A Typical Day

This is my typical day. In no way is this intended to be funny as my typical days are typically not funny.

8:20 - My phone alarm goes off. A piercing sound called "single tone 8". I reach out from the covers and hit some button that makes the sound go away. I roll over and shut my eyes.

8:22 - I wake up to the sensation of sand paper rubbing against my face. My first reaction is anger because I realize that this is Mo, my cat, who disrupted my sleep throughout the previous night by laying on my head or biting my back. As my thoughts become more clear I understand that I have slept past my alarm and that Mo has saved me from oversleeping my class. I thank Mo and feel proud to have a cat as smart as Lassie.

8:28 - I start to make breakfast. This morning it's a cheese omelet with hash browns, an apple and coffee. Mo claws at my leg during the whole process. The hash browns burn as I'm digging around in the refrigerator for the sliced ham which I decide is no longer fresh. (I had previously made a ham and cheese omelet with ham that was past it's expiration date. It tasted like alcohol. Now I am very paranoid about the freshness of my ham.) I throw out the ham.

8:35 - Breakfast is served. With enough pepper and ketchup I can make the hash browns taste good. I turn on the t.v. and watch MSNBC. Some jagoff is telling me about what Hilliry Clinton has to talk about at the Democratic National Convention. I hope she was watching.

8:43 - I wash the dishes and pans. Mo falls out of the window by pressing on the screen which is apparently not secured. I rush outside and find him sitting below the window, stunned. It was only a two foot fall, so he's fine.

9:00 - Shower, brush my teeth... shave? No, not today, or for the next 5 days.

9:24 - Getting dressed is an important part of my day now that I'm at law school. What I wear sends a message which can distinguish me from my fellow students. A gray t-shirt and jeans will do.

9:26 - Sit on the couch and relax. Mo chews on my toes.

9:30 - I leave for my first day of 9:40 class. It's about a three minute walk so I'll be there with plenty of time to get a good seat.

9:35 - I walk into class. There has to be a seat in there somewhere. Not paying attention to faces, only looking for that last empty spot I head to the back row and find it.

9:40-11:00 - Class begins. I'm the guy with the runny nose and no kleenex.

11:10 - I get home and watch some T.V. This is my first experience of watching John Hagee. He tells me that "Jesus wasn't no limp wristed peace lover," to make a point that he would support the war in Iraq. I don't know if it's his words or the thousands of people in his mega church nodding along with a smile, but I think I hate John Hagee.

11:25 - I make a turkey sandwich. The turkey is still fresh.

11:30-12:20 - T.V.

12:21 - I leave for class. This time I'm not making the same mistake. This time I'm getting a good spot.

12:30 - I get a good spot

12:40-3:10 - Class. I get to tell my story of how Evan and I went to a Bob Dylan concert with Richard the Hobo.

3:15-6:33 - Reading in the library. I'm pretty sure that the squeaks and rumbles coming from my stomach as it is still trying to digest my turkey sandwich are annoying everyone on the same floor.

6:45 - Supper. Mac a Roni and Cheese with peanut butter bread. Delicious.

7:07 - Surf the tubes. Mindlessly refresh and flip through facebook pages. I listen to the Johnny Cash "At Folsom Prison" album. He was pretty bad ass. I track my package. It's in Lexington.

7:55 - I play with Mo. He could chase that feathery yellow thing on the end of a stick all day. But I can't shake it as long. My arm gets tired.

8:06 - I watch some speeches on C-SPAN. No one actually present at the speech is paying attention. Some dude is taking pictures of his surroundings with a camera phone. Others are gathered in circles talking amongst themselves. I don't blame them. This lady sucks.

9:01 - I receive/send a text from/to Tim. Everything is running smoothly back home.

