Holy Crap!!! I have a blog? Yeah, and it has just been chillin' out there in the internets. I've had one view for the past couple weeks, and that's only because I happened to stumble onto it. It is really quite impressive to think that anyone who has access to a computer with internet can speak their mind for the world to hear. Unfortunately, that includes me too. I thought I'd keep up with my blog. At least once a week... that's not too much, right? Wrong. So now I'm composing a post that is plastered on the wall of the web that belongs to me... the web doesn't belong to me, but the wall. Anywho... Are blogs a waste of time? Any thoughts? I get that people use them to unwind, but for realzy? A notebook and pen are way cheaper than a computer and internet connection. I love hypocriticizing. Making nonexistent words is fun too!

Living with the Dead... not as sinister as it sounds.

            Last time I posted I discussed finding a job and having that job… and whatever else I said… lets be honest, I’m not going to reread what I said. I can’t believe any of you even read it a first time through.

            So… I’m still on the job search. Here are a few things I’ve learned.

Pi R squared, but Pie are round… feel free to pass that along.

            Anyway, one of the job postings I came across was for a mortician driver. This would definitely be a life-affirming job. I mean, if you’re having a really bad day, you just have to look at your clients and remember that things could be worse. Sure, the people you work with are dead beats, but hey… if you ever need to talk things out, they’re there to listen. Another positive thing would be the ability to use the carpool lane. I sort of wonder if I would need to supply my on means of transportation. Would they give me the job if I only had a motorcycle… and if so, would they supply the stretchy cords? I should probably call and ask about these questions. I’m pretty sure I’m not the right person for the job. Every time I’d go to pick up the body (I assume I’d be picking up the body… one of the job requirements was must be able to lift 150+ lbs (creepy)) anyway… every time I’d go to pick up the body, I’d tickle it, just to make sure people aren’t messing with me. Another one of my hinders is the fact that I’ve been watching a lot of zombie movies recently. A common theme in those is dead people… and if life is just one big horror film… I’m not gonna be one of the first to die.

            I find that most jobs require previous experience… but most people who have prior experience with transporting dead bodies are in jail… so it’s a learn as you go type of thing. Anyway… that’s really as far as I’ve gotten with the job search… I’ll keep you posted.

I wouldn't need college if I already made that...

          I’m currently going through one of those “holy crap, money counts” moments in my life right now. See, I’m attending college currently. We all know that college isn’t cheap, and I’ll have you know the university I’m currently attending is extremely not cheap. I realize how fortunate I am to be going to this university let alone college. I think 1% of the adult world has a college degree. I certainly wouldn’t be here without the financial aid they have offered me, but I’m finding out that it still isn’t enough. I even got a job as a resident advisor which pays for my room and board, but still, financial anxieties reside in my thoughts.

          I love my university. However, I grow more and more curious about how it operates. For instance, when they do come down to the financial aid decision, the ask for my FAFSA (everyone’s favorite past time), my parents and my own tax return forms, and my parents W-2 forms… not mine. (w-2 forms tell how much money an individual made in a year.) I am paying for my own schooling, and yet they don’t ask for how much I make. I’ll give you an idea of what I make… $100 a month for my RA position on campus + $120 a month for my four hours a week at a residence hall front desk + $50-$150 a month for my off campus job (it pays $10 an hour… but offers about two days per month). So… my average month = $270-$370… making my salary… well, a lot less than my parents.

          Here’s the issue. Yes, I’m declared a dependent student… I live at home during the summers, but I’m paying for my schooling. They don’t ask that question on FAFSA… do they? Oh well... not much I can really do about it… Now I’m looking for a “legitimate” summer job. Posts on that soon to come.

Realization

In honor of my realization that some of my posts are longer than my school papers... here's a short post.

Thanks for reading...

I hope you enjoyed.

