Bobbing For Strings Of Popcorn?

‘Tis the season to be insanely busy.  Cards to write, shopping to do, presents to wrap, trees to trim, decorations to hang, cookies to bake, eggs to nog…so what better time to relaunch the blog?!  Hey, no worries, I’m done with the cards and I hate eggnog – so that frees up a couple minutes for me.  Plus, I’ve missed you guys…okay, so I don’t know who you guys are exactly, but I’m guessing you’re the kind of people I would miss and that you are wonderful additions to your community and you smell like warm bread and wishes.

I’m trying to work my blog writing into a part of my normal routine but it’s so tough!  And, yes, that was meant to sound as whiney as it looks.  But I seem to do better when I set some sort of finish line for myself.  And this time, I’m aiming for Christmas – which would make Bobbing for Popcorn your own little Advent calendar of mirth!  Instead of opening a door and getting chocolate, you click a link and read some words…okay so that doesn’t sound nearly as rewarding.  Okay, tell you what.  Keep your computer, tablet, or phone in a cupboard with a bag of candy – THEN every day you can open a door, get a chocolate, AND read words!  For my benefit, better make it those little liquor bottle chocolates because most people don’t find me that funny unless they’ve been drinking.  Actually, forget the chocolate, just keep the device you read this on next to a bottle of hard liquor.  Open door, take a shot (repeat as needed), and read.

No matter how you plan on taking this yuletide journey with me, it starts now.  December 1 begins our countdown to Christmas.  First door, first chocolate (shot), first entry.

Unfortunately, I’m going to have to cut this first entry short – family holiday goodness awaits in the form of the annual Holiday Parade…take a guess what tomorrow’s entry is going to be about…

“But no matter.  Christmas was on its way!  Lovely, glorious, beautiful Christmas, on which the entire kid year revolved.” ~ A Christmas Story

Thank You…

Today, one of my bestest friends in the world visited me at work and brought me a “cortadito” – a cup of sweetened Cuban espresso – which is heaven in a cup.  He is also an avid reader of Bobbing for Popcorn as well as a frequent collaborator in my escapades and has been mentioned many a time throughout my posts.  When it came time to start writing this blog again, I asked him to help me refresh my list of topics I should write about and one of his suggestions was to write thank you notes for things that I appreciate.  Things that make a difference in my life.  And today was a rough day – in fact, it’s been a very rough week – and in he walks at the right moment with a friendly smile and one of my favorite beverages to brighten my day.  So it just seems fitting that I dedicate my first “Thursday Thanks” to…

Coffee.

What?  You thought I was going to be thankful for my friend?  Oh hell no.  Today royally sucked – if he showed up without the coffee, there’s a good chance I would have shanked him with a dry erase marker!

It was that frothy, steaming, cup of caffeinated heaven that saved lives today.

So thank you, coffee.  Thank you for your percolating melody.  For your full aroma that hugs me inside my nostrils.  For your bold flavor that distracts me from all the horrible things the voices in my head would like to see me do as I find myself up before the sun.  Thank you for being so useful – warming my hands, warming my insides, warming my forehead when I put my mug against my brow when I need to feel relaxed.  Thank you for not being judgy like many of my friends are when I rub my brow on them when I need to feel relaxed.  Thank you for not being judgy about my repeated use of the word “brow.”

Thank you for giving me something to keep my mouth busy when people around me do and say things that just beg for me to say things that will come back to bite me.  Thank you for giving me something in common with so many people that I would most likely end up insulting with my lack of enthusiasm toward anything else they enjoy (“Hey, did you see the Kardashians’ butt waxer on Dancing with the Stars?”  “Nope.  Hey, isn’t this good coffee?  Let’s talk about that until I can figure out a way to leave.” ). And thank you for giving the presence of mind to not attack the people who say they don’t like you – I don’t trust these people, and I’m pretty sure they’ve come from a distant galaxy to snatch our bodies – but since I have indulged in your liquid wisdom I am able to fake an indifferent “huh” instead of straddling their chest and squishing their faces between my hands and whining, “Why do you say such hurtful things?!!”

