I was wondering why the frisbee was getting bigger… then it hit me.

I am as dumb as a box of hair. Oh don't feel sorry for me, this is something I have come to accept and live with. My stupidity and I actually get along very well and never seem to outgrow each other. The list of idiotic things I do and say grows alarmingly out of control with each passing year, or day to be honest. If I am lucky enough to make it to 80 years of age I am likely to be in an insane asylum or a full body cast due to the ridiculous things that go through my mind and that I act upon.

On a recent outing with my friend Nicole we were getting our tickets to see a movie. We went inside and entered the actual theater where our movie was playing. When choosing a seat, from a few rows behind I heard; "Hey Kyle". I turned to see a couple of friends of ours beckoning Nicole and I to come over to chat before the movie started. When we reached the friends I said hello and followed it up with this gem; "so what movie are y'all here to see?". I knew the moment the words escaped my mouth how idiotic this sounded but could not stop speaking and neither could I pull the words back into my mouth. Oh my God you stupid man, I thought to myself, Of course they were there to see the same movie Nicole and I were there to see. You would have thought the fact that they were a mere 3 rows away from me in the same theater would have clued me in to this fact. There was no way to turn it around and I was forced to stand there and watch as the three of them stared at me, probably wondering how someone so stupid had made it to the theater in one piece. It was awkward for a few seconds and then the awkwardness gave way to ridicule at my expense, which I deserved.

The other day I called Nicole and she told me she had been out late and lost her phone the night before. I immediately felt bad for her and then worried. What would she do without a phone? I wondered, maybe I have one I can loan her, I thought. In response to her revelation I then asked "Did you ever find it"?
Soooo....here's the thing, I had just used my phone to call her. I hit "NICOLE" on my contact list, it rang, and she answered. Even a third grader could put 1 plus 2 together faster than I could. After she got done laughing she filled me in on the fact that yes she had indeed found her phone. I am currently taking applications for a third grader to be my personal assistant. I am sure things will get done more efficiently this way.

I think at times my stupidity really begins to drain on my friends nerves. When going to a movie I seem to have a bit of trouble understanding and or keeping up with plots. If I am not asking a question I should obviously know the answer to, I am sitting in the dark totally bewildered about what is happening on the screen in front of me.
My movie buddy Pam must get very tired of me asking things like; "When did she die"?, "What are they doing in that country"? or "I thought this was animated".
Occasionally I will forget what is going on all together and lean over to ask; "Hey Pam, did you watch GLEE last night"? staying focused seems to be another problem, Sorry Pam!

Maybe stupidity is not really my problem. I really think I have ADD: Attention Deficit Disorder. I am completely serious about this. My mind just wanders from one topic to another. I know this bothers my friend Jenifer, she can be pouring her heart out to me about personal and professional problems and after a while will find me staring out a window with a dazed look on my face. After a while I turn to Jenifer and say "Jenifer, where do you think squirrels sleep at night"? "Do you think they sleep inside trees like in cartoons"? This type of response I give to someone leaning on me in a time of need must explain why no one really leans on me in a time of need.

It's not just personal conversations when my stupidity exasperates people. At any given time I may get distracted by a shiny object and follow it into oncoming traffic, interrupt a personal conversation with a hilariously inappropriate and offensive joke I had heard or simply bitch-slap the person I am speaking with for an offense I had just remembered that had happened from months ago. "Why did you do that they cry"? "YOU KNOW WHY" I respond. My friends usually just sit there trying not to make any sudden movements that might spook me. They know that if they give it a couple of minutes I will lose interest in abusing them and move on to wondering what my middle name is.

The older I get the more I just don't care if people think I am stupid or not, GOD knows I will just forget about it five minutes later anyway.

The Car Shart

If success in my life was measured by embarrassing moments, I would be kings of the world. The level of shame I should feel by now would make Tiger Woods blush.