Appetizers, Chicago, Tips, and Ice

     I have had myself one crazy weekend/week. Not that I've been partying or saving kittens from trees, but it certainly has been one of those abnormal series of days. It started when I was hanging with two of my guy friends, watching either "300" or "The Notebook" (I can't remember at this point) when we decided we wanted pizza. We call up and order and expect the pizza in about 45 minutes. It arrived 2 hours later. That's cool, I'm patient, my buds were less forgiving, so I'm picked as the guy that gets to go and pay for the pizza. I opened the door and there stands the delivery gentleman with a wide grin... naturally I grinned back. "That'll be $18.75, and for a $5 tip I'll throw in a box of piping hot buffalo wings I just found here in my bag." My grin became a chuckle... Not only did he give us a little "sorry I'm late" speech, but now he's bribing us for a tip?!? I told him unfortunately I had to pass on the wings...
    Long story short... we should have gotten the wings. I say this because a few days later we found ourselves at a wing joint. Nothing to exciting about this experience, but I just had a realization. Nobody (with the exemption of those who go in expecting to order one) is ever prepared for the question: Can I start you out with an appetizer? No one in the party wants to decide for everyone else. Occasionally you'll get one brave soul to step up and give an immediate yes or no, but chances are this individual will have a friend that does the same thing, but gives the opposite answer. Those that aren't quick to respond usually end up not getting an appetizer, yet they still pull up the menu as soon as the question is asked. Ah decisiveness... what a wonderful thing.
     This brings us to the next experience: pick up the hitcher or not? I was driving my car with my friend in the passenger seat... technically all the other seats are passenger seats, but this is beside the point. About half a block down I see a guy wave me down. I pulled over because I though the guy was going to give me good investment advice... anyway, the guy was an older African American (which usually wouldn't make a difference... but he greeted us with "Hey! White folks!" Like he has never seen white people before... lets be honest... hard to get away from white people in the US) I couldn't really make out what he was saying... my friend and i picked up:

1. Chicago
2. Auntie
3. Brother in a Wheelchair
4. Need help

Somehow... this ended up with me allowing him in the car. The ride consisted of me introducing myself... he responded with "Chicago." He asked us if we were the police. As much as I wanted to lie, I said no. When we stopped at a stop sign, he got out of the car and talked to a guy on the corner for about a minute and he then got back in the car... He asked us if we were the police three more times and the second time he got out of the car at the corner I fled. Since the incident, I have come under a lot of criticism from friends... except for one who commended it...
    So... naturally I felt the need to tell everyone about this experience. We had a bit of an ice storm the following night, so it was slick out needless to say. I was walking to class with a friend and having a conversation while walking on ice is difficult. You start of with a sentence that actually makes sense... but then suddenly all conversation is interrupted: "Chicago? The guy said his name was (slip) Oh $#!t!" It makes for very unproductive conversation.

Eh... maybe an "A"

          Alright... before you get to the actual context of this post... should you dare to go that far, I feel the need to share some background. I'm in college. I just finished this english course. The last assignment was a 10 page research paper. I convinced the professor that we could all benefit from a little creativity... He agreed BOOM! creative project. Mine ended up being an attempt at a Bill Cosbyesque gig with my own jokes. I admit... to me, it wasn't my greatest work... not that I think I have great work... not that I'm trying to sound humble... not that I'm trying to hide any humbleness which in turn adds on the the whole humbleness thing.
          Now that I've successfully ended that paragraph... I started this final project three hours before it was due... the "10 page research paper" was now a 4 page "comedy" skit. Just because I like living on the edge,  I turned it in three minutes late. I checked my grades today... "A"... not on the paper, but in the class. I fear I may have Midas Syndrome. Anyway. Here is my creative project as is...

          As the semester grows closer to an end, students begin to become excited. Not because of the finals. Finals aren’t exciting. If they were, people would start studying for them before the morning the student takes the final. Some of them wait for that morning to learn the whole curriculum, but this is not the source of this excitement. Some people say, “The students are excited because they finally get to go home.” Yet this is even a mask for the true source of excitement. Food! Students are excited for food at home. Yes we get food here… at least that is what they call it, but we have real food at home. I feel as though I was tricked by my kindergarten teacher, see, I was under the impression that as the classes got more difficult, the food got better. Anyway, students are excited for food. I remember a time when I was not so fond of food, at least a few certain articles in particular: olives, mushrooms, and onions.

