Moving

So moving is fun! Kidding, obviously moving is terrible and no one should ever do it.  You’re a grown man; you should be living with your mother! Anyway, have you ever put something away someplace and said to yourself “I’m going to put this right here so I don’t forget it”, but then later all you remember about the thing or the place you decided to put it is having that mental conversation? (I don’t understand the question, and I wont respond to it) Moving is basically like that, but with ALLLL of the things you’ve ever owned and all of the things your kids ever owned, all your spouses stuff and your dogs stuff and random stuff that you aren’t even sure how it got there or why you even have it. I mean really though, why do we have so much stuff. $68 conditioner? Small price to pay for self esteem Michael.  I digress, not that it matters now because it’s all gone now Dad, and it was my decision... all packed away someplace, some mysterious place that you specifically placed it so you would remember where it was and your brain ate that information and pooped it out in into the sewer of your mind never to be seen or heard from again. Its almost as if he’d found a way to simulate amnesia… That’s why you always leave a note. You want a quote from Scrubs, I can quote Scrubs all day. Friends? Kimmy Schmidt? The Office? My mind is filled to the brim with useless information, but where on earth I put every last pair of underwear… well my old brain just went on and unilaterally decided that that particular piece of information wasn’t especially useful for my day-to-day existence.  Underwear? Say goodbye to these! After all, there’s a lot of good stuff in here that we need to save room for, and who’s to say how brains even work. I hear the jury’s still out on science. Steve Holt!

Beech Grove to Carmel?

So, we recently moved from Beech Grove to Carmel, Indiana. If you aren't familiar, Carmel is nice, Beech Grove is... well its Beech Grove. Carmel is known for consistently making various, best places to live lists.  Several magazines and publications have placed it on different lists over the years. I think it was last #1 in 2012 Money Magazines list, but consistently, top ten. Beech Grove on the other hand is famous for fighting. Not like respectable boxing match were people shake hands after, or even UFC, or even illegal underground Mexican chicken fights, no, no. We are definitely less sophisticated than an illegal Mexican underground chicken fight. It more hillbillies fighting in public kind of fights. We were always rednecks but we sort of kept to ourselves. We really got on the map on a national level with the famous Beech Grove Walmart fight summer of 2015. This is the one where two Moms starting fighting in the Walmart shampoo aisle and a little kid was filmed spraying shampoo on one Moms face while she was simultaneously getting punched by another Mom, his Mom. Classy stuff. More recently a Dad punched a referee in the face a few times at a football game because his son got tossed out. As much as we're known for fighting, its pretty obvious, we also make great parents.  With Carmel being on the top places to live, in the best country to live (USA! USA!), this means we are basically living in one of the nicest neighborhoods in the world, and by association can assume most of our new neighbors haven't recently been featured on the nightly news with Brian Williams for punching people in the face in public. When you tell people from Carmel that you just moved here from Beech Grove, the responses are understandably predictable. Some do this little head tilt, like they're saying "I'm so sorry" with the eyes, but also theres a palpable element of fear, because the 6 foot 3' guy with a bunch of tattoos has clearly punched a few people in the face, probably already today.... is that blood on his hand right now?!?! KIDS GET INSIDE!! Sometimes its a different look. Almost a happy teary eyed look. The kind you might give a refugee that just escaped a camp of some sort. Like, "Oh my goodness you are from Beech Grove? AND you got out, AND none of your kids are in court mandated  child protective service custody! You are LITERALLY, SO inspiring! Would you want to come speak at my book club?" Yes, yes I would.  Cheers to Carmel!

*For speaking engagements and bookings leave your contact info in the comments. Non-refundable deposit required.

Car Shopping

When it comes to negotiating, my only tactic is a slightly awkward momentary silence, broken by the sound of me pulling out my wallet.  Never been good at bartering.  If I don’t like the price, I just don’t buy it. It may be because to barter I would have to commit to talking face to face with a real human person for more than 3 minutes.  Quite frankly, I’d rather just pay more money and avoid all that weirdness.  Same situation happens with Girl Scout Cookies. If you’re willing to stay on my porch and power through after one attempt at rejection, I’ll take out a loan for you. Nevertheless, I got a pretty good deal on a car, a 2005 Impala with 35,000 miles on it. Crazy low. I’ve noticed a few of them on the street the last couple days and thought I’d take a peek to see what sort of super legit people drive 2005 Impala’s. Turns out it was a great choice because its all CRAZY hot chicks!  Well, maybe not presently, but you can tell, if you covered up the nasal canula, and imagine them without the cheek skin hanging below the chin line, that in the late 1930’s, these ladies probably turned a few heads when they walked in a room. OWW!OWW!  I think there might have been some sort of manufacturing error that year though because every one I saw, even when the driver was turning right, had the left hand turn signal on… Maybe they’ll do a left turn signal recall.  Also Im trying to invent something called the “Impala Fist”.  When I see another Impala I just roll down the window and stick my fist out.  Its like when Harley people see each other and raise their fist in the air and do that bro half nod thing, but with fellow shot calla’ Impala drivers.  So far participation has been minimal.  I’ll keep you posted. 

