I pretty much do whatever Oprah tells me to do.

If you've never cooked anything more than cereal, you can skip the first paragraph of this blog. But if you have actually cooked a meal, keep reading.

I made chicken the other night and tossed the scraps into the garbage. In less than 8 hours, you'd have thought I had a 9-week-old dead hooker in my kitchen, it smelled so bad. It reminds me never to murder a chicken hooker, because that's not something you want in the trunk of your car overnight... it's a dead giveaway (pun intended).

Last night I was watching TV and the emergency warning system shut down the show I was watching to warn of a tornado in the area. All viewers were told to go into their basements. I don't have a basement...that's kind of a problem. But it did make me put things in perspective, things like, "Well, I don't have to do laundry tomorrow," and "At least I get out of November's mortgage payment." But there are those other, deeper things, that ran through my mind. Those things like, "I should've apologized to my sister for reading her diary in 7th grade," or "I've always wanted to carve my name into a tree," and especially, "Wow, this really sucks if I die tonight..." (the strange part was, I was compelled to call one person but changed my mind because I thought it would make for an awkward conversation..."Hey, what's up? Yeah, I might be dead in 3 hours...") In case you haven't figured it out by now, I survived. You're welcome.

Life is all about perspective; I guess that's the point. Like the guy I recently heard about who almost lost his hand in an accident. Luckily he didn't, but he still cannot use it. That's great and all, but while he heals there are those pain in the ass things that we don't always think about: Sure, he can wipe his ass but how does he wash one hand? Or, how does he use a shovel? He just became a slower typer. He can't easily pour cooked pasta into a strainer. Ever try to eat a taco with one hand?

Perspective. It's pretty much synonmous with Reality. They are both in our minds. People can object with one another but reality is all about our own perspective. And that's terrifying, especially with crazy fanatics out there. Like people who think Burger King makes the BEST. BURGERS. EVER. Or those crazies who think when aliens invade, they'll want to be our friends. OR the people who think everyone is inherently good (insert insane, screechy laughter here) We know who we are.

Like my armpits. I waxed them last night. Best decision I ever made. You might disagree, but it is only my reality that counts.

And the upcoming holidays. I bet if I spend this holiday season sober, I'll find out football is boring, my dad isn't funny and I really cannot play the guitar. It's all about perspective.

Bored? Call this number: 610-331-0770

I don't know who it belongs to (well, I have an idea of who it is). What I can tell you is this: I don't think I am making their Christmas card list this year. I could be wrong, but considering this mystery number sent me a text saying only: I hate u, I have to assume they're not big fans. Now that I think about it, they didn't use punctuation. That makes ALL the difference, especially with mystery phone numbers. It could be the difference between sleeping with all the lights on in the house with a carving knife on my nightstand *cough* (not that I did that) or feeling bad because a fellow earthling is simply confused. I hate u? (maybe they're on the fence) I hate u! (they get excited about hating people) Or perhaps, I hate u?! (unsure of how to spell their pronouns) In any case, I think it is pretty rude and gutless for people to use someone else's phone to send mean text messages. I get it. You hate me. Join the club, take a number, get in line...there's more where that came from. There are days I hate myself. Granted, those days don't come along often because I am pretty freakin' awesome, but you know...some days, I'd break up with me. I'd use the toilet and not flush. I'd eat the last of my cupcakes without offering to share with me. But I wouldn't send myself an anonymous "I hate u" text message. In all honesty, though, I cannot say I'm surprised. People either love me or hate me; I don't have an "in-between" personality where people are on the fence and I am okay with that. What bugs me though, is that I'm a private citizen and now I get anonymous hate texts? Seriously? Here's what I think: I think if you have something to say, stand up and say it like a man to my face, not behind the cloak of Verizon Wireless from an unnamed cell number (yes, I also lost $9.99 trying to figure out who it was). And because I like to practice what I preach, I am going to tell all of YOU what I really think (better sit down, this one is gonna be a doozie): -Your dog isn't that cute. -Your kid isn't that smart. -You're not funny. -Your exgirlfriend was hot and you're an idiot for screwing it up. -I hate your haircut. -Your sister is prettier. -If I had balls they'd be bigger than yours. -I'm jealous of your boobs. -Relax. -You need to wear makeup.- Don't you feel better? I know I do. So let me be "Frank" (ha ha): I'm too much of a wuss to call that strange number back in order to find out what asshole hates me. But I DO have faith that at least one of you will call that number. If you do, please leave a comment on this blog telling all of us who it belongs to...because that's when the REAL fun will begin. (insert creepy clown smiley face here)

