer, “Never a dull moment!”

Ol’ Papa Bob, on the other hand, didn’t seem to appreciate neither the “sh*ts” nor the “giggles” aspects of the situation. In retrospect, I would venture to say he seemed a little tired of my version of teenage angst playing out as me running around the country side looking like a techni-color jackass.

“Tired?” you ask? Oh, yes, this wasn’t the first time him and I danced this little dance…


“Whoa! Who’s the new guy?!? Seems kinda odd, ya know? Like, who transfers high schools in the middle of November?”

“I can hear you–I’m standing right here!” I reminded my classmates as they murmured about me from a few lockers down.

“Wait…what?!? I mean, Who?!?” was the inevitable reply each time, as their eyes told them one thing, yet their ears told them something completely different.

“‘Tis I, the Noble and Beloved Junior Class President Runner-Up!” I would reply every time.

“The heck is going on here…wait…can it be? BJ, is that you? What in the tarnation did you do to yourself?!?”

Honestly, when I dyed my hair black on a lark, I didn’t anticipate the most enjoyable benefit of doing so: confusing the living ----- out of everyone I know, and getting to watch it play out in real time as they look me directly in the face and slowly but surely put the pieces together.

“Uh, yeah, so I thought I would try something new and dyed my hair black. What do you think?”

“I think you look like a totally different person…and also, damn, son, I never realized you had such thick, bushy caterpillars for eyebrows. But, hey, props to you for really committing to the part and dying them as well…”

“Yeah…I didn’t realize my eyebrows wear so bushy either, otherwise I probably wouldn’t have pulled this stunt…”

Speaking of ‘stunts’, you probably already guess that my Diddy was none too plussed to come home from a hard day out in the fields to find that his son had conned his stepmother into letting him make use of her leftover black hair dye.

“Oopsies! Well, I guess were stuck waiting for it to grow out now!” was logic that didn’t do me any favors, nor managed to make him any less irate.

Quick side note here: ‘Daisy’–the one who supplied me with the dye and applied it–wasn’t really upset with me, in part because she had as much a hand in it as I did. Well, she wasn’t upset until she had one of her rolls of film developed and found that I had taken the liberty of taking a black-headed selfie with her camera.

How did I discover this factoid? I totally bet you’re wondering that right now, right? Well, I’ll tell you how: once when I borrowed her sweet, sweet Eagle Vision, I discovered torn up bits of something in that part of the door you pull on to shut it. I soon realized it was that one selfie I had totally forgot I had taken. Not to let my effort to be in vain, I collected all 30-40 tiny pieces, and successfully reconstructed the picture, holding them all together with masking tape on the back. In fact, I probably still have that trophy picture to this very day…

But I digress…

Later that spring…

“Oh happy day! Our spring school portraits are in!” all of us students exclaimed, though we were all still unsure of why we had school pictures taken again despite knowing full well that the ones they took in the fall would be the ones used in the yearbook.

“Oooh, that’s unfortunate, buddy,” one of my random classmates commented as the looked at my pictures over my shoulder.

“Yeah, I suppose I didn’t put much forethought into what I would look like several months after dying my hair black…”

“Don’t worry,” they half-assedly tried to reassure me, “I’m sure you’re dad will still proudly distribute these regal pictures of you to all your family members. Even if you look like a ----- skunk…”


“Stone Temple Pilots are playing in Amarillo?!? Tonight?!? Phillip K. Ballz, you best not be yanking my chain, ya hear?”

“Nah, man, I swear I’m shootin’ straight and true–do you think your dad would take us?” Ol’ PKB wistfully inquired with his trademark half-assed Texas accent.

“I doubt it, but it’s worth a shot…I’ll get right on it!” I said with measured optimism.

Seeing as how it was the last day of my Sophomore year of high school, and was about to head off to live in sunny Southern California with my mom for the summer, I felt there was a tiny glimmer of hope that Dad would at least be open to taking us two dumbasses 2-1/2 hours due south to see a band he had never heard of play…right?

Okay, actually I wasn’t that optimistic at all, so you can bet your buns that I was quite surprised when he said he would take us–“If we can score some tickets, that is,” he said.

