Jan 26 2013

I just woke up from a dream

I was at the ball field in Corder, the tiny town I lived in in my late teens. It must have been work related, because B was there. I was driving a Camero, which is ridiculous, as I have never owned anything sporty or wasteful nor desired to, not since I was like 9 or 1o anyway (but that’s a different story). So B and I go to a little food stand and I order a big slice of pizza and some chips. As we’re walking back to my car, B’s like, “Way to not order what you don’t want to eat, man.” He’s being Mr. Older Fatherly Educator, and I’m being Mr. Young And Irresponsible. He’s criticizing me for my lack of choosing to order vegetables–as apparently there was broccoli available.

I’m kind of offended and convicted by this, as I have heard that B likes to imbibe certain beverages–a lot. So continuing to be irresponsible and sounding kind of like I’m 19 instead of almost 41, I’m like, “If I want to die early, so what?” And B continues to be cool and mature, and he’s like, “Whoa, whatever man.” Since he doesn’t bite back, I’m all, “I’m sorry, man. I mean, how many times have I made jokes about your liver?” (The correct answer is that I frequently make jokes that involve the intersection of B and cirrhosis of the liver).

So we–me, B,pizza, and Camaro–pull up the fence at the ball field fence (apparently I was so lazy I drove 15 feet south from the ball field fence to the fairground to get the pizza). We get out and sit with a bunch of other people from work. We are just kind of chewing the fat,and I am still feeling guilty about not ordering vegetables, so I start explaining to B, and everyone else, that when I eat stir fry I eat loads of vegetables, but just not all the time. Everyone is bored by this (understandably). I end up working on my Camero, and someone comments on the giant jug of water in the floor of my car, which is for the radiator. I can hear my wife in the distance talking to someone higher up the chain of command above me.

“Great, my wife’s talking to so-and-so,” I say. Then one of the other guys from work is like, “I just set so-and-so up with a new app for the iPhone that does…” and he tells me what it does. “Why’d you do that?” I ask. At the time it seemed dumb for them to do. So before my wife comes over, I leave (I have no idea why) and walk home. By home, I mean the home I lived in when I was a late teen, as I mentioned. The house is just a block down the street.

As I am walking down the street, I see a billboard that towers above everything else in town. On it it lists several bullet points with reasons for owning and playing Nintendo. Apparently I had rented this billboard as kind of a passive aggressive way to express to Heather my justification for my video game habit. As I’m walking past it, I think, I should rent that billboard for Valentine’s Day and put something like, “It’s easy to treat you like a queen when you are a princess,” on it, as a giant card for Heather. Even in my dream it sounded cheezy. But then I was, “that will cost so much money,” and then I was, “but you spent that much money to justify your gaming habit.” Finally I just decided not to think about it.

So I walk up to the house, put the key in the lock, turn the key, and enter the enclosed back porch. It is completely dark. I can feel a cool, dry hand, just resting lightly on the back of my neck. I check all of my hands–left hand, hanging in usual spot at side. Right hand–still holding key. Cool dry hand on back of neck–nope, not mine. I turn my head slowly, terror creeping up my spine, and in the dark I can see the face belonging to the hand just inches from mine–a skull with human eyes looking straight at me, saying nothing.

Completely terrified, I edge my way outside so that I can scream for help. I inhale as deep as I can, and just as I go to scream, I wake up. But instead of waking up screaming, I just let out this, stupid seal noise, like “Arp!”

And so children, let that be a lesson to you. If you come home and just waste time playing video games your creativity will find a way out.

No–wait–I came home and did like three hours of graphic design.

Stupid brain.

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Jul 13 2012

It’s Friday!

My friend B has a love / hate relationship with Friday. I won’t get into the origin story, but ever since he has worked with us he hates being reminded that it is Friday. And so every single Friday we try to make it a point to tell him that it is, indeed, Friday. Each week we try to top our previous efforts, finding increasingly creative ways to annoy him.

A couple of weeks ago I kind of let him down, and just had to simply tell him I didn’t have the effort to ‘do Friday.’

But today was different. I had been planning this since last week.

  • ME: Hey, B, I’m having a brain cramp; what was the name of that guy on the island with Robinson Crusoe?
  • B: Man, I don’t know. It was some weird name. Wasn’t he an Indian or something?
  • ME: Yeah, some kind of native. You’d think that he’d have a name like ‘Chickamauga’ or something.
  • B: Wasn’t he named after an object or something?
  • ME: It was something weird–wait–his name was Friday!
  • B (thinking that I had simply solved my trivia question): That was it! You got me.
  • ME: I did get you–IT’S FRIDAY!
  • B: I hate you, Dan, but only because you are wittier and cleverer than me.

