The Point of the Story

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Category: General Cerebral Leakage (Page 17 of 26)

When all other categories fail (or absentmindedly forget to be assigned), General Cerebral Leakage, fresh off his third tour of duty in the war against wise insurance providers, steps in to save the day!

Are You SURE You’re Making The World A Better Place?

17 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

The White Jesus Savior Complex is a lot like the Rapture.

You never really see it coming…

Ah, the New Year. It’s always the perfect time to take a moment and reflect on ways to be a better person–and then try to come up with strategies to make these ideal life-goals reality. For my part, one change I would like to see this year is that I would be more proactive about being a mindful and considerate friend, family-person, and citizen.

For example, last week I found myself on the far side of town after spending my whole ----- morning getting our car serviced at our formerly-local Toyota dealership. Since it was about lunch time and I was already in the area, I figured I would surprise my family by coming home with four extremely large containers of the Triangle’s tastiest Korean fried chicken from a nearby restaurant.

I was able to call in my KFC order ahead, and I had timed it just right where I could pull up, run in, pay, and dash on back out the door lickety-split. Such efficiency was necessary, as I still had a 40-minute drive home and my window of lunchtime opportunity for my famished fam was closing quickly.

When I pulled up into the parking lot of the strip mall where the restaurant was located, I was delighted to see that almost all the parking spots directly in front of it were wide open for the taking. It seemed as if Karma had seen the kind deed this plant-based hombre was doing for his carnivorous loved ones, and was rewarding the kindness with a sweet front-row parking spot.

As I swung into my luxuriously appointed stall, I realized that on the bench directly in front of me sat a young guy who looked very much down on his luck. He was wearing a surgical mask and had a heavy overcoat draped over him, so it was hard to get a good take on him, but he seemed a bit spaced out.

“Dang it!” I reflexively thought to myself. “I bet he’s going to ask me for something, and I just don’t want to deal with that right now. Arghhh!”

Fortunately, though, I was rocking my prescription too-cool-for-school sunglasses, and was able to largely avoid eye-contact as I scurried from the car straight into the restaurant.

However, while paying for the food, I remembered that I was wanting to put more goodness out into the Universe this year. Then I also remembered that a few days earlier I had intentionally put a couple of $20 bills in my wallet for situations just like this. I was actually a little embarrassed that my initial reaction was to avoid the inconvenience of this guy at all costs, when the reality was that I had never been in a better position to be financially generous in my whole life.

Lightly pleased with myself for having a change of heart just in the nick of time, I decided, “You know what, I’m going to spare this guy the indignity of having to beg for money, and just give him $20 without either of us having to say a word!” So I pulled out a fat Jackson–and promptly doused it in hand sanitizer to ensure that positive vibes were the only positivity I would be passing on to my newfound acquaintance.

Food in one hand and the money in the other I headed out the door, and as I went out of my way so I could pass directly by him, I handed him the unsolicited financial assistance.

“Hey man, here you go,” I said all casually before heading to my car.

Three steps later I heard the guy call out to me, “Hey, wait a second!”

“Yeah?” I turned around, no clue what to expect.

“Uh…you don’t happen to smoke do you?”

“Sorry man, I don’t.”

He paused for a moment, staring confusedly at the money in his hand, before looking back up at me.

“Why did you give me this $20?”

Well, that was a question I wasn’t expecting.

I started to second guess myself. Had I accidentally succumbed to a White Jesus savior complex? Was I actually being a condescending rich prick without realizing it?

“Oh man, I hope I didn’t insult you. I thought you might be able to use it, but if you don’t really need it, just pay it forward to someone who does.”

“Oh, no. I really appreciate it…”

Thinking that the conversation was wrapping up, I started to turn to go on my way.

“…I’ve just been having a really bad day.”

Out of empathy I stopped and turned back towards him.

“Sorry to hear that, man.”

“Yeah, I just…I just got hit by a car, and can barely walk now.”

Well, this conversation really took a turn into uncharted territory.

“Oh, wow, that’s…that’s just terrible.”

This was followed by a long awkward pause because apparently neither of us really knew what to say at that point. Eventually, auto-pilot took over for me–not that it did me any favors, though.

“Welp! I’ve gotta roll…so…hope your day gets better?”

And just like that, off I rode into the sunset, feeling much more unsettled, conflicted, and awkward as my reward for all my humanitarian efforts…

Honestly, I would rather not talk about it. That encounter made me feel all sorts of weird, and I even considered never telling a soul about what transpired.

For some reason my thoughts kept coming back to How To with John Wilson, a show I had just watched the night before. In the first episode, he tackles the topic of making “small talk.” At one point, he makes the keen observation that it is crucial that small talk never veers off into deep topics. It’s a violation of some unspoken social contract or something like that–I don’t remember the exact way he put it, but the upshot is that most people haven’t signed up to bear the weight of all your issues, yada yada ya.

And now…

And now I can’t stop wondering…maybe this was Karma’s way of telling me–over-sharer extraordinaire–that this whole time I’ve been the one walking into one polite conversation after another, casually announcing “Well, I got hit by a car today…”

…

Well, isn’t this just my luck? Most people have emotional baggage. But me? I am emotional baggage.

*awkward pause*

Welp! I’ve gotta roll, so…

Content created on: 14/15 January 2021 (Thurs/Fri)

Perhaps The Most Outstanding Man Is He Who Sits Down

14 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
2 Min Read

You know how many a woman will tell you that they are deathly afraid of sitting down on the toilet, only to find that the seat has been left up? Well, ladies, you can rest assured that at least some of us fellas are listening.