            At large family gatherings, I remember a wide variety of foods. As a child, the platter to avoid is the vegetable platter. Raw veggies are always hard so one must put forth more effort to chew them. The two exceptions to this hard veggie constant are the olive and the mushroom. My aunts and uncles always tried to get the kids in the family to eat the veggies. Their genius plan was to convince us that the olives were not olives, but rather fish eyes. First off, If you want to impress a kid, pick something cuter than slimy scaly fish. Secondly, why would anyone be tastefully attracted to any animal’s eye, let alone an ugly fish’s eye? I’m just glad they didn’t tempt us with ostrich neck or octopus nose. I’m not sure if I would have been able to hold back.

            They pulled another trick to try to get us to eat mushrooms. Even today I do not like mushrooms. MUSH is in the name and people refer to bad food as mush. Needless to say, we were well aware of the old notion that “you are what you eat” and our relatives would tell my cousins and myself mushrooms are fungi… so if we ate them, we in turn would be “fun guys” as well. Fungi… Fungus… As I child I’m now thinking, “Wasn’t mom complaining about a foot fungus earlier this week? I don’t want that… I saw what it looks like… no thanks.”

            The problem with being a picky eater as a child is you can’t back up your arguments with parents. Parents ask, “Why aren’t you eating your broccoli?” and a Child will say, “Cause I don’t wanna.” So the Parent will ask, “Why not?” And the child will once again say, “Cause I don’t wanna.” Children don’t think beyond what they want.

            I was fortunate enough to be a genius at one point in my life. One night my parents ordered a pizza, and despite the demands of my sisters and myself, they tried to sneak a veggie on it. God bless my parents and their valiant efforts… Yes the white onions mix well with the white and yellow hues of the cheese, but the shot heard around the world wouldn’t have masked the crunch of the onions. Needless to say, it didn’t take my young sister very long to discover the deception my parents had just tried to feed us. My little sister almost had HAZMAT on the phone before my parents could state their case. I believe my older sister began making funeral arrangements for my younger sister who took that first onion filled bite.

            Before we had them in trouble for child abuse, my mother jumped in, “Just eat the pizza, you can’t even taste the onion.” This was a bold attempt by my mother, but it was also the first of two statements that I would end up using against her in a court of law. Not really, but they would backfire on her. We were not convinced that one could in fact eat a slice of pizza and not taste the onions. My mom stayed strong to her words, “Go on, eat it, you can’t even taste the onions.” It was at this point in my life when I realized my parents did not always plan things through with each other. My father decided his assistance was needed. He grabbed a large wedge of the pizza, with the warm cheese rolling down the sides and a large cloud of steam was billowing from its surface (the pizza not my father). He purposefully made this pizza look like salvation on crust. He slowly lifted the droopy yet glorious piece of art up to his mouth and his tongue started to reach for it. At this point, time itself has stopped to watch this historic event. My sisters and I stared wide-eyed and wet lipped. He took a big bite out of the slice, closed his eyes and a huge smile spread across his face. After enough chews mixed with a couple “mmm’s” to tease us just a little more, he said, “These onions taste SOOO GOOOD!” AHA!

            AHA! This was the greatest point of my life at that point. I immediately forgot the beautiful image I had just seen at the mention of the word onion, but I also found the best use of logic of the century. “WAIT A MINUTE!” I now had everyone’s attention. “Mom… you were just told us you can’t even taste the onions… and dad… you just said they taste great.” My parents looked at each other dumbfounded. I was then sent to my room and didn’t eat anything that night.

            Kids have it rough. I can think of one person who made it back in the day, but probably wouldn’t have the same luck in our world, this person is none other than Jesus. I can’t imagine what the second coming of Christ might look like nowadays. For instance… when the kid first realizes. “Mom, Dad, we need to talk.” It was tough enough trying to convince my mother I was too sick for school, this kid has to convince his parents he is the son of God.

