It's Saturday. I've had a very long weekend and this is, in fact, a lame blog post title.

Saturdays are supposed to be history lesson days, but I think I'm just going to share a picture that I drew for a friend one random night because I'm too tired to write tonight.

Ok, next time I'll just stick to the words.

Coerce the crony into carrying the canvas case of cast-iron cranberries

I know that this will be technically posted as a Saturday post, but I promise, it's my Friday post. I just haven't been near my computer at all today, so it's really late now. Friday posts, as I previously stated, are most definitely going to be about the more amusing parts of my life (I mentioned earlier that my life is like a comedy of errors, and it's true...).

I am out of town this weekend, away from my normal surroundings. I had to leave my home for a good friend's wedding that I was asked to be a groomsman in (Oh yeah! First time for everything, right?). There's something that you should know about me. When I go on trips, I almost always forget something. Usually it's nothing too important (like a phone charger or a sweatshirt even though it's the middle of winter or my razor). I knew it was really important for me to remember everything that I would need specifically for the wedding. So, I started packing. The first thing I grabbed was my suit. I checked the bag, made sure that my coat, pants, and shirt were all in there, then I loaded it in my car. Second, I gathered all my toiletries (ok, so I don't have as many as a girl, but it really really sucks when you forget soap...or deodorant...um...or hair gel or any of that). I don't usually use my toiletries bag, but I did this time! Just because it seemed to be a convenient way to not forget anything. Heck Yeah! Ok, so that got loaded into my tote bag (rolling suitcases are for noobs....and squares...oh and women. Yeah.). Then, I realized that I hadn't packed dress socks (These are CRUCIAL, definitely, when wearing dress shoes. Dress shoes with normal socks look pretty awful in my opinion). Dress socks: packed. Now, I must have everything I need for the wedding. Time to pack for the couple days of living (this includes but is not limited to at least one pair of socks and underwear with a t-shirt, jeans, and a dressy-casual button-up (what?? three hyphenated words in one parenthetical thought?? ummm...yeah? get over it.)) (for those of you who don't understand how I do parentheses, please take a math class...or even a computer programming class if you want) Anyways, back to packing. So, my tote bag (tote is just such a fun word) is filled up. Everything is in the car. I had a car charger for my phone so I didn't need to bring my normal charger. I had my phone. Laptop. Suit. Razor. Comb! (I definitely found it. It was awesome) Tote bag. Dress socks. Ummm...homework. That's it, right? Ok, well I know I'm forgetting something, but it's probably not too important (because I checked for all the important stuff, you were reading my checklist, right?). I woke up this morning and remembered that I had forgotten to grab my extra pair of casual shoes. Ok that's no big deal. I have one pair and I don't really need the other...shoot! (I admit this word did not come out of my mouth...). Yep. I forgot my dress shoes. (At this point I was facepalming about as hard as I could) Well, maybe my dad has dress shoes? I checked. His are super lame. They are not dressy at all because it's his way of being rebellious at work.

So guess what I did today? I bought new dress shoes. And they're awesome.

Edit: Apparently I also forgot my dress belt. I didn't discover this oversight until we were getting dressed for the wedding. Yep. Fortunately I didn't really need it...I hope. I guess we'll find out when they post the pictures...

Friends eat pink violets while watching the end of the world

                Listen all who can hear. Listen all who are here for I have a tale to tell. Tis a grandly glorious tale that I have to tell; a tale of a tail. Tis the tale of a tiger, although it would be more appropriate if I told you that this tale is the tale of the tell-tale tail of the tiger for the tale of the tell-tale tail it is. This tale begins on a temperate time during the terrible transformation of the terrapins.

              

                The tall tiger, Tom his name was and Tom his name shall be, tended to be a timid tiger for his tenure on Terra was temporal. As a timid tiger, tenured tiger, Tom traveled the terraced tendrils of Terra tapping taper pins into tragically tangled tidbits of tambourines. It was on one of these tiny trips that Tom had temporarily taken notice of his taciturn tail. It was the topography of his top-heavy tail that touched his thoughts. Typically, Tom took no notice of his temerity when he was talking to this tenacious contender. Tapered to the tip, the tail told Tom’s tap-dancing tapirs to target tares instead of the tactical tangerines. Each time Tom traveled, the tapirs toppled to the terrain to tear out the tares, and it was totally thanks to Tom’s tell-tale tail. Thus the tale of the tell-tale tail of the tall tiger, Tom, in the time of the terrible terrapins terminates.