Making a good first impression is not my strong suit. When that first impression is coupled with a first date, my emotions and nerves become overwrought it just becomes a bull in a china shop type disaster.
On a first date years ago the guy I was meeting was very cool calm and collected and I on the other hand had sweated through a shirt and a jacket and paced back and forth in the restaurant lobby, like a crazy person, waiting on my date to arrive.
When he got there, we had some awkward chit chat and ordered our meal. He had ordered salmon and steamed vegetables. I foolishly ordered like I was high at a state fair and selected everything that was either fried or drenched in rich sauce.
Aside from looking like the poster child for an anti-obesity campaign, the food I had chose was simply messy. Halfway through my fried corn on the cob, my date asked me a question. When I looked up I began to speak and chunks of batter and half chewed kernels of corn flew out of my mouth and onto my date. He looked like a vegetarian had had explosively diarrhea all over his face and shirt.
Where do you go after that? His idea was to clean himself off, make light of the situation and excuse himself never to be seen again. I can't blame him

Like so many of my problems, what happened in late 2006 was another result of something horrible flying out of my body at the wrong time.
I had been getting over a stomach bug and was really beginning to feel better. In fact I had gone out with friends to a karaoke bar for the night and was very late getting home. About two miles from the house a gas bubble began to expand inside my intestines and beckoned to be released. I could not stand the pain and knew I had to be careful so I just pressed out a tiny bit to relieve myself if even just a little.
What happened next can be summed up with two words: CAR SHART.
I had managed, at the age of 34 to shit my pants. On top of that by this time I was only two blocks from the house. I drove with my butt off the seat until I arrived in the driveway. Knowing my roommate would be asleep, as he is a school teacher and gets up very early, I tried to be as quiet as I could. I snuck into the bathroom and cleaned myself up and bundled up the soiled clothing. I then went downstairs and discreetly placed the clothes inside and started the washer. I could not let the clothes sit in the hamper or it would end up smelling like a third world country by the morning.
A few minutes later Tom appeared in the laundry room and always positive and extremely easy to get along with, he confronted me about the late night wash and that it had woke him up. I profusely apologized and was forced to admit what I had done. "I shit my pants" geez I really sounded like a naughty toddler saying it out loud. Understanding as ever Tom looked at me and said; "that's OK, it happens to all of us"
Although his remark made me feel better, to this day I still wonder if crapping ones pants is just something that Tom's friends and family actually do on a regular basis and he has just come to accept it as a natural part of life. I mean does this happen to everyone? I can imagine a family sitting down to dinner and the mom nonchalantly telling everyone about her day. "Well I dropped off the dry cleaning, went to the grocery store and uh, oh yeah I made a poo-bomb in my car". And the family just keeps eating and nod their heads in understanding.

I am betting the queen of England has never sharted herself in a royal carriage and had to hold her buttocks up over the seat as the horses make their way back to Buckingham Palace.
I guess at one time or another we are just handed these trials and life feels like a giant heap of shit. It's the grace you have as you emerge from that poo-laden Toyota Corolla that defines you. It also helps to have friends that understand and love you for who you are. And friends that can stand up and say "There goes goes Kyle covered in shit, I've been there, it happens to all of us".

Feel free to include comments as to what one of your most embarrassing moments was!

Paved with Good Intentions

I spend a good deal of time bitching on this blog. SO I wanted to take a few minutes To tell you about some things I have done that have at least began with good intentions and a hopeful heart.
As with pretty much any action I take in life, even these end in disaster and come back to bite me in the ass.

There is a bookstore that I regulary shop at and recently noticed a sign asking for volunteers for an adult literacy program. Teaching adults to read is actually something I have always imagined myself being able to do. First of all volunteering is selfless and makes you feel good, secondly, giving someone the gift of knowledge is priceless.
I filled out the forms and soon began enjoying the idea of mylself sitting with an iliterate person depending on me to fill their head with the power to make something of themselves.
I then started to have visions of myself spelling out CAT. "C-A-T, sound it out" The poor soul, who was lucky enough to get me as a teacher would try to impress me by sounding it out "kaa_AAAH-tttt". NO that's nothing like it is supposed to sound like I would think. It would not take long before I was pounding my fist in frustration and sweat would form on my brow. Eventually I would have enough of the situation and scream "WRONG! IT'S CAT STUPID"! Then I would stand up, flip the table over on it's side and march right out the door.
Luckily the iltiteracy group filled their required volunteer quota and an itliterate person was spared my impatience.

