Going to a Ball Game

They say baseball is America's favorite pastime and I couldn't agree more if I tried. I don't know if it's the camaraderie with the other fans or the hotdogs but something about it just feels right. I think it's the hotdogs.

When I walk into the stadium I like to take in all the sights and sounds of the ballpark. There's the smell of popcorn in the air, the sight of baseball caps in the crowd, and the sound of fistfights in the stands. It's funny how a little friendly competition can make you want to punch people.

As I continue my leisurely stroll through the stadium I make sure to keep a lookout for any and all bathrooms. There's a lot of people here and not a lot of toilets. The last thing I want is to be looking for a bathroom while going to the bathroom. A part of me wishes they would fix the bathroom to people ratio but another part of me is wearing a diaper.

After I've fully scouted out the stadium I finally arrive at my seat. It turns out I'm a lot higher up than I was expecting. In fact, I'm not even sure this qualifies as Earth anymore. As I'm trying to watch the game I start to wish I brought a pair of binoculars. I see the guy next to me has a pair so I ask if I can borrow them. He doesn't seem open to the idea so I assure him I just want to borrow them for the rest of the game. It's not like I want to take them home or anything. He still seems hesitant so I scooch over and tell him we can each share a lens, but he still has to hold them. I don't want to be the one doing all the compromising. Then he gets irritated and yells, "If you wanted binoculars you should've brought your own!" And while I see his point, I still can't see the game, so that's not a very good solution.

Once I've unsuccessfully convinced the guy next to me to share his binoculars I decide I'll need to improvise. I may not be able to see the game directly but I can guess what's happening based on fan reactions. Every time the guy next to me cheers, I cheer. Whenever he boos, I boo. Whenever he takes a sip of his drink, I take a sip of his drink. Then, as I copy his every move he gets upset and starts screaming at me. This makes me really nervous that our team is losing. I try to ask the score but he starts choking me before I can get it out. That's when I know it's really bad. It makes me realize how, as fans, we're so helpless. All we can do is watch, hope, and choke and punch each other. There's really no other options.

When the dramatic choking session is over I figure I'll take it down a notch and look for a bathroom. I don't have to go yet but I know the lines are going to be long. So long in fact that as soon as I stand up I'm already in one. I guess it's true what they say, behind every loyal sports fan is someone who has to pee. That's more true now than ever.

As I continue standing in line I start to worry there's a clogged toilet somewhere. We haven't moved in ten minutes and everyone's getting restless. I try to lighten the mood by singing the national anthem but it seems to make everyone more agitated. They glare at me and say things like, "You have a bad voice" and "Why are you singing 'Oh Christmas Tree'?" Based on the level of hostility I'd say they have to go number 2.

Once the line starts moving I'm relieved that I can stop singing, and so is everyone else. Though, we only take a few steps before we stop again. I jokingly ask if they want me to sing again but they blow up and yell, "Shut up you idiot!" In all fairness, I get their frustration. We're supposed to be enjoying a baseball game, not stuck in line waiting for a toilet that might not even flush.

As we continue to wait it becomes more and more likely that the game will be over before we get through the line. We're at the top of the seventh inning and I'm not even halfway through Jingle Bells. The guy in front of me is beginning to get really irritated and mutters, "At this rate, I should've brought a tent." And I know exactly what he means. If we were camping we could go to the bathroom anywhere.

As the seconds turn into minutes, minutes into hours, and hours into bladder problems, one thing is clear; we've missed the game. All the other fans begin exiting the stadium, leaving us poor schmucks fearing for our underpants. 

Then finally, after six long hours, it happens. I'm next in line for the bathroom. It was a long and grueling ordeal but I have finally arrived at the promised land. There's much rejoicing, I hug the guy behind me, and as I'm about to go in I decide to utilize my diaper instead. Then, as I start walking away, one of the guys exclaims, "We've just waited six hours! You're not even going to use the restroom?!" I can see where this would be confusing, but I can't stay and chat. I may not know if the toilets flush, but I know my diaper doesn't.

I've said it once and I'll say it again. Baseball is America's favorite pastime. It's one of the only events people attend even though they'll spend the majority of their time going to the bathroom. In a lot of ways that's all a ball game is, a glorified trip to the bathroom. Not many events that can say that.

How to Tell if Your Spouse is Haunted

We've all experienced it. A cold chill here, a strange sound there. Hauntings are a part of life. Usually, they consist of nothing more than harmless events like the appearance of a ghostly figure, the flickering of a lamp, or the choking of a neck. All of these are common phenomena in a house haunting. But what if you're experiencing something completely different? What if it's not the house that's haunted at all? What if you just happen to be one of the millions of people out there who have a haunted spouse, and don't know it? 

