Things You Don't Talk About On A First Date

Since I have become re-singled the opportunity for dating has arisen. Being in my forties I know more than I did when I was in my teens and twenties when I dated the first time around. The most important thing I have learned about the opposite sex in the intervening years can be summed up quite succinctly: I have no clue about women and have learned to like it that way.


But I have learned a few things since I started dating again and want to help those of you who are either just beginning the whole dating scene or are re-entering the dating scene after some time off while wearing a ring. The following is a list of things that may not be the best conversation starters on a first date.

• Have you ever had a colonoscopy? That stuff they make you drink is amazing! I felt like a Saturn-V rocket trying to get to moon!
  
• So to make a long story short, that is why I don't wear banana hammocks anymore.
  
• I want to take you to this restaurant that just reopened. I hear it really improved since that whole salmonella problem.
  
• Look over there! I know that guy. Sam, this is my date, Becky. Becky this is Sam, my parole officer.
  
• Hey, hold on to something. I saw this cool move in one of the Speedy and Surly movies and I think my Pinto can do it.
  
• I have a connection to a celebrity. Don't tell anyone but my second cousin is the brother-in-law to the guy who walks the dogs of the nurse of the optical surgeon who did Weird Al's lasik.
  
• Okay, that was me but can you blame me? Those chili dogs had extra beans!
  
• I was in a music video, too! I played the guy with the machete who killed the bus of nuns in Metalmorphosis' video, “Die, Squirrels! Die!”
  

If you steer clear of these topics, you should be fine on a first date. One last tip, if the date is going poorly, don't forget to stop for chili dogs.

Superheros That Just Didn't Make It

This may come as a shock to you but I am a fan of superhero movies. Someone as incredibly serious and cool as I am liking the dorky things like X-Men, Iron Man and Avengers seems to push the bounds of probability but it is true. The levels of my nerdity are nearly epic since I even liked the Green Lantern movie. The dream of having the healing factor of Wolverine or the teleporting of Nightcrawler (who is the coolest of all of them no matter what my brother says) would be better than a weekend with the Swedish Bikini Team. Well make that as good as.


Anyway, have you ever wondered about the ideas for superheros that just didn't make it into comic books or movies? Perhaps we should think about some of these wannabe heroes that would not even make it to the list on Who's Line Is It Anyway. Allow me to torment you with some ideas about these Super-Zeros.


The idea of the Hillbilly Hedgehog was not what everyone wanted to read about. The problem arose when this hero tried to derive his powers from an accident involving a moonshine still, a Southern white-breasted hedgehog, two tooth picks, and a 7.43 pounds of butterscotch pudding. The resulting super being was not what the crazed Appalachian Miffed (he wasn't really mad) Scientist was trying for. Dr. Bubba created a man with nipples that could puncture the black inner tubes used for floating down the river but also made him pee rot gut shine. It wasn't even a decent quality of shine... Not that I tried it.


Then there was Captain Caterpillar. He was a result of a teleportation accident where a man and a caterpillar had DNA merged. When the scientists discovered what had happened to the cleaning guy who was in the chamber when the accident happened, the shipped off Mr. Horace Peabody to a secret lab in the mountains of Idaho to help him learn to use his new appendages in a way that would benefit all mankind. The extra legs would have been handy if they hadn't been coming out of his nose. On the positive side his friends always had an idea for birthday gifts for him; but how many nose hair clippers can you really have in your medicine cabinet?


Let's not forget Bernice Ivy Taylor – Chemically Huffiness. Before her run in with laser that fried the nice part of her brain, she was a mild mannered librarian at the Truth Or Consequences, New Mexico Public Library. After her mishap she decided to use her new found crabbiness to take on all forms of evil wherever it may lurk in along the highways and byways of Truth Or Consequences. Sadly for her, there was more truth than consequences and her frustration ended up be focused on obliterating one of the more evil forces known to mankind: Beanie Babies.


I hope these super-non-heroes have amused you and made you appreciate how good you have it. Although nose legs would be a great conversation starter at any party.

Polar Vortex

While sipping my morning coffee and watching Al Roker on the Today show explaining the history of a polar vortex I had a strange thought. What are the odds, right? Why hasn't someone taken that name for a cool band? My personal preference would be for a Scandinavian Alternative Rock Band that plays their music on amplified icicles and Skagen toast. Since that doesn't seem to be happening I decided to look for other things that could be a polar vortex instead of the brutally cold weather that caused the crazy bird outside my window to freeze to the branch. Don't birds fly south for the winter? This one missed the memo.

