My Doomed Relationship

Some relationships are doomed from the beginning. Everyone can see it except the two people in the relationship. There are many reasons why a relationship would be set on a course for disaster from the very beginning but one main reason is that the two are in it for the wrong reasons.

I once dated a girl simply because she could drive and I couldn't. A girl once tried to date me simply because I had tickets to a concert she wanted. I am pretty sure my wife only agreed to date me because we lived in the same neighborhood and it was convenient. I can think of no other reason, she is hawt and I spell hot, hawt. Clearly she could have done better.

We all have friends who begin dating and we can see it just won't work. I am in a similar situation. I have had an on again off again love relationship with Running. The problem is I abhor running. There are a list of crybaby reasons why I hate running. The ground is too hard and hurts my knees, my entire body chafes, I have asthma, it takes too much time. So, you would think I would realize that running is the bane of my existence and move on to something less trying like table tennis or water aerobics for my exercise.

But, I am a love struck moron. I look past those things I hate about Running and crush on the things that I think I will love about running. I ignore that I am an asthmatic, bad kneed, lazy, cry baby and focus on a few great things about Running.

Sometimes this works in a relationship. I am sure my wife had to push aside the fact that I had similar table manners to a three year old, that my ultimate dream was to see a werewolf fight an armored mass of zombies, and that I had spent enough money on concerts and CD's to buy a pretty legit car. She forced her brain to ignore these things and instead focused on the fact that.........okay, so I'm not real sure what she focused on....once I got second place in a tennis tournament because another team defaulted, maybe that was it.......

Okay, back on course. The point is she was able to ignore my bad traits and love my good traits and it all seems to have worked out for the good. For that to work though, you must focus on actual good qualities. If you consider the fact that a guy is loaded or a girl is built like Scarlett Johansson the good qualities to focus on you are in for failure.

I am in a similar position with Running. I don't focus on things like my weight, my cardiovascular health, or even the runner's high (We all know that the "runner's high" is just when the runner stops to shoot up out of boredom, right?). Instead I focus on 3 things about Running that my brain perceives as good but really do not promote a long lasting relationship.

REASON ONE: THE CLOTHES

I am vein. It is sad, but true. The clothes don’t make the man, but they sure make the man feel more confident. Rock stars may be confident guys regardless, but you never see one of them walk on stage in a pair of sweat pant shorts and a t-shirt with food stains on it. We can argue it all day long, but clothes kind of sorta maybe make the man. Nike and Under Armor are no slouches and they realize that deep down we all know this and they don’t even typically bother advertising about how their clothes make running easier. They used to. I bought my Nike Pumps in 5th grade because I literally thought they would make me jump higher. But, now they have learned that simply showing an artsy video of people running with their clothes on, or showing a video with lots of quick cuts of a guy working out make us want their clothes. Most of us know we will never play basketball like Lebron or football like Reggie Bush, but maybe, just maybe we could look freakin’ awesome while we run 2 miles an hour around the neighborhood.

REASON TWO: GATORADE

I don’t drink Gatorade on a normal basis. It is expensive and really sugary. Our budget can’t afford it and if I have to choose between a sugary drink and Dunkin Donuts donut, the donut will win every time. I don’t really watch my calories, but I do watch them enough to make sure I spend them on the best tasting options. Gatorade is delicious though. Last week I helped a friend move. As always with moving, it kinda sucked. Heavy things are not fun to pick up and stairs are not fun to climb. Towards the end of the move the friend busted out some Gatorade. I downed 32 ounces of that sweet nectar and I was ready to move furniture for another few hours as long as it meant there was more Gatorade at the end of the day. Sadly, while Gatorade is fantastic while being drunk….drank….dranken…….drinkin? Yes, while Gatorade is fantastic while being drinkin it is not much of a motivator on mile 2 of a mile 5 run.