For a brief time in 2002 I decided my life should include a bit of spirituality. I told myself going to church would be good for my soul, but the truth of the matter is I was just there to meet men. You can't really blame me for looking outsife of the bar for a boyfriend, and I thought that might be a good idea.
This was a predominantly gay church and that is what drew me to it (sorry Jesus).
This church was totally different from the conservative church I had grew up in where it was wrong to have instrumental music in the church or to dance.
The social aspect of the church was just amazing. Mimosas in the undercroft before and after services, fund raising events that involved costumes and elaborate themes and on one occasion even bar hopping after services in the name of spreading the good word. A lot of things were spread that night but I am not sure the word of God was one of them.
Approriately enough there was always a lof of kneeling we had to do during the services, allowing one to bow in redepmtion and also to strengthen the knees.
I would spend my kneeling time peeking out over the bowed heads of the congregation to view the most eligible members or to scout options for dating material.
I would like to say I actually did some good by joining the church, but that would be lying, and lying as we all know is a sin!
I don't think anyone really cared why I was there as long as I made a monetary contribution and showed up to the parties. The biggest sin one could committ whithin this congregation was to wear something that was from last season. For what it's worth I did like the people and I will always cherish my time spent at Our Lady of Snarky Comments.

On a visit to Borders Bookstore my friend David and I discovered a homeless man sitting outside begging for money. Touched by his need David and I set out for the grocery store to purchase essentials this man might need to brave his life on the streets.
David began accumlating twinkies, Little Debbie snack cakes and an assortment of candy bars. Apparently David assumed the man was not only homeless but a pothead.
I on the other hand had collected hair gel, body lotions an an assortment of lip balms. I had assumed the man was not only homeless but gay also.
By the time we returned to the bookstore the man was already gone. We ended up eating the candy and I adivsed David I knew of a great local gay church we could donate the body products to.

Most recently my good deed has backfired. Admittedly my good deed is really for my own benfit. There is a little scam I have going on at the deli counter of my local grocery store. The deli offers a $3 special for a bag of 2 chicken tenders and an handfull of potatoes. My scam is that I immediately engage the deli counter person in friendly chit-chat so that they will feel befriended and lose track of time,,all while forgetting they are stuffing my bag with an over amount of items. ( I said it was a scam I didn't say it was a good one or was very interesting).
Believe it or not this really works and the deli personell now know me by name and start getting my bag ready for me before I even get to the counter. I begin to ask about their family or job and the bag gets more full by the second.
I was out the other day away from the grocery store and saw one of the deli girls. She is always very friendly, too friendly and I stand there and listen to her crap all in the name of a bunch of extra calories I dont even need. The girl was very smiley and flirty and then proceeded to tell me I might have lost a little weight. I thanked her and responded that I was still chowing on chicken and potatoes so I probably hadn't actually lost any. Her rebuttal to this was; "that's ok I like a guy that's a little chubby".
My first thought was to reach out and bitch slap her. My second thought was that I might just stand there and cry for being called chubby. Lastly my third thought was genunine revulsion. I was being hit on by a cougar who had a bit of the mange and a moustache that would rival Tom Sellecks.
She ended the conversation by brining it in for the real thing and wrapping her greasy frame around mine to give me a bear hug. Although,,the smell of the chicken batter in her hair did stimulate something in me.
I swore from that moment on I would switch my focus to engaging the new guy in fruits and vegatables in small talk.

10 Things I hate about you

People are just plain horrible. There I said it, and that being said, I don't feel that way in general about everybody, but there is a little list I keep in the back of my mind to rate my hatred.
I understand hate is a strong and horrible word, just let me say I only use it here to describe my loathsome feelings toward certain types of people and it is my hope they suffer harm and cruelty.
My list is compiled from least to most annoying.

