WTF happened on Saturday night?

Saturday night I went out with three members of my family and a family friend, to celebrate the impending nuptials of one of those family members. I remember going to Pat O'Brien's. I remember ordering and drinking one Purple People Eater. I remember going back to the bar and ordering a second Purple People Eater, and one beer (so that I could nurse it for several hours, because I didn't want to get drunk), and then closing out my tab in a responsible manner. Things get a little bit hazy after that.

Since I don't really know what happened on Saturday night, I don't feel right about just telling the story. I'll put it in quiz form, because that will be more fun!

1) Upon waking up on Sunday morning, which of the following worried me?
A. What is that smell?
B. Why is my pantleg wet?
C. How did I get here, and why am I on the floor?
D. Why am I completely dressed?
E. None of the above
F. All of the above

2) What combination of drinks did I later learn caused all of the trouble?
A. Two Purple People Eaters and one beer
B. Three Purple People Eaters and one beer
C. Three Purple People Eaters, at least one shot, and one beer
D. Three Purple People Eaters, one Hurricane, at least one shot and one beer

3) What song did I aggressively request the piano players perform?
A. "Don't Stop Believin'"
B. "Dixie"
C. "Sweet Caroline"
D. A & B
E. A & C
F. B & C

4) I was responsible about my drink purchasing. Who bought me the drinks that did me in?
A. My aunt
B. Some dude
C. Myself
D. The bartender gave me a freebie
E. Nobody knows

5) What was the reason that so many drinks were purchased?
A. I wanted to get completely hammered
B. My aunt wanted a collection of glasses from Pat O'Brien's
C. It was some kind of a dare
D. Nobody knows

6) On what/in what did I NOT vomit?
A. The car
B. Myself
C. A plastic bag
D. The toilet

7) I was upset because I thought I lost something. What was it?
A. My debit card
B. My phone
C. My camera
D. My foot

8) Which of the following was my aunt trying to keep me from doing?
A. Puking in the car
B. Drowning in the toilet
C. Cleaning my face with Clorox wipes
D. Drinking
E. All of the above, excluding D

9) Of which of the following do I have a vague memory?
A. Throwing up in a platic bag
B. Taking a nap outside
C. Taking almost 200 pictures
D. Putting my feet on the table at Pat O'Brien's
E. Drinking more than the drinks that I responsibly purchased
F. Leaving, getting in the house, or anything that followed after that

10) What did I do with the clean t-shirt that my aunt gave me?
A. I threw up on it
B. I put it in the toilet
C. I used it as a pillow

D. Nobody is sure, but it's missing

Now look at the answers below, and see how you did! BTW, that Oxyclean detergent is amazing at removing purple vomit. BTW again, don't drink anything purple ever.

Answers:

1) F. BTW, my pantleg was wet because I fell asleep on the wet towel that my aunt gave me to wash my face with. I still don't really know the answer to the other questions;

2) C. I did not personally purchase any of the extra drinks though;

3) D. I don't even remember that they played "Dixie", let alone that I requested it;

4) A. Thanks, Ellen! Although that explains why she was so nice about taking care of drunken Fort Awesome;

5) B. Seriously. I kept my cool little shot glass though. I deserved to ;

6) A. By the hardest, I did not vomit on any part of the car. However, this should give you a clue as to the answer to one of the questions I asked in question 1. Namely, "what's that smell?";

7) D. Don't worry. I found it. Turns out that it was just my shoe that fell off, and not my foot;

8) E. Although the drinking was apparently encouraged and enabled, she thought all of those other things were bad ideas;

9) A. Ah, sweet dignity. How I miss you so;

10) C. And it would have been a much better idea to wear it instead of my pukey shirt.

I have absolutely know idea why this thought came to me, but...

Remember Jurassic Park? Well, first remember the book, because it kicked total ass. Then, if you feel like, remember the movie. Under no circumstances should you remember any sequels to that movie. Moving on... Remember Jurassic Park?

Earlier, for no apparent reason whatsoever, I started making a list in my head of things that would not be of any practical value if you were stuck inside of Jurassic Park. The actual park, not the book or the movie. Now, that list has gotten loose and is on the internet.

1. A sombrero. Sure, you could argue that it's a really big hat, and nobody likes a sunburn, but that would be stupid. First of all, sombreros are never useful, unless you are employed by a mariachi band. Then, it's sort of a requirement. Other than that, there is no reason to choose a sombrero over a less festive hat. In Jurassic Park, it would just make you the asshole that gets eaten first.

2. The complete Encyclopedia Britannica. It could potentially help identify native flora and fauna, but then it's not really important what kind of dinosaur is trying to kill you. What's important is that you had fun running away!

3. One of those little balsa wood airplanes with the wind-up propellers. They're stupid anyway. They always nosedive straight into the damn ground, and if you accidentally wind up the propeller too tight, the balsa wood cracks apart. Stupid little airplane. Why won't you fly for me?!?!?

4. A unicycle. Unless you can somehow strap a dummy version of you onto it, and push it over a cliff as some kind of clever decoy. But, if you were dumb enough to go to Jurassic Park, let alone bring a unicycle, you probably aren't clever enough to have thought of that.

5. A ping pong paddle. What's the point of having just one paddle anyway? Without another paddle and a ball, you can't play. If you just have one paddle, you deserve to be stuck on the island.

6. Your half of the BFF necklace that you share with your BFF. By the way, if they have multiple halves of necklaces that they are sharing with multiple other people, you are not their BFF. Now go flail about in front of the T-Rex.

7. Yoga DVD. You probably won't have time for yoga, and once the power gets shut off, good luck trying to find a generator for your DVD player.

8. Condoms. It's too dirty to have sex, and besides... You're going to be eaten by a dinosaur. Catching the clap is the least of your problems.

9. Lab coat. It might look cool, and be a hit with the ladies, but a velociraptor will just treat it like the skin on a hot tamale.

10. Stilts. Everyone would like to be a little bit taller, but unless you are competing on the awesome Japanese gameshow "Unbeatable Banzuke" (Google it-- you won't regret it) they really won't help you. They'll just end up as dino toothpicks when pieces of you get all stuck between their front teeth. That is so annoying!

I am sure that there are many more things that wouldn't help at all if you were trapped in Jurassic Park, but those are just the things that I was thinking about earlier. BTW, none of those things are useless if you are MacGyver... But so few of us are. How awesome was that guy?

Sick and tired of being sick and tired...

So... Once again an unfortunate illness has roundhouse kicked me, throwing yet another monkey wrench into my theory that I am invincible. Despite some extraordinarily unpleasant food poisoning a few short weeks ago, I haven't been sick since December '06. What the balls happened? I know what.

Despite being exceptionally tired and generally burnt out, I partied hard last week. I mean, like, hard. It was all whiskey and beers and cigars and concerts and throwing cabbages at people... The usual St. Patrick's Week kind of stuff. In fact, I woke up with a sore throat the day before riding in the Irish-Italian parade, but I still had to ride it in anyway. After all, I had three whole pounds of fava beans to throw, as well as all of the produce I bought for the occasion.