Before you laugh this off as some kind of joke, ask yourself, "Do I hear strange creaking sounds coming from my spouse's side of the bed at night? Do I sometimes hear their mouth slam shut and try to convince myself it was the wind?" If you've answered yes to any of these questions there's a good chance your spouse is haunted.

Before you despair know that, just as with a house, there are methods to rid the ghosts from your loved one's body. I will go through the steps I would take to do this because I've done it before, and will likely do it again. The first thing I'll need to do is determine what the spirits want. This could be anything ranging from the discovery of how they died to an English muffin. Remember, these are ghosts, they can't go into the kitchen and whip something up whenever they please. This is the reason so many ghosts can be found slamming cupboards and throwing knives around. They're hungry and can't find anything to eat.

Once I've discovered what it is the ghosts want I have to be very careful NOT to give it to them. They differ from house ghosts in this way. With house ghosts, they generally go away after their needs have been satisfied, but with bodily ghosts the more you give in to their desires the more they want. First, it might be a glass of orange juice but before I know it I'm cooking them a full course meal and going to Monster Truck shows.

One other thing I have to do to rid my spouse of their haunting is become fat. They have likely grown accustomed to intimate time and look forward to it. This is why I have to make myself as unattractive as possible. If I'm already gross, perfect, but if not it's time to start. When things start getting hot and heavy I want the spirits to take one look at me and go flinging out of my spouse's body. 

Now that I'm eating extra cookies and not bathing I should start to see results in as early as the next date night. And if that doesn't do the trick, I'll try smoking, cocaine, and saying "libary" instead of "library". One of these is bound to work. The goal is to be as annoying and ugly as possible. 

If I'm not sure I've done enough I just have to ask myself, "When I look in the mirror, am I repulsed?", "When my spouse looks at me, do they cry?", "When a child looks at me, do they scream, pass out, and/or die?" If I can honestly say yes then I can feel confident that I'm a disgusting pile, and it should feel good.

As soon as sexy time rolls around I get really excited. This is my chance to repulse the living daylights out of those ghosts. Though, my spouse seems a little hesitant to give in to the moment. As they try to get away it only increases my confidence that it's going to work. With a big grin on my face and a corn dog in my hand, I pursue them throughout the house with renewed vigor. 

As I hunt I make kissing sounds with my lips. Ghosts hate that. Then I begin with the heavy breathing and grunting as I move my huge body up the stairs. Once I reach the top I stomp around until I find my dear spouse cowering in the corner of our bedroom. Now I have those ghosts exactly where I want them. I polish off my corn dog, lick my sausage fingers, and with a grin say "Hey spirits, let's make an experience." Then I go lumbering forward feeling fairly certain the ghosts will go leaping for the window like my spouse just did.

When all is said and done I can feel confident that I've done my part to persuade the spirits to find a more appealing host. Now I just have to convince my spouse to stop crying. I certainly have done a number on myself. And sure, I may be a disgusting, blubbering drug addict, but I don't see any ghosts anywhere. That's how I know it's working.

Home Renovations

I'm pretty sure I love home renovation. According to HGTV it's exciting and fun. Not only that, but it's also a great way to increase the value of your property, which is perfect because mine has none. But that's nothing a little blood, sweat, tears, vomit, cursing, bumps, bruises, and broken bones can't fix. You just have to put in a little elbow grease, and that's not something you can buy at Home Depot because I checked.

One of the first things you have to do before renovating your home is figure out whether or not you have a hammer. This is the single most important tool capable of handling everything from driving nails to smashing thumbs. I like to make sure I have hammers of all shapes, sizes, colors, and nationalities before I even think about starting a project. I'm an equal opportunity hammer operator.

Once I have all of my hammers ready, it's time to get to work deciding which walls to tear out, in which room, and with what skills. These are all important questions, and as I stare at all of my hammers I start to get the feeling that I don't have any answers. In the end I decide to rip out the bedroom. It should require the least amount of effort and I can lie down if I get tired.

As I dual-wield my hammers I go absolutely nuts on the walls and ceiling. I swing to and fro in devastating alternating blows like a giant, industrial-strength woodpecker of mass destruction. Drywall is flying everywhere as I pummel the room mercilessly. I'm going at it with such gusto that I'm even scaring myself. Then I start screaming as I continue to shred the walls like it's nobody's business, because it isn't. 

Suddenly, just as I'm hitting my groove I hear shouting behind me. Apparently I've awoken my wife who was in bed behind me. She never was a heavy sleeper. She has a confused and angry look on her face, mixed in with a little drywall as she yells, "What the hell are you doing destroying our bedroom at 2 in the morning?!" I respond with, "Oh sorry. Did I wake you?", trying to diffuse the situation. It doesn't work. Instead, she repeats her question in an even louder and more angry tone. "Now who's being loud!?", I say. She's always been a bit of a hypocrite.

