tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23478423393623319492024-03-04T23:53:47.980-06:00So What if I'm Not Typical? I'm Still Fun.Just another blog about someone who would otherwise never have the chance to tell his story. I will try to make it funny, but it is a blog about life and life is not always funny even if tragedy is the new comedy. If nothing else, this is free therapy.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-41906866968575474252013-08-26T12:00:00.000-05:002013-08-26T12:00:07.681-05:00Six Months... And Counting!Enough apologies. I will start writing about the trip to Portland... ish. Me and the BF were scheduled to fly out to Portland on our sixth month anniversary. I showed up at his house promptly at around ten or eleven in the morning. Our flight was not until two in the afternoon but the BF likes getting to the airport two hours in advance. Just in case. I was still early enough that we had a chance to go out to brunch and to exchange gifts. I know, six months does not seem like a gift day but, at that moment, it was the longest we had been together and we felt the occassion merited presents. I won't bore you with the details of my present but will tell you that I received a beautiful decoration owl. If you think there is something out there that would say happy six month anniversary better than an owl, you obviously don't know me that well. Anyway, around noon, we headed over to the airport so the adventure could begin.<br />
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Before the adventure can begin, I must inform you of a small situation that happened a few weeks before the trip. I think I have mentioned before that the BF travels a lot for work. Because of that, he was able to book the two flights for a very, very, ridiculously low price by using points. On top of that, we had decided to get a rental car while we were in Portland and he was able to get one at an incredibly affordable price thanks to points too. At this point, I felt like I was taking advantage of his generosity. That's why I decided to pay for the hotel. I figured it was the least that I could do. We were looking around for hotels near the area where my friends live. There was a local hotel called Aladdin Inn within half a mile of my friend's house. This, to me, seemed ideal as the closer to my friends the hotel was, the better it was for me. We tentatively decided on that one but we didn't book anything. A few days later, I was talking to the BF on the phone and he informed me that he went ahead and booked a hotel. I asked which hotel and he said he had booked a different hotel about five miles away from where Hillary and Zeke lived. I was a bit upset. He thought I was upset because of the price difference since the new hotel was a chain hotel and about fifty bucks a night more expensive. I told him that it was not the price, or at least not just the price, that upset me but that he would make that decision without consulting me. He said that the other hotel looked shady, which it did, and that he felt safer at the other one. I told him that that was all well and good, but he should have let me know beforehand instead of going behind my back. Why do I tell you all this? I have a point, believe me. I will make it later.<br />
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Back to the begginging of the adventure. We got to the airport and I let him take care of all the details about getting the tickets and going through security. Btw, I hated going through security. It felt invasive... and not in a good way. I mean, I had to take my shoes off, and I don't like doing that, and I didn't even get a patdown. It was very disappointing. The airport was kind of boring but that changed the minute we had to board. I started getting a bit nervous as I had only flown once before and I did not really remember it that well. The BF gave me my boarding pass and told me that they were going to scan it at the gate but to hold on to it. I said ok. I am following him and I see that they are taking the board passes and not just scanning them. Before I get a chance to ask him about that, he hands his pass to the attendant and walks down the gate. At that moment, I figure I might as well just hand over the pass since everyone else is doing so, but I still had some misgivings. I come to find out that the reason the BF left me behind was that Zeke had asked us to bring his guitar to Portland and the BF was letting me carry it on because he was not sure if it qualified as a carry-on and he did not want to deal with that. I was not happy when I found out about that. Fortunately, guitars apparently qualify as carry-ons because there was no incident. We have a seat and get ready for take off and I am decidedly more nervous. The BF has pulled out a book and is attempting to read it. I say attempting because I keep reading over his shoulder and asking questions and just generally bugging him. He then tells me that he hopes I don't get motion sickness as it tends to happen to some people. At this point, I am very grateful that he informed me, a confirmed psychosomatic, of this little detail as I was sure to get motion sick now. The plane started taxiing and I get even more nervous, not to mention a bit nauseated, so I ramp up my rambling conversation and intrusion into his book reading. I am debating whether or not my life should be flashing before my eyes but I can't quite decide. I felt the way I feel when I am being carried up the first big drop of a rollercoaster and all I can hear is the chains clink as I ascend higher and higher. In the midst of my panic, the BF turns to me and plainly and clearly states, "I am never flying with children." I am not gonna say that I was happy with that comment but, let me tell you, anger does wonder to calm your nerves. I focused my gaze on an open window and just enjoyed the view while I worked on slowing my breathing and calming down. I still think I did great on the flight for a guy that does not like heights and has control issues, regardless of what the BF said.<br />
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The rest of the flight was uneventful. I took out my copy of 1984 which I was trying to finish. I failed at my attempt to finish it but it kept me busy even if it almost put me to sleep. After we landed, we got into the rental car and we started driving towards the hotel. I am so grateful we live in an age that has GPS. I did notice though that the address the BF put into the GPS was not the address for the hotel we were staying at. Here's where that second paragraph comes into play. I had asked Hillary and Zeke if we could meet Thursday instead of Wednesday so that I could spend the anniversary with the BF. They had agreed and that is why the BF booked the hotel without tellling me. He had booked the one that was five miles away for the rest of the stay, but he had gotten a hotel in downtown Portland next to the river for that first night. It was really romantic, actually, which made me feel a bit bad about giving him such a hard time before.<br />
<br />
We checked into the hotel and this is the view out our room window,<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtuhzrphjGTt3TsLHOuof-NVYUqxEMfUEijeRpyOtdNaje6HTjumju9NGCh8eLdImVAAnpnvUy94xV6TOnJJ_0XmfPVe6LCAbB5ttg35c9hws9TgWg26bMxGJenQEJz2BzBsXExt1/s1600/Room+View.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtuhzrphjGTt3TsLHOuof-NVYUqxEMfUEijeRpyOtdNaje6HTjumju9NGCh8eLdImVAAnpnvUy94xV6TOnJJ_0XmfPVe6LCAbB5ttg35c9hws9TgWg26bMxGJenQEJz2BzBsXExt1/s400/Room+View.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forgive the glass glare, or, enjoy the BF's selfie. Whichever caption you prefer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was a very beautiful sight. That night, when I got up to have a drink of water, the moon was reflecting off the surface of the river and shining upon a white boat. It was a very pretty sight and I thought of taking a picture but then decided that I would just go to bed and keep that image to myself. I am selfish like that.<br />
<br />
That evening, we went walking around Portland and my aversion to bikers and runners started, but more on that later. At that point, I was not bothered by the bikers yet. We found this pub and decided to have dinner there. We walked in and saw what I imagine heaven would look like if it existed.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVCR25-Df8WGlPt7mGZb3iO19nCdxACPUk1Ox2JuSbZX8hSspcsid4-dL99eurzNXlEy-U1CjoBb-z00CD4VCnN4BCQSuQK7fanGXmn52lw7dffWk4o5BIRN4O9bUcR-wR1zg1gtX/s1600/Liquor+Wall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisVCR25-Df8WGlPt7mGZb3iO19nCdxACPUk1Ox2JuSbZX8hSspcsid4-dL99eurzNXlEy-U1CjoBb-z00CD4VCnN4BCQSuQK7fanGXmn52lw7dffWk4o5BIRN4O9bUcR-wR1zg1gtX/s400/Liquor+Wall.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That wall contains more than 600 different kinds of bottles of liquor. As I said before, heaven!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
It was supposed to be an authentic Irish pub, and the menu informed us that it holds the world record for the biggest Irish coffee. I ordered me some sheppherd's pie that closely resembled Mexican ground beef stew and had vegetables in it that I had never heard of before or since because I just spent ten minutes trying to remember what vegetable the BF told me was in it and I can't remember it. I think it was rhubarb but I want to say that's wrong. Regardless, it was ok and had freaky vegetables on it. Afterwards, we walked along the waterfront and saw one of the drawbridges rise. I asked the BF to take a picture of it but he was too slow and looking elsewhere and he missed it. Drawbridges aren't quick, mind you. He was just really focused on something that he thought was a boat but turned out to be a pillar for one of the other bridges. He IS smart, y'all. I don't know why I felt the need to write that but I think that sometimes I paint a less than flattering portrait of him. It's just that it's the blond moments he has that make him special, not shortbus special mind you, and funny and that I share with you. <br />
<br />
After that, we had a few drinks at the hotel bar before retiring early as it had been a long day and we had to meet with Hillary and Zeke the next day. I shall stop for now as I don't want to write all about Portland in a single post and because I only have twenty minutes to edit this before it posts. Talk to you all next week.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-91678697355937589272013-08-19T12:00:00.000-05:002013-08-19T12:00:06.956-05:00Yet Another ApologyI have been meaning to write about the trip to Portland before I forget all the details. Unfortunately, I have been swamped at work and have been too busy to start writing the long post that the trip will undoubtedly be. Also, I spent all day yesterday sleeping and recovering from a night of drinking. I have also been super busy watching <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0460681/?ref_=sr_1">Supernatural</a> as you all know how important it is that I watch my shows. Yes, even if I have watched them in the past. And, no, I do not just watch it for the guys, though they are a nice incentive. Anyway, I don't even have a picture to share with you guys today. I figure if I was just going to write an apology, I should just make it short and not waste too much of your time. I swear to try and have better material next week. Hope you are all have a great week and I will be back next week.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-21075848107755766972013-08-12T12:00:00.000-05:002013-08-12T12:00:03.811-05:00Procrastination Continuation, or, The Good NightSo, I know I should be writing about my trip to Portland before I forget but I have a feeling that writing all that will take forever and I just haven't had time to sit down and start writing everything. However, this post will not be a last minute post like the last two have been. I actually have a story to tell this time and I am writing it a couple of days in advance. Now, the story I am about to tell may not be the greatest story but I am sure it will do. Before we get to the actual story, though, I will give you some background.<br />
<br />
I have a tendency to enjoy the darker side of human emotions. It doesn't make much sense to most people but it does to me and that is all that matters. It's actually kind of hard for me to get depressed because, as soon as I realize that I am depressed, I get excited about it which alleviates the depression. I still try my hardest to be be depressed as I believe that the whole gambit of human emotions are to be experienced and, dare I say, enjoyed as they are what makes us human. Along these same lines, I tend to enjoy when things go horribly awry. I don't like the middle ground as I prefer the extremes. Things either have to go perfect, or near perfect, or terribly wrong for me to enjoy them. If only a few things go wrong, it just ruins it for me and I get annoyed. However, if nothing or everything goes wrong, I tend to enjoy it. Point in case, a few weeks back the BF and I were going to watch a movie. That's not relevant so don't pay it any attention. Before the movie, we decided to have a bite to eat. We were not too hungry so we decided to just go to Subway. Now, my favorite Subway sandwich is the foot-long meatball sub on jalapeno cheddar bread with pepper jack cheese, olives, a little bit of onions and Parmesan cheese. You don't need to know all that. All you have to know is that I like the meatball sub. We arrived at the Subway closest to the movie theater and the BF, being a gentleman, let me go first. Mainly because I don't let anything or anyone stand between me and my food. It was a Saturday night which apparently is a slow night at Subways because there was only one employee. I ordered my sandwich and the sandwich artist, their preferred title, informed us that this was his second day on the job. He asked me if I wanted my sandwich toasted and I answered with a resounding, "Yes, please." I know that does not sound resounding but believe me when I tell you that it resounded the way I said it. He put my sub in the toaster oven and he started making a second meatball sandwich for the BF whose choice had been influenced by my own. The toaster timer went off. I looked at the sandwich artisan but he did not seem too concerned by it as he continued making the BF's sub. The toaster timer went off again and a creeping suspicion that something was off spawned within me. The sub virtuoso did not seem at all concerned though so I chalked it up to my paranoia. When the Subway handicrafter finished fixing the BF's sandwich and opened the door to the toaster to switch subs, we noticed that mine had been burnt. The poor guy got all flustered and apologized about the burnt sandwich and offered to make me a new one. I happily agreed and he started making a second sandwich for me after he put the BF's sub in the toaster. This is when he realized that he did not have enough meatballs to make another sub. Unfortunately, this was after he had already spread marinara sauce all over the bread. He apologized one more time and I just told him to make me a different sandwich that would go with marinara sauce. At that point the toaster timer went off but the sub creator's attitude towards that ringing bell continued to be very blasé. I helpfully pointed out that the timer had gone out and he replied that the oven would stop heating by itself. Seeing as to how my first sub had burned I insisted that he open the toaster door and we found the BF's sub crisper than was expected but, thankfully, not burnt. The sandwich maker then asked if I wanted my new sandwich toasted and I replied with a kind, but emphatic, "No, thank you." At this point, I could tell that the whole situation was unnerving the BF. The sandwich artiste had already finished making the BF's sandwich so I asked the BF to find a table, which wasn't hard to do on the nigh empty diner, and to get our drinks while my sub was finished. With the BF gone and my sandwich completed, the sub composer/cashier/only employee proceeded to ring me up. I handed over my card and when I got my receipt back I realized that he had overcharged me. He had charged me for three drinks and we only really needed two what with the free refills and all. At this moment, I could not feel worse for the guy if I tried. He had a few other people waiting to be helped and he did not know how to fix my ticket and, when he tried calling his manager, his call went to voicemail. He kept apologizing and offering me some cookies in exchange for the drink price. I just smiled, declined his cookie offer as we really did not want any cookies, and instructed him to just give the extra drink to the people waiting in line behind us. He thanked me with a sheepish lopsided smile of relief and hurried over to help the next customers. I grabbed my sandwich and headed over to the table the BF had chosen and sat down. He looked up at me and asked me why I was smiling and I told him that I had really enjoyed my Subway experience. When he asked me why I told him that it was not because it made me feel superior, it's not that at all (really!!!), but because it reminded me that people were still human and that we, as humans, can cause hiccups and disrupt even the most streamlined designs that scientific management can throw our way. In a way, it reminds me that mistakes are what makes us human and they remind me that we are alive. I don't think he really quite got it. I think he usually thinks I am crazy and just goes along for the ride because it is easier than arguing with crazy. But, there is a method to my madness, or, at the very least, I have to believe that.<br />
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Why did I tell y'all that story? Was that the whole point of this post? Maybe, but no. Not at all. We are just getting started, so, buckle up. The reason I mentioned that story is so that you can maybe understand my frame of mind yesterday night which could possibly be considered a very bad night. It all started with a horrible week. It had been a terrible week at work. I was actually having to work and I am a strong believer that my current employers are paying me enough to show up everyday and work every once in a while, but I am not getting paid enough to actually work all day, everyday. So, last night, after I got off work, I had a plan. Let me set it up for you bullet point-style,<br />
<ul>
<li>I was going to go to the store after work to pick up some wasp spray as they were building a new nest right outside my door.</li>
<li>I was going to go home and change into shorts and a t-shirt in order to go into the very hot shed and look for a post-hole digger Dad wanted and that Sister would take to him on Friday.</li>
<li>I was going to spray the wasps with the recently acquired wasp spray.</li>
<li>I was going to have some dinner.</li>
<li>I was going to do dishes and clean the kitchen.</li>
<li>I was going to clean my room and bathroom.</li>
<li>I was going to take out the trash as Thursdays are trash day which I made clear in a <a href="http://nottypicalyetfun.blogspot.com/2013/06/i-am-literal-saint-albeit-begrudgingly.html">previous post</a>.</li>
<li>I was going to take a shower.</li>
<li>I was going to watch an episode of <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0460681/">Supernatural</a>.</li>
<li>I was going to go to sleep.</li>
</ul>
I had everything planned. I had even planned a bowel movement but figured I would leave that out of the list for the sake of decency. The best laid plans... though. At first, it started out smoothly. I went to the store and bought two cans of wasp spray. One to use that day and another just in case I they decided to build a new nest again. I would have made a great boy scout since I am always prepared except for their whole anti-gay agenda of course. I also bought stuff to make sandwiches because that sounded good for dinner. I even bought some <em><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bolillo">bolillos</a>, </em>a type of Mexican bread, and some avocado. I digressed from the plan a bit, but I had to have something for dinner so I did not feel that bad about it. Usually, it is when I get home that I abandon all plans I have made for the evening and end up just watching TV. Not yesterday though. I got home and, since I was not hungry yet, decided to change and head out to the shed. I grabbed the keys to the shed and locked the door behind me. I, however, failed to grab my house keys, a mistake I realized the moment the door clicked shut behind me. I don't have an extra key. I used to have a key hidden outside but we changed our locks about a year ago and I never hid another copy. My first instinct was to panic. Then I realized that the Old Man should come back soon. The time was around 6:30 pm and he can't drive in the dark so he should be home before sunset. With that in mind, I decided to head to the shed to get the post-hole digger. The temperature yesterday was over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit. It was a lot hotter inside that shed. On top of that, and despite the many wonderful qualities Dad possesses, being organized is not one of Dad's strong points. He tends to hoard stuff, which has worked to our advantage before, but without an organizational schematic, that shed, to continue quoting <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0898266/">The Big Bang Theory</a>, was a swirling vortex of entropy. Scratch that. It was a sweltering, fever-inducing, blister-creating swirling vortex of entropy. In Dad's defense, he did have all his shovels and long-handled tools in the same area in the back. In Dad's offense, if that is how you say it as I am not clear on the correct terminology, there was no clear path to them. At one point I was stepping on a lawnmower while straddling a bicycle and using a crutch to try and move the handle of the digger within arm distance. Needless to say, a misstep would have been a very painful, and dangerous, development. After about fifteen to twenty minutes of acrobatic feats the likes of which I never thought myself capable of achieving, I was standing outside the shed with the post-hole digger in hand. I felt accomplished. At least I did until I remembered I was locked outside of the house. Then the wait began.<br />
<br />
The Old Man has a cell number but I did not want to disrupt his evening with my stupidity. I went back to the porch and, being careful to avoid the wasps, had a seat in a white plastic chair and started waiting. I realized that I may have to cut my to-do list down depending on what time the Old Man made it back. I figured I would still be able to get the wasp nest because that way I could spray it after the Old Man went inside and that way he would not be exposed to the harsh chemicals. The bottle even recommended that one spray in the evening when the wasps are less active. I figure I could at least get that done and then get at least some of the cleaning done. While I was waiting, I decided to play <a href="http://www.candycrushsaga.com/">Candy Crush Saga</a>. I refuse to play anything on Facebook as I refuse to get on Facebook much anymore. Also, I know how annoying it can get to keep getting requests for lives and stuff of that sort so I decided to play it solo. What that means is that at the end of every section, you have to pass three specific stages to unlock the new section. Each time you pass one of the stages, you have to wait twenty-four hours to play the next one. I was in the middle of one of those twenty-four hour periods so I started playing from the beginning again trying to beat my own scores. That kept me busy for about an hour. Yes, an hour. Bear with me, I still have a ways to go. Next I decided to text people whom I have been meaning to contact but hadn't had time. I had time now. I had nothing but time and about forty-five percent battery left. Well, I got to catch up with some people and I did not hear back from a few others which made me question whether or not I should keep their numbers. I have not decided yet. After another hour had passed, I looked around and noticed that, although there was still some light, the sun had set. I decided to give in and call the Old Man. Unfortunately, he did not answer. I figured I would give him a few minutes and call him back. At around 9:00 pm I called him again. This time, he answered. When I asked where he was, he had no qualms in explaining that he had found a boil in his <em><a href="http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=Fundillo">fundillo</a></em>, as he put it, and he was at the hospital. If you did not follow that link to the Urban Dictionary definition, the word he so eloquently used is crude Mexican slang for "butt". Point being, he was going to have to spend the night at the hospital. I told him about my predicament and he said that I could come by and pick up an extra key he had. I was now faced with the daunting task of finding a ride to the hospital. I called Sister but she didn't answer. She sent me a text saying that she would call me back in a minute. I texted back telling her to make sure to do so. Well, it was after nine at night and I had ten percent battery left and there was only about a fifty percent chance Sister would call me back. I decided to look online for locksmiths but then changed my mind because I don't want to know how easy it would be, for someone with the know-how, to break into my house. I decided to start walking to the hospital, as I only live about two miles away, and hope for the best. I figured, worst case scenario, I would call a taxi and pay them once I got into the house. I started walking and I thanked my lucky stars that I was wearing a white shirt because most of the way I had to walk did not have a sidewalk and I had to walk on the shoulder. I remembered from my Driver's Ed class that, if you had to walk on the side of the road, it was better to walk on the side of oncoming traffic. The reason for that is that you can see a car coming and have a chance to get out of the way if the driver fails to see you. Despite the fact that I had very low battery, I was texting Preggo while I walked. When she was caught up on the whole situation, she said she was sorry I was having such a bad night. The problem was that I was not having a horrible night. I was quite happy in fact. Almost euphorically actually. I tried to explain it to her but she replied by saying that she did not understand me but that it did not matter as it was part of what made me special. Luckily, fifteen minutes and a quarter mile into my journey, Sister called me back. I answered and asked her if she had a key to my place and she said she didn't. When she asked me why I was asking her that, I told her that I had been locked out of the house for about three hours and was currently walking towards the hospital to get an extra key from the Old Man. I think at that point she was kind of exasperated with me. She kept asking me how come I had not told her that earlier. I said that I had called her and that she had texted me saying that she would call me back so I was waiting for her to call me back. She then informed me that being locked out for three hours was an emergency and that I should have texted her back informing her of my situation and that she would have come sooner. I was not aware that being locked out was an emergency but I am glad to know that for future reference. Actually, I thought being locked out was a very stupid, thoughtless mistake but to each their own. Sister and Brother-in-law (Bil) came to pick me up and, after a failed attempt to jimmy my door open with a Starbucks gift card, drove me to the hospital. BTW, I was very glad to find out the house could not be broken into using a five dollar Starbucks gift card. If there was a silver lining, that was definitely it. When we arrived at the hospital, Sister told me to tell the Old Man that I had gotten a ride from a friend so that he wouldn't go into long health explanations. I walked into the hospital and was immediately reminded of the horrible state I was in. I was wearing blue basketball shorts, a white undershirt, gray dress socks, and slip-on blue plaid shoes. To say I was embarrassed to be seen in public like that is an understatement. It did not matter that there were people dressed worse than me at the emergency waiting room, this was probably the low point of the evening. I arrived at the Old Man's room and was careful enough to knock before I entered to give him enough time to become decent. It did not matter though. He was wearing a hospital gown but we all know that those things don't close in the back and I got an eyeful of old man tighty-whiteys. Scratch what I said earlier, this was definitely the low point of the evening. He grabbed his wallet and handed me a spare key. It was not the house key. I told him that and he insisted that it was. I told him that it looked like a car key and that is when he remembered that he had made a copy of his truck key. He dug into his wallet one more time and fished out two more keys, one for his P.O. Box and the extra key to the house. I tried to leave as soon as possible, just as my sister had instructed me, but was unable to extricate myself from the room without first hearing about how they had given him a shot in the buttocks to numb them and that then they had lanced the boil and squeezed a whole bunch of pus out of it. As bad as hearing that was, it still did not take the low point of the evening prize from the earlier exhibitionist show.<br />
<br />
