Archive for the ‘I’m an Idiot’ Category
I returned yesterday on Continental flight 687 from Orlando to Houston, where I committed a heinously boneheaded-ish crime when deplaning. I left my brand-new iPad2 in the seat pocket in front of me. This hell-ish fairy tale of woe has a happy ending, but you’ll have to come along for the narrative ride to get to the “happily ever after” part. Here’s the blow-by-blow (dang I can’t get that Ke$ha song out of my head) that really highlights my ineptness-ish. I’m using a lot of “ishs” in this post because an ish sounds really disgusting and a little moist, which by definition is disgusting and accurately describes my feelings about the whole ordeal.
(Warning: In several places I use multiple exclamation points to demonstrate the direness-ish of my situation.)
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Let’s be clear: I’m not giving you relationship advice in this post. If you actually decide to follow one or more of my suggestions below, your friends and family may commit you. To a mental health facility. Luckily I can skate right past this threat because those that know me well know exactly what to expect from me.
I’m not sure if you’d define my quirks in terms of authenticity. Unique might be a better word. Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m authentically unique. Anyway, try these at your own risk. You know your friends and family better than I do and their tolerance for weirdness.
- Translate Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way” into Klingon. Whenever Gaga pops up on the radio, sing your version of the song loudly and in a falsetto voice. Take note of those who actually catch and embrace the irony.
- Fill out an officious-looking template for a “Last Will and Testament,” disinheriting your kids. State that they have disappointed you greatly by not sharing your love for skeet shooting. Leave your considerable (made-up) wealth to the Starbucks Foundation for Latte Awareness. Put a “notorized” copy of your will on top of a package of Oreo cookies where the kids are sure to find it.
Start a boiled cabbage diet. There is nothing more nauseating than the smell of boiling cabbage, so you may drive your family from the house between 5:30 and 7:00 each evening. Which is fine if you need some “me time.” Cabbage plays havoc with your digestive tract so the fam may decide to rent one of those corporate motels-by-the-week.- Bring back the 80’s Valley Girl / Surfer culture by significantly switching up your vocabulary. Repetition and penetration is everything with this one. You’ve got to blitz face-to-face conversations, email, Twitter, Facebook, and even HeyTell. Pretty soon, your buddies will be rocking the lingo: “Like Oh My God, like totally! It’s so bitchin’! Bag your face, I’m shuuuur!” See the video below for a refresher. If you were a kid in the 80′s you’ll surely remember this!
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During my commute this morning I started thinking about all the stuff I do to get ready for work Monday through Friday. I’ve been doing it this certain way for years and now I don’t even really think about what I’m doing anymore. That being said, it bugs the crap out of me if I accidentally forget a step or do something out of order.
I have led myself to believe that my routines are fairly normal and that everyone has their “thing” they do to keep their life on-track. I’ll describe what I do and let you be the weirdo judge. (Not that you’re a judge who’s a weirdo, but rather you decide whether I’m a weirdo or not. But if you really are a weirdo, then let’s hang out.)
Here’s the 30,000 foot roadmap to my getting-readiness:
- Half the work gets done the night before (I have no cognizant decision-making ability until after at least one cup of coffee but then I’m totally a morning person)
- The rest happens in the morning.
Now let’s explore the details.
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My final Big Adventure in Big Montana was skiing at Big Sky Resort. Harley, Thor, and I got up early the morning after the hot tub debacle, packed our things in Thor’s 4WD SUV, and headed to McDonald’s for a quick drive-thru breakfast. Thor was not happy with me for ordering the Big Breakfast with Hotcakes (“Dude, you get syrup on my fine Corinthian leather and I’ll cut you.”)
We drove into the ski resort about an hour later, parked three miles from the lifts, and waited 20 minutes in the frigid cold for the open-air shuttle-tram-bus-thingy. That gave me plenty of time to get agitated by all the annoying people waiting with us. I guess at any ski resort of this caliber you’re gonna have to put up with the hard-cores. 
The guy who plopped his rear next to me on the icy metal shuttle-tram-bus-thingy seat was pimped. I’m talking logo-for-show everything: UnderArmour, Oakley, REI, Bose, The North Face, and Marmot. And that was just what I saw on his head. (Later I walked into one of the ski shops and nearly had a stroke when I saw what that guy paid for his designer gloves with the tiny heaters at the end of each fingertip.) I reached down and quickly unzipped the duffle-bag-o-stuff that Pastor Vern had loaned me and began to rummage around to see if he had loaded anything unique and/or designer-ish. All I found was mostly normal stuff – like bibs and coats and gloves. There were a few other items that didn’t really look anatomically correct for a human, but I just shoved those into a corner because I didn’t want to ask.
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I’ve finally accepted the truth that I must be a little OCD. A recent restaurant experience involving a fork forced me to evaluate other quirks that quite honestly I’d never considered quirks. I count on my wife as my sounding board, and she never fails to lay out the unvarnished truth.
“So…that thing I do with the TV remote? Is that normal?”
“That’s so not normal. I’m embarrassed to ever have a Super Bowl party at our house.”
“What about the way I put my socks on?”
“Honestly, Sweetie, I’m worried. I’ve seen your son do the same thing recently. If you must behave this way, we’ve got to find you a more secluded place to get dressed.”
Maybe I’ll describe these particularly charming idiosyncrasies another time, but in today’s post I’m going to tackle a few of my more pronounced peculiarities.
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