Waitresses

If you're anything like me, you're socially awkward.  And, if you're socially awkward, some aspects of restaurants intimidate you.  Namely, that awkward exchange mid-meal when the waiter/waitress asks: "How's everything?"

Theses are the top 3 things I do when this happens:

3. Nod and smile.  The waiter is long gone before I find my voice to speak, though.  This is probably due to the fact that there are french fries lodged in my throat at the time.  Good thing I'm not prone to choking.

2. Conveniently vanish to the bathroom to avoid the question.  He's already asking me if the food's okay.  Does he really have to ask me if I'm choking?

1. Nod like an idiot with food in my mouth and shoot him/her a thumbs up.  Hey, it's the best I can do, under the circumstances. 

And yes, I know they're supposed to use that time to ask you if you need anything else, check your drink levels, etc., but the whole reason I try to avoid the question is because I'm socially awkward, remember?  So, if I'm too shy to even answer your question, do you think I'm really going to speak up and ask for some Heimlich for my french fries? 

Then again, maybe I'm just over-thinking the situation.  Sheldon Cooper much?

Or, maybe I just shouldn't leave my house anymore.

My Perfect Vacation Love Story

This post is dedicated to my aunt, who wanted nothing more than for me to engage in a lively vacation romance while in Florida.  Well, now that I'm back, I feel it's my job to tell y'all about my romantic escapades with a savory character who shall for now remain nameless.

My story begins in a wonderful town known as Daytona Beach, specifically on the oceanfront, in our 18th story condo.  I was sitting around when my family decided to go out for a stroll along the beach.  So we did.

Our journey lead us down to a quaint little shop whose name escapes me now.  They sold ice cream, fudge, and taffy, among other candies.  I strode in confidently, unaware that my Prince Charming was just around the corner.  (And yes, this is a true story.)

Well, my family decided to get toffee after being bewitched by a taffy pulling machine in the front window.  I got a bag and started filling it with one of each fascinating flavor that managed to catch my eye, e.g. caramel apple, popcorn, bubblegum, and Belgian waffle.

That was when I saw him--on the top shelf, between Margarita and Honey, was a big bucket full of maple-bacon flavored taffy.

Simply put, I fell in love.  Until he melted on the beach and ended up fusing my beach towel to my backside.  That was a royal pain to get through security, I'll tell you.

Disclaimer: My dearest aunt,
If this did not fulfill your desire to read a story designed to set your heart aflutter, nothing will.  I might suggest your local library for what some might consider more edifying entertainment, or you could just accept that maple-bacon taffy is more attractive than any surfer dude. 

Further Earbud Adventures

Remember my ear buds?  You know, the ones that are falling apart and hold themselves together with earwax and nothing more?  Yeah, those.

Well, they've returned for more adventures in madness.  It all happened about three nights ago, when I was listening to music on my iPad before bed.  I finally decided to go to bed, so pulled back the covers with one hand while holding my iPad in the other.  The ear buds, of course, were in use. 

Well, when I crawled under the covers, I happened to generate some static electricity.  Normally, this wouldn't have been a problem, but that night it was.

See, the static electricity traveled through the ear buds and INTO MY EARDRUMS.  Have you had your inner ear shocked lately?  Take my word for it: it's not enjoyable in the slightest.  I responded with lightning-fast reflexes, ripping the ear buds from my head.  When they hit the floor, though, they fell apart, so I don't think I accomplished anything. 

5 Second Rule

Is anyone else baffled by our so-called 5 second rule?  Recent scientific developments have shown that it is indeed something to take into consideration when you drop food on a relatively clean surface, but what those scientists didn't do is take the 5 second rule to the next level.  Here's my premise: lets say I drop a sandwich on the floor and pick it up within 2 1/2 seconds.  Now, let's say I drop the sandwich again and recover it within 2 1/2 seconds.  Does my sandwich have the same amount of germs on it as it would have if I'd left it on the ground for 5 seconds, and is it still edible? 

And if my sandwich is good for 4.99 seconds on my kitchen floor (which, for the purpose of this exercise, we'll say is freshly mopped), is it good for 1.99 seconds on a sticky restaurant table, or is the table just too grimy altogether and I'd be better off chucking the sandwich at my cholos hobo because it functions better as a throwing star than a sandwich? 

Returning to my first question, here's a follow-up question: do germs fade away eventually, meaning that if I dropped my sandwich and retrieved it within 2 seconds and let it sit in a corner for a few days before dropping it for 2 seconds again, does it have 2 or 4 seconds worth of germs? 

My most pressing concern, however, is how I even got that sandwich and how I'm clumsy enough to drop it 6 times during the course of this post.  I mean, based on my sandwich-making tendencies, someone either made me that sandwich or I bought that sandwich, and it seems awfully rude of me to drop a sandwich I didn't make 6 times.  (And for those of you who weren't keeping track, my sandwich is up to 15.98 floor seconds.  I don't think I will eat that sandwich.)