Thank you for being so readily available (seriously, have you ever gone anywhere to eat that didn’t have it?) and affordable…unless you go to Starbucks (damn you, you weird green aquatic lady with your overpriced beverages and strange alternative menu language).  Thank you for coming in a variety of sizes, strengths, and flavors and for being so quick to help me build a tolerance that I can enjoy multiple versions of you in the same day and still allow my liver to process your caffeine in enough time to crash on the couch at 8:00 pm like an 80-year-old man who just finished a fish fry and a Matlock marathon.  Not that I have a problem with thinking about my golden years, because seniors get free coffee at some places…but for some reason you need to drink it there at like 5 a.m. and talk about things like which of our joints retain the most fluid and what’s the best hard candy to keep in our pockets…I’m guessing mine will be coffee flavored.

“Way too much coffee.  But if it weren’t for the coffee, I’d have no identifiable personality whatsoever.” ~ David Letterman

And We’re Back!

“Don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been here for years!”

Okay, well months at least.  I know, I know, I said I’d keep in touch and I really meant that but things got seriously crazy since my last post!  SO MUCH happened that I’ve been wanting to tell you about and I’ve been meaning to drop you a line a million times…

It’s not you, it’s me?

Anyway, I’m diving back in for another season of Lenten (Lental?  Lentil?) goodness of daily humor (or, at least I’ll try to be humorous, can’t promise you’ll laugh – you might be in “a mood” or something – lighten up, okay?) and I’m bringing back the fan favorite “Top 10 Tuesday” and I’ll be trying out some other new gimmicks as well just to keep things fresh.  PLUS, I really do have a ton of stuff that has happened: performed at a national comedy festival with Lewis Black, Trevor Noah, and Brian Reagan (kind of), literally demolished my house (partially), wrote a book (almost), got drunk for the first time in my life (somewhat), got into a fight (more or less), and gutted Santa Claus (in a sense).

Then of course there are some things I forgot to talk about last time until my friends and family reminded me of other “occurrences” that we’ve lived through: almost getting killed by my father’s tree, almost wrecking my father’s car with a tree, trying to take down a tree without my father…okay, so there is a lot of arboreal history between my father and I but some of these older stories WILL NOT have anything to do with trees or my father.

So before I go on and on about what I’m planning on going on and on about, I’ll just cut this short and tell you to come back tomorrow and get ready for another healthy helping of popcorn you can bob for.

“Do what you love; you’ll be better at it.” ~ LL Cool J

A Bum Knee is Better Than a Kneed Bum

I am hurting today!  I had a really awesome karate class yesterday with hip tosses and flipping your opponent.  SO COOL!  But, today I am paying the price.  My knees are killing me!  Of course, I have earned every bit of this knee pain over the years through gross amounts of stupidity.

It all started back in high school; back when I started having a life outside of my normal activities with my family.  Before I left the house my father’s famous advice for me was, “Don’t get stupid.”  Most nights I would come back in time for curfew and I could walk by my father with my head held high, confident that I had a stupidity-free night.  Other nights, though, I went and got stupid.

One night in particular I got stupid enough to experience a whole new world of pain.  It was at a dance and, incidentally, a first date (boy, would I impress her).  First of all, I cannot dance.  Furthermore, I do not like to dance.  Not my thing.  I mean, I can slow dance decently, but anything upbeat that takes any sort of rhythm – no thanks.  But, this was a high school dance in the 90’s and we had a DJ who had a thing for the Spice Girls and the Macarena and Cotton Eyed Joe and the dances were pretty upbeat most of the time.  Yippee.  Now, just like any high school kid, I had a circle of friends and this circle of friends brought the dumb out of each other.  One of the less-than-wise things we frequently did was to jump up into each other’s arms (like a groom carrying his bride across the threshold).  I don’t know why!  It seemed pretty harmless at the time, but I soon learned that this was an example of what my father warned me about.  My friend jumped and I caught him, then something went wrong.  Allow me to illustrate with letters: my left leg should have been like an “I” when I caught him, but for some reason it was pointed out like a “/” and when both of our full weights landed on it, it made my knee look like “>” and I said, “*&$#!”  I knew right away that my knee was dislocated.