REASON THREE: ICE CREAM

I have heard story after story of people who run long distance and not only can eat whatever they want but NEED to eat fattening foods to replenish their body. As an out of shape lover of fattening food this sounds like paradise. As I sit on the couch reading yet another article about this phenomenon I think to myself, “Dude, I can totally run 5 miles a day if I can eat a bowl of ice cream after!”. This is a lie. The ice cream is enough positive enforcement to keep me excited as I tie up my running shoes, turn my iPod on, and walk out the door, heck even for the first few minutes of running I feel great. But, inevitably I get to the huge, long, slow rising hill in my neighborhood and all of my excitement drains. My 5 mile run turns into a 2 mile run/walk and my bowl of ice cream turns in to 2 bowls of ice cream…..and a few cookies.

Surprisingly clothing, Gatorade, and ice cream are not the best reasons to take up Running and thus my affair with Running is always short lived. We have a few lustful days of bliss followed by months of ignoring each other. I should learn my lesson. Running never treats me right, she lures me in and treats me horribly. I despise her, but whenever I see a thin person dressed in Under Armor eating Gatorade flavored ice cream (happens ALL THE TIME!) I find my self lacing up my shoes one more time.

Sweet, Sweet Vomit

My wife and I recently had a conversation that is had in many homes throughout our nation. This discussion was on Drew Barrymore and whether she has grown up to be a surprisingly beautiful woman or if she has grown up to be a surprisingly beautiful ogre-woman . Okay, that wasn't the real discussion but I challenge you to find a consensus in your group of friends on that topic.

Our actual discussion was the typical discussion of the husband slowly putting on weight each and every year and the wife trying to gently persuade him to change his eating habits. Boring discussion that no one wants to hear about but according to my wife may lead to my eventual, slow, painful death. Apparently if you carry your weight in your belly (like most men) it is really bad and worse than other types of fat, because this kind of fat is the perfect place for a gremlin to grow and eventually the gremlin will grow strong enough to burst out of your side and reign havoc in small towns across America on Christmas. Terrible stuff, that belly fat!

This conversation lead me to an old memory from my childhood. It is a memory from when I was about four or five years old. At the time my mom had a full time job and so we had a lady come to our house once a week to help my mom get caught up on chores. Her name was Ruth and she was an old African American lady who cleaned my parents home, my cousins home, and my grandmothers home. So, as a child she felt like an extension of our family.

What in the world do Ruth and belly fat have to do with each other? Well, while thinking of my belly fat I began to tell Kat how I simply have no self control when it comes to sweets. I wondered why this was and after a few moments of thought a memory of Ruth came to mind. At some point my mother left me with Ruth for a morning and Ruth kept an eye on me.

Growing up my favorite breakfast was Eggo waffles and chocolate milk. I didn't have a passing love of this breakfast, it was an obsession. I had it almost every single morning of my life until I graduated high school. Literally almost every morning. Even today Kat knows that our freezer must be stocked with Eggo waffles and our fridge must have a bottle of Hershey Syrup in it at ALL times.

Well, Ruth must have decided she would be nice or she decided to be incredibly lazy and she allowed me to put the maple syrup on my waffles and the Hershey syrup in my milk. Like I said, I was four or five so this was a very very poor decision on Ruth's part. I went freakin' crazy with both syrups and probably had the soggiest waffle of all time and had to chew the milk.

It was not good. Even at that age I knew it was simply too sugary. The first few bites were like heaven, but eventually it became an endurance match to eat my way through the waffles and milk. I am not 100% on this fact, but I vaguely remember vomiting after I finished. It was a sad day in my life story.

What this memory allowed me realize about myself is that I do have a serious, long standing issue with sweets. The issue is not that I like sweets. Who doesn't?! What five year old would not have done the exact same thing I did when presented with two bottles of syrup? The issue is that even at that age I forced myself to finish.