“Holy sh*t! He said ‘yes–contingent upon the logistics working out!’ Can you believe it?!?” Yup…I’m pretty sure that’s how I shared the good news with PKB.

“Well, hot dang! I better pack my bag–the concert starts in like, 4 hours, right?”

“Oh, right, yeah, I guess we better start heading that way whether we have tickets or not…”

Now, friends, I need to remind you that this tale is taking place in 1997, a good few years before Ticketmaster started ruining the experience of live music for concert-goers all across this fine nation. So if one wanted tickets to a concert, then most likely you would have to call up the box office and see if they had any available.

Also, cell phones weren’t ubiquitous back then, and even if you were lucky enough to have one of those bag-phones in your car, one surely couldn’t afford to waste their precious 45-minute monthly allotment on hold with the Amarillo Civic Center.1I did my homework, and the internets verified my memory of this whole ordeal: https://www.setlist.fm/stats/concert-map/stone-temple-pilots-bd6b9ee.html?year=1997.

Somehow, these factors, combined with the fact that the only ride me and PKB had was Peppermint Paddy–my less-than-reliable red-and-white pickup whom you might remember from this story and it’s sequel–ended up with us following this convoluted plan as follows:

Step One: My adult sister, Denise, who lived in Amarillo, would try calling the venue to see if she could get us tickets. I’m not sure if somebody thought that her being physically closer might give us a better chance, or what the logic was here. I suppose it would be cheaper for her to be on hold, since it would be a local call…and I guess she would be stationary after all, unlike the rest of us, thus allowing her to make the call in the first place.

Step Two: Dad would get cleaned up after a half-day farming in the dusty-ass fields of Kansas, and would then hop in Daisy’s much more reliable–and very, very, sweet–Eagle Vision, and then proceed to our rendezvous locale: the metropolis of Goodwell, Oklahoma, about 45 minutes into the route to Amarillo.

Step Two: Meanwhile, PKB and I would pack up in Peppermint Paddy and putt down the road to Goodwell as well…and for the life of me, I don’t remember why we all didn’t all just drive together. But we didn’t.

Step Three: Once at Goodwell, Dad would call Denise from the payphone of the lone convenience store in town, to see if we had tickets or not.

Step Four: The three of us would then proceed to Amarillo in the Eagle Vision, arriving just in time to rock out to the sweet grungy vocals of a fuschia-headed Scott Weiland & Co…

Um…Step Four of course was the contingency, depending on Step Three to come through with tickets for us.

Well, as you probably have guessed by now, this is not the story of “that one time I saw STP live.” Nope, nope, nope. The one time the Universe shines kindly on me, in whence Dad actually agrees to one of our dubious schemes, it has to turn right around and deny us with a sold out show.

Or, as Hercules would say:

“Welp, what do we do now, Dad?” I inquired, kicking stray rocks in that Goodwellian parking lot.

“Well, boys, I need to go take care of some more farmy-type stuff while I have the daylight, I ‘spose…you got your truck, so go do whatever you want for the rest of the afternoon, and I’ll see you at dinner.”

“Whatever I want, you say? Hmmm…interesting…”

“Ok, see you later, Farmer Bob!” unlike me, PKB wasn’t one to mince words.

Well, I’ll spare you the details (I mean, haven’t you suffered enough already?), but let’s just say, yadda yadda ya, and that’s how I ended up in a McDonald’s bathroom in Guymon, Oklahoma, getting my hair dyed a not-as-bright-fuschia-as-a-grungy-sixteen-year-old-would-like by his best friend.

Later that evening…

“What in the funk?!? Dammit, son, why is your hair pink?” my old man demanded to know.

“It’s fuschia, Dad. Or at least it was supposed to be…”

“Oh, your ass is going to be fuschia once I get done bustin’ it! Dammit, boy, what’s wrong with you?”

“Look, I’ll be leaving for California in a few days, so you won’t have to worry about the corn or the wheat or some random cows seeing you with a pink-headed boy in your pickup, heaven forbid…”

Later that summer…

“Welp, here I am at the Amarillo airport to pick up my youngest child…I hope he has literally outgrown that pink hair of his…” Dad no doubt thought to himself as he waited at my gate–remember when you could still do that?–ever so patiently.

“‘Tis I, the Noble and Beloved Son!” I proclaimed when I finally stepped off the plane.

