Which Syrup Would You Like?

When my sister and I were young, we were eating at an IHOP with our parents. I would say my sister was around four years old, and I was six. When our food arrived, we all reached for the syrup. My mom asked me what kind of syrup I would like, and I told her I’d like the boysenberry. My mom then looked to my sister and asked her if she would like the boysenberry as well. My sister frowned, obviously offended, and exclaimed:

 

“I don’t want the boysenberry, I want the girls and berry!”

Sockatory

Quick piece here on another one of the unsolved mysteries of life: Missing socks.

 

Socks are something that I personally am very horrible at. My socks are either dirty, have holes in them, or have twirled off to the alternate dimension where all my socks eventually end up.

 

I will buy a brand new pack of socks and place them into my drawer, where they usually stay put for a day or two, three if I’m lucky. I get to enjoy the wonderful feeling of fresh cloth under my feet for just that short period of time. Then, when I go to grab my third or fourth pair, I realize there are only a few socks in my drawer.

 

Didn’t I buy the twenty pack?

 

I sift around and realize the socks I’m grabbing are old.

 

It cant be?

 

I find a pair that look new. Breathing a sigh of relief, I sit down and start putting them on. My foot slides in, but what stares up at me? One of my toes poking through a gaping hole in the sock. I just stare back, and if my toe could speak in that moment, it would say: Nice try, pal.

 

I tear the sock off in anger and check the other one. No hole, but I realize it’s a dress sock.

 

Okay, I guess this can be a fallback.

 

I go back to my drawer and frantically search for the new socks that I just bought a few days ago. The only socks I can find are the old ones, or ones with holes. The other dress sock isn’t even in there! It’s an ego thing now, I’m not going to put on the old ones when I just bought new ones, and I’m not going to church, so I’m not wearing the holy ones.

 

The undesirable socks left in my drawer just stare back at me, a painful symbol of my incompetence. They are the socks too old or too sick to travel off to the prestigious alternate sock dimension. (This dimension apparently accepts wallets as well, you can guess how I found that out.) My search is in vain, and I end up settling for an old sock, and one of the new socks I wore the day before that I find behind the toilet. And yes, I only find one. The other one has apparently stumbled upon the portal that provides direct flights to the sock purgatory, along with all the others.

 

No matter how many pairs of socks I buy, I always end up with the same depleted supply. Over the years, I have developed many theories on where these socks go. Is it a sock nirvana that only accepts the strongest and freshest of socks? Is there a sock demon that gets off on only allowing me to have the bare minimum amount of foot clothing? Is there a sock creature that lives in my house that must feed on healthy socks to sustain its existence? Where do the socks go? Have I stumbled upon a conspiracy that is far beyond my understanding? If you guys don’t hear from me again, you know why.

 

 

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Literally Literal

Literally: adverb. In a literal manner or sense; exactly. Used to emphasize the truth and accuracy of a statement or description.

 

That is the definition of the word “literally” from the Merriam-Webster Dictionary. That is what I’ve been led to believe is the true meaning of the word, and that is how I’ve used the word my entire life. However, there is also another definition now.

 

Literally: adverb. Used in an exaggerated way to emphasize a statement or description that is not literally true or possible.

 

Dude, seriously? They use the word correctly in the totally incorrect definition. How confusing is that. So if it’s “not literally true”, does that mean it’s not true, or that it’s actually kind of true? Doesn’t this defeat the whole purpose of the word “literally”? I don’t even know what I’m saying. My head hurts. This is literally like a literal Inception, literally.

 

Why can’t the people who make words just make up another word? It’s as if so many people were using it incorrectly that they just caved like lenient parents. “Ahhh fine, it can mean that too.”

 

Orrrrr, how about everyone just uses it correctly?

 

I can’t stand when people use the word “literally” in a nonliteral sense. It literally annoys me.

 

“Omg, I’m literally dying from that picture.”

 

Oh are you? Is the picture poisonous? Did it pull out a picture gun and shoot you? Is it one of those pesky hitman pictures? Wait, what? Those don’t exist? Hmm, guess that means you aren’t literally dying, are you?

