So you've found the girl or guy of your dreams. Be it a big time businessman from New York, a small town librarian from the Midwest, or a fat bum from McDonald's. It doesn't really matter. What matters is you've found someone special that you can't live without. This is always a great feeling. You have so much in common, you can finish each other's sentences, and, to top it all off, you get free cheeseburgers. There's absolutely nothing in the world that could bring you down. But then it happens; your significant other asks you to meet their parents. To most people this is one of the most anxiety producing situations of all time. And for good reason. Meeting a significant other's parents means you're going to be rigorously analyzed and judged. They're going to be looking for any flaw in your character that they can use against you. If you so much as chew your food wrong you could find yourself staring down the barrel of a shotgun. It's that serious, so don't mess it up.
Whenever it comes time to do the dreaded parental meeting, I like to prepare by practicing my etiquette. I say please and thank you to everyone I meet, I hold the door for complete strangers, and, if time will allow, I go to college and get a degree. All of these things will help me look like an upstanding citizen to my future in-laws.
Often times I'll find that even though I've prepared as best I could I'm still too nervous to take the final plunge. If I don't think I'm ready to go through with the meeting I just sit my partner down and try to convince her to postpone it. I say things like, "Listen sweety, I know how much this means to you, but I don't think it's a good time. It's getting kind of late, it's the flu season, and your parents are old. They're probably lying in bed right now with some terrible illness. I wouldn't even be half surprised if they were dead."
Once we're on our way it's time to swallow my fears and put on a confident face. As we drive I like to give myself a pep talk to help keep my anxiety in check, because honestly, why am I so nervous to meet these people anyway? They aren't anything special. They're nothing but a couple of old retirees with bad backs. They probably just sit around all day playing scrabble and eating crackers! They don't even contribute to society! They aren't good for one damn thing!! They barely deserve to be alive!!! I OUTTA KILL THEM!! And what about their lame excuse for a daughter!? Look at her! Sitting in the driver's seat, sucking in air like a dying blow fish!! What the hell am I even doing with that thing?!! What the hell even is it?!! Certainly not an intelligent life form!!! WHAT A MORON!!! HOW CAN IT EVEN DRIVE A CAR?!!! My pep talk usually ends abruptly when my "girlfriend" states her concern over the way I've been glaring at her the whole time. She just gets more confused when I shout, "IT CAN TALK?!!!"
Once we arrive at our destination I have so much confidence it's flowing out of my ears. Nothing can get me down now. I greet my future in-laws with a big grin and a giant bag of rice cakes. They tell me how nice it is to finally meet and I tell them how our visit must be a nice break from Bingo. Then I ask how their backs are holding up. I bet no other boyfriend was so concerned with their well being. I'm obviously hitting this visit out of the park.
As soon as dinner rolls around it's time to really pour on the charm. I pull out my future in-law's chairs for them, I serve them, and I comb their hair while they eat. I'm being so generous I'm even surprising myself. Now all I have to do is throw in some flattering compliments and the rest will be history. If I say things like, "You know, even though you guys are getting up there in age, your house doesn't smell like old people yet", it should really catapult me into their good graces.
When our visit comes to an end I can feel confident that they got a good impression of me. As we leave I tell them the pleasure was all mine and if they ever get bored they should come visit to see the kinds of things real people do. What a nice couple. And to think, I was nervous to meet them.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Ending a Relationship
I hate ending relationships. I can never find the right words, my partner always starts crying, and my new girlfriend will never stop kissing me. It's an unfortunate circumstance that most of us have to deal with at some point.
Before I decide it's time to put myself through such an uncomfortable event, I search deep within to make sure I'm not making a mistake. The first thing I ask myself is, "Can this relationship be saved?" If my girlfriend is staying out all night, flirting with other guys, and getting restraining orders, maybe. But, on the other hand, if she's doing things like getting fat, there's really nothing I can do.
Once I've come to the conclusion that it's time to split, I need to come up with a game plan. The most important aspect of a break-up is to do it gradually. That's why I usually begin the process on the first date. I don't want my significant other getting blind-sided by a break-up they didn't see coming. I want them to feel it looming right from the start.
To achieve this healthy, loomy feel I just become overly forgetful. Was I supposed to call her on Tuesday or Thursday? Was her birthday on the 6th or the 7th? Did she say she wanted me to pick up her brother, or have sex with her sister? These are all seemingly innocent mistakes that will get my partner thinking.
If a relationship is really dragging on I sometimes worry that my girlfriend thinks it's going to last. Sure, I've forgotten everything from her favorite food to her name. But is it enough? I've found that in this situation it's best to throw in some subtle hints that our relationship may be on shaky ground. Maybe I'll start off small by criticizing her taste in fashion. If I describe her clothes with adjectives like "drab", "boring", or "relationship ending" it should get her attention. After that I'll burn all of her shoes to prove I'm serious. Next, I'll step it up a notch by criticizing her taste in pets. I'll tell her I don't understand how anyone can enjoy a stupid fish unless they're having it for dinner. Then, to really drive the point home I'll eat her goldfish. If all else fails and I can't find any other way out, I'll criticize her taste in men and commit suicide. One of these is bound to work.
Needless to say, once it's time to actually end the relationship I can rest assured that we're both ready. Now I don't have to worry about there being a huge scene filled with crying, yelling, and ugly shoes. That's something to feel good about. And, just to be extra sure I don't have to deal with any overly dramatic nonsense, I often perform my break-ups while in a movie theater. This way, if she starts making a fuss, I'll have an entire audience to help me tell her to shut up. It's just a nice safety measure to ensure everything goes smoothly.