Back during my first year of grad school I shared a house with three female roommates, and likewise shared a toilet with two of them. Being the thoughtful guy that y’all know and love me to be, I, in a moment of pure genius, decided that henceforth I would stop standing when I needed to go #1, and began regularly sitting during my time in the loo, regardless of the business at hand.

Though I’ll please have you note that I’m conveniently leaving out the fact that in doing so, I eliminated1No pun intended, but dang if that isn’t a clever one… any incidents of “stray spray”–because with no other males in the house to blame it on, the others would always have known whom to blame for any wayward droplets of urine. Yeah…we can just ignore that maybe my decision was just a wee bit self-serving, too.

Either way, the end result? Seat down, all the time. Problem solved! Ladies, considered yourselves considered!

You know, I even endured the mockery of pretty much all of my male friends and acquaintances, but nevertheless, I persisted.2I maintain that an Elizabeth Warren reference is always warrent-ed. Oh! Somebody stop me! Why? Because I’m a man of ----- character, that’s why!

Anyway, that’s not the point of the story. The point is, I believe I’ve discovered some sort of beautifully twisted symmetry in this Universe: all males should be TERRIFIED of the bizzarro/inverse scenario. Have you ever stopped to consider what might happen with the lid is down unexpectedly, hmmm?

Let’s just say it’s…uh, “disorienting” to scurry to the bathroom for a quick pee in the middle of the night, only to have your family jewels forcefully squashed up your ass by a cold and unforgiving toilet lid. Well, one of the jewels, at least…

I find this turn of events rather disheartening, indeed: my goodwill towards my fellow toilet-users has come back and ungratefully bit me in the ass.

Bit me with my own dang gonad, no less…

As the youths on the Twitter would say:

#IAmPrettySureThisIsNotHowKarmaIsSupposedToWork

I’ll leave y’all to ponder the cruelties of the Universe and/or develop a previously non-existent phobia of toilet lids with a little clip from the YouTubes. To all of those selfless and considerate ever-sitting men out there, this one goes out to you…

Content created on: 8 October 2017 (original Tweets) & 14 January 2020 (Sun/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Now Is A Great Time To Become Ace Of Plant-Based

10 January 2021 / / 2 Comments
5 Min Read

There’s no time quite like the New Year to look back and question your questionable life choices!

“I mock your so-called ‘lifestyle choices,’ Good Sir!”

It was the morning of January 2nd, 2020, and I was standing in front of the mirror. It all seemed so bizarre; I barely even recognized the caricature of a middle-aged man gazing back at me. And honestly, I didn’t even realize what I was doing until I found myself pointing a judging finger at this be-ponytailed stranger, smugly deriding his better judgement.

I paused briefly to appreciate the absurdity of the Dr.-Jekyll-And-Mr.-Hyde moment I was having with myself.

Seriously, though, how the hell did I end up here?

Well, I’m glad you asked! Why don’t you pour yourself a nice cold glass of kombucha and make yourself comfortable, and I’ll tell you the little story of exactly how this came to pass…

You see, it all started out back in March 2019, when I finally grew sick and tired of constantly looking like I was having a never-ending allergic reaction to bees. Needing anything that would help me be even slightly more “healthy looking” on a sustainable basis, I turned to a keto diet.

Or at least I thought I was doing keto. It wasn’t until a few months into my new lifestyle–not ‘diet’–when a nutrition-savvy friend at work pointed out that my half-ass version of keto was essentially just its less-glamorous runt brother, your basic low-carb diet.

But really, I didn’t care because it was actually working for me. More importantly, it was sustainable on account of the fact that I was in heaven, getting to eat all the meats and cheeses and bacons my heart desired and what-not. In fact, the only time that I had any second thoughts about it was when I thought I was going to die before I turned 40, all because of the, um, “repercussions” of my eating habits.

Now while my physical health was overall looking pretty good, it turns out that my half-ass keto wasn’t helping out any in the marital bliss department. That tends to happen when you all of sudden are asking your partner to accommodate your borderline-arbitrary dietary restrictions when it comes time for them to cook up the family meals. Fortunately, the Boss Lady loves me so much that she eventually volunteered to do keto with me, all for the sake of our marriage.

Sounds good, right? Right?

Wrong. Oh, so wrong, my friend. No, this is where things started to go awry.

Now it wasn’t because she didn’t put effort into doing keto with me. In fact, it was the exact opposite. You see, unlike me and my half-assery, she went all in–even to the point where she moved beyond just watching YouTube videos, and into actually doing extensive research in the scientific literature on the topic.

For my part, I was rather quite content in my ignorance. I was dropping the pounds and enjoying every bite along the way. I even warned her “Don’t go asking too many questions–you might just answers you wish you hadn’t!” Last thing I needed was some pesky “statistically sound scientific evidence” to go and ruin my fun.

Nevertheless, she persisted. And I couldn’t help respect her tenacity to sort through all the information, noise, and hype around which diet is “The Best.” Making a truly well-informed decision was something I just didn’t have the emotional and/or executive capacity to do.

She did have those abilities, though. However, she ultimately came to the conclusion that there was no definitive answer. While keto seemed good for your health in at least some situations, there wasn’t much insight into the long-term effects of consistently pumping your arteries full of high-cholesterol animal-based goodies.

One alternative option that she kept coming across (and therefore bringing up in conversation) was the so-called “whole foods plant-based” diet. In addition to sounding like it would inevitably be good for your health, it also had an edge on keto thanks to long-term studies showing that it’s a solid choice for your heart health. And after my aforementioned half-assed brush with a premature death a few months earlier, I had a newfound appreciation for taking the long view on my health.