Needless to say, I wasn't able to finish the bedroom renovations. Not only that, but my wife tells me we're hiring a contractor to finish the job. I try to argue with her but she tells me, and I quote, "You can't even build a sandwich". That may be partially true but I don't see what cooking has to do with anything. She can be such a foodie sometimes.

Once the contractor begins work on the bedroom I stand behind him and observe. After everything he does I say, "That's what I was going to do". I say it every time he measures a wall, pulls a nail, or checks his watch. Eventually, he gets irritated and asks me to leave the room. I would, but then how will he know what I was going to do? 

As I continue standing behind him, telling him all the things I was going to do, he blows up and yells, "Maybe you should do this yourself!" But I assure him he's doing fine. Some people are so insecure.

At some point, for some reason, and after some cursing, shoving, and hammer throwing, the contractor storms out before the job is done. I look at my wife like, "That guy was unprofessional". She then looks back at me with such anger that I immediately know we won't be hiring him again. That's fine by me. I'll probably do a better job anyway, I think to myself. But that's when my wife shoves me out of the bedroom and slams the door.

After my wife finishes the bedroom renovation I ask which room we should do next. I can tell she's not quite ready by the way she starts choking me. I just give her a big hug and tell her we'll wait until tonight. Marriage is all about compromise. That's something I've learned over the course of the kitchen, bathroom, and living room remodels. All of which my wife did a great job on, just like I was going to do.

Going on a Cruise

I love cruises like I love beer; a lot, until I puke. But even that doesn't stop me from having a good time, even if everyone wishes it would. We're all responsible for our own happiness, I always have to remind my friends, family, and the ship captain of that.

One of the most memorable cruises I have ever been on was an Alaskan cruise, or maybe it was the Caribbean; whichever one has the whales. Every day I would go out onto the deck and point into the sea and say, "Hey look! A whale!" Then everyone would try to tell me it was just a tire. And then I would laugh because whales do kind of look like tires. That's why I always say whales are the tires of the sea. No one else ever laughed when I said that, though, which is weird because it was their idea.

Whale watching is fun but I can only do it for so long before I need to get drunk. When I walk back into the ship cabin there's always a really long line for the bar. I've noticed if I pretend I'm seasick and act like I'm going to throw up it gets things moving. People usually say something like, "This isn't the line for the bathroom you know!" And I know what they mean. The line is so long it might as well be for the bathroom. I just nod and start moving closer to them while covering my mouth. Then they go running out of the line as if they have to use the bathroom. It's funny how talking about the bathroom can make you have to go.

Once I'm up to the bar the bartender looks at me and says, "I don't think a drink is going to help if you're already sick", but I assure him it will. I can tell he's not convinced so I stick my finger down my throat a little ways to prove I don't have to throw up. I thought for sure this was going to work but the ship rocked a bit, making my finger go a little too far and I threw up all over the counter. The bartender gets quite upset and yells, "What the hell is the matter with you!?", but it's not like I control the ocean. Then I recommend he not work on a ship if he doesn't like the movement.

Since drinking is a bust, I decide to check out the pool for a little fun in the sun. As I'm splashing around I decided to see how long I can hold my breath underwater. 1:20, not too bad, but let's see if the guy next to me can beat it. As I'm holding him underwater he eventually thrashes his way back to the surface and screams, "Why were you holding me underwater?!" I just laugh and say, "2:30. That's pretty good, but I was helping". Then I ask if he'll do me next, so he starts choking me, which is really clever. You don't even need to be underwater. By the way he's really going for it I can tell he wants me to beat his record. What a guy.

Once I wake up I can hardly wait to see what my time was. Looking around I see my new friend darting into the ship. He glances back briefly so I tap my wrist like, "time?!" but he just keeps running. Some people are always on the go.

After I've had my fill of pool activities it's time for a little gambling. As I'm walking around the slot machines, someone hits it big and I hear the jackpot siren go off. I sprint over as fast as I can and quickly jam a quarter into the machine so I can claim some of the winnings. The other guy shoves me away and yells, "What the hell are you doing?! That's not how this works!" But I remind him that this is gambling, and gambling is all about betting, and I'm betting I get some. Then he screams, "If you don't get the hell out of here right now, I'm betting you're gonna get a boot up your ass!!" I just shake my head because he's the one who has no idea how gambling works. Then I start taking handfuls of quarters. At that point the guy tackles me to the ground so we can look for any quarters that may have fallen. "That's how you do it!", I say. As he's shoving my face into the floor to give me a better look, I yell, "There's one!" and he gets so ecstatic that he starts jumping on me. I just chuckle and think, "Jeez, watch out when this guy gets happy."