Dad just stood there for a moment, taking in the sight of my hair, which by now had grown out about an inch and a half of blonde roots. Oh, yeah, and that half inch of pink hair I had at the beginning of summer? That was now a half inch of orange tips, thanks to the SoCal sunshine.

Dad just buried his face in his hand.

“Cheeses H. Crikes,2Actually, he would have said something more like “Jesus H. Christ” but I’m trying to keep this story Mom-friendly somehow you look even dumber now, son…”


The point of the story is that another fantastic perk of being blonde–male or female–is that you have a blank canvas right there! Sitting on top of your ol’ noggin’! Just waiting for Teenage You to paint a picture for all the world to see! One that is an expression of your True Self, your Inner Soul!

Or, as in my case, you can vandalize it with a spray-painted message to your loving father that simply says “Suck it, Dad…”


Content created on: 27/28/29 January 2023 (Fri/Sat/Sun)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Hey Man, Don’t Hate Me Just Because I’m Beautiful

4 Min Read

Boy, you got yourself some pretty hair there.

But with great beauty comes great responsibility, son, so you better beware…


“Honey! It happened again!” I hollered in the general direction of My Beautiful Bride as a stumbled in the door after a morning jog.

“Who was it this time? A car full of unruly teenagers? An entitled rich white guy driving a sports car?” she asked, doing her best to play the part of the concerned wife.

“Well, you see, there I was, just pounding the pavement, minding my own business, when I hear a truck come speeding up behind me and–“

“Oooh, a truck you say? That’s a new one…” she interrupted, clearly more bemused than concerned.

“Yeah, you know that distinct sound a pickup truck makes? Anyways, right before it got to me, it suspiciously slowed down. I didn’t think too much about until I heard someone start to whistle. And just as soon as I turned to see who be whistling at me–and also to make sure I wasn’t about to be man-napped–the whistler abruptly stopped and the truck sped off.”

“Did you see who it was? Did you know them? Should we call the cops???” she was doing her best to stifle a guffaw at this point.

“According to the side of the truck, it was ‘Garcia’s Landscaping’, and, no, I don’t know them, and –hey! Are you making fun of me? Look, you simply couldn’t understand the blow to the ego when you only get half-cat-called?”

“Oh, my Love, I imagine it must be horrible! Unfathomably unbearable! Oh the humani–“

“Of course you couldn’t! You always get the full cat-call! ‘Oh, look at me! Look at me! I’m a woman from behind and from the front!’ Ugh. You make me sick.”

“Yeah, poor you. You’ll never get the full experience of wondering if that car slowing down or that cat-call is a harbinger for your impending sexual assault and possibly even death. You live such a deprived life.”

*long pause*

“Ok, so you make a good point. I’ll stop whining about it for now.”

“Thank the good lord! Oh, and if you refuse to get a haircut, then maybe I should get you one of those bright yellow jogging safety vests…”

“Umm…I mean, that might stop me from getting hit by cars, but it’s not gonna do much to keep me from getting inadvertently hit on.

“Aht! Aht! Ah! I wasn’t finished! And on that back of the vest, I’ll have them custom print ‘Keep movin’–I’m a DUDE.’–in both English and Spanish. Oh, I just can’t stand to think of the heartache my husband might be causing with that luscious blonde ponytail of his…”


“Wait, wait! Don’t look just yet! Wait until they’re right next to us, then on the count of three we both glance at them. Got it? Okay!” I instructed My Beautiful Bride under my breath.

Years later, one evening when the two of us had got all gussied up for a date night and headed out to the local theatre, we unfortunately embroiled in a little “incident” en route.

Recognizing that signature abrupt-yet-casual slowing down of the vehicle behind us in the left lane, I had enough foresight to make the moment really count.

“One…Two…Three…GLANCE!”

We both look over just as the car pulled even with us, and, boy, let me tell you, their face was a stage and the three-act play that unfolded was more dramatic–and more entertaining–than anything else we would experience that evening.

Act 1: The eyes of the two guys in the car land on my wife first. She is very pleasing to look at it, and this is reflected in the young men’s expressions. Oh, the passion! The pleasure!