Imagine, if you will, a trained polar bear in a frilly pink tutu that has been taught to dance Swan Lake. I know it's weird but just go with it. As the behemoth of a bear pirouettes like a furry, white Baryshnikov, it spins faster and faster altering the air flow around it causing the trained caribou, white wolves and the ocelot to be pulled in until you have the polar bear vortex. Oddly, my vision of Swan Lake has no swans. There is cockatiel though.

Another possibility for a polar vortex would be the the keg parties at the University of Northern British Columbia. All you need for this is your choice of Canadian beer – Moosehead would be a good one – a large funnel and an undergrad with too much time on his or her hands. The spinning amber liquid goes right down the funnel and further down into the spinning head of the freshman. As soon as three or nine beers are in the student, the spinning head leads to a spinning room which leads to a spinning toilet bowl and then you have the college polar vortex.

Or how about twenty-seven Macaroni penguins running in a circle accusing each other of wearing really bad yellow toupees. They would also be calling each other the rudest of Macaroni penguin insults like “Spaghetti hair”, “Ziti face”, and “Cannelloni butt”. Once things break down into “chili-mac nose” things get worse and the swarm gets faster and faster as they waddle after one another creating a south polar vortex.

Now aren't those more interesting than cold weather that freezes front doors shut, closes schools, and makes the most sane people into polar vortex bumper car drivers?

Missing Thoughts

I used to laugh at people who would get up, walk out of the room, and come back in asking if I knew why they had left the room. Those people were such idiots to me. I laughed and laughed at my dad when he did that. When he would sit down he would remember what he had gotten up to do. He would hop up... well kinda sorta amble up to honest... and head into the other room. You may think I am prone to exaggeration on this blog but I have told you a million times I don't exaggerate here. This time I'm really not exaggerating. There was once when I saw him get up and down three times before he made it back into the room with a glass of iced tea. It was such a complicated thing to remember. Oh how I laughed at him.


Now that I am a dad I was please to see that my son did the same thing my dad did. I'm thinking it's genetic. He hopped up (really) and started to head to the kitchen. Then he asked me what he was going to get. I offered several suggestions. Backpack? Soda? Arsenic? A killer whale? Oddly none of those seemed to be the item he wanted. Remembering how my dad would be able to recall his lost thought merely by sitting down, I suggested that he try the same thing. It worked. He went to the kitchen and came back with a hammock, an ice cream sandwich and five palm trees. That was really impressive because I thought we were down to our last four palm trees. Have I mentioned my son is a lot like me? Scary, isn't it?


This gave me an idea about a theory that I first heard offered by Bill Cosby many years ago, In a standup routine, the Coz,suggested that ideas hide in the buttocks. When you sit down there is not enough room in your gluteus maximus once it gets squashed by the weight of your bellyus maximus. The thoughts then must return to the brain where they once again share what you were doing with the rest of the body leading you to once again get up and head to the other room.


Now my dad's thoughts loved to play hide and seek with him. They would go from cranium to rectum time and time again. I really think it was his body's way of making him get a little bit of exercise. The funny thing is there were times when my dad would get up, forget what he wanted and sit back down only to find the thought could not find its way back to the noggin. It has been more than twenty-five years since I last watched my dad doing his middle-aged mentalism; however, I do have a theory about what happens to a thought when it doesn't come back to the brain when you sit back down. My father, whom I loved with all my heart, had a rather unwholesome tenancy to which many men are prone. He could be rather flatulent in the right circumstances or wrong circumstances or any circumstances. That means he could fart on command or even if you begged him not to. Now consider this: If a thought is hiding in the bum and you rattle the windows as you break – make that shatter – wind while you are getting up, then you realize you forgot what you got up to do. Sitting back down into the green haze caused by your passing gas, you cannot remember what you wanted. The reason is you can smell your idea that escaped.


Farts are thoughts that got lost on the way back to the brain. You know you're going to be thinking about this every time you get into an elevator with a bunch of strangers who need to experience your thoughts.

Mugs

It is embarrassing for me to admit to this because hopefully you have read enough of my blogs to come to the conclusion that I am eccentric and have lots of quirks and idiosyncrasies that make me someone who is interesting to hang out with but also someone you would never want to live with due to the insanity factor. My pet albino pigmy armadillo will testify to the dangers of that once we let him out of that cute little straight jacket. But one of my few normal features is – I cant believe I'm admitting this – that I like my morning cup of coffee. Please don't judge me to harshly.