 

“Those wings are spicy, my mouth is literally on fire. ”

 

What? Did the spicy wings pour gasoline into your mouth and then toss a match into it? Are you in the circus? Are you a dragon? Oh man, I better go get the fire extinguisher! Oh, what’s that you say? It isn’t actually on fire? You just said “literally” to add effect? Sounds a lot like being over-dramatic.

 

My personal favorite:

 

“I literally can’t even.”

 

You literally can’t even what? Use the word “literally” correctly? Finish a whole sentence? This “sentence” makes me literally confused.

 

So, in summary, the word “literally” either means the absolute truth, or the complete opposite of the absolute truth. You can literally just choose which definition you want. Maybe I’m the only one, but this just seems crazy to me. When I try to think about it, I literally can’t even.

 

Trainer Trickery

I wanted to write a little here about something I see almost every day and absolutely cannot wrap my head around.

 

What I’m going to talk about here are Personal Trainers at the gym.

 

Now, stick with me. I have no problem with the concept of a Personal Trainer. Getting in shape is awesome and if you need a little help to do it, great, whatever works. My issue here is that 97.6 percent of these trainers I see are out of shape! (If you’re thinking that percentage is oddly specific, that’s because I’ve actually conducted an entire study on this phenomenon and written an article on my results that can be found on the Harvard Science Review website. And yes, everything I just said there was complete bullshit.)

 

These Personal Trainers that I see are completely out of shape, and they are training other people to get in shape. Maybe it’s just me, but if I were to hire a Personal Trainer, you best believe I’m hiring the guy that looks like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson or Zac Efron, not the guy who looks like he just finished a 6-pack of beer and a bag of Barbecue Lay’s, then rolled off the couch to put his “Personal Trainer” shirt on and hit the gym.

 

I mean, I don’t know if it’s the same for you guys, maybe my gym is weird, but just about every single Personal Trainer I see is in worse shape than the person they are training! I love seeing people at the gym who seem like they are new to working out, it means they are kicking ass and setting goals. So, it is a massive disservice to these people that they are being told what to do by Beer-belly Brian.

 

I’m sure Beer-belly Brian is great to hang out with on a Saturday night, but am I going to hire him to show me how to get abs? Hell no! And you can bet your house on that. If you wanted to train to be good at football, would you hire a badminton coach? If you needed your toilets fixed, would you hire a psychologist to solve the problem? No, you’d hire a plumber, wouldn’t you. (Shit, maybe you’d hire a psychologist, depends how bad the damage is I guess.)

 

These trainers are being paid top dollar too! I headed over to my gym website to investigate, and some of them are being paid hundreds a session!

 

Whaaaaaaat?

 

Ol’ Beer-belly’s charging an “affordable” $110 a session! His specialties? Fat loss, and athletic training. Again,

 

whaaaaaaat?

 

If this is how things work, well guys, looks like I’m going to go pursue my life long dream of training fighter pilots. No, I’ve never flown a plane, but if Beer-belly can tell people how to get abs, I can show people how to fly planes in battle right?

 

Oh, and if you want to “gain muscle mass”, the trainer for that is 120 pounds, maybe. Dude, if I want to look like Arnold Schwarzenegger, I ain’t gonna hire Frodo, right? That’s like paying an atheist to be a Pastor at my church. Part of me just can’t help but to think that this is just a giant scam. I mean, what does it really take to acquire the esteemed Personal Trainer title? Knowing not to play tag on the freeway? Not sticking your hand in the disposal?

 

I’m not trying to bag on how these trainers look, this is just a business thing. Money is at stake here. I love my grandma, but am I going to pay her money to show me how to use Twitter? These trainers man, they’ve got quite the nerve charging money with such a weak display product. Train people for free all you want. But don’t look like Larry the Cable guy, and charge money for fitness advice. Am I right?

 

 

Thanks for reading, and if you liked it, hit follow and tell all your friends!

Harry Pawter

Just a quick story from a while back.

 

So, my dog is a Siberian Husky. She is gray and black on the top of her head and all down her back and tail. The rest of her body is a very bright white, including her face. She is a runner, one of the fastest animals I’ve ever seen, and when you give her an inch of daylight, she will bolt like an escaped prisoner. She got out of our backyard multiple times when I was a kid, and sometimes it would take us hours to track her down. (Crazy, I know)

 

She has a collar with a dog tag that has our phone number on it so if someone happens to find her, they can call us.

