Context

For anybody who has ever said or heard the phrase "That's taken out of context," I'd like to present to you, perhaps the greatest out of context line I have ever heard. It was said by my wife in an airport gift shop, and if anybody around us had overheard it, there might have been a riot.

In case any reader isn't familiar with the concept of a quote taken out of context, I'll happily provide two other recent examples that I've encountered. The first comes from my sister, who, during an argument with her husband exclaimed the following:

"You can't just beat off every boy in school."

What my sister was trying to say is almost irrelevant, but for the sake of posterity, she was discussing how to handle bullying in school.

My other top example comes from my place of former employment where a fellow coworker of mine, who will remain nameless, had a terrible habit of saying things in just the wrong way, and of course, having no idea. Her crowning achievement came in front of the entire office during a conference room staff-lunch, although sadly, most of the people at the table missed this little gem:

"I can't do these big groups anymore. My throat is killing me."

What could she possibly have been talking about? Good question, because I know it's hard to imagine anything other than some fantastical bukake or gang bang scenario, but sadly it's not to be. She ran tours of our ballpark (I used to work in minor league baseball) and often had to talk to groups of 50 or more kids, which of course required her to shout and thusly, made her throat sore. But it's much more fun without the context, right? Of course it is.

So here it is, the grandaddy of them all. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the single greatest out of context statement in the history of women speaking to men - which is decidedly shorter than the history of men speaking to women - go figure. Maybe it's because we find things like this funny, and they don't. Anyway here it is:

"I don't care. I just need to suck on something. It feels good."

I almost think it's cheating to explain what it was that made my wife say such a thing, but rest assured, dear reader, that a penis joke was coming out of my mouth faster than the speed of sound itself. So rather than just tell you, we'll play a little game of multiple choice. It was one of the following two reasons:
A. She loves to give me head.
B. She had a really bad sore throat, and it was her justification for purchasing two pounds of Jolly Ranchers.
Little hint - it wasn't A.

Adult On-Set Adulthood

What does it mean to be an adult? As my previous blog indicated, I recently turned 28. Chronologically (not to sound like Scott Boras), that makes me an adult. However, until recently I have not been feeling like one. I still do a lot of childish things including play nerf games, play video games, watch animated movies and masturbate with a finger in my ass to intense sexual fantasies about my mother.

However, with Christmas having and come and gone, I think I've discovered a sure-fire definition of adulthood, and that is when you start to look forward to giving gifts more than you do receiving them. I can remember as a young boy opening gifts on Christmas morning with such great excitement, enthusiasm and anticipation that I could barely contain myself. Now, when my parents hand me a brightly wrapped gift, I am sadly filled with a forboding sense of dread. The exception being when my parents ask me for ideas and I give them a specific suggestion as to what I would like for Christmas - say for example a blue North Face sweater. In these instances I am not filled with dread but rather fear, because I know that what waits for me inside the box on my lap could be almost anything, but the one thing it is most definitely not is that blue North Face sweater. It is something else, but that something will be close enough that I'll know they tried and am thus prevented from being angry. Instead I'm forced to look at whatever lays in wait under the ribbon and paper and somehow pretend that the blue sweatshirt with Oliver North's face on it is exactly what I wanted and couldn't live without. I'm sure this seems like an exagerration, but my mom's obsessive need to give people lots of gifts combined with not knowing exactly what to get has recently resulted in some puzzling gifts such as dog poop bags (for both me and the wife), soccer toy for ages 3+ (again, I'm 28), 2 boxes of socks (this year alone) and of course miniature bathroom products (tiny shampoo, tiny shaving cream, etc.)

This year at Christmas the thing I was most looking forward to was giving my 3 year old nephew some old He-Man figures (yes, somehow the shirtless, furry-speedo clad superhero seems to be making a comeback with the young boys of non-homophobic parents. If you used to play with He-Man when you were a boy, as almost any man my age did, then I strongly suggest finding an episode of the old cartoon and watching it again. Afterwards, you can sit back as I did and wonder just what the fuck it was about that show that you enjoyed so much. Every fucking episode is the same thing. Skeletor attacks the Kingdom of Eternia in some way, and Prince Adam - sytlishly clad in purple tights, long sleeved white spandex shirt and pink vest - runs off afraid, then magically turns into He-Man, who basically looks the same, but sports an impressively more homo-erotic outfit consisting of the aforementioned fur speedo and knee high boots. All of Skeletors best laid plans can always be undone by one punch from the mighty He-Man - a punch that can topple buildings, but of course never actually kills anybody). Anyhow, upon giving said He-Man figures to my nephew, he loudly states that he has several of them already. All told, he already had 5 of the 11 figures I got him, despite assurances from his mother - my sister - that he had none. This of course, rather metaphorically, removed all of the wind from perverbial sail. Only moments later, my older brother rode in on his white horse, and presented my same nephew with a slew of new Power Ranger action figures (all heterosexual in nature) which were met with screams of delight and literal jumps of joy. Sadly, those same jumps mostly landed on my nephew's new He-Man figures.