I woke up with much more than a sore throat the day after said parade. No hangover, which is probably what you're thinking. Nope. Fort Awesome doesn't roll that way. Fort Awesome fears no beers. Except for Keystone Light (water, or maybe "used beer", i.e., "urine") and Hoegaarden (disgusting, pure liquid evil). I did, however, have the same sore throat, a sunburn (the kind that truckers get, where you're only burned from the shirt sleeves down), chapped lips, burned tongue (from post-parade pizza), bruises all over my body (stupid gravity) and a giant gash on my leg that seems to have occurred during a demonstration as to why I think pole dancing is good exercise. Plus some residual weirdness over a pseudo-argument with a friend that I feel a little guilty about. I guess I was sort of mean, even though I don't really remember much about it. More on that another day, if I think it's interesting enough.

So the past couple of days have been pretty shitty, and not at all Awesometown. Someone I know tried to help me out by giving me one of those Emergen-C packets that you mix into water and drink for immune-boosting super powers. Except that she gave me a kind of awesome-tasting, special flavor for kids that is incredibly hard to find. I have to order it off of the internet, in fact. I looked for some this morning on my way to work, but all I could find were crappy grownup flavors like Tangerine, which is stupid. I bought it anyway, because I really want to feel better. My chest hurts and feels all tired, and that concerns me because whenever I get sick, I get sick. See earlier The Awesomeness entries for examples on that.

I went off to court this morning, and drank one horrible Tangerine Emergen-C in a bottle of water. After court, I bought another bottle of water and decided to make what shall henceforth be known as a very bad decision.

The directions on the Emergen-C packet say to take 1 packet 2 to 4 times a day. But I think it's too nasty for that, so I decided to be more efficient. I poured two packets of the Tangerine crap powder into the bottle and shook it up. I could hear it fizzing. The same sound that you hear right before you die when you mix Poprocks and soda. Except that might just be (really is) an urban legend. What happened to me is definitely true, but scary nonetheless.

I tasted the mixture, which was pretty nasty. And fizzy. I decided to just go for it. What the hell... I have chugged worse! So I chugged the whole bottle, without stopping. In my head, for self-motivation purposes, I silently chanted "Go! Go! Go!" When it was finished, I had three thoughts: 1) I think I might vomit, 2) Ouch! Brain freeze! and 3) I have to pee. Right now.

Later, I made another poor decision. I decided to try and put the powder in my mouth dry, and then wash it down with Coke. Except that it fizzes. And makes your mouth feel like it is on Tangerine-flavored fizzy fire. And then later, you find out what happens to your body when you take too much Vitamin C. It doesn't hurt or anything, but it will make you panic. I won't go into too much detail, but if you are considering taking a large dose of Vitamin C, please click on the link provided. You'll thank me later.

So now I have been sick for 5 freaking days officially. I don't know how much longer I should expect to feel shitty. I should go see a doctor like the nice lady in India told me today. It turns out that if you call Allstate's website tech support, you end up talking to some lady in India who is very concerned about your voice and cough. If you're lucky like me, she'll recommend specific drugs and then she'll tell you to take the rest of the day off to go home and get some rest. I have noticed that a lot of Indians (dot, not feather) seem to end up as doctors. Maybe she is paying her way through medical school by assigning people new passwords on Allstate's website.

Sorry, but I am too goshdarn sick to come up with a clever ending to this post. I can't even come up with something that gives it any sense of closure. It's almost like The Sopranos writers just took over and...

Whatever, Shark Murderer

So there's this big story out about this spear fisherman in the Gulf of Mexico off of the Louisiana coast who, while diving around oil rigs with his buddies, gets into a fight to the death with a 12-foot tiger shark. See overrated story here.

While there are many articles out there about this amazing struggle between man and beast, I chose that one as my link due to its particular wording: "A brave man named Craig Clasen beat the shark then shot it seven times with spear guns and then finished it off with a big knife."

That is an actual paragraph in that story. It sounds like a second grader wrote it, but that is not the point that I am trying to make. This shark did not have to die. Not like this. These dudes are assholes. You, Craig Clasen, are not brave. You, Craig Clasen, are an asshole. Here's why:

Craig Clasen and his bros are spearfishing for tuna. I don't know about the rest of the manly men involved, but I can see from pictures (one of his bros happened to be carrying an underwater camera- convenient!) that Craig was not wearing a scuba tank, but only a snorkel. That scores him one point, as he was clearly at a disadvantage in the "breathing" department. Secondly, according to all involved, the buddy with the camera was using the camera to fend off the shark's deadly (or perhaps- romantic?) advances, so Craig had to step in to save him. That scores Craig another point, this time in the "reasonably aggressive" department. Craig gets only two points.

First, these geniuses were spearfishing under an oil rig in the freakin' Gulf of Mexico. They seemed surprised when this shark began circling, and (sort of) attacking. Dumbasses.
A) It is well known that the Gulf of Mexico is home to several species of shark. In fact a search of the internet turned up 49 different shark species known to inhabit the Gulf of Mexico at various times of the year, including (but not limited to) the Tiger shark (gasp) and the Great White shark (badass).
B) It is even more well known that sharks are attracted to blood, and to the movements that are given off by an injured, distressed creature. Guess what bleeds and moves in an injured, distressed fashion? Tuna, when you stab it with a spear attached to a rope, that you shoot out of a gun. Who knew? EVERYONE.
C) Sharks routinely hang out underneath oil rigs, because of the abundant food supply. There have been studies about this.

Secondly, even if we completely ignore the fact that these morons were basically wearing shark bulls eyes, we cannot ignore that they were asking for it by hanging out inside of the shark's house. In fact, they were hanging out inside of the shark's kitchen, stealing her food. There is a reason why I do not hang out under oil rigs. It's because I do not want to be eaten by a shark. And yes, the shark was a chick. Way to go, Chris Brown! I mean... Craig Clasen.

Third, Craig Clasen "the brave man" with the "big knife" (hello? Use adjectives much?) shot the shark a whopping seven times with spear guns. Multiple spear guns. I have a problem with this for two reasons. One, because he shot the shark once, and it was leaving. However, Craig was worried that this wasn't humane, and that the shark shouldn't suffer. So instead of leaving her to her own devices and to the will of the universe, he shot her six more times. Poor thing got stabbed more than your sister on prom night. (Yes! Comedic, unnecessary vulgarity!) This was humane? Shooting a shark with seven spears, and then killing it with your "big knife"? My second problem is that I doubt there were seven loaded spear guns under the water at one time, and that Craig was holding his breath during the entire ordeal. He had to have surfaced with his snorkel, and he had to have either reloaded, or borrowed guns from his buddies. Either way, that makes me doubt the fierceness of the battle. It almost makes it seem like Craig was more interested in telling an awesome story, than in "putting her out of her misery."

Fourth, after the shark was finally dead, they cut a piece of her flesh out sashimi-style and ate it triumphantly. Then they had the nerve to complain about how gross the texture of the meat was. And the picture of Craig, the humane and remorseful hunter, that was published in magazines and newspapers really helps his version of events. He was so haunted and sad about what he had done, that he cut the jaws out of the shark for a trophy. He is seen in pictures holding up her tail and jaws, still with meat on them. Disgusting.