I have continued that trait for my entire life. If you put a Cheesecake Factory cheesecake in front of me, I will eat until my stomach hurts. If you take me Jason's Deli, I will eat the free ice cream before dinner just in case dinner were to fill me up. If I walk into a Subway I eat a cookie regardless of if I want one or not. My body is apparently in a constant delusion that the world is in short supply of sweets and I better get it while I can.

There really is no easy answer. I can diet all I want, but eventually I will see sweets and be overcome. I can work out all I want, but eventually I will see sweets and be overcome. There truly is only one option now. I need to find 'ol Ruth, sit down in front of a waffle and glass of milk, have Ruth gently whisper in my ear to pour as much as I want, go nuts with the syrup, force myself to eat all the food and drink all the milk, and then vomit myself until I am dry heaving. That should keep me away from sweets for at least a few hours.

You Like Chocolate? Me Too! We Should Get Married!

Everyone, and I mean, everyone knows “The Pina Colada Song” or by it’s actual name “Escape” by Rupert Holmes. 99% of people wouldn’t know who Rupert Holmes was if asked and the same percent would call it “The Pina Colada Song” instead of “Escape”. So no one knows much about the song but everyone can sing the lyrics. Here they are:

I was tired of my lady
We'd been together too long
Like a worn-out recording
Of a favorite song
So while she lay there sleeping
I read the paper in bed
And in the personal columns
There was this letter I read
"If you like Pina Coladas
And getting caught in the rain
If you're not into yoga
If you have half a brain
If you'd like making love at midnight
In the dunes on the Cape
Then I'm the love that you've looked for
Write to me and escape."
I didn't think about my lady
I know that sounds kind of mean
But me and my old lady
Have fallen into the same old dull routine
So I wrote to the paper
Took out a personal ad
And though I'm nobody's poet
I thought it wasn't half bad
"Yes I like Pina Coladas
And getting caught in the rain
I'm not much into health food
I am into champagne
I've got to meet you by tomorrow noon
And cut through all this red-tape
At a bar called O'Malley's
Where we'll plan our escape."
So I waited with high hopes
And she walked in the place
I knew her smile in an instant
I knew the curve of her face
It was my own lovely lady
And she said, "Oh it's you."
Then we laughed for a moment
And I said, "I never knew."
That you like Pina Coladas
Getting caught in the rain
And the feel of the ocean
And the taste of champagne
If you'd like making love at midnight
In the dunes of the Cape
You're the lady I've looked for
Come with me and escape
repeat chorus twice and fade out

Cute song. Catchy lyrics. I recently referenced this song in an email I sent to a friend. After fretting and fretting over if mentioning making love in the dunes of a cape was inappropriate or not another thought finally hit me. Good gracious, those two people should have gotten a divorce. I am not typically an advocate for divorce. I have often told my wife that even if she has an affair I will most likely keep her around. Probably not the wisest thing to tell someone if you don’t want them to do it. “Hey child, if you start smoking crack I’ll be totally cool with it…..but don’t do it!”. But oh well, love is retarded.

So, why would a man who despises divorce advocate it in this situation? Well, they were clearly headed that way anyways at the beginning of the song. I’ve heard people describe their spouses in many ways but “worn out recording” comes across as rather mean spirited and pretty hard to recover from. You know what you do with worn out recordings? You throw them away and buy a new copy. A copy with more curves, less inhibitions, and a love of doing chores or if you are a woman a copy with less curves, more inhibitions, and a love of doing chores.

Okay, so their marriage isn’t exactly grand. Obviously our vows didn’t say “In health and sickness, in grandness and ungrandness” so still you might be wondering why I would advocate divorce. I think these two people should get divorced because their reasoning for staying together was that they both like Pina Coladas, getting caught in the rain, laziness to the point of being unlimber, somewhat smart people, sex, the beach, junk food, champagne, and they both dislike red tape. You know who else like these things? Everyone in the world in the entire history of humankind.