#10 The Clown Child
It's fun to be silly and light-hearted to a point. I once worked with a co-worker who thought it was cute to speak in the voice of a child. This behavior after about two minutes surpasses cute and and just becomes annoying. I found myself wanting to slap her across the face for talking back. (note to self: don't have children)

#9 The Sad Doll
You know the type. It's the person who is always dealing with strife and disappointment in their life and takes it upon themselves to dump it all on you. Hey Frowny McSadPants, we get it, your life is a hot mess. Guess what? So is mine, I just don't take out a billboard to advertise it.

#8 The Perv
Absolutely no one loves to say "that's what she said" more than myself. An occasional sexual innuendo has it's place in a social environment. But if you find yourself giggling every time you say the following words: Hard, Kitty, Wood, Blow, or Junk, it is probably time to only start hanging out with 11 year olds.

#7 The Bore
You never have anything interesting to say, no ideas on what might be fun to do on a Saturday afternoon. Your idea of fun is to sit in a quiet room watching life pass you by. Welcome to Snoozeville population: YOU. You know what might be fun? Hanging with someone with a pulse.

#6 The Creeper
It's that person who always has something to hide. It's the person who thinks Holocaust or Pedophile jokes are appropriate and funny to share at a dinner party. Look around. Are people actually laughing WITH you? We would rather invite drunk clowns with Bi-Polar disorder to game night than endure another round of Scrabble with you.

#5 The Psycho
Full of drama, these individuals are quick to recant their latest story of being date raped, car jacked or water boarded. We endure their conspiracy theories, dating dramas and full on bat shit crazy hissy fits. The energy level it takes to listen to their over-the-top stories could power an electric shock therapy machine that could probably solve the problem all together.

#4 The Flake
This is such a pet peeve of mine. I have a friend that flakes more than dandruff and Wheaties combined. This friend is a constant no call/no show for lunch dates, parties or general get-togethers. I personally try to make it a point to be there if I say I am going to be there and arrive on time. This friend even RSVP's at my birthday party once only to not bother showing up. My friend, much like my birthday candles I stopped counting on long ago.

#3 The Bitch
This is the person we all know that is constantly pissed off at the world, and FYI it is NEVER their fault. If I wanted to be around someone that is constantly yelling at me about things that are most definitely out of my control, I would just move back in with my dad.

#2 The Turd
Nearing the top of my list are those who can't seem to master the equation of SOAP + WATER = CLEAN. HEY NASTYBRITCHES, How hard is it to swipe a toothbrush across those rotted tic-tacs you call teeth? While you're at it, lets discover the wonders of deodorant also. There is nothing worse than sitting next to someone stewing in their own festering blend of greasy dead skin cells and rancid body odor. Granted a Lifetime Television Movie is probably a bit worse, but that is another list all together.

#1 The Snob
I don't care how much money you make. Did I ask where you went to school? I am not jealous of the car you drive, and I don't give two shits about the clothes you wear. In the wise words of a Miss Shania Twain "That don't impress me much". Those who think they are better than others for absolutely any reason, piss me off. How do you expect me to be a stand up kinda guy, when you are constantly bringing me down?

So there you have it. My little list of life's most obnoxious types of people.
Sorry if this just seems to be my own little bitch-fest. I have to deal with these feelings somehow,,,at least it's not METH.

Scared "Straight"

I live in a constant state of fear, sad but true. It's true because my fears are based on real things and sad because I am such a pussy that they would frighten me to begin with.

Let's take movies for example. I am not one of those people who get terrified by those bloody slasher flicks where maniacs are running rampant hacking people to death. I live in Texas and have been to the border, this simply doesn't phase me.