10:00 - The Daily Show

10:30 - The Colbert Report

10:35 - Not feeling it. I go to bed
THANKS

A Tireless Search

What makes the perfect campus bathroom? There are many factors that must be considered and only an expert on the issue, one who has dedicated a majority of their energies during their four years of college in pursuit of such an elusive, often believed to be mythical, entity, to properly answer this important question. Luckily for you I am that expert. For three years and one semester I scoured the campus of my institution for that illusive bathroom, and after three years and one semester I found such a bathroom, giving myself one full semester of blissful excretion. This is an issue that means a great deal to me. Having respectable stomach and digestive problems, it is of grave importance for me to find a quiet and peaceful place to call home for 10 minutes after lunch on campus. But, as grateful as I am to have found the perfect bathroom at my previous school I can’t emphasize enough how important the journey is. In everything you do, whether it’s paint a picture, run a marathon, or find the perfect public bathroom, the journey, the opportunity for growth and revelation should never be forgotten. It’s so easy to get lost in the search and to focus solely on the end product that you lose sight of what truly matters. I can’t tell you exactly what you’ll find on your quest, for no one path is the same, but I can tell you that if you keep an open mind along the way you’ll be rewarded with more than just a nice place to sit and pass the time. For me, a better understanding of human nature lay ahead of me. While experiencing as many bathrooms as I could it occurred to me that no matter what bathroom you use, whether it is the 1st floor library, 3rd floor library, basement of the Union, or the law building in another city, people will write stupid things on the walls. The random swear word is typical. Sometimes we get more creative and write a raunchy poem. We may get political stating that a particular candidate is a “fag”. I’m almost positive that if I were to visit a bathroom outside the court room of the United State Supreme Court I would be delighted to find that, “Sandra Day O’Connor was here”. This journey is so important to me that I have only shared with a select few the location of that special bathroom I had found at my previous institution.
But I digress. What makes a perfect restroom? For me traffic must be minimal, meaning that the chances of someone walking into the bathroom while I use it are low. I would say that if someone walks in on me 1 out of 30 times I happen to be using that bathroom then there is too much traffic and I must advance my search. The issue of automatic hand sanitation is a complicated one but one that can weigh quite heavily on my attitude towards a bathroom. Automatic sinks, a negative, automatic foam soap dispensers, a huge positive, automatic air dyers, huge negative, automatic paper towel dispensers, big positive, if, with one pass of my hand I am given an amount of paper that equals one and a half normal paper towels. Location is vital. A good centralized location, one which I can access easily in my ten minute break between class, can make all the difference. All of these things though can be just right and it still may not be the bathroom for you. You cannot underestimate the power of the “it” factor when selecting a washroom. If you don’t feel comfortable, if you don’t feel at home in this bathroom, then this is not a place where you will want to invest a large portion day. But after all is said and done, if your stomach is like mine and is the primary reason you embarked on this long and arduous search for the perfect bathroom, if the noises that come from your stall can be heard from even the most remote location, then the words “there’s no place like home” may ring truer than any phrase ever uttered before.
THANKS

A Predictable Disappointment

I, like many others, consider myself to be an amateur Big Foot hunter. I keep an eye out for him. Last week I was ecstatic to hear that a Big Foot had been found. If you hadn’t heard about this yet here is the short New York Times article dealing with this controversial issue:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/15/us/15bigfoot.html?scp=4&sq=big%20foot&st=cse
and here is a FoxNews report giving this story the time and recognition it truly deserves:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z76h6ltDh2c

The story goes that two Georgians (the American kind) who run a part time Big Foot tour through the woods of Georgia, found a Big Foot carcass and while removing the body from the woods they saw a couple more living Sasquatches closing in on them. This spotting was not rare as the two men have said to have seen hundreds of Big Foots while walking the Georgian woods. The picture that had been circulating around the internet was of the hairy carcass in a cooler on ice. Although the picture itself was not conclusive the two men along with Tom Biscard, a respectable scientist and world renowned Big Foot hunter, agreed to hold a press conference in which DNA evidence would be presented and once and for all prove the existence of a missing link between man and ape. Only a couple days were needed to prep the body.
Now, as a friend of mine put it, “how hard can it be to prove if it’s real? Cut it open and if it’s not full of packing peanuts then you’ve got an animal.” I agreed, it shouldn’t have been so hard to get to the bottom of this issue. Why was I putting my hopes and dreams into the hands of these backwoods crackpots?
Like all other Big Foot discoveries this too turned out to be a hoax:
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/16/us/16brfs-BIGFOOTREMAI_BRF.html?scp=3&sq=big%20foot&st=cse
http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/20/us/20brfs-001.html?_r=1&sq=big%20foot&st=cse&adxnnl=1&oref=slogin&scp=1&adxnnlx=1219421109-CS9AuFlTakCaZydHBcMLnw

The body was mostly a mixture of rubber and animal parts. The DNA was a mixture of human and opossum. My heart was a mixture of broken and sadness. My life was a mixture of spiral and downward. I had wanted this so bad. If Big Foots were real it would have been so awesome to just punch one in the stomach or something. Now my only relief was that these fools, who were only interested in their own financial gain and not the radical scientific ramifications of such a creature, will not be ultimately credit for the biggest discovery since the polio vaccination. There were plenty of truly scientific things that could have been done with this body. The DNA could have been used to clone these hairy monsters which then could be hunted for fun, or because of their subpar human intelligence but exceptional animal intelligence, used as household servants. A Sasquatch in an apron baking cookies and tucking children into bed, haha, science is silly.
THANKS