The best argument against democracy is a five-minute conversation with the average voter. - Winston Churchill

So how 'bout that new health care bill? I haven't blogged in quite some time because I really haven't had much material. Go figure, I still don't. No, I am not even touching the political stuff. No need to get your panties in a bunch. I only reserve my discussions of politics and religion for my minority friends (I think I am up to 3). Bad segway: I work with a guy who is getting married in a few months and today he told me how he put "fun" items on his wedding gift registry. You know, fun things like a Dungeons and Dragons book, art supplies and a blue ray DVD player. Is that what the kids are doing nowadays? I mean, registering for those kinds of gifts really expose who you are as a person. Are you ready for that? Is the guest list? D&D? Uh, yeah, if I go to that wedding I'm probably going to eat all the shrimp just to piss off the other nerd guests. But realistically, I bet most of them are allergic anyway and the few remaining hate cocktail sauce, so...more shrimp for me. I know, I know, to each his own. If some jackass wants to turn his wedding registry into a Letter to Santa, then that's his perogative. I don't have to like it, but I don't think it's right. In fact, I bet he is the "under" toilet paper guy. Oh, you know who I'm talking about. There are two types of people in this world: Those who put the toilet paper roll on properly, and those who put it on so the sheet sneaks up from underneath. I've done the math on this. I've been places, I've seen things. My statistical brain-math says that 95% of people are "over the top" toilet paper loaders. Then there's that 4%. What are you people, farmers? Who taught you to live? Underneath toilet paper. Riiiight. Next you'll tell me pork isn't a white meat (hmmm?) Lastly, we have that lingering 1% of noncommittals who try to say they don't care if the paper is over or under. Liars!! You are the same people who act like you don't like the taste of beer. (figures they'd be women) Speaking of beer... I came up with a solid marketing compaign for tampons today. Personally, I like to keep mine in the freezer. Nothing helps beat the heat on a hot summer day like a chilly tampon. So check it out: Instead of the stupid commercials with the cute cheerleaders, or the anti-commercials against the cute cheerleader commercials, why not turn a woman's menstral cycle into a party? Let's face it, the one thing most guys would kill to hear is, "Honey, I am NOT pregnant!" PAR-TAY! Let's make it one. Picture it: Hot chicks in bikinis washing cars, maybe a water fight breaks out, beer starts falling from the sky and then the announcer comes in: "Got beer? Don't forget the Tampax!" It may be weird at first, but trust me ladies, this will work. Men will no longer bitch and moan when we ask them to run to the store to grab us a box. Why? 'Cause they dodged a bullet that month, baby! It's time to celebrate! I know, I'm a genius. Thanks for reading.

The more things change, the more they stay the same after all.