There is nothing like a hot cup of fully caffeinated java to get the day going. Add in a packet of Splenda and some vanilla creamer and then you're really talking! Now just so that you don't worry that I am becoming normal (perish the thought!) let me reassure you that I have found a way of enjoying something as mundane as coffee in a way that will alleviate your fears that I am becoming a regular person. You should see some of the mugs I use!


If you see me at the office, you will not be the least bit impressed with my mug. Trying to blend in with the wildlife around the copier (that is not a figure of speech – they are wild!) I have taken on a form of corporate camouflage and use a cup that could be found in any office. Little do they know about the radioactive ceramic ware that has tiny carbon based living microchips which were used in creation of my mug. It is slowly transforming me into Copier Man! Able to leap red tape in a single bound!


At home is where I keep my cool mugs. I have an awesome Doctor Who mug that has a Tardis that disappears when warm liquids are placed inside. Yes, it is as cool as a bow tie! I am working on my coffee slurping sound as I try to make the sound of the Tardis engines while enjoying my freshly ground coffee. You should have heard it the other day when I slurped too much and inhaled coffee. That gasping for breath sound was really close!


There is another cup I use that on first glance does not seem worthy of mention. It's from South Dakota and has a picture of Mount Rushmore. It is really cool because of the texturing that gives you a sensation of the actual topography of the mountainous monument. You can run your fingers across Washington's forehead or Jefferson's jawline or Roosevelt's glasses. You can't pick Lincoln's nose or anything like that. Not that I have tried! Really, I didn't try to get a toothpick in there to check for boogers. That would be disgusting and impossible since the nostrils aren't open. The real reason my Rushmore mug is truly Dougish is the other side of the mug. Few people ever see the back side of Mount Rushmore. The back side of my mug shows the backsides of the presidents. There are four full moons! I thought it was hilarious until I was drinking my coffee today and noticed my bottom lip felt something like a bottom. Every time I was taking a sip of my robust roast I was kissing the backside of the rambunctious Roosevelt. It was difficult to explain my first reaction but let's just say I had to clean coffee off the wall from my spit take. My second response was to think it was appropriate considering that Teddy undoubtedly told many people of note to kiss his butt on many occasions. I just joined a distinguished list of people but I actually did it.

Doctor Who: Boxers or Briefs?

My heart is heavy as I dictate this to my blog. Her name was Sarah Jane Smith. She passed away after a short illness. It was my dubious honor to be in charge of her estate. In the attic was a trunk with reams of paper that had articles she had written about some traveling adventures she had with a man she only refers to as the Doctor. It seems to be some kind of fiction she was writing since we all know that we have limited space travel in the 21^st Century and time travel is still considered improbable. It is strange that someone known for her investigative reporting and detail oriented facts could be so creative and come up with these stories.


She had several essays on things like Martians, some kind of man-robot cyborgs and another things she describes as five foot tall dustbins with rounded tops and death rays. I even found one about the Loch Ness Monster. My brother would love that one. But there is one that looks like it was just a series of notes that she hadn't worked into a real story yet. I'm thinking she had a bit of a crush on this man she had created in her head because she was wondering if he wears boxer or briefs. Kind of odd to have a crush on a figment of your imagination but who I am to judge? I think Lara Croft is hot.


It turns out she created this character to look different instead of dying. She called it reconstruction or something like that. It also seems like each time he changed, his personality totally changed as well. That is rather clever. It appears as though she has created eleven different personalities of this Doctor. Each one had a very distinctive style and personae.


The first one appears to be oldest. He is cranky and curmudgeonly and is the traditional boxers kind of guy. The second one is a bit of clown who looks like a tramp in a fur coat. She says this one wears briefs but they ride up a bit making him run funny. The third incarnation of this Doctor is a dandy. Sarah has a little bit of a kinky side because she says he wears a frilly ruff that is actually the top of his full body bloomers. Okay, that one is a little bit of an overshare. Now the next one is the fourth personality of this Doctor who she describes as wearing a long multicolored scarf and has a rather manic look in his eyes that is attributed to the fact that he goes commando instead of wearing any underwear at all. Okay, I take it back. THAT was the overshare – not the bloomers.


