Category: Best of 2019-The Boss Lady

Ok, so my middle name really isn’t “Physics.”

It was all just marketing.

You see, when I was an undergraduate at Kansas State, there was a solid 3 semesters in which I was a Secondary Education major. Yes, I had actually convinced myself that I was destined to be a high school physics teacher. It seems that the only person I’m actually capable of lying to is myself…or maybe I’m the only person gullible enough to believe me when I do lie? Hmmph. Never thought of that second option…

But I digress.

At some point during this self-delusional period of my college career, I decided to try to make a little money on the side by tutoring students in the freshman-level physics classes.

Being the master marketing wizard that I am, I slightly overcompensated for my mediocre understanding of the fundamentals of the topic, and chose a very subtle and nuanced email address to put on the flyers which were to advertise my services.

“Need a physics tutor? I can help! Email B.J. at physicismymiddlename@*******.com!”

Of course I was making an attempt at being mildly witty–I wasn’t taking myself super-seriously in selecting that name.

And apparently no one else was, either. It only took half a session for my first (and last) physics protege to realize $12 an hour was somehow simultaneously way too low, yet way too high of a price tag for my tutelage.

The point here is that when it comes to setting a price for your time or expertise, try to come up with as fair of a number in your mind as you can.

Then triple it.

Don’t feel bad about lying to yourself about how much you’re worth–the dirty truth is that clients want to be lied to.

I would have probably had much more success advertising a rate of $35/hour–an amount that says “I’m in high demand,” which, in the minds of potential tutees, is eagerly conflated with “he must provide a quality service if he’s in such high demand!”

So what I would really have been selling is my confidence. False or not, that is a lie most people are willing to buy.

But, noooo, I chose to sell the patently absurd lie that my parents legally burdened me with Physics as a middle name. Even I’m not that gullible.

A few autumns later, after I cured myself of the notion that I should be a teacher in any professional capacity, I made the move from Kansas to North Carolina to pursue an advanced degree in physics. #HumbleBrag

My bedroom at the new place had the walls painted the awfullest yellow with trim covered in the least complimentary blue possible,¹It is possible for blue and yellow to be beautiful together; an excellent example of this is the flag of my ancestral Viking homeland, Sweden. so upon arrival in the new land, the very first order of business was to repaint that atrocious eye sore.

Fortunately, a couple of my Kansas friends had come along to help me move all my large furniture out, so there was three of us to tackle the paint job.

Now, when anyone helps you move or paint, it is customary to provide pizza as a token of gratitude. So once I got my friends up and running with the paint, I ducked out to find a local pizza place to procure some ‘preciation pie.

It being a college town, this was no problem at all, and I soon found myself ordering from a little joint called Amante’s…

Amante’s cashier: “…and can I get a name for that order?”

Me: “Sure! B.J.”

Amante’s cashier: “Uh…major?”

Me: “Physics.”

Amante’s cashier [quizzically]: “Physics?”

Me: “Yup! Physics!”

Amante’s cashier [with confused look on her face]: “Okaaaaaay.”

As I sat down and waited for my order to be ready, I ran the interaction through my mind, trying to figure out why something had seemed a little bit off about it.

I didn’t think it would be too unbelievable that I would be a Physics major, yet the cashier seemed oddly skeptical. Certainly I couldn’t have been the first person to take their back-to-school survey to have claimed that as their area of study.

Was it that I was blonde? Was I being stereotyped?

Was it my Viking-esque lion’s mane? Did my wild hair make me look too brutish to be a member of the intellectual elite?

These were interesting theorems in their own right, but still seemed to inadequately explain what had happened.

A few minutes later an employee came out from the back of the shop carrying a take-out box.

Employee: “Uh…’Physics’? I have a pizza for…Physics…I guess?”

Me: “Why do I have sneaky suspicion that must be mine?”

I opened the box and sure enough it was the pizza I had ordered, yet it had a sticker on it that said “Name: Physics.”

Driving back to my new place, I finally pieced together what the hell had happened.

She wasn’t asking for my major–she was asking if my name was ‘Major’.