What does scare me in a movie is the unknown. Something horrific you could never imagine happening turning out to be true. After viewing the "Blair Witch Project" I was too scared to venture outside the theater, let alone in or around the woods. I can no longer be around corn fields thanks to the movie "Signs". I freak out at the blinking of a light compliments of "Paranormal Activity" and I too see dead people since watching "The Sixth Sense". On a side note I am also terrified of Zooey Deschanel's acting since being exposed to the movie "The Happening".

In a revelation of fear I am somewhat embarrassed about, I have to admit I get very nervous and in fact sometimes fearful about being around those with Downs Syndrome. I know, I know, I do feel ashamed admitting this and it is not because I feel these individuals are beneath me or anything like that. I think what I am scared of is again the unknown. I don't know what they are going to do and how am I supposed to respond when they do it.
Is it rude to continue asking them to repeat something if you are not understanding what they are saying? To break the ice I would wonder if my mentioning how much I like the character Corky from "Life Goes On" would be appropriate. What if they spontaneously want to hug me? And not that I am considering this but what if I fall in love with someone who has Downs Syndrome? Is it wrong? These are just questions that run through my mind. The truth of the matter is no one is knocking down my door to wine and dine me at the moment, let alone an individual with Downs Syndrome.

I also have a total fear of sports. I don't enjoy playing them, watching them or even talking about them. Bring up the newest line of candles from Bath and Body Works and you can't shut me up. Sports on the other hand, they scare the hell out of me.
The few occasions I have played sports have always ended badly. When I played junior baseball I never knew what to do. In a huddle when we were asked if anyone had any questions or suggestions the other boys rambled on about positions and tactics and I would ask when our new uniforms would be coming in or question the likability of our mascot. I am not making this up! I had no earthly idea what I was doing on that field and I certainly had no right being there. The coach had placed me in the outfield where I am guessing the bad players are sent. There was not much action in that position, thank God. I would spend my time in the outfield ignoring the game and picking bouquets of wild flowers for my mom.

I fear for my health, even when there is no reason to. My Friend Nicole is constantly reprimanding me for overreacting to my ever widening array of imagined skin disorders. Once, on our way to lunch, I noticed a small red mark on my upper leg. Visions of skin cancer and flesh eating viruses soon began dancing in my head and I couldn't concentrate on anything else. I instantly made Nicole aware of the situation at hand and was quickly scolded and told there was nothing to be scared of. "Nothing to be scared of"? Was she not looking at what I was looking at? I was turning into the elephant man before her very eyes and she blows it off like it is nothing. Like some distraught toddler I began to pout and point to my leg to further the legitimacy of my claim until we were forced to pull over to purchase a tube of antibiotic cream for what turned out to be a small scratch that went away in about two hours.

What is my number one fear in life? I would have to say animals. I am just about terrified of every single one of God's creatures big and small. I absolutely have what is called alektorophobia, which is the fear of chickens. This fear is to an extent that I can't even watch them on television. It begins when I think of the little cones on their heads, then their pointy beaks and moves on to the disgusting alien like objects they have as claws. I am restricted from venturing to petting zoos or county fairs. I prefer my chicken battered and fried in an original recipe of secret herbs and spices compliments of the colonel.

Reptiles also don't do me any favors. I am terrified of snakes. I look back now and I figure my fear is a result of being punished terrorizing my mother with rubber snakes as a child. My mom is also a big snake scaredy and would react to even the word being mentioned as though she had just witnessed a mass slaying.
My brother and I would take it upon ourselves to sneak into the bathroom when she was showering and throw a rubber snake over the shower curtain and run. The result would be my mom locking herself into the bathroom and scream/cry for about 30 minutes afterwards. We would sometimes end up getting spanked if she hadn't cooled off by the time my dad got home from work.

The animal that sends the most shivers up my spine? Pit Bulls. You can say all you want about how they are bred to be killers by horrible people and that it's not really in their true nature. Whistle that all day long, I'm not buying it. These animals just scare the bejeezus out of me. A birthday party for a friend was being held at one of his relatives house. The man owned a pit bull that would freely make his way back and forth across the living area. I sat on the couch frozen in fear talking myself down from an imaginary ledge the entire length of the party. "Don't let it know you're scared Kyle, They smell fear" I silently told myself. "Oh Holy baby Jesus it saw you looking at it and that can be confrontational YOU IDIOT".

