Mary's meat sauce...and other things I wasn't interested in.

When I first moved into my townhouse I was 19 years old and my neighbor next door was a middle-aged woman who was single and looking for a nice young man....much younger. I apparently fit the role well. But it wasn't a mutual interest. You see, I'm too nice sometimes and one day I offered to help her with something. After that, me and my roommate became her "handymen". We hung curtain rods, changed light bulbs, carried in groceries, moved furniture, fixed her computer, etc. Once we had done our chores, she "rewarded" us with a special gift - frozen, homemade spaghetti sauce in ziploc bags. I sort of felt like Adam Sandler in The Wedding Singer. We were always a little worried about the contents, so we never actually indulged in our parting gifts. Yeah, they went straight to the trash. Anyway, we continued to help her with various things until she started making comments in her grogly smoker voice, "If I was 30 years younger..." although we never got to hear how that phrase ended because Mary would begin to laugh, and then start a hacking-cough from years of smoking. On the days she wasn't feeling as forward, she'd tell us about her drinking problem and start crying - then (of course) "Come give me a big hug" and she would embrace us like a Katrina victim being air-lifted from their rooftop by a rescue party. Finally, she found a nice live-in-boyfriend (Rafael) at AA and she didn't need our assistance anymore. One Saturday morning, they came over and told us how much they appreciated us as neighbors and asked us if we wanted to have a BBQ that afternoon on the community lawn. It seemed a little strange, but we accepted. He was going to bring the beer (they both left AA after meeting eachother) and we were going to provide the burgers. Anyway, a few hours later, we saw them driving away with a truckload of stuff. We figured they'd be back in time for the BBQ in a few hours, but we never saw them again.

I should have said something...before I started screaming

Like everyone, I have my....quarks. Perhaps one of the more disturbing would be the fact that occassionally I'll wake up screaming at night. I usually try to warn new roommates or coworkers if we're traveling together, but sometimes I just forget. I've been told that I "scream like a 4th grade girl at recess". Seems natural. I've scarred more than one person with these sudden bursts of terror. Usually, my dreams aren't really that scarry. You see, the way I describe it is this: some people have dreams that make them twitch a little, perhaps snort really loud, or even wake up breathing a little faster - I just sit up screaming. Simple. I often wake myself up as well, and then laugh it off and go back to sleep. However, it seems to keep my roommates up for a while longer. One roommate actually thought he heard a mountain lion outside, but no, it was me. I've had hotel security called on me once - I'm sure the folks next door thought someone was being murdered. Did I mention I talk too? Yes, I do. Crazy things about random things, but it all makes sense in my head. Once, I was camping with some friends and had gone to bed early. When my buddy came into the tent late that night, after zipping it up, he turned around only to be nose-to-nose with me. According to him, my eyes were open and I said, "Hey man, did you find your shoe?". Then, I just flopped back down onto my sleeping bag. I guess it was a little strange. I don't know - I don't remember it. Anyway, let this be your fair warning: if you're ever my roommate, neighbor, or in the same hotel as me, just make sure you hear me laughing after the scream and you'll know I'm alrgiht. And please - don't call security. That's embarrassing. All that said, feel free to analyze your own dreams.

The Art of Bachelorhood

Here's just a glimps of my life as a bachelor. Someone pointed out to me the other day that it seems the only people who really read and comment on my blog are women...hmmmm. Anyways, I knew this picture would be appauling to most of you so I posted it. You see, as a bachelor there are some things I just don't care about. The beauty of being single and living alone is that it doesn't really matter what I do (or don't do, like take out the trash). This picture actually provides lots of information about me: I like Gatorade, I buy generic breakfast cereal (for dinner), Hotpockets (also for dinner), small cartons of milk (which usually spoil before I use them), and I recently received a UPS package (I don't remember what it was). Any bachelor will tell you that the art of "trash configuration" is an important one. I owe much of it to my years of playing Tetris. One crucial key to this art: notice the sturdy papers coming out of the right side of the trash can - these provide the support needed to hold extra items OUTSIDE of the trash can, literally buying me days that I can stall taking the trash out. Now, let's sing to the tune of the Hokey-Pokey, "You put the sturdy paper in ... and you let the sides hang out ... you put the bottles on top ... so you don't have to take it out...." There you go - that's me (sorry mom).

Aaahhh, the joy of travel

Remember me? We were probably friends at one point before I started traveling for a living. My job is taking me across the country for the past 4 years, but now the travel has increased even more. I keep telling my girlfriend that it's like 'Summer Camp'. One week at a time that we're away and it'll go so quick she'll barely notice that I'm gone. Yeah, that was a nice idea but not so much.
So if you don't know me, welcome into my head. I needed something to keep me sane while I travel, so i thought blogging was a nice option. Let me introduce myself: I'm strange, sometimes funny, and somewhat bitter about random things. That's all you need to know - I don't want anyone stalking me. Speaking of stalking, I used to work at Focus on the Family. I was a tour guide so i had lots of interaction with the public. The security staff there recommended that I didn't put my last name on my ID Badge for fear of guests stalking me (believe it or not, it had happened in the past with other tour guides). Despite their advice, I included my last name and figured, "Aaah, I'm a college student. A little excitement of a stalker might be fun." No one ever stalked me (i know, you thought that was going to be a really good story. nope.) I loved being in college - I didn't have anything. everyone was so worried about Y2K when I was in college. People were warning me to prepare and stock up for "the end of the world". I never did, because I figured even if I loose everything I have....I'm out $300 bucks.
Currently, I'm in a hotel room in Grand Rapids, MI. DO YOU KNOW WHAT'S IN GR, MI?!?! nothing, except a customer I needed to see. Earlier this week I was in Chicago (city and suburbs) and I finally get to spend a few days at home starting tomorrow. I hit some great food spots in Chicago, including a pizza and grinders restuarant downtown on Clark. It was amazing food. Also, I never miss going to Portillo's for hot dogs when I'm there. Good choice.
But traveling certainly creates lots of great stories to tell. For instance, last time I flew to Chicago, I was suddenly awaken on the plane by a loud, gushy, belching sound. At first I didn't know what it was, until I looked down and saw the vomit on my clothes from the passenger behind me. He apologized (wasn't that nice!) but "sorry" doesn't make the vomit go away. understand that I have just about the weakest stomach ever. I can't handle blood, vomit, boogers, or other secretions from the human body. I could never make it in a hospital, and I sometimes question if I could ever handle having kids. All that said, I would have lost my breakfast that morning on the plane, but United Airlines sidesteped that landmine by no longer serving meals on flights. No, just small bags of "Plane Cheezies" (a terrible imitation of Cheezit crackers shapped like airplanes - seriously, what am I, 5 years old? what a joke). So, the flight attendant (or whatever the PC term is now) brought me some wetwipes to clean off my khaki pants so I could attend my morning meeting that I was flying in for. What a day.
This trip, there are many stories - some which are a little vulgar and being that my mother could read this I won't share. One consistent problem of traveling is often I'll travel with roommates/coworkers. I try to remember to warn them that I talk in my sleep and occasionally scream like a 4th grade girl at recess. Now, understand that I'm not really a cussing-type-guy. But the other night I woke my roommate up with one simple word, yelled at the top of my lungs - $#!+!!!! Even though he was shaking and his heartrate trippled, deep down i think he thought it was funny.
Well, stick with me on my adventures on the road - we'll talk soon.