Over the course of a few months, I could hear her becoming more convinced that she wanted to adopt a WFPB lifestyle. Much to my chagrin, though, she started playing the “I would do the same for you” card on me in an attempt to get me on board.

“Come on!” she would say. “Just try it with me for a few weeks, like I did keto with you.”

Every time, I would give her the same reply “If ain’t broke, don’t fix it, dang it!”

But the truth was that it’s hard to have a completely clean conscious eating all those delicious meats and cheeses and butters and real creams in the coffees. Sure, I was carrying around less adipose tissue (aka ‘body fat’), but deep down in my heart I could just feel that it all couldn’t be without consequence…probably because deep down in my heart I was well on my way to a clogged artery or two!

Ultimately I gave in to the Boss Lady’s wisdom and judgement. My respect for her in these areas was just too much for me and my dubious justifications for my debaucherously dangerous ways . Eventually I was convinced whole-heartedly (pun intended?) that investing in my health via a more clean and proven food system was the way to go.

Although it was September when this descent into madness with the Boss Lady had started, it wasn’t until early December before we began to seriously discuss both of us committing to making the big switch over to whole food plant-based together. We decided that once the holidays were behind us, the New Year would naturally be the perfect time to do it, giving us a whole month to logistically and emotionally prepare for what was to come.1LOL, it’s so cute to hear that phrase used so innocently right before 2020.

Now, it couldn’t have been into no more than 2 or 3 of these strategic planning sessions when I had finally had it with how inefficiently-named our guiding principle was.

“Man, saying ‘whole food plant-based’ sure is quite the mouthful,” I lamented. “We spend half the time in our conversations just saying it. There’s just got to be a shorter way to refer to it…”

There was a heavy pause in the air, in which you could almost hear the wheels grinding in my head.

“Wait just a minute…”

The realization–no, the horror–was beginning to sink in.

“…isn’t that the same thing as…”

No, it couldn’t be. How could have I let this happen to myself?!?

“Oh shit. Are we going…vegan?!? Noooooooooooo!”

Ja, it’s true, my friends. Believe it or not, not only did I have to find a way to survive the hell-hole on earth that was 2020, but I did it all without the comforts and conveniences of all of those delectable animal products you heard me salivate over for these last 4 minutes. And of course I just might have a story or two about my trials and tribulations experienced therein to tell y’all, but those will have to wait until another time for now.

Let me just take a moment to be proud of myself for going this whole time and not saying a word of my secret lifestyle to another living soul…

Okay, that’s not completely true. I was 100% vegan for the last 12 months…except for when on vacation. Or during any Federal holiday. Oh, and pretty much the month of December.

But I regress…

Content FINALLY created on: 10 January 2021 (Sunday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Hindsight Is 2020: Good Riddance To An Insanely Interesting Year

7 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
3 Min Read

Friends & Countrymen, lend my thy ears! Hear-ye, hear-ye, as we find ourselves in the third and final installment of the Point of the Story’s reflection upon the shit-show that was the Year 2020. Now, if you missed the tribute to “The Before Times” from a few days ago, you can catch up here. Of course, don’t forget about the first 6 months of “The New Normal/These Uncertain Times.” You can find the tip o’ the hat to them here.

Now, onward as we “say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months”! Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So lay down, give up, and pour yourself a medium dosage of whatever sedative you can find laying around, because, admit it: that’s what all really should have done for the last 3 months of 2020…

October: Little Bo Peep Has Lost His…Respect For Mainstream Gender Norms?

Click here to read Little Bo Peep Has Lost His…Respect For Mainstream Gender Norms?

You know what got talked about alot in 2020? Race. Me-thinks that maybe his/her/its friend Gender might have been feeling left out, so I thought: “Why not throw the G-Man a bone with a little trip down memory lane, in which we learn the how to properly celebrate the Holidays?” Yes, that is bound to do the topic justice…

Honorable Mentions:
Note To Self: Benzene On The Boys Is Never Bueno
Your Complete Guide To Betting On Interplanetary Birthdays

November: The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked

Click here to read The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked

Did I mention the many times I thought about death during 2020? In case you missed one of the ~13 or so blog posts on the topic, The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked is a good place to get a more light-hearted version of those many thoughts of mine. Uh…just be sure to shield your kids’ eyes first, please…

Honorable Mentions:
The Best Place To Share The Ancient Wisdom Of Gongpu?
Now, That’s What I Call A Second Act!

December: All I Want For Festivus Is My Rightful Tech Fortune

Click here to read All I Want For Festivus Is My Rightful Tech Fortune

In my book, 2020 was such an utter turd to us all that it didn’t deserve a Christmas. Instead, Christmas’ younger and much less handsome brother, Festivus, is much more on brand for the year that was 2020. Don’t know what Festivus is? Well, that’s what I’m here for, right? Join me, as I celebrate Festivus by picking a bone with one of my high school teachers from Festivuses long, long ago…

Honorable Mentions:
Talking To My Parents About Drugs Sure Was Informative, Man
Famous Last Words Of A Guy In Need Of A Reliable Ride
The Forgotten Dreams Of A Promising Young Boy, Revisited
The Gift Of The Magic Fire Water

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

Hindsight Is 2020: Taking The Plunge Into The New Abnormal

3 January 2021 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

Amigos! Amigos! Welcome to the second of three episodes in which the Point of the Story reflects upon the shit-show that was the Year 2020. Now, if you missed the tribute to “The Before Times” from a few days ago, you can catch up here.