He might not have actually those actual words on that last line, but I’m pretty sure that’s what he meant.

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Mar 13 2011

The General

My friend B shot this pic somewhere in the KC area:

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Feb 2 2011

Overheard: 32 yr old male

“You’d make a crappy ninja, Mike.”

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Feb 22 2010

I’m back

I tried to give B some space to finish posting what happened the rest of his trip, but I guess he didn’t feel like it. He made it back to work OK, but he didn’t wanna talk about it. He looks like he’s aged 10 years. On the flip side, he should be able to get into R-rated movies now without getting carded.

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Feb 15 2010

I survived a shark attack

They stopped near a little island somewhere in the Caribbean so we could go ashore and wander around (I guess they had already scoped the island to make sure there weren’t any cannibals or something). Me and the guys are just kind of hanging out there in the shallows taking in the scenery when I feel something scrape past my leg–IT WAS A TIGER SHARK!

You ever see those lizards that run on top of the water? Yeah, I totally did that. I made it all the way to the beach.

Now everybody calls me ‘chum.’

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Feb 14 2010

Paging B’s mom

I swear, this better be the last thing that goes on this cruise or I’m gonna do something felonious.

First, a story: one time when I was three I got separated from my mom in the store. I was cool, so I just walked up to the chick in the toy section and started talking about my Hot Wheels and how I was gonna be a cowboy when I grew up. I thought we were getting along pretty well and I was just about to share some of my crackers that I had stuffed in my overalls pocket when she goes, “What’s your name?”

“Hey,” I said, “I’m B.”

I’m just about to ask her name when I hear:


I look around, and then look back and it was–well, whatever her name was–making the overhead announcement. I never found out her name, because she sold me out and I was done talking to her. I just glared at her for the next minute until my mom showed up and gave me the usual lecture about wandering off and stuff.

So anyway I’m on the ship up on the recreation deck near the pool, chatting up some gorgeous babes when the  Recreation Director comes up, and he’s all like, “Excuse me, young man, but this deck is for adults only.” He’s pretty nice about it, as nice as a guy can be when he’s interrupting me trying to get to know some ladies. Jerk.

The ladies think this is rather funny. But I’m cool about it. I’m like, “Hey, man, I happen to be a paying passenger on this cruise, so like, lighten up.”

It was an honest mistake, as I do have rather youthful good looks.

So then he’s like, “May I see your ticket please?”

So I roll my eyes and reach into my back pocket and pull out my hand–because I apparently left my wallet in my room. So I tell him, “Hey, it looks like I left my wallet in my room.” I’m just about to give him my room number and stuff when he goes, “What’s your name?”

“Hey, I’m B,” and then he reaches for his pocket CB or whatever those breaker-breaker things are called.


The girls  think this is quite funny. After about a minute and a half my buddies show up. They’re doubled over, I figured because they got tore up, but no: they, along with the babes, are laughing at my misfortune. At least they convince Recreation Director First Class With Honors that I am, in fact, a legal adult old enough to run for the House of Representatives.

He felt real bad about it, and had the galley send me up a big bunch of shrimp and stuff, but it still didn’t bring the babes back.

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Feb 12 2010

I’m on a boat

This ship is great. If you’ve never been on a cruise ship, lemme ‘splain:

It’s big, man. I mean, it’s huuuuuuuge. Let’s just say its….must…resist…yo…mama…joke.

Anyway, it’s rather large. Everything is super clean, the fresh salt air is amazing, and it rides so smooth you pretty much can’t possibly get seasick.

The weather is pretty cool (for the Caribbean), the whole eastern seaboard having been hit with the snonami. It’s kind of cool, though, because a bunch of manatees are staying close to the ship trying to stay warm.

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Feb 12 2010

So glad to see a cab

The rest of the flight (after the initial weirdness) was uneventful. I got moved back to coach with my buddies and proceeded to overindulge in a little refreshment (can I say that on here, Mr. Poynter?). Anyway, by the time the plane hit the ground I had to be carried so I didn’t hit the ground.

The last thing I remember before I got in the cab to go to the cruise ship was seeing Princess Butterface all the way on the other side of the terminal. I saluted her with the loudest Bronx cheer evah and got in the car.

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Feb 11 2010

Who knew?

Apparently kissing an Air Marshal’s daughter is a chargeable offense. My trial date is April 15.

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