The rest of the evening was uneventful. I made my way back to Sister and Bil and they proceeded to drive me back to my place. I gave them the extra key for them to keep in case of future "emergencies." as they called them, as I know I am careless enough to lock myself out again. After they left, I made myself some dinner and sat down to watch Supernatural as I ate. It was eleven o'clock at night, my whole plan was shot to hell (pardon my French but it seemed appropriate), but I had had a very pleasant evening. As near perfect as I am, I like having these kind of nights when I am reminded of how human I still am. Ironically, as much of a misanthrope as I am, I do cherish when my humanity shows up unexpectedly. I know this is not a perfect story, but that is why I like it. I am tired of perfection. Humanity is imperfect and it is time we let our imperfections shine through. I am getting off my high horse now. 'Til next week.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-25243708366433808302013-08-05T12:01:00.000-05:002013-08-10T19:54:35.317-05:00I Have Failed You...I know that today y'all were expecting to hear about the wonderful vacation I had and I am ashamed to say that I have failed you.I procrastinated, as I often do and failed to get anything written down. I was planning on writing the post last night but I did not get home until midnight and, considering I had to be at work this morning, I had to go to bed. I am still trying to keep up with the one post per Monday theme and that is why I am writing this short post. I don't have much to write so I will just try to make a bulleted random list. I know I don't do well with those but right now it is all I have so here goes nothing.<br />
<ul>
<li>To begin with, I am kind of disappointed that no one requested a copy of the awesome picture I posted last week. I thought it was pretty awesome but I guess I overvalued how good it was.</li>
<li>I started eating oatmeal in the mornings because I have heard that it is good to eat breakfast.</li>
<li>I have learned that I don't really like oatmeal but I already bought a whole box of the little packets so I think I will stick with it for a while.</li>
<li>I watched the movie <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2404463/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">The Heat</a> twice this weekend.</li>
<li>I am pretty sure that the guy in front of me the second time was annoyed at me for laughing before the jokes happened on screen.</li>
<li>I also saw the Smurfs 2 this weekend.</li>
<li>I did not put a hyperlink to the smurfs movie because I refuse to submit you guys to it.</li>
<li>What little entertainment can be gleaned from the smurfs movie is from reading the reviews on by the critics on the moviefone app. I tell you that some of those critics are pretty witty.</li>
<li>That being said, the movie was not all that bad. It was better than the first one but that is not really saying much now is it?</li>
<li>The BF and I are very excited about the discovery of adults only theaters.</li>
<li>No, not that kind of adult theater. Just the kind where they show regular movies but they ask for ID as they do not let anyone under 21 in. They are pricier than the average theater rooms but the commodity of not having a kid kicking the back of your seat is totally worth it.</li>
<li>Also, they have recliners. 'Nuff said.</li>
<li>My sister has been working hard to decorate my niece's bedroom while she is away with my mom in Mexico. She painted that room a shade of pink so bright that, in the picture she sent me, it seems like the ceiling, which is white, and the carpet, which is a light beige, are pink as well.</li>
<li>No, the brightness of the color are not assuaged in person. I swear that when I close my eyes I can't see black anymore and all I see is pink. Pink is the new black.</li>
<li>I will not post the picture because I care about you and your eyeballs. You can thank me later.</li>
<li>"That cat took one look at your shitty life and said I'm outta here." He that hath ears to hear, let him hear.</li>
<li>I was gonna post a new picture in lieu of a good post today but, since demand for the previous photo was less than satisfactory, </li>
</ul>
I was gonna write more and even proofread this post but it is one minute to lunchtime, and my personally set deadline to post, so I gotta go.<br />
<br />
<br />Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-36744426140101017842013-07-29T12:00:00.000-05:002013-07-29T12:00:08.761-05:00A Very Short Excuse for a PostDear everyone, <br />
<br />
I have just come back from my trip to Portland and I have many things to tell you. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to write it all yet. That is why today's post will be more visual than verbal because I want to keep up with having a post every Monday. Here is a panoramic picture of the Cannon Beach in Oregon. I tried uploading it at maximum file size so that way you could, if you wanted to of course, download it and have a better look. I don't think it worked though. I hope you enjoy it anyway.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTTxsO1t9tfl_9YjpJiNowr3V4ZJhwBI5vDt7Zuoepx1EpvE55nWWMFxy2WRFfmqhyYIykMEDY9rBCnjG9EHex9S0M3oP9-DX84mry1KTnr59xa8dlyBb9GMv9-7pMFIbXYF8Rl_3/s1600/Panoramic+Beach.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="42" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOTTxsO1t9tfl_9YjpJiNowr3V4ZJhwBI5vDt7Zuoepx1EpvE55nWWMFxy2WRFfmqhyYIykMEDY9rBCnjG9EHex9S0M3oP9-DX84mry1KTnr59xa8dlyBb9GMv9-7pMFIbXYF8Rl_3/s400/Panoramic+Beach.jpg" title="Cannon Beach" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The guy with the camera in the picture is some random guy from the beach. I could not get him to move so I could take my panoramic picture.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Sorry the picture is small and hard to see but that was the only size it would show up in the blog. Feel free to download it to try and get a better view or leave me a message with an email and I can send you a copy of the original which may be easier to see. I think for it being my first panoramic attempt, it came out pretty well. The beaty of the landscape helps as well so I can't take all the credit. Screw that, I am taking all the credit. I took an amazing picture and I hope you like it as much as I do.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-32376532762625296682013-07-22T12:00:00.000-05:002013-07-22T12:00:00.516-05:00A Few Random ThoughtsThis week's post will probably be very short, but I have a very good reason for it. I will be going on vacation on Wednesday and I am still not ready. There is so much stuff to do, mainly because I have procrastinated but there is no point in assigning blame, that I am starting to feel a bit overwhelmed. I will be going to visit Hillary and Zeke in Portland, Oregon. I am very excited about it, I think. I don't show excitement well. It will be cool to visit Portland and to see if it is anything like <a href="http://www.ifc.com/shows/portlandia">Portlandia </a>portrays it. For those in the know, I am very worried that when I am done packing I will forget to put a bird on my suitcase. Cacao! (It means something, I promise though it may be more of an inside joke.) Since I still have a whole lot to do, I will attempt a random post. I apologize it for it in advance as I know that my attempts in the past have not gone so well. Anyway, here we go...<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>The way I ended that sentence made me think of when <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Noodle_(musician)">Noodle</a> says "Here you go" in the song <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4IUjtHf76wM">19-2000</a> by <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gorillaz">Gorillaz</a>.</li>
<li>Yes, I go on tangents like that quite often.</li>
<li>Point in case, I lost like fifteen minutes from the first bullet point to the next because I started looking up Gorillaz and whatever new music they have out. </li>
<li>I am actually listening to them right now. </li>
<li>About the vacation, I will take a plane for the first time in my life and I am a little bit nervous.</li>
<li>I just lied to you in the last bullet point. It will be the second time I fly but the first time I was fifteen and it was right after my brother passed away so I don't remember it well.</li>
<li>Plus, this will be my first time flying after 9/11 and, again for those in the know, my middle name sounds kind of middle eastern-y and that is of concern to me.</li>
<li>If I had one, I would wear a sarape or sombrero so that it will be clear to TSA officials that I am Mexican and not middle eastern.</li>
<li>And, more importantly, I am definitely not a Muslim. As an atheist, I can't stress that enough.</li>
<li>I really want to avoid going through any invasive searches. I have only been frisked once and it was only nominally fun so I doubt that something more invasive would be more fun.</li>
<li>Not to disparage those that would enjoy it. I mean, to each their own.</li>
<li>The BF is coming on the trip and I am kind of worried that he will be bored as his sense of humor and mine differ greatly and Hillary and Zeke share my sense of humor. I can just see Hillary, Zeke and me in laughing fits and the BF just looking at us with a tilted head trying to figure out what is wrong with us.</li>
<li>That being said, I am glad he is coming. If nothing else, he will help with the flight anxiety, if there is any.</li>
<li>Also, Wednesday will be our six month anniversary so it will be a reason to celebrate.</li>
<li>Something else that worries me, and this may be TMI but I often over-share anyway, is the bathroom situation. I always been uncomfortable with bodily functions and I will be sharing a hotel room with the BF for four and a half days.</li>
<li>I know that should not be a big deal but I am childish about somethings. For instance, I hate the word "fart." I don't find it funny and it makes me uncomfortable.</li>
<li>On a different, and quite less disgusting note, Preggo sent me this pic a few days ago,<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwtdncqEKDwETypHQpab8GYm4LdHOY0FmlNafirtnV4ZQEpZh6SDmr2tKrHzNPp9Fti0YrdLThh1-9HbL672ewEfq7cgnw2LIYRkFMIo7vYKOoSQkAWFVTu5wmngTa0e-HNOSOlNN/s1600/Odessa+Park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguwtdncqEKDwETypHQpab8GYm4LdHOY0FmlNafirtnV4ZQEpZh6SDmr2tKrHzNPp9Fti0YrdLThh1-9HbL672ewEfq7cgnw2LIYRkFMIo7vYKOoSQkAWFVTu5wmngTa0e-HNOSOlNN/s320/Odessa+Park.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She sent it with the caption, and I quote, "Memories :(" </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</li>
<li>I know that the picture itself means nothing to you, but that was the park where I sat for three hours hoping to hear from my parents the time they left me in Odessa. </li>
<li>I am glad to finally have a pictorial reminder of the time my parents taught me that I should not expect them to not leave me 300 miles from home.</li>
<li>I think I had it coming, it's been three years now so I don't remember it, but did it ever open my eyes.</li>
<li>It wasn't all bad though. I like to believe that I am stronger for it.</li>
<li>On a sadder note, that was the last time I saw my then best friend Jenny as she gave me a ride home after a took a bus to Abilene.</li>
<li>There is a wasp nest outside my house and I went to buy wasp and hornet killer yesterday so I feel pretty butch about that.</li>
<li>Now I am kind of scared of using it and being stung so any butch feeling is gone. I will get it done though. I just don't know when.</li>
</ul>
<br />
I think I shall end this post now. Once again, I apologize for it but I do think it is better than nothing. I mean, it even has a picture on it so what else could I have done to make it better? Plus, it's 1:37 p.m. right now and I have yet to have something to eat so I need to take care of me now. Hope you all have a great week. I know that after two days of work my week will suddenly get way better.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-80390980179631955112013-07-15T12:00:00.000-05:002013-07-15T12:00:10.504-05:00I Am Learning, Little by Little Mind You, That I Am Human.Before I get into the details of my humanity and all, a quick update on last week's post. Yes, I am still a vegetarian. No, not for much longer. I will actually be giving it up in two days. You may be asking yourself why while raising your hands above your head exasperatedly. Well, there are several reasons. The main one being that of the three people that started in July, I am the only one still doing it. It's a lot more fun being a vegetarian when everyone else is doing it and you have someone to commiserate about the fact that you have to pay the same amount for a dish with four sides and no entree even if it is not as fulfilling as what everyone else is getting. Another reason for giving it up is because I am going on vacation to Portland in a week and a half and I want to be able to enjoy my vacation without having to worry about what to eat. Also, I am starting to eat meat a week in advance of my vacation so that my stomach gets used to it again and to avoid any episodes as I know I will be stressed enough by the travel alone. Other than that, I did enjoy my little forage into vegetarianism. I do believe sometime I will be able to do a permanent transition to a vegetarian diet but that may just be wishful thinking.<br />
<br />
On a different note, they have changed my work duties, however temporarily, so I am unsure if I will have time to type this from work as I used to do it in my down time. It's not really good news though. Duties have been added to my schedule and I will even have to spend time away from my desk but there will be no pay increase and I am already frustrated with the way things are being handled. Since I am unaware of how much down time I will have, I may have to start writing from home. What will this mean to you? Nothing really. I will still try to do a new post every Monday. However, the length of the post may be considerably shorter to allow me time to go about my daily life, i.e. watching TV, drinking and such. Anyway, enough with the intros and on with the main point of this post.<br />
<br />
So, after much thought and consideration, I have arrived at the conclusion that I am human, after all, with human emotions and everything. You may be wondering why my humanity was up for discussion but I am not a typical human. Especially when it comes to emotions. Yes, it is possible to bring me to tears but it's not through typical means. A good poem, recently W.B. Yeats <i><a href="http://www.online-literature.com/yeats/779/">Easter, 1916</a></i>, a good movie, Fernando Leon De Aranoa's <i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0434292/">Princesas</a></i>, or a good song, Stavesacre's <i><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFH3yaVDAMo">Gold & Silver</a></i>, will have me bawling like an infant. Yet, the tale of someone's misfortune or death just revs my brain into overdrive trying to find the most hilariously inappropriate comment I can make. I am often accused of being heartless and when that happens I often have no more recourse than to shrug my shoulders and agree with my accuser. It's not all great though. It does bother me that sometimes people don't tell me things because they are afraid that I will make fun of whatever they are going through. They don't understand that I am totally capable of exercising restraint and, though I will make light of the situation, I know when not to do it in front of them. I guess some people will always find a way to make everything about themselves though.<br />
<br />
I have no idea where my callousness comes from so I will simply have to blame Medea. She was never really expressive of her emotions and I guess I learned from her. I remember that when I was a kid and used to hug her she would ask me what had gotten into me and if I had dreamed that she had died again. Most of the time, she was right as I would only hug her if I had a particularly vivid dream in which she died and when, upon waking, I was glad to see that she was still alive. However, that gladness was short-lived by her abrupt reception and accusing remarks of how I did not appreciate her unless I thought she was dead. Thus I learned to not express any emotion that may be seen as weakness and preyed upon. I called this living.<br />
<br />
I have recently realized though that, even if I don't acknowledge them, the feelings are still there if buried deep within me and so strange to me that I almost do not recognize them when they dare surface. Two such cases happened a few weeks ago and they all happened due to the amazing person that is willing to put up with all my quirks, the BF.<br />
<br />
The first one happened on a Tuesday. I don't remember exactly what was going on. I think he was in town but for some reason we had not seen each other in a while. We had talked daily but only for a few minutes because we both had things to do. On Tuesday, we talked as soon as I got off work but once again we had to cut the talk short for some reason or other. We always said we would talk later, but I knew that he would not call back til the next day. After I finished dinner and while I was watching TV and with no good reason for doing so, I called him. When he answered, I had nothing to say. I really had not thought it through. Nothing had happened since we had talked earlier and I found myself telling him that I had called him because it seemed like we had not talked enough even if I had nothing more to say. He gave a quick laugh and said that I had called him because I missed him. I immediately recoiled at his accusation because missing someone is something that I just don't do since it seems a sign of weakness. After all, I don't need anyone because I can take care of myself. I balked at his arrogant assumption and told him nothing could be further from the truth. The subject was then changed and we ended up talking on the phone for about an hour. While I was falling asleep that night, I was still thinking of his accusation that I missed him. I realized then that he was right. I was missing him but I did not recognize it because I have never really missed anyone in my life. I live a pretty independent life and I stay in touch with the people I want to stay in touch with when I want to stay in touch with them. I do not even miss my family. I feel more comfortable when my parents are here because my mom cooks and I know they are all right, but I never have the desire to call them and just talk to them. In fact, since they are in Mexico, I have to remind myself and force myself to call them once every two weeks. I was not aware that I could miss someone and, at first, was embarrassed that I could miss someone. I felt weak and stupid for letting someone influence how I felt. Thankfully, the second case which happened two days later changed my perspective.<br />
<br />
Two days later, we had started making plans for the weekend. I was planning on spending the weekend at his place. We had been texting plans back and forth all day but when I called him after work he told me that the plans had changed. See, the BF has a dog, puppy as he likes to call him as he dislikes the word "dog," named Diesel. Since the BF travels a lot for work, he leaves Diesel with a friend of his that also has a dog, Nora. Therefore, whenever the BF is in town, he has to take care of two dogs, puppies, as they keep them together. That however is not important. What is important is that he told me that his friend was coming into the Dallas area for the weekend and that he was going to stay at his place so that our plans had to change. I felt an uneasiness at that moment but chalked it up to the fact that I don't like it when plans change. I told him that it was OK though because we could change our plans to accommodate his friend easily. I was not aware of anything unusual until the next morning when I woke up and remembered what I had dreamt. The BF's friend has a name that can easily be seen as unisex. I don't feel comfortable revealing his name so let it suffice that, in my dream, the BF's friend turned out to be a woman and that, upon meeting "her," my mind was put at ease. It took me a minute to realize that I was jealous. I have always stated that I am not a jealous person, but I have never really had a relationship, so I did not know for sure. In this case, the BF has a friend that shares with him his animals and love of animals and whom I never met and I was a little bit jealous. I was not even aware of it on a conscious level but, obviously, subconsciously I was troubled by it. Now, I have always maintained that jealousy is pointless but I should amend that to say that "excessive jealousy" is pointless. As things stand, I don't begrudge the BF having friends, but it is nice to know that I care enough to feel some jealousy as long as it does not affect the relationship.<br />
<br />
I was super excited that I was jealous, to say the least. It was then that I realized that if being subconsciously jealous of the BF was a good thing, missing him was a good thing too. I told my friends at work about my new discovery as soon as I got to work and they were surprised and were the first to say that I may be human after all. I was elated for the rest of the day and told the BF the good news as soon as I saw him that night. He was not as excited about the new developments as I was but I don't think he understood how monumental these changes were. They kind of re-defined who I was which is not easy as I try to be a very self-actualized person. Also, I had proof that I was a person because persons miss people and get jealous. He still did not quite fully grasp why I was so excited kind of like he does not understand how I can enjoy being depressed. He's got a lot to learn about me but the good thing is that, apparently, so do I and I can't wait to find out what else there is to learn. I am a scholar after all.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-57822413153931504222013-07-08T12:00:00.000-05:002013-07-08T12:00:02.438-05:00On the Hardships of Being a Vegetarian When You Don't Like VegetablesAs of the first of July and for the rest of the month, I have committed to being a vegetarian again. One may easily wonder why I would do that to myself as I have tried becoming a full time vegetarian before and have failed. Well, this time I have a very good reason. Dottie decided that she wanted to go vegetarian for a month and I decided to tag along. Why is this a very good reason to become a vegetarian? Well, it's the best reason I have had so far. Allow me to go into detail.<br />
<br />
The first time I went vegetarian was a few years back, probably around 2008. I had been watching many documentaries, which I do from time to time, and was appalled by the way the meat industries conduct their business. Not only is the treatment of the animals horrific, but the quality of the meat and the many chemicals involved is revolting. I also learned about the benefits of a vegetarian, or at least meat-lite, diet and was pretty convinced that it was definitely a healthier lifestyle. Unfortunately, none of that was taken into account when I decided to try my hand at vegetarianism. One morning I woke up more sullen than usual and decided my life was too monotonous. I decided I needed to make a change to get myself out of that rut. That was my sole reason for becoming a vegetarian. Of course, when people asked I told them that I was doing it for health reasons or for the animals because I did not want people to think I was weird. I have come a long way since then. Regardless, or irregardless if you wish, I was doing it purely out of boredom. I do a lot of stupid stuff because I'm bored. Fortunately, this one turned out to be one of the "not-so-bad" ones.<br />
<br />
That year, my former uncle was going through a divorce. What do I mean by former uncle? I mean that I don't claim him as my uncle anymore. I guess he is also my former godfather but I never thought of him in that way so I guess that's not relevant. The point is that, although he is out of my life now, he was still considered family then and he was going through a rough patch. I have never been a sensitive person, but I felt bad for him and asked my parents to go to Albuquerque with me to spend thanksgiving with the former uncle. Why do I bring this up? I bring this up because, although my first experience with vegetarianism was a good one, that was the worst thanksgiving of my life. To be honest, I have never really been much into the whole thanksgiving celebration. To be even more honest, I absolutely love thanksgiving food. I love turkey. I love ham. I love stuffing and dressing. I love mashed potatoes and gravy. I love macaroni & cheese. I love pasta salad. I love rolls. I hate cranberry sauce, and I don't totally understand why it is paired with turkey, but I don't often have to worry about that since Mexicans don't use cranberry sauce with their turkey. That thanksgiving, my mom went all out. We even had dessert and we don't often have dessert. We sat down to a great feast and I did not enjoy watching everyone stuff their mouth-holes with happy turkey and delicious ham while I shoveled sad spoonful of bland mashed potatoes down my gullet. That's all I could eat. Everything else had some sort of meat in it except for the mashed potatoes which I made sure were vegetarian. In fact, I made those sad tasteless mashed potatoes myself and I am sure they would have tasted a lot better as a side dish than as a main course. It does not matter how much butter and cheese you add to them, they are not gonna compare to a full meal. I learned that the hard way. There are just not enough seasonings in the world to turn mashed potatoes into an entree. I must say that I am very proud that I made it through without caving in. I wanted to, but I didn't. I held steadfast and the one reason I stopped being a vegetarian that time was because of Medea.<br />
<br />
Now, I give Medea a lot of grief in this blog. I don't feel bad about that because, in accordance with Karmic law, she has it coming. But, there are some things in which I have no reason to reproach her. She may not be understanding, or because of denial even aware, of me being gay, but she was one hundred percent supportive about me being a vegetarian. Throughout most of my life, she has held a job because she gets bored at home. However, at that time she was not working. I don't remember exactly why, but I think it was due to a work injury she sustained. The point being, she was at home and would cook two dinners every day. She would cook one with meat for her and Dad and one without for me. I kept asking her not to and telling her that I would cook my own dinners so she wouldn't have to overexert herself but she would not listen. It got to the point that she cooked three different lunches for our trip to Albuquerque. She made regular picadillo, a Mexican ground beef dish, for Dad. She made meatless picadillo for me. And, she made onion-less picadillo for her as she does not like onions. I kind of felt bad that she had to do all that extra work for me. The breaking point came one day when I came home and she told me what she had made for dinner. I don't remember what it was but it was something with meat in it. When I told her that, she said that she had not forgotten about me and that she had made hot dogs for me. I felt really bad when I told her that hot dogs are made of meat products. It honestly slipped her mind that I could not eat them and she had already cooked them. That was the end of my first venture into vegetarianism. Word to the wise, though, if you haven't eaten meat in six weeks, hot dogs are not the best choice for a first meat meal. Just sayin'.<br />
<br />
My second and third attempts were more halfhearted, it was during these that I instituted my steadfast rule about not giving up jello, and lasted less time than the first. Let's just say that I would love to be a vegetarian for life, but I lack the motivation and drive to do it. Also, I am not fully sure how people who become vegetarians because they say the respect life can eat vegetables since they were alive too at one point. In a way, I guess humans are just parasites because we have to consume other living things to survive. Anyway, this brings us to this, my fourth, attempt at vegetarianism.<br />
<br />
This time I was not even thinking about it. One day we were having lunch and Dottie, completely out of the blue, announces that she is going vegetarian for a month at the beginning of the week. I asked her why she was doing that as it was uncharacteristic of her. She responded that she was going to try it for health reasons. I don't know why, I am thinking it was mainly because she and Connie are my main lunch companions, but I told her that if she waited til July first I would do it with her. And so, here we are. As of this writing, it has only been two days, today is the third. How's it going? Not bad. Connie, although she initially said she would at least do vegetarian lunches with us, has not had lunch with us this week so far. That was expected though. As for me and Dottie, we're trying to do it. It's sad to say we're struggling because it has only been two days, today is the third, but you don't realize how much you like meat and are addicted to it until you can't have it. We are trying though. We had Subway veggie subs on Monday and we made our own salad yesterday. Here's a picture of my salad which, I must say, tasted as good as it looks, <br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEYYnAnBo-u-QGp84rKjlD8Hkm6q8a_8HPVI5u9Fky9s35exYBWnmeMVqj3NN7TSVOvCls0YSx2ApQArh9L3nTXagJ3tsKiYGDWjogYckrzOlpjTCY_CAjJe1uenrLRyYYxVRup0b/s571/salad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="287" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAEYYnAnBo-u-QGp84rKjlD8Hkm6q8a_8HPVI5u9Fky9s35exYBWnmeMVqj3NN7TSVOvCls0YSx2ApQArh9L3nTXagJ3tsKiYGDWjogYckrzOlpjTCY_CAjJe1uenrLRyYYxVRup0b/s320/salad.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">If you were wondering how it looks, it looks delicious. Delicious and satisfying. Also, yes, those are potato chips on top. Don't judge.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I know, that salad is a bit unorthodox, but the potato chips completely changed the flavor of the salad and made it bearable. Also, that's ranch dressing you see in there and I will give you one guess as to who does not like ranch dressing. Me. I don't like ranch dressing. I still ate it though. Besides, if you think that salad looks bad, I should show you the picture of the omelet I tried to make Monday night. I won't show you a picture, because I am a merciful blogger, but it was disastrous. See, I meant to make spaghetti for dinner Monday night because Mexican spaghetti, and yes I know that sounds weird what with spaghetti being Italian and all, does not have meat in it. I bought everything I needed to make spaghetti just the way I like it. I got some tomato sauce, mozzarella cheese, Parmesan cheese, crushed peppers and oregano. I did not buy tortillas, even though I was completely out, because even I know spaghetti is not eaten with tortillas. I get home from work Monday night to find that I did not have any spaghetti noodles. I was sure I had some so I hadn't bought any and now I found myself noodle-less. I decided to make something else but the only thing I had that did not involve meat was eggs. I like eggs okay and, after being a vegetarian for a while, I usually crave them. However, I like eggs with tortillas and I did not have any. My solution to that little problem was to try and make an omelet. Now I did not have many ingredients but here is the list of what I did have and ended up being added to the omelet,<br />