Once my relationship has officially ended the only thing left to do is begin ending my next relationship. I just hope this next one can take a hint.
Before I decide it's time to put myself through such an uncomfortable event, I search deep within to make sure I'm not making a mistake. The first thing I ask myself is, "Can this relationship be saved?" If my girlfriend is staying out all night, flirting with other guys, and getting restraining orders, maybe. But, on the other hand, if she's doing things like getting fat, there's really nothing I can do.
Once I've come to the conclusion that it's time to split, I need to come up with a game plan. The most important aspect of a break-up is to do it gradually. That's why I usually begin the process on the first date. I don't want my significant other getting blind-sided by a break-up they didn't see coming. I want them to feel it looming right from the start.
To achieve this healthy, loomy feel I just become overly forgetful. Was I supposed to call her on Tuesday or Thursday? Was her birthday on the 6th or the 7th? Did she say she wanted me to pick up her brother, or have sex with her sister? These are all seemingly innocent mistakes that will get my partner thinking.
If a relationship is really dragging on I sometimes worry that my girlfriend thinks it's going to last. Sure, I've forgotten everything from her favorite food to her name. But is it enough? I've found that in this situation it's best to throw in some subtle hints that our relationship may be on shaky ground. Maybe I'll start off small by criticizing her taste in fashion. If I describe her clothes with adjectives like "drab", "boring", or "relationship ending" it should get her attention. After that I'll burn all of her shoes to prove I'm serious. Next, I'll step it up a notch by criticizing her taste in pets. I'll tell her I don't understand how anyone can enjoy a stupid fish unless they're having it for dinner. Then, to really drive the point home I'll eat her goldfish. If all else fails and I can't find any other way out, I'll criticize her taste in men and commit suicide. One of these is bound to work.
Needless to say, once it's time to actually end the relationship I can rest assured that we're both ready. Now I don't have to worry about there being a huge scene filled with crying, yelling, and ugly shoes. That's something to feel good about. And, just to be extra sure I don't have to deal with any overly dramatic nonsense, I often perform my break-ups while in a movie theater. This way, if she starts making a fuss, I'll have an entire audience to help me tell her to shut up. It's just a nice safety measure to ensure everything goes smoothly.
Once my relationship has officially ended the only thing left to do is begin ending my next relationship. I just hope this next one can take a hint.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Self-Confidence
Self-confidence is one of the most important things you can develop for yourself. It can mean the difference between being treated with injustice and cruelty, and being treated with respect and dignity. After all, would you rather have to endure ridicule as you stand idly by, or be able to run someone over with your car without even caring? It's a simple choice.
Confidence is something everyone strives for but few ever achieve. The world is constantly telling us we're not good enough. Be it in the form of someone getting dumped by a significant other over the phone, to a baby getting dumped by its mother into the garbage. The point is, getting dumped is never easy and can cause lasting confidence issues.
There are so many things in this life trying to tear us down, leaving us struggling to lift ourselves back up. It's time to break the cycle. That's why, whenever someone tries to bring me down with some generic insult, I fight back with a little maturity and thoughtfulness. If, for instance, a co-worker gets some bad news and tries to take it out on me, there's no need to get upset. I simply take a deep breath, put a tender hand on their shoulder, and explain that I know what they're doing, but it still doesn't change the fact that their mother is dead. Using this technique, I can train them to associate giving insults with a dead mother. This will generally create a much warmer atmosphere.
Of course, not all situations can be solved with the gracefulness that playing the dead mother card offers. Every now and then someone comes along who can't take a hint. Whether it be a self-centered friend, a thoughtless sibling, or a clueless baby. They seem to be intent on destroying my self-esteem. I have found that if I simply ignore my friends little jabs, laugh off my siblings taunts, and stop feeding my baby, the problems will almost always go away.
Then there are the circumstances where nothing seems to work to curb someone's attitude problem. No matter what you do, the person just won't back down. This happens most often when I'm dealing with some unruly pedestrian that I just hit with my car. I mean, I don't know about you, but if I just got hit by a car I wouldn't be insulting the other persons ability to drive. It's like, fine, I wasn't at the top of my game while behind the wheel just then, but what about you...you can't even walk anymore. Some people need to stop and think about their own short-comings before bringing up everyone elses.
Life is a hostile place. It can ruin your confidence if not kept in check. But if composure and maturity are maintained in the face of other people's selfish attacks it could truly make the world a better place. Just think about that the next time I accidentally plow my car through your front door or mistake your chihuahua for a kick-ball.
Confidence is something everyone strives for but few ever achieve. The world is constantly telling us we're not good enough. Be it in the form of someone getting dumped by a significant other over the phone, to a baby getting dumped by its mother into the garbage. The point is, getting dumped is never easy and can cause lasting confidence issues.
There are so many things in this life trying to tear us down, leaving us struggling to lift ourselves back up. It's time to break the cycle. That's why, whenever someone tries to bring me down with some generic insult, I fight back with a little maturity and thoughtfulness. If, for instance, a co-worker gets some bad news and tries to take it out on me, there's no need to get upset. I simply take a deep breath, put a tender hand on their shoulder, and explain that I know what they're doing, but it still doesn't change the fact that their mother is dead. Using this technique, I can train them to associate giving insults with a dead mother. This will generally create a much warmer atmosphere.
