Chocolate chips

I cheated on my diet today. I ate a hershey bar... and it was glorious! Then, this afternoon, a workmate lent me his copy of Batman: Arkham Asylum. He tried to warn me that it might be too dark for me to which I replied "Too dark for me?" Somehow the two incidents converged in my mind, and I came up with this thought: If I was a morsel, I think I would be a semisweet chocolate chip.
I know it sounds weird, but try to follow me. I am not white chocolate, all sweet and sugary. I do not see the world as sunshiny, full of puppies and rainbows and lollipops. But, I am not dark chocolate either. I have not yet dyed my hair black or changed my name to Azrael, princess of sorrow. I am not milk chocolate, wishy-washy and in the middle. No, I think I would be a semisweet chocolate chip. I have a hint of sweetmess, but I also know my way around the darkness of life. And, placed in the right situation, like cookies or brownies, I can really make life interesting. I can take the darkest days and still maintain my sense of humor. There is a place in this life for all morsels (all chocolates - white, dark, milk, and semisweet, peanut butter chips, and butterscotch chips), but I am content with my semisweet status.
So, give me a hershey bar and a dark graphic novel, and I will enjoy them both (probably with Diet Coke in hand).

Dieting: A Much Sadder World

There comes a point in life when you have to face facts. The fact for me was simple: I was skinny...once. So, I made the decision to go on a diet. I have discovered a few truths over the last two and a half months. One, don't get too confident. I lost ten pounds in the first month, which is acceptable. So, I decided I no longer needed to write down what I was eating or count points. I was good, and it all evened out in the end, right? Cut to month two's weigh in where I discovered that I only lost three more pounds. Now I write everything down and count points religiously. Two, if you can't be trusted to behave when temptation comes, remove yourself from temptation. We had a work birthday party today. I went, just to be polite, but there I was surrounded by two kinds of cake with delicious lard icing, ice cream and sugary lemonade. As I sat there miserable and about to help myself to a piece (or two) of amazing birthday cake, it occurred to me that much of the misery could be relieved if I would just leave the room. So, I did. I'm still hungry, but I am also lazy, so I know that I will not be climbing the stairs again just for a piece of cake. And, Finally, I have learned that life on a diet sucks!! When I want to celebrate, I eat. When I'm bored, I eat. When I'm sad or angry or lonely or excited or nervous or whatever, I eat. I eat my emotions, and they taste good. But, now, I have to find other outlets for these feelings, and so far none of them taste as good as cookie dough.

Thoughts on Theme Songs

Sometimes I think it would be cool to have my own theme song like in tv and movies. It would be critical to choose just the right one, though. Some theme songs are awesome like "Sanford and Son" or "Live and Let Die", but some are really lame like "Ice Castles" or the theme from "Family Ties". I think for me I would choose Billy Joel's "You May Be Right, I May Be Crazy" or Queen's "Fat Bottomed Girls" (although I think that one might be dirty). But why stop there? I'd also want a great sting that goes "da, da, dum" when something dramatic happens and an applause track for when I do something brilliant like tell an amazing joke or accomplish a hard task. Of course, once you start, where does it end? Would I also need an "awww" track for touching moments or an "ooooo" for romantic ones? On ICarly, a tween show I watch, they have a button they push and a voice says, "RANDOM DANCING". Then music plays and everyone randomly dances. I definitely want that capability. But, I guess for now, I'll just have to start humming when I enter a room.

Thoughts on aliens

I was deep in thought the other day sitting in my thinking spot, i.e. on the toilet, and I began to ponder just how small we are in comparison to the entire universe. My thoughts turned to exterterrestial life. I mean, why would God create vast numbers of galaxies with no life to inhabit it, no one to enjoy it. I'm not saying aliens exist. I'm just saying consider the possibility.
If aliens do exist, what do they think of us? I picture them as the two old men in the balcony on the Muppet Show, making smart remarks about the idiotic things we do. I wonder if they feel watching us the way I feel watching THe Hills. As a species, we are pretty moronic, we do make a lot of stupid choices, and we are kinda arrogant.
I wonder, if aliens do exist, if the whole alien abduction thing is just like a way to mess with us, kind of like a big cosmic sticking wedgie. Think about it. They never abduct anyone who could be considered a reliable source. And what is the point of probing someone other than to be irritating? Plus, the stories about women being impregnated and giving birth to alien babies before being released back on earth sound a little ridiculous to me. Do you really think aliens would risk tainting their offspring by mixing their dna with ours? That would be like mating with your mentally retarded first cousin. It just doesn't make sense.
I'm not too worried about alien invasion. That would be like canceling your favorite television show, and I think we provide way too much entertainment to be cancelled. However, if aliens do exist, i'd like to team them up with Joel McHale, David Sedaris, and Jim Gaffigan and just be a fly on the wall.