My ----- big-ass lips had foiled me yet again: I said “B.J.”, yet she had heard “Major,” and was trying to figure out if she had heard me right. True, Major is not a common name, but at least it is a first name some people actually have.²For example…https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Major_(given_name)

As if her cognitive dissonance wasn’t great enough, I then reply with a completely different and even less believable name of “Physics.”

That look on her face that I couldn’t quite put my finger on? She was trying to figure out why in the world I was clearly lying to her about my name…and why the ----- I would choose such a ridiculous fake name.

The situation is exponentially absurd when you consider that, according to the throne of lies I sat upon at that point, I was claiming that both my first and middle names were Physics.

Any parent who would name their kid Physics Physics is somehow simultaneously way too creative, yet way too uncreative…

Anyways, when I get back to the house, my friend Andrew took one hard long look at the pizza box.

Andrew: “Who the ----- is Physics?”

Me: “It’s a long story… Maybe we should just go ahead and load all my stuff back up. I think I may have grossly over-estimated my own intelligence…”

The point of the story is Physics may not actually be that bad of a name, considering that my current moniker 1) just seems to generate confusion and delay when combined with the power of my big, juicy, mumbling lips, and 2) is a synonym for fellatio.

Oh, wait, that last one is the point of the next story…

Content created on: 5 December 2019 (Thursday)

Note: this is the 1st installment of the Kandy Karma saga. If you have already read this, please feel free to skip to Parts 2 & 3.

Free candy?

Socially-sanctioned dress-up playtime?

No age restrictions?

On it’s face, Halloween seems like a deal too good to be true.

And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from attempting to be my own ----- boss is that everything costs something. Everything. Let’s not be naive here. Halloween surely isn’t somehow a miraculous exception to this.

So…what is the true price of Halloween? And, ninja, please, don’t answer with “your soul.”

The Good E’en before All Hallows Day seems to always find a way to bite those who partake firmly in the ass. Perhaps that should be expected, given that it is essentially an exercise in sacreligion?¹It’s a weak pun. Get it? Sack, as in the sack of candy in which you collect your treasure. Nevertheless, we persist.

Typically the Revenge of H is in the form of sugar-induced bellyaches and premature trips to the dentist for the kiddos, while later in life, it is often run-of-the-mill hangovers and the realization that there is almost assuredly photographic evidence of your cross-dressing²See: Exhibit A (if only it were the only one…). escapades–you just don’t know who has said evidence.

You know, regrettable-but-mostly-forgettable type stuff.

Every now and then, though, like a razor-blade stuck in a free apple, the pain cuts a little deeper and gets stuck in your throat…

The Fall of 1990 found my mom, my brother 1SkinnyJ, aka 1SJ, and myself in our second year of a grand adventure living in Springfield, Missouri.³See also: A Most Excellent Life Lesson. The previous year, we had moved there from dusty-ass Kansas so Mom could work towards a degree at Baptist Bible College.

I would posit that the hallmark of this “adventure” was that our lives were All Things Jesus throughout our time there.

Church. School. College. Sunday mornings. Sunday evenings. For some ----- reason, Saturday mornings.

And, Wednesday evenings.

Not only did we have a mandatory church service on Wednesday evenings, we usually had to go to Awanas Club⁶For the curious: https://www.awana.org/us-curriculum/elementary/tt/ beforehand. If you’re not familiar with Awanas, it’s basically just Boy/Girl Scouts having a love-child with a Sunday School teacher.

That year I was in 4th grade and 1SJ was in 6th, so, unfortunately, we both were involuntarily committed to Awanas. Inconvenient in general, but nothing more burdensome than all the other time-sucks from that period in our lives.

Now, the previous year, in 1989, our church, ye ol’ Baptist Temple, though eschewing all things of the devil, was kind enough to host a Fall Festival to give us sanctified children an alternative to the pagan rituals being performed in the Outside World. Despite it being indoors, it had all the other trappings of Trick-or-Treating. Namely, a shit-ton of candy.

In 1990, however, the stars misaligned and ----- us all over.

Just take a good look at Figure 2 and tell me why this particular October is more terrifying than any other October.

You are indeed correct: the winning answer is, “But if Awanas and church already have Wednesdays booked, then how–? But what about–? But, candy…BUT WHAT ABOUT THE CANDY!?!”