My friend Pam houses two very large dogs, one of which is a Pit Bull. These dogs are CONSTANTLY up to no good, destroying items in Pam's house, nearly killing other relatives cherished pets and generally causing havoc and chaos.
Pam recently reported waking to a strange smell inside her home. These dogs had managed to actually turn the knobs on the stove to the on position releasing gas inside of the house as Pam peacefully slept. I am all for having pets but when they attempt homicide it is time to take action. I now warn Pam to watch her back with those dogs. My fear is that one day she will be roused out of her sleep with duct tape over her mouth, one dog binding her hands and the the other holding a knife to her throat.

MY GRANDMA GAVE ME COOTIES

They say it's the thought that counts when giving or receiving a gift. If this is true and that the amount of thought reflects upon the giver,then people fall into two categories. 1. Caring to a fault and 2. Doesn't give a rat's ass.

Although she meant well, My grandma Weaver was notorious for her bad gift selections. My grandmother would spend her Saturdays trolling yard sales and flea markets for gifts for her grandchildren only to show up on Saturday night a sack full of used clothing which often included underwear for my brother and myself. Proud of her latest garage sale chic treasures, she would hold up a worn out pair of boys Hanes and proclaim them "good as new once you bleach them". My mother would take the clothes with an appreciation for her thought but also a repulsion to it. We know what kind of person buys the underwear, my grandma. Who is actually selling this stuff? Did they run out of old coffee mugs and velvet paintings at their garage sale. At some point did the conversation go something like this: "We are almost out of stuff to sale for the yard sale, although little Johnny has just about outgrown his Fruit of the Looms, whadaya say we throw those in there just take make an extra 15 cents?"

At one childhood Christmas get-together I was given the game "Cooties" by my grandmother. Cooties is similar to Mr. Potato Head, if Mr Potato Head had an outbreak of lice. Upon receiving the gift I was appalled at the uselessness in such a game and my nine year old little ass proceeded to throw one outstanding little hissy fit. This type of behavior was not acceptable in my family and God knows I knew exactly what would be happening to be later, but apparently the gift was so abominable I felt it was worth it to kick up my heels and have a tantrum. I was quickly spanked, preached to and demanded to return to the living room to apologize to my grandmother who had "taken the time to get me such a nice gift" I apologized but I didn't mean one word of it. Even at 9 years old I knew a shitty gift when I saw one.

I personally don't give extravagant gifts but they most certainly come with a lot of thought. During a vacation with a boyfriend we camped in a tent in an old RV park outside of Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Neither of us had a lot of money and were doing good just to get to go away for a couple of days, even if it was the middle of a tourist area known for their celebration of the American Hillbilly.
I wanted to surprise Jason with a bouquet of flowers when he awoke. I snuck out early and noticed that there was a cemetery next to the RV park. I casually crossed over the fence and proceeded to pick a fresh collection of Iris and Tulips to bring to my boyfriend. They were just growing along the fence begging to be picked! It's not like a opened a casket and pried them out of their cold hands. I don't know where Jason thought the flowers had come from, but thank God he never asked.

My time spent with another boyfriend brought two very special gifts: our first date and our last one.
I had told John that I loved salsa so much I could drink it straight out of a glass through a straw. On our first date he had invited me to his house for a special meal complete with homemade salsa sitting in a glass at my place setting with a straw in it and a note that read "for you". Before we get too teary eyed here lets jump ahead 3 months later to our last date. John had invited me to Joe's Crab Shack for dinner. A strange choice seeing as he knew how much I hate seafood. At the meal John announced that he was breaking up with me because he wasn't ready to be in a relationship, which is just a nice way of saying "I am just not feeling it dawg". Let me tell you I was happy to be wearing a plastic lobster bib, it helped repel both butter sauce and the tears that soon followed.