Of course, not all situations can be solved with the gracefulness that playing the dead mother card offers. Every now and then someone comes along who can't take a hint. Whether it be a self-centered friend, a thoughtless sibling, or a clueless baby. They seem to be intent on destroying my self-esteem. I have found that if I simply ignore my friends little jabs, laugh off my siblings taunts, and stop feeding my baby, the problems will almost always go away.
Then there are the circumstances where nothing seems to work to curb someone's attitude problem. No matter what you do, the person just won't back down. This happens most often when I'm dealing with some unruly pedestrian that I just hit with my car. I mean, I don't know about you, but if I just got hit by a car I wouldn't be insulting the other persons ability to drive. It's like, fine, I wasn't at the top of my game while behind the wheel just then, but what about you...you can't even walk anymore. Some people need to stop and think about their own short-comings before bringing up everyone elses.
Life is a hostile place. It can ruin your confidence if not kept in check. But if composure and maturity are maintained in the face of other people's selfish attacks it could truly make the world a better place. Just think about that the next time I accidentally plow my car through your front door or mistake your chihuahua for a kick-ball.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Babysitting
I love babysitting children. It's like you're the guardian angel of these little living things that would probably choke, drown, and fall out of a window without you. This is why I take my duties very seriously when I'm called to babysit.
One of the first things I do when I'm watching someone's kids is sit them down on the couch and explain that houses have a lot of hidden dangers. I tell them stair cases are not a toy and should be treated with respect. I explain that if they get too close to an outlet they could be electrocuted. And I teach them never to swallow anything they find in their basement, bathroom, or refrigerator because everything is poisonous. After I'm done with my little warning spiel I explain that they may get off the couch if they're going to be careful, but they will probably still die.
Now that I have the children playfully cowering in the center of the living room, it's time to play a nice, safe game of nap time. This is where all of the kids lie motionless on the floor while I watch TV. The game usually goes quite well until one of the children starts whining that they're hungry or need to go to the bathroom. I just laugh and tell them it'll only be a few more hours. Young children are so needy.
After I'm done watching television it's time to eat something. I let the children go into the kitchen and make their favorite food and then have them bring it out for me to eat. This has always been one of my fondest parts of babysitting because it's so precious watching a toddler use their very first butcher knife. It's like, are they going to slice off a piece of bread, or something entirely different? You just never know.
Once snack time is over I'm usually running a little low on ideas for activities. We've already played a nice game of nap time followed by feed the babysitter, so what's next? At this point I like to play a little game called "Hush Little Baby." This is where I tell the children to shut up whenever they start talking. It sounds easy but you'd be surprised at how much kids can complain. It's just a constant barrage of, "I'm hungry. I'm cold. I'm choking." And even though they may not actually come out and say they're choking, by the way they make all of those noises, I can tell they're thinking it. It's like, Nice job Little Timmy, but I wasn't born yesterday like you were.
By the time "Hush Little Baby" comes to an end I figure we'll get in a quick round of playing dead. We don't have anything better to do, and besides, Little Timmy has already started without us. Before we get things underway, however, the parents usually come home and ruin our fun. Upon entering the living room their smiles often fade to concern as they exclaim, "Why is our Little Timmy turning blue!?" I just laugh and say, "Oh, we were just about to play dead." As they rush over to their little boy I figure my work here is done and head out the door. While I walk I always feel a sense of pride because, hey, I just made a difference.
One of the first things I do when I'm watching someone's kids is sit them down on the couch and explain that houses have a lot of hidden dangers. I tell them stair cases are not a toy and should be treated with respect. I explain that if they get too close to an outlet they could be electrocuted. And I teach them never to swallow anything they find in their basement, bathroom, or refrigerator because everything is poisonous. After I'm done with my little warning spiel I explain that they may get off the couch if they're going to be careful, but they will probably still die.
Now that I have the children playfully cowering in the center of the living room, it's time to play a nice, safe game of nap time. This is where all of the kids lie motionless on the floor while I watch TV. The game usually goes quite well until one of the children starts whining that they're hungry or need to go to the bathroom. I just laugh and tell them it'll only be a few more hours. Young children are so needy.
After I'm done watching television it's time to eat something. I let the children go into the kitchen and make their favorite food and then have them bring it out for me to eat. This has always been one of my fondest parts of babysitting because it's so precious watching a toddler use their very first butcher knife. It's like, are they going to slice off a piece of bread, or something entirely different? You just never know.
Once snack time is over I'm usually running a little low on ideas for activities. We've already played a nice game of nap time followed by feed the babysitter, so what's next? At this point I like to play a little game called "Hush Little Baby." This is where I tell the children to shut up whenever they start talking. It sounds easy but you'd be surprised at how much kids can complain. It's just a constant barrage of, "I'm hungry. I'm cold. I'm choking." And even though they may not actually come out and say they're choking, by the way they make all of those noises, I can tell they're thinking it. It's like, Nice job Little Timmy, but I wasn't born yesterday like you were.
By the time "Hush Little Baby" comes to an end I figure we'll get in a quick round of playing dead. We don't have anything better to do, and besides, Little Timmy has already started without us. Before we get things underway, however, the parents usually come home and ruin our fun. Upon entering the living room their smiles often fade to concern as they exclaim, "Why is our Little Timmy turning blue!?" I just laugh and say, "Oh, we were just about to play dead." As they rush over to their little boy I figure my work here is done and head out the door. While I walk I always feel a sense of pride because, hey, I just made a difference.