<ol>
<li>Jalapeno peppers</li>
<li>Cayenne pepper</li>
<li>Salt</li>
<li>Three eggs</li>
<li>Parmesan cheese</li>
<li>Mozzarella cheese</li>
<li>Corn flour</li>
<li>Baking powder</li>
</ol>
I think the list is pretty normal. Well, maybe except for the last two items. I just figured that if I added the baking powder and corn flour to the mix, it would be like eating it with a tortilla. It wasn't. The omelet ended up having a pancake like consistency but it still was not what I was expecting. I ate it though and I have never been more thankful for having an iron stomach due to being raised in Mexico and drinking its water for twelve years.<br />
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Now, it is almost time for lunch again and I think I will have the same salad I had yesterday, the picture above, sans the ranch dressing. I am pretty sure I will make it to the end of the month. Ideally, I would love to be a vegetarian for longer than that but I will just have to wait and see how everything plays out. Don't worry though. I will keep you posted.<br />
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P.S. If you know any simple recipes for vegetarian salads, please share them with me as we are attempting to eat salads at lunch and I can only eat so many potato chips before I get tired of them.<br />
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P.P.S. Please do not suggest a blue cheese salad as the BF already suggested that. I did not mean to laugh at him when he did but he was talking about two Mexicans and a black lady eating blue cheese and that was just too funny. In my defense, Connie and Dottie laughed too when I suggested it. We know what we like.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-57246005526356165662013-07-01T12:00:00.000-05:002013-07-01T12:00:05.945-05:00I Am Very Thankful and a Bit AshamedSince I started writing on this blog again, I have been very appreciative of every reader that I have and very thankful for any comments that they may leave. One of the few people to have ever left a comment was a blogger by the name of <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/02965363044411500380" target="_blank">GunDiva</a>. I believe she added me to her list of blogs back before my writing hiatus and started reading it again when I picked the blog back up. She left a comment back in May on the post about my <a href="http://nottypicalyetfun.blogspot.com/2013/05/apparently-my-wedding-etiquette-is.html" target="_blank">wedding etiquette</a>. I was pleasantly surprised to find out that other people, other than the friends I am always bothering, read the blog. Well, to make a short story, that I made long due to my rambling nature, short again, two weeks ago she left a message on one of my posts saying that she had an award for me at one of her blogs. I followed the <a href="http://gundiva-talesfromthetrail.blogspot.com/2013/06/what-nice-surprise_20.html" target="_blank">link</a> that she typed at the end of her comment and found a post with information about the Liebster Blog Award which is awarded to blogs with fewer than 200 followers. I have never received any awards but apparently most blog awards have rules. The rules for the Liebster Award are as follows,<br />
<ol>
<li>Thank the blogger who nominated you and include a link back to their blog.</li>
<li>List 11 random facts about yourself.</li>
<li>Answer the 11 questions given to you.</li>
<li>Create 11 questions for the bloggers you nominate.</li>
<li>Choose 11 bloggers to nominate and include links to their blogs.</li>
<li>Go to each blogger's page and notify them of their nomination.</li>
</ol>
As flattered as I am to be nominated, I don't think I can accept the award. The reason for that is that I use this blog as a very megalomaniacal way to vent. In keeping up with that egotistical use of a blog, I don't necessarily read other blogs. Therefore, I can fulfill the first three rules of the award, but unfortunately, I cannot do the last three as I do not know 11 bloggers to nominate. I feel very bad about expecting people to read my ramblings when I don't follow anyone else but I am an egocentric bastard and I can't change that. I know I should strive for personal improvement but that seems like too much work so I would much rather just apologize for being self-absorbed and move on. As I said before, I cannot fulfill the last three requirements but I will go ahead and do the first three just for fun.<br />
<br />
The first rule was that I had to thank the blogger who nominated me and include a link back to their blog. I believe I have already done that in the first paragraph but, just in case that doesn't count, I will do it again. Thanks go to <a href="http://www.blogger.com/profile/02965363044411500380">GunDiva</a> for nominating me when she received the Liebster Blog Award for <a href="http://gundiva-talesfromthetrail.blogspot.com/">Tales from the Trail</a>. I am really just thankful to have a reader, the nomination is just a very nice plus.<br />
<br />
There, I did it. I thanked someone and it sounded halfway genuine. I am still trying to perfect my fake genuine but, for some reason, it is harder than it sounds. The second task was that I had to list eleven random facts about myself. I have proven before that I suck at writing random lists as I tend to elaborate more than I need to but I will give it another try.<br />
<ol>
<li>Although I do not believe in ghosts or the supernatural anymore, I used to be scared of almost everything when I was growing up. This went as far as me having to wake my brother, who was four years younger than me mind you, in the middle of the night if I had to use the bathroom so that I would not have to walk in the dark alone.</li>
<li>I strongly believe that I don't like seafood even though I like calamari and catfish and crab rangoon and shrimp and sushi.</li>
<li>I have a tendency to try my hand at vegetarianism from time to time but I refuse to give up jello every time because life without jello just simply is not life.</li>
<li>I have a broken record player that just needs a new needle to play but I have no idea how to get that needle so it just sits in my room as part of the decor.</li>
<li>Speaking of record players, the only record I own is Lady Gaga's The Fame.</li>
<li>I cannot work without music so it is very easy to tell when I am actually doing work by listening to whether or not I have music on.</li>
<li>I am a hypochondriac psychosomatic so if you ever tell me you're not feeling well, I will start feeling the same symptoms in about half an hour.</li>
<li>Although I have a B.A. in literature, English class was my least favorite class in high school.</li>
<li>I have two favorite movies; <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0434292/">Princesas</a>, and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0476643/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">The Bubble</a>.</li>
<li>If you include guilty pleasure movies though you can add <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0212346/?ref_=sr_1">Miss Congeniality</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0250494/?ref_=sr_1">Legally Blonde</a> to that list.</li>
<li>This is the post with the most hyperlinks that I have ever written.</li>
</ol>
How did I do? I hope better than last time but you will have to decide that. The next task was to answer the eleven questions posited by the nominator. The questions, along with their answers, are,<br />
<ol>
<li><i>What is your passion? </i>My passion is literature which is clear to anyone that has ever heard me talk about it. Apparently, I come to life and become very enthusiastic and energetic.</li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>If you could do anything you wanted for the rest of your life, without having to think about money, what would it be? </i>I have actually thought about this before and if I could do anything without having to worry about money, I would be a lifelong student. I find it sad that there is so much out there to be learned and so little time, and resources, to learn it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>What is your guilty pleasure? </i>I don't know if it is a guilty pleasure but I do enjoy taking bubble baths with candles and wine while watching <a href="http://www.colbertnation.com/">The Colbert Report</a>. I tried reading but the book kept getting wet and, as much as I like it, music is for showers not baths. </span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Favorite book ever?</i> First of all, that is not a question, regardless of the question mark in the end. However, I understand what the question would be and the answer is that I don't have one. I have three books that I list as my favorites; Fyodor Dostoevsky's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Notes_from_Underground">Notes from Underground</a>, Chinua Achebe's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Things_fall_apart">Things Fall Apart</a>, and Franz Kafka's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_metamorphosis">The Metamorphosis</a>. These may soon be joined by Kurt Vonnegut's <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cat%27s_Cradle">Cat's Cradle</a>, but I think having four favorite books is a bit contrived.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Favorite movie ever?</i> For the answer to this "question" please refer to numbers nine and ten in my list of random facts about myself.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Have you ever met anyone famous?</i> Not famous per se. Although one time I did criticize a Spanish Christian rock singer's career for leaving a band and going solo within earshot of that singer. Needless to say, she shot me a very deserved dirty look. Unfortunately, I still did not learn to keep my mouth shut.</span></li>
<li><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">Who would you like to meet (living or dead, real or fictional) and why? </span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">This is an easy one. Franz Kafka. I would kill to meet Franz Kafka. I maybe would not kill a human, but definitely a spider or some sort of bug (get it?). He was so far ahead of his time. He found ways to be depressed before depression was even a thing. In all honesty, I find him to be very human and would love to pick at his brain. Metaphorically, of course.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Biggest Pet Peeve? </i>I absolutely hate it when people start saying something and then suddenly stop and refuse to finish what they were saying. I have ended friendships over it. It makes me question whether they trust me and whether or not I should trust them.</span></li>
<li><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">If you won the PowerBall or Lotto and wanted to donate a chunk to a charity, which charity would it be and why? </span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">I would donate a lot of that money to the Make-a-Wish foundation. It is because of them that our family got our first computer due to my brother's illness and although it is now obsolete and it no longer works, it is still stashed in storage because I can't bring myself to get rid of it.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Favorite place you've visited? </i>I haven't been to many places so I don't really have a favorite place. If I had to choose, I would say Las Vegas though because you can walk around the street with a drink in your hand.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Where do you want to visit that you haven't been able to? </i>I would love to visit Australia, even though I am scared of most of the animals there. A close second would be Prague because that's where Kafka is from.</span></li>
</ol>
That was harder than I thought it would be. It was still kind of fun. I think for my future posts I will just look for questionnaires and answer them. The rest of the rules I cannot fulfill as I don't really follow any blogs. However, and I know this is a long shot, I figured I would write eleven questions for my readers. I don't really expect anyone to answer them but it would be nice if someone did. Here we go.<br />
<ol>
<li>Do you like my blog?</li>
<li>Do you like me?</li>
<li>Do you like me and my blog?</li>
<li>Do you like my writing style?</li>
<li>What do you like best about me?</li>
<li>Am I your favorite, or one of your favorite, person(s) in the world?</li>
<li>If you had the superpower to give anyone superpowers, what superpower would you give me and why?</li>
<li>What animal do you think best describes me?</li>
<li>Which post in my blog is your favorite (feel free to list all that apply)?</li>
<li>What activity would you most like to do with me if we could do anything?</li>
<li>Is there anything about me that I did not ask but that you would like to share?</li>
</ol>
I think these are some thought provoking questions that we have all been asking ourselves. I know I have my answers already but it would be fun to see what someone else comes up with because I am very interested in my readers and, more importantly, what my readers think of me. Until next time.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-63755150253516826152013-06-24T12:00:00.000-05:002013-06-24T12:00:02.347-05:00I Am a Literal Saint... Albeit Begrudgingly But a Saint NonethelessWednesdays are a busy day for me. No, not at work. I only have like three or four busy days a month at work and they don't often fall on a Wednesday. Wednesdays are busy home days. Why is that so? You may be asking yourself. The answer is plain and simple. Thursdays are trash day. Need I elaborate? Whether I need to or not, I will elaborate because otherwise this would be a relatively short post and, as we all know, I don't kowtow to brevity peer pressure. The fact that Thursday is trash day is important because I need to place the containers by the curb so that the collection truck can pick it up and do whatever they do with trash. In a bit of a side note, I really don't know what they do with the trash. A co-worker was having issues with the disposal of a dead skunk once and I suggested throwing it in the trash and she was appalled. Apparently, it's illegal to dump dead animals in the trash I have made a mental note of that for future reference. Not that I have ever disposed of a dead squirrel, after the BF's puppy killed it that one Sunday morning, by placing its lifeless body inside two plastic bags and depositing the bags in the trash bin. FYI, the two bags were to make sure that it didn't attract any animals and they in no way indicate that the squirrel was torn in two or more pieces thus necessitating multiple bags. Come to think of it, there was not any blood so I am pretty sure it died because its neck snapped and thus endured a quick and painless death. Also, this probably did not happen because I totally did not put that squirrel in the trash collection bin. I realize that, by now, I have gone on three different tangents. Let's recap: first, there's the main story about Wednesdays being busy; second, we have the skunk story with a co-worker which is being used as a means to illustrate that I don't know what happens to trash once it is collected; and third, there's the non-incriminating story about the squirrel. The squirrel story, just as its titular character, has reached its end so I will finish up the second tangent. As I was saying, a co-worker was appalled that I suggested dumping the skunk remains in the trash because it is illegal and, this she added of her own volition making me pontificate on what happens with trash once we are done with it, because she felt sorry for the people that have to sort through the trash to try and salvage whatever may be recyclable. I told her that I did not think there were people that sifted through the trash but the seed of doubt was planted in me. Luckily, the seed never germinated as I was not curious enough to look up whether trash gets sorted or not. I think it's about time for me to go back to the main story.<br />
<br />
Wednesdays are a busy day for me. If you factor in that the house is only occupied by me and the Old Man, it is obvious the house does not get too messy. Especially since I have not really cooked since Medea and Dad left for Mexico and the Old Man avoids cooking because he makes a big mess. I never told him anything about the messes he used to make. I would just go after him cleaning and he finally got the hint. Do I feel bad that he does not cook and has to purchase most of his meals? Yeah, I do. But, not too much because he loves onions and he used to stink up the whole house with the smell of burning onions. He is not a great cook. All this to say that, although I pick stuff up here and there throughout the week, I really only clean on Wednesdays. Now, you will be reading this post on a Monday, but I wrote it on a Thursday so from now on when I say yesterday, keep in mind I mean Wednesday and not Sunday. Are you with me so far? If you are, let's move on. If you are not, I don't know what to tell you. Maybe I will apologize because your education system failed you. I am not sure if I will apologize though because that is not my fault. Regardless of whether I apologize or not, I am moving on because there is no reason to hold everyone else back just because a hypothetical you can't keep up. Try to follow along and maybe you'll get it. Anyway, yesterday (Wednesday, remember?) after work I went home and had a light dinner and started straightening things up right away and worked diligently until I was done. Ha ha, as if! After dinner I laid down on my bed for a while (an hour or two) and watched some Saturday Night Live. It was still Wednesday, by the way, but Netflix has a whole bunch of old SNL seasons available for instant streaming. I really gotta stop referencing all these days of the week. It gets confusing after a while. Well, I finally set about cleaning and I did work for about two hours in the common areas of the house. It's not that I have attention deficit disorder, but I get bored easily. To avoid being bored while I am busy with mindless chores, I always play Will & Grace in the background as I own all eight seasons. Why is that important? You ask. It's not. I just wanted to share that with you. Does everything have to have a point? The answer to that is "I hope not because otherwise I have wasted a lot of time writing about cleaning on an article about me being a saint." I am getting to that, by the way. Don't rush me. Not everything is about the destination, sometimes it is about the journey. This time it is about the journey so allow me to be your guide and quit complaining about the many detours so you can enjoy the word landscape I paint before you. A forced metaphor, perhaps, but nothing is perfect so let's move on. Among my most hated chores, and I hate them all although with different degrees of severity, is washing dishes. Especially since I still wash dishes by hand as I don't trust dishwasher machines since I was raised washing dishes by hand and that is the only way that I feel that dishes are really clean. Washing dishes is not only annoying; and gross; and smelly; and your hands get all wrinkly from the water during; and they become very dry after, forcing you to use copious amounts of moisturizing lotion to regain a semblance of normal skin; but it used to always make my back hurt. I say used to because I have learned that if I sit on a stool while washing dishes, my back won't hurt. Well, I was sitting on my stool washing dishes and watching Will & Grace when the Old Man returned from wherever he goes during the day and attempted to tell me about his day while I washed and watched (dishes and TV respectively). The conversation did not go well because I am not a great multitasker and, despite the fact that I have watched all eight seasons of Will & Grace at least five times and can quote my favorite jokes in every episode along with the actors, I was way more interested in the TV show than in what he had to say. He eventually got the hint and went quietly to his room where I expected him to stay for the rest of the evening/night.<br />
<br />
I finished doing dishes and moved on to sweeping, taking out the trash, and mopping. When I was finished with all the cleaning and while I was getting a glass of water to take to my room, the Old Man slunk out of his room and asked if I would take him to the emergency room. I had just finished mopping and was wearing just a white undershirt and some shorts and was all sweaty so I told him I would have to take a shower first. He then said that he may not need to go to the emergency room right then because he had just taken some medicine and he wanted to see if it would take effect and that he may not need to go to the emergency room after all. He said that he would let me know. I told him that was fine and went into my room hoping that his medicine would do the trick. I was putting some clothes up and straightening out my room a bit when, about half an hour later, he knocked on my door. I begrudgingly opened the door and he said that he would have to go to the hospital after all. I asked him to give me a minute to take a quick shower and change. He told me that was unnecessary as all I had to do was drop him off since he was not expecting me to wait with him. I asked how he was going to get back and he said he would call someone when the time came. Dun, dun, dun... Since I was just going to drop him off, I decided to just throw on a shirt and put on some flip flops as I was envisioning just pulling up to the door for him to get out before I just drove away. I did not even comb my hair or grab my hat or anything. On our way to the hospital, he casually mentions that he meant to grab his handicap tag from his truck so that I could park in a handicap parking space. I asked him why would I need it and he mentioned that he wanted me to go in to make sure that he could communicate what was wrong to the ER staff. I was already unhappy about having to drive him there but asking me to go in with him after not having a chance to get ready was really going over the line. I managed to swallow my frustration and, after dropping him off at the door and finding a parking space, I quickly ran my fingers through my hair and headed for the entrance. Allow me to paint you a picture. I was wearing black flip flops with a pair of black shorts made out of the same material as sweat pants and which people usually wear around the house during the winter. On top of this, I was wearing a t-shirt with navy blue and white stripes that did not match the shorts or the flip flops. Add to that a disheveled head of hair and, although not a miasma, a subtle hint of sweat and exhaustion that one could hardly describe as pleasant. I was not happy. When I walked into the lobby, the Old Man was already in a wheelchair and they were wheeling him into the admissions area. He motioned for me to follow and, surrounded by an aura of embarrassment and defeat, I followed them into the admissions area. Luckily, the lady that came in to take all his information spoke Spanish so I was able to quickly and easily excuse myself and head back to my car to drive home.<br />
<br />
As I walked back to my car, the whole nightmarish ordeal now behind me, I started to feel better. Was I happy that I had helped the Old Man? Not really. I am not a selfless person at all. However, I could not help thinking that, independently of whether or not I was happy about it, I had done a good deed and I had good karma coming my way. I felt really proud of myself and decided that I deserved a treat for my saintly work. I mean, I may not be Mother Teresa but I did take the Old Man to the hospital so that should count for something. It did not take me long to decide on how I was going to help the cosmos reward myself. I headed to Chipotle. By now, it was nearly ten at night. In fact, I got to Chipotle just five minutes before they closed. I saw this as a sign that the universe was thanking me for my good deed. When I left Chipotle, brown paper bag in hand containing the scrumptious components of a very late and heavy meal, and got in my car, serendipity surprised me yet again. Upon turning on the radio and switching stations I heard this song and interpreted it as another sign of the good fortune of which I felt I was really reserving,<br />
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If you have not heard that song before, please watch the video. I swear to you that it is worth watching. I first ran across this song back in February of this year. It caught my eye because it was on sale on iTunes for sixty-nine cents and it was by the singer of that "Thrift Shop" song that was being played everywhere. I clicked on it to listen to the sample and remember hearing the first two lines, " When I was in the third grade / I thought that I was gay." I was not sure if I had heard right so I headed over to YouTube and listened to the whole song and by the end of the song I had tears in my eyes. No, I was not blubbering, but I could have if I did not have an instant urge to share it with everyone I thought would be open to its message. Upon further research, I learned that the infamous "Thrift Shop" was Macklemore & Ryan Lewis' second single and that "Same Love" had been released a few months prior to it. At that point it made me very sad that "Same Love" did not get any airtime in Texas. I was not surprised, mind you. Just saddened. I own the song and the video to "Same Love" and I can't listen to it without feeling a sense of pride and getting a bit choked up. Needless to say, I was pretty excited that it was on the radio. I could not believe my good luck that "Same Love" was getting some airplay in Texas. I, being the humble and reasonable human being that I am, assumed that it was all due to my grand display of charity and turned the volume up in my car as loud as it would go as I drove home. I was walking on air by the time that I got home and I felt that nothing could go wrong. I went inside and feasted on my Chipotle burrito while enjoying one of my favorite British comedy shows, The Catherine Tate Show, on Netflix.<br />
<br />
At around 3:30 a.m. my good luck ran out. I woke up and I was feeling nauseated. I figured out pretty quickly that it is not wise to eat a whole Chipotle burrito with spicy salsa, chips & guacamole right before bed. I had to get up and take some Alka-Seltzer and sit up for a minute so that my indigestion would subside. Fifteen minutes later I was back asleep. Unfortunately, that did not last long. At 4:40 a.m. my phone started ringing. Remember earlier when I wrote "Dun, dun, dun..." after the Old Man had said he would call someone to pick him up? Guess who he called? I answered the phone and one of the nurses told me that the Old Man was ready to go home and he had asked her to call me to pick him up. I, naively but hopefully, asked if he would be waiting for me at the door and I was told I had to go in to room seven to pick him up. I was not happy. I was very not happy. I know unhappy is a word but I felt like saying "very not happy." Get over it. I got up and got dressed. This time, I had the presence of mind to wear jeans and a cap so that I did not look as scraggly. The general air of exhaustion, exasperation, and discontent remained around me through the whole ordeal though. As I was driving back, I could not help but to feel I was being punished for something. I did not know why though as I did not deserve to be punished but rewarded for my good deeds and my humble ways. I was not even pleased, well too pleased, when the song "Thrift Shop" came on the radio reminding me that "Same Love" had played on the radio the night before. I arrived at the hospital to find the Old Man still in his room complaining about what they had done to him and the fact that they had given him fluids. The nurse came in for him to sign his discharge papers and it was then that I found out that he was being discharged because he refused to be admitted. How did I find this out? I had to sign a paper saying that I was a witness when he declined further medical assistance. I begrudgingly signed the paper just to get everything over with. I was seething though. I was woken up because the Old Man refused to be admitted to the same hospital he had made me drive him to the previous night. The nurse may have noticed my annoyance because she asked if I wanted to go get the car and wait out front for her to wheel the Old Man out. I gladly stepped out and drove the car to the front where I had to wait about ten minutes for the Old Man to get all the crap he had brought with him in a Wal-Mart bag. I had been concerned earlier whether or not I was emitting any aromas since I had been sweating in the afternoon but once the Old Man got in my car I realized my concerns were invalid as there is no way anyone would have been able to smell anything on me as long as I was near the Old Man. I almost felt bad for him but then I noticed what time it was and good old fashioned rage surged its way through my veins once again. On the ride home, he kept trying to complain about how they had given him liquids and how he had refused to let them draw blood and how they had not done anything for him and I started feeling bad for the ER staff. He kept trying to complain even though I kept turning the radio up louder and louder. I finally was able to find a song I knew and started singing along and he finally realized that I had no interest in talking to him or listening to his imagined slights from the hospital staff. I am not trying to make him sound hard to relate to but at one point he made sure to point out that the reason the doctors did not know what they were doing was because they were Middle Eastern. I wasn't drowning him out just to be mean, though that was an added perk. I had to do something or else I was going to reply with what was really going on through my head and that would not be good. Let's see, at one point I was thinking that we really need to pass a euthanasia law in the U.S. Even now I am not convinced that a euthanasia law is such a bad idea. We made it back at around 5:45 a.m. and, as much as I tried, I could not get myself to go back to sleep.<br />