Calendars

Out of all the dumb things people buy at the beginning of a new year, calendars are--by far--the dumbest.  The logic behind buying a calendar is flawed at best. Calendar distributors around the world expect you to, for a whole year, remain thoroughly and irredeemably attached to whatever thing your calendar features.  Every month/day (depending on your tastes and calendar interaction level or CIL), you will see a new picture of the same thing and are expected to like that thing, January-December, without fail. 

Am I the only one who sees the major flaw in this line of thinking?  This especially goes for those pesky movie calendars--"Why, yes, I do intend to like Hunger Games and Twilight: Breaking Dawn Part II all year, or at least until early May, when I will once again find myself in desperate need of a Tony Stark/Robert Downy Jr. calendar."

And then you've got your Justin Bieber/One Direction/Hot Guys with Baby Animals calendars, which follow directly along the poster line of thinking. 

Anyway, I ended up with an Agent P calendar, which solved all my problems--he's a cartoon platypus, and never has any dialogue and therefore will never be ruined by cruddy TV writers, which will ensure his likableness until 2014, at which time I will once again embark on a ridiculous calendar journey. 

Your Questions - Answered

Hello, my few (and probably not proud.  I mean, this blog is either your guilty pleasure or something you read as a form of self-torture) blog-readers.  This post contains answers for you brave enough to ask questions in the comment box of one of my previous posts.  True, two of my askers were my parents, so the one outside my bloodline gets extra credit in the class of life.

Alright, first up:

Q: You are given $500K. How would you spend/save/give it? Are there any causes dear to you or principles you would work toward? What would you do with part of it that would be frivolous?

A: Right off the bat, I put $250K in the bank to save for future medical bills or the like.  Next, I give some to the Mill Dog Rescue.  Third, I'd probably buy a dog from Mill Dog Rescue.  As for frivolousness (yes, that's a real word; look it up) I would launch my own TV show on either CartoonNetwork or Nickelodeon.  Lastly, I'd hug the dude who gave me this $500K so hard he'd start fighting back.  And when he fought back, I'd have to dip into that previously mentioned $250K to pay for my brokenness.

Q: Why is Barney's skull 3" wide since it only has a brain the size of a pea?

A: (For those of you who don't know who Barney is, take a look at this hot mess:)

The answer to your question lies in the principle of his utter hotness.  He got the good looks (3" skull included), while his siblings got other attributes like brains, agility, endurance, and seeing ghosts--but they all look more or less like Lady GaGa after her concussion.

Q: Shouldn't "health care" really be called disease management? What would happen if society supported real health care with fewer working/school hours, less homework, more time outside, purposeful physical activity, creative pursuits, and healthy food?

A:  Dear Sir/Ma'am--

This is a blog, not a research paper.  But the answer is as follows: 

The USA would raise a generation of strong, intelligent people, who would rise up and conquer every other country that is unhealthy by comparison.  We would achieve world domination, but quickly fall to communism.  A literal underground railroad would be established where people go to escape the government and eat junk food, which, up until that point, has been outlawed.  This would continue until the apocalypse, when only a few survivors pick through society's ruins in gas masks. 
(This blog and its owners/affiliates not responsible for any grades achieved using this information)

Christmas

What can I say?  I guess I'm not the kind of person who's naturally holiday-ready.  While Christmas is, without a doubt, my favorite holiday of the year, in lieu of recent experiences, I'm starting to wonder about its true value.

For one thing, Christmas in general is too oversold nowadays.  It's about getting (want proof?  Watch an AFV Christmas Special), and something about my personal Christmas is ruined when I think about the brats who are crying over not getting what they wanted when their parents spent over 100 dollars in presents for each of them.  And the epidemic isn't restrained to just the kids who are "too young to know better."  The 8+ set is guilty, too!  I mean, they don't even pay for Mom and Dad's gifts, but think they have the power to scrutinize their presents like nobody's business. 

And then we have Santa Claus.  Ha!  More like Scare-Your-Pants-Off Claus.  Miracle on 34th Street framed him perfectly, but modern representations are seriously scary.  (Except Invader Zim.  No, that's just plain truth.)

On a more personal level, we now turn to wish lists.  I tried my best to get out of making one this year, but of course I couldn't completely escape the task and the mental block attached.  All year I see things in stores and wonder if I'll remember them for Christmas or my birthday, and then December or April comes along and I don't.  So, I stare at my computer/sheet of paper with a blank face for 7+ hours, not really knowing what to say but knowing that wish lists are now homework--turning in a blank sheet will earn you an F in holiday shopping.

But all pessimistic opinions aside, I really am looking forward to this Christmas.  There's definitely a lot to appreciate this year, especially looking back on the several times I almost died (no joke). 

Also, out of writer's block, I asked for some very strange things this year.  It'll be interesting to see how my family handles it.