My friend Rob is a notorious re-gifter. I have an annual holday party and if you are lucky enough to swing an invite to this glamorous social occasion you are urged to bring a gift that will be exchanged with a fellow guest. When my gift was presented to me I noticed it was the package that Rob had brought with him. I excitedly opened the bag that was overflowing with a selection of scented candles and bath and body products, all of which I then realized I had given him at some point over the year. WHAT THE HELL MAN? Even if someone else had gotten the gift did he think I wouldn't have noticed? Now when I buy him a gift I just pick out something I want, cause Lord knows I will be getting that shit back on my birthday.

An ex-roommate I had who is still a good friend is a very distinct gift giver. Each year I came to expect something well thought out and very personal, even the cards!
Upon his return from a two week vacation he eagerly announced he had a gift for me. "I wonder what it could be" I thought. Local art from Cape Cod? A handcrafted gourmet item? A piece of clothing that detailed New England? I anxiously unwrapped his gift taking my time undoing the bow and placing each ribbon to the side. Carefully tearing down the walls of colorful wrapping paper until the item was finally revealed. There on the table sat a rather large bottle of personal lubricant. A gag gift? I smiled and looked at Tom who also smiled but with a look that said: "this is not a gag gift" OH MY GOD! Was this really happening? Is this what people thought of me, that a well lubricated sex act was now on the top of my gift expectation list.
Two years later Tom be quested me a pair of those underwear with the fake butt sewn into them. I don't think I really know what Tom thinks of me but I am pretty sure he thinks I don't have an ass, but I want to tap as many as I can get my hands on.

When I worked at Olive Garden we had an annual secret Santa Christmas gift drawing. The limit is always twenty dollars and the gift I brought one year was a pair of microfiber memory foam house slippers. I thought it might be a nice gift especially for a server who was on their feet all day. Granted it wasn't one of Oprah's Favorite Things, but it was nothing to sneeze at and it did fulfill the twenty dollar minimum. Since the gifts were all wrapped no one knew what they were getting or of course who they were from. The gift I ended up getting was Sandra Bullock's "Murder by Numbers" This was 2009 and that movie had come out in 2002. How exactly did someone spend twenty dollars on it? It had clearance bin written all over it, but me being the Christian boy I am took it with love and admiration in my heart.
Our bartender Luke had picked up my gift and seemed genuinely content with it. I approached Luke later to try to get a clue as to what he really thought of the gift he hat gotten from his unknown secret Santa. "So what did you end up getting as your secret Santa gift Luke?" I sheepishly asked. Luke immediately turned red-faced and loudly proclaimed: "I got some crappy house shoes, just what the fuck am I supposed to do with them?
I had an idea what Luke could in fact do with the house shoes, but it being the Baby Jesus' birthday I kept it to myself.

Drive me crazy

Road trips have never really been my thing. I believe a major road block (pun intended) in my fear of road trips started during childhood.
Immediately as soon as anyone breathed the words road trip, my father turned into Jeff Gordon on a mission to deliver human kidneys to a children's hospital. The number one priority my dad had from then on out was to reach our destination in record time.
Unfortunately my dad's timeliness meant misery was in store for me. We stopped for NOTHING. Bigfoot could have wandered out of the woods wearing a bedazzled bikini and singing "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus and it still would not merit as much as a slow down.

We would pass snake farms, the world's biggest ball of twine, historical markers and caves and caverns, each promising the thrill of a lifetime only to be told "we were making good time".

Even bodily functions took a backseat,literally, to our driving time. When my brother or I had to go to the bathroom we were simply given an empty Peter Pan peanut butter jar and expected to discreetly do our business behind the passenger seat as if it were some secluded woods in the middle of nowhere. More than once I contemplated taking a number two in that jar just to spite my father.