Now, onward as we “say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months”! Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So sit up, brace yourself, and pour yourself a tall glass of the strongest clear alcohol you can find, cuz don’t you know trying to relive the middle half of 2020 is going to be a bumpy ride…

April: Sign Of The Times

Click here to read Sign Of The Times

Sign Of The Times was significant for not only being the first post written in quarantine, but also because it captured something we all no doubt dealt with: trying to find humor and/or newfound appreciation within the shit-storm swirling about us. I just happened to find both in…sign language?

Honorable Mentions:
Death By Hangnail/Pants Epidemic-Full Version

May: Chairman Of The Hoard

Click here to read Chairman Of The Hoard

I like to consider myself not your average Joe in many ways. Giving into the panic of securing supplies during lockdown was a painful exception to this. Well, I wouldn’t say I panicked, per se, so much as “got out of hand planning for the uncertain future of the baked-goods supply chain”…

Honorable Mentions:
Kindergarten Cop Out
A Good Day To Dress Like A Tourist

June: The Prize Pig Story

Click here to read The Prize Pig Story

If you were anything like me, by time June rolled around, I wanted to be as far away from 2020 as possible. Even if I couldn’t be there physically, in my mind I was reliving my quest-for-glory days in Kansas, 1984…

Honorable Mentions:
A Parenting Parable
The Case Of The Cat’s Cradle

July: Woke Whack-A-Mole

Click here to read Woke Whack-A-Mole

Like you, I spent much of 2020 internally wrestling with the various flavors of systemic injustice that COVID-19/the murder of George Floyd/fire tornadoes made uncomfortably obvious to us all. While there is not a singular post that captured this, one of the more entertaining takes on getting involved in the social justice scene was Woke Whack-A-Mole. Somethings are just too important to half-ass. Instead, they should be double-assed, I say…

Honorable Mentions:
I Was Told There Would Be Pitchforks
Stripping In The Name Of!
Ode To A Nurseryman

August: I’m White And Here To Be Incredibly Awkward

Click here to read I’m White And Here To Be Incredibly Awkward

If you felt like you didn’t know how to tactfully go about engaging in the many race-themed conversations swirling about you by time late summer rolled around, well, you were not alone. Here to say that’s a-okay is…a guy of unknown ethnic origin?

Honorable Mentions:
The 3-part series beginning with The Little Engine That Could Not Give A ----- class="wp-block-separator has-text-color has-background has-dark-gray-background-color has-dark-gray-color"/>

September: The One Weird Trick That Will Make You A Racist Ventriloquist Overnight

Click here to read The One Weird Trick That Will Make You A Racist Ventriloquist Overnight

It’s only September, so why stop talking about race now, amiright? You can relax, though: no racists were harmed in the making of this story about anti-dentites crashing at your place overnight…

Honorable Mentions:
The Earthling’s Guide To Social Gambling
Also, no 2020 would be complete without grappling with your own mortality, as documented in the 4-part No-Shit Sherlock series!

Next up: October-December

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

Hindsight Is 2020: Never Mind That Colossal Looming Threat…

31 December 2020 / / 0 Comments
2 Min Read

Well, folks. It seems that we made it. It’s hard to believe that the end of 2020 is finally upon is, yet here we are. As you may already be aware, alot has happened in the past 12 months. So it’s forgivable if you missed a post or two from your ever-faithful1*Ahem* Except for a few weeks in late March. Point of the Story. But don’t worry, we’ve got you covered!

I propose we say farewell to the Year From Hell by taking a look back at one story from each of the last 12 months, shall we? Whether it was an interesting read in its own right, or whether it captured the Zeitgeist of the moment–or, *gasp*, both–each of these tales were hand-selected by the editor especially for you, the busy Dear Reader.

So sit back, relax, and pour yourself a tall glass of champagne as we start this celebration off with an in memoriam for those no longer with us, aka “The Before Times.” January through March of the Year 2020, we drink this in remembrance of you…

January: Kicked On A Place

Click here to read Kicked On A Plane

In retrospect, a tale about air travel, white-ish privilege, and socio-economic disparities may actually be the most 2020 thing I could have written about. Ahh, the blissful ignorance of That Which Was To Come…

Honorable Mentions:
But I Still Love Technology-The Other Odds
I Had A Dream…Or Two

February: Touched By An Angel

Click here to read Touched By An Angel

The unsung heroics of nurses? Seemingly endless suffering? A near-death experience? It’s like I somehow knew what was going to be all the rage in 2020…

Honorable Mentions:
Breaking Ephen Like A Stephen
My Time To Go

March: The First Rule Of Dealing Club

Click here to read The First Rule Of Dealing Club

The First Rule Of Dealing Club represents the Point of the Story’s 2020 watershed moment. As the last post published before the true gravity of COVID-19 and the rest of 2020 hit us, it was one final look at The Before Times before we knew they were The Before Times. Now, just thinking about selling cookies to strangers in person feels so…weird. Heck, we would be thrown in jail for these father-daughter hijinx if they happened now.

Honorable Mentions:
The Men Of Her Dreams
Blowin’ In The Wind

Next up: April-September

Content compiled on: 28/29/31 December 2020 (Mon/Tues/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

The Gift Of The Magic Fire Water

27 December 2020 / / 1 Comment
6 Min Read

Here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus, with his Pillow-Sack-Of-Fun…

During that magical year in my life in between getting my undergrad degree and heading off to grad school, I lived in a house with 7 other fine young men. Most, if not all, of these fellas were “upright in the eyes of the Lord.”