Pina Coladas- This is one of the only alcoholic drinks that people still drink without alcohol in it. O’Douls tries to sell beer without alcohol and you know who drinks it? No one. Okay…maybe midgets….small people…..dwarves…..whatever they are called drink it because they are tiny, but no one else does.

Getting caught in the rain - There is LITERALLY a song called, “Singing in the Rain”.

Laziness to the point of being unlimber – Being unlimber isn’t the goal but lung cancer isn’t the goal of smokers either. People love laziness so much they don’t care if they can no longer tie their own shoes.

Somewhat smart people – This one is tricky because typically we all say that we want a spouse who is smart, but these guys cut through the red tape (they like that, remember?) and say what we really want. We all want someone who is smart enough to cook their own meals but dumb enough to make us feel good about ourselves

Sex – Sex. Yes, the word sex is my entire argument for that one.

The beach – Sharks, hurricanes, pirates, jelly fish, sting rays, men in thongs. There are many perils at the beach, but we all love it so much that almost every American braves all of the dangers to spend a few days at the beach each year.

Junk Food – The KFC Double Down exists for one reason, we love junk food to the point that bread just gets in the way of stuffing more grease in.

Champagne – Even if you don’t like the taste, everyone likes feeling fancy every once in a while!

Hate red tape – I don’t really know why, but everyone seems to hate this stuff. I think red tape works great for holiday gift wrapping.

So these two people that were so bored with each other they wanted to run away decided to get back together because they like things that everyone likes? You do realize that this woman probably returned home after meeting her husband at O’Malley’s and had thousands of responses from men across the city. She said the word “sex” in a personal ad. Her personal ad could have just said, “Woman seeking sex” and she would have gotten response, but then to ad in the promise of alcohol and fast food after?!?! She is most men’s dream woman (yes, men are oddly easy to please). So, even if she was pleased to discover that her hubby had similar interests, don’t you think she may have been lured away by a hotter, richer man right after this song ended?

My last reason for these people needing to find a divorce lawyer as quickly as possible is that their marriage up to now points to bad things. They have been married long enough to feel the other is a “worn out recording” and yet they have never once had a conversation that led them to realize the other one liked the beach, fruity alcohol, fancy alcohol, junk food, sloth, playing in the rain, or sex? I know more about my wife’s high school crushes than these two know about each other. So even if the wife for some reason turns up her nose at the thousands of men who left her messages, these two will most likely never come to find out that the other person likes Strawberry Daiquiris, candy, baseball, or the way the sun feels on your body when you get out of a cold pool.

Eventually these two will eventually realize they are lonely and their spouse has the communication skills of Helen Keller and they will go searching for someone else. But they will both be obese and have a serious drinking problem at this point and divorce will only lead to further loneliness.

So, I just want to close by saying, “That Rupert Holmes is full of crap, man!”.

My Un-cool Guilty Pleasure

I am not cool. I never have been cool. I never will be cool. I once cried at school in the seventh grade. I had an understanding with the Principal in high school that if I left the cafeteria without permission it was because my Gerd was acting up and I needed to go vomit. I got in trouble in college for reading a book during a professor lecture. I am not cool.

Unfortunately, like everyone else on the planet Earth I try and convince others, sometimes even myself, that I am cool. In 5th grade I tried to play the part by getting a leather jacket. As about 75 pounds I sadly looked more like a kid wearing his older brother’s hand-me-downs than like James Dean. In 6th grade I decided I got a sweet pair of Shawn Kemp’s to wear. Somehow in my mind I decided that owning a pair of Shawn Kemp meant that I would be a baller at basketball even though I had never played. So I went down to the local YMCA, joined a team, showed up to practice, and was embarrassed to realize that I had to shoot granny style for free throws because I was so weak. The stories are endless, but they all have one conclusion. Not matter how hard I try I will never be cool.