It popped back in before the doctors at the hospital could see it.  So they braced me up, gave me some ibuprofen, patted me on the head, and sent me home (okay, so there were no head pats, but wouldn’t it be nice if that was part of the treatment?) to rest my leg for a while.  The real bummer was, from time to time, that knee would randomly pop out of place and I would be braced up again.  It was still giving me problems in college – it popped out once and I had to drive myself to the medical center (it was a real hoot trying to drive a stick shift with one leg that wasn’t entirely attached the way it should have been) where the campus doctor/nurse/shaman squeezed it (ouch), told me it was dislocated, gave me Tylenol, patted me on the head, and sent me back to my dorm.

Over the years, I learned how to put it back in place myself – yeah, I know, I know, another example of “getting stupid.”  But, in my defense, the first stupid is what wrecked my knee, the second stupid fixed it.  Therefore, two stupids make a smart.  It wasn’t a frequent problem though; it slipped a bit occasionally, but nothing too concerning.

And then came my wedding day…

As stated above, I don’t dance.  I dislike it.  Not my thing.  But it is my wife’s thing and it was our wedding and I was determined to make the most out of every second of that special day (tune in tomorrow for the rest of that tale) and if my wife wanted to dance then, by golly, I would dance.  And I danced with my wife to our song, and I danced with my mom, and I danced with tons of guests for the dollar dance, and, yes, I even danced to the fast stuff and our DJ played all the typical wedding stuff.  For a while, I was actually starting to forget how much I disliked dancing as I busted out my best ChaCha Slide moves…in treadless tuxedo shoes…on a hardwood floor.  The good news is I only slipped with one leg, the bad news is the leg that stayed in place looked like a “<” and the worst news of all…it was the other leg.

That’s it.  No more dancing.  Karate and bodyslams, sure.  But, dancing?  No.  My dad told me not to “get stupid!”

“The Rolling Stones set the bar to where I look to as a band.  But I don’t envision myself touring in the way they do.  My knees won’t hold out.” ~ Jon Bon Jovi

Feeling Flush

Okay, it’s confession time…

I hate…no…loathe…nay…despise going to the bathroom anywhere but at home (and even that is iffy).

I know what you’re going to say, “It’s no big deal.  Everybody does it.  It is just a normal part of…”  STUFF A SOCK IN IT, WEIRDO!!  Going to the bathroom anywhere but in the confines of a soundproof armageddon bunker is not okay.

I will do everything I can to avoid using the facilities for as long as possible and if I cannot fight nature off any longer I will make sure all of the circumstances are right.  Navy Seal Team Six did not prepare to take down Bin Laden with as much precision as I use when planning a trip to a public restroom.

I will do a quick scan of the people around me – do all of the men that have been here still seem to be where I remember them?  Do any of them look like they have to pee?  If I feel confident that none of them are missing or look like they’ve had too much liquid (or, God forbid, anything that would upset their stomachs), I quickly make my way to the bathroom making sure to be casual so no one takes notice.

If I miscalculated and someone is in there – there is still hope.  If they are standing at the urinal, I go to the farthest stall.  If that is not an option, I wash my hands and act like that is the only reason I needed to be in there.  And, if ANYONE makes eye contact with me or, DEAR LORD, gives me a nod or anything, I turn on my heel and march right on out of there!  We NEVER acknowledge each other!  We shouldn’t be doing this!!!

The absolute worst are places where the bathroom consists of one toilet.  This is a bathroom meant for a house, not a place of business.  Unfortunately, in some cruel twist of fate, I have found myself working in one of these places.

Now, I know what you must be thinking.  “If you don’t like finding other people in the bathroom, wouldn’t a private one be much more…”  I’M NOT GOING TO WARN YOU AGAIN!  QUIT SPEWING YOUR WRETCHED PROPAGANDA ON MY BLOG!