Checkers for Real

I apologize in advance for any damage to your childhood.

Ever think about checkers?  Like, seriously ponder it.  What if it were a real-life thing?  Let me play this out for you.  We've got ourselves a battlefield, upon which soldiers rush to the other end in order to move up in rank and better slaughter their enemies.  When a soldier falls, his corpse is hauled away by the opposing side for later use.

A soldier we'll call Jedidiah (don't ask why) has reached the opposing side and is ready to be kinged.  He shouts to a nearby enemy commander: "King me!"

The commander is not pleased with Jedidiah's outburst but is a virtuous person and prides himself on following agreed-upon rules.  He spins and calls to a nearby medic standing off-field, "Martha, get this boy a crown!"  Martha runs off.  She goes into the commander's fortress and down to the dungeon.  After some deliberation, she chooses a dead ranger (spear through the heart, if you must know), throws him over her shoulder like a sack of flour, and rushes back to the battle scene.  The commander is too far away for her to speak with, but Jedidiah is still in his spot by the back wall, tapping his foot impatiently.

Martha sighs and walks along the top of the wall until she's standing right above our hero.  "You've been kinged, sire!" she says without emotion, trying to hold in her grief at conceding an enemy's advantage.  With an unwomanly heave of her muscles (Lord only knows how she got those, being a medic and all), she pitches the ranger's carcass over the wall, and it falls squarely on Jedidiah's head.  He belts a war screech and darts back into the fray, all the while balancing his pierced ally on his shoulders.

As the battle drags on, Jedidiah begins to lead his side to victory.  More and more are kinged, and Martha begins to tire of her constant runnings to the corpse storage vault.  Finally, the vault is empty.  She gasps and rushes to the commander, who is near the edge of the battlefield again.

"Commander, what'll we do?" she asks.  "There are no more enemy corpses, and a young gentleman is waiting for his crown  at the wall."

The commander is not pleased with this news and, in rage, leaps over an enemy soldier and bludgeons him to death.  "Help me toss this over there," he commands Martha, forgetting for a moment that she is a woman and shouldn't engage in corpse-pitching.

Together, they send the not-quite-dead man onto the impatient soldier's head.  If the unlucky gent wasn't dead already, the knock to the new king's armor did him in.

See what I mean?  Leaving you to decide for yourself who pulled it out of the bag and won the battle, doesn't checkers suddenly seem like a very R-rated game?  Who thought this stuff up?  Even I couldn't come up with something so blatantly gruesome as  checkers, and I just wrote that whole scene up there.

Don't even get me started on Duck Duck Goose.

Out of Context

I heard one of the strangest things the other day.  I'll admit I absolutely love it when I overhear snippets of conversation completely out of context.  It's really entertaining.

(In Chicago O'Hare Airport) Random Dude In Line Behind Me: "They're always out of trash cans by like, 9 a.m."

I don't even.  Really, what could he have possibly been talking about?  Perhaps roadkill.  Think about it--Guy #1 says, "The new road cleanup facility is really small.  They have to put the dead things from each returning truck into Dumpsters to wait for the garbage guys."  Then Random Dude In Line Behind Me says, "Yeah, I heard.  Supposedly, they're short on Dumpsters, so they have to put the corpses anywhere they can to wait for pickup.  They're always out of trash cans by like, 9 a.m."

Yeah, that's probably what it was.

Girly Stuff

As you may have gathered (either from meeting me in person or from reading this ridiculously mandatory blog), I am more of a tomboy than a girly girl.  I don't wear dresses except for special occasions, I don't really think Justin Bieber's new scent is anything to scream about, and I'd watch a super hero movie over a romantic comedy any day.

It came to my attention recently that my blog seems to reflect this.  It's black, for starters.  Not a speck of pink to be found.  Also, my blog isn't adorned with little <3s and :Ds and :)s and eye-catching (or eye-assaulting) titles like +++.:.:Girly+Stuff:.:.+++ or the like.  And I find it perfectly okay that way.  In fact, I much prefer it.

Now, before I start up a controversy, I'm not trying to bash girly stuff.  I'm just saying that my blog is remarkably unremarkable in that it looks highly neutral.  If my blog were a store, they could put a sign on it that reads "THE MANDATORY BRAIN THOUGHT BLOG - EYE-APPEALING TO BOTH GENDERS SINCE 1897."  But I'd probably go to jail for fraud.  It's just that May of 2012 isn't as impressive as 1897.

But at any rate, for those of you who wish I'd drop the satire and dry sarcasm and show some love for once, this post is for you.

Here you go: <3.

Hope you're happy.

And now that I've appeased the masses, I think I'll go paint my nails black and eradicate someone with silly string.  (Not that silly string is for boys only--I'm not trying to be stereotypical here.  Both guys and girls can use silly string equally, regardless of their DNA makeup.  You know, maybe I should just quit while I'm ahead.)