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Lawyering
My palms grew sweaty as the plaintiff's attorney gave his opening statement. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, first, I just want to thank you for helping ensure justice prevails here today. Without you there would be no law and order, no peace and justice, no accountability and fairness." He was good. Already thanking people when they hadn't even done anything yet. People love that. "...and after I have meticulously presented each piece of evidence in this case, I'm certain you will find the defendant had the motive, the capacity, and the opportunity to commit these heinous crimes. And you will find him guilty on all counts. All the way from two counts of aggravated assault and murder, to three counts of grand larceny. Thank you and I know you will come to a fair and just verdict at the conclusion of this trial."
I was up next. The first opening statement of my career. I was so nervous I could hardly talk, so I attempted to copy my predecessor's opening as best I could. "Hey jury people. Thanks for coming out today. Without your prevailing winds of support, we wouldn't have our courts and lawyers, checks and balances, cowboys and Indians." So far so good. Nervously trying to recall what the plaintiff's attorney said next, I continued, "Once I insistently push each piece of evidence in your face, I'm certain you will find that the defendant can't even count, let alone commit murder. Thanks for coming to the fair and I know you plan on concluding this trial with a verdict." I wasn't sure what I had just said, but I was pretty certain I nailed it.
Once we got into the heart of the trial my opponent began to turn up the heat. He was producing evidence left and right and calling witnesses to the stand like it was his job. I had to do something or my client wasn't going to stand a chance. Nervously watching the plaintiff work the courtroom like a fiddle, I began objecting to anything I could think of. I objected when he asked a witness to state their name. "Objection. Badgering the witness!" I objected when he talked too loudly. "Objection! Disturbing the peace!" I objected when he strayed too far from his desk. "Objection! Traveling!" I even objected when he paused for too long. "Objection! He's wasting my time!"
The trial dragged on this way until I was finally kicked out of the courtroom for objecting to one of my opponents objections:
Plaintiff: "Objection your honor! He's leading the witness!"
Defendant: "I OBJECT!"
Plaintiff: "You can't object my objection!"
Defendant: "OVERRULED!"
Plaintiff: "Your honor, the defendants council is out of order!"
Defendant: "OBJECTION! Speculation!
The judge ordered me to leave the courtroom until closing statements. Now it was go time. I had to think of a way to convince the jury that my client wasn't capable of murder and quick. So far all I had proven in this case was that my opponent, the judge, and my client didn't like me. It was a start but it wasn't going to win the trial. Then, as I walked back into the courtroom for my closing statement, I thought of the perfect plan to prove my clients innocence. Standing up and walking over to the front of my desk, I took a gun out of my pocket, gave it to my client, and said, "Kill someone." The courtroom erupted in gasps to which I responded, "Oh relax, this is just a demonstration to prove my client isn't capable of murder."
Apparently, contrary to logic, giving the defendant a gun during a trial is against the law and not admissible evidence in court. I was disbarred and was no longer allowed to practice law in the U.S., Canada, or in any place where there may be people.
I was up next. The first opening statement of my career. I was so nervous I could hardly talk, so I attempted to copy my predecessor's opening as best I could. "Hey jury people. Thanks for coming out today. Without your prevailing winds of support, we wouldn't have our courts and lawyers, checks and balances, cowboys and Indians." So far so good. Nervously trying to recall what the plaintiff's attorney said next, I continued, "Once I insistently push each piece of evidence in your face, I'm certain you will find that the defendant can't even count, let alone commit murder. Thanks for coming to the fair and I know you plan on concluding this trial with a verdict." I wasn't sure what I had just said, but I was pretty certain I nailed it.
Once we got into the heart of the trial my opponent began to turn up the heat. He was producing evidence left and right and calling witnesses to the stand like it was his job. I had to do something or my client wasn't going to stand a chance. Nervously watching the plaintiff work the courtroom like a fiddle, I began objecting to anything I could think of. I objected when he asked a witness to state their name. "Objection. Badgering the witness!" I objected when he talked too loudly. "Objection! Disturbing the peace!" I objected when he strayed too far from his desk. "Objection! Traveling!" I even objected when he paused for too long. "Objection! He's wasting my time!"
The trial dragged on this way until I was finally kicked out of the courtroom for objecting to one of my opponents objections:
Plaintiff: "Objection your honor! He's leading the witness!"
Defendant: "I OBJECT!"
Plaintiff: "You can't object my objection!"
Defendant: "OVERRULED!"
Plaintiff: "Your honor, the defendants council is out of order!"
Defendant: "OBJECTION! Speculation!
The judge ordered me to leave the courtroom until closing statements. Now it was go time. I had to think of a way to convince the jury that my client wasn't capable of murder and quick. So far all I had proven in this case was that my opponent, the judge, and my client didn't like me. It was a start but it wasn't going to win the trial. Then, as I walked back into the courtroom for my closing statement, I thought of the perfect plan to prove my clients innocence. Standing up and walking over to the front of my desk, I took a gun out of my pocket, gave it to my client, and said, "Kill someone." The courtroom erupted in gasps to which I responded, "Oh relax, this is just a demonstration to prove my client isn't capable of murder."
Apparently, contrary to logic, giving the defendant a gun during a trial is against the law and not admissible evidence in court. I was disbarred and was no longer allowed to practice law in the U.S., Canada, or in any place where there may be people.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Magician's Nightmare
It was 5 PM and I was running late. I had to be on the other side of town in half an hour to perform my magic act for little Jimmy's sixth birthday. Hastily rushing through the house, I grabbed the car keys, my top hat, and a pair of pants and ran out the door.