I am not normally a paranoid person.  I don’t stock up on rations before a snow storm.  I don’t make sure I have a clear shot to the emergency exits in public places.  I don’t stop hugging stray animals just because people tell me they’re rabid.  But I become the world’s worst pessimist in these bathrooms.  The toilet is ALWAYS more than an arm’s length from the door and I never feel confident that the door is locked.  I mean, really, it’s a little button.  It doesn’t seem like a powerful latching device at all.  At any moment someone (quite possibly a colleague) will burst in and see all of your goodies!  And you know for a fact they’ll burst in because no one just tests the handle to see if the door is locked.  Oh no!  They’ve got to jiggle the handle like a jackhammer while shoulder blocking the door!  Someone’s in here!  It’s not painted shut!  True, they helped the process along by scaring the bejesus out of you – but I’m sure everything was working out just fine without their assistance.

Plus, once they’re done testing the integrity of the hinges like a linebacker, there’s a good chance they wait outside the door for their turn!  These rooms echo!  Every splash, or plop, or accidental poot sounds like an air horn in a parking garage!  Thank God, you have an audience on the other side of that never-soundproof door.

Of course, there’s my worst bathroom fear – yes, even more than someone overpowering the all-powerful button lock – entering a one-toilet bathroom and getting hit in the face with the noxious odor that could only have come from the bowels of Satan himself.  This is a no win situation.  First, you need to deal with the fumes while you take care of your business.  However, more troublesome than that is if you leave and pass someone on their way in – what do you do?  If you say nothing, they will think YOU were responsible for making the plumbing weep.  If you say, “Phew! The guy before me wrecked that place!” you’d be saying exactly what you’d say if it was you and you were trying to act like it wasn’t.  Oh, and if you try to be proactive by spraying air freshener, then they’ll definitely think you did it because why would you try and cover for someone else?  Especially since we all know air fresheners don’t work – it just smells like someone took a dump in a patch of lilacs.

Even if you do everything right: You barricade the door, you finish your business in record time, you time your air freshener sprays with the flush so no passersby hear the familiar hiss, and all of your clothes and their fastenings are adequately put back where they should be – you must still battle the faucet.  The water pressure is always too high and they have those faucets that you need to hold down with your hand so you can have water to wash your hands (whose invention was this?  An Eli Whitney you were not, sir!).  So you’re doing that weird push quick and scoop water before it turns off and you need to push it down again.  But because of all the spraying and pushing and scooping and washing, you have splashed water everywhere and you get to begin your journey out of the godforsaken bathroom looking like you peed your pants.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I had a lot of water to drink…

“When I worry about something, I don’t just fool around.  I even have to go to the bathroom when I worry about something.  Only I don’t go.  I’m too worried to go.  I don’t want to interrupt my worrying to go.” ~ J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 6

Feel the Burn

I’m not fat.  I can’t be.  All my life I’ve been told that, so it must be true.  Oh sure, I’m something, but it’s not fat.  When I went shopping for school clothes as a child, Mom took me into the “husky boys” section. That went well in school; when other kids (who were wicked jealous of my pleated pants) called me “fat,” I quickly fired back, “I’m not fat, I’m husky.”  That promptly earned me a husky lip.

So, I’m not fat!  I’m husky, or overweight, or plump, or big boned, or extra-healthy, or horizontally tall – I’m anything but fat!  I am dedicating a lot more time and effort to my health lately – not too long ago I had quite the health scare.  I’d tell you about it now, but I could probably stretch that into a couple more blog posts, so you’ll have to wait.  I’m eating much healthier and I recently began working on my black belt in karate; true I’m a white belt, but technically I’m working on my black belt (journey of a thousand miles and whatnot).  However, up until my near death experience (see how I keep making that future blog post sound more enticing?  I’m keeping y’all hooked!) my dietary regiments were pretty much all the same – I’ll live off of Triscuits and air for about a day and half, hit the treadmill once for an obscene amount of time, then treat myself to a carton of Crisco and my favorite spoon.