One of the things that made this year so ----- magical was my best friend Andrew. Let’s see…I would describe him as “upright–but not exactly uptight–in the eyes of the Lord.” He wasn’t debaucherous by any means, but he did know how to appreciate a little bit of alcohol–in moderation, of course.

He lived just across town, so he would come over to our place after work and hang out several times a week. Since he had taken it upon himself to teach me the finer points of enjoying fermented drinks, he would often bring with him various liquors and spirits for us to imbibe whilst we chilled.

However, he seemed really concerned that he might offend some of the other roommates who perhaps, unlike him, had a different moral perspective on getting drunk on the holy spirits. His solution? Discreetly transport his goods in a plain, unmarked pillow case.

It was such a jolly sight indeed, him showing up at my door in the evening like an adult-themed Santa Claus, Pillow-Case-O-Fun slung over his shoulder.

Of all the fond memories we made together, my 24th birthday was not supposed to have been one of them. We had exactly zero plans for the evening beyond just hanging out and sipping on the booze du jour hiding in his PCOF–which was Vodka on this particular mid-December evening, I believe.

Well, “sipping” may not be the most accurate term. That would imply a small quantity and a slow rate of consumption. Let’s just say that 32-ounce Taco Bell cups were involved.

But don’t get too worried–it was mostly just Mountain Dew, with only about a fifth of the cup’s volume accounted for by the Vodka. We gotta give him some credit: he wasn’t just teaching me to drink–he was teaching me to drink in moderation.

We mostly passed the evening eating, drinking, and being merry in general. And maybe, just maybe, drinking a wee bit more.

But, seriously, while enjoyable, it was perhaps the most unnoteworthy 2-3 hours of my life.

About halfway through Taco Bell cup number two, I noticed that the alcohol was hitting me much harder than expected. I honestly didn’t know where I had gone wrong, because–I say this with a straight face–I had been drinking responsibly.

I sat there for a moment gazing into my cup before commenting to Andrew, “Man, this Vodka tastes oddly strong…”

Andrew paused briefly with a slightly confused look on his face before informing me, “That’s because that ‘Vodka’ is actually Everclear. I was wondering why you were hitting it so hard…”

“Aw, ----- , now you tell me. I had been mixing my drinks based on the assumption that this was Vodka the whole time. Dammit, now I’m drunk.”

“I would be worried if you weren’t at this point–Everclear is double the proof of Vodka. I’m surprised you’re even able to stand,” he said, trying to stifle his trademark chuckle.

*Tries to stand up, sits down immediately.*

“Uh, I think I’ll just sit here at the kitchen table for now…”

Though I was only 24, in that moment I felt wise beyond my years…

“Well, what do you wanna do now, Birthday Boy?” Andrew said, trying not to let my newfound inebriation–and my new-lost ability to walk on my own two legs–kill our buzz.

“Hmm, let’s see…I’ve been needing to re-order checks rather desperately. Since the laptop’s here anyways and I’m not going anywhere for awhile… ----- it. I might as well do that.”

…and I proceeded to do exactly that.

No, strike that thought. I proceeded to attempt to do exactly that.

For the life of me, I could not get all the way through the process successfully, despite multiple attempts. I mean, I knew I was a bit drunk, but not that drunk, for crying out loud.

…or was I? Maybe I was so drunk, that it felt like I was putting in all those number correctly, but in reality I was claiming my bank’s routing number was “1800MIXALOT.” Could it be possible?

I needed a second opinion. Despite being notably less intoxicated than myself, Andrew failed on both of his attempts as well.

There was no way that we were both so drunk that we couldn’t enter in ~20 digits correctly after 6 combined attempts. Or was the Everclear just really that good?

We needed a third opinion, and this time we had to eliminate the alcohol factor. For this task we summoned in Seth, one of the roomies that never drank, so he was guaranteed to be stone-cold sober.

When he failed after 3 attempts, that’s when we all erupted into celebratory cheers–“HUZZAH! We’re not as drunk as we feared! Hip-hip-hooray!”

A peculiar feature about this large house we all lived in was that there were two kitchens–one upstairs where we were, and one on the ground floor–thus naturally splitting us roommates into two seperate, but equal, groups.

It just so happened that all the while Andrew, Seth, and I were quietly celebrating my birthday/not being numerically-challenged-drunk, Zach, one of the downstairs guys, had been babysitting a pair of youngsters that belonged to the Youth Pastor at his church. He was so close to this family, in fact, that the kids affectionately called him “Uncle Zach.”

We had no idea any of this was going on below our feet–and frankly it didn’t matter–until the dad came back to collect his offspring. Zach came upstairs and insisted we come downstairs and meet him.

“Uhhh, no, man, that’s probably not a great idea, Zach, my man.”

I may have been under the influence, but I still had some common sense and better judgement left in the tank.

“Oh, no, it’ll be fine! Come on down before leaves!” Zach was clearly not listening to me.

Since I had stopped drinking over an hour earlier, I thought maybe I could fake being sober long enough to shake his hand and say “pleased to meet you.” I took a few deep breaths and carefully made my way down the stairs, bracing myself along the wall the whole way down.

Thank goodness the other guys were with me, as I was able to keep my speaking to a bare-ass minimum. More than 3 sentences of a speaking, and I’m pretty sure he would have picked up on my, um, “altered” state. I shook his hand, over-enunciated a few words, and kept my eyes coordinated at all times, though that last task took every bit of effort I could muster.