<br />
I am sorry. I just lied in the last sentence of the previous paragraph. I did manage to fall asleep. I fell asleep a full twenty minutes before my alarm went off. I am actually convinced that it would have been better to not fall asleep again as waking up was a total... drag, for lack of a better word, this morning. Right now, I am exhausted. I have had coffee and chocolate so far and I am still not fully awake. I don't do well if I don't get my sleep. You can ask anyone (BF) and they (he) will tell you how bad I am when my sleep is interrupted. As for now, I do believe I received a karmic reward last night for dropping him off. I am still very excited about hearing "Same Love" (if you skipped the video earlier, please go back and watch it. It is totally worth it. I promise.) on the radio. However, there has been no reward yet for picking him up and I am about to go from a saint to a martyr, sleep deprivations is among the worst forms of torture, if I don't get what's coming to me. It's not just the fact that my sleep was interrupted but that I have to go the whole day in a somnambulistic state. I guess that is the price I have to pay for being a good person even if I am being a good person against my own better judgment and will.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-59326903752312667322013-06-17T12:00:00.000-05:002013-06-17T12:00:01.068-05:00Book Review: El Amor en los Tiempos del Colera, or, The Hardships of Being in a Book ClubI have been told that I am opinionated. Personally, I don't see it. I consider myself passionate and have very clear likes and dislikes when it comes to books or movies or people... or pretty much everything. It's not my fault that I know what I like and can articulate my sentiments in a semi-coherent manner and can argue my point of view fervently. I mean, if that makes me opinionated then call me opinionated. Why do I bring this up? Well, it's because I have also been told that I should write reviews. I have never considered myself a critic even if I do criticize everything I come across and am very critical of the books or movies or people... or pretty much everything I run into. I have always thought that critics needed to have an above average understanding of the medium they critique in order to form a cohesive argument. Unfortunately, I have never felt that I have above average knowledge in any field so as to be a bona fide critic. This perceived inadequacy extends to the field which I love more than any other field, literature. But Carlos, you may be asking, don't you have a B.A. in English Literature? To that I respond with a definite and resounding, yet tinged with a bit of sadness, yes. Unfortunately, I have often felt my education did not provide me with enough knowledge to consider myself proficient in the world of literature. I don't think my education failed me as it provided me with the tools to attain that knowledge for myself. Unfortunately, I am not the avid reader I once was so, though the knowledge is an arm's length away as I have a bookshelf full of books I have yet to read, I have not necessarily flexed my literary muscle as of late. In order to remedy that, I joined/co-created a book club. To be honest, although I have always wanted to be in a book club, this club was the brainchild of my friend Hillary. It's a small club consisting mainly of Hillary, The Thing and yours truly. So far, we have only embarked on the reading of one book, El Amor en los Tiempos del Colera (Love in the Time of Cholera) by Gabriel Garcia Marquez. I probably won't write a real review of the book but I do want to mention some things that came to mind when I read it. However, I will do that later in the blog. First, I want to talk about the book club.<br />
<br />
As I stated earlier, I have never been in a real book club before in my life. Granted, there was that small group of kids that would sit around and read during
gym class in high school and called ourselves a book club, but I don't
think that counts. To be truly honest, I am not even really sure if I am in a real book club now. This may be due to the fact that I am unsure what the rules for normal book clubs are. I don't know how fast they read their books or how often they meet to discuss them. I will detail how our book club is working and then leave it for you to judge and decide and tell me what we are doing wrong because I feel we are definitely doing something wrong. One of my first questions is whether or not three people are enough to constitute a book club. On top of that, one of our members, Hillary, lives in Portland, Oregon whereas The Thing and I live in Texas. This has complicated things somehow as we have to find a way to meet to discuss the book. Our first idea was to use Skype. Then we realized that you cannot use Skype for three way video call for free so we had to look for another medium. The Thing suggested that we use Google+ and that will be what we will try next. I am saying we will try it because, as of right now which is two months after the club started, we haven't really had an official meeting yet. Our club meetings are supposed to be weekly on Monday nights at 8:00 pm Central Time (6:00 pm Pacific). The Thing has so far been unavailable every time. Also, me and Hillary haven't necessarily met at the correct time either. We have discussed the book twice though but both times were over the phone on random days. As for the book itself, it only had six chapters. Six loooooong chapters. We were supposed to read one chapter a week. If we had kept up with our reading schedule, we would have finished the book in about a month and a half. Two months later, only one of us had finished the book. I think that this may be our biggest problem yet. It's not the fact that we don't all live in the same area, or that we don't ever really meet to discuss the book but that we are not really doing the reading. I am fairly certain that a book club that does not read may not really be a book club. Maybe it's just me. I mean, yes, I was the only one to finish the book, but I did finish it two weeks later than it was scheduled so my commitment is not much greater than The Thing's, even if she only read about fifteen pages. The last time I talked to Hillary about the book she had one chapter to go but had no idea where her book was. I had finished the book two weeks late; Hillary was close to finishing it but had misplaced her copy of the book; and The Thing had never even finished the first chapter, so I figured it was time for us to move on to the next book and call this one a bust. It was Hillary's turn to suggest a book and she settled on 1984 by George Orwell. Yesterday, I emailed them a breakdown of the book by chapters and pages and suggested two reading schedules, one that will take three weeks and one that will take five weeks to finish the book. I am letting them decide which route they want to go. We are supposed to have our first meeting about 1984 on Monday, June 24 so we will have to wait and see how it goes. It can't go much worse, right? Right?!?<br />
<br />
I think I have talked enough about the book club and should now discuss the book. I liked it. I had read one of Garcia Marquez's books before and I had really enjoyed it so I was looking forward to reading a second book by him. I found Love in the Time of Cholera to be very interesting because we are presented with characters that, though they share conflicting story lines, are all very easy to relate to. I guess I have become jaded by novels that have a clear antagonist to move the story along. I did not find that in this novel. Every action of every character is executed because the character truly believes that to be the best course of action. In this manner, Garcia Marquez presents us with a novel that delves deeply into the meanings of love and the many different manifestations of love even if the results were not always the "happily ever after" we have become accustomed to. He does not put one form of love above the others but presents them all as they are along with their merits and their faults. It is definitely a book worth reading if you like to read.<br />
<br />
I guess I thought I had more to say about the book than I did. In a way, I do have more to say, but it is hard to discuss something without giving specific details and it's hard to give specifics to people who have not read the book. I guess having a book club is a good thing after all. I mean, even if we don't follow through on everything, at least we get a chance to discuss the book with someone else. Also, I did not know that writing reviews was so boring. I mean, did you read that last paragraph? It's probably among the worst things I have ever written. As I said, it's hard to discuss something without giving details but it is even harder to review something and try to make it interesting at the same time. I guess being a reviewer is not for me. Believe me, I have opinions. Unfortunately, these opinions are better expressed when other people know what I am talking about and when I am not trying to be serious. I don't do well at being serious. I also don't do well at writing last minute posts, which this one is. Not much has happened lately so I had to write this right before it posted so I apologize for that. Still, I did not want to let a week go by without posting so it's up to you to decide if something really is better than nothing. For what it's worth, I think it is.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-30692274165836896992013-06-10T12:00:00.000-05:002013-06-10T12:00:01.608-05:00Dottie Needs to Stop Calling Me NamesI have known Dottie now for almost four years. In those four years we have gotten to know each other and are pretty comfortable around each other. She is the person from work with whom I habitually go to lunch. We will often be joined by other co-workers but, when making the plans, she is the one that I usually consult. Working so closely for forty hours a week has lead to what most people call a friendship of sorts. It is not all perfect, of course. She used to have a propensity for calling gay people "fags" so I had to explain to her that it was not an appropriate term. We have had other arguments but they are mostly about religion. Mainly, her having one and me mocking it. It is these kind of interactions that often cause Dottie to flip me off, cuss me out, or both. That doesn't bother me, though, as I often have it coming. It also doesn't bother how often she "slips up" and calls me "girl." I figure she just feels comfortable around me and that makes me feel comfortable around her. She tends to be very straightforward and that is the reason why I called her the other day when I was acting like a little bitch and <a href="http://nottypicalyetfun.blogspot.com/2013/05/according-to-dottie-i-am-whiny-little.html" target="_blank">she called me one</a>. I figure it's all fair and in good fun. However, last Tuesday I showed up to work and presented her with this,<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTF_Qnek6aqESqxCTNty2P112Cf8jrM2XCzJsq3BSSR580TGFGFDIjLx90S2kiGRjoAvC_XaAS9XU1pN3WR7N5vWmWsZAFMNw67-UjmhUcYiRyXZeT_VCBDNz9WWoPUdn1i7tL3WqA/s1600/Eula+Gift+1_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTF_Qnek6aqESqxCTNty2P112Cf8jrM2XCzJsq3BSSR580TGFGFDIjLx90S2kiGRjoAvC_XaAS9XU1pN3WR7N5vWmWsZAFMNw67-UjmhUcYiRyXZeT_VCBDNz9WWoPUdn1i7tL3WqA/s320/Eula+Gift+1_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please forgive the wrinkled tissue paper but I was re-using some I had received. The gift bag, however, was brand new; even if it only cost me 69 cents.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
What did I get for the, I am not going to say beautiful because I know the used tissue detracts from its overall presentation, pretty cute present? Did she say, " Thank you, Carlos. You are very nice and thoughtful?" No. When she opened her present, Dottie called me an asshole.<br />
<br />
I may need to go back a bit before her response makes any sense. Dottie is not one to use foul language except in some very precise circumstances. She will cuss at you if you did something to deserve it or if she is not feeling well. Believe me, in this case and as usual, I had it coming. <br />
<br />
It all started the previous Sunday. I was hanging out with BF when I get a text from Dottie saying, and I quote:<br />
<br />
"Just came from Care Now and getting RX at Walmart. Been sick since Friday night with migraine headache and vomiting."<br />
<br />
Since she mentioned she had sought professional help and medication, I asked if she was feeling better. She stated that she was. I, then, suggested she should stay home on Monday if she wasn't feeling well and she said she would go to work depending on how she was feeling. I stopped texting her then because she was cutting into my time with BF plus there was no way I could make her feel better.<br />
<br />
Come Monday morning, I pulled into the parking lot to see her car there. I figured she was feeling better. I went to her office and she confirmed my hypothesis by stating that she felt better. The other co-workers that were gathered in her office then started asking her what was wrong. She explained how she had been sick all weekend. She even jokingly said that her daughter had, in jest, asked if she was pregnant. It is worthy of mention that Dottie's age is what she calls double-nickel (figure it out yourself) so she is past her child bearing days. We all shared in the laughter at the ludicrous and bizarre image of a pregnant Dottie.<br />
<br />
The rest of the day went off without consequence. After work, I had to go to Target because the twelve-packs of Pepsi were on sale four for ten dollars. I like to stock up on soda when it is on sale as I drink a lot of it. While in the store, I decided to look around and see if there was anything else worth buying. It was then that an inkling of an idea began to spawn in my twisted little mind. I found myself shopping around for an item that I never would have thought I would buy. Seriously, if someone had ever told me before that I would one day purchase this item, I would have bet my life that they were wrong. Nevertheless, I headed over to the pharmacy area and purchased this,<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPohDoysyyka-uZJgb6AITHa15YvsEySu98MP6tftWwRYXrdtgtgAbqzpf7uTFsc8tQsA-cCbTGL5Om3BTG4QPv77QQ30Spj869UIR8aaVRrLtxiTsJCnTt7yhkn0AH8A-qxlLXm9/s1600/Eula+Gift+2_resized.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPohDoysyyka-uZJgb6AITHa15YvsEySu98MP6tftWwRYXrdtgtgAbqzpf7uTFsc8tQsA-cCbTGL5Om3BTG4QPv77QQ30Spj869UIR8aaVRrLtxiTsJCnTt7yhkn0AH8A-qxlLXm9/s320/Eula+Gift+2_resized.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This little box set me back about nine bucks but I refused to buy the generic brand because it did not look as cute. Also, I really love the black background from my pictures. Who would ever guess that it is just my comforter?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Now, even I am not enough of an asshole to think I can gift someone a pregnancy test and get off scotch free. How should I soften the blow? First, I thought, I had to buy a pretty bag. I walked over to the gift bag area and noticed there were some on clearance. On that clearance area, I found the cute little bag from earlier and, after making sure that the pregnancy test box fit inside, decided to buy it. I still felt there was something missing so I went over to the candy aisle and bought a box of Hot Tamales which happens to be her second favorite candy.<br />
<br />
I drove back home and decided to put the present together. I had not bought tissue paper because I was sure I had some at home. I was wrong. I searched for a full two minutes before I gave up and decided to use some tissue paper from a gift I had received about a year back. It did not really go with the box because it was just one sheet of black and one sheet of white but I figured I would make it work. I ended up cutting up the black sheet in two so I could wrap the Hot Tamales and the pregnancy test and then just using the white as the picture shows. I was actually pretty proud of it but I had this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that this could all backfire somehow.<br />
<br />
The next morning came around and I walked into Dottie's office and handed her the bag. You could tell she was a bit wary of what the gift could be. Just by shaking the first box she knew it was Hot Tamales. She did not know what the second box was, though, so she ripped a piece of black paper off so she could see what it was. The minute she figured out what it was, she looked straight at me and said, "You asshole!" She smiled as she said it so I knew everything would be okay. The gaggle of co-workers then started asking what the box was and she finally unwrapped it for all to see. I would like to tell you that the joke went over great and that people were laughing til tears came to their eyes, so I will. As far as you know, people laughed til their sides hurt, even if that is not the truth. The co-workers thought it was funny and they kept passing it around trying to determine who needed it most and joking around. The test ended up in one of Dottie's drawers and has been designated the office's contingency pregnancy test which is available to the next person with a pregnancy scare (it's always a pregnancy scare, right? I've never heard of a pregnancy pleasant surprise.)<br />
<br />
All in all, the joke went over pretty well. Pretty well, though, is not worth the eleven or so bucks the gag gift had ended up costing me. I did not do it to get a great laugh, though. I did it to try and cheer Dottie up a bit after her terrible weekend and that would have been worth the eleven bucks if it had worked. Why do I say "if" you ask. I say "if" because I am not sure if it cheered her up. I don't know how funny women find reproductive jokes as I am not a woman but I do hope that it is not a sore subject for women of the double-nickel age. If nothing else, Dottie did smile plus she loves cussing me out, or at least I think she does otherwise why would she do it so often, so it was not a complete waste of time/money. After all, she could not have been that mad since she at least got a pretty gift bag and some Hot Tamales out of it. Nothing can be that bad if you end up with some candy.<br />
<br />
I was going to end on that last line and I realized how pedophiliac it sounded. Don't think about it too much. I should just amend that line to read "Nothing can be that bad if you are an adult and you end up with candy." I guess that sounds a bit better. I don't want to encourage anyone to try anything just for the sake of candy but I am still pretty sure that, at least for Dottie, the candy made the experience better. I will stop now as I feel like I am digging a hole deeper and deeper. This whole paragraph sounds perverted. Damn.<br />
<br />Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-34816840467200521962013-06-03T12:00:00.000-05:002013-06-03T12:00:04.454-05:00Hijinks at the DMA, or, How I Became an Art ThiefThere is a girl, she is older than me so I should say "woman," at work that is not my co-worker. She works with Preggo so she's Preggo's co-worker. I do not claim her at all, though I have nicknamed her The Thing. Yes, that's a shocking nickname. What's even more shocking, at least to me, is that she answers to it. You may be wondering why, if she is such a non-entity, I am introducing her to you guys. The answer is simple; she made a thief out of me.<br />
<br />
It all started on a relatively uneventful Monday when she mentioned she would be going to the DMA (Dallas Museum of Art) that Friday. Apparently, the museum would stay open late and she asked if I would like to go. Normally, I would have rebuked such a blatant attempt at attaining my friendship, but she mentioned that the exhibit was Greek themed and my determination wavered slightly. She added that there would also be a free lecture on the Greek Gods and Heroes. Once I heard that, all my protestations went out the window. I have been a fan of Greek mythology since I was a child. In fact, I was kicked out of ESL (English as a Second Language) classes after two and a half years because the teacher caught me reading The Odyssey. I am such a fan that I can still list the twelve Olympian gods from memory. Prove it, you say. Here goes: Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Hades, Hephaestus, Aphrodite, Ares, Hermes, Apollo, Athena, Artemis, and Demeter. I swear to any god, though my favorite was always Athena, that I did not look that up. Also, the twelve Olympians changed from time to time and place to place. For example, I know some people, at some place or point in time, included Dionysus. I am not sure who was demoted or replaced I just know that it happened. I feel like I am digressing. Once I heard about the lecture, any qualms I had had about going were assuaged. I was actually very excited about it. There is nothing like a good lecture to start off your weekend. If you disagree with me, you are plainly, obviously, and unequivocally wrong. Despite all my excitement, I was not about to let The Thing know my true state so I told her that I would think about it and get back to her. I asked her who else was going and she said that another friend of hers was joining us. I was appalled at her assumption that we were friends. I quickly corrected her by telling her that it was not "another friend" that was joining us but just "a friend" as I was not to be considered her friend and that the use of the word "another" was inappropriate. She admitted her fault so now it was just a matter of waiting til Friday.<br />
<br />
During the course of the week, we come to find out that the exhibit of Greek sculptures was a loan from London and thus had a cover charge of sixteen bucks. As much as I love the Greeks and their propensity for male nudes, I was not about to spend sixteen dollars when there are many free nudes on the internet. I am kidding... Yes, I am kidding. I had to think about that for a while but I decided I was kidding as there is a big difference between pornography and art (or pornographic art as Medea would call it). I did decide against paying for the exhibit though for two reasons: I had never been to the DMA before so there was plenty of stuff to enjoy that did not require purchasing a ticket, and I really did not want to spend any unnecessary money.<br />
<br />
When Friday rolled around, I met The Thing in Highland Village and she drove the rest of the way. We had to stop in Irving to pick up her friend. Unbeknownst to me, she had failed to mention to him that I was coming; therefore, I had to wait in the car while she went and knocked at his apartment. I felt like I could have called CPS (Child Protective Services) or at least animal protective services (if such an entity exists) because she left me in her car with the doors locked and the windows up. I started to see my life flash before my eyes but she came back so fast that I did not even get a chance to make it to puberty. Anyway, she introduced me to her friend and we were on our merry way. The drive there was only just a bit awkward due to the fact that I am uncomfortable with uncomfortable silences so I tend to fill the time with awkward comments and questions. I am not saying I felt like a third wheel; but, they were friends and I was the outsider. Other than that, the drive was uneventful. Well, I did have to look up directions because, even though The Thing offered to drive and had been there before, she did not know how to get there. She said that she usually would park at her sister's and take the, and I swear to the <a href="http://www.venganza.org/" target="_blank">Flying Spaghetti Monster</a> this was her word, trolley. I asked where her sister lived. She said Carrollton. By this time, we were already on I-35E close to the Medical Center Area. If you are unfamiliar with the geography of Dallas, we would have to drive about 20 minutes away from our destination from where we were to reach Carrollton. When I protested that this was not practical, The Thing said that she had meant to say that she would park at her sister's <i>work</i>. It was too bad that she did not make that clear earlier but she is not the great conversationalist that I am. Then again, few people are. Another hurdle we were not prepared for, due to The Thing's lack of un-trolley travel experience, was parking. We found one of those lots that you pay for at a machine a few blocks away. When we looked for the machine to pay, we noticed there was a line for people to pay. It turned out that the machine was malfunctioning so it took us about thirty minutes to be able to get a receipt to put in the car. All in all, what with the detour to Irving, the traffic of Dallas, the inconvenience of the parking lot, and a very needed bathroom break as soon as we got to the DMA, we were not ready to enjoy the museum experience until about seven thirty.<br />
<br />
The lecture I mentioned earlier, the one that convinced me to attend the museum with people who were not my friends, started at seven. The restrooms were right next to the lecture hall so we asked a lady that was sitting at a desk if we could still go in. She told us that the lecture would probably only last about fifteen more minutes but that we were welcome to go in. We went in and The Thing's friend found three seats together for us to have a seat. However, the seats were not aisle adjacent and they were theater seats. I knew I would not be able to sit in one comfortably if I had a person on each side of me. As I was not close enough to The Thing yet for us to invade each others' personal space, I found an aisle seat two rows down and, with an apologetic hand gesture, motioned that I was going to sit there instead. Once situated, I was able to enjoy the droning monotonous voice of the lecturer whose soporific quality caused the gentleman behind to doze into a restful slumber. How do I know? I could hear his subtle snoring over my shoulder. His nap did not prove too distracting though as the lecturer was really only covering the basics and her lecture, or the last end of it which was all I caught, was very Heracles-centric. <br />
<br />
After the lecture, we decided to roam around through the galleries in a meandering manner as we did not really know the layout of the place. At least, I did not know the layout as I had never been there before. We entered a gallery that contained myriad tribal art statues. I am not gonna accuse those cultures of being phallocentric but I lost count of how many penises I saw. However, I did learn that it is not polite to point them out to your fellow museum-goers since that is seen as "immature." It's not like they were realistic anyway. I thought of taking a picture but I did not know if that was against the rules and I did not want to get kicked out.<br />
<br />
During our trajectory, we crossed Africa, South America, India and parts of Asia. We finally made it to Europe and went through Impressionism, Cubism and Renaissance. In the area between Cubism and Renaissance, we saw some stairs going down into another exhibit of which we could see a blown up picture of a very creepy clown. We decided against venturing into the nightmare gallery and decided instead for the more formal Renaissance paintings. However, we learned that the Renaissance gallery looped around to the Impressionist area. Since we did not know where else to go, we decided to go back and venture into the nightmare gallery.<br />
<br />