It's really hard to blog one-handed

So, the place I'm staying has really nice internet...the one drawback to having really nice internet is the passkey....yeah...I got the key and entered it and found out that it wasn't correct. So, I'm stuck trying to find that perfect spot to steal someone else's unsecured internet. That's how important this blog is to me. Yep, for a while there I was even holding my wireless adapter up with one hand and typing. Internet problems aside, I am in the process of coming up with a weekly schedule of topics to be covered. This is what I have so far:

Monday Night - Current Events (always a winner)
Tuesday Afternoon - Comics (I read comics on a daily basis, and many of them are worth sharing)
Wednesday Night - Frustrations (More specifically, frustrations with Ethics. I imagine after the first of these posts, you'll be able to guess which night class I have that night (hint: think really hard...))
Thursday Afternoon/evening - Fiction time (Created spontaneously out of the blue nowhere. These stories may or may not build off each other. It depends on how I feel about the idea)
Friday Night - Comedy of Errors (...namely my own. My life is amusing, I promise)
Saturday - History Lesson (plan on this one being really boring...remember that teacher you probably had in high school or college...yeah it's going to be that bad. But I'm going there.)
Sunday Afternoon - Thoughts on the sermon (If this doesn't interest you...well, you should probably read it anyways)

Okey doke, so that's the plan. I will try to stick to it because I like consistency (Moment of Irony: I hang out with the fairer sex quite a bit...).

To Infinity...and Beyond!

It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... It's... (have you guessed yet?) SUPERMAN! I'd like to introduce another member of my family this morning. You may have heard of Captain Awesome from the hit TV show Chuck on NBC (can I get some money for that awesome product placement there?), but I'm here to tell you about a real world Captain Awesome. He's going to be referred to from here out as Superman (don't look at me like that. It was his own idea. Sheesh).

One of my first memories of Superman comes from a summer break in high school. He was, at the time, dating my sister, Emma Anne (he has since moved on to bigger and better things than dating...namely marrying one of the most amazing women in the whole wide world. Joining our family was probably the best decision you ever made, am I right, Superman?). My family was having a fun day at the beach enjoying the fine weather and beautiful scenery. Being the obnoxious little brother that I am (I'm really really good at this), I sneaked up behind Emma Anne while she was talking to Superman. I scared the living daylights out of her (I mean, they were just gone. Poof no more daylights.) I think she jumped a foot off the ground. Rather than laugh, Superman decided that he didn't like me scaring his girlfriend very much (come on! I'm her brother...it's what I do). He picked me up (easily), walked to the ocean, flipped me upside-down and shook me threateningly over the water. I'd like you all to know that I did, in fact, survive my confrontation with Superman. :)

Oh, and in the event that you are still reading this post, you should go check out Emma Anne's blog. Basically she's a funnier, wittier, smarter version of myself. She also has the unfair advantage of having three little kids to write stories about. Visit her here: http://ourhomespunmoments.blogspot.com/

Don't look now, the cat is eating out of the jar of honey!

Ok, I admit it...the second mountain dew was a mistake...but as a result of my mistake, there is going to be another blog tonight! (Technically it's morning, but I was pointing out to a friend a little while ago, it is commonly accepted to denote the time from when the sun sets to when it rises as night) Side notes aside, tonight's blog is going to be about one of my two favorite sisters in the whole wide world. Of course, those of you who know me know that I only have two sisters, but hey, they're still both great people so I try to make them both favorites. :)

I'd like to tell you about BomBom (sorry Emma Anne, she's older so she gets to be blogged about first =/ ). Yep, that's right. BomBom. Now, you may be thinking, holy cow, why does he call his oldest sister BomBom??!?!? (let's face it, those exclamation points are just overkill...) But I'm still going to tell you why I call my sister that. It's one of my favorite memories of her. Naturally, I have a ton of memories that are awesome and amazing and lots of good times, but this one just seems to stick with me the most (perhaps it defines our relationship as the oldest and youngest of the siblings). The story goes like this...

When I was a wee little lad (and really young), I was having trouble saying my sister's name. My sweet, kindly sister wanted to help me overcome the difficulties I was having. So, she approached me one fine day, knelt down, and said,

"Ok, say 'your.'" (since this is going on the interwebz, I am not going to use my sister's real name, but it is 2 syllables, so use your imagination)
"Your." I replied confidently. (I was so proud of myself for getting that right.)
 "Now say 'mom."
"Mom." (Oh, I'm on fire right now!)
"Now put it together and say, 'yourmom.'"
"BomBom!!" I cheerfully replied. :)

This exchange went on several times. I could pronounce both syllables of her name without difficulty. I just thought it was really funny to call her BomBom. I don't even know where I picked up that name. So, here's to you BomBom! We've had some great times over the last 22 years, and I wouldn't trade them for anything. :)

P.S. Caffeine, In N Out, and Trance make an excellent combination while writing blogs.

Still Untitled

With a loud crack, the bullet leapt from the musket – lethal hatred written on a beautiful sphere of lead. He watched and listened as the man in front of him shuddered from the bone-shattering impact. His eyes stung from the acrid smoke as it blew back into his face. He blinked. There was no sadness for the life he took, no hatred, no remorse. One thought reverberated through his mind: Reload. Giving heed to the thought, he began the machine-like motions that would bring his weapon to full readiness once more. Clean the barrel; pour in the powder; let the ball roll to the end; ram it home; stand and shoulder the musket. 