It seems that Sarah wanted the next one to be even younger because this one wore a stalk of celery on his lapel and bikini briefs under his trousers except when he played cricket and then he wore a jockstrap. Now this sixth version of the Doctor seems angrier than the last few. Miss Smith attributes that to being frustrated with a curly perm, a headache from too many colors in his coat, and trying to wear the same bikini briefs he had on before but they were way too tight and cut off circulation to important appendages. The seventh Doctor was the big surprise. It seems he was a middle aged version of the doctor with an question mark kind of umbrella and had a quirky, secretive smile that was due in part to the thong underwear he always wore. You know there are some things you really do not want to know. Now the eighth Doctor identity had an American kind of influence and wore red full body underwear but always kept the flap open for some reason. Sarah didn't say way but she put a smiley face in the margins for some unknown reason.


Now Miss Smith had a note about this ninth version of her Doctor character wearing mesh see through boxers. Her comment in the margins was: “That would be a sight to see.” She did remember that this a character she made up, right? Then again, Lady Croft in those shorts. Yowzah! Anyway, the tenth guy is the first one to wear boxer briefs due to his tenacity to run around and needing the extra support. Finally, the last one wears a kind of stretchy trunk that has the Union Jack on the bum and the word “River” on the front. What kind of river runs through there? Maybe it's from some song I don't know.


I wonder who else she wrote about. Give me time and I'll share what else I discover in the trunk. It almost seems like it's bigger on the inside because no matter how many stories I pull out of here there seems like there is even more. Be right back. Some joker but a blue box on my patio. Those darned kids are at it again.

Random

There are times when it is a moral imperative that you say something that will make people look at you as if you have two heads – one of which is drooling butterscotch pudding and one that has that slightly alarmed but amused look you have when you see an ax murderer sneaking up behind a politician. Those moments of random sayings are perfect for conversations with your parents about poor life decisions. Why they ever thought leisure suits were a good idea was a mystery to me as a teen who was wearing a Don Johnson Miami Vice white linen suit with hair so spiky I had to carry liability insurance for the risk of accidental impalement. It is also a handy skill to have for those moments when you are pulled over on your scooter by law enforcement officials who ride their bicycles with the little ring-ring thumb bells instead of sirens. Or maybe you just want to confuse that college prof who says things that make no sense and expect you to say, “Wow, dude. That's deep.” I like to say, “Wow, douche. That makes as much sense as the nipples on Batman's body armor.”

In an effort to assist those who are not naturally random, I have made a list of suggested responses to any of those or similarly asinine askance articles of arrogance.

• You know I think Congress is considering a bill on that topic. Or was it a bill on the rights of pet rocks to file for bankruptcy and legal separations from their delinquent owners who have left them along trails all over the Appalachian Trail in an attempt to make them look like natural occurring stones to avoid having to pay rock support.
• In an amazing coincidence I heard that very topic being discussed by Ruth Bader Ginsberg and Ozzy Osborne on Rush Limbaugh just the other day.
• Are you sure you and I are speaking the same language? You seem to be speaking rectumese and your breath does smell like a fart brought on by a chili-cheese burrito, three raw eggs that were laid in 1987, a burning tire from a '78 Civic, and the boxers of Jeff Gordon after a crash at Daytona.
• There are only two words that can even come close to describing my utter ambivalence on this issue: Tuba and shoehorn.
• Are you sure you want to have this battle of wits? I mean let's be fair about this. I'm an intelligent human being and you are something that crawled out of a primordial ooze made of strawberry-banana Jell-O, llama urine, a bar of lye soap, eighteen used shock absorber boxes, and eighty-three pieces of chewed Bazooka Bubble Gum.
• Some days you're the windshield. Some days you're the bug. Some days you're the squeegee that cleans up the mess. Some days you're just that little crack in the windshield that is far enough out of the way so it doesn't create a hazard to driving but is close enough that you see it ever time you drive and it is making you nuts wondering how it got there and won't go away so that is invades your dreams at night and even makes an appearance on your blog for no good reason.
• Are you the person my mom warned me about? She said I would meet someone someday that made me think my younger brother – who smelled of stale lice spray, likes to put potatoes and gravy in his thong, and had this habit of farting at the dinner table when we had rump roast – was really not the dumbest person I ever met.

I hope these random things come in handy when you are speaking to those who deserving of a mind blowing and soul altering tormenting for no other reason than they had the gall to be born and annoy you.