thoughts on public bathrooms

Now, I have, over the last twenty-eight years, used many public bathrooms. It has actually become something of a game where someone will name a public place and I tell them if I have, in fact, used that bathroom. There are very few "no's" in that game. However, this is not the point of this particular blog.
Last Saturday, I was strolling along downtown Paducah with my friend Ronny. I had just drank a large diet coke and pretty soon I had to pee. We were walking along and I wasn't sure where to go because the businesses downtown are not exactly stop and pee places. As we are walking, I noticed a theater where a local drama troupe performs. The door was wide open and as I peered inside, I noticed bathrooms. I didn't see anyone around, so I ducked into one of the bathrooms. Ronny waited outside. Sure enough I had just sat down and started to go when I here a banging on the door. Cries of outrage come at me from some unknown male. Cries of outrage and disgust flung at the door. Suddenly I hear the man/boy cry out, "Don't you have a home?"
I wanted to bust out laughing, but instead I just finished my business and quickly left. As I passed by I looked away for fear of laughter coming out. I can't imagine the rage that would have incurred. I wish I could make myself cry. It would have been hilarious to answer his question with a sobbing, "NO!" But, alas, I am not that good.
Of all the things I have ever heard in the bathroom, as I was leaving the bathroom, this was the most ridiculous and awesome. Moral of the story: just because the door is open, doesn't mean the bathrooms are for public use.

thoughts on coworkers

Yesterday I saw coworkers outside of work two different times. Why is that always so awkward? One of the sightings happened in Herrin Walmart. Our conversation went like this. "I didn't know you live in Herrin." "Yeah. Do you live in Herrin?" "Yeah...Well, see ya." "See ya." How is it that at work you have plenty to talk about and in the world that exists outside the workplace you are worse than strangers; strangers have livelier conversations than that.
I think the next time I run into a coworker outside of work, I am going to have a little fun with it. Maybe I'll act suspicious and secretive, like I'm doing something I shouldn't. You know, just to see if any rumors surface. Or perhaps, I'll go the obnoxious route, clapping my hands and announcing, "It's John Doe, everybody. John Doe is here." Maybe I'll even start a store wide round of applause. But, I think the most fun thing to do is be intentionally creepy. I'll go up to them and say emphatically, "It's SO good to see you." Then, I'll give them a big hug, and linger. I can look through their cart. "Whatcha got there? I see someone's having problems staying regular." Then, maybe, I'll just continue to follow them through the store humming the Police's "Every Breath You Take".
Most likely, though, I'll just awkwardly say hello and go on my way. I suppose that as long as coworkers have existed this has been a problem. I bet even in cave man times this was a problem. After a hard day of clubbing dinosaurs together, the cave men would run into each other outside of the stomping grounds and hem and haw in cave man talk, avoiding eye contact, until one of them cme up with an excuse to leave.
Perhaps someday we will live in a world where coworkers can coexist outside of work and have wonderful conversations...or maybe it will always be awkward.

Thoughts on Church Signs

There's a church in my neighborhood with one of those signs they can change every week or so. They try so hard to be witty, but often it comes off sounding pretentious, and frankly, it just ticks me off. I mean, I get unjustifiably angry when I see these signs. Why do they bother me so much? I think I would put them on par with inflatable lawn ornaments. I hate them for no reason other than they just annoy me. It's ridiculous.
A couple of weeks ago, this church had a sign that said, "Anger is one letter away from danger." That's just dumb. Anger is also one letter away from manger. Think about that for awhile. Oh yeah, and it's two letters away from stranger and six letters away from cliffhanger. Do I really need to go on?
They had another sign up awhile ago that said, "The easiest thing to find is fault." Really? Cause I think the easiest thing to find is trouble. And ladybugs. Seriously, southern Illinois is infested with ladybugs. But that's another thought for another day. Maybe for you, the easiest thing to find is gray hair, or chocolate, or loose change.
I'm sure that some elderly lady spends hours thinking up these little nuggets of truth. But, surely she can do better than "Jesus is like Tide. He removes the stains others leave behind." No kidding. I really saw that one.