For all you non-literary types, that's from "A Separate Peace." Not to be confused with "The Catcher in the Rye." Similar character structure, totally different scenario. In a nutshell... in the first book, a guy lies about how his friend dies. In the second, the guy admits he lies all the time for no apparent reason. The same concept, but different perspectives. Crazy. Both stories remind me of when I was a kid. I got messed with all the time. No, really. ALL the time. I was one of those dumbass, gullible kids you could tell anything to and they would believe it. (funny, I don't think I've changed much...) To get me to take a nap, my mom would tell me that as soon as my "eyes fell asleep", I could come out and play. I bought it every single time. I remember having my grandfather tell me that chocolate milk came from brown cows. That ended up being my very first debate; I was in kindergarten, and my main argument was, "My Pappa wouldn't make that up!" Flash forward to the end of that day when I got home from school and told my mom (in absolute disgust) how the kids in school had the AUDACITY to say all cows make white milk. To which she replied, "Pappa made that up." Whaaaaat? Then there was the cold cement. We would sit on the cement steps leading up to the porch and Pappa would say, "Don't sit on the cold concrete like that! You'll get hemorroids like your grandmother!" Poor Gram... he blamed a lot on her. And then there was sugar. If we were eating too much candy, or licking our fingers and sticking them in the sugar bowl, we were told we couldn't have any more because "buggies will grow in your stomach." You know, I didn't realize that wasn't the truth until around 6th grade when we learned in health class about stomach acids and stuff. But... ...I also thought you could get pregnant from kissing a guy until I was about 15. Until then I hadn't planned on having kids and figured if I got married, I wouldn't kiss my new husband, I'd just shake his hand at the altar. Did I mention I believed in Santa Clause until I was 13? And I'm okay with that, because I'm pretty sure my sister figured it out only the year before (as I throw her under the bus with me...) AND....it just hit me this past holiday season that the song, "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Clause" was about the dad BEING Santa Clause! What the fudge!!! I never realized that the song was about Mom kissing Dad. Yeah, I'm an idiot. I admit it and I'm not ashamed. It's an ambiguous song. Sue me. Call me Forrest Gump, but I like that I can't sniff out bullshit from a mile away. I like that I get offended when I make eye contact in the supermarket and say "Hi!" and the other person doesn't respond. Where I come from, people say "Hey." We don't need to know each other. We don't care what kind of day you've had. You say "Hey" because, well, that's what we do. So that's my story and I'm sticking to it. I don't like liars, probably because I believe them. Where I come from, it's pretty simple: If you gotta lie about it, you shouldn't do it.

"In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It goes on." Robert Frost

Tomorrow will be the 1 year anniversary of when I got engaged. Ahhh, I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember studying for a test (I ended up failing), I remember my dad calling me an asshole...the memories. I will cherish them forever. Picture it: A long-haired brunette marries a bad boy. The vehicle for the wedding? A giant pick up truck. Her wedding ring: Platinum, of course. His? Steel. Country music was played at the reception. Their backstories: She was engaged once but broke it off. He had been married previously. She had dogs, he had kids.

The bride's thought on marriage? A quote direct from her: "I've always been very skeptical about marriage, because I only want to do it once; I want to do it the right way." Name that couple... Sandra Bullock and Jesse James. I know, I know, you were gonna say it was me (for the record, hers was a giant, red Monster truck; mine was my dad's big white Dodge Ram). But my point is this: She gave a guy the benefit of the doubt the rest of us didn't. Unfortunately, we were right. It does make me wonder, though, what kind of boyfriend he was? At the very least, we can assume he was a convincing "good" boyfriend. I bet he even provided the first toothbrush she left at his place (I'm guessing). The reason I bring this up is because my sister and I had a discussion about how I am the ultimate bad boyfriend. Okay, let me explain: As you all know, my sister lives in Arizona. The rest of us are in Pennsylvania. My mom goes out to visit at least quarterly and as a result, she ends up leaving personal items behind so she doesn't have to pack so much on her trips. Over the years it has graduated from a toothbrush to make-up, pajamas to regular clothes - pants, shirts, shoes...you name it. I live about 2 hours away from my folks. It is a comfortable distance. My sister asked me once how much crap my mom has left at my place. I thought about it and said, "Well...she left socks behind once and I gave them back." And that's when I realized there had been several times my mom left some things behind and I, in a completely oblivious move, made damn sure she got her things back. No pajamas, no socks...is that a brush? Not in my house! In my defense, I didn't realize what was going down. I thought I was doing a good thing by giving her stuff back. I mean, socks...how many pairs does one person have? Maybe she needed them! I don't want to be blamed for my own mother going sockless. And pajamas... really people, I thought she was being a smartass by leaving them in the hamper. Kinda like a 'Hey kid, now it's YOUR turn to wash MY pajamas for a change." So...uh, yeah, I think it's a safe assumption that if I'm a bad 'boyfriend' to my own mother, I would be a total douchebag to date (if I were a guy). Crazy.