We walked back to where we saw the stairs and descended into the clown photograph gallery. We soon realized that this gallery was showcasing different photographs by the same artist. I would tell you her name but, to be honest, I can't remember it. There were different rooms with different motifs. The creepy clown room contained about four or five blown up pictures of clowns. There was another room with the artist dressed in many different costumes. The most disturbing room contained pictures that were sexual but morbid and macabre at the same time. It was very entertaining if a bit unsettling. We walked through all the rooms; each of us taking as long as we wanted with each piece. Because of this, I found myself ahead of the group as I entered the last room we had to see. I was looking at the few last pieces of the exhibit when something peculiar caught my eye. First, one of the two main entrances from the outside to that first room was cordoned off sending all traffic through only one entrance. Second, I noticed that there was a pedestal letter board that showcased different prices for adults, seniors, children and students. Third, there was a gentleman at the entrance that had a handheld scanner and kept asking people for tickets. It was then that I started to think that we may have stumbled into a gallery that was not free. I re-joined The Thing and her friend and informed them of my suspicions. We then walked back into the room where my suspicions were confirmed and the first onset of panic began. What did we have to do? Should we go to the front, admit our mistake and pay our belated admission? We were not willing to do that. The admission fee was sixteen dollars and, if I was going to pay that much money, I was going to pay it to see some sculpted penises in the Greek sculpture exhibition. We decided then to quickly, yet nonchalantly, trace our steps back and leave the way we came in. We headed back to the stairs and, as we were ascending back to the Renaissance area, we noticed there was an "Exit Only" sign written on the wall that stipulated the stairs should not be used to gain entrance into the priced gallery. We had not seen the sign when we went in and there was no one there to stop us. There is no excuse however and we unwittingly became art thieves. We remained paranoid for the rest of our stay at the museum, constantly looking over our shoulder and scanning the walls for cryptic messages that would incriminate us in any way.<br />
<br />
The rest of the stay was uneventful. Come to think of it, the rest of the night was uneventful if you don't count the two times The Thing almost got in a car wreck and which made me decide I was not riding anywhere else with her if she was to be the driver. As for now, all three of us are still at large. I don't think police crack down on people who shirk their admission for an exhibit they stumbled upon inadvertently. Still, I believe I am now a seasoned criminal. Perhaps even more so than those who've spent time because I was smart enough not to get caught. Then again, bragging online about not being caught is how some real criminals have been apprehended so I better not admit anything offhand. For all you know, I made this story up. After all, my life is terribly boring and I am always looking for new stuff to post so I could have, and quite possibly did, make it up. That's for me to know. Well, me and The Thing and her friend. Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-38669972358498799852013-05-27T12:00:00.000-05:002013-05-27T12:00:05.353-05:00Although I Have a Roof Over My Head, I Find Myself Homeless...I know the title seems a little bit over-dramatic. It is. I shall explain it later. First, I want to make good on something that I had promised you guys earlier... sort of. See, I had told you guys that I would post a recent picture of me whenever I took a good picture of me. However, that hasn't happened yet as it is very hard to take a good picture of me. Especially, since I don't take pictures often as I don't believe I am very photogenic. This brings me to last Friday. In order to raise our esprit de corps, or morale (I just wanted to sound fancy), every month we have a "munch day" at work. This "munch day" consists mainly of items brought by each employee, potluck style, and usually some sub sandwiches contributed by the management. As soon as I find out the sign-up sheet is posted, I rush over to write my name on it and write "sodas and sweet tea" next to it. I could try to come up with something else, but so far sodas and sweet tea have been the most low maintenance things I have come up with as I am sure as hell not willing to cook. Anyway, to add an aura of celebration to what would otherwise be a common potluck event, these "munch days" are often themed. The theme last Friday was "Wig Day" and we were encouraged to bring our most whimsical wigs. Fortunately, I don't own any wigs. Unfortunately, Dottie does so she let me borrow one and this was the result:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6tHp3JvoGo_T939ROBLCB1RewK7iOQ54qhU4nVWfjrKYxY4hf75raczaABjMnRuFGsJqZNB_BkAOa0OP8_auBXvqdbfSBSxwbn5Ufph_Uyy295CU2zeTK6cZKEhht2I2kFAGJA3j/s1600/Wig.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia6tHp3JvoGo_T939ROBLCB1RewK7iOQ54qhU4nVWfjrKYxY4hf75raczaABjMnRuFGsJqZNB_BkAOa0OP8_auBXvqdbfSBSxwbn5Ufph_Uyy295CU2zeTK6cZKEhht2I2kFAGJA3j/s1600/Wig.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Forgive the bad picture but I did not have a good one and did not want to keep you waiting longer.</td></tr>
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First of all, yes that is a wig. Be advised that my hair would look nothing like that if I let it grow out because it gets wavy when it gets longer. Don't ask me how I know but I will admit to owning a straightening iron so you can infer what you will. Also, feel free to leave all kinds of comments about what or who I look like in the comment section, but I have already heard them all. I have been called an ethnic Fred from the Scooby Doo cartoons and that I was a bandanna away from looking like a hippie. Personally, I think I look like a native indigenous Mexican but I know most people can't relate to that so I will just get a bandanna and start saying "groovy." Anyway, I have fulfilled, at least in my mind, my promise to post a recent picture of me as that picture is less than a week old. If I come across any good pics in the future I may, notice I am saying "may" and not "will," post it so you don't have just a horrible picture as a visual aid.<br />
<br />
Now that I got that out of the way, I will get to the reason why I am homeless. As stated in the title, I do have a place to live but a house is not a home. I am not house-less so there is no need to call the local shelters to ask for vacancies. I am homeless and the reason for that comes down, once again, to Medea. More specifically, Medea and Dad. See, they had been living in their house, which is where I live. I am trying hard not to say that I live with them because, especially at this precise moment, I don't live with them. Or, they don't live with me. I am unsure which one is right. The point is that we don't live together. Medea had it in her mind that she wanted to go back to Mexico ever since she did not die in 2008. I guess I should elaborate on that. For a few years before 2008, Medea was convinced that she was going to die in 2008. I am not sure if there was any real conviction behind her belief, but that did not stop her from trying to guilt us by constantly reminding us that we should appreciate her since she wouldn't be around for long. Once January 1st, 2009 rolled around and she found herself still breathing, she decided she was going to build a house in Mexico and move there. Unlike her threat of dying, she followed through on the house. I had moved out of the house last year, after a particularly terrible fight which involved the whole family, but moved back in when their house in Mexico was nearing completion so I could take care of their house here. Now, they left to live in Mexico last December and left me alone in the house. That is when the Old Man moved in to help with costs. However, they came back in February for the birth of Emily. Since then, they had been staying at their house, without really contributing to the bills so it was a pretty sweet deal for them. As for me, I did not have to cook so it definitely had its positive side.<br />
<br />
This all came to a halt this Saturday. See, Friday night Medea and Dad loaded their jeep, truck and a tow trailer with most of their stuff and headed back to Mexico. I know me and Medea clash a lot, but I must admit that I like having them here. It feels natural and like everything is right. Therefore, as I knew from experience from when they left in December, I knew I was going to be depressed when they left. In my defense, I did not cry this time. My eyes did water and I did get that horrible sinking feeling in my stomach every time I stepped out of my room into the common areas but I did not blubber, all snotty and sobbing out loud, like I did the first time they left That was due in part to the fact that I had planned ahead and arranged for my nephews to spend the night so they would be there in the morning when they left and I would not have the freedom to weep like a Jew at the wailing wall. Instead, I got them ready and went to have breakfast with my sister. That took care of my morning and, in the spirit of planning ahead, I had made plans with two different friends for the afternoon and evening as I knew staying at home would only depress me more. Unfortunately, the afternoon friend, which you all know as Preggo, had cancelled on me the day before as she had familial obligations. Thus, I had to return home, after breakfast with my sister, to the empty house and the first powerful pangs of loneliness.<br />
<br />
I must say that the Old Man still lives with me but he is really a non-issue as I don't have a relationship with him and because, other than the help he offers with the bills, he might as well be persona non grata. I know that sounds harsh but it's the truth. Plus, I am depressed so I have to cheer me up a little and being mean cheers me up. Anyway, you may be asking why I did not consider hanging out with the BF during that trying time but unfortunately he was out of town on business so I had to find solace elsewhere. Not that he wasn't there, mind you, as we had several conversations on the phone which could have gone better since I am a real smart ass when I am in a bad mood. Since Preggo cancelled on me for the afternoon, I settled down to nap and watch some TV until it was time for my evening plans. Around four I get a message in which my friend informs me she is not feeling well and that she is taking a nap and will contact me when she wakes up. We had made plans to have dinner so I figured I would have a snack to tide me over until she woke up. When the little hand on the clock hit eight and I still hadn't heard from her, I decided I should have dinner as it was impractical to wait any longer (i.e. I was too hungry to wait any more). I was already stressed because I had not heard if my parents had made it to El Paso safely and my plans being cancelled just didn't help the situation. My parents were traveling without a cell phone, since Dad's cell was from his work and he had to give it back and Medea left her cell for Younger to use, so I had called the aunt at whose house they were going to arrive and had asked that they give me a call when they made it there. According to my calculations, they should have arrived at six and it was already eight and I still had not heard from them. It was obvious to me at that time that the situation clearly called for some wine.<br />
<br />
I got in my car to drive to the store. As I was driving, I called Sister to see if she had heard from the parents. She informed me that they had gotten to the Aunt's house about an hour ago and that they had called her to let her know. When I mentioned that they hadn't called me, Sister said that she was about to send me a text when I called. This bothered me more than it probably should have but she had talked to Medea about an hour ago and she hadn't bothered to text me yet. Also, was I really supposed to believe that she had picked up her phone to text me when it suddenly rang because I was calling? Now, I believe in synchronicity but, considering that she uses that excuse a lot, her claim just did not ring true to me. I was glad the parents had made it safely but I was upset that they had not bothered to notify me and that Sister was so indifferent and lax in letting me know as well. On top of that, I got a text from my friend saying that she had just woken up. This just made me mad because it seemed inconsiderate to take a four hour nap when someone is waiting for you to have dinner. Don't they realize that I need to eat and that the world revolves around me? Finally, I was so upset that I called the BF to vent a little but he was busy so the call went to voicemail. Now, there is nothing wrong with that. I knew he was out with friends but I already felt very alone because my parents left, plus I had two friends cancel on me, plus Sister was being stupidly callous so I ended up walking out of the store with this;<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvI4IAYVJrtwIO2dMaKTRIM29DRqhIqYIGbL8eE_1BfOaM9oez_w8uChDymPnevRGZa-ErOhP-_NyuwU-wXVRbRaTOyc8tIbh4PFZP-dSfCWuMRF6z8nvjtYVbulGKB1Pf7LkkFpz/s1600/Wine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvI4IAYVJrtwIO2dMaKTRIM29DRqhIqYIGbL8eE_1BfOaM9oez_w8uChDymPnevRGZa-ErOhP-_NyuwU-wXVRbRaTOyc8tIbh4PFZP-dSfCWuMRF6z8nvjtYVbulGKB1Pf7LkkFpz/s320/Wine.jpg" width="228" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No, I did not drink all of them that night. It was not for lack of trying though.</td></tr>
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That is eight bottles of wine, four Cabernets and four Merlots.. Considering that I was by myself, it seems a little bit like overkill. I must say that I did not spend that much money. The six with the similar label were three for ten dollars. I was very shocked the minute I walked out of the store. I could not believe I had bought eight bottles of wine. That's a lot. It was kind of overwhelming as even I knew that was too much. I called the BF again and this time he answered. I told him that I had just bought eight bottles of wine and he asked if I was okay. I guess I wasn't, since I had just bought eight bottles of wine, but I could hear he was having a good time so I told him I was okay and that I would talk to him later. He said he would call back later. I drove back home and chilled the bottle with the blue label, it's a Merlot if you are wondering, while I had dinner. After I had finished my dinner, and just after I had poured my first wine of glass, the BF called. I told him I has just poured my first glass of chilled wine. He was surprised that I had chilled red wine since, apparently, you are not supposed to do that. I figured it was my wine so I could chill it if I wanted to. I am not going into details about our conversation but I was in a bad mood and was very mean. I did catch myself though so I took a minute to change my frame of mind and apologized to him before we hung up and he went to bed. I still felt bad the next morning so I made sure to apologize again the next time I talked to him. I have learned that it is possible to apologize too much, that's a story for a different time, but I felt this occasion warranted the extra apologies as I had been truly mean and was truly contrite.<br />
<br />
The rest of the night was uneventful. I did however learn that three bottles of wine is my limit. I didn't really learn that that night though. I learned that the next morning when I woke up and I counted the bottles as the last thing I remember was finishing the second bottle. Don't judge me. I am not an alcoholic. At least, I don't think I am. Plus, I drank while in the safety of my own house, remember it's not a home it's a house, instead of driving all over the place so I'm not that irresponsible. Besides, I spent the whole next day taking a 6 hour long bath while reading, I had to catch up on my book club and I was several chapters behind, and I only had two glasses of wine that time. I want to say the wine helped but the house still feels pretty empty and, unfortunately, I cannot be drunk 24/7. I know it will take about a week before I get used to the parents not being there again, it's just that it's a very crappy week until that happens. Also, I did receive a text from Medea last night that they made it safely all the way to their house in Mexico so at least I don't have to worry about them driving anymore. It still baffles me that they think I am a bad and uncaring son but I guess they don't see how badly I feel every time they leave. Then again, I am twenty-nine years old already so it may be time to cut the umbilical cord. Or I could wait until I am thirty. Yes, that sounds better. I will wait til next year.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-27080113950436712212013-05-24T11:36:00.000-05:002013-05-24T11:36:30.066-05:00A Love Letter to Arrested DevelopmentBack in the year 2005, I was a poor college student living with his parents at his sister's house. I was working at Mardel at the time and had not yet fully come to terms with being gay. I am not implying that the former caused the latter but there was definitely a correlation since I was still deeply religious at that point. In fact, one of the reasons why I first applied to work at Mardel was because they closed early on Wednesdays and were closed on Sundays so people had a chance to attend church. Being so devout did have its caveats though. It hindered my accepting myself for a couple of years. I had known I was gay for a while and had been fighting occasional bouts of depression for a few years. Around this time, I stopped reading as much and delved much deeper into my TV addiction. Granted, I haven't watched TV in its traditional sense in a long time. I always either stream content online or wait til shows come out on DVD and watch entire seasons at once. 2005 was a few years before Netflix became relevant so streaming was not a practical way to watch shows for me. However, there was this chain of video rental stores called Blockbuster, you may not remember them but they used to be huge back in the day, which fed my addiction before the Netflix days. Blockbuster had this membership program where you could rent as many movies as you wanted for a flat fee every month. I took full advantage of this offer and soon found myself wandering the aisles in search of something to rent that seemed entertaining.<br />
<br />
They say you always remember the details of important times of your life. Unfortunately, I think that is a bunch of b.s. I don't remember much about that day. I remember I picked the first disc of the first season of Arrested Development because the cover looked interesting. I was so tired of picking up stuff that turned out to be boring duds that I did not have much hope for it. I drove home went into my room and popped the disc in the DVD player. I went to the episode menu and was annoyed to find two versions of the pilot: the regular version that aired and the extended version. I believe human beings like to have choices. I also believe that too many choices make people unhappy. At least, they make me unhappy. I decided for the extended version, which would seem normal to me as I had no frame of reference since I did not know the aired version, and plopped myself down on the bed half-expecting to fall asleep out of boredom.<br />
<br />
That was the beginning of a love affair that has lasted eight years and has even survived the cancellation of the show seven years ago. The show captured my attention with "Breakfast." It made me giggle like a schoolgirl with "Ten cents gets you nuts." It made me relate to Tobias when he said, "No. No, I am not gay, Lindsay. How many times must we...?" It brought a tear to my eye when Buster declared that "obviously, the blue part on the map is land." And, I was hooked when I saw my first ever "On the next Arrested Development..." which held promises that were not always fulfilled. It used a full arsenal of tricks, I'm sorry, illusions, to draw me in even further and make me lose myself for two seasons in the convoluted world of the Bluth family.<br />
<br />
One of the biggest regrets in my life was never watching the show while it was still on the air. Although I found out about it while it was still airing, I was unaware of that and just looked forward to the time the next season would be released on DVD. Little did I know that, because of a lack in ratings, that season would only contain thirteen episodes and would be its last.<br />
<br />
Since its cancellation, I have watched all three seasons at least once a year. I bought "The Final Countdown," not because it is a great song, but because it is the one Gob plays while performing his illusions. I have watched all the episodes that have a commentary track and wondered why they even called it a commentary if they hardly ever reference the episode. I have teared up, not to say cried, every time I watch the last episode on the Queen Mary. I would often recite most of it as it played to the point that my parents started questioning my sanity for watching the same thing over and over again. But it was not me that was crazy, it was the people at Fox that had cancelled the show that were crazy. I soon found out that there was a huge and growing following of people who had discovered and appreciated the greatness that is Arrested Development. I signed so many online petitions to bring the show back and this weekend, this weekend it all pays off my friends. Arrested Development is coming back. A new season will be debuting on Netflix on Sunday, May 26.<br />
<br />
I am giddy with anticipation. I have re-watched all three seasons in order for it to be fresh on my mind and not miss a single callback which they are sure to include for their devoted followers. I am even making BF watch all three seasons before Sunday (it is now Friday and he just started the third season), even though he does not really love the show the way I do. Then again, not many people love the show the way I do. I even went out and bought me this shirt someone told me they were selling at Target,<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UwKBSZbpKMGpzWba3p3ugeqL49JOfrMvEux2BEgJdM9xw24YZLwzi-04W1qptys2sXlkSl4AsWlQvzk_Mur70G5VyzFq5lPwWpWDwwABOnFCGASI2IFgsomNoVKbsNWWkGIBZwuR/s1600/Arrested+Development+Shirt+Pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="303" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-UwKBSZbpKMGpzWba3p3ugeqL49JOfrMvEux2BEgJdM9xw24YZLwzi-04W1qptys2sXlkSl4AsWlQvzk_Mur70G5VyzFq5lPwWpWDwwABOnFCGASI2IFgsomNoVKbsNWWkGIBZwuR/s320/Arrested+Development+Shirt+Pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I made sure the size is not shown on the picture because I was not comfortable disclosing it. My obsession with Arrested Development though is fair game.</td></tr>
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Yes, I plan on wearing that shirt all day Sunday. For the rest of the weekend, I will be wearing a t-shirt given to me by an old friend which features one of Matisse's blue nudes as Tobias in his never-nude cut-offs and blue man group paint. I am making this an Arrested Development weekend, not to offend anyone who takes Memorial Day seriously. Honestly, Memorial Day enthusiasts should just let me have this one. They get to celebrate Memorial Day every year but Arrested Development only rises from its own Phoenix ashes once in a lifetime. <br />
<br />
I can hardly wait for the new episodes. Will I be disappointed? Maeby. Does it matter? No. Yes, Arrested Development is a great show. No, it may not be the best show ever for everyone else. For me, though, it was the show that made me laugh out loud during a very dark time in my life. It was the show that, for a moment, made me forget the hell that I was living through. I sat down to watch it that first time expecting to be disappointed but Arrested Development, with its witty sarcasm and dark humor, reminded me that there were things in life that I liked. It pointed out that my own tendency towards dark comedy was okay and that being different was okay. It showed me a family of misfits that still cared for each other and made me care for them at a time when I barely even cared about myself. It's for that reason, along with the show's great qualities of course, that Arrested Development will always be the best show for me. So, with a tear in my eye and a glimmer of hope and anticipation I say, "Welcome back, Arrested Development. It's been too long."Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-54198784843912388072013-05-20T12:00:00.000-05:002013-05-20T12:00:03.376-05:00According to Dottie, I Am a Whiny Little BitchI am not sure what my stance has been on swearing on this blog. This is at the front of my mind considering what the title of this post is and because I will have to use the word "bitch" at least a few times during this post. I do know my regular stance on cursing. I do not believe words are inherently good or bad but that it is our usage of them that assigns them a moral connotation. That is, however interesting for me, not relevant. I looked through the settings to see if there is anything that would indicate that this blog contains profanity but the only option I saw was one that asked if it contained adult material. I don't consider curse words adult material so I chose the "no" option. Thus, it will be up to your discretion whether this blog is appropriate for you and yours. I will not use profanity lightly but I do believe it has a place in our culture and, in instances where it is relevant to the story, I will not shy away from its usage.<br />
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All that will come later though. First, I want to keep talking about the wonderful weekend I had. Why was it wonderful? Well, it's mostly because of a single person, the BF. It all started Saturday when I arrived at his house so we could ride together to the wedding. We had not seen each other in two weeks because he travels a lot for work and, even though he had been in town the previous weekend, I had been sick and was unable to meet up with him. I got to his house and he was ready. This is important for two reasons. First, it shows that he is dependable to be on time. Second, it shows that I was running late and thus am not dependable to be on time. When I walked into his house, he announced he had something for me and unceremoniously presented me with this;<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCIrI3ivsdO2tvniJEXCcIYQpL8b7rUHs8IWeYTLOmBviyp_6Nqop_3vp7pjt_v48DOhgvk9EbEHoa6oH232PnbIbrXMfh0QR70MWOibGOZL4NMo6OiKmrV1frRFiXmnafQi2aKnw/s1600/Key+Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBCIrI3ivsdO2tvniJEXCcIYQpL8b7rUHs8IWeYTLOmBviyp_6Nqop_3vp7pjt_v48DOhgvk9EbEHoa6oH232PnbIbrXMfh0QR70MWOibGOZL4NMo6OiKmrV1frRFiXmnafQi2aKnw/s320/Key+Photo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note that the patriotic motif was the BF's and not mine as I consider patriotism to be a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Granfalloon" target="_blank">granfalloon</a>.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
That star-spangled emblazoned key that he gifted me grants me access to his house. I must say that I was moved by the gesture. Especially since earlier in the week, two days earlier to be exact, I was talking to Preggo about how I am a horrible boyfriend since the BF had asked me to help him put out his trash on collection day since he was out of town and I had forgotten. Twice. I had forgotten two weeks in a row. I told her that, in my defense, I had asked the BF to remind me and he had not done so because I was sick. I still felt bad about it, though. I also told her that I did not know where his trash cans were. Preggo asked me if I did not have a key to his house. I replied that I didn't and that I wasn't sure when and if I would get one. Cut to two days later and he is giving me a key, however gaudy, to his place. That right there put me in a good mood.<br />
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I was nervous about the wedding as the BF hadn't really ever seen me in a social situation. Plus, I was planning on drinking and he had not, and still has not, seen me drunk. I am taking it one day at a time. After all, easy does it. First things first, I want him to get to know me before I can scare him away with drunken antics. For those of you who noticed; yes, I used three of the slogans used by AA to refer to my drinking. Thank you for noticing as I only knew two and had to look up a third. It was hard work and I hope it pays off. If you read last week's post, then you are aware that there was an hour wait before the ceremony began and that I get antsy easily. I kind of felt bad for the BF because, when bored, I become very childish and immature. I went as far as to send him a text, even though he was sitting right next to me, asking him to entertain me. When he responded, I replied with a text saying that I was busy and would text him later. I found that funny. I also kept asking if I could go get some water and I even started making up illnesses, i.e. fever and stomachache, to see if he would let me go for a walk. He was unyielding and I had to sit there for the whole hour and I was not too happy about that.<br />
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As I may have mentioned in last week's post, I don't remember and I am too lazy to go back and re-read the post to make sure, I knew more people at the wedding than I expected to know. Therefore, at times I felt like I was neglecting the BF. I apologized to him in case I did while we were driving back to his place and asked if he had fun and if I had embarrassed him much. He said he had fun and that he had only been embarrassed when the honeydew incident happened. I would explain the honeydew incident but, if you haven't read last week's post, maybe this will serve as incentive for you to go back and read it. The BF did point out though that he was surprised at the ease with which I talked to people that I had told him that I strongly disliked, not to say hated. I had told him in the past that I was a very good hypocrite but he had never seen me in action. He also said that he was surprised that I introduced him as my boyfriend. I explained to him that there were two reasons for that. The first was that this was an event attended by people who were not my family, they were co-workers and friends, and therefore knew that I was gay so I felt comfortable presenting him as my boyfriend. Secondly, and perhaps more importantly, I wanted to make sure the co-workers knew who he was. If you remember, he had bailed out on me once for a co-worker event and they had taken to calling him "the imaginary boyfriend," implying that I had made him up. I had to put a stop to that and show them that he was real so it was almost a requirement to introduce him as my boyfriend.<br />