Just a couple of minutes of chit-chat, and we bid the dad adieu and made our way back upstairs to celebrate my Emmy-worthy acting performance. Only this time we behaved like the mature, responsible, grown-ass men that we were and enjoyed shots of straight water instead of that other, confusingly-clear liquid from earlier…

A couple months later, we were all hanging out one Sunday afternoon, when Zach came home from church with an odd experience he had to share with us.

“So after church Eva and Evan1Fuck if I know if those were actually there names. Seeing as how their dad was a youth pastor, I would say that’s probably a pretty good guess though. came running up to me…”

” ‘Uncle Zack! Uncle Zack! When are you going to be able to babysit us again? Every time Daddy says that you’ve been too busy, and to that, we say Boo!’ “

“They must have noticed the confused look on my face–or maybe just plain forgot what they were talking about–because only two seconds later they took off.”

” ‘That’s straaaaange…’ I thought to myself, ‘I haven’t been too busy to babysit them. And no one has even asked me to babysit since mid-December…'”

We all kinda chuckled because at that point, as we all knew what had really happened.

While my intoxicated numerical abilities were much better than I had perceived, conversely, my inebriated acting skills were much poorer than I had fancied them to be.

“Well, I’m truly sorry to hear that your babysitting gig is no more,” I half-assedly consoled Zach, who was at least taking it all in stride. “But to be fair, Uncle Zach wouldn’t have gotten himself into this pickle if he would have listened to Uncle BJ when he tried to warn him multiple times that Uncle BJ was not so much “Uncle BJ” in that moment as he was “Drunk Uncle.”

He gave me a begrudging grin, on account of the very fair point I just made. This one was probably more on him than me.

But, completely sabotaging Zach’s career in early childhood education aside, I stand by my assertion that that birthday ended up being one of my most delightfully memorable ones ever.

No, strike that–I sit safely at the kitchen table futilely trying to reorder checks by that assertion…

Really, though, the point of the story is, despite their uncanny resemblance, Vodka and Everclear are not “pretty much the same thing.” Only one of those two will get Child Protective Services called on your housemate, so you best figure out most directly which one you’re pouring into that over-sized Taco Bell cup of yours right now…

Content created on: 23 December 2020 (Wednesday)

Footnotes & References:[+]

Famous Last Words Of A Guy Needing A Reliable Ride

17 December 2020 / / 0 Comments
3 Min Read

Sometimes I fancy myself a bit of a guardian angel:

Unseen, but always looking out for unsuspecting fine young honeys everywhere…

One of the wonderful benefits of riding public transportation to and from one’s job is that you get to meet all sorts of new and interesting people. For example, a few years ago, I was waiting at my usual bus stop waiting to head home after work. There I was, just minding my own business when one such new and interesting fella approached me. I could see hunger in his eyes, so I was fully expecting him to ask me for some money for food.

Instead, he proceeds to launch into this long and complicated tale that started out like any other “I need bus and/or gas money to get from Point A (our current location) to Point B (a very important place that I need to be most urgently).” I sat there and smiled and nodded politely, not paying close attention at first because, hey, if you’ve heard one of these stories, you’ve heard ’em all, right?

As you can imagine, his request was indeed for money for the bus fare so he could get himself on over to the neighboring city in a most expedient manner. “But what such pressing matters could there be for this young chap in the neighboring city?” you are indubitably wondering right now.

Well, it turns out, there was a “fine young honey”1I can’t remember the exact street slang he used here, but this is a pretty good approximation. in that city impatiently waiting for him to show up for their second date. And he made it pretty clear that if he didn’t make it in time, they wouldn’t be, um…”pressing [their] matters” together later. I mean, he was nearly in tears as he confided in me his worst fear: that there would be no bumping-of-uglies that night.

Oh, things were starting to make sense now. That hunger I had seen in his eyes? Pure sexual hunger. This dude wasn’t asking for gas money; he was asking for ass money.

But the best part was that he tried the classic empathy-inducing “We’ve all been there, right?” line on me.

No, dude, I can’t say I’ve been in your shoes. I have never had to beg strangers for bus money so I could make it to a 2nd-date booty call.

Though I gotta confess, I was tempted to give him the money, as I felt him more than deserving of points for honesty and/or creativity.

Trying to keep my professional demeanor I suppressed my grin as I told him I didn’t have any cash on me and sent him on his way. In the end, I really had to think of that poor young woman. I actually had enough cash to cover his bus fare, but I didn’t have enough to cover what he really should be spending his money on: rubbers.2Kids, this what people used to call condoms, believe it or not.

#DontWantNoScrubs3This tale was initially live-tweeted to my secret Twitter account, so #hashtags make much more sense in that context. And a few select people out there will appreciate this hashtag include in the original tweet: #Gintus.

Moments after this encounter, while I was busy patting myself on the back for helping that young lady dodge a bullet, I noticed the randy lad approach another regular bus stop patron who had just walked up.

I happened to be within earshot, so I got to listen in as he solicited this other guy. After the Scrub-Looking-For-A-Sensual-Rub finished his pathetic plea for ass-money, Guy #2 replied he had just spent his last bit of cash buying crackers at the nearby gas station for another guy who had asked him for money.

“But next time,” he reassured the Scrub, “I promise I’ll buy you some crackers.”

Clearly, this was not the outcome our pitiful supplicant was hoping for.

Before stomping off in disgust, he loudly muttered:

“Man, I don’t want no crackers!”