A little sumthin' for everyone (keep reading, you're bound to come up)

Dear Friends, We've been through a lot over the years. Not just with this blog, but in life...in general. So for that, I'd like to say Thank You, mainly for not slipping me an Ambien, strapping me into the back seat of a car and pulling a "Kennedy" on me. So here's my special Thanks for all the good times (and you know who you are): Thanks for saving me from getting hit by that purple car. And for introducing me to the movie "Seven." That was an interesting night and to this day, I still don't know how I found my way home. Thanks for playing Double Dare in the house, even when I almost died on the basement stairs...but I recovered, got the flag and we still got it done in time! Oh, and thanks again for saving my life during orientation. But seriously...she deserved to be called a "pig." Thanks for letting me yell at you for writing sketchy business. That was a defining moment between "business" and "friendship," mainly because you yelled back. And you were right...I had forgotten what it was like to be on that side of the 'biz. Whatever...you were right. Once. Get over it. Thanks for inviting me to lunch. Of course I'd never say No. You terrified me. I would have chewed your food if you asked me to, but (thankfully) you didn't. And look at us now...running 5Ks. Who woulda thunk it? Thanks for being the only guy to treat me like a normal person. Oh, and when you knew the whole "42" thing, too? That was pretty awesome. Probably the smartest thing to ever happen in a Home Depot break room, let's face it. Thanks for cracking me up with your 'random' interogation questions of all the new people at work, mainly the "Are you married, Do you have a boyfriend?" question. That cracks me up. And double thanks for when you wrote the exercise/diet blog...you convinced me not to ever do that (diet, exercise and blog...I was only partially convinced). Thanks for St Paddy's Day and every time we hit the shore. Walking a parade in reverse is the way it should be, and being stuck in a dive motel room because it rained is pretty typical, too. Nothing says "Vacation Fun" like seeing the beach washed out by high tide and downpours. Thanks for having lunch with me during your senior and my freshman year of highschool. Glad your computer nerd stuff worked out for you. :) You rocked the French Horn. By the way, tell your parents the purple door still works! Thanks for being cool at The Silo. I liked your hat. And I'm sorry it didn't work out with that blonde. But really, you should've told me your friend was a douchebag, so you kinda deserved not getting anywhere with that blonde. I'm just sayin'... Thanks for being my fellow reading nerd friend in 8th grade. Sorry we lost track of each other...seemingly twice in our lives... and I'm with you: It's hard to believe Wally became a Bible Banger! Really? He used to be cute... Thanks for teaching me Southern women curse. Even though I practically had a coronary when I heard you drop the F bomb for the first time, it was one of the most defining moments in my life: Insurance companies weren't that scary and Suthern Belles DO swear! Thank you, N.C., for being one of those random, lingering people from highschool who connected with me on Facebook and then decided to follow my blog. I'm not really sure why we didn't talk more in highschool. I don't remember either of us being exceptionally cool...but what's done is done. Glad you're still alive.

12/26/98 - Just 'cuz (lyrics courtesy of "Over You" by Miranda Lambert

Weather man said it’s gonna snow
By now I should be used to the cold
Mid-February shouldn’t be so scary
It was only December
I still remember the presents, the tree, you and me

But you went away
How dare you?
I miss you
They say I’ll be OK
But I’m not going to ever get over you

Living alone here in this place
I think of you, and I’m not afraid
Your favorite records make me feel better
Cause you sing along
With every song
I know you didn’t mean to give them to me

But you went away
How dare you?
I miss you
They say I’ll be OK
But I’m not going to ever get over you

It really sinks in, you know, when I see it in stone

Cause you went away,
How dare you?
I miss you
They say I’ll be OK
But I’m not going to ever get over you