Act 2: In eager anticipation to see what beauty may be awaiting them in the passenger seat, their eyes flit past Eye Candy #1, only to be met by handsome-but-very-much-not-female lightly bearded visage. I bat my eyes at them seductively. The plot thickens. How can we tell? By the confusion and delay on their faces as they try to process the cognitive dissonance they just experienced. Also, they almost drive off the road.

Act 3: A split micro-second later, reality hits them like a ton of bricks. For a fleeting moment, the anger of being made out to be a ----- fool skitters across their faces, before settling into a look of dejection–as if they phrase “aww, nuts!” was a facial expression.

We gave them a little wave–the wife wearing a light smirk, and me with a pretty big sh*t-eating grin–before they quickly looked away in embarrassment and sped off.

“Oh, toodle-loo, boys! Enjoy your evening!” I couldn’t resist mouthing.

“What? That’s it?!?” you, Dear Reader, are no doubt asking of your tablet or mobile device, “When you said ‘incident’ we were expecting, I dunno…something more…violent, maybe? Like an accident. Or at least some road rage!”

Well, sorry to…um…let you down. My luscious blonde ponytail is a pacifist and eschews all forms of violence. No, no road rage here…only a little dose of drive-by disappointment…


“¡Muchas Gracias!” I yelled in appreciation to the Costa Rican roofers busy at work on a roof on the route between our honeymoon accommodations and the Pacific Ocean.

My Beautiful Bride of only 4 days gave me a sideways glance.

“I think that cat-call was meant for me, my dear,” she gently suggested.

“Yeah right. Like how could anyone possibly even know that?1That, my friend, is a Napolean Dynamite reference: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IiIHzfXEiA And besides, no one would actually cat-call a woman right in front of their husband!”

“Um…we’re in Central Amer–“

“Nah, I’m pretty sure that was directed at me,” I asserted.

She paused for a moment or two before turning to me.

“So…is this going to be a whole ‘thing’ for the rest of our marriage?”

“Indubitably…”


The point of the story is beware the unintended consequences and pitfalls before donning a ponytail, young man! You coif your majestic mane in such a manner, and you might find yourself apologetically uttering “Sorry to disappoint!” more often than you might like.

On the other hand…if you’re the kind of chap that takes a sort of perverse pleasure in disappointing overly-lusty lads, then if you ask this doctor2Yes, I am a real (non-medical) doctor, #HumbleBrag. if a ponytail is right for you, that joker might just reply, “Ancient Astronaut Theorists say ‘yes’…”3Watch any episode of History Channels Ancient Aliens for 3 minutes and you’ll get that joke.


Content created on: 18/20 January 2023 (Weds/Fri)

Footnotes & References:[+]

How To Be Living Your Best Blonde-Man Life

5 Min Read

Yeah, yeah, you know what you said: “I wanted to be reincarnated as a blonde!”

Well, maybe you should have been a little bit more specific…


“When life hands you lemons, make lemonade!”

Good lord, I hate that stupid ----- saying. But sometimes you gotta admit that even stupid ----- sayings can hold nuggets of truth and wisdom. I mean, finding the silver lining to whatever negative-seeming situation life (or Karma-with-a-capital-K) might send your way is an incredibly valuable life skill, if you’re willing to learn it.

For me, my personal “lemons”–my burden to bear–would be being bestowed with luscious locks of hair more yellow than any lemon you’ve ever seen.

Now, before you go laughing at my perceived woes, consider this: I get the brunt of more than my fair share of the archetypal1I’m intentionally using the wrong word here for humorous perhaps, ya jackass. “dumb blonde jokes”, yet I don’t enjoy anywhere near the numerous mating advantages that a blonde female might.

Sure, I get compared to Chris Hemsworth regularly–as in “you might be able to pass as a poor man’s poor man’s Thor” or “you like what would happen if G0d hated Chris Hemsworth”–but it’s just not the same.

But I digress. What I’m really getting at is that if you, like me, find yourself in that Venn diagram of people with driver’s license that say “Sex: M” and “Hair: Translucent”, don’t despair! In fact, I say “rejoice!”–for you have a rare opportunity on your hands.