These idiots should not be celebrated. They are not heroes. Craig is not some awesome dude who killed a ferocious shark with a "big knife." Had he been holding his breath the entire time, and used only the knife... Then, yes. In those circumstances, I would have conceded that he is indeed a hero and an incredibly manly man. However, those were not the circumstances he faced. Sort of seems to me that Craig's "big knife" and aggression toward the chick shark were maybe outward signs of an internal struggle. Perhaps that's the only "big knife" that Craig has. Perhaps chick shark is the only chick to have circled in a while. Maybe this whole thing was just a needless display of machismo, performed to make up for other areas of Craig's life that aren't as exciting.

Or maybe Craig and pals really are just that stupid, and have seen the Jaws movies one too many times. If that's the case, then I would be careful if I were them. The ocean shall have her revenge. Probably in the form of mercury poisoning, as the shark meat that they ate was probably chock full of the stuff. Yum, boys! Eat up!

Plans don't always go as planned

So yesterday was supposed to begin a super-ridiculous week of awesomeness. Key words: "supposed to."

The reason that said super-ridiculous week of awesomeness (S-RWOA) was to begin yesterday is because Tuesday (March 17) is St. Patrick's Day, otherwise known as Fort Awesome's favorite day out of the whole year since early childhood. Yesterday, March 14 was the date of the local St. Pat's parade. While Fort Awesome has ridden in this parade for the past five or so years, Fort Awesome has never actually seen the damn thing.

So anyway, one of my good buddies from law school was supposed to be coming down for the parade. I haven't seen him since last year's parade, and I was looking forward to the crazy-cool shenanigans that always occur when we get together. We were going to put a couch in the back of his pickup, and watch the parade from that vantage point while drinking beers. It was to be called the First Annual St. Pat's Couch 'N' Keg. Key words: "to be called."

Buddy from law school bailed, because nobody else would make the four and a half hour drive with him. This left me with absolutely no plans, and nobody to watch the parade with. More importantly, I had no place from which to view the parade comfortably. The day before the parade, I learned that my aunt had invited me to her parade party at her house along the route. Game on! Everything was back on track. I excitedly called my aunt to get the details, only to be told that one of my cousin's best friend's brothers was killed the day before, and so the party was cancelled. Obviously, this was very sad news for two reasons: 1) It's always sad when a young life is tragically cut short, and 2) I was definitely going to spend the day at home by myself.

Serious side note: I'm so sorry to hear that news, Nick. My best to your buddy and his family.

So anyway, instead of hanging out with my awesome law school friend or my awesome cousin and his friends, I stayed home going through receipts so I can file my taxes. And paying bills. And doing laundry.

I was actually feeling pretty damn productive, and very much a serious adult. In fact, I had not operated my washing machine in approximately three months. Seriously. I divide my time between two cities, and usually do my laundry in City B. My house is in City A. So it's not totally gross... I have been wearing clean undies and whatnot, in case you were concerned about that. Anyhoo... I tossed all of my towels in the washer and cranked it on. After about a minute of the washer sounding like it definitely held an improperly balanced load, it stopped altogether. Shit.

I decided that all hope was not lost. I could fix the washer. I would fix the washer! I started to reach my hand into the washer, but then I intelligently remembered to turn it off first. Smart move! That's how I got into Mensa! I ended up having to stick my hands into the slimy, soapy, gross towel water in order to unwrap the towels that had coiled around the agitator and prevented it from agitating. After spending several minutes elbow-deep in the slimy soapy water, I believed to have the problem corrected. I turned on the washer, and huzzah!!! It worked!

So while I did not hang with friends or go to my beloved parade, I did have a mostly-organized collection of receipts for the IRS and I had a dryer full of clean, dry, fluffy towels. Additionally, it stormed all day. The first year that I don't ride in that parade, the city has the worst St. Pat's parade weather in around seven years. I am awesome. All in all, I was feeling pretty good about my day.

A couple of hours (and one delicious pizza) later, it was time for bed. As I was using the bathroom, I was reflecting on the pretty-okayness of my day. I smiled. I flushed. I started screaming and jumped into the bathtub.

The toilet began to overflow. Aggressively. We turned off the water, which should have helped. No. The water kept coming. From where- I don't know... It just kept coming and coming, and (horrifically enough) seeped underneath the walls into the half-bath and the walk-in closet. At least there was nothing on the floor. I immediately reached for towels to sop up the torrent of water, but... there were no towels to be found. They were all in the dryer.

Eventually, the water stopped coming out of the toilet. Handy household tip: When this type of catastrophe is happening, DO NOT flush the toilet to "see what will happen." Trust me. You do not want to see what will happen. And just like that- my day of productivity went down the tubes (unlike the water in the toilet). I was standing in my bathroom, surrounded by towels that had been freshly laundered just a few minutes earlier, but were now full of toilet water. Nice. Had I just left them dirty in the first place, I wouldn't have wasted a step.

However, all was not lost. Had I not washed the towels prior to that incident, things might have been worse in one way. Sticking my arms in soapy slimy water would have been definitely grosser had they been dirty because of toilet water. I suppose the universe decided that I needed to learn some kind of lesson, but at least it was kind enough to spare me a little bit of grossness.

Sometimes, I think that I should have my own reality show. Or a cartoon based on my life. Because my life is basically a fucking cartoon. Except that I drink and curse a lot, so it should probably not be the kind of cartoon that comes on Saturday mornings. And Bob Saget should do a voice on it.

While I am still holding out hope for the rest of the week to still be totally Awesometown, I am definitely expecting to have much Fort Awesome material for this blog.

The crazy old hoebag knows how to use Facebook

I received word this morning that a "sort of" family member deleted me off of their Facebook and Myspace friend lists. I'm really sad about it... (NOT). I mean, I had sort of forgotten that I was their friend in the first place. But it's not the fact that I was deleted that totally astounds me, it's why. It just doesn't make any damn sense, like the "Chewbacca defense" that Johnny Cochran used on South Park a few years back.

Anyhoooo... Here's what happened:

This "step-aunt" of mine likes to send out ridiculous mass emails, approximately three times a week. Usually, they are bullshit chain letters, like "OMG! I swear that if you send this back, tomorrow you will meet an angel that will give you the powerball numbers, and sort of look like some Asian chick you used to know! Do it!" I usually ignore them, and don't even open them. They're stupid, and I don't know why she decides to include me in her mailing lists anyway... but I have gone off course with the story...

Saturday, she sent out a mass email (that I didn't even see) that reminded everyone to change their clocks to "Spring forward." She made the subject line of the email something like "Daylight Savings Time Reminder!" My cousin apparently sent out a similar email several years ago, and some coworker of hers (who is sort of a douche, from the sound of it), made fun of her because it is actually "Daylight Saving Time," and there shouldn't be an "s" on the end of "Saving". My cousin has been haunted by this news, it seems, and so she send a reply email to the step-aunt (let's call her "Ann") to inform her of this supposed grammatical faux pas. She didn't hit "reply all," she just replied with a friendly note that passed on that knowledge that she had received years earlier.