While on my way I figured it would be best if I drove at my vehicle's top speed. This way I would not only get to my destination as fast as possible, but I would also be obeying some sort of speed limit. Then, just as I reached the half-way mark of my trip, the unthinkable happened; I was pulled over for speeding. I tried telling the cop I was a magician and everything he had just witnessed was an illusion, but he didn't buy it.
As I pulled back onto the street I drove with caution until I was around the corner. After that it was pedal to the medal as I skidded around corners, took shortcuts through private property, and crashed into a tree.
Needless to say, if I was going to make my appointment I'd be doing it on foot. I blindly sprinted across side streets and fearlessly bound over fences with a new sense of determination. Little Jimmy wasn't going to be let down on his birthday. Not on my watch.
After some small tussles with a couple of German Sheppard's, a chain-link fence, and a jeep, I finally arrived at my destination. I may have been missing my top hat, most of my props, and my shirt, but I was still ready to put on a magic act no one would soon forget. Looking at my watch, I realized I was a little late. All the more reason to give my clients the best show of their lives.
As I stared at the front door I tried to think of a spectacular entrance, something that would start things off with a bang. I could knock on their door and ask if they ordered a pizza. Then, when they said no I could respond, "How about a magician!" as I magically pulled a rabbit, dove, and Basset Hound out of my pocket. Or I could simply do a normal entrance and save all the tricks for the show. It was a tough call, but in the end I decided to go around back and break in through the window for that element of surprise.
It was very dark upon entering the house, but by the way I kept knocking over glasses and breaking dishes, I assumed I was on the kitchen counter. Then, just as my eyes began to adjust, the light switch was suddenly flipped on. Squinting over at the far entrance of the room I saw little Jimmy's parents standing in shock as a half naked man rummaged around in their sink. My plan worked to a tee. I had already rendered my clients speechless and I had yet to perform a single trick.
I jumped off the counter and continued to mystify by pulling their tablecloth out from under a set of dishes. Once that didn't work I went right into creating the illusion that I was levitating by swinging upside down from the chandelier. Then, after the chandelier ripped from the ceiling, I magically broke my fall with my face. I could tell I was knocking this performance out of the park by the way the parents stood frozen in what must have been complete awe. Now, all I had to do was end with something spectacular. I thought of doing a card trick or juggling some apples, but that wasn't good enough. Then it hit me. I grabbed a butcher knife from the counter, looked back at my still speechless couple, and said, "Which one of you wants to get cut in half?"
As little Jimmy dialed 911 from the living room, I had to flee from the house before I had a chance to perform my final act. I was kind of glad he did because I never understood how to cut someone in half without killing them. A large part of being a successful magician is having the ability to distinguish between what's real, what's an illusion, and what's murder.
While on my way I figured it would be best if I drove at my vehicle's top speed. This way I would not only get to my destination as fast as possible, but I would also be obeying some sort of speed limit. Then, just as I reached the half-way mark of my trip, the unthinkable happened; I was pulled over for speeding. I tried telling the cop I was a magician and everything he had just witnessed was an illusion, but he didn't buy it.
As I pulled back onto the street I drove with caution until I was around the corner. After that it was pedal to the medal as I skidded around corners, took shortcuts through private property, and crashed into a tree.
Needless to say, if I was going to make my appointment I'd be doing it on foot. I blindly sprinted across side streets and fearlessly bound over fences with a new sense of determination. Little Jimmy wasn't going to be let down on his birthday. Not on my watch.
After some small tussles with a couple of German Sheppard's, a chain-link fence, and a jeep, I finally arrived at my destination. I may have been missing my top hat, most of my props, and my shirt, but I was still ready to put on a magic act no one would soon forget. Looking at my watch, I realized I was a little late. All the more reason to give my clients the best show of their lives.
As I stared at the front door I tried to think of a spectacular entrance, something that would start things off with a bang. I could knock on their door and ask if they ordered a pizza. Then, when they said no I could respond, "How about a magician!" as I magically pulled a rabbit, dove, and Basset Hound out of my pocket. Or I could simply do a normal entrance and save all the tricks for the show. It was a tough call, but in the end I decided to go around back and break in through the window for that element of surprise.
It was very dark upon entering the house, but by the way I kept knocking over glasses and breaking dishes, I assumed I was on the kitchen counter. Then, just as my eyes began to adjust, the light switch was suddenly flipped on. Squinting over at the far entrance of the room I saw little Jimmy's parents standing in shock as a half naked man rummaged around in their sink. My plan worked to a tee. I had already rendered my clients speechless and I had yet to perform a single trick.
I jumped off the counter and continued to mystify by pulling their tablecloth out from under a set of dishes. Once that didn't work I went right into creating the illusion that I was levitating by swinging upside down from the chandelier. Then, after the chandelier ripped from the ceiling, I magically broke my fall with my face. I could tell I was knocking this performance out of the park by the way the parents stood frozen in what must have been complete awe. Now, all I had to do was end with something spectacular. I thought of doing a card trick or juggling some apples, but that wasn't good enough. Then it hit me. I grabbed a butcher knife from the counter, looked back at my still speechless couple, and said, "Which one of you wants to get cut in half?"
As little Jimmy dialed 911 from the living room, I had to flee from the house before I had a chance to perform my final act. I was kind of glad he did because I never understood how to cut someone in half without killing them. A large part of being a successful magician is having the ability to distinguish between what's real, what's an illusion, and what's murder.
Friday, January 29, 2010
My Daughter's First Birthday
If you're a parent, then you know there's nothing quite as memorable as your child's first birthday. The way their eyes light up when they see the cake, how they giggle when you use the party blowers, and the way your house burns down from poor candle placement. It truly is unforgettable.