Some people have “it”. You can’t describe “it” but they have it. They walk cool, they talk cool, they dance cool, they chew cool, they get shot cool, they date other cool people, they probably even poop cool. Obviously a lot of celebrities have this “it” quality, but there are many among us mere mortals that have it also. The rest of us strive for “it” and fail miserably.

And thus comes my guilty pleasure. I LOVE to catch people in the act of trying to be cool and failing miserably. I love it not because I am a mean spirited person. That would not be logical, because like I just told you I am also very un-cool but try hard to be. I love it because I feel like I see a little bit of humanity in them when they do this. I love remembering that we are all someone’s little son or daughter just grown up now and trying really hard to make others like us. I love remembering that no matter how hard, sexy, funny, or cool we act deep down we are trying to hide the fact that we are insecure people that are seeking approval. The Christian in me loves it because it reminds me that no matter how hard we act like we are doing good on our own, we are failing miserably at it.

I have two examples of this that are my favorite. The first is solely for girls. Let me paint you a picture. You are out to dinner with your friends and you notice an attractive, young girl sitting across the restaurant dining with her boyfriend. She clearly spent hours curling her hair so it has that perfect bounce, putting on makeup so it has that look that seems as if it took no effort but actually took tons of effort, she is wearing an outfit that is probably the fourth or fifth one she tried on. She looks great and you are happy for her that she probably is winning that guy over easily. You watch as she dabs at her lips with her napkin and excuses herself to the ladies room. She stands up to walk to the restroom and…….wobbles across the restaurant. Yes, I LOVE it when girls try and wear high heels and fail miserably at pulling it off. Heels serve no purpose other than looking sexy/cool, so when a girl wears them and it has the complete opposite effect that she was going for I just eat it up.

My next example applies to both guys and girls, but most typically to young teenagers around 16 years old. If there is one thing that many, many iconic movie stars have in common whether it is in real life or simply while portraying a character it is that they smoke a cigarette really really cool. You could be walking out of your grandfather’s funeral who died of lung cancer, and happen to see Brad Pitt smoking in Fight Club on a passing TV and I guarantee for at least one split second you will think he looks freakin’ awesome. So, while smoking might be one of the dumbest things on the entire planet to do I understand why a teenager whose brain is basically retarded would think smoking is a great idea. The part that is hilarious is that NO ONE looks cool when learning to smoke. Even after the teenager gets used to the taste of smoke, they still don’t know how to hold it right, don’t know how inhale right, don’t know how to exhale right, don’t know how to pack them right. And, then even if they learn how do all that they still look like a person not finished with puberty trying really hard to look older. My best example of this was from a few months ago. I was driving through town and passed a girl who was smoking a cigarette in her car. But due to the cold she barely had the window cracked. When she went to ash out the window the entire red hot ember decided not to fly out of the car, but instead directly into the seat behind her. Again she was trying REALLY hard to look cool but somehow managed to look extremely uncool in the process.

While I do enjoy my guilty pleasure it has one very serious side effect. Because I enjoy watching others fail at being cool so much, I am constantly paranoid that others are doing the same to me. So, when you see me out on the town wearing my high heels and smoking my menthol cigs just turn the other way and make sure I don’t see you giggling.

What They Don't Tell You in Harry Potter

According to one Christian author Harry Potter as a series is going to “put untold millions of kids into hell”. Indubitably! Okay, I am not totally sure if I am using that word but it sure is fun to say and even more fun to type! For real though, I agree with the Christians that say Harry Potter is a horrible, wicked thing.
Like untold millions of girls, boys, teens, moms, dads, grandparents, fantasy fans, midgets, and probably even a few people into homosexual animal polygamy I have greatly enjoyed the HP series. Started out fun and fantasmical and quickly turned into a dark story that keeps your blood pumping from page 1 to page 31,615. I am a huge fan, but I still think this book is sending us all to hell. I do not think this because it includes wizards, witches, unicorn blood, or even a chaste homosexual wizard who takes a strange interest in his 16 year old student. The little bit of wisdom I have picked up in my 27 years has shown me that it takes more than reading a book involving fictional wizards to send someone to hell.
Why then do I feel it will damn us all? Here is why.