"Ann" abruptly replied, "Well, I guess I can't do anything right!" My cousin felt bad, as she was not trying to be condescending (she says), and she tried to reply to that email in order to explain herself. Upon doing so, she discovered that "Ann" had blocked her email address. My cousin really wanted to clear the air with "Ann" (who happens to be her stepmother), so she attempted to contact her on Facebook, only to discover that "Ann" had deleted her ass, in a totally mature (for someone 35 years younger) fashion.

My cousin tried to get her sister to pass along a message via her Facebook account, but "Ann" had deleted her younger stepdaughter as well. She also deleted the first cousin's husband, the second cousin's fiancee, me and my husband. Her daughter also deleted all of us. None of us care, because none of us wanted to be her friend in the first place. We just felt really awkward to get a friend request from her, and felt like we had to add her.

But it gets even dumber than that. We compared notes on "Ann's" craziness level, and discovered that "Ann" has apparently been stalking us all on Facebook, and using pictures and other information to try and get us into trouble with our parents. The flaw in this plan is that we are all well over the age of 21 (and in some cases, 31) and our parents stopped giving a crap about what we do a long time ago.

My main thought in this matter is: Who the fuck does this kind of thing?

I would expect this kind of behavior from some dumbass 15-year-old, but even my dumbass 15-year-old cousin doesn't do that type of thing. Ultimately, I came to the conclusion that "Ann" is just a crazy old hoebag, with the sub-conclusion that she has waaaaay too much time on her hands. I am glad that I'm not her "friend" anymore, because at this level of immature nut-baggery I can only imagine what she would post as her "25 Random Things About Me." I have taken the liberty of putting that imagining into this blog:

"Ann's" 25 Random Things About Me (as imagined by Fort Awesome):

1. I like to buy dalmation puppies, and make coats out of them! They're warm and adorable!!

2. When I saw "Silence of the Lambs", I was really pulling for "Buffalo Bill."

3. The other day, I saw one of those Al Qaeda beheading videos... Hil-ar-i-ous.

4. When I get nostalgic, I like to pull out my old prom picture. It's nice to look back and remember the night my first child was conceived!

5. I hate babies, old people, the disabled and kittens.

6. I'm not crazy! Crazy people go to the psychiatrist. Kind of like how I am not an alcoholic, because I don't go to those stupid meetings.

7. Did I mention that I hate kittens? I should make some earmuffs to go with my dalmation coat.

8. I only like to watch Iron Chef when they use live ingredients. I get a secret thrill out of seeing them hook eels through the face while they're still alive. Well... I guess it's not much of a "secret" anymore.

9. I work for UPS, and the best thing about my job is all the cool gifts I "find" for people on my route. (Don't pay any attention to the fact that someone else's name and address are on the box).

10. I heart Rocky Road ice cream.

11. I sort of miss being a dude.

12. One of my grandchildren is named after one of the actors in "Dude, Where's My Car?" Guess which one!

13. Books are really scary, unless they have a lot of pictures.

14. I was totally surprised at the end of "Titanic" when the boat sank. Why couldn't it have a happy ending? Maybe like at the end of "Grease"... The boat could have flown off into the sky.

15. Have you ever seen that show "The Girls Next Door"? I sure wish I was as smart as Kendra Wilkinson.

16. I have always kind of wondered what a bottlenose dolphin would taste like.

17. My dream job is to be the one who works the gas chamber at the pound.

18. I enjoy knitting sweaters out of other people's hair.

19. I am desperately lonely when the voices stop. Good thing I hear them most of the time.

20. Nothing pisses me off more than blind kids. Just SEE already!!!

21. I like to play World of Warcraft, because I have always dreamed of being an elf.

22. Gandhi sucks.

23. Puring salt on slugs is the coolest way to spend an afternoon.

24. Isn't it awesome how everyone has an extra nipple on their back? I think it's the coolest.

25. Damn... I hate kittens.

Lessons learned on a family roadtrip

Last weekend, I had the pleasure of riding from New Orleans to Atlanta in a Dodge Minivan with four members of my extended family. My aunt, my 15-year old cousin, my grandfather and his wife. I love my family, and I don't get to spend much time with them, so I initially enjoyed the idea of spending some quality time with them. "Initially", being the key word in that sentence. I don't regret agreeing to ride with them (instead of purchasing a first-class plane ticket, as was my original idea), but I did learn an awful lot on the road.

Lesson 1: Old people like to listen to bad radio (in this particular instance- Rush Limbaugh).

Corollary: Old people cannot hear well, so they like to listen to bad radio really loudly.

Corollary: Old people like to shout over talk radio, so that everyone in the vicinity understands where they stand on whatever is being discussed.

Corollary: If you ask them to turn up the one news item in which you are remotely interested (in this particular instance- a state wherein some measure of marijuana possession has been recently decriminalized), they will immediately turn it down to ask you what you said.

Corollary: If you ask them to turn the radio down, so that you can listen to your Audiobook (wonderfully read by the always delightful Neil Patrick Harris), you will be told that you should be more open-minded, and listen to viewpoints that are different from your own (even though they might not even know what your particular viewpoint is in the first place).

Lesson 2: Old people like to eat at the Cracker Barrel, Applebees and any restaurant where you can get some discount by ordering a particular item before a certain time of day. I think that the AARP must send out some kind of dining guide that sets out rules and recommendations for this type of thing.

Corollary: If you order a beer at Cracker Barrel, they will tell you that they do not serve alcohol because they are a family restaurant. If you point out that you are there with your family, they just stare at you like they want you to die.

Lesson 3: People from New Orleans are so afraid of the idea of snow, that they are willing to abort the whole mission and go home, regardless of the importance of the event that they are traveling to attend. FYI: the possibility of snow was two days ahead of when this panic descended upon the minivan in the parking lot of the prohibition-era Cracker Barrel.

Lesson 4: 15-year old boys suck. They are cool for a while, but they just can't help reverting to being 15-year old boys, which are universally known to be total dicks.

Corollary: 15-year old boys have the stinkiest feet in the world, and have no problem putting them in your face, or on your pillow. However, they might also have some strange phobia of whatever might be on the bottom of your flipflops, and yell at you to take them off so you don't accidentally bump something with them that he owns.

Corollary: Seriously, Randal. Go see a doctor or something about your feet.

Lesson 5: The Comfort Inn is a misnomer. I had a one-inch gap under my door that I had to plug with towels (because a rat can fit through a hole the size of a quarter), none of the lamps in my room worked, and I heard the distinctive "drip, drip, drip" of the bathtub faucet dripping into a full tub. When I entered the bathroom in the dark and saw the full tub with the curtain pulled halfway, I was positive that there was a dead body in there. There was not.

Corollary: If you call to complain about the condition of your room, the Pakistani man who works there will come up to the room and condescendingly ask you if your lamps are plugged in properly (they were). He will also solve the problem of the gap under your door by giving you extra towels.

Corollary: Every towel in your room will feel like it was made with sandpaper or gravel.

Corollary: If old people are the ones to book the hotel rooms, they will choose the Comfort Inn, or the Red Roof Inn, or wherever they get some kind of "points" for staying. Again, I am convinced that this is the AARP's doing. Also, they will fight with you over the difference between a "hotel" and a "motel."

Corollary: Motels have doors that open to outdoors, while hotels open to hallways. Look it up, Jerry.