All of this reminds me of the first birthday party I threw for my daughter. It was a warm, sunny day and I was out shopping for the perfect gift at Ace Hardware. If I know babies like I think I do, then they love home improvement. Rummaging through the aisles I couldn't decide which my daughter would enjoy more, electrical tape, PVC piping, or door hinges. I tried asking the opinion of one of the staff members, but by the confused look on their face, I could tell they thought they were all great.
Once I got home I found my wife putting up streamers of all colors and could smell cake baking in the oven. She cast a bit of an odd look on her face when she saw the Ace bag in my hand, but I just gave her a wink and slipped away into the bedroom to wrap the gifts. While in the bedroom I discovered we didn't have any wrapping paper, so I figured one of my old tube socks from the hamper would do just fine.
As my wife pulled the cake out of the oven, I suddenly realized I had forgotten the birthday candles while I was out shopping. Nervously darting my eyes around the room, I tried to come up with a backup plan before I had to reveal my forgetfulness. Then, just as my wife was about to ask me to light the cake, I remembered I had a secret stash of firecrackers in the garage. It was either that or the road flares I kept in my truck. And even though I'm a big fan of safety, road flares just don't scream, "Party!" quite like their more festive counterpart.
While my better half, or perhaps better whole, was in the other room getting our daughter, I spelled the word "ONE" with my replacement 'candles' and stood back in satisfaction. Once we were all in the kitchen, gathered around the table, I shut off the lights and lit the cake. I could tell my wife knew something was up with the candles by the way she began to say, "Why do they sound like-?" But before she could finish the sentence there was a tremendous "POP, POP, POP, SNAP, POP, POP, OH MY GOD, POP, POP, WHAT DID YOU, POP, SNAP, POP, POP!!!!" as frosting went flinging in every direction.
When the smoke cleared it appeared that 75% of the frosting had landed on my wife's face. I tried to lighten the mood by saying, "Wow, what are the odds that most of it would land right there!?" But she wasn't in the mood to discuss probabilities. I screwed up big time and needed to redeem myself, pronto. Luckily, I knew just the thing. As I confidently looked at my wife's agitated face, I revealed the old tube sock and placed it on the table with a smile. "What's this?", she snapped. That's when I pulled out electrical tape, door hinges, and a package of wood screws from inside the sock. My wife was so pleased with my thoughtful gift choices that she was forced to storm out of the room to conceal her excitement.
Needless to say, I was no longer allowed to buy gifts, light candles, or be present at subsequent birthday parties. Of course, that's not going to stop me from giving my daughter the keys to a brand new, 2010 hot air balloon for her sixteenth birthday. After all, what's a party without balloons?
All of this reminds me of the first birthday party I threw for my daughter. It was a warm, sunny day and I was out shopping for the perfect gift at Ace Hardware. If I know babies like I think I do, then they love home improvement. Rummaging through the aisles I couldn't decide which my daughter would enjoy more, electrical tape, PVC piping, or door hinges. I tried asking the opinion of one of the staff members, but by the confused look on their face, I could tell they thought they were all great.
Once I got home I found my wife putting up streamers of all colors and could smell cake baking in the oven. She cast a bit of an odd look on her face when she saw the Ace bag in my hand, but I just gave her a wink and slipped away into the bedroom to wrap the gifts. While in the bedroom I discovered we didn't have any wrapping paper, so I figured one of my old tube socks from the hamper would do just fine.
As my wife pulled the cake out of the oven, I suddenly realized I had forgotten the birthday candles while I was out shopping. Nervously darting my eyes around the room, I tried to come up with a backup plan before I had to reveal my forgetfulness. Then, just as my wife was about to ask me to light the cake, I remembered I had a secret stash of firecrackers in the garage. It was either that or the road flares I kept in my truck. And even though I'm a big fan of safety, road flares just don't scream, "Party!" quite like their more festive counterpart.
While my better half, or perhaps better whole, was in the other room getting our daughter, I spelled the word "ONE" with my replacement 'candles' and stood back in satisfaction. Once we were all in the kitchen, gathered around the table, I shut off the lights and lit the cake. I could tell my wife knew something was up with the candles by the way she began to say, "Why do they sound like-?" But before she could finish the sentence there was a tremendous "POP, POP, POP, SNAP, POP, POP, OH MY GOD, POP, POP, WHAT DID YOU, POP, SNAP, POP, POP!!!!" as frosting went flinging in every direction.
When the smoke cleared it appeared that 75% of the frosting had landed on my wife's face. I tried to lighten the mood by saying, "Wow, what are the odds that most of it would land right there!?" But she wasn't in the mood to discuss probabilities. I screwed up big time and needed to redeem myself, pronto. Luckily, I knew just the thing. As I confidently looked at my wife's agitated face, I revealed the old tube sock and placed it on the table with a smile. "What's this?", she snapped. That's when I pulled out electrical tape, door hinges, and a package of wood screws from inside the sock. My wife was so pleased with my thoughtful gift choices that she was forced to storm out of the room to conceal her excitement.
Needless to say, I was no longer allowed to buy gifts, light candles, or be present at subsequent birthday parties. Of course, that's not going to stop me from giving my daughter the keys to a brand new, 2010 hot air balloon for her sixteenth birthday. After all, what's a party without balloons?
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Going on Vacation
Many people see flying someplace for vacation as a fun, relaxing time. But you shouldn't forget that annoying, little mishaps can happen at any moment. There could be a lot of flight delays, you're luggage could get lost, or, without any heads up from the pilot, you could crash land on top of a mountain and have to eat each other.