So for all the fellas out there who will never get the chance to be a “tall, dark stranger” in a real-life romance novel, allow me to show you how to make the best of your station in life, and then some, perhaps…


“I kinda liked having a beard…you know, not having to shave every day. It was pretty sweet for a chill surfer dude like myself.”

I started to nod in agreement as my boss from my stint in Hawaii, Vandrew, waxed philosophical about male facial hair. But before I could clearly signal my agreement, he continued his thought.

“It’s fantastic, man, I’m telling you! You really should try it someti—”

He stopped short and squinted at me for a second.

“Oh wow. You already have a beard. Holy cow, I never realized it…have you had it this whole time?”

“Dude…yeah, I had this beard when you interviewed me for this job almost 2 years ago, and I’ve had it every day since.”

“Sweet…”

“Seriously, though? How many times have you looked me in the face, and you’re just now seeing it. I would call you ‘Captain Obvious’ but I wouldn’t want to drag his good name through the mud like that.”

“Oh…um…sorry…I guess I just–I, uh…”

“Hah! I’m just busting your chops, man! You really shouldn’t feel bad about your utter lack of observational skills. In fact, let me tell you about my, um, ‘social experiments’ from my college days…”


“You notice anything odd about me?”

It was already Day 9 of the first of such inquisitory explorations of mine, and I was getting a little impatient with the rotating group of 20 or so of my friends that I would regular eat at in the dining hall. Emphasis on regular here, mind you.

All I got was blank stares, so I tried to nudge them in the right direction.

“You notice anything different in this region?” I hinted as a waved my hand in a circle around my face.

“Are you…wearing lipstick?!?” one of my lady friends gasped lightly.

“What? No–my lips are always naturally that plump and juicy. No, let me try this again: Anything odd…up here?” with my updated hand gesture, I was now limiting their options to the bridge of my nose and up.

“Ah! You’re wearing colored contacts!” another one of these yahoos exclaimed with complete and unwarranted confidence.

“Dammit, no. Those are the irises the good Lord gave me from the day I was born. Are y’all seriously not seeing it?!?”

By now my finger was wildly circling one very specific region of my face. Surely they would get it now.

Chong, my Vietnamese friend whose racist nickname was bestowed by my Korean friend– ----- Asians, amiright?–was sitting next to me and had the best view.

“What you talking, dude, you look completely norm–SWEET BUDDHA, WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR EYEBROWS?!?”

A light rabble passed through the peanut gallery as the others finally saw what he was seeing: the product of an eyebrow trimming that had gone completely off the rails. And I do mean completely


“Wait…did you shave pinstripes in your leg hair?!?”

“Ding-ding-ding! We have a winner!”

I raised the arm of my friend J-Maker2For the record, her last name is spelled ‘Makar’, but it reads better as J-Maker–the pun being that it sounds like ‘Haymaker’ the name of the dorm that me and many of my friends lived in at Kansas State. like she was a ----- heavy-weight champion.

“And this time it only took you 3 days–and no hints! You’re getting better gang!”

“Another slip of the Bic?” one of my buddies without any sense of forethought wondered.

One of the other females tried to get ahead of any potential untoward mental images.

“Aht! Aht! Aht! I don’t think any of us want to know what you had to be shaving for you to end up with stripes down your leg.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at the thought she had just put in my head. But I couldn’t let the crowd continue with the notion that I would be so careless with sharp objects around my, um, ‘family jewels,’ so to speak.

“Oh no, just sheer boredom this time, actually…”


“Hey, hold on a minute. Look that way for a second…mmm-hmmm. Okay, now look the other way…holy sh*t, you didn’t–you couldn’t–you wouldn’t dare!”

I swiveled my sh*t-eating grin back and forth so the fabled Tiffany Chestnut–my future ex-girlfriend at the time–could get a good hard look at what I had allegedly done.

“I…I…I have no plausible theory as to why you look like a supervillain from Batman,” she stuttered.

“Whatever could you be talking about?” I coyly feigned ignorance.

“How long have you been like this? HOW LONG?!?”

“Care to clue me in?” I was savoring every last drop of this moment.

“Your face!”

I did my best Home Alone impression, clasping my hands to my face, but without the overwrought expression of terror on my face.

“Oh…yeah, that,” I said while stroking my whiskers with my left hand.

“You gonna explain or not?” she half-demanded.

