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.