 

So, one day, my little cousin is over at our place. He happens to find a Sharpie and decides to have some fun with my dog. He ends up drawing Harry Potter glasses around her eyes, and the signature lighting bolt scar on her forehead. He then adds a mustache for good measure, because, why not, right?

 

We see what he’s done and I’m not going to lie, it was freakin’ hilarious. Seeing a big, wolf-looking dog trot around with Harry Potter glasses and a mustache is one of the greater gifts this life has to offer. After getting a solid laugh out of the artwork, we figured we’d try to wash it off after dinner.

 

But of course, my dog slipped out of our side gate when my Dad was taking the trash out and bolted away.

 

Big ol’ Harry Pawter was now sprinting down our street at full speed like she was running from a Dementor, missing only a broom and wand.

 

We get in our cars to try to chase her down, but she’s nowhere to be found, presumably using her trusty invisibility cloak. About twenty minutes into searching, we get a phone call. My mom answers.

 

“Hi… uhhh, I think my wife found your dog.”

 

This guy is obviously very confused and trying to hold back laughter. Imagine what is going through his head. Makes me laugh every time I think about it.

 

My mom, extremely embarrassed, tells the guy thank you and we will be right over to pick her up.

 

“We” turned out to be just my mom, as the rest of my family wanted nothing to do with this one. None of us wanted to jump on that grenade.

 

My mom goes and gets our dog, and when she gets back, the canine-wizard comes running inside happily, still sporting the disguise.

 

We all excitedly ask my mom how it went, and she doesn’t say much. She’s obviously still embarrassed and just says that she doesn’t think the guy knew what Harry Potter was.

 

We all died laughing.

 

Moral of the story, if any of you are ever feeling down, please just put yourself in the shoes of the people who found my dog that night, and I’m sure your day will get a little brighter.

 

P.S. I am going to try to find the picture we took of my dog with the marker on her and post it on here if I do.

 

 

 

“You Too”

For those of you who don’t know, Chipotle is one of those food places where they make your meal in front of you in an assembly-line type of way, and then you pay for the food at the end of the line.

After you’re done paying for your food, the employee will say something along the lines of:

“Here’s your meal, have a nice day.”

So, I always say:

“You too”.

It’s like an automated response for me, I already know what I’m going to say before I respond. Maybe I’m weird, but that’s just what I do.

I’m not the best at social interactions, sue me.

I usually frequent chipotle once a week, sometimes more. So, I was there one day and they decided to switch it up on me. I paid for my food and the worker goes,

“Enjoy your meal.”

And I say:

“You too.”

I quickly realized what I said, and see the worker staring at me with a smirk on her face. Not knowing what to say, I awkwardly walked away, taking the loss.

Apparently, this jokester of a worker told the other workers about my miscue or something, because the next time I was there, a different worker told me to enjoy my meal and I told her to do the same.

Again, they smirked at me and I awkwardly walked away.

The next time I’m in there, I’m prepared. This time, I’m ready to actually listen to what they say and respond like a real human. I listen to the interaction between the worker and the person in front of me. It’s a worker I’ve never seen before, and they tell the customer to have a nice day. I’m thinking, I got this.

I pay for my food and the person slides me my bag. I prepare to say “you too”, but the worker just stares at me and smiles. I short-circuit and stare for a second, waiting to see if they say anything. They don’t, so I grab my bag, smile, and start walking away.

As I turn my back, the worker says:

“Thanks for choosing Chipotle!”

I blurt out the words:

“Thank you, you too!”

Well played Chipotle, well played.

Procrastination Revelation 

So, my assignment is due in a week? 

 

Great, I have plenty of time.

 

My assignment is due in five days.

 

Awesome, I’ll get started on it over the weekend.

 

My assignment is due in three days.

 

It’s Friday, I can’t do homework on a Friday! I’ll do a little of it tomorrow and finish the rest on Sunday.

 

My assignment is due in three days.

 

Well, it is Saturday… I’ll hit the bars with the guys tonight and then spend all day on it tomorrow.

 

My assignment is due tomorrow. 

 

I have all day to do it. I’m gonna hang out, maybe watch the game, then bust it out tonight.

 

My assignment is still due tomorrow and it’s getting late.