The Harry Potter series takes these children by train from the boring, unsophisticated muggle world to a magical world of butter beer and love potions. The train to Hogwarts is simply beautiful. Pristine in every way. Not only that, the view is spectacular. Not only that, they have little rooms that are private and fun and comfy. Not only that, they have a cart that comes by and sells candy for reasonable prices. Not only that, they take this journey with their closest friends. Not only that, there is only one stop and that stop is freakin’ Hogwarts.
You know how your mom taught you as a child that white lies quickly become these hairy, ferocious, tangled webs that you could never hope to free yourself from? Well, if so then in this one simple detail about trains has told a fib big enough that is will send each and every one of it’s readers to hell. Maybe not the hell from the Bible, but a hell non the less.
The hell it will send you to is the hell where you decide a trip to Europe would be amazing. And it will be, but won’t be amazing is getting from one country to another. The “affordable” train tickets will lure you in and the magical tale that J.K. Rawling weaved of trains will make you joyfully look forward to your trip.
Suddenly it is train riding day. When I say day, I mean night because everyone advises to ride the train at night so you have more “day” hours in actual countries. You show up to the station dressed in your finest attire. I mean, you might meet a Slitherin and nobody wants to look dumpy around a Slitherin and get made fun of! Immediately your magical thoughts are dashed when you step up to the ticket booth and the ticket salesman and he tries to explain this confusing algorithm of a train schedule to you in broken English. You finally get your tickets just praying that it will take you where you need to go and sit down to wait on your train. You wait, and wait, and get coughed on by a old lady clearly from Eastern Europe (you can tell because the smell of communism), you wait, and wait, and eat a cold deli sandwich because Europe is too classy for a Mcdonalds, you wait, and wait, and….oooooooo, the train is here.
When I said oooooooooo, I meant ewwwwwwwwwwwww. The train is here and it looks sketch and gross. Despite the smell of strange cheese everyone rushes aboard, to wait in line as they walk down thin corridors to find their room. You finally reach your room and pull the door open. Where are Ron, Hermione, and your pet owl? All I see are three really creepy looking German guys who appear drunk and have every light in the room on despite the fact that it is now 2am. Oh well, at least that Eastern European lady isn’t coughing on you anymore and you can take this heavy bag, that cost almost as much as your entire trip, off of your back. But wait, reminiscent to the Germans from WW2 these Germans have taken control of all valuable land space. Bags, liquor bottles, trash, cigarettes are strewn across the compartment and there is only about 2 inches of space left on your seat. Leaving you backpack on you squish into the 2 inches and frantically look out the window every 5 minutes when the train comes to a stop and you are unsure if it is your stop or not. Eventually you ignore the stops and try and get comfortable and wait for the Germans to get the hint that you are both tired and claustrophobic.
The Germans do not get the hint. At 5am you finally manage to sign language to them that you are tired. Looking annoyed that you are sleepy they concede and let you pull your bed out. At 5:15 am while clutching your money waist belt for dear life you slowly find sleep. At 5:16am the train employee opens the door to check passports. At 5:17am a lady with a smelly sandwich cart comes around you buy one. It only cost 1 Euro! Later you will find out that the conversion rate meant you spent $515 on that sandwich.
At 5:18am you arrive at your destination. At least you think it’s your destination. Everything is in French and you aren’t really sure. Praying harder than you’ve prayed since that time you tried to sleep on a train with some German guys you step off the train just hoping this is your stop.
Suddenly you realize that Harry Potter’s full of crap, man.
The only solace you can find in the entire situation is that riding a train is still way better than flying RyanAir.