There was one time in my life when I was in awesome shape – my freshman year of college – right after my super-powered high school metabolism was still engaged and I got in beastly shape to portray a very physical role on stage.  I was eating protein like I had a personal vendetta against all farm animals and I was hitting the gym daily.  I was well on my way to defined abs (not a six-pack, but I had that super sweet line cut down the middle…a two-pack?) and my legs were made of iron; I even won a bet with my buddies when I put up 800 pounds on the leg press…sure I screamed like a 3-year-old girl being chased by a shark and I couldn’t walk for 2 days, but I got twenty bucks so who’s laughing now?!  BOOYAH!

Fast forward to my college graduation and my two-pack turned notoriously B.I.G. (see what I did there?) after my metabolism and I started a relationship akin to that of the Miley Cyrus and virginity.  If there was one thing I learned from being husky, to being in shape, then to being not-fat again is this: Mother Nature is the best friend you can have – if she’s not with you, getting is shape is going to suck!  You hear all these fit folks telling people how important it is to be healthy – “Nothing tastes as good as thin feels” – shut up!  I just fell off the treadmill and I’m a second away from eating you!  The first dude who won “Biggest Loser” dropped over a hundred pounds and then he springboarded right back to where he started!  You know why?  Because just about EVERYTHING tastes better than rice cakes!  He WAS thinner, so he knows how good it feels, and he probably would tell you that nothing tastes good enough to replace that feeling except HIS MOUTH IS FULL!  I’m sure being thin feels great, but getting there sucks like a Hoover vacuum factory!  Health food tastes horrible and exercise does not feel good.  Eating and comfort = bad and gagging and pain = good?  What kind of messed up math is that?!!  And the math is only one-third of the problem with fitness.

Besides the food and the exercise, the math of non-fatness makes no sense at all.  If you want to lose weight, you need to eat less.  But if you eat too much less your body will rebel and you will actually gain weight.  Wait, what?  My body is rejecting being healthy?  It doesn’t WANT me to do this?  I’m mutinying MYSELF?  If you want to lose weight make sure you don’t gain too much muscle because that weighs more than fat.  So if I want to weigh less I need to be more fatty and less muscular?  Isn’t that what I was trying to do originally? “I can’t lose the last 5, 10, 20 pounds because my body has plateaued.  It just got used to what I was doing so I need to push harder.” Hold the phone!  You spent 30 years conforming to your couch and shoveling chips into your head and after 6 months of eating right and working out, your body has gotten used to it?!!  And now you have to eat healthierER and work out moreER?  So your original healthy eating and exercise is your body’s new unhealthy norm?  How busted are you?  Why am I working so hard to go against what my body wants to do naturally?  Everything that the experts say to do gets answered, in one way or another by my body with an, “Oh yeah?  That’s what you think!”  Just because your scale is weeping less every time you step on it does not mean you are looking any better.  Back to the “Biggest Loser” folks – check out those big dudes who are dropping 15-20 pounds a week!  Yeah, sure, their hearts are getting stronger and their blood work will earn them an “Atta boy” from their doctor and a Muppets bandaid on the way out the door.  But their body looks like it’s melting!  Their fat kept everything in place and now their nipples are tucked in their pockets!  How is THAT better?  With their ta-tas hanging down to their stomachs and their navel stretching out, their torso is resembling the mask the killer wore in Scream and their gut looks just as awestruck as the rest of us staring at the Michelin Man doing an end zone dance and crying in his wheat germ because he’s back to using the factory installed holes on his belt!

Wheat germ?  Sounds like something that gives farmers the flu!  Why do the fitness folks tell us, “Don’t eat anything with ingredients you can’t pronounce” but then give us choices of foods we’ve never heard of before?  Have you ever eaten a slice of Ezekiel bread?  I have – although eaten is a misnomer because it gives you the impression that the bread has made it down my throat – and let me tell you, it was an experience.  If I made a sandwich with white bread, I would be consuming multidextrose.  A) I can pronounce MUL-TI-DEX-TROSE and B) being a literate person, I can break the word down and engage my prior knowledge to know that the “trose” has something to do with sugar.  However, Ezekiel bread contains Organically Sprouted Millets.  WHAT THE HELL IS A MILLET?!!  Is that like a small mullet?  It also contains “fresh yeast” – well that’s a relief.  Because you know what happens when yeast becomes NOT fresh, right?  IT MAKES BREAD!  My breakfast included Ezekiel’s multigrain formula, but it also comes in a HEMP variety!  Like WEED!  Like gives you the munchies and causes you to eat more bread!  What a racket.  Every time I hear the name Ezekiel, I automatically think about Samuel L. Jackson in Pulp Fiction quoting the Bible verse.  Which is fitting because I kept hoping he would walking in and “lay his vengeance upon me” and bust a cap in me to save me from consuming any more bread!  This Ezekiel bread company has done just about as much good for the Bible as the Westboro Baptist Church.  No kind and loving God had a hand in creating this bread – this is the work of the Devil if I’ve ever seen it!  Charlie Daniels needs to update his song:

The Devil went down to Georgia
And he was looking to make some bread
It’s gonna look real old and taste like mold
And be heavier than lead.
[fiddle solo]

That brings us to exercise.  The only people who enjoy exercise are pathological liars.  People enjoy the RESULTS of exercise, sure…but the process?  My friend put it best, “I have come to this realization – Working out is stupid. It doesn’t make you feel better (just the opposite), and very unlike other things that are enjoyable, I want the session to be over the second I start. You know what feels good, workout freaks? Doughnuts – Preferably from Tim Horton’s, still warm, and covered in chocolate goodness.”  I agree!  Exercise ALWAYS seems like a great idea UNTIL you actually start doing it!  I’m all gung-ho to hit the treadmill for a solid hour until I’ve been walking for about a minute and a half.  I’ve learned that I hate sweating.  I’ve learned no amount of prayer can bend time and make the treadmill clock move faster.  I’ve learned that having blisters would have made Cary Elwes’ character’s decision to hack off his own foot in Saw much easier.  I’ve learned that no matter how much it feels otherwise, I don’t think my heart will actually explode, it will just make me keep wishing for a visit from Samuel L. Jackson.  I’ve learned that exercising until a man’s body is attractive to women will back fire once they approach and find out the top half now smells much like the bottom half.  Most of all, I’ve learned that all of the people who are older than me who say, “back in the day” no one needed to exercise because they HAD to walk everywhere are full of it.  That doesn’t make you profound, it makes you old!  Telling me that “back in the day” people spent more time outside instead of rotting behind their computers typing about nothing important doesn’t…okay, you might have something there.  I’m off to hit the gym, cry in the shower, and then order some Buffalo wings.

“I tried every diet in the book.  I tried some that weren’t in the book.  I tried eating the book.  It tasted better than most of the diets.” ~ Dolly Parton

You Can’t Spell Funeral Without “Fun”

It’s been a rough couple weeks for my family.  We’ve lost three loved ones between Christmas Eve and New Year’s Day.  It’s never an easy pill to swallow, especially around this time of year.  As I was sitting in church today, I realized how most of these ceremonies are very much the same.  I remember a couple things here and there about funerals I’ve gone to in the past, but, for the most part, there weren’t many things that stuck out in my mind…except one.

I know what you are probably saying, “I thought this blog was supposed to be funny!  You’re not being funny right now!”  Whoa – hold your horses, Honcho!  First of all, don’t tell me what to do, you’re not my real mom.  Secondly, I did not forget my vow – read on.

A few years ago, a good friend of mine lost his mother.  I knew him better than my wife did and we had a young child at the time – for these reasons, I decided to go to the funeral home alone.  I tried to get there early, this was sure to be a busy place – it seemed like everyone in town knew this wonderful woman.  I was surprised.  There were still a few parking spots left – I expected to be circling the place for a while.  I took a deep breath, straightened my tie in the mirror, popped a couple pieces of gum, and exited the car.

I start playing through the typical scenario in my head – I hate this part.  Nothing you say ever sounds right.  All you want to do is say something to make everything better, but those words don’t exist.  So I just think the sincere, “I’m so sorry,” paired with a firm handshake pulled in to the manly “bro hug” would suffice.

I enter the funeral home and see that only one of the three viewing rooms was open – no need to check the directory to figure out which room to go to.  There’s also no line!  That’s like winning the funeral lottery!  It’s not easy or enjoyable to talk to the family during this difficult time, but I really hate trying to engage in small talk with complete strangers at a place where I really don’t want to meet new people.