When I'm through with the slots I head over to the poker table for a little healthy competition. All the seats are taken so I stand patiently behind one of the players and start calling out his cards in my free time. He gets irritated because he keeps losing and decides to blame it on me. I try to tell him he needs to take responsibility but he starts punching me because he doesn't want to. And I get it. We're on vacation, trying to forget about our worries. But this is getting ridiculous.

When the cruise comes to an end I feel a tremendous sense of broken bones. It was a great time but I could definitely use some time in the hospital. It's really true what they say, if you don't have your health, at least you have a whole bunch of quarters. I only hope everyone one else had as good a time as I did. Then I smile as I wonder if that excitable guy is jumping on anyone else.

The Dating Game

Anyone who has ever dated knows three things; it's stressful, it's expensive, and it's inhumane. But, if you are able to overcome these obstacles, it can also be incredibly boring. Unfortunately, most will go broke long before reaching this milestone.

When dipping my wallet into the dating game, one of the first things I need to do is put myself out there. I need to let people know I'm ready, willing, and really tall. Luckily, there are plenty of dating sites that let me do just that. I need to sign up for all of them with multiple accounts and various stats. Dating is a numbers game, and now that I have accounts stating I'm anywhere from 18 to 97, 6'1" to 8'6", French Canadian to German Shepherd, I know I have something for everyone.

Once my dating profiles are humming along, I just need to wait for that special someone(s) to come knocking. And I know they will. 1 out of every 5 profiles is mine. I'm literally everyone they're looking for. At this rate I could be married, divorced, and remarried by lunchtime, not that I plan on skipping lunch.

When I do land my first date it's time to shine. I suggest we have dinner at my mom's and she counters with, "No." I just laugh because I don't know what she has against my mom. Once we finally meet at the restaurant of her choosing, she gets upset and says I'm not the person she thought I was. I assure her I'm the person she met online, just not quite as tall or nearly as Asian, but it's the same old me. Then I remind her of that frog that turned into a prince. I'm at least already human, so who knows what I'll turn into. I can tell this makes her excited by the way she says, "Are you mental?!" She's already concerned with my health. That's a good sign. I just smile and tell her I'm fine.

Once our food comes out I have to be sure to ask her plenty of questions to show my interest. I say things like, "How do you like your food?", "Where'd you grow up?", "How do you know my mom?" Then I eat the giant plate of cucumbers I ordered because I told her I was a vegan. She gives me a weird look and says, "That's really what you're eating??" But I assure her I probably won't finish them all. I don't want to look like a pig on our first date.

As the dinner wraps up we play the whole, "Who's going to pay for the meal" routine. She says she can get it, and I say she has to get it because I have no money. Then I laugh and say it's funny how things have a way of working out. She was going to laugh too but decided to throw water in my face because she thought I was thirsty. She's definitely a very caring person. Though, I'm concerned she might also be a worry wart.

After she pays for dinner she screams, "Don't call me!" and walks briskly out of the restaurant. That's fine, I'll let her call me. I like a take charge woman. Then I get excited as I think about how I have another date with her in a couple days. I don't think I'm vegan for that one, so that'll be nice. Though, on our third date I am allergic to fat, so that could get frustrating. Dating certainly is a crazy game, but it seems I have it figured out. Now, all I have to do is sit here and wait for my second date of the evening to show up. This one will be fun but a little scary; she thinks I'm a dentist. I've had a lot of cavities so I'm pretty knowledgeable, but at the same time I'm nervous because she could have a dead tooth and want me to look at it.

Jury Duty

One of the most important civic duties we have to fulfill is jury duty. Let's face it, crimes will be committed, there will be a trial, and innocent people will go to prison. It's one of the few inalienable rights we can still count on.

Whenever I'm called for jury duty I take it very seriously. I'm deciding the fate of another human being, and I'm not getting paid for it. I need to be unbiased, unwavering, and unemployed. I already have all of these traits which makes me the ideal juror. It enables me to look the accused dead in the eye and say, "Maybe you did it, maybe you didn't, either way you're going to fry." But that's when the judge threatens to remove me as a juror. I apologize for being too honest and ask if they'll be serving breakfast any time soon, or if it'll be served with the defendant's last meal. Then the judge threatens to dismiss me again, but how am I supposed to know when breakfast gets served? It wasn't even in the brochure.