            His parents’ names probably survived up to now: Mary and Joseph. Joseph probably goes by Joe now and Mary goes by Marie. Their journey was probably to a more affordable city because their house in Nazareth was foreclosed. Since he was born into poverty, I imagine Marie and Joe were driving a beat up Pinto. Nothing against the Pinto, but it is the closest thing to a mule like the original story. I could have used the Mustang, but Joe probably traded for a more family “friendly” car. On their journey, this Pinto probably breaks down in a farming community. Now even in farming communities one can still find a hotel and they did. Marie and Joe stop at a Holiday Inn. I have nothing against the Holiday Inn; I just think that the name was appropriate for the day… HOLIDAY. However, They couldn’t get a room… not because the Inn was full, but rather they just sprayed for bedbugs and couldn’t have guests. So they get to spend the night in farmer Frank’s barn. I imagine there were fewer cows and more John Deeres in the barn. One would think when Marie said something like, “Its time,” Joe would have done everything in his power to get her to a hospital. Since the pinto is in the shop, Joe goes for his Boost Mobile pay as you go phone, which is a good plan, but Marie was talking to her sister Elizabeth about her new baby John and used the last of the minutes. So, we fast-forward through the graphic part, just like the bible does. Marie wraps Jesus in a Dickies jacket and lays him in the cabin of a John Deere combine.

            Coincidentally, Warren Buffet, Tom Osborne, and Jim Suttle were on a road trip to Kearny, Nebraska. No one knows why they were on this trip, but they were, and they are lost, so they follow the north star towards the same small town Jesus was born in. Upon their arrival, They realize this baby was just born, so they feel the need to give him a gift. Warren Buffet presents him with the north star… because the guy probably does own it. Tom Osborne gives Jesus an autographed football, because he’d be left out as the only Nebraskan without one. (Not true, I don’t have one.) Finally, Jim Suttle doesn’t have a gift for Jesus, but he says he’ll raise taxes so that Jesus can go to school someday. Anyway, later in life, Jesus is throwing a party but realizes he only has two sandwiches. At this point Joe owns his own Jimmy Johns, so with a quick little speed dial, Jesus turned the two sandwiches into enough for the whole party… and in a freaky fast manner as well.

            I’ve always wanted to write a theatrical performance based off the dictionary. It would be the first ever play on words. The main plot would be about Funk & Wagnalls either riding their encyclopedia built for two or walking their Thesaurus. They would be walking in the city Dictionary, but it is in the rougher part of town, also known as Urban Dictionary. There is an election going on between Webster and Wiki. The election is almost dead even as Wiki has little to no support for his claims, however, he does have the support of environmentalists. Webster has all of his paperwork together, but he is in a bind. I’m not entirely sure where to go with it, but for now it is on the shelf as the book ends.

            Thank you for suffering through this painful skit. In my defense, it definitely might have been more enjoyable in person. Thanks for allowing me to do it.

Procrast... eh... I'll finish that later.

Here I sit at my job with nothing to do. I know you've heard the same thing from me before, and here is an inconvenient truth... every time I say it, I lie. There are actually several things I could be doing. I am in college, so there is that whole homework thing. I'm one of the few college students that doesn't complain about homework... mostly because I do it at such a well paced rate AKA not at all. Alright, alright, clearly I do homework otherwise I would have been kicked out days ago, maybe even years ago.

However, though I do do... i said doodoo... anyway... though I do complete homework, it is only after I've had my fair share of procrastination. It usually has a negative connotation, which is weird because it starts with "pro" not "con." Procrastination good... Concrastination bad. If this were to be a valid argument... which it isn't... then CONcentration would be a bad thing. Aside from looking at the biological make up of words... procrastination can be good in other ways.

First off... why do we procrastinate... either A. we avoid doing something we don't want to do or B. we want to do something we enjoy doing. Either way the result = happiness. Next... procrastination is not always a complete waste of time. We may not get that assignment done, but clearly I'll get that pop can tower constructed. Unfortunately for me... there are times when I will not get stuff done during this glorious procrastination period. I've allowed several minutes... even an hour or so to fly by having done nothing but stare at an empty jar of pickles (if it is empty... then it wouldn't be a jar of pickles...)... no joke. Pretty sure I have a disorder.

Let's be honest, procrastination is never the easy way out. Procrastination never gets rid of the work needed to be done and thus, one must do more work in a limited amount of time. Personally, I enjoy a challenge.

Well, now that I've used this post as a means of procrastination, I'd better move on and do nothing.