Marriage 101: Communication

In a marriage, many, if not all arguments can be avoided through clear communication. Clear communication isn’t entirely accomplished by saying what you want, but in saying what you want in a way that is easily understood by the receiving party.  Lets say, totally hypothetically, that a daughter (we’ll call her CutiePie) had clothes laid out for school that didn’t fit.  Now, in a panic, the father (lets call him Studly McBuff) calls mother (we can call her Mrs MakesUpWords) at work.  Studly McBuff: “This dress is way too big, what can CutiePie wear to school? We’re running LATE!”  Mrs MakesUpWords: “Get the khaki romper out of her closet”… Here.  Right here. This is where is all breaks down.  You see, as far as Studly is concerned, “khaki romper” is like some Indie Folk group that maybe opened for Mumford and Sons last year at The Fillmore and you’re judging him like some kind of hipster turd for not being cool enough to have heard of them yet like ‘Oh WOW, yeah, I own ALLLL their records on vinyl… I cant even BELIEVE you haven’t heard of khaki romper yet!’.  Of course MakesUpwords assumes this description is perfectly clear and she’s obviously thinking ‘It’s the khaki romper! What more do you want from me Studly McBuff!?! God if you weren’t so freakin’ sexy I’d just punch you through this phone right now!!’.  So, ladies… start with real words.  Instead of saying “romper”, try “dress”, that’s a thing that we know.  “Khaki” also apparently means brown.  Brown is an actual real human color that exists, and that your male counterparts will understand. If you’re really feeling the need for attention to detail you can even try ‘light brown’.  When it’s all said and done just remember one thing. Communication is 10% speaking, and 100% not my fault if isn’t working.

Disclaimer: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons or events is strictly coincidental. 

thoughts of a lunatic

Just re-discovered I had this blog. Its nice to have a blog. I have exactly zero followers.  Nonetheless a blog legitimizes the fact that in this technological era, its 100% socially acceptable to have very detailed and lengthly conversations with yourself *(as long as those conversations take place on some form of publicly viewable media). This small deviation allows people to judge you, and lets face it, thats the ONLY reason to read a blog. They dont juge you for talking to yourself or even venting to precisely zero people, but instead for the subject matter that you choose to talk about. Im fairly certain that if you are a stay at home mom, or a vegan, you are legally required to blog about your life. I think maybe its a Patriot Act thing... Naturally, those are the people who we are most interested in hearing from anyway. Why yes! I do want to know more about your original recipe gluten free veggie-bacon garbanzo bean wheat grass burger, but only if you take 10,000 slightly, but 'artistically', out of focus pictures for me, and please, upload them in sepia tone. Normal, in focus pictures, after all, are soooo 1995.  I have a dream that one day people will not be judged for the nature of their schizophrenia but by the content of the conversations they choose to have with themselves.  The end.

Too poor

So I just received an interesting letter in the mail. It was a letter from Chase Visa informing me that I was NOT eligible to receive the Chase Platinum Visa... The reason, “current obligations too high relative to income”. To make matters worse, I have never been either a Chase, or Visa customer. So to sum it up, out of the blue, I received a letter from two financial institutions I have never had any previous relationship with, informing me that, just in case I was wondering, I’m too poor to be a customer of either. They could have at least put in like a Hallmark card with a picture of a baby on the front, or like a little kitten or something. Maybe a couple walking along the beach, holding hands, with the caption ‘just in case you were wondering…’, then on the inside it’s a picture of a creepy looking clown that says, ‘you’re broke as a joke!’. The whole thing sort of makes me want to be a customer though. I'm just saying, their customer service department is on top of it. They really went above and beyond to inform me that I’m not good enough for them, and just knowing I can’t be makes me want it even more. I mean, what am I missing? Maybe Chase Visa is some sort of secret institution that only the most influential World leaders get invited to be a part of, like the Masons, or the Skulls. Maybe we’d all meet in a basement somewhere, in huge purple robes of course. Then we'd stand around a huge urn of incense and talk about our recent purchases. In our own top secret language I could tell the most influential people on the planet about the sweet sweater vest I saw at the GAP and how (since I’m a member) I got 45 sky mile points when I put it on my secret member's only superduper Platinum card. Then we’d all chant something really creepy, maybe kill a goat, and slip off into the darkness to spend away, muhahahaa! (evil laugh).