Once the trial gets started I make sure to listen intently to my growling stomach. Then I politely ask the juror next to me if they have any crackers. They don't seem to hear me so I repeat the question over and over until they yell, "No!" I just laugh because they must not have had breakfast either. Then I pull a Big Mac out of my bag because I'm not waiting.

As the prosecution wraps up her opening statement, she finishes by asking us to find the defendant guilty on all counts, to which I respond, "I will" as a pickle falls out of my mouth. That's when the judge gives me a final warning. I apologize again. I sincerely forgot you're not supposed to make a mess during opening statements.

Now it's the defending attorney's turn for an opening. I quickly finish off my Big Mac so I can pay close attention to the notes my neighbor is taking. As I'm copying his notes, occasionally asking if he can move his hand, he eventually gets frustrated and tells me to take my own notes. But why should everyone have to? I immediately know we don't have a team player on our hands. Then I start getting suspicious that he actually does have crackers. I start laughing to myself as I think that he's the one who should be on trial, then I go rifling through his bag to find those crackers. He gets angry and screams, "Why are you going through my bag?! I'm sitting right here!!" I say, "Sorry, point taken. Will you be getting up any time soon?" Then he puts me in a headlock and says, "I'm sorry. I don't think I made myself clear. Stay out of my bag. Period!" I just rub his back and tell him it's ok. Communication can be a real bear, but at least he's working on it.

Once both sides have presented their case, it's time for the jurors to deliberate. This portion is important. I can't let myself be swayed by intimidation, bullying, or evidence. I'm my own man. I can make my own decisions and I don't need facts clouding my judgement. Most of the "evidence" was probably staged anyway. So when one of the jurors states they think he's guilty because of the fingerprints, eye witnesses, surveillance footage, DNA evidence, and confession, I stick to my guns. I say, "I thought he was guilty at first too just based on his shoes, but when he was on the stand I started to feel like he didn't do it based on how he said, "I didn't do it." That was really powerful to me." Then the other jurors say something like, "He didn't even testify! That was his uncle!" But splitting hairs isn't how you reach verdicts. Then I try to steer the conversation back to his shoes, because there's no way those things were comfortable.

As minutes turn into hours, and hours turn into days, and there's still no sign of breakfast, we all start worrying that we'll never reach a consensus. We have 11 for guilty, and 1 for not guilty. We're so close. If it wasn't for the 11 guilty we'd be done by now. I just remind everyone that this is all part of the process. We're serving justice here, not breakfast. Then, to break the tension, I ask the other jurors if they're sure they know anything about the law, because it kind of seems like they might not. They get irritated and begin cursing, pulling their hair, and throwing their chairs at me. And I get it, sitting for too long can make you crazy, and it's not healthy either. But we don't need to take it out on the furniture. Then, to find some common ground I suggest we ask for standing desks. They yell, "This isn't funny!", but I assure them I'm not joking. That only seems to make them more angry, though, so I ask if they do in fact want to hear a joke. Then they start screaming incoherently because they don't want to.

After what feels like an eternity, we finally make some headway. It was a grueling and hard fought battle, but through perseverance I finally convince the court to give us a muffin. As they're being distributed I tell them they can skip juror number three, because he has crackers. Then I look at him like, "I got your back."

Now that we're all refueled, I have this overwhelming sense of determination. We're going to get this thing done and I don't care how many muffins it takes or how many times we need to stand up. By the way the rest of the jurors are huddled on the opposite side of the room, glaring at me, I can tell they feel the same way. "That's the spirit!", I say, and then I tug on my hair a little to show solidarity. Then, just as we're about to get started, they all go absolutely ballistic and dive over the table at me. As they punch, claw, and gouge, I think, "What the heck did they put in those muffins?!" Then I do a little clawing myself.

Just as I think we're getting somewhere, security comes and breaks up our brainstorming session. Apparently they don't like our unorthodox method of deliberation. One of the jurors says, "No, we just don't like you!" And I totally get it. We're not here to make friends, even if some of us are now.

When we're all released from jury duty I feel a tremendous sense of pride. We literally fought tooth and nail over this case. And sure, maybe we didn't reach a verdict or figure out what was up with the defendant's shoes. But what we did do was something even more special. We spent 36 weeks together, and we had breakfast. It may not be the American dream, but it's close.

Going to a Party

Parties are great. It gives me a chance to have a few drinks, catch up with old pals, and make out with new ones. I have so much fun at parties that whenever someone throws one I usually get thrown out. That's why I always say, it's not a party until I've been thrown out of the party, which I guess means I've never technically been to a party. But you know what I mean.