An Embarrassing Situation

If there is one thing I hope to accomplish through this blog, it’s to help someone. By writing about my insecurities maybe someone will find inspiration to overcome their own, and in turn help me. Many times I find myself in situations where I would be expected to assert myself and many times I fail to meet those expectations. For example, most people, while dining at a restaurant would return their meal if what was placed in front of them wasn’t what they ordered. I find it much easier to avoid the conflict and choke down whatever chance meal I was given. It doesn’t matter if I ordered a hamburger and received a chicken wrap. Sacrificing my own desires for convenience I go with the chicken wrap.
The other day I was standing in line at the Hy-Vee meat counter. I was planning on buying a boneless chicken breast while all of a sudden the man in front of me ordered two boneless “mesquite marinated” chicken breasts. I didn’t see the mesquite option earlier and now that they had been brought to my attention they were all I could think about. I had to have one. There was only one problem. The guy who just ordered what I now wanted was still standing by me. Surely I couldn’t order the same thing as him. He would think I was weird. The meat counter guy started wrapping up the original marinated guys chicken breast. Ah ha! Once the chicken guy gets his package from the meat counter guy he’d start walking away. I could stall my order until I was sure he was out of hearing range then I could whisper my order, just to be safe, to the employee and no one would be the wiser. A flawless plan, foiled only by a second meat counter guy. While “mesquite marinade” was still getting his chicken wrapped up, Johnny Come Lately comes lately out of left field and asks to take my order. I didn’t see him earlier. I was not prepared for this. I panicked. That day I left Hy-Vee with two bratwurst, two organ meat casings of disappointment.
THANKS

A Holiday Favorite

Another story from my troubled past. December 2006, I was asked to perform a task for the City Recreation Division. I thought nothing of it since I had been working odd jobs for the Rec. for about a year and a half. Coaching baseball, t-ball, basketball, football, senior citizen volleyball, kickball, I had done pretty much everything I figured that the Rec. could have me do. I was wrong. I was asked to help out with a program called “Santa Calls” and would be paid a flat rate of $20. With no additional information, I agreed to help out, besides it was the holidays. Later I showed up at the Rec. Division office where I was given a manila envelope that I would say weighed around 15 lbs. I was told that this envelope contained page after page of children’s names, phone numbers, and various other information you would find on a letter to Santa (e.g. gift ideas, whether or not you’ve been good or bad). My job was to call these kids pretending that I was Santa Claus who had just received these letters, and that I was checking in with the kids to see if everything was in order. Apparently the man that normally does this was ill. I can only assume his voice is much better than mine.
Immediately I was horrified. How could I get out of this? No kid would believe that I’m the voice of St. Nick. Maybe I could pretend I’m an elf and tell the children that Santa was sick and couldn’t speak on the phone. No, that’s wrong. I had no choice. I had to save Christmas. On my way home I began thinking of how much flack I was going to take from my roommates when they heard me on the phone, shut away in my room, talking to little kids with a fake low booming voice. My house was not an option. My parents’ house was not an option. I wouldn’t be able to explain. Is there an appropriate explanation that doesn’t involve demonstrating a clear criminal record with no prior counts of sexual misconduct? I decided to drive away in my truck to a poorly lit and empty, gravel parking lot, which seemed like the best option. Later I would understand this made me a ideal guest star for the hit Dateline series “To Catch a Predator”. There I sat in the driver’s seat with the dome light on and began calling child after child.
“HO HO HO! Hi Billy, this is Santa! How are you!?”
Fear was the usual response, dark paralyzing fear. Most kids said nothing.
“Do you still want a Gameboy ™ this year!? HO HO HO!”
Silence.
This went on for about three hours and, finally, after explaining to numerous parents why their kids’ Santa sounded like an underdeveloped 20 year old boy instead of a grizzled 60 year old man, and swiftly following that with an apology, I was done. Wiping the sweat from my brow, and the fog off the windows, I drove home and pretending like nothing had ever happened.