Thoughts On Wall Art

As I was leaving the river walk in San Antonio, I passed an ambulance parked near our car. The ambulance lights were on, and two EMTs stood outside talking to a man. The man appeared to be drunk, and the EMTs were trying very hard to persuade him to go with them. At first this perplexed me. Why waste resources of time and money sending paramedics to deal with a drunk man who didn't appear to be dying or bleeding? Why not have the police or security handle this? While I pondered these thoughts, things escalated. The man proceeded to remove his shirt and fling it back and forth. Maybe this man wasn't drunk. Maybe he had escaped from the mental institute and that was why paramedics were required - to give him meds and return him safely to his residence. The more I watched this man, the more this answer made sense. I was reminded of a video I watched in a college psychology class. It showed a schizophrenic man who refused to take his meds. They found him in Florida hiding out behind an abandoned warehouse. He was making wall art...with his feces. So, I said a prayer for this man in Texas. And I pray that should I ever quit taking my meds and run away, someone will bring me back before I reach the point of fecal wall art.

thoughts on personal ads

So, I was bored at work today and thought I would pop on to Craigslist and just do random searches. While on that website, I came across the personal ads. Interest peaked, I looked over my shoulder to make sure no one saw me, and I clicked on men seeking women. Now, to be clear, I was just reading them for funsies. But, I came across one that seemed like something a normal person would write. Suddenly I found myself wanting to email this guy. I wanted to ask him if he seemed normal, why would he put out a personal ad? What was wrong with him? Maybe there was nothing wrong with him. Maybe he was just doing it for fun himself. I don't know. I ran all this by a single male coworker because I was seeking direction in the whole should I respond thing. First, we spent a few minutes while I read him the really creepy ones, but then I read him this guy's ad. My coworker said that if I wanted to email this guy that he would give me one of his old throwaway email addresses to use, but in his opinion, I should just assume the worse. "Look at ____ (this guy we work with)" he said. Then he asked me how I would describe him if I were to try to sell him on eharmony or some such website. First, I would call him dapper, because he wears a lot of gel in his hair. Then I would say he enjoys the sweeter things in life, because he has an affinity for Dr. Pepper. I'd say he enjoyed long conversations, because he is hard to get away from once he starts talking. And, I'd probably call him intense, er, passionate. When I started thinking that way, I realized that this seemingly normal guy with the Craigslist personal ad could be doing the same thing. I guess I'll just have to meet guys the old fashioned way...and find less weird things to do for funsies.

thoughts on deer

We grow up with this image of deer as cute, innocent wildlife who frolic in the meadows amongst the butterflies. They would never hurt a fly. What a bunch of crap! I can't even count the number of times I've had to slam on my brakes or swerve off the road to avoid hitting those adorable bastards. They're suicidal maniacs, darting out in front of cars, causing accidents, taking lives. They are the kamikaze agents of the animal underworld, hellbent on destroying humanity, one car at a time. I no longer cry when Bambi's mother is shot by the humter. I'm a little ticked off that he let Bambi go free.
I remember once, in like the late 80's, on a snowy day a deer wandered into our yard. My mom was so excited she ran and got the camcorder so that she could videotape the phenomemon. What we didn't realize at the time was that deer was just a spy, staking out the surrounding area and taking note of the number of houses, cars, children, etc. I'm surprised he didn't run off to gather his deer friends and stage a coup.
Some fear the Muslims taking over. Some fear alien invasion. But, I say that if we are wise, we will not take for granted the real threat: deer.

thoughts on spies

I think I would enjoy being a spy. The idea of having a double life is kinda cool. I think it would be fun to have a life that neither friends nor family know about - a life that's just mine. Plus, if I was a spy, I would know like 500 ways to kick someone's butt. A well placed karate chop would render them unconscious for hours. As it is, the only move I know is kneeing someone in the groin.
There's also the massive arsenal of cool weaponry to consider. I'd have glasses that shoot laser beams, hand lotion laced with cyanide, a tube of lipstick that triggers explosives and other awesome things.
Yes, being a spy would be fun. But, alas, I am but a cowardly, overweight, dreamer with no idea how to save the world from evil operatives or avert danger. The only thing I spy on is the cake someone left in the breakroom.