“It’s just that shaving…well, it’s just so ----- exhausting. And I guess I’ve just been a little lazy lately–but hey, who’s gonna notice if I stop shaving the left side of my face?”

“Well, me, for one.”

“Really though? It only took you six days…”


The point of the story is: “when life hands you lemon-colored hair, you grab your Gillette and some shaving cream and make the most of it by ----- with people’s heads.” I’m pretty sure that’s the moral is here.

Either that “or that you can’t trust a blonde guy to be alone in a room with a razor…”


Content created on: 14 January 2023 (Saturday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

‘Tis A Most Excellent Wish! But Why One So Preposterous?

6 Min Read

Time travel? Nope. Invisibility? Nah. Flying? No thanks!

Like Bill & Ted, I could only hope to know how to “be excellent to one another”…


“If you had one super power, what would it be?” I pondered this classic question on a recent family road trip, as part of an ice-breaking card game called Chat Pack.1https://www.chat-pack.com/

Now, before I go any further, you may be wondering why I was playing an ice-breaking game with my own family members. Well, as it turns out, there is a lot we don’t know about those nearest and dearest to our hearts. For example, when your dearest mother somehow manages to incorporate having large tracts of vegetable gardens into almost every question–no matter how unrelated having large tracts of vegetable gardens might seem to the questions in question–then you might finally get the hint that you better get on the ball on purchasing a large tract of land for which she can retire and garden her heart out.2Yes! We did it! We just bought that “large” (10-acre) tract of land! Just this week! We finally did it! But more on that later, as I’m bound to have plentiful remodeling/homesteading shenanigans stories in the very near future.

Anyways, as I was saying, I was left to ponder what super power that I would actually like to have. I once read an article on the vast moral/ethical rabbit holes that burdened the classic answers of “flying” and “invisibility”, so I had to come up with something more original. I had long maintained that the proper answer for me would be “the ability to speak any language, and fully grasp all the cultural nuances associated with each.” And this would indeed be a very bad-ass super power.

However…well, I figured I would try to stick with something more realistic and less self-centered. The answer I came up with? Well, I think it would just be dandy to have the ability to know what would make somebody happy (even if they don’t).

Heck, I’ve spent too much of my life running my mouth off and staying stupid shit that has hurt other people way too many times. Maybe I’m just trying to atone for those sins. But seriously, what a great power that would be? You know, actually making the world a better place?

While I haven’t been the best at being a compassionate empath, I have on several occasions managed to achieve the goal by dumb luck. And in honor of my traditional writing strategy of clumsily trying to tie together several random thoughts bouncing around my head, I’d love to share with you those two, very magical, times…


“Welp! It looks like I’ll be staying up all night working on my philosophy project that’s due tomorrow…”

My college girlfriend, the (in)famous “Tiffany Chestnut”3Not her real name, you dummy. That’s just what the Pornstar-Name Generator just spit out for her. paused after sharing the fact that she her procrastination had finally caught up with her. I really wanted what was best for her…but, what, oh what, could that be?

“Well, looks like it’s past 8 pm, so I better get on home so you can focus on that!” I didn’t say.

That’s what I wanted to say, because honestly, I thought if I stuck around, my constant goofing-off and joke-cracking would selfishly make it impossible for her come up with “Forty examples of analogies”–or at least that’s what I think the assignment was.

Whatever it was, she had to fill out 40 index cards, and she was currently sitting at ZERO. It would take her forever with me distracting her, right? Right…?

By some dumb stroke of luck, I instead hesitantly asked if she would like me to help her, that I would be happy to, though I was tired and didn’t know how late I could stay up with her.

To my surprise, she said ‘yes!’ I mean, you saw that plot twist coming, but to me, in that moment, there was no logical reason for her to want to keep my borderline-ADHD ass around when real work needed to be done.

Happy to oblige–but incredibly tired–I suggested I go back to my apartment and take a 45-minute power nap before coming back to help her power through those 40 index cards.

In the end, it turned out to be one of the best memories we made together–you know, coming up with one outlandish analogy after another until 4 in the morning–stuff that quintessential college memories are supposed to be made of.

And to think that I about left her high and dry had I trusted my grasp of the situation! Thus I prove my point that I would have loved to known from the get-go that a late night of loopy “likes and ases” with her funniest friend was what her soul desperately needed in that moment.