As he cocked the hammer, he was vaguely aware that men were grunting, screaming, crying, falling to the wall of lead that had beset them. But he was only vaguely aware of this. The command came: prepare…fire. The screaming was drowned out as the regiment discharged their muskets down the line. Fire and smoke obscured his vision, the familiar sight and smell returned. He closed his eyes and breathed deep. There was no fear in his eyes when they opened. They were empty, devoid of all emotion. He was not human anymore; his training and drill had taken over. He was a machine waiting for the next command. He did not have to wait for long. The bugle sounded; it was the signal to charge. He closed his eyes and breathed deep once more. His brilliant blue eyes opened. Now he filled them with what needed to be there. He filled them with death. Either his own or his enemy's, there would be death. He had committed his soul to its keeper. Death was approaching. The slow march turned into a jog, the jog a run. He lowered his musket to his hip, the bayonet gleaming in the midday sun. That bright and beautiful blade would soon be stained red. Death was on the threshold. The regiment surged, closing the distance between them and their target. It was an all-consuming wave of red. Each and every man, muskets held at waist-level, bayonets fixed, ran. 

He glanced right; he glanced left. These were men that he knew; men that he had grown up with; men that knew him. There, two men to his left, he spotted his brother. His best friend from childhood was six to the right. The son of the owner of the general store was a further three down. The time had come. Death was crossing the threshold. He opened his mouth wide and added his voice to the hundreds of others. He bellowed and ran even faster. The man just to his right staggered, his hands gripping his stomach, the dropped musket clattered down as the earth received another soul. He centered his vision on the large, blue-clad man standing in his path. His adversary. He let his momentum carry him straight and true. 

He had become the projectile. His blade had its first taste of blood as it made contact with the man in blue’s midsection. The enemy gasped. Death had claimed its next victim. He wrenched his weapon free and pressed forward. There was no time to think now. It was slash, twist, and run. Slash, twist, run. Death was grasping. He was swept into a primal rage as another threat turned towards him. His anger consumed him as a piercing roar erupted from his throat. He began narrowing the gap. His foe snapped his musket to his shoulder. It was time. Fire spewed from the muzzle. He closed his eyes. He dropped to his knees. All emotion fled. All pain vanished. The warm blood soaked into his blood-red uniform. Death had found him.

My Life as a Ten Ton Bitter Fly

Living in a house with 4 other post-college bachelors is...interesting. And by interesting I really mean that it should never ever happen. There should be a federal law that prohibits that many guys from living in a 4-bedroom house together. It's atrocious. The dishes pile high enough to warrant bringing out a ruler in order to measure their height above the sink. The bathrooms are never cleaned. Trash is left around. When a guy moves out, he tends to leave half his belongings in the cupboards and closets or just on the floor. Like I said, atrocious. Of course, the floors do, occasionally, get vacuumed (naturally that happens if one of them is having a girl or a group of girls over). It's really just sad. I feel like none of them learned a single domestic task when they were children. And then there are the dishes that get "washed". I've developed the habit of washing everything before I use it. Why? Because there are a couple guys in the house who seem in capable of actually cleaning the dish when they wash it. Personally, I don't find washing dishes to be that hard of a concept to grasp. You fill the sink with warm soapy water. You put the dishes into the sink. You use a sponge to get rid of all food particles, etc. Then you rinse the dish. Inspect the dish. If there is still food caked onto the plate, then you need to put it back in the soapy water and wash it again. When it is clean, put it on the drying rack. Sigh.

There is a first time for everything...

Today, I decided to create a blog. Rather, I finally had the gumption to actually create a blog account. In all reality (as opposed to a lesser version of reality), I have wanted to blog for sometime, but I never got around to it. For my very first blog, I'd really just like to explain the title of my blog (that seems like a very good place to start). 

Sadly, there is a limit to the number of characters that you can have in your blog title (foiled by the system, yet again) because I really wanted my title to be "The Perceptions of a Piebald Penguin Painfully Perspiring in the Paucity of Perspicuity". For those of you who don't understand, let me explain. I love alliteration. Now, I'm not referring to the alliterated outline points that are common in Baptist churches. I really just love creating sentences that roll off the tongue. However, creating a proper alliteration isn't just about smashing a bunch of "p" words together. It's about testing the mind's ability to create. It forces me to think about what I want to say. For example, I could just say, "Aardvarks are awkward." Certainly this is an alliteration, but it is simply 3 words that start with the letter "a". A true alliteration would have to stretch the mind's capabilities to the max. Like, "Aardvarks awkwardly attempt to attest to astute approaches of administering to animal attrition." Essentially, my title means, "lame observations on the life of a poor college student." But the alliterated title just has such charm. Anyway, that's all for today.