I truly enjoy shopping for gifts for my wife to return. As I like to say to people who ask me, every year I give her store credit. I just wrap it up and make her go get it. We're rarely able to surprise each other - positively that is. Any year I wanted I could wrap up a Coral Snake and surprise the fucking hell out of her, but that really wouldn't count. Last year, despite spending several hundred dollars on her Christmas gifts, my wife's favorite was a $5 book made up entirely of photos of sleeping puppies. This year, my wife was actually able to surprise me with a day trip of white water rafting, the biggest surprise of which is that she's willing to go with me. Now I'm sure, a week before the trip, she'll backout faster than my "good friend" Steve three hours before a holiday party, but for now, I'm looking forward to her screams of terror on the rapids. I'd like to think that if everybody in the world got to hear terror screams from the person they love, the world would be a much better place.

The point of all this is that Christmas has changed, or to put it better Christmas has changed for me. I'm now more interested in giving gifts than I am in receiving them. I'm no longer the little kid waking up early and rushing to see what's under the tree. You couldn't get me up early if Christina Aguilera was under the tree (this is possibly an over-exagerration. I'd probably get up early and leave an awful mess for the rest of my family to find). So as I sat there on Christmas early afternoon I started to realize that I'm an adult now.
But, then my parents handed me a check and I was an excited little kid again.

Life Wasted: A Retrospective

In two days, I'll turn 28 years old. I still consider myself very young and since I'm not a figure skater, gymnast or Malaysian seamstress I feel like my life is still ahead of me. However, sometimes it's good to be a little retrospective and look back on all that I've accomplished in the my first 28 years of life.

• graduated college
• got married
• have a dog

What this blog will not be able to reflect is the 20 minutes of crying and suicide contemplation that took place as soon as I completed my "list" of accomplishments. Sure it could have been longer if I'd been willing to lower the bar a bit to include some of the following:

• made friends
• earned some money
• able to order food at a restaurant (I know it doesn't seem like a big deal, but anyone who has witnessed my wife's stuttering, gesticulating madness while trying to order a soda would swear that she has some kind of palsy - and yes, this gives me some kind of strange confidence because I can say "medium rare"without crinkling up my face, cocking my head, raising my voice 3 octaves and wildly gesturing with both of my hands)
• haven't died
• keep clean(ish)
• masturbated thousands (upon thousands) of times
• mastered breathing, food chewing, shoe tying, accurately urinating, Smirnoff Ice drinking, friend mocking, wife slapping, porn downloading, gift wrapping, eyebrow cocking, strange white hair out of my stomach growing and nail clipping (after some early issues, as discussed in a previous blog)
• still working on tie tying, shit taking, beer drinking, friend keeping, wife loving, porn hiding, gift buying, eyebrow plucking and of course career finding.

As you can see, I clearly have a lot more to work on and get done.

It's always interesting and incredibly depressing to look back on what I was like as a young boy and to remember the dreams and goals that I once had. My current goals of increasing my bench press weight and conning my wife into sex are, admittedly, something of a drop off. When I was 12, I made a list of things I thought I'd be able to do by the time I was 30. Let's take a look and see how close I've come, shall we? (that's not really a question, it's mandatory)