Thoughts on Cleavage

I think cleavage is the great equalizer among women. It is what puts an unattractive woman with a great rack on an even playing field with an attractive, flat-chested girl.
Last October, I tore my contacts and was forced to wear my glasses for awhile. To make matters worse, I was playing around with a friend in an alley, sans glasses, and I tripped. Luckily for me, I broke the fall with my face. So, not only was I forced to wear my glasses, causing me to lose attractive points, I had cement burns on my forehead and nose, and my lip had busted and was swollen to about 5 X's its normal size. I had people compare me to a Simpson . . . Bart and Marge! So for around a week and a half, I wore low cut shirts to work in an effort to distract from my new Quasimodo face.
I have a decent size pair of boobs, so on occasion my shirt will shift or I will bend forward causing a little cleavage to peek out. I have a friend who has cleavage radar. As soon as the cleavage comes out, alarms go off in her brain, and she's right there to point out that I might want to rein in it. Sometimes, I appreciate it. But sometimes, it's downright irritating. I mean, it's not entirely my fault. I think some of the blame has to go to gravity. Besides, it's not lusty cleavage that I'm showing. It's "modest cleavage" or "classy cleavage".
I guess to some up my thoughts on this subject, I'd have to leave you with a quote by a wise man. "Smoke 'em if you got 'em!"

thoughts on lisa

Two years ago, I decided to take a ballroom dance class for a semester at a local community college. I went with a friend, and we thought it would be a lot of fun. Turned out to be a lot of awkward. Everyone else who came brought their own partner. So, my friend and I took turns being the "man" in the partnership. I do have to admit, though, that I am one heck of a "man" (when it comes to dancing). There was one girl there with her fiance and her whole bridal party. Now, one thing you should know about me, I love nicknames, especially if I don't know your actual name. So, I called this girl Lisa because she reminded me of Baby's sister, Lisa, from Dirty Dancing. Lisa thought she was hot stuff. She overly shook her hips during the rumba, and unnecessarily shook them during the waltz. She could pretty much always be seen shaking her hips. I guess she was trying to be sexy. And boy, did it work! - no, I'm just kidding. Over the course of the class, Lisa became my nemesis, unbeknownst to her. I had sort of become the teacher's favorite. But, when he wasn't dancing with me, he was dancing with Lisa. It wasn't like the teacher was hot, but Lisa was engaged. Did she have to be teacher's pet, too? Well, the class eventually ended, but occasionally I still see Lisa around the area. She never seems to recognize me. I saw her once at the theater working concessions. I elbowed my friend and whispered, "Lisa!" Then we both laughed and moved on. Today, I saw Lisa eating lunch at McCallister's. I wondered what she was doing with her life. Did she ever get married to that guy she danced with? It occurred to me that I might go up and ask her what her real name is. But that would ruin the illusion of Lisa, my obnoxious, hip-shaking, one-time nemesis from not so long ago.

thoughts on stereotypes

Why are stereotypes considered a bad thing?  I think when used appropriately, they can actually be an advantage.  For instance, blondes are considered dumb.  Because of my blond hair, those I work with think that I, too, am not the brightest.  Little do they know that I graduated college Summa Cum Laud with a grade point average of 3.949.  This actually gets me out of having to do a lot of crap that I'd rather not deal with.  Example number two: the middle child syndrome.  Because I am a middle child, I  have an automatic pass on some of my stranger quirks.  I just shrug my shoulders and say "middle child", and people seem quite satisfied with that answer.  What is really disappointing is when certain stereotypes turn out to be less than truthful.  As I have gained weight over the last few years, my disposition has, in fact, become more jolly.  So when I meet an overweight person who is not funny or fun to be around, I get the same feeling I got when my mom told me that Santa did not exist.  Case in point: I know a person who by all accounts and stereotypes should act in a certain way. And for awhile this person did. Suddenly, she's breaking the rules of her particular stereotype. I don't think I like it.  Was it all a ruse?  All I am saying is that perhaps, there is a reason for stereotypes.  And if you fall under the category of one, would it kill you to play along?  I like my fat people jolly, my old men grumpy, and my bosses clueless as to what really goes on in the company.