Lesson 6: In Atlanta, they apparently only sell alcohol at liquor stores or in restaurants. You cannot buy alcohol in gas stations or grocery stores, no matter how badly you need it.

Corollary: The liquor stores do not have shopping carts, and you are not well received if you ask about them.

Lesson 7: Before a roadtrip of this nature, be sure to inform smart-ass 15-year-old boy what topics of conversation are not acceptable in certain states.

Example: It is not okay to loudly ask in Alabama: "Who the hell is Bear Bryant?" It is even less okay to say that it is more important that Bear Bryant know who you are, and even less okay than that to say that Bear Bryant's hat looked stupid.

Example: It is not okay to loudly state in Georgia that they should really build some statues to General Sherman. After all, if he hadn't "passed through" all they would have to look at would be "old boring buildings and shit." Do not give General Sherman credit for there being modern buildings in Atlanta. Do not even jokingly suggest in a restaurant that they should rename Atlanta as "Shermanville."

Lesson 8: The GPS in your BlackBerry just gives up in Alabama. It doesn't know where you are, and it doesn't care.

Lesson 9: No amount of Xanax helps you relax enough to sleep in certain situations (like a Dodge Minivan). However, a giant meal at the Olive Garden and a glass of wine works wonders.

Lesson 10: Old people hate 18-wheelers, drivers on cell phones, people who eat while they drive, women who drive, people who drive with two many passengers in the car, and pretty much everyone who is driving who isn't them.

If I could go back in time, I would still ride in the van with my family. I would, however, attempt to get really drunk before doing so, regardless of how early in the morning we were leaving.

Just a couple of random thoughts...

I have been doing some thinking about words and their connotations. I've decided that some things just don't make any sense... Like how I am so damn sexy, yet still manage to fly under the radar and live amongst the "normals." But, more on that another day.

Here are some things that confuse me:

Everyone agrees that being a racist is negative, and makes you a jackass (except for those guys I know who had the raccoon in their attic. They don't mind it so much, which makes them jackasses). However, being a feminist is viewed by a large segment of the population as being a positive thing. I don't see it that way though. Most of the hardcore feminists that I know are also jackasses. Mind you, I think women should be paid the same as men, and have the same chance to be President and all, but it really annoys me when chicks think that wearing bras and removing body hair counts as giving into to masculine oppression. The truth is, nobody likes low-hanging boobies and/or pit hair that you can braid. Similarly, being sexist is bad, unless you're only sexist against men, which makes you a feminist, and therefore a progressive visionary. Makes no damn sense to me, kind of like how it doesn't make any sense to me that kamikaze pilots wore helmets. Whatevs.

Tyrannosaurus was a badass dinosaur, that would eat your face because you laughed at its tiny little useless forearms. Brontosaurus was a giant dinosaur with a powerful tail that it used to knock over mean t-rexes who couldn't balance themselves because of their creepy little arms. Yet a Thesaurus is a book. A fucking book. Of words that mean the same thing as other words. The name Thesaurus seems better associated with the biggest, baddest mofo of a dinosaur ever... the "Shaft" of dinosaurs, if you will. But, no. It's just a book. Lame. Lame-o-saurus.

Carl Weathers is an awesome dude, who was in Predator (with two guys who later became governors. Mike Foster, former governor of Louisiana met both of them, but not Carl Weathers... I asked him), played Apollo Creed, and then was Chubbs the golf pro in Happy Gilmore, who taught Reese Witherspoon (Little Nicky's angel mom) that "it's all in the hips." He is awesome. That has nothing to do with anything. I just wanted to say how awesome he is. And say that Stormy Weathers would be a great stripper/porn star name.

Awesome means "inspiring awe", "deserving of awe or reverence", or "freaking cool". Yet, Possum does not mean "inspiring po", "deserving of po", or "not a giant marsupial rodent-thing." But that's the kind of thing that you only start to really wonder about after that first six-pack of the night.

We use the words lawman and policeman interchangeably. Yet we use the word lawyer interchangeably with attorney or leach. Incidentally, leach is also used as a synonym for your mom, because of the amazing amount of sucking that both do. WHAT UP?!? But I digress... Why isn't a lawyer called a lawman? Where does that damn y come from? Also, I didn't mention that those words should be "policeperson" and "lawperson" because I do not classify myself a "feminist." So there.

One who raps is a rapper, while one who rapes is (not a feminist) a rapist. Why isn't it that one who raps is a rap-ist? And one who rapes is a rape-r? It doesn't make any damn sense, in the same way that math and marijuana laws don't make any sense.

Finally, there's this dude I know from work named Jeremy. That's all I have to say about that name... It has nothing to do with any other words or anything. He's just been bummed because I have been lawmaning (not lawyering) instead of blogging. And he should totally have the groomsmen at his wedding wear seersucker. That would be awesome. Not wearing seersucker... Well, that would just be possum.

Winning the immunity challenge

I haven't watched that crapfest of a show "Survivor" since its first season, when it was something of a novelty. However, I remember from watching the aforementioned crapfest that the contestants were always competing in immunity challenges. Winning the stupid "immunity idol" would keep you from being voted off the island or whatever for that week. Well, I have always considered myself to have won a sort of "immunity idol," except it's the literal kind of immunity. Instead of not getting kicked out of my tribe, I get to sit around and watch my tribe get sick and bitch about it, while I am enjoying my healthy awesomeness.

Last night I got lazy and didn't post anything because I really didn't feel well. My tuna fish was doing some kind of rain dance in my stomach (which worked by the way, as it did rain today), while the room was spinning. I have never experienced the room spinning sensation while 100% sober, and I have to say that I just plain don't like it. Today, I wasn't as dizzy or nauseated, but I have just felt like whining and moping and complaining that my throat hurts.

Tonight, I feel much better. I think the beers helped. I usually feel completely better by the end of the day whenever I start to feel gross like that. Which is just as good, as I have no idea how to treat common ills like sore throats.

I can literally count on one hand (and one finger) the times in my life where I would classify myself as sick. I used to get some kind of crazy sinus infection twice a year, but I have never considered that to be "sick." Also, those gross sinus infections have stopped completely since my deviated septum was corrected, so now I walk around most days feeling like some kind of advanced superhuman. However, when I have been sick, it's been pretty bad. My five illnesses, in chronological order:

1. Measles -- Yes, I was vaccinated against the measles. Yes, I still got them. Mind you, I was vaccinated against those nasty German measles, and I ended up getting non-German measles of some sort. Seriously... Who gets measles these days? I am 27 years old, and have not found one single other person who has had the measles. I guess I am just special.

2. Scarlet Fever -- Another illness that pioneers used to get. I came down with this in first grade, mere days before my McDonald's birthday party. Needless to say, it had to be cancelled, which really pissed me off because I was sure that I was going to own all at the contest where you stack the old polystyrene Big Mac cartons. I even had these kickass Ducktales (Ducktales-- woo ooh!) treasure hunt invitations. Well, instead of stacking Big Mac cartons, I had to stay in my bedroom with the lights off so I wouldn't go blind like Laura Ingalls Wilder's sister in Little House on the Prairie. Pioneer freaking disease. Then some kid in my class (Dusty) caught my strep throat that caused my scarlet fever, and he ended up with rheumatic fever which will affect his heart for the rest of his life. Score: Me- 1, Dusty- 0.

