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.
Wednesday, August 28, 2019
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.
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.
Thursday, August 1, 2019
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.
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.
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