Because I'm so fearful of the lost luggage thing, I pack as much as possible into my carry-on and stuff whatever is left over into my shirt. After this is completed I drive to the airport and buy a ticket for a warm, tropical destination like Fiji, the Bahamas, or Idaho.
While sitting on the plane, I can tell the other passengers are nervous by the way they get all panicked whenever the plane makes a strange sound. To help take the edge off I say things like, "Flying is the safest way to travel. You should be more worried about the airline food than the flight. I had a dream that the plane crashed, and as we all know, dreams aren't real."
Once we're in the air I try to get everyone involved by playing simple, plane-friendly games like 20 questions or dodgeball. People are usually a little reluctant at first, but after I peg them in the face a few times, they get really into it and start chucking their coffee mugs and fists at me. That's the spirit. One of the things I like most about flying is that no matter how disruptive or annoying you are, they almost never throw you out.
When we land at our destination, I look for some food, a place to stay, and a job because I don't have enough money for the first two things. Next, I become a bum on the street. As it turns out, I'm not sure where I am and don't speak the language. Getting work is very difficult when you have to communicate using nothing but hand gestures and Morse Code. Though, how someone can't figure out what I mean when I rub my stomach and go, "Beep, beeeeeep, beeep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeep" is beyond me.
Eventually, I'll get lucky and land a highly lucrative job in some sweat shop that pays you in marbles. After doing the math I'll decide to register for citizenship in this new country because it's going to take me 45 years to raise enough marbles for a plane ticket home. As you can see, when I go on vacation, it's not really a vacation, but a way of life.
Because I'm so fearful of the lost luggage thing, I pack as much as possible into my carry-on and stuff whatever is left over into my shirt. After this is completed I drive to the airport and buy a ticket for a warm, tropical destination like Fiji, the Bahamas, or Idaho.
While sitting on the plane, I can tell the other passengers are nervous by the way they get all panicked whenever the plane makes a strange sound. To help take the edge off I say things like, "Flying is the safest way to travel. You should be more worried about the airline food than the flight. I had a dream that the plane crashed, and as we all know, dreams aren't real."
Once we're in the air I try to get everyone involved by playing simple, plane-friendly games like 20 questions or dodgeball. People are usually a little reluctant at first, but after I peg them in the face a few times, they get really into it and start chucking their coffee mugs and fists at me. That's the spirit. One of the things I like most about flying is that no matter how disruptive or annoying you are, they almost never throw you out.
When we land at our destination, I look for some food, a place to stay, and a job because I don't have enough money for the first two things. Next, I become a bum on the street. As it turns out, I'm not sure where I am and don't speak the language. Getting work is very difficult when you have to communicate using nothing but hand gestures and Morse Code. Though, how someone can't figure out what I mean when I rub my stomach and go, "Beep, beeeeeep, beeep, beep, beeeeeeeeeeeep" is beyond me.
Eventually, I'll get lucky and land a highly lucrative job in some sweat shop that pays you in marbles. After doing the math I'll decide to register for citizenship in this new country because it's going to take me 45 years to raise enough marbles for a plane ticket home. As you can see, when I go on vacation, it's not really a vacation, but a way of life.
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Being Healthy
If you've ever looked at yourself in the mirror, you've probably had one of three reactions: 1. "I look amazing with my beautiful skin and toned figure!" 2. "I may have gotten a bit hefty, but I'm still as strong as an ox!" 3. "I don't remember being a pig/cow mix." But whatever your reaction, it's never to late to look and feel great.
Whenever I start to worry that I'm getting bigger, I frantically try to find some other logical explanation for what's happening to me. Couldn't it be, for instance, that everything else is getting smaller? If my logic doesn't work, I try to stay positive by reminding myself that getting in shape is as easy as dieting, exercise, and liposuction. Using all of these techniques in unison can be a real fat buster.
First, I'll talk about dieting. This is where I avoid putting anything into my body that could cause unhealthy weight gain, like food. Once I've successfully weened myself from food dependency, I'll notice how much easier it is to shed pounds. If I keep it up I'll be admitted into a hospital in no time. This is societies way of saying, "OK, you're getting a little too good at this." I'll take that as a compliment.
Once I have my weight at a respectable 73 lbs, it's time to incorporate some exercise. Before getting a gym membership, however, I need to start eating again. Without any of the energy that food provides, it becomes extremely difficult to do strenuous activities like running, weightlifting, and walking. If I can't walk, chances are I won't be able to run either.
I can't just eat anything I want, though. I have to play it smart by eating only the smallest group at the top of the food pyramid. This will ensure I don't overeat. And once my diet consists of nothing but cookies, ice cream, and chocolate covered meat balls, I'll feel a tremendous amount of energy coursing through my body.
After I'm a big, blubbery ball of energy, I can hit the gym hard. As I walk through the doors of the fitness center at a wholesome 409 lbs, I'll feel all eyes on me. By the way all of the in shape members stare at my heavy breathing, already perspiring brow, and butter-stained sweatpants, I'll know what they're thinking, "This guy has so much more potential to lose weight than I do, the show off." Now I have the upper hand.
While working out I need to keep the 'No pain, no gain' motto in my head. Getting in shape is all about forcing the body to do what it doesn't want to do. And since I've just been shot off the back of a treadmill and into the wall, I can rest assured it didn't want to do that.
All I have to do is keep up the hard work and I'll be back to fighting shape in no time. And when that day comes, I'll be able to do all of the things I used to enjoy, like biking, going to the movies, and standing up. Variety truly is the spice of life.