3. Tonsillitis -- Seventh grade. I remember calling my grandma to come and get me from school, but I think she might have told me that she would get me in a couple of hours, and that in the meantime I should just put my head down. Putting my head down actually hurt worse, because my neck was so swollen and ridiculous that I couldn't even turn my head to the side. The only way putting my head down would have felt better is if I was putting it down and through the slot in a guillotine. I kept my tonsils though! And I have spent my life hating them ever since. I'll get you one day, tonsils. Oh yes.

4. Mono -- The staple illness of high school. Uhhh... I got it from drinking after someone. Yeah, that's it, Mom. Who? Pick one of my friends, they're all kind of slutty. Not like me. I'll be getting my wings the next time that a bell rings, not that I am bragging or anything. The doctors told me that I should stay home from school for at least a week, but I felt good enough to go back after three or four days. Then they told me not to do any heavy lifting because somehow it could hurt my spleen. So on my first day back, I helped move boxes of new yearbooks. Why? Because that's just how I roll.

5. Pneumonia -- Could have been worse. Two days before I started feeling horrible I had been cleaning out the motor of an old refrigerator in which rodents had nested. I was convinced that I had Hantavirus, which is delightful. You see, you get Hantavirus from inhaling airborne particles from rodent feces. I have no idea how you get pneumonia, but I did. I was almost hospitalized, and I did hallucinate in the health center of my college. I threatened the nurse who took my blood by telling her, "If you try to steal my underwear, I swear to God, I'll kill you." I don't remember saying that, but they all had a great laugh when I came for my follow-up. I missed one week of school, out of the recommended two. I am just a badass like that.

6. Whatever I had the night after one final and before another final in law school -- All I know is that I yelled at some guy in the after-hours clinic, and ended up getting three shots in my ass. Then I took my hardest final while hopped up on Lortab. I nailed that final, by the way. I still don't know what I had, but it was positively miserable. I tested negative for strep and flu, but apparently I was talking to someone from school in the waiting room of the clinic. Except that they weren't really there. Still, I just went on and drove myself home. Because I am safe like that.

I have never had the chicken pox, and I have never been vaccinated for it. I have never had the flu, and have never been vaccinated for it. I can't even tell you the last time I had a tetanus shot. I just feel like my immune system can handle whatever you throw at it, with the 6 exceptions outlined above. Some doctors, in fact, think that my immune system is actually too good, and that it sometimes attacks my body. That is pretty much the opposite of what an immune system is supposed to do.

Add my super-fast metabolism to my psycho crazy immune system, and you have the issue I mentioned earlier, which is that I have absolutely no idea how to treat minor problems. I have no idea how to use over-the-counter medication. Nothing works. For example, if I take Motrin, I have to take like 5 of them. Usually the doctors just break out the hard stuff on me because, even when I was little, normal medicines just have never worked. In fact, even the hard stuff isn't guaranteed to work. I have had surgery twice, and both times they had to use more anesthesia than they have used on men twice my size.

So, in summation, in real-life Survivor (which is actually real life itself), I have already won the immunity challenge. So what, if every six years or so I get deathly ill? I rarely get the colds and other annoyances that other people deal with. And, on top of that, I am always getting prescribed medicines that other people who pay top dollar for. Although as far as I am concerned, they may as well be Tylenols. I have never been prescribed a controlled substance that impressed me. I just don't understand what people find so fun about them.

Bottom line: If you want to make me sick, don't bother breathing on me. It won't get me kicked off the island. Better bring Kryptonite, bitches.

What did I ever do to you, Chick-fil-A employees?

Where I live, there is only one Chick-fil-A with a drive-thru window. Actually, there are two, but one is not on my way to the Interstate, and as good as those waffle fries are I am not willing to drive 45 minutes out of my way at 6:00 on a Monday morning. I might, however, be better off making that trip (thus having to leave my house at 5:15 am to get to work) than going to my regular CFA, because the crew of that particular unit have made it clear that I am just not welcome there.

Now, I am not bragging about my fastfood prowess or anything, but I've done some time at a Chick-fil-A myself. Actually, it was at three separate Chick-fil-A's, over an approximately seven-year period. Okay, I am kind of bragging. I was good. I mean, like, good. I was so awesome in fact that the company flew me to Atlanta (first freakin' class- what up?!?) for a super special leadership training seminar. So awesome that I took my picture with the president of the company. So awesome in fact that they gave me an Awesomeness scholarship when I was in law school. In any event, I speak with authority when I say that it is NOT hard to put together the items on their menu.

Anyway, I used to make it a habit to order from this particular Chick-fil-A damn near every Monday morning. If you want to get really technical, when I was still in school I used to eat their breakfast almost every day. The crew always used to be really good at making my breakfast, but I think that I must have done something to offend them. Or they are just bitter that I have gone vegetarian, and no longer order chicken at their chicken restaurant. There's no way that they could know that though, so I think the people who work in the back (where the food is made) just can't read.

I always order the same thing: One buttered biscuit with extra butter, one egg biscuit with cheese and extra butter, and one large sweet tea. I will show you how this would be rung up on the cash register, with each button denoted by its own set of parentheses:

(buttered biscuit)(+)(butter)

(egg biscuit)(+)(cheese)(+)(butter) or (buttered biscuit)(+)(egg)(+)(cheese)(+)(butter) - it depends on how the register is set up

(large)(sweet tea)

(total)

That doesn't seem so hard, does it? And it's not. In fact, the workers who ring up my order always seem to get it right. It's the people who read the screen in the back that tells them what to make-- they are the problem. When the cash register person rings up that order, this is what the person in the back sees:

1 BUTTER BIZ

+ BUTTER

1 EGG BIZ

+ CHEZ

+ BUTTER

Or they see some variation, of that wording, depending on the programming of their registers. They don't even see the drink. All that they have to worry about is taking the main menu item, and adding things to it. They cannot do this to save their lives, at least not when it comes to my order.

I visited this Chick-fil-A four Mondays in a row about two months ago before I gave up for a while. I ordered my usual, and this is what I received:

Monday #1: One egg biscuit with no cheese and regular amount of butter, and a buttered biscuit with extra butter.

Monday #2: One cheese biscuit with no egg and extra butter, and a buttered biscuit with extra butter.

Monday #3: My order was correct! Huzzah!!!

Monday #4: One chicken biscuit with egg and no cheese and regular butter, and one regular buttered biscuit.

Once! They got it right ONCE! They didn't even really come close the rest of the time, extra for when all they forgot was the cheese and extra butter. Extra butter really isn't all that important. All it does it make me sound like a fatass for ordering it. It's not even really butter anyway... It's "bun oil." I know. Sounds yummy! It actually is yummy, but that's beside the point.

I gave up for some time, immensely frustrated. Then, this morning I returned. I was going to be late for work anyway, because I had a doctor's appointment. Side note: My doctor agrees that I am extremely stressed out, which causes panic attacks and a weird pain in my temple that makes my eye a little blurry. I wonder what causes it? Probably the total fuckery that I deal with on a regular basis, including when I am just trying to order my damn breakfast! (Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale...) Anyhoo...