Honestly, though, I had no idea the positive emotional impact it made on her until a month or so later, when she confided that moment was the moment that I won her heart over.

*checks notes*

*Ahem*–correction: almost won her heart over. In the end it wasn’t quite enough to convince her to go along with my ill-fated plan to get married (thank the Lordy Jesus in retrospect, though, amiright?!?).

Ah, yes, I clearly remember now…that was the part of the conversation where she broke up with me. To be clear though, it was the later part of the convo that essentially turned into a heartfelt eulogy for a friendship that had seen it’s share of touching moments.

If it helps you better emotional visualize the that of which I speak, just imagine it as a montage of still image from our memorable moments, all while The Golden Girls’ theme song sentimentally plays over it all. You know how it goes: “…Thank you for being a friend…”


“Old buddy, old pal! We don’t hang out enough–what say we meet up every Wednesday for some Chick-Fil-A?”

Again, ’twas back in my college days, and I had ran into a friend of mine from my Freshmen and Sophomore years, one that I hadn’t kept up much since then. Given that it was both fifth year at Kansas State–roughly a full 2-year gap–that translated to approximately 12 years in post-college time (it’s roughly equivalent to calculating the age of a dog, I do believe).

“Uh, yeah, that would be great,” my friend said in his trademark reserved manner.

Now, spoiler alert: nothing really exciting or notably humorous came of our several-month arrangement of breaking breaded chicken together every seven days. It was just to friends hanging out, mostly reminiscing about “the good ol’ days” in Putnam Hall, and commiserating over the fact that we were now the weathered old geezers on campus. We probably ruminated over our futures once we left college, and even shared a good laugh of the several girls that comprised the overlapping area of our respective “girls we attempted to date” Venn diagram circles.

Much like with Tiffany Chestnut, I actually never gave much more thought to those moments after he graduated and moved back to his native homeland of Johnson County, KS.

That was until I stepped off the plane in the Kansas City airport a few years later, when he was my host for the weekend while I was in town for the wedding of a mutual friend of ours. There he was holding a sign like all the chauffeurs do, but instead of my name, it simply said “My Best Man”4Technically, I think it said “Best Man BJ”, but honestly I don’t like actually spelling out my name in these blog posts, despite at the very top it says “By B.J.” Lol?

That was one of the most pleasant surprises in my life, I must say. A little scary, yes, because immediately I realized that meant I would probably need to give a wedding toast in a few months when they actually got married. But overall, it was one of the most humbling honors bestowed upon me.

He could tell that I was slightly surprised, and later that weekend he kindly gave me more context for why he asked me to fill that once-in-a-lifetime role. Now, out of respect for his privacy, I won’t really go into detail, but the main takeaway is that at time in his life when he really could have used a friend–remember, being a 5th-year Senior in college usually means that the vast majority of the friends you made as a Freshman have already moved on–I was there for him.

Simple as that.

And again, it’s not on account of me being super-sensitive to the needs of others. There is a long and well-documented history of evidence to the contrary, my friend.

Nope, this was one of the times that I accidentally got it incredibly right. And again, further support for my claim about what one of the best super powers one could have. It would be great to have that lightning a bottle–you create magic twice and you want to figure out how to capture it, no?

And sure, I made Tiffany Chestnut feel pretty good in the above anecdote. But with ol’ Roger Dodger? This time, it was so good that I actually made it to the altar with him…


Hmm, now that I think about it, the proverbial point of the story might actually be “always gamble on being kind and thoughtful to anyone you meet–even flattering is an acceptable standard mode of operation. “Unabashed flattery???” you say? Hey, ain’t nothing wrong with recklessly making somebody feel good about themselves…

…okay, I just thought of one exception to that statement. You remember Nurse Cami, right? Yeah, we all saw the moral logjam “being kind and thoughtful…and even flattering” got me into that time. Hell, if I would have had that wonderful super power that I’ve been gushing about, well…I would have desperately avoided any and everything that would have made ol’ Cami happy. Um…yeah…that’s definitely one person I would never want to end up at the altar with (in keeping with the theme of this essay, of course).