The Non Chewer

I dated a lot of crazy girls in my time before I found my wife. Some men consider themselves “blond guys”, or “a leg man”, or even “into Asians”. Lots of different preferences but most of them have to do with appearances. Somehow along the way I became a man that fancied a girl with a little touch of crazy. And when I say a little touch of crazy, I mean my dating history reads like a list of Batman’s enemies.

One particular girl that I went on a few dates with is now known as, “The Non Chewer”. Everyone has one or two “crushes” in high school that are rather major. High schoolers tend to like one girl/guy one week and move onto another girl/guy the next, but these same kids also have one or two crushes that last for years. The Non Chewer was one of  the ones that stuck around for awhile. I barely knew the girl, but I had watched her from afar for quite some time when I finally found the courage to ask her on a date. By my own estimate I was somewhat of a loser in high school. I had great friends and always had stuff going on and I even sat at the cool table at lunch some semesters, but after school my friends and I spent our time having bottle rocket wars or playing video games instead of at the cool kid’s parties. I wasn’t Glee club material, but I also wasn’t baseball team material. So, when this girl said that she would go out with me I was pretty ecstatic.

I was sixteen, so a fancy Chinese restaurant was about the best I could afford. I figured Chinese food was my second favorite food (JAPANESE!!) and this girl was my second favorite crush so it was perfect. I picked the girl up and we headed out to dinner. I remember nothing of this date other than two things. I ate sesame chicken and it was amazing, and the girl showed a touch of crazy on our first date. Typically girls hide their crazy until it is too late to escape. You’ve met the family, you’ve introduced her to yours, you’ve signed up for classes together at school, all is well and then……..BAM, she thinks someone is stalking her twice a week and needs you to help.

The Non Chewer at least did me to courtesy of showing off her crazy before she had her fingers dug in deep. First of all after I ordered my sesame seed chicken, she ordered ONE egg roll. This is dinner and she ordered ONE egg roll. I am sure I should have been thankful to her for being a cheap date, but ONE egg roll is odd. No, ordering a kids meal would be odd. Ordering ONE egg roll for dinner was just down right creepy and worrisome. Whatever, at the time I thought she was hot. If she was only able to eat one egg roll for dinner to stay attractive then it could be overlooked. I had slept with a headgear just two years prior, so hey, whatever.

Once my sesame seed chicken and her ONE egg roll came I quickly dug in to my dinner. After a few moments she asked me to look away. I thought, “Oooo, maybe she is going to kiss my cheek when I look away! Maybe she is going to cut up some of that ONE egg roll and put it on my plate!” Neither of those things happened. Instead when I was instructed I could look at her again I noticed nothing had changed, except that she had one small bite missing from her ONE egg roll. Okay, crazy MIGHT be showing itself again but again she was attractive so I tried to overlook it.

A little more awkward conversation and a few more minutes of heaven between myself and my sesame seed chicken and she again asked me to turn my head. After I did so and then turned back to her nothing had changed except there were now two bites missing from her ONE egg roll. Yep, this girl did not want me to see her take a bite of food or chew her food. Girls often try and convince guys that they do not have bowel movements but never have before or since heard of a girl trying to convince someone that they were a Non Chewer.

And just like that I had a moment similar to in Sleeping Beauty when Maleficent turns from an attractive queen into a wretched smelling, fire breathing dragon. I would be fooled by many girls later in life, but this one had no skill with her craziness. She was too bold. I still see the girl occasionally around town, and I am sure she is just as pretty today as she was then but all I can see when I am around her is ONE egg roll sitting on a plate slowly disappearing one bite at a time.

Normal eating patterns become something that I looked out for in women when dating. Not all passed this test, but my wife did. On our first date I took her up to Warm Springs and we went to the Bullock House and she ate a normal, healthy amount of food. She didn’t eat more food than me and then vomit it up later (dated one of those too!), but she also didn’t eat ONE fried green tomato. That day was one of the first signs of many that she was the one for me.