Whenever I start to worry that I'm getting bigger, I frantically try to find some other logical explanation for what's happening to me. Couldn't it be, for instance, that everything else is getting smaller? If my logic doesn't work, I try to stay positive by reminding myself that getting in shape is as easy as dieting, exercise, and liposuction. Using all of these techniques in unison can be a real fat buster.
First, I'll talk about dieting. This is where I avoid putting anything into my body that could cause unhealthy weight gain, like food. Once I've successfully weened myself from food dependency, I'll notice how much easier it is to shed pounds. If I keep it up I'll be admitted into a hospital in no time. This is societies way of saying, "OK, you're getting a little too good at this." I'll take that as a compliment.
Once I have my weight at a respectable 73 lbs, it's time to incorporate some exercise. Before getting a gym membership, however, I need to start eating again. Without any of the energy that food provides, it becomes extremely difficult to do strenuous activities like running, weightlifting, and walking. If I can't walk, chances are I won't be able to run either.
I can't just eat anything I want, though. I have to play it smart by eating only the smallest group at the top of the food pyramid. This will ensure I don't overeat. And once my diet consists of nothing but cookies, ice cream, and chocolate covered meat balls, I'll feel a tremendous amount of energy coursing through my body.
After I'm a big, blubbery ball of energy, I can hit the gym hard. As I walk through the doors of the fitness center at a wholesome 409 lbs, I'll feel all eyes on me. By the way all of the in shape members stare at my heavy breathing, already perspiring brow, and butter-stained sweatpants, I'll know what they're thinking, "This guy has so much more potential to lose weight than I do, the show off." Now I have the upper hand.
While working out I need to keep the 'No pain, no gain' motto in my head. Getting in shape is all about forcing the body to do what it doesn't want to do. And since I've just been shot off the back of a treadmill and into the wall, I can rest assured it didn't want to do that.
All I have to do is keep up the hard work and I'll be back to fighting shape in no time. And when that day comes, I'll be able to do all of the things I used to enjoy, like biking, going to the movies, and standing up. Variety truly is the spice of life.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
War
Being forced to go to war is probably enough to ruin anyone's weekend. The drill sergeant is always yelling, people are trying to kill you, and you aren't allowed to bring the wife and kids along. It is for these reasons that I usually try to call in sick whenever there's a draft going around.
Since they don't consider having a cold a 'good' reason to skip war, however, there's nothing I can do but suck it up and try to become the best soldier I can be. This isn't easy, especially when your worst fears are getting killed, killing others, and doing push ups, but it's a small price to pay for honor.
Before trudging out onto the battle field, I first have to choose a weapon. And even though we have all of these high-tech gadgets to pick from, like machine guns and sniper rifles, it's important to keep one thing in mind, a sword never runs out of ammo. The same can be said for fists.
Once I'm fully equipped with my anti-ammo weaponry, combat fatigues, and a backpack full of juice boxes, I march into the war zone looking for some action. I hear bullets whizzing over my head and the sound of explosions echoing off of the mountain sides, but that's not really what I'm interested in. Instead, I'm more interested in how I'm already handcuffed in the back of an enemy vehicle on it's way to their prison camp. It's like they had no fear of a sword that never needs reloading, or a fist that never jams. I hadn't planned on that kind of bravery.
While at the enemy base, they grill me with all sorts of questions like, "Where are your people planning to strike next?! Who is in charge of your unit?!! Do you mind if I take a juice box?!!!" But I just look them dead in the eye and say, "You can threaten me all you'd like, but I'll never tell you anything unless I get a warm hot dog first." Having strong negotiation skills can be the difference between life and death in this kind of situation.
At the conclusion of the war our drill sergeant usually starts yelling stuff at me like, "Why did you replace all of your standard issue equipment?! Why would you take a sword into battle?!! You gave up our position for a hot dog?!!!" I guess I can understand why he's so upset, but it's nothing a juice box can't fix.
Since they don't consider having a cold a 'good' reason to skip war, however, there's nothing I can do but suck it up and try to become the best soldier I can be. This isn't easy, especially when your worst fears are getting killed, killing others, and doing push ups, but it's a small price to pay for honor.
Before trudging out onto the battle field, I first have to choose a weapon. And even though we have all of these high-tech gadgets to pick from, like machine guns and sniper rifles, it's important to keep one thing in mind, a sword never runs out of ammo. The same can be said for fists.
Once I'm fully equipped with my anti-ammo weaponry, combat fatigues, and a backpack full of juice boxes, I march into the war zone looking for some action. I hear bullets whizzing over my head and the sound of explosions echoing off of the mountain sides, but that's not really what I'm interested in. Instead, I'm more interested in how I'm already handcuffed in the back of an enemy vehicle on it's way to their prison camp. It's like they had no fear of a sword that never needs reloading, or a fist that never jams. I hadn't planned on that kind of bravery.
While at the enemy base, they grill me with all sorts of questions like, "Where are your people planning to strike next?! Who is in charge of your unit?!! Do you mind if I take a juice box?!!!" But I just look them dead in the eye and say, "You can threaten me all you'd like, but I'll never tell you anything unless I get a warm hot dog first." Having strong negotiation skills can be the difference between life and death in this kind of situation.
At the conclusion of the war our drill sergeant usually starts yelling stuff at me like, "Why did you replace all of your standard issue equipment?! Why would you take a sword into battle?!! You gave up our position for a hot dog?!!!" I guess I can understand why he's so upset, but it's nothing a juice box can't fix.
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