So it's a Saturday night, and I've been "invited" to a party. I'm using quotes not because they didn't invite me, but because they specifically asked me not to come. I just laugh and tell them I "won't", and then start getting ready. Whenever I'm prepping for a night of fun, one of the first things I do is catch up on all the new fashion trends. I don't want to look like a square, so I review current pop culture to see what's hip. I'm fascinated to see that you can wear anything from virtually nothing to a literal meat dress. With so many choices, I finally decide to go with a subtle ham shank pant, paired with a waffle fry top. I finish off my trendy ensemble with a pair of elegant ice skates. Looking in the mirror, I think, "Wow". Someone better call the fashion police because I'm about to make a statement.

Now that I'm dressed to the nines, but probably closer to a ten, and if I really wanted I could have turned it up to an eleven, it's time to get to the party. I jump in my car and put my skate to the metal as I cruise down the street. As I'm driving, people keep looking at me like, "Umm, that guy's fashionable". I nod back, throw them a waffle fry, and just keep on going.

Once I arrive I get really excited because hey, it's time to party. When the host answers the door they take one look at me and immediately know what they want for dinner. I go to shake their hand, but end up tripping on the welcome mat and go crashing through the door and onto the floor. Luckily my ham shanks cushion the fall. Once inside I go clacking around the joint in my ice skates just looking for a good time. I see beer pong in the dining room, dancing in the living room, and puking in the bathroom. All good options, but I'm more interested in the punch bowl in the kitchen. It looks like they put chunks of fruit in it, which tells me it's some kind of drinking game modeled after bobbing for apples, one of my favorites. As I'm going wild with my head in the bowl, just thrashing to and fro like a shark on a seal hunt, someone says, "I was going to drink that!". I tell them to sit tight and I'll be done in an hour or so, as it's a big bowl. Then they get angry, and I don't blame them. This bowl did not need to be this big.

After I'm done bobbing for apples, I'm usually pretty winded so look for a more low key activity. I decide to go over to the beer pong table and try to catch the ball in my mouth. As I'm jumping around the table, opening and snapping my mouth shut whenever someone throws the ball, I take a bit of a spill and snap the beer pong table in half. Everyone gets really frustrated, myself included, but these things happen; there's nothing we could've done differently.

Now that beer pong is over, I look for another activity to keep the party going. I don't have to look very far, though, because everyone decides it's time to play hide and seek. I'm the first to be "it" and they pick me up and throw me outside so they can hide. Once I'm done counting I find that they accidentally locked the door. I don't want to be a party pooper so I go around back and break in through a window. I can tell I didn't give people enough time to hide, though, because they're still dancing in the living room. I burst in and say, "Found you!" and then look at the shock on everyone's face. I've always been pretty good at hide and seek.

We continue these fun party games until the wee hours of the morning, or until they decide to play Russian Roulette. I feel I'm not as good at that one, and it always seems to be my turn. I don't want to hurt their feelings, so whenever the host gets the gun out I tell them I'm trying to cut back. Then I act like I'm really tired and slip out before the shooting starts. I vow to practice that game more before the next party. I hate it when I can't hang.

Decorating for Halloween

Decorating for Halloween isn't for the faint of heart and should only be attempted by those with a sturdy back, a healthy ticker, and a fog machine. Anything less and you run the risk of spending Halloween in a lot of pain, dead, or worse, and with no fog to show for it. That's not to say however, that Halloween decorations are only a young person's game. You also need experience to get the right aesthetic, and money to buy the giant Frankenstein doll. This is why decorating should only be done by 33 year olds. Any younger and you'll end up with a yard full of nothing but cheap, plastic corpses; any older and the only corpse in the yard will be yours.

Ok great, Halloween is just around the corner, I've had a physical exam, and fog machines are on sale. What's next? Well, if I'm going to buy the Frankenstein doll, I won't have enough money for the fog machine, and if I buy the fog machine, I won't have enough money for Frankenstein, and if I buy either of them, I won't have enough money for food. This is tricky, but it's nothing a touch of resourcefulness, a pinch of creativity, and a handful of theft can't solve. I just need to get to the store before they run out of inventory to steal.

At the store, it was a bit tricky walking out with Frankenstein. I tried to pretend it was my dad but they weren't buying it. I just laughed and said, "Looks like no one is buying anything today", then I lit Frankenstein on fire. You usually get a discount on damaged goods, so I'd imagine flaming goods should be free. I just casually walk up to the counter with my giant, burning doll and ask if I can have it. They get really excited and run to ask the manager, but I just leave. Who has the time, you know?

Now that I have acquired my two decoration staples, it's time to fill in the scene with some basic Halloween necessities: Skeletons and tombstones. Luckily, I can get these for free at the local cemetery. There's such a wide selection, it makes it difficult to decide. Should I go with marble or stone? How many should I get? What condition are the skeletons in? These are all tough questions, but I'll just load up a variety and see where that gets me.