I pulled up to the drive-thru speaker, and made sure to articulate my order very clearly. One egg biscuit with cheese and extra butter. One buttered biscuit with extra butter. One large sweet tea. I held my breath.

When I got the bag, it felt like it was the right weight. My hopes rose. I opened the larger of the two wrapped biscuits, and carefully inspected it. Egg! Cheese! Greasiness! It was everything I'd hoped for. I happily hopped onto the Interstate, and proceeded to drive with a large sweet tea balanced between my knees, my iPod turned up and my eggy-cheesy-buttery goodness in my hand. It's important for me to keep current with my auto insurance, because driving like this is bound to go badly for me one day.

I munched my way through the first biscuit, and pulled out my buttered biscuit with extra butter. I saw a sticker on top of the foil that said "NO BUTTER." I thought to myself that maybe they ran out of the "EXTRA BUTTER" stickers, and they were just trying to mark this one as different. I opened the foil, and there it was. No freaking butter. Not even cut in half. They just wrapped up a biscuit chunk and threw it in my bag. They probably flipped me the middle finger as I drove off. I picked at my boring little biscuit for a little while as I sulked, but it wasn't nearly as good as it could have and should have been.

I was robbed, once again. It cannot be an accident at this point. Well, I refuse to be a pawn in their sick little game. Laugh now, Chick-fil-A crew. Laugh it up!! You won't have me to kick around anymore, because I QUIT!!! I'll just go back to my usual breakfast of ADD medication and Coca-Cola, and I won't even miss you. Well, maybe just a little.

Sigh. Who am I kidding? I already miss those little spelling-challenged cows from their advertisements! Wait... I think I just figured out who taught the guy making my food how to read! Stupid cows.

Fort Awesome's Guide to Elevator Etiquette

It just so happens that whenever I go to work, I have to ride in two separate elevators. One of these is in the parking garage, and then the other is in my actual office building. I hate elevators. I mean, really hate them. What I hate even more than elevators are the stupid, random things that people do in elevators and while waiting for them. Not a day goes by that I don't want to go completely berserker on some idiot who can't handle the simple task of riding in an elevator. I have decided that what the world needs is a handy dandy guide to elevator etiquette, and that it is my job to provide that guide. So here it is:

ELEVATOR ETIQUETTE:

1. When you walk up to the elevator, and the call button is already lit, you don't have to press it again! Do NOT do it! It won't make the elevator get there any faster, and all it does is piss off whoever actually pushed it the first time. Like you think I couldn't handle the mega-impossible task of pushing a freaking button, and had to step in and show me how it's done. Idiot.

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2. It might seem like I am repeating #1, but I'm actually not. This point is just really similar to #1, and just as important. Once inside the elevator, do not push any floor buttons that are already lit. Again, it will not make the elevator get the desired floor any faster, nor will it make the doors close. There is a separate button for that and again, pushing it more than once will not make the doors close at light speed.

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3. If there are 6 floor buttons, and riders in the elevator are going to 5 of those floors, you should not push the 6th button, just to be funny and to make them all light up. I am talking to YOU, old lady who has done this now THRICE in the parking garage. The next time that you do this, I will fight you. I mean, really FIGHT you!

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4. When you walk up to the elevator, and there are a number of people already waiting for the elevator, it is incredibly rude to push your way to the front of the pack. If you don't fit on, you are just going to have to wait for the next one. Or take the stairs. Especially if you are going to try and box me out of the elevator when I am parked on the roof, and your lazy ass parked on the second floor.

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5. If you are talking on your cell phone and there is only one other person on the elevator with you, it's okay to keep talking as long as you whisper and try to be as unobtrusive as possible. If there is more than one other person on the elevator, hang up immediately. Nobody wants to hear your business, especially me.

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6. If you are not on a cell phone, and you are simply talking to the person next to you, that's okay. But you should use an appropriate "inside voice," and you should refrain from any potentially offensive topic. For example, do not talk about your trip to the "lady doctor," do not talk about your dog's diarrhea, and do not talk about how last night you had to kick your boyfriend's door down because some "hoochie mama" was in there and you had to beat her ass. All of those are actual conversations that I have unfortunately overheard in elevators in the parking garage. None of them are actual conversations that should have taken place in elevators, or anywhere in public for that matter. I don't need to hear that.

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7. If you will be riding all the way to the top floor, it would be a smart idea to get in an try to move to the back of the elevator. It makes no sense to be a "door hog" and force everyone else to crowd past you at every stop. You might be a control freak once you get to your office, but you don't need to be a control freak on the way to your office.

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8. Personal space is something that should be respected as much as possible, even in the close quarters of an elevator. This means that you should force yourself against the walls as much as possible, even if it makes you uncomfortable. Trust me, I am standing as still and straight as possible, trying to make myself into a small little package that doesn't touch the people around me. Do the same, and do not jostle me any more than is absolutely necessary.

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9. If you know that you must ride on an elevator as part of your daily routine, try to keep the aftershave and perfume to an absolute minimum. Not only is your taste in scents questionable at best (Hello... Malibu Musk? Do they still make that, or do you just have a stockpile from 1993?) but there is nothing worse than having to ride in an elevator crammed against a person who smells like someone I might have made out with in high school. Some memories should stay repressed, and I will thank you for helping me keep them that way.

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10. Wait for people to get off of the elevator before you get on. It doesn't make any sense to rush in there and force everyone to have to push past you. If you do this, you are both ignorant and douche-y. And probably a virgin.

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And, I know that most people like to make lists that consist of 10 items, but here's a bonus:

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11. Pretty simple, but hugely important. DO. NOT. FART. Even if you are making some kind of horribly embarrassing face that makes it obvious how hard you are working to hold it in, I will not judge you. I will judge you, and possibly run over you with my car, if you get out before I do, leaving me in there with your stench. It burns my eyes a little, and also it will make people think I did it, when they get in and I am just standing there looking uncomfortable.

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If you follow my simple guidelines, not only will you be happier, but more people will like you. You might get that promotion that you want, and you will have great hair and look thinner. At the very least, I won't end up on the news because you pushed me over the edge on which I am already precariously balanced because of your previous elevator idiocy.

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Thank you, and happy riding. In the elevator, I mean.

Superman v. Jesus

I know someone who is taking a class that (for some reason) has something to do with film and religion. The teacher is a big movie buff, and the entire syllabus revolves around watching various movies and such. Anyway, the other day the teacher decided to explain his belief that Superman and Jesus can actually be considered parallel characters.

The teacher gave three main reasons for this comparison, which are all interesting. Unfortunately, the teacher was wrong, as follows:

1) Proposal: Superman and Jesus were both sent down to earth by their fathers to help mankind and do good where needed.

WHY TEACHER IS WRONG: According to the New Testament, Jesus was sent by his father (God) to help mankind by showing them "The Way." According to everything totally awesome, Kal-El (Superman, to those who don't know any better) was placed in a spaceship as an infant by his father (Jor-El) and rocketed off to earth mere moments before his home planet, Krypton, imploded and made a giant mess all over the place. Kal-El became Superman after the kindly farm folk who raised him taught him to be a good person and use his powers to help people.