For some reason the pricks at Baptist Temple just decided to have Awanas and church as normal, and pretend like nothing fun was happening outside. And we wonder from whence arises religion’s reputation of being a bunch of sadists. Better call Robert Stack, cuz it’s a real Unsolved Mystery.

Anyways, this calendaric catastrophe was further compounded by the fact that Mom was a bit of an expert in health-nuttery, so us boys were sugar-deprived the whole time we lived with her. So it wasn’t like we had any other decent sources of sweetness–just whatever we could acquire on holidays.

Halloween was to us what Valentine’s Day is to a florist: all the action only really happens one day out of the year.⁷I’ll refrain from deriving any humor out of this phrase in the context of marriage…

Now I don’t remember who’s idea it was–1SJ‘s on account of him being the Lead Instigator, as per usual, or mine as I’m a born problem-solver–but it being 1990, we could not let that aggression stand…man.⁸https://youtu.be/KjdKAYBbeZk

Our plan was fairly simple: ditch Awanas for a quick round of Trick-or-Treating, then make it back to church for the regular service. No problem, right?

Well, it wasn’t that simple. First, we had no transportation. Fortunately, that was no problem, since we lived a couple of blocks from church so we would be just fine being on foot.

The real quandary was procuring costumes. We had zero resources for acquiring anything, yet we had too much pride to go as a couple of poor-ass kids.

Though a few years my elder, 1SJ and I pretty much looked the same age most of our shared childhood. Even more importantly, we looked like a pair of kids straight outta Children of the Corn.⁹In retrospect, that’s probably what we should have said we were, but I’m not sure we were aware of that cultural reference at that age.

Wait a second–my fact-checker is trying to get my attention.

[Please hold…]

J.K. Kidding–it turns out I’ve been citing the wrong movie most of my life. Village of the Damned is the right movie.

Regardless of which movie we looked like we were out of, the best we could come up with was to go as “twins,” though in the moment we thought it was only slightly less lame than the default, going as Children of the Thrift Store.

So, while we didn’t have any proper equipment at all, what we did have was the sheer will to get our share of the sugars. Channelling our inner MacGyvers, we rustled up a couple of dark turtlenecks and a few paper grocery bags. It was game time, baby.

As dusk fell, we pretended to head off to Awanas, and after screwing around for 15 minutes or so, back-tracked to the house to get our gear.

It was time to hit the neighborhood.

And hit it we did.

While we feared that we might even be denied goodies for not having good enough costumes, it turns our that going as twins worked 20x better than we could have imagined. In the 10 or so instances when we were asked what we were, almost every time our answer “twins” was met with incredulity–no one could believe that we weren’t twins for real!

We raced from house to house, trying to squeeze every ounce of the precious minutes before we had to get back in time for the regular church service. Despite having a very narrow window of opportunity, we sure the hell got our lack-of-money’s worth.

We rushed back to the house to drop off our illicit goods before scurrying back over to the church, without Mom being any the wiser–we had pulled off the Great Confectionary Heist of 1990 without getting our butts busted!

Later that night, we took inventory and realized that we had made bank on the night. Sweet, sweet bank.

Each grocery bag was well over half full. Now remember, these were paper grocery bags, so it was quite the haul. We would be set until almost Thanksgiving.

On our thieving honor, we promised the other to discretely stash the goods in our nightstands and only dig into them when Mom was out of the house. She must never find out, lest she rob of us our spoils and administer a pair o’ whoopins.

In the end, religion and socio-economic status weren’t enough to hold these bad boyz down. We had planned and executed the perfect crime and got away with it. So yeah…life was good.

I mean, hell, the Universe was literally making it rain candy down on us.

I guess it’s as they say, “the sun’s gotta shine on the dog’s ass every now and then!”

Oh, and remember how I mentioned “All Things Jesus“? I came across this bit o’ internet gold¹¹Source:https://www.pinterest.com/pin/187040190747083190/ when I was verifying that I had my “dog’s ass” idioms straight:

Who says there isn’t a Cosmic Force with a sense of humor?

To be continued…

Content created on: 23 October 2019 (Wednesday)