You might like red heads, you might like tan skin, heck you might even be into pig nosed girls…but my word of advice is before you look into any of that make sure the girl will chew in public!

Razor Scooters Race

When I was in high school both of my brothers got a Razor scooter for Christmas. I am not quite sure why they thought this was a good idea. The Jones family is not known for balance, coordination, or athleticism in any way. Oh, we love sports, we just aren’t typically first picked….or second picked. Razor scooters were obviously created by a man that either hated children or has no understanding of children. Children as a whole tend to not be overly coordinated or be the best decision makers.

Sure a Razor scooter is perfectly safe on a flat, smooth surface while wearing a helmet, knee pads, elbow pads, mouthpiece, a cup, and bubblewrap. Perfectly safe! But, when you take a razor scooter and use it on a bumpy, hilly road with no protection at all except the extra fat that most kids carry around….well, trouble will soon follow.

Note the “fat protection” did little to help.

So anyways, my brothers got these things for Christmas and the pain began. Mostly little falls where the freakin’ tiny tire would hit a rock or divet in the road and send one of us flying of the handle bars. Soon we started attempting to jump our bike ramp with it. All I will say is that that was neither safe nor wise. The true problem was the fact that I was about 16 years old and had friends who spent LOTS of time at my house. We would quickly grow bored with video games and frisbees and look for good ol’ fashioned trouble (See my post of Jackass). The Razor scooter provided ample room for trouble.

A certain tall, lanky friend and I decided to climb the hill in front of my house and race down. The hill was probably about a 35 degree angle. Nothing too exciting on a bike, but on two pieces of metal welded together and two inline skate wheels stuck on the bottom it was frightening. As soon as we got to the top of the hill I think we both knew we were being idiots, but being boys neither of us were willing to back down. We started down the hill rather timidly, but with each second that we didn’t fall we gathered confidence. Suddenly our worries weren’t about our lives, but about winning this race. The wheels shook as they speed down the hill, the wind made our eyes water, our hearts pounded in our chest, and suddenly three frisbees flew by our heads. Wait, what?

Yes, our other friend while watching us trek up the hill with razor scooters flung over our shoulders came up with a devious plan. He quickly grabbed a handful of frisbees and found a prime hiding spot at the bottom of the hill behind a bush. As we got about 3/4 of the way down the hill he jumped out from behind the bush and let loose all three frisbees. My friend racing behind my had nerves of steel that day and held his line, I meanwhile had my concentration on the bottom of the hill shattered, saw the discs flying at my face, and tried to veer slightly to the left. Only, there are no “slight” turns on a Razor scooter. You have one little wheel doing your turning, so my slight veer became me flying over the front of the scooter which itself made a quick stop. This was a very cool looking display of science and momentum, but it was also a very cool looking display of pain and anguish. I hit the pavement hard, but not hard enough to come to an immediate stop. In my mind I slid across the ground for a good 20 feet before coming to a slow stop.

The adrenaline flushed through my body and I had a moment like a mother who sees her child trapped under a car. Only my adrenaline was not focused on lifting a car it was focused on my friend. Luckily I love him and did not want to hurt him, and he took Jiu Jitsu lessons as a child and I don’t like being beaten up. So my adrenaline was not focused on lifting a car, or fighting my friend, but instead was focused on saying every curse word I had ever heard and making some new ones up all while screaming in my friends face. After my anger was calmed, and my friends stopped laughing we headed inside and let my mom bandage me up. Yes, my mom bandaged me up when I was sixteen. I was a momma’s boy and proud of it. I’ll blog on that later.

Weeks later after all my scrapes and bruises were healed up I would contemplate these event in my life. I definitely learned a few things. I learned that Razor scooters are the true killer, not cancer. I learned that I am only one skinned knee away from cursing out one of my dearest friends in the whole world. But most importantly I learned to never, ever, under any circumstance trust “one of your dearest friends in the whole world”.