2) Proposal: Superman and Jesus were both half human and half other-worldly.

WHY TEACHER IS WRONG: Jesus was allegedly God walking as a man. How that worked out biologically was anybody's guess. Did God just plant a holy embryo in Mary, fully formed and ready to incubate? Or did Jesus actually possess half of his mother's genetic material and half of that belonging to the Spirit in the Sky? There is no possible way to know that answer. However, I can say with 100% certainty that Superman was not half human. He was totally Kryptonian, and just happened to conveniently be able to blend in with humans and work at a newspaper.

3) Proposal: Jesus and Superman both possessed "alien" powers.

WHY TEACHER IS WRONG: Jesus' powers were the result of his divine parentage. Some of Jesus' abilities have been compared to those that yogis in India have exhibited, the power of the yogis being the result of years of meditation and such. So whether Jesus' overall awesomeness was the result of God being his daddy, or his just being a more enlightened human than me is up for debate (and one that I am not interested in getting into here). What I can say that the teacher got right is that Superman's powers are actually "alien," in that he was literally from another planet. Superman also gained strength from the earth's yellow sun, while some have theorized that Jesus is actually based on stories of Horus, the "sun god." Interesting? No, not really.

The teacher of this class was waaaaay off base in knowing his Superman, if nothing else. He had a good point though, as there are a couple of things that Jesus and Clark Kent have in common:

1) Neither Jesus nor Clark Kent were very into bragging about their awesomeness. Both tried to stay under the radar. Clark Kent was obviously trying to protect his secret identity and continue to live a normal life amongst the people of Metropolis. Jesus was just too cool to be flashy about it.

2) Both received messages from their fathers. Jesus--in the way of parting clouds and booming voices and whatnot, Superman-- in the form of recorded messages that his parents sent with him before they died in the horrible implosion of their homeworld.

3) Jesus' girlfriend/wife/BFF, Mary Magdalene, was unfairly labeled a whore by the church for no apparent reason whatsoever. Superman's girlfriend, Lois Lane, was once portrayed by Teri Hatcher, who I will now unfairly call a whore for no apparent reason whatsoever. Also, Mary Magdalene and Lois Lane both have alliterative names. Coincidence? I think not.

4) Both had physical weaknesses. Superman's weakness was Kryptonite, while Jesus' weakness was eating any non-Kosher foods, such as pork or shellfish.

5) Jesus and Superman both had secret identities. While Superman masqueraded as mild-mannered report Clark Kent, Jesus spent his days moonlighting as a carpenter.

6) Both wore distinctive footwear. Superman had the red boots, and Jesus had the Jesus sandals. Except that Jesus didn't call them Jesus sandals, he just called them "my shoes."

There are probably more similarites, but I won't list them all here. Instead, look for them in my forthcoming book, Jesus and the Rest of the Superfriends.

Peace out, biznitches.

Raccoons in the attic, and other things you can shoot at indoors

This morning, a friend of mine was late for work because someone tried to break into her home at 4 am. Her husband was in another city at the time, and she reacted to the sound of the broken window by grabbing a gun out of her nightstand, and firing a warning shot... Straight into her bedroom ceiling. Her tactic obviously worked, as the intruder ran away without actually entering her house.


I was glad to hear that she was okay, and I was a little bit disappointed that she didn't get to bust a cap into some bad guy ass, because I know that would have made her really happy. Listening to her story, I was reminded of a different story that I heard a couple of years ago from a pair of friends from law school.


My friends, whom I'll call "Bill" and "Bob" discovered that they also had an intruder in their home. However, they were not alerted by the sound of breaking glass, but by the sound of scratching in the attic. For a couple of weeks, they thought that a rat had taken up residence above their living room. They decided to go up in the attic one night, and stake out the area to see just what they were dealing with. It turned out to not be a rat, but to be a raccoon.

Bill and Bob decided to eradicate the raccoon by using stealth and intelligence. They failed.

At first, they attempted to trap the raccoon, but it wasn't interested in any of their bait. Raccoon-1, Bill and Bob-0.

Then, they decided to use their skills as hunters to kill the mighty beast. Bill dressed all in black, Rambo-style, and took a hunting knife into the attic. He sat there and waited until he saw the raccoon, and then he raised his knife to end its life... Except that he totally pussed out and couldn't do it. Bob was upset to learn that Bill had not "stabbed it in its face," but Bill responded that could not, because it wouldn't stop looking at him. Raccoon-2, Bill and Bob-0.

I could tell that things were really starting to go downhill when Bill and Bob decided to shoot the raccoon through the ceiling of their living room. Although they did succeed in pissing off their landlord, they did not kill the Super Raccoon of Terror. Raccoon-3, Bill and Bob-0.

Finally, Bill and Bob got slightly drunk and decided to take the firepower outside. They attempted to kill the raccoon by shooting through the facia of the house. The bullet ricocheted off of their roof, and one of their neighbors called the police. Bill and Bob soon gave up on their attempts to remove the raccoon. Raccoon-4, Bill and Bob-0.

Interestingly, once they decided to leave the raccoon alone, it just left of its own accord. I guess it just got tired of their shenanigans. Or it decided that it had proven its point, and it was time to move on. Either way, the final tally was Raccoon-5 (extra point for getting bored and leaving), Bill and Bob-0. The raccoon definitely proved itself a worthy opponent, while Bill and Bob proved that people who are lawyers used to be law students who do astoundingly stupid things.

All in all, the point of these stories is twofold:

1) I know at least three people who have fired guns into ceilings, and

2) Any story that involves shooting guns inside will definitely become the kind of legendary anecdote that will live on for generations.

Lame Attempt at a First Post

So here is exactly what the title says... My lame attempt at a first post.

All I can really think of today is how bitter Stephen King sounds in a recent interview wherein he slammed Stephenie Meyer for being a terrible writer. That's not really all that I can think of, it's really just the most recent thing I've heard of... Pretty lazy on my part, actually. Anyway, I can't help but agree with him that Ms. Meyer's writing could be better, but I still think she tells a good story.

Stephen King is probably just upset that a new, inexperienced writer has been dominating the top of the Bestseller lists. Or he's just angry that someone took his first name, added "ie" to the end, and made it a chick name. All I know is that Stephen King has written around 40 books (so sayeth Wikipedia), and has sold between 300 and 350 million copies worldwide. His first book, "Carrie," (published in 1973) sold 13,000 copies in hardback, but 1 million copies its first year in paperback. Stephenie Meyer, on the other hand, has written only 5 books. Her first four books (the "Twilight" series) have sold over 40 million copies already. Her first novel, "Twilight," has only been released since 2005.

While Meyer may not have sold as many books as King, it certainly doesn't seem like she's hurting. In around 35 years, Steven King has sold an average of 10 million books a year (if you use the 350 million copy figure). In 3 years, Stephenie Meyer has sold an average of 13.3 million books a year. Advantage-- Stephenie Meyer.

That concludes everything that I felt like mentioning today. I know... pretty lame and ridiculous. Also ridiculous- Stephen King's hair for the past 30 years. (In my opinion, anyway. Which is awesome.)