Archive

Archive for February, 2012

Celebrating Our Similarities!

February 27, 2012 1 comment

As a middle-class white male of average height and build aged 21 to 49, I spend a great deal of time appreciating diversity. While I may be a part of the main demographic that advertisers, business owners, car dealerships, WWE, talk radio, apothecaries, and Men’s Warehouse are vying for, I do respect the differences we all share.

For instance, you might be uglier than me, but I celebrate this fact! Or, you may be fatter then me… good for you! You might even have way more back hair than me; I’ll bet you brave the harsh Alaskan winter better than I do! I salute you, different person!

Today, however, I want to celebrate similarities. My wife and I were watching my nephew this evening, and I realized that babies are not so different from cats. In fact, they bear so many resemblances to one another that I dare suppose babies are nothing more than hairless cats who don’t know how to use a litter box (until you teach them)!

I would challenge any one of you to show me how babies are NOT like cats! Let the comparison begin!

WAYS CHILDREN ARE LIKE CATS, VOLUME I

1. Sleeps during waking hours, and bugs you to death while you’re trying to sleep
2. Will eat cat food
3. Instinctually does not like to wear a hat, socks, glasses, or a jockstrap
4. Convinced you are its personal attendant
5. Loves goldfish (a delicious pun!)
6. Climbs trees when chased by a dog
7. Will meow when you put it in a cage
8. Can be left at home alone up to 24 hours with a bowl of food and water
9. When cars drive by, will run into a storm drain
10. When left in a room with a box, will poop in it

I need to take a moment to assure my sister-in-law that I did not attempt all of these on her son. They came back at #7.

Non-Traditional Enemies

February 12, 2012 2 comments

When I was a fresh-faced college kid, the world was surely my oyster (it smelled like seafood and had a small, meaty center). I was new in town, and had no enemies or natural predators. That is, until I started classes. I could hear the sound of my dismay in the distance.

“Clicka-clicka-clicka-clicka-clicka-clicka-clicka” the sound would go, and it grew louder as it came nearer. Students familiar with the sound emptied the hallways, scuttling into classrooms at an alarming rate. I stood speechless it turned the corner, leaving in its wake a trail of Scantrons and complaints.

The Non-Traditional Student

Anyone who has had any college classes knows exactly what I’m talking about. If you have recently attended classes, you probably guessed it already. The “clicka-clicka” sound, of course, refers to a backpack on wheels. Your average non-traditional student always looks like she is on the way to the airport.

Characteristics of the Non-Traditional Student:
1) Backpack on Wheels
2) Water Bottle the Size of an Above-Ground Pool in Hand
3) More Life Experience Than Everyone Else, Paired With the Inability to Keep It to Oneself

God love non-traditional students. They wheel around every book from everyclass every day, no matter what classes they have. By definition, a backpack should not have wheels. A backpack on wheels is LUGGAGE.

Webster defines “non-traditional student” as: n. One who goes back to college after many years in order to earn a degree, wheel around a backpack, and ask a bunch of stupid questions. Not Webster the dictionary guy; Webster Baxter, my alter-alter-ego.

With any luck, you will not be seated near a non-traditional student (NTS). The seat most likely to be occupied by an NTS is in the front row, very middle. These are known as the “obnoxious question seats”. Teachers tend to avoid standing directly in front of these seats, sometimes opting to lecture from an adjoining room.

99.5 times out of 78, an NTS is recently divorced and eager to share the experience in all its gory details. After hearing time and time again how piggish these ex-husbands are, I have decided to become a feminist lesbian libertarian. Also, I disagree with Miley Cyrus’ outfit choices, but I choose to let my teenage daughter listen to her anyway.

The NTS always seems to graduate with a ridiculous GPA of 6.5 or greater. Though not mathematically possible, many teachers will give a grade of “A++++” to avoid ever seeing an NTS again.

By the end of my freshman year, I could hear “clicka-clicka” from 500 feet and duck into a supply closet in plenty of time. I learned how to pick up the scent of hand sanitizer from across the library and blend in with a shelf of Young Adult Fiction with ease.

An NTS has a distinction from the rest of society: despite always having 10 quart-size Ziploc bags of granola and dried fruit, she weighs 350 pounds. The NTS’s body is designed to store up extra fat so that, when the time has come to ask insufferable questions and argue with the teacher, she will be able to do so without sleeping or considering anyone else’s college experience.

The Awkward Moment

February 6, 2012 2 comments

My most recent experience with an office restroom today evoked many emotions: joy, fear, pensive delight. . .

The worst part of public restrooms has got to be the mystery flush. So here I am, walking into the bathroom. As I push the hinged door, I hear a toilet flush. I look directly at the back of the head of someone washing his hands. So many thoughts rush through my mind:

“Does he have a hairy back?”

“Is he looking at me in the mirror? Please, God, don’t let him look me in the eye through the mirror. I don’t know you, and you don’t know me, Dean.”

“Which toilet did he use? Is he standing tall, as is the stature of a man who had exercised dominance over a urinal? No, that sounds like a stall. Which stall was it? Man, it stinks in here. Did he use the roomier handicap stall, or the cozier able-bodied stall? Let’s see, he’s wearing a suit and tie, so he probably likes the executive feel of the handicap throne. On the other hand, he’s probably a manager, and can appreciate efficiency, leading him to the small one. I should NOT have stopped at McDonald’s last night. Door Number One or Door Number Two? Haha, I just said ‘Number Two’. Gee-whiz, grow up, self. Oh, now I said ‘whiz’. Where was I? Yes, the stalls. Big one, small one? Left hand, right hand, please god don’t let the seat be warm. Oh (King James Capital) LORD, it feels like the Bahamas on my cheeky nethers.”

Has anyone else gone through this?