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When we were getting close to his place, we noticed that a cop was driving behind us and, about a block and a half from the BF's house, he pulled us over. It was very entertaining because the BF freaked out. See, I have failed to mention that he has been having problems with some back pain. To alleviate the pain, he has been taking over the counter medication. He is not a fan of "western medicine," as he calls it, and follows the instructions on the labels to the letter. At the wedding, even though I had many glasses of wine, he only had one glass of wine and nursed it all night long. I thought he'd had two glasses and kept telling him he'd be okay to get a third. I came to find out, while the cop is checking out his license in the patrol car, that the BF was relieved that he had only had one which is a lot fewer than I had. I mean, when the cop asked if we had been drinking, I gleefully raised my hand and cheerfully announced that I had, at which point the BF just pointed at me and said that he had been the DD (designated driver for those not in the know). Luckily, the BF only got a warning since the reason we were pulled over was because one of his headlights was out. He was still freaking out about it though and I had to explain to him that a warning was nothing more than the cop justifying his time by explaining that he had pulled over someone with a headlight out.<br />
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I know you're thinking that everything so far sounds perfectly pleasant and you would be right. We got to his place, had a few more glasses of wine and went to bed. It was the events of the next morning that are alluded to in the title. As I mentioned before, the BF travels for work sometimes. He had just gotten back on Friday and he was flying out again on Monday so I knew he had errands to run. I also knew that he had to meet a friend of his at ten thirty in the morning and would be occupied for the rest of the day. Now, I am not a morning person. I used to be. When I was a senior in high school, I would get up at six in the morning every day even though I did not start getting ready for school until seven. It has been a long time since then and I have become more of a night owl. The BF, on the other hand, considers getting up at six thirty sleeping in. So, he got up at his usual early time and I decided to get up with him as I would not see him for two weeks once he left to meet his friend. We got up and had some coffee. I then suggested going somewhere for breakfast but he said he had to do some things first before he left the house. Apparently, I still looked very sleepy because he added that I should just go back to bed and take a nap/finish sleeping. I was tired so I went back to bed and promptly fell asleep. I felt him moving around the room a few times and considered getting up but I was very sleepy. Plus, it felt like I had only been in bed a few minutes every time I heard him and woke up. When I finally decided to get up, I looked at the clock and it was ten fifteen. I must explain here that along with not being a morning person, it takes me a while to fully wake up and become the wonderful person that people know and love. Point in case, if my sister ever happens to wake me up when she calls me, she knows to hang up and wait for me to call her back in about ten minutes or the conversation won't go well as I will be very upset for no reason. Okay, keep that in mind as I tell you what happened.<br />
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I woke up and saw what time it was and had this sinking feeling in my stomach that the BF had left without saying good bye. I stumbled groggily to the kitchen and looked out the window to find his truck was gone. I am not going to say I was mad, but I was upset. I wasn't going to get to see him for two weeks so, in my head, he should have woken me up to say good bye. Because I was upset, I got dressed very quickly, grabbed my stuff and went to my car. Once I was in my car, I called him. He answered in a very happy tone and asked me how my morning was going to which I very drily replied with a simple statement. "You left." He did not say anything to that so I added that he left and that he hadn't said good bye. He said that he did not want to wake me and I told him that he should have. He then asked if I had eaten the breakfast he had left for me in the fridge. I told him that I hadn't opened the fridge because I left as soon as I found out he was gone. He informed me that he had gone out that morning and purchased some stuff for breakfast and left it for me in the fridge and told me to go back inside to get it. I told him I was already down the road and did not feel like turning back. At that point, he arrived at his friend's place to pick him up so he had to let me go and we hung up. I thought about the fact that he had bought me breakfast and that it was a nice gesture but I was still upset that he had not woken me up before he left. A few minutes later, while I was still driving back to my place, he called me and asked me not to be upset. I said that I wasn't upset but that I was sad that he hadn't said goodbye. He then asked if I had seen the note he left me. Apparently, he had left a note for me on the floor in the entrance from the bedroom hall to the living room. I saw a piece of paper in the ground but I figured he'd dropped something and did not pick it up and read it because I did not want to be nosy. He had actually written two notes as he had left one when he went to buy breakfast, in case I woke up then, and he left one when he left to do what he needed to do. When he told me that, I knew I was being difficult, but I still felt a little slighted.<br />
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After we hung up, I called my friend Hillary so she could tell me that I was wrong. Unfortunately, she did not answer. I decided to call Dottie then since I needed someone to tell me I was being spoiled and stupid. I knew I was wrong on some level, but I was not fully awake and I needed someone to set me straight. Fortunately, she did. After hearing what had happened, she said;<br />
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"Carlos, get over yourself. He was trying to be considerate so stop whining like a little bitch."<br />
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When I articulated my surprised over being called a "little bitch", she responded;<br />
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"I meant to say "big bitch" but figured it would be nicer to use "little" instead. You need to apologize to him though."<br />
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As much as I respect Dottie and her no-nonsense approach, and because I wasn't fully awake yet, I took her advice with a grain of salt because I still felt my point had some validity to it. When I talked to the BF later that day, I did apologize and explained that I was not fully awake when I talked to him and thanked him for being so considerate. He asked me if I was mad and I reassured him that I wasn't so everything worked out in the end.<br />
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However, the next day, still trying to find a leg to stand on, I decided to share what had happened with Preggo and some other co-workers. This did not work out to my advantage. Among the many things that they told me, I was instructed to make it up to the BF for the way I had behaved and was told that I needed to appreciate having such a wonderful person in my life that is willing to put up with all my b.s. I talked to the BF about it that evening and told him what I had been told and that, although I was not gonna make it up to him as I still think I had a little bit of reason for acting like I did, I was apologizing one more time. He deserved at least that and that was as far as I was willing to go.<br />
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I guess the whole point of this post is to acknowledge that I have it very good with the BF and I should be thankful for him. Yes, he does not understand sarcasm and most of my jokes fly right over his head, but he more than makes up for it by being so caring and considerate. Also, he told me to write something good about him as he felt I was being too mean. So... here it is. I said something nice. Take a picture (screenshot) of it because it doesn't happen often. On a serious note, I am glad to have the BF in my life and I hope to have many more stories to share with you all about him.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-56365758320328719622013-05-13T12:00:00.000-05:002013-05-13T12:00:03.433-05:00Apparently, My Wedding Etiquette Is Subpar Last week, I tried to write a random post in order to have a back up in case of unforeseen illness in the future. Unfortunately, my record for writing random posts clearly shows that I am incapable of doing so, or, at the very least, doing so in an entertaining manner. I still have the failed attempt saved and I may use it if I ever am in dire need of content to publish. You will recognize it by its title, "This May Be an Exercise in Futility." Luckily, I will not be posting that this week as I had a very eventful weekend. I am thinking I can actually get two posts out of it. For one, it will help me have content to write about for two weeks. Secondly, splitting the weekend into two will help me have two shorter posts instead of a very long one which should help with those who complain that my posts are too long. I am, of course, talking about the BF even though I am not even sure he reads this. Thirdly, concentrating on one topic may help make the article more focused instead of the convoluted mess it usually is. As the title to this post indicates, I will be concentrating on the events surrounding a wedding I attended Saturday.<br />
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I have known this wedding was coming up for some time, as evidenced by the fact that I mentioned it in the last post. This may have something to do with the fact that I have known the bride for about eight years and that I currently work with her. I have known the bride, let's call her Nikki, since before she started dating her now-husband. I mention this to establish how long we have known each other and hoping it explains some of what happened at the wedding.<br />
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The first problem I had with the wedding, and no it was not that gay people can't get married yet, was that Nikki explicitly told me I could not wear jeans. The last two weddings I attended, one of which she attended with me, I wore jeans. They were nice jeans that I dressed up with a button-up shirt and a vest so it did not look bad. However, this time she explicitly told me no jeans. I must add that there was a guy at the wedding that wore cargo pants and a polo shirt so jeans would have looked a lot better and a lot less sloppy than that. I ended up wearing just slacks and a black shirt with a tie that I bought the day before because I did not like any of the ones I had. I looked ok, but was not totally satisfied with the end result. At this point I will interject that I know I had talked about taking a picture at the wedding but I was not about to take a picture when I was not truly satisfied with my attire. At one point I noticed that everyone was taking pictures with the bride and I had to ask if that was a requirement because I really did not need that wardrobe choice to be saved for posterity. Needless to say, I did not take a picture with the bride. I figured I did not want one and she already had too many so she wouldn't miss it.<br />
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Because I have known the happy couple (that just sounds cliche, doesn't it?) for a long time, it turns out that I knew a lot of the people at the wedding. I had dragged the BF along so that I would not be by myself and in the end I felt like I neglected him as I kept running into people I knew and talking to them, whether I liked them or not. I talked a lot that evening. I talked from the minute we sat down for the ceremony til the minute I climbed into the passenger seat of BF's truck. It wasn't all my fault though. I had to talk to keep myself entertained sometimes. For example, despite my better judgment and despite my Mexican upbringing that has taught me never to be on time for anything, we arrived at the wedding ten minutes early. Now, you may not know me, but ten minutes is a long time to wait for me. I am not impatient, at least I don't think I am, but I do get antsy easily and sitting still in a ceremony hall communicating in hushed whispers while trying to behave and not criticize people is not my idea of fun. Thus, I kept turning around to talk to people and asking how much longer it would be until the wedding started. The wedding was supposed to start at six o'clock but it did not start til ten minutes to seven. Now, if you remember that we got there ten minutes before the appointed time, that means that I had to sit and squirm for a whole hour. I am just saying that, despite my best intentions, I ended up criticizing some people and annoying others just to keep myself entertained for that long. Thankfully, the ceremony was short and we were served wine the minute we made it into the reception hall. I have said it before and I will say it again, wine makes everything better.<br />
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Finding a place to seat at the reception was also nerve racking. There were only six seats per table and there were more than six people I wanted to sit with. There was the co-worker group and the people I have met at previous parties. I ended up just sitting with the BF, two friends of the bride and two people I did not know. Thankfully, the people at the table did not find me annoying. I daresay that I was very entertaining but, as much as I like it, wine can be deceiving. If nothing else, I had a good time.<br />
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So far, except for the talking a lot, I felt like I was behaving in an appropriate manner. Unfortunately, I can't be trusted to behave for extended periods of time. Especially not when I am around people I feel comfortable with. Everyone was lining up for the buffet so me and the BF decided to go congratulate the newlyweds before lining up ourselves. When we got to their table, Nikki was talking to someone else so I said a quick congratulations to the groom while waiting. I thought about giving him a hug but I decided we were not that close. I probably did not need to tell him that aloud though but hindsight is 20/20. While we were waiting, the servers brought the new couple their dinner plates. I would describe the dinner but that is not of consequence right now. What does warrant mentioning is that after saying congratulations to the bride, and informing her that I was not giving her a hug either because it was awkward, I mentioned that her plate looked good. You may know where this is headed but don't get ahead of me. I will get there. So, I mentioned that her plate looked good and she asked me, politely, if I wanted to try anything. I found this a bit odd but we have shared whataburger egg taquitos after a night of drinking so it did not seem too inappropriate. Still, I declined by saying that I would just get in line and get my own plate. I guess that should have been the end of that but she asked me if I was sure and told me that I could try something if I wanted to. At that point, I looked around her plate to really ascertain myself of its contents. Even I knew that it would be inappropriate for me to take the piece of chicken from her place but I noticed that on the side there was a piece of honeydew melon. I told her that, if she didn't really mind, I would take the piece of honeydew. She told me to go for it... so I did. Upon clarifying that my hands were clean, I picked up that piece of melon and ate it only to look around and find that the BF had deserted me and that he and Dottie, one of my co-workers whom he'd just met, were standing in the buffet line pretending that they did not know who I was. I thanked the bride for the fruit and excused myself so I could stand in line and get my own plate but, apparently, I had crossed a line. I kind of understand that what I did may be considered inappropriate but the bride asked and shouldn't the bride get anything she asks for on her wedding day? That is why, even though the BF and Dottie acted as if they were embarrassed by my actions, I maintain that I did nothing wrong. Especially since I am not a particularly big fan of honeydew, I will eat it if it is there but I won't go out of my way for it, and I ate it because it was the least obtrusive item on her plate. See? I am a little bit considerate. <br />
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After we got out plates, we sat down to eat and dinner was fairly uneventful. I mean, I did at one point had a piece of chicken on my lap and had to use my napkin to clean the sauce from my shirt, but that was an accident. Accidents happen to everyone so I am not taking responsibility for that one either. After all, I was just sitting there trying to cut a piece of chicken off when all of a sudden it flies into me and lands in my lap. I don't like wasting food so I still ate it and then I cleaned my shirt off but I don't see how any of that is my fault. You may say that it's my fault for now knowing how to use cutlery properly. I think I do pretty well considering that, growing up in Mexico, we sometimes only used a tortilla to eat instead of cutlery. If anything, I should be offended that their wedding was not culturally inclusive as it discriminated against those that use tortillas as cutlery by not having any tortillas around. I may be on the losing side of this one too, though.<br />
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I am happy to report that the eating of the cake went off without a hitch. Also, even though I had a total of seven or eight glasses of wine, I only spilled a little bit of it on the tablecloth and it was only noticeable because I was drinking Merlot and the tablecloth was white. Speaking of wine, I learned that wine is not the best of beverages to try to drink while dancing. Me and Nicole have gone to clubs many times. We have danced with our drinks in our hand more times than we can count and we are very proud of the fact that we have never spilled a drink. Now, don't be scared, as our perfect record of unspilled drinks remains unbroken. When it was time to dance, I was going to leave my glass of wine on the table. However, I saw Nikki take her glass of beer onto the dance floor and, you know, when in Rome... They played two line dances. One was the wobble, which I don't know how to dance, and the k-wang, which Nikki and I had agreed we would dance at her wedding. I jumped in at the end of the wobble and as we were walking off the dance floor the k-wang started. The bride and I lined up on the dance floor and, although some people tried to join us, we pretty much danced the whole song by ourselves. This is when the wine became problematic. The k-wang is a line dance that does not have a lot of down time. I wanted to take a drink but the movement kept the wine away from my lips. To make matters worse, I would end up exhaling into the wineglass and spraying my face with wine. Having a face full of wine does not promote good dancing so I kept messing up the steps. Also, I wish I could say that I sprayed my face full of wine only once, but that would not be true. I did it at least three times. The more I danced, the more I wanted a drink and the more out of breath I was causing me to exhaled more and spray more wine in my face which made me really want a drink thus becoming a vicious cycle. The good thing about the whole situation was that, even though I kept missing steps, everyone thought we did really well because no one else knew the dance. That is the benefit of practicing beforehand.<br />
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The rest of the wedding went of without a hitch. Especially since the bride and groom got "hitched" at the beginning of the wedding so the "hitch" was already done. I am sorry for the horrible pun but I could not help myself. If I could have stopped myself from typing that, I would have. After the line dancing, I went over to the table, wiped my face clean with my napkin, polished off my glass of wine and returned to the dance floor unburdened by any liquids. Having taking care of that, dancing went more smoothly and was more fun. There were no more inappropriate shenanigans that I can think of. Still, even with the few mishaps I have mentioned, I think it was a fairly successful wedding and I deem my behavior appropriate, if not stellar.<br />
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The wedding ended shortly after and we bid the newlyweds adieu. After that, I made sure to say hello and good bye to the bride's mother and to a few people I wanted to make sure I said hi to and me and the BF departed. We still had a long drive ahead of us and I would like to say that the drive went off without incident but that was not the case. However, that is fodder for another post.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-11506744841077308082013-05-06T12:00:00.000-05:002013-05-06T12:00:08.624-05:00Back From the Brink of Death With No New Knowledge to Show For ItIt won't be apparent to you, dear reader, but it has been exactly two weeks since I wrote my last post. Thankfully, I had planned ahead and the staggering release of posts worked as planned so there will not be a week without a post. Why have I not written in two weeks? Have I done nothing new lately? Was I slacking and losing devotion to this blog again? How did Medea like her present? As the post title indicates, was I on the brink of death? And, most importantly, have I gotten a haircut yet? All of these answers, and more, shall be discussed on today's entry. Stay tuned.<br />
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So many things to talk about and yet I have so little space. I have already had people complain that my posts are too long, and by people I mean the BF, but brevity is not, has never been, and will never be my strong suit. Point in case, the previous sentence was unnecessarily lengthy and this sentence, which is doing nothing more than pointing out the obvious by focusing on the length of its predecessor, is not helping cut down my word count at all. In fact, that second sentence may have been longer than the first and thus it is definitely not helping me be more concise. I should end this paragraph right now. I think this paragraph is complete as it is. Yes, I quite like how pointless it is while at the same time making a point of the pointlessness of my writing.<br />
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Speaking of my writing, and more explicitly, of my editing, I feel I should apologize. As I said before, I wrote the last post over two weeks ago. Usually, I will write a post and revise, tweak, clean, and edit it a few days letter. Unfortunately, I was not able to do so with the last post and, upon reading it, found many simple mistakes that I cannot forgive myself for. However, I did enjoy reading the post. I know it is gross to be self-congratulatory but I thought it was a funny and entertaining post. Also, I got a comment from Anonymous and that is the first time I have gotten a comment on one of the posts since I started writing again. Getting that comment felt really good so I will overlook the mistakes this time. Especially since the reason I did not get a chance to edit it was because I was... on the brink of death.<br />
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Well, not really. I have been sick for about nine days now. I am feeling better so you can save your concern for people that really matter and that really need it. I appreciate if you were trying to be concerned but there is really no need. Thanks, though. After all, I don't think I was that ill. It was just a cold/flu/allergies/strep throat kind of thing. What was it exactly? I don't know. I know that for the first 5 days I tried to get over it with just over the counter medication. I also know that over the counter medication was not enough. Luckily, right before I made my mind up about going to the doctor, I found some old antibiotics. Now, I am not going to admit online to self-prescribing old antibiotics in order to cure myself because I know better than that as I have been told the evils of self-medication and I am unclear on how legal it is. However, I feel better today than I did last week so praise whichever deity deigned do throw me a solid (that's still an expression, right? Because I am not sure where I picked that up from). Irregardless (I am unsure if "irregardless" is a word or not but I felt like using it) of why I am feeling better, I am just thankful that I am. However, illness, and not a lack of devotion, did stop me from writing, or even editing, any posts so now I find myself needing to write a few posts in order to buck up my reserves once more in case of some unforeseen obstacle rearing its head in the future.<br />
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I had forgotten all about Medea's birthday until I read the stellar post (please allow me to indulge in self-adulation once more) I wrote about it. If I know you at all, which I probably don't as evidenced by the fact that the only person to ever comment since I started writing again was anonymous, you are dying to hear how the whole birthday celebration went down. Well, my sister bought a cake and I bought some wings and we had dinner. I, at one point which may or may not have been while singing Happy Birthday, uttered the words "happy birthday Medea." I am also happy to report that the hug situation was avoided and that my arms have not embraced my mother since December of last year after our fight when she stood there with her arms hanging listlessly at her side while I awkwardly clasped my arms around her bidding her adieu. So, all in all, it was a fairly successful evening. I feel I must point out, whether for the sake of the reader or for my own sanity or for posterity, that no acknowledgement was made of my gift and no thanks were given either verbally, orally or kinesically (by gesture or movement). However, this was expected so I am not too bitter about it. I would say I am just bitter enough.<br />
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The last two weeks have not been all bad though. I did go to my first bachelorette party ever. It was nothing to write home about. Fortunately, this is not home so I can write about it here. I feel I should have known it wouldn't be a good experience as I have a low tolerance for drunken women. This was exacerbated by the fact that I was wearing new shoes. Now, don't get me wrong, I love new shoes. I just wasn't expecting to be doing much walking and they are not quite broken-in yet. At the rate the breaking-in process is going, I am starting to think that shoes break-in feet instead of the other way around. I am not saying the night did not have its moments. Dancing was fun and my shoes were not killing me at all at that moment. The maid of honor fell while we were walking on the sidewalk and that provided me with a few minutes of hilarity after which my sadistic shoes reminded me of the painful reality that was walking in them. I also had the chance to have a drink with a leaf on it. Don't believe me. Fine, take a look for yourself.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9Fk5OsZZIKOKgcrjDphPpU3HRo4-YFwHey_-3GfV7IvH_-7lVWDsKjCN12aWh9e6cm-SFR9IFtyvjArgqrzqgXGDc6J1CaqfhuTrbATywCY4Ocg2djmOXoQlTHIvXS_NDqZaITwl/s1600/Salad+Drink.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK9Fk5OsZZIKOKgcrjDphPpU3HRo4-YFwHey_-3GfV7IvH_-7lVWDsKjCN12aWh9e6cm-SFR9IFtyvjArgqrzqgXGDc6J1CaqfhuTrbATywCY4Ocg2djmOXoQlTHIvXS_NDqZaITwl/s320/Salad+Drink.jpg" width="312" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I believe this drink qualifies as one of the 5 daily fruits and vegetables nutritionists recommend.</td></tr>
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Boom, baby. You thought that it was gonna be a small leaf, didn't you? You were wrong. That is a... darn I forgot the name. The point is that is a martini made with cucumber vodka with chili powder on the rim and with, what I learned later was not a lettuce leaf, a big basil leaf in it. I must say that the leaf threw me off at first. That is until I realized that you did not have to eat it and could just drink the martini through the two straws without bothering with the leaf at all and everything was better. I must say that this was probably the highlight of the night. Other than that, driving a bunch of drunk women around, though I do it often enough, is not my idea of fun.<br />
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Lastly, because I have managed to answer all the questions I asked at the beginning of this post but this one, I will just say that I have gotten my haircut already. The reception has been lukewarm. The usual people have told me that they like my hair short and the BF told me that he liked my hair better when it was longer. When I accused him of not liking my haircut he stated, begrudgingly methinks, that he liked it but that he preferred it longer (insert "That's what she said!" joke in here). That was when I stopped talking to him for two minutes. I figured that was sufficient punishment for such a slight, and maybe even imaginary, transgression. You may be wondering, I will not assume to know you anymore since I established earlier that I didn't, why I haven't taken a recent picture then. Well, I have been sick and that is hardly the time to take a photograph of oneself. I have good news on that front though. I will be attending a wedding this weekend, yes it's the same bride from the bachelorette party so stop asking, and I hope to take at least one decent photograph so that I can update you on the continuing deterioration of my youth and looks. Thankfully, you don't read this for my looks or I would be screwed.<br />