THANKS













For a list of sexual offenders in your area please visit this website:
http://www.familywatchdog.us/Default.asp
Here's a couple of party animals that live by me:
http://www.familywatchdog.us/ViewOffenderConvictions.asp?oID=NC002645S11&aid=148434806&at=1&sp=1
http://www.familywatchdog.us/ViewOffenderConvictions.asp?oID=IA652341&aID=148538911&at=1&sid={58AF4994-2887-46A2-9F5B-E1A5AA5A9E11}&lat=41.653516&long=-91.540368&clr=%2300ff00&rm=0
http://www.familywatchdog.us/ViewOffenderConvictions.asp?oID=IA30452191&aid=148537041&at=1&sp=1

An Early Morning Scare

Welcome readers. Before I begin I would like to say you are all in for a treat. By request from a good friend of mine I decided to start this blog in order to stay in touch with everyone back home. You may be wondering, "what makes this guy so special that he feels he, above anyone else, deserves to post on the internet?!". Please calm down, I understand your concern. I undertand that typically this position is reserved for only the best and brightest, and I will invest all my energies to best uphold the honor and dignity that the title of online blogger entails. I would not even think about writing on the intertubes if I wasn't fully convinced I had something worth sharing and could share it in a respectful manner.
So here it is, the premise of my blog. Being an extraordinarily awkward person I often find myself in awkward situations, or normal situations that I turn awkward through a total lack of self confidence or a simple misuse of my already minimal social skills. I take great delight in sharing these situations with my friends who are usually receptive and later pleased. Now that I have decided to move away for a while to a strange new place I am likely to experience many more sticky situations. Like I said before a good friend of mine, who understood this better than anyone, told me I should consider starting a blog so I could share my adventures with everyone who wants to hear them. I considered. I am now writing.

(Warning: This post is rated PG-13 for adult language. If you have not taken 6th grade sexual education I advise you to check out this website http://kidshealth.org/parent/emotions/feelings/sex.html then read further for a continued educational experience)
Well, about 3 weeks ago I woke up around 3:45 a.m. totally convinced that my testicles were not in the correct spot. Males, typically have two testicles, a right and a left. I believed, with more conviction than anything I have ever believed in my entire life, that my right and left had become my left and right. In a cold sweat I shot up from my pillow. This would be my last quick movement for I could feel my testicles laying vertically on top of each other. Like a hostage negotiator I had to play it cool. Quickly and calmly I surveyed the situation. Being somewhat of mathematician I came to the grave realization that I had a 50/50 chance of my parts falling back into the correct spot (i.e. the right to the right and the left to the left). I wasn't sure which one was on top and which was on bottom at this point so I flipped the coin and rolled over letting the chips fall as they may if you will. Sleep didn't come easy the rest of the morning. I couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't in the right position. Images of bull castration passed through my mind. The way they used rubber bands to cut off the circulation in effect leaving the testicles dead, eventually, I assume, falling off. I gave myself about a week before mine too fell off. I asked friends if what I described was possible. They said yes but attempted to quell my fears by telling me, with a few chuckles, that I would be in much more pain than I seemed to be if my testicles had actually switch places. I kept thinking that "testicle swap", as I had began calling it, is no joke, and how did they know I wasn't in pain. I had 3 days left. Anything I could find on the Internet about this silent killer would help. Web MD yielded these results after a simple symptom checker check list of "pain and discomfort in the genitalia, specifically testicles". Syphilis, erectile dysfunction, hernia... and there it was, I had seen the name before and now after seeing it on Web MD I knew it was fate, my disorder, "testicular torsion". Wikipedia has this to say about TT:
Torsions are sometimes called "winter syndrome". This is because they often happen in winter, when it is cold outside. The scrotum of a man who has been lying in a warm bed is relaxed. When he arises, his scrotum is exposed to the colder room air. If the spermatic cord is twisted while the scrotum is loose, the sudden contraction that results from the abrupt temperature change can trap the testicle in that position. The result is a testicular torsion.
Had someone been in my room that fateful night? The description was so accurate. The page was last updated on July 18th, 2008. My head began to spin. One day left. I decide to wait it out. There wasn't much I could do at this point anyway. The hours turned to minutes, the minutes to slightly less than a couple minutes. Eventually the rest of the night slipped away after checking around the floor and retracing my steps through the house, looking for my dead testicles, I concluded that they were still attached and I had not contracted testicular torsion. A final obvious check and I was slightly more convinced. Now it's only a matter of time until I'm sure everything is functioning correctly and I can concern myself with bigger problems like my crippling glucose allergy or my over active sweat glands.
THANKS