Now that I can relate to…

#DontWantNoCrackers

Content created on: 12 October 2017 & 17 December 2020 (Thurs/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

The Survival Of The Squintiest Scooterist You’ve Ever Seen

29 November 2020 / / 0 Comments
5 Min Read

“Always wear sunscreen,” they said.

Little did I know how horrible that life advice would turn out to be…

The very first time I visited Hawai’i, I had flown out there by myself for my (ultimately successful) job interview. Not to be deterred by my lack of a companion, I added a day to my stay so I would have an extra chance to explore paradise.

But was I going to pay tons o’ money for a car? Pffft! Hecks no! True to form, I embarked on my adventures on a rented scooter, intent on soaking up every last ray of beautiful sunshine and savoring every last whiff of that sweet, sweet tropical breeze. As the youths probably never say, I was living life “to the max.”

I decided not to overcomplicate things, and had planned on a very bare-bones itenary of snorkelling in gorgeous Hanuama Bay1https://hanaumabaystatepark.com/ first thing in the morning, followed by a brief break back at my hotel in Waikiki, and then I would scoot on around to the Windward (northeast) Side of the island for a late lunch at some some random burger joint. The details of this restaurant are largely inconsequential: I had just arbitrarily picked it to give me an excuse to explore that part of Oahu. After all, it’s not about the destination, but rather the journey. That’s what they all say, anyways.

This simplified schedule would give me ample time to relax another hour at the hotel before finding my way to the airport for my 6 o’clock flight out of there. This would also minimize the possibility of some unforeseen plot twist causing me to miss my flight. Shenanigans? No thanks, not this time!

Now, being the lily-white myopic responsible adult that I am, you can bet your sweet Hawaiian buns that I was popping in my contact lenses and slathering up with sunscreen that morning before hitting up Hanauma. But you know what, sometimes it seems that doing the right thing only invites punishment…

By the time I got back to the hotel after snorkelling, I could tell that a little bit of the sunscreen must have seeped down through my Oompa-Loompa eyebrows and into my eyes, as they seemed slightly irritated. No problem, though! I just took out my contacts, caught a quickie nap, and hit the road for the 22-mile scenic af journey to The Shack in Kailua.

However, between sweating under the Hawaiian sun and the previously-lauded tropical breeze in my face, the sunscreen-in-the-eyes situation was only worsening. It was still bearable, though, and I figured that I would rinse my eyes out at the restaurant and that they should be good to go after a good 30 minutes or so of rest.

Oh boy, was I WRONG about that. I tried to enjoy that hamburger in spite of the tears streaming down my face, a combination of trying to let tears do their intended job of cleansing my peepers, along with the emotional despair of realizing that I was blind, stranded, and almost for sure going to miss my flight. I mean, while I could always get a taxi back to the hotel, I still had the problem of getting the scooter back to the scooter rental place.

I was kicking myself this whole time for declining the scooter roadside assistance in an attempt to save $20. Why? Because I realized that had that insurance been in place, I could solve all my problems by strategically placing a borrowed steak knife in one of the scooter’s tires. Boom! Then I would have a ride back for both myself and the scooter. But, alas, I’m a cheap bastard at heart, and was now paying a steep price for it.

So there I was, with my eyes ablaze trying to figure out how the hell to get myself out of this heck of a pickle. And the burning was only exacerbated by the presence of oxygen, meaning that any attempt to keep my eyes open was excruciatingly futile. On top of this, they had become rather light-sensitive as well. Needless to say any attempt at exercising my gift of sight only resulted in immediate decent into pure misery.

After sitting in a dark corner of The Shack for about an hour and a half with no relief in sight (no pun intended), I realized that I was running out of options–and time. Ultimately, I had no choice but to get my ass back on the scooter and hit the road, irregardless if I could actually see where I was going or not.

For almost an hour I carefully putted down that 2-lane highway with my eyes closed ~85% of the time. I am not exaggerating one bit when I say that I couldn’t keep them open for more than about a second at a time. So I was stuck in this soul-sucking loop of squeezing my eyes tightly shut for 3-5 seconds, then putting every ounce of energy I had into keeping them open for 1, 2 seconds tops. Then rinse and repeat, as they say.

I even tried that trick of alternating which eye is open and which eye is tightly shut, but given that the trade-off was loss of depth perception, I’m guessing it was only slightly less dangerous. The trip was made even longer by the fact that I had to pull over for a couple of minutes every time my spidey-sense started tingling, letting me know that maybe I was edging just a little too close to dying in a fiery crash.

I’ve often heard from other people that when they try to imagine what Eternal Damnation might be like, that “trying to stay awake when you’re extremely tired but have to keep driving” is the best guess they got. Well, just imagine that on crack, with the lovely addition of having hot pokers jammed in your eyes.

You shouldn’t be surprised then to hear that this landed squarely in the Number Two slot on my list of this-must-be-what-Hell-is-like life experiences–barely edged out only by that time I about died getting my tonsils removed, of course. Good gracious! It triggers my PTSD just thinking about it.

While I somehow miraculously made it back to the scooter shop in one piece, my misery didn’t end there by any means. Trying to blindly stumble the 10 blocks or so back to my hotel from there was an unpleasantly surprising swift kick in the crotch, given what I had just endured. I actually got lost in one of the buildings I tried cutting through in an attempt to avoid the sunlight like I was ----- Dracula or something.