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Mission accomplished. You are all caught up now. Feel free to commend me on how my picture-taking has improved as the picture of that drink up there is way better than the one of my mom's flowers. On top of that, I do believe this is a shorter post than some so maybe I am learning some brevity after all. I guess we'll have to wait and see what the future brings.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-20723897813823447262013-04-29T12:00:00.000-05:002013-04-29T12:00:08.458-05:00Fear and Loathing in a TargetToday is Medea's birthday. Not today as when you will be reading this but today as of when I am writing this. You probably won't read this for a few weeks. I am staggering the publishing of posts doing only one a week so that I can hopefully keep a constant stream of posts in the future. Anyway, per usual and as it is accustomed, me and Medea are not in the best of terms. She is still mad at me for the fight we had in Mexico. On top of that, she is now also mad at me for a recent fight her and my sister had and in which I dared stick my nose in. As I stated before, since she came back from Mexico in February she has been saying that she has "divorced" me and that she was no longer my mother. As of the second fight, we have apparently become even more disenfranchised. Now, I am supposed to think of her as is she were dead. These are her words, by the way. I have never said that she is dead to me. She is instructing me to think of her as being dead because I obviously don't care about her. Ironically, these instructions were given to me during the last fight we had which started with me offering to drive the ten hours to El Paso so that she wouldn't have to. The irony of that is lost to her. My dad had informed me a few days before the fight that they were planning to go back to Mexico on May eleventh and that they were planning on taking both the truck and the jeep. This meant that my mom would have to drive one of the cars for the whole trip. That's when I decided to offer to drive to El Paso in one car so they could ride together in the other. I like driving long distances and I figured this would work better for them. It was when I made my plans public to Medea that she let me know, in no uncertain terms, that she was dead to me and then went on to tell me how much I have hurt her in the past and how much I don't care about her. She kept trying to drag me into an argument but I just kept reiterating that I was just offering to help. All in all I would say that it was a good talk. It could have gone worse although I am not sure what is worse than finding out that your mother is supposed to be dead. I am also worrying what she will say next time we have a fight. I mean, if she is supposed to already be dead to me, is the next step pretending that she never existed? And, if that's so and I am supposed to pretend she never existed, wouldn't that bring my whole existence into question? If she is not supposed to exist, how did I come to be? I am telling you she is deeper than even she realizes.<br />
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So, this brings me to Medea's birthday. Now, <a href="http://nottypicalyetfun.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-mother-medea.html">this is not the first time I have a hard time deciding what to do for her birthday</a>. Her birthdays are always tricky. More often than not, we are either not talking or not completely happy with each other. Also, her birthday is only five weeks away from mine and that is never enough time to forget that she does nothing for my birthday, up to and including simply saying "happy birthday." Now, I know the <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Exodus%2020:12&version=KJV">Bible says to honor your parents</a> (hell, it's even one of the commandments and the first one with the promise of a long life) which she is too fond of reminding me. But, what am I as an atheist to do? I mean, I don't know how long I want my days to be since there is a history of stroke and Alzheimer's in my family and I also have no land that my parents' Lord God hath given me. Still, I always feel like I have to do something. She did give birth to me and all, which coincidentally is another fact that she enjoys reminding me of constantly. Fortunately, this time things seem to have fallen into place serendipitously. This morning she woke up to this:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNYt2aTF7beN2nZkMIotweogzNn_ZjkVWgVpvKkJE9eYF9Vcnav5axwy3fYjLnmY4ef1rK0Izs_K9U1xjyCVw-UYXJRbBXIvf_FqHvr-jW5haru-Up0ExP0BTHNSvqInL_ytL7RhQ/s1600/Medea's+B-Day+Photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFNYt2aTF7beN2nZkMIotweogzNn_ZjkVWgVpvKkJE9eYF9Vcnav5axwy3fYjLnmY4ef1rK0Izs_K9U1xjyCVw-UYXJRbBXIvf_FqHvr-jW5haru-Up0ExP0BTHNSvqInL_ytL7RhQ/s320/Medea's+B-Day+Photo.jpg" width="188" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Do not focus on the very Mexican apples tablecloth or the plastic cover as that is all Medea's doing and does not reflect my decorating style at all.</td></tr>
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Please forgive the picture quality but I was using the camera in my phone and I am a lousy picture taker, otherwise knows as photographer but I did not want to insult real photographers by inviting the comparison. What you see is a bad picture of some flowers in a vase and a card on top of a wireless keyboard and mouse. Except for the vase, which I borrowed from home, I bought all that for her birthday. As I said, it all just kind of happened and fell together of its own accord. I had decided a while back that my parents needed a wireless keyboard. They like watching their soaps online so they plug their laptop to their TV, but then they had to get up every time they needed to do a new search. I had looked it up online before and had found a cheap one, my parents cannot be trusted with expensive electronics, at Fry's. Well, I went out to dinner with BF yesterday at a very delicious Chinese restaurant. Seriously, it was very good. After dinner we had nothing to do so we decided to go to Fry's to get the keyboard, not thinking that today was Medea's birthday but because I wanted to get it for them before they went back to Mexico. On my way back from dropping BF at his place, I decided to stop by Target because they had Pepsi for sale and I usually stock up when soda goes on sale. When I walked in, I saw the flowers near the entrance and I thought that it would be nice for me to get Medea some flowers. I must point out that Medea is not a big fan of flowers, or chocolate, or jewelry. I figured that I could get the flowers since she did not like anything anyway. Then I made the mistake of deciding to get her a card. I had no idea that choosing a card would be such a herculean task. There was a section that was dedicated to birthday cards for mothers. I have never seen a stack of such sappy bullshit. It was downright disgusting. They all said stuff like "to the most wonderful person" or "you deserve the best" or "I love and cherish the time we spend together" and I knew I couldn't get those because it would not be fair to lie to Medea in writing on her birthday. Obviously, she is not the most wonderful person and she may not deserve the best. I can tell you that there is an untapped market of birthday cards for people that have tepid relationships with their mothers. I went over to the funny card section and there was one that I liked but figured it might be inappropriate. It featured a horsie piñata in a therapist's couch saying something along the lines of "and the worst part is that I kind of enjoy it when they hit me." The inside said something boring like "go out and have a punchingly good time on your birthday" or something like that. To be honest, the inside sucked. I liked the card though because of how much abuse Medea says she always takes from me. I wanted to write something inside along the lines of "thanks for always being there for me, even if it's just as a punching bag or piñata." See what I did there? This would turn the piñata in the cover into Medea and that is fitting because of two things. First, she is always saying that we just abuse her. But, secondly, and most importantly, Medea is way overdue for a visit with a therapist. I figured the card might give her some ideas and she may seek out professional counseling on her own. I decided that, as great as that idea was and the fact that it depicted her idea of our relationship perfectly, she may be offended by it. All this to say that I did not buy it. I ended up buying a generic card that just said something like "best wishes" or whatever on it. Yes, I was that thrilled about it.<br />
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I know that, so far, it doesn't seem like I had such a bad time at Target and that I misled you on the title. Fear not for I have yet to lie to you. Although the piñata card was enjoyable and made the card experience bearable, that was only about two minutes of the whole hour I probably spent at the card display area. All of that wasted time to get a crappy generic card whose only advantage was that it was cheaper than all the other ones and it did not make me want to puke while reading it. Yes, I may have issues. Moving on, I went back to the flowers after that. I know enough about Medea to know what her favorite flower is. I am not telling you though because it is the same as my favorite flower and I don't want to share that because I am not an open book. I may be an open window on a computer screen, but I am not an open book. Needless to say, but I will say it nevertheless, they did not have her favorite type of flower. They had tulips for six bucks, some flowers I did not know for fifteen bucks, and some roses for twenty. I naturally wanted to go for the tulips because; a)she does not like flowers, b)I did not want to spend so much, c)if I spent too much money and she found out she would berate me for not being careful with my money. I could not make up my mind so I decided to go looking for a vase to see if that would help me make a decision. I don't know if Target sells many vases or if there is a vase section. I only found one aisle with some less than stellar vases. I picked one that I thought would work and then headed back to the flowers. I still couldn't make up my mind but decided against the tulips because I did not want people to think I was cheap. I ended up picking up one of the fifteen dollar flowers and headed straight to the register before I could change my mind. By this time there was only one register open and there was a lady in front of me that had a full cart. She was not even done unloading her cart when I decided that the vase did not work anymore. I left the checkout line, there were already two people behind me and I hated losing my spot. I walked all the way back to the aisle with the vases and put it back. I looked around a bit more but could not find something that looked appropriate so I decided to just buy the flowers sans vase. I headed back to the register. By this time I had already been in the store for about ninety minutes. I was pushing a cart with a squeaky wheel, I had to have a cart for the soda which was the whole reason I went to Target in the first place, and with every step and every squeak of the wheel I hated myself a little more. The whole endeavor was torturous. I was afraid she would not like what I had. I hated being so indecisive. I hated that the cards were all tacky and disgusting. Mostly, I hated myself for taking so much time to do something which I kept pretending I didn't care for and which, even though it took me very long to put together, would look like a last minute afterthought.<br />
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While I was driving home, I decided to incorporate the keyboard and mouse as part of her present. I must say once I got home everything went a lot smoother. I found a vase I cut the flowers and poured most of the little packet of powder into the vase (some of it may have inadvertently ended up on my bed). I translated the card and signed it and I set everything on the table for her to find in the morning. Today, everything had been moved to make room for people to eat, I guess. I don't know if she will acknowledge it or what will happen. I still have to say "happy birthday" to her but, with luck, I will not have to give her a hug as the thought of it makes me cringe inwardly. Not a big cringe, mind you, but enough for me to be dreading the situation. We are not a very touchy-feely type of people. At least Medea is not and I learned from the best.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-56024715040911582052013-04-22T12:00:00.000-05:002013-04-22T12:00:09.639-05:00I Can't Figure Out Why I Am So Darn Likeable.I know that title seems a little bit conceited. Maybe likeable is not the right word. Something happened yesterday that made me think of how comfortable people tend to get around me. Especially Hispanic people. They tend to act very familiar too soon. I have a few examples just so you don't think I am rambling for no reason.<br />
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Unless you are Mexican, or of Hispanic descent, you probably are not familiar with Spanish grammatical rules. Let me give you a small lesson (I promise it will be quick and that it is relevant to this post). In English, to modify a noun you have to use an adjective. If you want to comment on the size of a tree, you add a descriptive word (adjective) before the noun and say that it is a <u>big</u> tree or a <u>small</u> tree. Now, in Spanish, you can also use adjectives (descriptive words (sorry to repeat myself so much but I don't want to lose anybody)) but you would add the adjective after the noun. Thus, you would say that a tree is an <i>arbol </i>(tree) <i>grande </i>(big) or an <i>arbol </i>(tree) <i>chico </i>(small). However, Spanish also has modifiers in the form of suffixes (endings added to a word to modify it) to indicate if something is big or small. There are suffixes in English as well (such as the ending -er to indicate a greater measure such as tall and taller (tall-er)) but that is a lesson for another time. The suffixes for size in Spanish are <i>-ito </i>for small, called a diminutive, and <i>-ote </i>for big, called an augmentative. Thus, <i>arbolito </i>(<i>arbol-ito</i>) means small tree and <i>arbolote </i>(<i>arbol-ote</i>) means big tree. Now that we are done with the grammar lesson part of this post, let's move onto the cultural semantics part of the lesson. If you were to use the diminutive in someone's name, it would be normal to think that you are belittling them of being condescending. However, that is not the case. If you know someone called Tomas and you call him Tomasito, it is usually accepted as a term of endearment. Now, keep in mind that you are still calling him little Tomas, but that it is not usually an insult.<br />
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I hope I did not confuse too many people with the last paragraph. The reason why I wrote it is just to explain that people, Hispanic people, have a tendency to call me Carlitos (the diminutive form of Carlos) a lot. I guess I could just have explained at this point that Carlitos literally means "little Carlos" but that it is used as an endearing term and is not meant to belittle. Now that I think about it, I didn't need that whole previous paragraph but I already wrote it and I guess you already read it so I will just leave it. After all, I did not spend, insert amount of time it took me to write that paragraph here, writing something for it to not be read. Although, in all likelihood and from my lack of readers, it may go unread anyway. At least it will be posted, though. That's what counts. However, I digress. Back to the main point of this very convoluted paragraph. People have a tendency to call me Carlitos. Now, I know they mean nothing by it and that it literally has nothing to do with size, but it kinda bothers me. I know I should be happy that people find me endearing enough and feel comfortable enough around me to call me Carlitos but I can't help but find it unnerving. There are a few reasons for that. One being that I am a big guy. I mean that in the sense that I am overweight, thus calling me the equivalent of Little Carlos seems like a cruel joke, but I am also, for a Mexican, tall. Thus, it is very weird to me to have people that are either younger, thinner, or shorter (and in some cases, all three) calling me Carlitos. Also, calling people by the diminutive of their names is usual... for children. For example, my cousin Beto was called Betito. Cesar was called Cesarito. It also works for women. Rosa was Rosita and Lupe was Lupita. I think that is enough examples because if you haven't got it by now, you really won't get it and I should give you props for even knowing how to read. I bring this up because, even though most everyone was called something with an <i>-ito </i>or <i>-ita</i> at the end of their name while young, the key words in that sentence are "while young." Most people outgrow the cute-ning of their names. Especially guys. And, although I would like to believe that the reason people still feel compelled and comfortable calling me Carlitos is because of my child-like wonder and youthful appearance, I don't know if that is the case. I had a hypothesis at one point that the name Carlos simply lent itself to being morphed into Carlitos. However, of the three cousins that I have that share that name with me (it's a very popular name and I have a lot of cousins so it's not that weird), I am the only one who is usually called Carlitos. I have thus come to conclude that people must like me and feel comfortable enough with me to put me through the ordeal of having to endure them calling me Carlitos, even if I ask them, repeatedly, not to.<br />
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You may think, like any rational human being, that the reason I wrote this post was that someone else had called me Carlitos and that I had finally snapped. (Oh my non-deity, I have now written the word Carlitos so much it has lost all meaning to me. Kind of like when you say the word banana (or any other word) too many times in your head and it loses its meaning.) However, that is not the case. If I were a good writer, this post would be organized in a more coherent manner and all superfluous material, i.e. the whole paragraph on Spanish grammar, would be cut out. Unluckily for you, I am not a good writer. The event that led to me writing this post was that someone called me <i>m'ijo</i> yesterday. There are two different statements in the last sentence that need to be delved into and I shall address each in its own paragraph.<br />
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First, what does <i>m'ijo</i> mean? Well, it is literally Spanish for "my son." It is a shortened form of the phrase "<i>mi hijo" </i>and, even though contractions are not a formal part of Spanish grammar, it is often vocalized in the vernacular even if not in written form. It is another term of endearment usually reserved for someone younger than you for whom you hold a deep appreciation. For example, I use <i>m'ijo</i> to address my nephews. They are not literally my sons, as they are my nephews, and it would be a deeply disturbing world where your nephews are also your sons. However, I love my nephews so I feel comfortable addressing them as such. It's not unusual. Most of my aunts and uncles, and believe me there are plenty of those, have at one point or another called me <i>m'ijo</i>. Even my boss at work calls me that which, although I have been made fun of for it, just shows me that she appreciates me.<br />
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Second, who called me <i>m'ijo</i> yesterday? Well, remember that I mentioned that my parents had left for Mexico and that I had moved into their place to keep up with payments and such? In order to help myself with that burden, I decided to get a roommate. I had it all planned and when my parents moved I had a friend lined up to move in within the week. However, that plan fell through as most plans often do. I was facing having to shoulder all the responsibility on my own when an old man from my parents' church found himself in need of a place to stay. Let's just say that it wasn't my ideal choice but I was desperate because I like having extra money for important stuff like liquor and such. As I mentioned, he is an older gentleman. Scratch that. He is an old man. Yeah, that sounds better. He goes to dialysis three times a week and is a very boring conversationalist. I had already told myself that he was going to be a roommate and nothing more. I try not to engage him in conversation as he is often prejudiced, chauvinistic, and tries to be religious (at which he fails miserably). He tells the same stories over and over and not in an engaging manner. It seems more like he is talking at you than to you. I often avoid talking to him by staying mostly in my room but if he hears me in the kitchen he will come out and start yammering on about something or other forcing me to turn off my Will & Grace DVD (which is what I prefer to watch as I wash dishes). Well, last night, as he was telling me how excited he was that he had found the keys he had somehow misplaced in the inside of his jeans (don't ask me how), he called me <i>m'ijo</i>.<br />
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I was shocked. I am hoping I hid it well. I mean he can't see that well to begin with (which he explained to me when he told me why he never drives at night). I don't want him to be so familiar with me. I had hoped that it was clear that we were not friends but roommates. I had already made the mistake of being roommates with a close friend once and that was a fiasco. I mean, I am as close to the Old Man (which shall be his nickname from now on) as I care to be. I have seen him unbutton his pants twice, and both times he did it specifically to show me something. The first time it was to show me how loose his pants were after dialysis. The second one was yesterday as he demonstrated how he had managed to misplace his keys inside his pants. Now, let's be clear on this, I have dated older men before but I have never dated someone that old. I mean, there is older, and then there is ancient. I have never been as terrified of a man unbuttoning his pants as I was those two times he did it. I feel that we are closer than we ever needed to be as it is and then he goes and calls me <i>m'ijo</i>. I am not his son and I really don't want him to become attached or feel that he is close to me in any way or form. I don't know how to dissuade him though and that is scary. What if he starts thinking we are friends? And if being roommates means he unbuttons his pants in front of me, what will friendship entail? The thought of it makes me shiver. No, really. I am shivering as I write this. I also get scared because I start thinking that I might end up like that and that really terrifies me. Luckily, I really hope euthanasia becomes legal by the time I am that age. I hope that is not a horrible thing to say. I don't care enough about it being horrible to not say it though.<br />
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I guess I really should not post this but I already wrote it and I will feel like I wasted my time if I don't. I really don't know why people think I am approachable or that I enjoy being treated in a familiar manner. It may have something to do with the fact that I do not share what I really think all the time. I bet if people really knew the way my brain works, they would not be as willing to familiarize my name. That will never happen though. I am a hypocrite at heart and rarely do I tell people my true misanthropic thoughts as I feel that would alienate them in a bad way. I guess being liked will be the cross I will have to bear. And it is a heavy cross, my friends. Believe me, it is a very heavy cross.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-30235258581230219132013-04-16T14:35:00.000-05:002013-04-16T14:35:30.422-05:00Thus We Come to a New Milestone... My First Retraction!Lo and behold! We finally have proof that I am not perfect. It has been less than 24 hours since my last post went online and I already have a situation in my hands. This will be a short post, I hope, and it may not be that entertaining. You see, I was very worried I would upset BF because it was my first time posting about him. I even went as far as emailing him the paragraph that talked about him for his approval. Yes, I know that letting other people influence what I write is not necessarily good as it gives you a less honest picture of how my deranged mind works, but it has never been my intention to hurt anyone that I care for. Fortunately, BF had no issues with the paragraph so, feeling relieved, I went ahead and published the post without any altered content.<br />
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Of course, though BF was not offended by the post, someone else was. In my defense, I did not realize I was being careless and I really did not mean to hurt anyone. However, I was careless and I did hurt someone. One of my friends was less than flattered by the paragraph detailing how friend-less I was. I must explain that my definition of "friend" is very narrow. So narrow, in fact, that very few people make it through and earn that title. It has become apparent, though, that I may need to broaden that definition. I must take the sledgehammer of open-mindedness and tear down the walls of my definition of "friend" in order to make it wide enough to accommodate those that are important to me. Hopefully, this will keep me from hurting people that I care about in the future.<br />
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Look, I am really not good at apologizing, or at doing so sincerely and sounding sincere, but I feel like I need to apologize since, if I lose one reader because of this, it's like losing half my readership. All joking aside, I did not mean to hurt anyone. I have perfected the art of acting aloof and detached as a way to protect myself from others but I had never considered that these defenses could hurt someone else. Anyhow, I will be lowering my shields and being more welcoming to those that share a special place in my heart and who are willing to allow me entry past their own defenses.<br />
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All this is just to say that I know this doesn't in any way make up for being such a thoughtless bastard and I know it won't mend everything right away... but I hope it is a start.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-49152362955242393482013-04-15T12:00:00.000-05:002013-04-15T13:05:11.064-05:00We Are Almost Caught Up... Just Bear With Me.I am having a hard time starting this post because I am unsure about what to write. I lead such a lackluster life that there are few things to write about. A typical day for me entails getting up, going to work, going to lunch, going back to work, going home, watching TV and going to sleep. It's a pretty routine life. Every now and then I will switch it up a bit. For example, last night I watched four episodes of Gilmore Girls (I own all 7 seasons on DVD) but I also read a few short stories and listened to some music. Every now and then I will go to the movies but that is it. I rarely deviate from that format. I mean, if it ain't broke... right? Except that all this non-broken-ness leads to a life with few complications and it is such complications that are compelling to write and read about. I have no complications. Unlike Jay-Z, I don't have ninety-nine problems. I wish I had ninety-nine problems. It would spare me having to write a paragraph like the one you just read. I mean, this is no way to gain an audience. I need to provide an escape to your mundane lives (I'm assuming, of course) by providing a window into my exuberant and glamorous life, which I don't have. However, there is no point crying over my life, or lack thereof, so I should move on with this post.<br />
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In the last two posts, I have caught you up with what is going on with me and my family. The only thing left to discuss would be my social life. I now need to catch you up with all the goings-on of all my friends and my dating life. This should be a short post.<br />
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On the friend front, I am happy to report that I have fewer friends than when I started this blog (I'm being sarcastic, of course. Please try to stay with me as I won't always type an explanation). I am a very gregarious person so I talk a lot to a lot of people but I am lacking the connection one usually has with friends. I usually keep my friend list short in order to be able to provide each one with a personalized experience and be able to have more one on one time. I have never had more than 3 or 4 real friends at a time. Let me clarify here that when I mean friends, I mean people with which I will share anything and everything. I am sure that I know some people that will be offended that I don't regard them as friends but, in my opinion, if I only see you at work and hardly ever outside of it, we are more friendly than we are true friends. Then again, I am probably just being really picky like Kristen Wiig's character in Bridesmaids (which, if you haven't watched it, you need to watch it. Maybe not right now. Maybe you should finish reading my blog first and then watch it. Yes, watch it right after you finish reading the blog. You can thank me later.) when she is complaining to Melissa McCarthy's character that she has no friends and Melissa tells her that she does have friends but refuses to acknowledge and reach out to them. I really hope that made sense. The point is, I don't think I have any really close friends right now as I have had in the past. I was at one point going to read the book "How to Lose Friends & Alienate People" (which was made into a movie in 2008 according to IMDB) but decided not to as I really don't need help in that department. You maybe asking yourself how I have managed to alienate people being the charming and charismatic young man that I am. I would like to blame everything on stupid drunken nights of debauchery that are so shaming my mind has repressed all memory of them, so I will. It is not my fault at all as I am a charming and charismatic young man. Therefore, stupid drunken nights of debauchery are to blame for all of it. Yes. That sounds right. At least it makes me feel better. Then again, I have not alienated all of my previous friends. Some of them just up and moved out of state and I am fairly certain, about 95%, that it wasn't because of me.<br />