I start feeling a bit more confident, I won’t have to wait and stew about what I’m going to say.  I won’t have to have idle chit-chat with Aunt Beulah’s nephew’s neighbor’s gardner about his drive in from Sheboygan.  I can just walk in, pay my respects, let my friend know I’m there for him if he needs anything, say a silent prayer, and leave the family with one less person solemnly watching them.

I sign the guest book, walk past the picture collages, and boldly march right up to the casket.  I’ve never gotten used to seeing the body and I severely hate it when people say how “good they look.”  I usually try not to stare.  But this time, I couldn’t help it.  I had only met his mother one time, so my memory might not be that vivid.  She had also been sick, so that might have something to do with the way she looked.  My friend’s mother…looked like a man.  Not just manly features – like mustache, beard, suit and tie…the whole nine yards.

I look over to the family.  My friend is nowhere to be seen.  His father (a small old woman in a pretty periwinkle dress) was staring at me much the same way I was staring at the casket.

You know how sometimes you feel like it’s a Friday when it’s really only Wednesday?  Have you ever done that on a day you were supposed to go to a funeral?  I have.

This man was very old.  His children were a solid 30-40 years older than me.  This was a small, intimate family visitation.  It was kind of obvious that I wasn’t supposed to be there.  I was that guy.  The funeral crasher.

I didn’t know the right thing to say to my friend!  What was I going to say to THESE PEOPLE?!!  However, I was past the point of no return.  I walked over to the widow, took her hand, kissed her on the cheek (yes, kissed her), told her that her husband was a great guy, and then pulled each of his children or children-in-law or whoevertheywere into a solid handshake/”bro hug” combo, and walked out the door.

“Saying, ‘I’m sorry’ is the same as saying, ‘I apologize.’ Except at a funeral” ~ Demetri Martin

Let’s Get This Party Started!

Hi!  Wow, so this is blogging…neat.

Well another year has come and gone and I’m sitting here in brand, spanking new 2016.  And, for once, I am going to try some new stuff – listening to other people’s advice and spending more time doing something that I love.

I also tried frog legs for the first time today, but that’s a whole different story.  Didn’t hate them – just had a hard time getting past the fact that, even breaded, you could still make them hop.

But I digress.  For years I have posted my little observations and anecdotes about things that happen to me or around me on Facebook.  I don’t think I have a unique perspective on things or that I’m some sort of gifted artist who sees all the creative potential in everything I observe around me – I think, basically, my mind is slightly warped and I pay closer attention to the weird crap that seems to happen to me!  It also helps that there is no shortage of satirical fodder from the quirky area I live in.  Therefore, I live, I observe, and I report – like a mall security guard without the nifty Segway.

Many people have left comments on my posts that I should write a book or start a blog.  So I did.  And, YES, I’ve started a blog before and, YES, I abandoned it after I created ONE POST and, YES, I can actually hear some of your voices reminding me of that.  But I am a different man than I once was!  This time I am definitely keeping up with this plan!  Guaranteed!  Most likely.  Probably.  Definite possibility…there is a good chance this will be my last entry.

However, I love to write.  So why not make that my New Year’s Resolution?  It’s better than my yearly vow to quit smoking (and for those of you who don’t know me, I don’t smoke – I just don’t want to fail at my resolution, as long as I don’t start, I’m golden).  So that is my goal for 2016 – write more thoughts, create more laughter.

I should probably keep trying to get into better shape, too – deep fried Kermit probably didn’t help with that…

But I digress again – which will most likely be happening A LOT.  But, that’s just how my mind works, which could really make this blogging thing kinda fun!

So here is my official 2016 New Year’s decree: I PROMISE to TRY to update this regularly – even if it’s just to put up a fun little quote – so that I can help lift the spirits and lower the stress of myself and anyone who happens to stumble upon my ramblings.  So help me God.   Forever and ever.  This I swear by the stars.  Amen.

Happy New Year.

“If Heaven exists, to know that there’s laughter that would be a great thing.” ~ Robin Williams