Often times, while I'm out shopping in the cemetery, I'll get some weird looks from others who are also browsing, but I just tell them the tombstones aren't up to code and the skeletons need to be exhumed for a murder investigation. Sometimes it works and sometimes they accuse me of digging up a relative. When this happens, I just say, "Oh! Sorry, wrong grave!", and start digging up the next one over. In some cases though, family members are all buried near each other, so I have to repeat the process over and over. After awhile I start getting annoyed and yell, "Well, where does your family end?!" Then I feel guilty for yelling in a cemetery. I apologize and politely stuff their grandpa back in his casket.

Once I have all of my decorations, I begin laying them out with care. I put Frankenstein front and center, the fog machine behind him, and make sure to keep any broken skeletons towards the back. After I'm done, I take a step back to look at my handy work. It looks great, and I can feel good that I'm reusing all those discarded skeletons. Not only does my house look amazing, but it's also good for the environment.

Needless to say, I'm sure to have a happy Halloween, and who knows, maybe I'll win an award or two for best green decorations. This gets me excited for Christmas, when I get to go shopping for reindeer. I wonder where you get those.

Solving the Crime

We've all heard the stories, read the headlines, or killed the guy, but do we ever stop to think about what actually goes into solving a crime? Of course not. We're all well versed in committing crimes, that's the easy, glamorous, and fun part, but solving them is a whole different story. It takes guts, determination, and a magnifying glass, all of which no one has. But maybe we should change that. Maybe if we all took the time to become the sleuth that our cheating spouses always feared, we could make the world a better place.

Before setting out on a crime solving spree, we first have to learn some of the basics. That's why I have already watched all 1500 episodes of Cops. From what I have gleaned from this treasure trove of crime solving goodies, the perpetrator of a crime is almost always the person who committed the crime, and you can call them a "perp" for short and it isn't considered racist. Terminology is important. Unfortunately, I didn't learn anything else, but I'll be able to learn the rest as I go I bet.

Now that I've boned up on a crime fighting term, it's time to hit the streets looking for some crime, because it's not going to come to me like I thought. As I'm cruising around, I have to keep a close lookout for any suspicious activity. Perps (perpetrators) are known to be shy and try to keep their activities between themselves and their victim(s). This thoughtfulness can make them difficult to spot, but luckily I brought a magnifying glass, binoculars, and telescope. Now nothing can elude my piercing gaze, be it near, far, or on Pluto. If it's happening, I'm going to see it, and there's nothing anyone can do about it, not even an astronaut.

As I'm driving, switching between the magnifying glass, binoculars, and telescope at ever increasing rates, I begin to get the inkling that I've crashed into a wall. It was tough to tell looking through the magnifying glass, but it's crystal clear without any of my crime fighting tools. I just laugh thinking about how you can have the most sophisticated tools in the world and still miss something.

Since my car won't start, I decide it's time to continue on foot. As I gather up all of my equipment and step out the door, I'm shocked to see I'm nowhere near the main road like I thought, but more in a dark alley. Looking around, I notice an overflowing dumpster just a few meters away. I'm not sure if that's a crime, but I'm almost positive the dead body lying next to it is. I just shake my head thinking, "What are the odds?" Here I am, accidentally crashing into a random alley, and there's an abandoned body needing my attention.

Once I make my way to the victim, I crawl into his lap and put my ear to his chest to listen for a heart beat. The last thing I want to do is bother a guy who's still alive. Luckily, he's dead. Now I need to search for any injuries that could help explain what happened, who did it, and why I'm covered in blood. I laugh to myself as I think, "I'm really doing it!"

As I do a thorough once over of the body, I'm not seeing anything that immediately jumps out at me. His head looks like it may have some tire marks on it, but nothing too serious. I would like to examine his upper torso a bit more but the knife in his chest keeps getting in the way. I know you're not supposed to disturb a crime scene, but I decide the knife has to go if I'm going to get anything done. As I tug at the handle, I realize it's really wedged in there, so I stand on the shoulders of the corpse as I pull with all my might. I just laugh again as I think about how this must look. Here's a guy, covered in blood, tugging on a knife that's stuck in a dead body. If someone saw me they would probably think I'm a detective, but it's funny because I'm just a regular guy.

Now that I have the knife dislodged, I throw it in the dumpster and pick up the body and put it on my shoulders. I need to identify this guy. My best bet is parading him around town to see if anyone knew him. A picture may say a thousand words, but a dead body doesn't need to say anything because people already get it.