Needless to say, when I finally made it to my seat on the plane, I couldn’t have been happier to be leaving that so-called Heaven-On-Earth. As we took off, I pried my eyes open one last time so I could gaze over the island that I would be calling home for the next two years. And when I was completely sure the island was looking, I gave it a stout, 15-second middle-finger salute…

The point of the story actually is that you should never judge an experience by how it begins. It turns out that those next two years were by far the best two years of my life. And yes, I was still a diligent Caucasian and wore sunscreen the whole time–keeping it far away from eyeholes, of course.

But I will never forget what I learned that fateful day: did you know that you can completely exhaust the muscles that keep your eyes open? It’s true! You most certainly can…

Content created on: 10/12 November 2020 (Tues/Thurs)

Footnotes & References:[+]

The Remarkably Beautiful Symmetry Of Dying Buck-Naked

22 November 2020 / / 0 Comments
4 Min Read

Well, it was either “ignoble death” or “registered sex offender for life.”

I quickly came to terms that I was probably going to die right there in the water…

I’ve long maintained that I’m pretty sure that I have an utterly stupid and/or ridiculous death awaiting me. If you think I’m joking about this, then you may want to think again. I’m dead serious.

You may have already read about my urine-related brush with death, but I can understand if one piece of anecdotal evidence isn’t enough to convince you of this immutable life-truth of mine. So I thought maybe I would toss another example your way…

Every summer, The Boss Lady and I make an annual trek to hit up one of the many beautiful local beaches, much like many a folk who live within striking distance of one of an oceanic coast. Of course, these days this is now in the form of a luxurious multi-generational beach vacation, but this belies the much, much more humble beginnings of this yearly tradition.

One fine Saturday morning during the first summer of being married, we decided on a Lark1This is a play on words that absolutely nobody is going to get: we lived on Lanark Road at the time, and we had people mistaking our address for “Lark Road” ALL. THE. TIME. to take a day trip to the beach. I had never been to a Carolina beach before, and she thought it would be fun to check out where she grew up vacationing. As a bonus we could hit up the NC Aquarium and nosh on some genuine seafood while we were at it.

Oh, and of course we would frolic in the water and sand a little bit too. I mean, what would be a beach trip without a little sand in the shorts, amiright?

We actually ended up doing the whole beach thing twice in the few hours we were there. The last time, right before we headed home, was a spur-of-the-moment last-hurrah type of affair where we were like, “Hey what say we pull over at this random beach that we’re completely unfamiliar with and get one last bit of salt water in our system?”

It was all fun and games at first, but soon it was time to go, and I found that I indeed had more than just a “little sand in the shorts.” Now the beach we had gone to earlier was the one she had gone to growing up, and a key feature of that familiar beach was that there were showers for rinsing off conveniently located just across the street. No such amenities were to be found at this beach, though.

But that’s not an obstacle that couldn’t be overcome, right? There was an easy enough solution: just go out far enough in the water, take me trunks2Pirate joke or typo? I’ll never tell! off, rinse them out in the ocean, and put them back on. Duh. It’s not rocket science.

I had made it through Step 3 of this Easy 4-Step Plan before running into a slight snag. And I blame it all on the dang geography.

The particular spot in the water that I had chosen in which to do my deed was strategically located between, on one side, a large formidable formation of sharp and jagged rocks. On the other, a large family with many small children playing in the sand.

Still, this doesn’t seem like it should be a near-death experience, right? Well, that’s because we’re overlooking one small detail: the power of the ocean.

Due to some rare combination of the tide and local topography of that particular spot, there was an extreme variation in the depth of the water as each wave would roll in.

I found this out after I found myself naked in the water, unfortunately.

The first time I tried putting my shorts back on, a wave came in, and all of a sudden I found myself unable to touch the bottom. And it turns out that it is incredibly difficult to put pants on without any secure footing and without having enough free hands to dog paddle and keep your head above water.

But as soon as that wave crashed, the water only came up to my ankles, so in an effort not traumatize a flock of youngsters–and to avoid getting arrested for indecent exposure–I sat down immediately in the half-foot of water, as that was the only way to avoid showing off my family jewels to the whole entire world.

It turns out that there was no “in between”–I was either desperately struggling to keep my head above water or trying to hide my Biblical shame in 6 inches of water or less. There was never enough of the “just the right amount of water” for long enough to get my shorts back on successfully.

Very soon I had booked myself a trip on the proverbial Struggle Bus, and struggle I did indeed. The more I fought, the more exhausted I became; the more exhausted I became, the less able I was to stay in the same spot…wait, why am I so close to those rocks? Oh shit ! This got real, real fast!

My life started flashing before my eyes. Was this it? Could it be true? Was this how I was going to die?

Ass-naked and smashed upon some rocks?

Yeah, you know what? This seems pretty on brand for me. And why not? Who wants a boring Bougie death anyways? Not me! I’m pants-down and Heaven-bound, baby!

Plus, there was some strange satisfaction of having it all end just how it all began. After all, naked and flailing I came unto this world, and naked and flailing I shall leave it…right?

You know, I don’t recall how I ultimately got out of that jam, but much to The Boss Lady’s relief–who was watching this all unfold from the shore with a concerned-yet-laughing look on her face–a somehow survived while also managing to not show off too much of my flesh to that very confused family of onlookers.

Anyways, there you have it, folks: yet another ignoble way that I almost died. Maybe there isn’t really a moral of a story to be had here, but that’s okay, I give you permission to go ahead and laugh at my expense.

And if nothing else, I got to sneak a little bit of Maranasati in, which is actually pretty fitting for the Thanksgiving season: though we may eventually die, let us give thanks for still being alive.

As they say, this is what the holidays are all about…

Content created on: 12/20 November 2020 (Thurs/Fri)

Footnotes & References:[+]

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