What’s that you say? “Sheesh! Going on about Cami again? Seriously?!? Another shameless plug for The Long Tale Of COVID?” Oh brother, let me tell you: I ain’t gonna stop shamelessly, unabashedly self-promoting everyone that fustercluck of a misadventure until it’s picked up by NetFlix as a miniseries…


Content created on: 6/7 January 2023 (Fri/Sat)

Footnotes & References:[+]

…And Now We Toast To The Finest Tales Of 2022

< 1 Min Read

Dear friends! I call upon you to raise high your glasses.

Hear ye now, these tales that might make you laugh off your asses…


Happy New Year, everybodies! Isn’t it that most wonderful time of the year? Yes, I speak of none other than the end of one year and the beginning of a new one…and the chance for me to curate for you, Dear Reader, some of the nuggets of wisdom and/or mirth that have come forth on this venerable website this past year.

So, please, peruse the following posts at your leisure–a selection of tales from the past! The present! And even the future! All the finest that 2022 had to offer? Mmm, that’s debatable.

But what’s not up for debate is that no year would be complete without reading the last one on the docket: “The Long Tale Of COVID”. Just a heads-up, though: with approximately 12 “chapters”, you might wanna fix yourself some tea before you sit down to ingest it. But…if you haven’t read it in all its glory, I gotta say I highly recommend it.

After all, its got everything: drug addiction, homelessness, racial reparations, near-death experiences, and a copious amount of unsolicited emoji-laden text messages. Plus, you get to hear the term “Ghost” three different times, in three completely different ways! What’s not to love about that?!?

Now, go out there, kid, and get to readin’…

42 Reasons Why Liberal Elitist Driving Tests Should Be Outlawed
42 Reasons Why Liberal Elitist Driving Tests Should Be Outlawed

7 Min Read

Hey all you bureaucratic fat-cats down at the DMV! Yeah, that’s right, I got a bone to pick with you…

What’s So Rah-Rah-Wrong With Falling In Love With A Cheerleader?
What’s So Rah-Rah-Wrong With Falling In Love With A Cheerleader?

5 Min Read

“Rah-rah-rah, hats off to thee! Wait one sec, let me double-check my family tree…”

To Florida, Kids! The Land Of A Little Dirty Imagination…
To Florida, Kids! The Land Of A Little Dirty Imagination…

6 Min Read

The problem with not knowing the truth is that your imagination might run wild.

You know, like “Girls Gone Wild” wild …

Hey, Who Recommended Drowning Your Moby D*ck In Love?
Hey, Who Recommended Drowning Your Moby D*ck In Love?

7 Min Read

If you love her, you’ll give her whatever she needs.

Even if that “whatever” involves 8 gallons of oil…

My Lifetime Legacy? Oh, It’s In The Bag, Baby!
My Lifetime Legacy? Oh, It’s In The Bag, Baby!

3 Min Read

We all hope to be remembered fondly for our charitable deeds.

But which one actually gets memorialized? Well, that depends…

Who Double Dares To Don A Big Old Sh*t-Eating Grin?
Who Double Dares To Don A Big Old Sh*t-Eating Grin?

5 Min Read

What do you do when someone wants to pay you to eat poo?

Oh, what to do, what to do, what to doo-doo…

Move Right Along Folks, Nothing Interesting Here On The Bus…
Move Right Along Folks, Nothing Interesting Here On The Bus…

6 Min Read

Wanna get on, get off, or just get away?

Ask your doctor (or lawyer) to see if The Bus is right for you…

Look Here, You Stupid Students, I Was A Great Teacher!
Look Here, You Stupid Students, I Was A Great Teacher!

6 Min Read

If you’re aspiring to be an educator, why not take it for a spin first?

You never know what you just might learn…

Whoever Said Nicknames Were Supposed To Make You Feel Special?
Whoever Said Nicknames Were Supposed To Make You Feel Special?

4 Min Read

What?!? A special name just for me???

Oh, wait…that kind of ‘special’…

The Long Tale Of COVID
The Long Tale Of COVID

< 1 Min Read

When I got COVID, it took me about 5 days to get over it.

Getting over what happened during those 5 days? Oh, about 4 months and counting…

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Content created on: 21 December 2022/1 January 2023 (Weds/Sun)

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