1. Play professional baseball - one serious back injury and a lifelong battle with pussytus (puss-eye-tus), which leaves me generally useless and borderline catatonic in high stress (non-nerf) athletic situations, have left this goal, sadly, unattainable. And it hurts.
2. Win a World Series - no need to hammer this one home.
3. Earn a million dollars - no doubt this feat was tied to the first. Sadly, it seems every bit as likely.
4. Get a dog - DING! DING! DING! Now if I can just keep her alive for 2 more years...
5. Have sex - troubling that the dog came before this on my list of things I thought I could do. Obviously, at the age of 12, puberty had taken a rather ghastly toll on my once adorable visage. Recovery would not be swift, and sadly, I was fully aware of this at 12. Thankfully, we live in a world where even the ugliest guy in the room can get laid, as long as he's willing to pay for it and won't get rough (or somehow convinces Christina Aguilera to marry him).
6. Write a screenplay - This, too I have completed. Though only recently, as I don't count my early teen work "King Cock takes on Mount Vaginias," (classic though it may be). However, I don't get full credit because I'm pretty sure that when I was 12 I was referring to a screenplay that actually makes it to the big screen.
7. Get Married - another success. Statistically. Though the laundry list of things I've done today that have annoyed my wife (woke up late, watched TV too loud, typed on the keyboard too loud, left a fork in the sink, chewed with my mouth open, didn't spray air freshener after using the bathroom, threw my dirty clothes on the floor, drank milk in a "disgusting" way, didn't want to eat dinner where she wanted to eat dinner, drugged and anally raped her, and forgot to put detergent in the dishwasher) might indicate that by 30, this accomplishment will be history.
8. Go into Space - Not sure how realistic this a goal this was. I was struggling with electricity in science class and had a small fear of heights. The fear of heights I've overcome, but electricity (like plumbing) still befuddles me. I mean seriously, where does the power and water come from?
9. Own a dozen turtles - My early lack of specificity almost gets me off the hook on this one. Though I'm sure I meant all at once and in a pond, I've owned roughly 10 different turtles in my sad little lifetime (and yes, reptile ownership is probably both a cause and a symptom of my glaring unpopularity with girls growing up).
10. Be Happy - While some would look summarily at my wasted existence to this point, and wonder how I could possibly be anything less than miserable, I do indeed consider myself a generally content person. I know it flies in the face of what is more or less 28 years of doubt, fear and failure but it's true. Do I have some regrets? Of course, we all do. But if I can successfully slip a roofie into my wife's regular 1:30am cup of hot cocoa tomorrow night, I'd say that my 29th year will be getting off to a pretty darn good start.

It looks like I'm hitting a solid .400 (with partial credit on two others). With a possibility of .700 out there (I don't think I need to remind you which 3 are least likely, but if Lance Bass can't get into space, how the hell will I? I can't sing and I'm a terrible dancer. Oh wait...) I have a lot of work to do in the next 2 years. A lot of hard work and turtle buying, and of course turtle hiding, because coming home with a dozen turtles might hurt my average as much as help it (i.e. the continuation of numbers 5 and 7).

My OCD

Recently I have discovered or just confirmed that I may be developing a little something called obsessive compulsive disorder. Certainly anybody who has seen me during the final days leading up to a fantasy baseball draft can vouch for this.

I don't mean to insinuate that I am otherwise mentally sound. I'm quite sure I have many other playful psychological disorders, but right now OCD really seems to be charging to the forefront. Do I need help? Probably.

Recent evidence of my OCD:

1. I took 2 hours to put christmas lights on our tree - it's 3 feet tall. I used 3 strings of lights. I said the phrase "not on that fucking branch" at least 15 times. I was also alone.

2. It takes me 30 minutes to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwhich and almost 45 to make a chicken sandwich. Everything has to be perfect, including the depth of the peanut butter (slightly deeper than the jelly, which must be grape) and the layers of chicken must be even throughout.

3. Every picture frame in our apartment must be straight. I've even been known to go around my friends' houses and correct improperly hung frames. In particular a friend of mine from high school, who I am quite sure tips all of the paintings in her parents' house before I get there just to watch me frantically run from room to room adjusting them.

4. I've caught myself counting the number of times I clap, the number of steps in a staircase, number of times I chew a bite of food, number of strokes when I pet the dog and how many tugs it takes me to successfully masturbate (127, which I know is a lot, but I'm a tough orgasm - just ask my wife, who will most likely spend her later years with some type of brace on her neck and back, and thoroughly regretting her choice of spouse).

5. I kept my finger and toe nail clippings in a minature metal replica of the United States Senate until I was 14 years old.

6. I've stopped shitting.

7. I insist on eating any facial hair that I shave off.

8. Only one person is allowed to cut my hair. And this has become something of a problem since my Aunt Milly was diagnosed with Parkinsons.

9. I've started a ball made of the white/black stuff that collects on your feet when you take off your socks. When it reaches 2lbs, I'm going to boil it. Then eat it.

10. Now, when I watch people sleep, I can't stop laughing about how weird their skin tastes.

11. Every list I make must be exactly 11 items long.