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It isn't all bad though. I still talk to my friends that moved to Portland, sporadically but it still counts. We have also had two Skype movie nights. A Skype movie night is when we choose a movie on Netflix and then get on Skype and try to watch it at the same time. So far we have watched Zombies vs Strippers and the 1969 Batman movie. We have a thing for B-movies as they tend to be hilarious. Moving on, I still have my Houston friend whom I have never met but often provides me with excellent advice and from whom I borrowed the ingenious nicknames for my nephews. I also have co-workers like Dottie, Heidi and Preggo with whom I share a bond deeper than just the co-worker bond. In fact, if we could only hang out more outside of work, they could probably be upgraded to friends. Unfortunately, they have families and thus busy schedules which leaves them with little free time. So, I am not as lonely as I made it sound in the previous paragraph. In fact, the only reason I often find myself drinking alone, is because I can't resist the call of a bubble bath while enjoying a few drinks and watching The Colbert Report. And, while drinking in the bath is extremely fun, it does give the phrase "drowning your sorrows" a different connotation.<br />
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On to the dating front. I am afraid that I don't have many stories to tell. I have mentioned some of my dating experiences in the past and they tend to not be that great. One could easily assume that I am either very picky or very unlucky when it comes to the dating world. Well, I guess luck has to run out some time, even if it is bad luck, because I actually have a boyfriend at the moment! What?!?! Me having a boyfriend?!?! It is so unlike me, I know. But, what can I say? I met someone who is a sucker for punishment and therefore enjoys spending time with me. BF, as he will henceforth be known as, even thinks I am good-looking and I believe him because he is a crappy liar. He is older than me by a few years and has his life way more together than me. In a twist worthy of Shyamalan's early work, The Sixth Sense or Unbreakable and not The Lady in the Water or The Happening, he is a political conservative whereas I have a heart. Fortunately, he does think I am smarter than him and that makes up for the political differences because at least we agree on something. He has told me, more than once, that he used to think he was smart until he met me. I don't need to tell you how much I love that. Especially if you know me at all and know how much of a megalomaniac I am. We met around New Year's and have been dating for about two and a half months. To be honest, I am a bit wary of the relationship because we haven't had a huge fight yet. We have had small disagreements and he stood me up, sort of, one time but, other than that, it's been pretty smooth sailing and I am not used to that. I am used to turbulence. I am used to Life of Pi style storms that capsize cruisers and leave small boys to cohabit with tigers in a lifeboat. Although I was not the biggest fan of that movie, I hope you have seen it or that reference holds no water. I don't know how much more I can say as I don't recall what his response was when I told him I may write about him. Also, I don't want to jinx anything so I should really not mention anything more though I am pretty sure he will come up in the future.<br />
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I guess that brings us up to date on the major stuff. I will have to really start thinking about what to write next. I am going to have to start doing things and that sounds exciting. I am also sure I can reach into my past for some interesting stories to tide me over now and then. I may also re-start my "Reasons Why I Am Going to Hell" but, either I have gotten nicer or I am more numb to what I say, because I don't come across those as often as I used to. I also owe you a recent picture of me but I have not gotten my haircut yet so you will have to wait. 'Til next time.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-27837150703198009732013-04-08T11:29:00.001-05:002013-08-10T20:24:48.395-05:00And Then There Was The Family.Welcome back. In keeping with my new-found desire to keep up with this blog and updating you all with what has been going on in my life in the last three years, I will now write about my family. Of course, no family post would be complete without Medea and, fortunately, she never disappoints. I will leave her many exploits til later in the post. First, I shall introduce my family.<br />
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Let's start with Dad. He's my dad. I think that's all that needs to be said about him. He does not create much drama as he is very easygoing and blends into the background of stories very easily. I will say this about him, though; he is one of the happiest people I know as I have never seen him stress about unimportant things. Unfortunately, my and my sister inherited my mom's personality so, except for him, we are all ticking time bombs waiting to go off.<br />
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This brings me to Sister. What can I say about my sister? She is 4 years older than me and has had three kids while I have yet to have any. To the casual observer, it may seem like she is trying to make me look bad. The joke is on her though because I don't like kids and don't plan on having any. She could have outdone me by just having one instead of tripling that burden for no sane reason. Yes, she says that she wanted three kids, but she is not fooling me. No, sir. I am no fool and will not be a victim to her lies about wanting children for reasons unrelated to me. Like I would believe that. She is obviously a crappy liar. As for my relationship with my sister, there is not much to say. We are civil to each other and we care about each other, but, we are not the closest siblings in the history of sibling-hood. We have different tastes in everything (mine are good and hers are tacky, fyi) and different viewpoints. I am convinced she may be a political conservative which makes no sense to me as a self-proclaimed liberal. I think the biggest reason why we are not close is the fact that I am gay. I don't fully understand her views on it. I know she is influenced by the hyper-religious upbringing we both had (mine more hyper than hers as she was not a huge church fan, btw). I also know that she does have gay friends and even had a gay roommate when she first moved out of the house. That being said, on one particular night when we were discussing Medea and during which I felt that we were bonding, I happened to mention that I was gay. I don't think I got the greatest reaction from her. I mean, she cried (as in sobbing not just a few tears) so we cut our chat short and I left. The next morning she did not mention it and has not mentioned it since. I feel fairly safe to assume that's not the greatest reaction though I do think it was not the worst by far. There was no calling my parents plus denial is a pretty sweet, if hurtful, package.<br />
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Moving on to Brother-in-law, or Bil as he shall henceforth be known. I debated on whether or not to give Bil his own paragraph. I didn't think he was important enough and the only reason he got his own paragraph is because my sister's paragraph was way too long already. Yes, I am glad he is alive and well since then I don't have to worry about Sister and her progeny being cared for. That's about it though. We don't see eye to eye on much. I was not really aware there were levels of how Mexican you can be, and then I met him. He is way, WAY, more Mexican than me. Think of a Mexican stereotype and he either fulfills it or has family that does. Is he Catholic? Yes. Does he like soccer? Yes. Has he ever gotten a buzz cut with designs on it? No, but his brother did once and I was not allowed to laugh, point, or make otherwise derisive comments. Has he ever worn those pointy boots that are, in my mind, the equivalent of a Mexican vasectomy? Once again, no. But his brother has. Did he have his last name or his hometown tinted in the back window of
his vehicle? He wanted to but thankfully my sister was able to knock
some sense into him. Does he eat rat stew? Yes. Now I know that last one is not a Mexican stereotype but I thought it was worth mentioning because it is disgusting. Granted, they are mountain rats and not sewer rats that he is eating so they are supposed to be healthier. That didn't change the fact that when I lifted that pot lid there were rat whiskers, teeth and eyes staring back at me. I think Bil's definitive story would be the one time I was riding in their Tahoe about eight or nine years ago. We were driving back to Denton from Dallas and it was close to X-mas. As we were driving going north on I-35E, an SUV with X-mas lights along its interior passed us. I was amused, in a condescending sort of way, until I looked over at Bil's face and my amusement quickly changed to terror. His face was lit-up like a child on X-mas morning who just opened one of his presents to find the one thing he had longed for the most. The child who found the one present he had made sure was in his letter to Santa and for which he had behaved and avoided having any fun in the slim chance that he might get it. Bil's smile was so intense even the Joker would have asked him to tone it down a bit. He turned to Sister and made a statement which my mind has luckily blocked out but which amounted to him wanting to place X-mas lights on his vehicle. Fortunately, Sister was not as enthusiastic about his idea as he was so it was never carried to fruition. Nevertheless, take it or leave it but that story encapsulates everything that is Bil.<br />
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Moving on to my nephews. I have two. For the sake of simplicity, I will call the older nephew Older and the younger nephew will be known as Younger. ( I must give credit where credit is due and I have to thank my Houston friend for such a clear method of pseudonym assignment.) I hope none of you are lost so far.<br />
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Older is about to finish elementary school and move to middle school. I must say that I am very protective of him. I feel a strong bond with him as I have lived with him and his parents during various periods of my life. I have always loved cartoons and I remember having a routine when I used to live with him around 2005. I would get home from work at the same time everyday and he would come into my room and we would watch The Fairly Oddparents and take a nap afterward. I feel it necessary to explain that my disdain for children does not extend to my nephews at all. Although, I am always very glad that I can send them home to their parents when I am done with them. I think the phrase to keep in mind here is, small doses.<br />
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Younger is either six or seven years old, depending on when I post this. He is a very interesting character that I often find myself at odds with. He has a very strong will and a very independent streak which are good qualities but can sometimes lead to trouble. On top of that, he is very spoiled. I don't do well with spoiled children. I guess it's because I myself am spoiled and I don't like the competition. He is just more of a handful than Older ever was. I have to say I am not proud of this, even though I secretly really am, in order to come across as more politically correct, but I used to have Older trained to look up and/or come to me when I snapped my fingers. Stop judging me. I know that sounds horrible but it was very practical. Hear me out. If we were ever in a crowded and loud play area, as we often were, he would not hear us calling his name. However, he would hear the snapping of my fingers and come to us which turned yelling into an unnecessary task. I am only telling you this as an example of something that Younger would never go for.<br />
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Although she is the youngest, I think I will just call my niece Emily. That is, of course, not her real name. I don't feel free to divulge that kind of information without parental permission and I don't feel comfortable getting parental permission because then I would have to inform them that I have a blog and they may not like what I write in it. Back to my niece, Emily was the name that my nephews had picked for their sister while she was just an ethereal idea a couple of years ago. It was actually Younger's idea to call her Emily. He wanted her to be called Emily Elizabeth after the girl in the Clifford books. What I love about calling her Emily is that now everyone gets mad at me for calling her that and keep reminding me of her real name as if I had simply gotten confused or forgotten it. They don't know that it is their frustration that fuels my desire to call her Emily. Anyway, Emily is the newest addition to my sister's family. She is not even two months old yet. Her arrival has sure been bittersweet though. On the plus side, Medea can finally stop bugging me about having a granddaughter. She kept telling me how she wanted a granddaughter so that she could dress her up in a nice red dress. Don't ask me why the dress had to be red. Medea is the one responsible for that lunacy. On the negative side though, Emily now has the first birthday of the year. I used to have the first birthday of the year, being a March baby and all, but she had to be born in February and ruin it. On top of that, she doesn't really do anything. She just lays there. She really is kind of boring and I can't wait for her to get a personality because so far I don't think I like her. I am not a big baby person. I like kids more than I like babies and I really don't like kids so you should have an idea how I feel about babies. I have never had to and will, hopefully, never have to change a diaper in my life. I know what I like and I am pretty sure diaper changing is on the list of things I do not enjoy. That being said, I have already told Sister that, just as I did with Older and Younger, I will not babysit Emily until she is potty trained. And that's final.<br />
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The last member of what I consider my family would be my mother, or as I affectionately have dubbed her, Medea. I had meant to gloss over the other family members so I could focus on Medea's antics but, alas, brevity has never been my forte. Since this post already seems to be too long and, even if it is not, it has taken me most of the morning to write, I will probably just gloss over her antics and reserve the right to expand on them later. In a nutshell in the past two years I moved out of my parents' house after a specifically terrible fight. After six months, I moved back in with them so I could look after their house since five months later they moved to Mexico. A month after me and a very pregnant Sister (along with her family) visited them in Mexico. During the stay, Medea became very mad at me for talking to one of my aunts she had had an argument with and stopped talking to me. Two months after they came back for the birth of their granddaughter (remember Emily?) but she still refused to talk to me which came as a shock to nobody that ever knew her. Currently, they are staying at their house which coincidentally is where I am staying. They should be here for about another month but their stay is never free of drama. Unfortunately, this drama doesn't lend itself to crafty writing in order to be made bearable so them being here has only been more of an inconvenience and has provided less to write about than usual. I mean, it's not every year <a href="http://nottypicalyetfun.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-mother-medea.html">they leave me stranded in Odessa</a>. However, it is worthy of note that Medea has "divorced me" as she keeps repeating to me whenever she is talking to me. I am not necessarily sure what that entails but I shall keep you notified as the disenfranchisement develops.<br />
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I think I will stop this post for now. After all, I don't want to sound too bitter. I think I came off as bitter enough. Anyway, isn't life funny? I just realized that the person who I did not even want to write a paragraph about is the one that ended up with the longest paragraph. I was not aware that he could provide so much fodder although it seems obvious in retrospect since the whole family makes fun of him constantly. I guess you live and you learn.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-30133485613688844332013-04-01T12:00:00.000-05:002013-04-03T14:49:06.987-05:00Here we go again.<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
Hello. My name is Carlos and I am the neglectful owner of this here blog. I feel like I need to re-introduce myself since it has been almost two years since my last post. I had to re-read all of my previous posts to give myself a clue as to what I was writing about and I noticed a trend in which I usually started by apologizing for not posting enough. I will not apologize this time. I will try to start over with a clean slate and hope that I have a better track record this time around. I will not make any promises as I did not keep my previous promises but I will try harder this time. A lot of things have changed in the last two years so I will try to bring you up to date.<br />
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I started this blog close to three years ago. A lot can happen in three years. A lot can change in three years. Actually, a lot has happened and changed in<span style="font-size: small;"> the past thre</span>e years. When I was reading my previous posts, I noticed a picture of me I had posted. It looked exactly like this:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459460008046672658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyCUc0YxZCU845EdnFDcCFIhxpTXotEKajvx29wF4iEr-HvApFTkVEdyLwclUFHb44cQfrSmT_VyzdGo3Ur-5HL4XLjNvc8wK5N_wMOpMhAf5ZkLlWC3olcVNXgWX2JOlpY3BNhPdB/s320/Me+2.jpg" style="height: 320px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 0px; width: 240px;" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just look at how young and naive I looked.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I had thought to post a picture of how I look now so that you could compare and contrast. However, I decided against it because that would just be depressing and that is not how I want this post to go. I can give you a brief overview instead. I still have hair. It's still mostly black. It needs a haircut. There I think I covered everything pretty well. Okay, I guess I can add that I grew a goatee. People tell me I look older with a goatee. Despite that, I don't think I will shave it any time soon. I have also, maybe, put on some more weight. I am not gonna admit to it even if the fact that my clothes don't fit as well anymore makes it obvious. I do still try to work out every now and then. That gym membership I mentioned back in 2010, I paid for it for two years. I just never actually went to the gym and apparently just paying a monthly gym fee is not enough to get you in shape. I have, however, acquired an Xbox 360 with the Kinect and I try to play on it every now and then and count it as exercise. I mean, it should totally count because I run out of breath every time I use it. The fact that it is fun is just a nice plus. On a different note, I think I have gotten shorter but there is no way to prove that so I am not saying more on the issue. I guess the overall idea is that I have gotten older. I tried not to but I was unsuccessful. Maybe soon I will work up the nerve to take a new picture.It will definitely be after I get a haircut. I can tell you that much.<br />
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On the job front, I still work at the same place so there is not much to tell there. Granted, I don't have my second floor office anymore and I am stuck at the front desk again but they had to do some cuts and I am thankful that I still have a way to pay my bills. On the bright side, I still work with Heidi and Dottie and Preggo and the Co-Worker so at least work is not boring most of the time. There are times when it is mind-numbingly dull, but it's usually fine.<br />
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On the religious front, I have now accepted that I am an atheist. I don't know if this is good or bad, it just is. Unfortunately, it is very hard for people to accept my atheism. Especially because I still use phrases like "Thank god" and "God, no!!!" People need to realize that those are just expressions and not a statement of belief. I also still have all that Bible knowledge stuck in my head so I find myself at times quoting scripture or even trying to explain to Christians why they believe in what they believe. I would say that I am not a very good atheist. I don't feel I am being graded on it though so I don't stress too much about it.<br />
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When I was re-reading my previous posts, I made a list of things to talk about. I still have a few left that I haven't discussed like family and dating. I figure I will wait on those as I don't want to overwhelm you, or me, on this second first post. I am pretty sure the family topic itself can take up a full post so I will probably write about that next. Also, my hands are out of shape because I haven't had to type a lot lately so I need to end this post before they succumb to fatigue and I have to resort to pecking the keys with one finger to finish it.<br />
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I know the writing in this post is a little awkward so I acknowledge I am a little rusty. I will get better. I have to get better because this is pretty sad. Writing in this blog again is like running into an old friend you haven't seen in years. You are glad to see them and you know how things were between you at one point, but that just makes this new encounter awkward as you re-discover how to approach and communicate with each other again. Bear with me for a few posts and I bet you won't regret it... much. You won't regret it much.</div>
Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2347842339362331949.post-56309962013527789122011-04-12T11:09:00.000-05:002011-04-12T11:09:33.310-05:00Hey, You Can't Blame Me for Trying...As usual, I shall start this post by commenting on how long it has been since my last post. It has been over two months now. In that time I have turned twenty-seven and gone through yet another mid-life crisis, I think. I would excuse my lack in post writing to the fact that turning twenty-seven was not easy, birthdays never are, but I know that would be a lie. In fact, I have had plenty of things to write about. I have read two books so far. I know that two books is not enough but they are going to be part of my thousand book project. I shall write about them soon, hopefully. I am going to keep the apologizing for not writing section of this post short as I know that it is getting a little old.<br />
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Well, something happened yesterday that made me want to write. Unfortunately I cannot get into the story without giving you some background first.<br />
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About two months ago, my parents decided to look into my finances and were appalled at the amount of money I owed to credit cards. Yes, I know that using credit cards is stupid. I also know, however, that it is fun to do whatever you want to do whenever you want to regardless of whether you can afford it at the moment. This is also true because I am horrible at saving and, if I had to save to do anything I wanted, I would never do anything. Anyway, despite the fact that I was twenty-six, this was obviously before my birthday, they decided to take a more hands on approach. First thing they did was bail me out. Yeah, that was pretty cool. They paid off my credit cards. However, this was not a present. It was a loan. A loan that I am having to pay back with most of my disposable income every paycheck. Yes, you guessed it right. I was put on a budget. The way it literally works is that I get to work and, when I get my paycheck, I get to pay whatever bills need paying and then give most of the rest of the money to my parents as repayment of their loan. Technically, it's like I get an allowance all over again. Well... that is how it's technically supposed to work but lately I have been straying from the master plan. Take this weekend for example. I probably spent about one hundred and twenty dollars while bar hopping and such. I am a sucker for buying rounds of drinks for everyone. It's not that I have to pay people to like me, but I bet it doesn't hurt. I swear I am a bit more likable when they are drunk. However, that is beside the point. The point is that I made a resolution on Sunday night, right before I went to bed, to leave my debit card at home so I would not be tempted to go to lunch with my co-workers.<br />
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On Monday morning, I woke up and got ready for work. I grabbed my typical breakfast, which consists of one banana since I am not much of a breakfast guy. I got to work and everything seemed to be going smoothly. I was answering my phone, entering stuff into the computer, singing along to whatever music my iPod would play and joking around with my co-workers. It was a good Monday morning. I even went so far as to hide Dottie's mouse and have her cuss me out and tell me to get the hell out of her office. I learned the hard way not to hide someone's mouse and to definitely not take the battery out of said someone's mouse. They really don't like it. When it came time to lunch, it was painstakingly decided that we should all go to a certain chicken sandwich restaurant that has a cow for a mascot. I guess most of y'all know what restaurant I am talking about but I am paranoid about seeing little copyright circles next to name and I really can't afford to waste my allowance on a copyright infringement lawsuit. We drove to the agreed upon eatery and I walked up to the register and ordered my usual whole lot of food. Up to this point everything is going fine but, when I took my wallet out to pay, a wave of fear surged through my body. My first instinct was to think that I had been robbed or that I had lost my debit card. A second later I remembered, though, that I had purposefully, and sleepily, set it in a drawer the night as a deterrent to spending money on lunch. A second wave rushed through me but it wasn't fear this time. It was pure embarrassment. I believe I must have blushed because my face felt all hot. Now, you have seen pictures of me and thankfully I am not pale-complexioned but I do blush in some instances. I very quietly and with a sheepish smile asked the cashier to please cancel my order while I slowly backed away from the register. My mind was going a mile a minute. How could I get home if I had ridden there with some co-workers? Did I have any money stashed somewhere? Yes, I did. Oh, no! It's in my car and I rode here with someone. Is there any way to make this situation not awkward? These and many other things ran through my mind but the prevalent question was, how could I be so stupid as to forget I had left my card at home just so I would not spend money on lunch? As I was kicking myself mentally, while still trying to maintain some level of composure, Heidi comes up and asks me what's wrong. I gave a short laugh and told her what had happened. Now, if this would have happened to someone else, I would not have let them hear the end of it. Luckily, most people are not me. She simply offered to pay for my lunch. As we were eating, every now and then I would giggle and upon being asked why I was giggling I would simply explain that I could not believe that I had done something so stupid. Yes, my co-workers were not making fun of me. I was. And, I am probably not going to let me live this one down for a while.<br />
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It was while still at the restaurant that I decided that I should post this on the blog for posterity. So one day, when I am full of myself, I can look back upon this and realize that I make stupid mistakes as well. Now this is the part of the post where I would make promises about how I am going to write more often and all that. However, I have realized that I can't force myself to write. I hope to still have some readers and, if I do, that they will continue to read regardless of how hectic my posting may be. I realized last night that I have been doing this for a year now. Not religiously, but it has been a year. So I guess that is some sort of milestone. Anyway, hope to type again soon.Not Typical, Yet Funhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15998904823602060541noreply@blogger.com0