Seeing new signs and advertisements does interest me, but not to a point where I become mesmerized or confused over what I am witnessing.
While driving with a friends mother I was intrigued at how she had to read every single road sign or advertisement that came our way. It was her job to warn or inform me of any new sign I may have missed while keeping my eyes glued to the road. She would read aloud: "NEXT EXIT TWO MILES", "ROAD WORK AHEAD", "McDonald's EXIT 251B". Why do I need to be alerted to this I would think, as Linda recited the distance to the next 3 towns on a marker we had just passed.

While driving to a spring break destination with my ex roommate, Tom had been sleeping and awakened to a sight be began to concentrate on out of the windshield. Tom was transfixed on the view in front of him and I had not really been paying attention to what he was staring at. "Is that a cow"? he remarked "It looks like a cow but maybe it's not" he continued.
"I think it's a cow he decided" I looked over to the side of the road discover the object of Tom's attention. There stood a big white church building with Jesus painted in black paint on the side. There was even a cross and stained glass windows on the side of the building. Now I was confused and a little frightened. Did Tom really not know what a picture of Jesus was supposed to look like? What scared me even more is than he had mistaken the Lord and savior to over a billion people on this earth, as a DAIRY COW?
"I think that's Jesus Tom, waiting at any moment four the Subaru we were traveling in to be struck by lightening. "OH Is that who that is" exclaimed Tom. The mystery being solved he turned his head and went back to sleep.

I went on a birthday road trip to Dallas with my friend Jenifer, which reminded me that while half the fun is indeed getting there, it's the things you do when you get there that shape the memories you form about those destinations and your image of travelling as a whole.

Jenifer and I first arrived in Fort Worth to visit the infamous Fort Worth Stock Yards. Having heard that the tourist site was where they held a parade and cattle drive every afternoon, we were really excited about this new adventure. Fliers, Pamphlets and television commercials each portrayed the parade on a level that promised to rival even that of any Macy's Thanksgiving day event.
The parade was to start at noon and we arrived a bit early and selected a cool spot under the shade of a sprawling live oak in anticipation of the clowns, balloons and floats that would soon transform the path in front of us in a party zone.
At precisely 12 noon a cowboy on horseback slowly meandered out of a corral as six tired looking head of Texas Longhorns lazily sauntered in our direction. "GET COW" the cowboy yelled and fifty five seconds later it was over.
"How'd y'all like the parade"? store clerks and locals would ask us later. "If you are speaking of the half dozen cows that were paraded in front of us for less than a minute, we liked it just fine thank you!" we would respond.

During this same trip, Jenifer had made it her goal to visit the Hard Rock Cafe. It did not take us long to double fist a set of long island iced teas apiece and soon were were each pretty buzzed.
I persuaded Jenifer to venture to another bar just around the block in the cities famed West End area of bars and restaurants that sit under a jungle of overpasses high above the city. Little beknownst to me the West End area had become more of a hangout for the homeless than it was a tourist trap anymore.
Now Jenifer is the type of person that may need a little reassuring to even get in a taxi, let alone journey across a hobo camp to follow me on a bar crawl. Jenifer's buzz had now become sobering fear, whereas mine had slipped into brazen foolishness. We were soon stopped by a homeless man wearing a shirt advertising the early 80's movie "A Christmas Story" and asked for spare change. Jenifer's job had now become to NOT look the man in the eye and act as something far away was beckoning us immediately. My job had become to question the man about his fashion decisions. In my defense it was just hilarious to see this 6 ft five man wearing a shirt that detailed a little boy sticking his tongue to a frozen light pole that read "I double dog dare you". I took the words on the man's shirt just a little too seriously and asked the gentleman if it would not be too much trouble that if we did give him some money that we might be able to take a picture with him. The man obliged and I struck quick pose as Jenifer got out her camera.
Looking back it was probably a tad unsafe to be fraternizing with the locals the slept under a bridge with a knife in his pocket, I mean he was already pissed that he had to wear Christmas hand me downs from 1983 and now had drunk tourists taunting him. Jenifer snapped the picture and a glassy confused sheen quickly came over the homeless man. Jenifer whispered "I'm uncomfortable" and we ran for our lives back to the comfort of the Hard Rock for another round of Long Island iced teas.