As I leave the alley with my dead body in tow, I pass a few homeless people who have this look of sheer terror on their face. I assure them I won't let the case go cold like this dead body has, then I give them some change out of my corpse's pockets. They don't seem sure if they should accept it at first and just stare at me with their jaw hanging open, so I reassure them it's ok and put the change in their mouths. Homeless people are funny. Sometimes they'll harass you for change, and sometimes you have to harass them.

Continuing my march down the street, I knock on the door of the first apartment I come to. I'm getting extremely tired from lugging this thing around. Who knew crime solving was so exhausting? As I'm waiting for a response I start to grow impatient and begin knocking wildly. Once someone final opens the door I scream, "Do you know this guy?!". They don't answer right away which makes them seem suspicious. I get excited as I think, "Is this my perp?!!". Then I charge through the door and throw the dead body on the couch. It seems to have landed in the lap of the daughter so I just wait to see what kind of reaction I get. Who knows, maybe this murder was a family affair. As I'm studying the girl's face, I get my binoculars out to take a closer look. Sure enough, she seems horrified that I've caught them, just as I suspected.

As I continue my interrogation, I throw every question in the book at them, "Where were you on the night of whenever this guy was killed?!", "Are you missing a knife??!", "Where's your bathroom??!!". I can tell I'm getting somewhere by the way they start crying. They know I'm onto them and it's sad.

Eventually, another family member calls the cops so I don't have to. When they arrive they seem stunned to see that I've cracked the case without them. I tell them it was beginner's luck. I had no idea I was going to crash into an alleyway and discover a dead body my first day out. And I had no idea the first house I'd come to would be the perps. Then I start laughing because here I am, just a civilian, and I'm already using their lingo and solving cases. They don't seem to think it's as funny and taser me and put me in the back of their police car, but I get it. They don't want to look bad in front of the community. I'm sure they'll let me go as soon as we're around the corner, or at the station, or after a few months in the "slammer", as they put it. I just smile because they know I'm hip to the jargon.

Getting a Divorce

Getting a divorce is something no one wants to talk about, not even extroverts, and they never shut up. But, while no one wants to talk about it, studies show people think about it at least once every 3 seconds, and that's just babies. I asked the experts to extend the study to include adults, but they said, "What study?", which means no. Trust me, I was an expert once.

Before talking about it, I first want to discuss ways to avoid a divorce, no matter how futile that may seem, or how stupid it may sound, or how disgusting my wife may be. For starters, studies also show that you're 26% less likely to end up divorced if you don't get married. Now, before we jump up and down, celebrating this magical cure for divorce, it's important to remember that everyone gets married. It's a fact of life that many have tried to skirt in the past, but never successfully. And you may be thinking to yourself, "But I know some single people who never got married". No you don't. Those people are just better at hiding it. Ask yourself, does this "single" person have a basement? If so, guess who's tied up down there? If they don't have a basement it just means they ate their spouse already, which I'm counting as a divorce. This may sound outrageous, but trust me, we shouldn't go around saying someone is married if they're eaten. It's hokey.

Ok, now let's get to the meat of the matter. You've inevitably gotten married, be it by choice or at gunpoint, and now your thoughts of divorce have reached a fever pitch of 4 times a second. What can you do? When I'm in this situation I like to take long walks with my wife, preferably next to a cliff, to clear my head. And yes, there is an opportunity for an "accidental" push, but I don't think she would do that, and she doesn't think I would either. This is called trust, and it can be a beautiful thing when you need to push someone off a cliff. I'm not talking about me specifically, I'm just mentioning it for a friend.

While on this walk it gives me a chance to suss out how my partner is feeling. Does she seem engaged? If so, to who? Is she walking right next to me, or is she still back at the house? If I give her a little nudge, does she get skeptical that I'm trying to push her over the edge, or is she clueless? This will give me a cue as to whether or not there's any common ground between us, both literally and figuratively.

Barring any unforeseen reconciliations, untimely accidents, or cougars, it's time to prep for divorce. Most people would go straight to a divorce lawyer, but not me. Instead, I tell my wife that I'll just take everything. She doesn't usually go for this, so I reduce my share to 9/10ths, because it's the law. After this, as a rebuttal she'll usually scream something like, "This stuff is all mine! We're not even married!", but I just laugh because everyone's married, then I ask about her basement situation.

Once the inevitable happens, and I'm fleeing from the police, I just shake my head thinking, "There goes another healthy relationship down the drain". I hate feeling like a statistic. I'm just glad kids weren't involved. Studies have proven time and again that children of divorce never actually think about divorce at all, because they're in a coma. They are so preoccupied with thoughts of their parent's divorce, on top of their own pending divorce, that they snap. Think about that for a long time.