 

Did I go to the gym today? Maybe I should do that. My room is pretty dirty, maybe I’ll clean that. I mean, I could probably watch one more episode of my show as well, and then I’ll be ready to get it done before bed. It shouldn’t take me too long.

 

Assignment is due in twelve hours.

 

Okay, time to get started. Should only take an hour.

 

Assignment is due in eight hours. 

 

Okay, a little harder that I thought. But I mean, I don’t need that much sleep right? I’ve ran on less.

 

Around six hours left…

 

Okay, I’ll go to sleep now and get up early to finish it before class. Yeah, that’s a good plan.

 

Two hours…

 

Well, getting up early didn’t work out so well. Alright, scramble mode. Gotta get this done.

 

Annnd thirty minutes left.

 

Done! Finished it! Now, just have to print it and I’m off to class. Whew!

 

Class begins.

 

Teacher: Alright class, did everyone get their assignments submitted without issue? I hope so, as they were due before class, online.

 

Me: Well, I was the fastest sperm.

Canine Maid Service

So, my cat throws up in the kitchen and decides to just stare at me after doing so, as if to say,

“Come clean this filth, peasant.”

I groan and toss my head to the ceiling in frustration, having just sat down on the couch. 

Before I can get up to clean the vomit, I hear vigorous chomping and slurping coming from the area. I peer over the couch to find my dog, licking her lips, looking back at me.
 
My cat sees what has happened and slinks by me, a look on her face that says,

“This isn’t over.”

Sometimes, the universe just takes care of itself. 

Savage Grandpa

After eating Easter dinner with my family, my grandma sits back and says,

“Oh, I’m so full!”

My grandpa takes a bite of his ham, looks her up and down, and goes,

“Yeah, you look like it.”

Click the follow button and have a happy rest of your Easter!

Dad Projects 

Every dad reaches that age where they get up bright and early, full of excitement, to get out and mow that lawn. Or clean those gutters. Or fix that loose board on the fence.

All dads get to that point in life where they use any excuse to head outside, play some of their old tunes from their heyday, and rock those freshly-cleaned New Balance running shoes. 

They act like a fireman who has just been called to a house fire, throwing on their blue jeans, tucking their shirt in, and sliding down the pole out into the garage to fiddle with something on their workbench. They are the warriors of suburbia, the masters of upkeep. 

Hell, I even saw my neighbors dad clipping his grass with scissors once! Now that’s dedication, a true suburban soldier.  

Just a few days ago my sister and I were home from college, and my sister told my dad one of her tail lights was out. My dad flew from the couch like a rookie athlete who was just called from the bench to play in his first professional game, his face gleaming with excitement. He didn’t even try to hide it. He couldn’t wait to get out there and fix that tail light. 

Before he could make it out into the garage, my sister explained how her window wasn’t working properly either. 

Bonus.

My dad couldn’t even speak, he just pranced into the garage not to be seen the rest of the night. 

My dad will be up at 8:00 a.m. on the weekends, picking up the leaves, cutting the grass, edging it, sweeping up bark, checking the PH levels in the pool, absolutely anything that doesn’t need to be done.  

Sometimes, I think we only have a dog so it will poop on the lawn and give my dad something to do on Saturdays. 

A couple days ago, my mom told my dad the barbecue was having issues. 

Boom. 

There was my dad’s Sunday. 

Trips to Home Depot are at least three hours in length. Stopping to read the label on every single Socket wrench and pipe connector is an absolute necessity. 

Seeing my dad walk into a Home Depot is like watching a little kid enter a Toys R Us for the first time. A fat kid walking into an ice-cream shop. He short circuits when he first enters, not knowing where to begin. Every Pressure Washer must be thoroughly inspected, every tool set evaluated, and god forbid his Leaf Blower is outdated. 

We won’t even be painting anything and he will have to check out the new paint colors like they are the latest edition of a luxury SUV.  My dad is a backyard commando and Home Depot is his hardware armory.

So, I guess we start out doing arts and crafts projects in grade school, and we grow up to do dad projects in our adulthood. It’s just the natural evolution of life. Whether world peace is achieved, or the world ends in nuclear warfare, one thing is always certain. 

Dads will forever be there to make sure backyards and garages all across the planet are in tip-top shape, not a blade of grass or screwdriver out of place.