What I’ve Learned: 26th Birthday Edition

• Every year on your birthday, you should call your mom and thank her for pushing and everything she has done since. Traditional birthday celebrations don’t make any sense. On the day of my birth, I didn’t do shit except cry and suck on breasts. Nobody is going to throw me a party now for doing that (and I do at least one of those daily — and it has nothing to do with nipples). Why aren’t parents, and mothers specifically, the people who are lauded on that day? I mean, they did the nine months of carrying, and then went through labor, which I’m told is one of the most painful experiences in existence. Every year on your birthday, you should call your mother and thank her for pushing and everything she has done since.
• Don’t give much credence to the phrase “respect your elders.” Just because a person’s parents procreated before yours doesn’t mean they automatically deserve your respect. Respect should be earned and offered based on actions and personality, not on how many days a person has been on the earth. I mean, some of the biggest assholes I know are older than me.
• Perception and the way in which you think about something is very important. It can be beneficial to take a step back and really analyze something, to gain some control over the way you’re going to psychologically and emotionally approach something. For example: you may be walking home some morning after a night spent out. It’s up to you to decide whether this is a “Walk of Shame” or a “Stride of Pride.” Continue reading…

The Great Halloween Condom Run

I walked into the bar without much expectation, just as I had so often that semester — the first half of which had been speckled by moods that ranged from “sad” to “hopeless” to “sad and also pretty hopeless to the point I’m guzzling Mad Dog on a Tuesday afternoon,” all painted over a frame built of unrelenting celibacy.

I was in a bad way, I guess. I had lost all confidence, all vague assurance that somewhere there was an attractive woman who wanted to spend time with the likes of me.

Lofty mating expectations were particularly unreasonable for me on this night, dressed as I was: a human American flag with exposed white thighs and a poor excuse for a mustache. I expected nothing more than a serious binge that would see me heading home to finish a few episodes of Friday Night Lights before knocking out one more big gulp of scotch, so that I could fall into a fitful sleep where my last thoughts were self-pitying ones.

But if you expect nothing, you’re unlikely to be disappointed. Continue reading…

Cooking Stuff in the Buff and an Introduction to Selective Apathy

One time a middle-aged man I had never seen before walked straight through my apartment’s front door while I was standing by my stove, cooking stir-fry in a wok.

I was completely naked.

I’m not a nudist and don’t even really like being naked in front of people all that much – I’m not Kate Winslet or Lena Dunham. Sometimes, though, I come home from exercising, take off my sweaty clothing, and start making dinner.

Many would deem it unnecessary and sort of dangerous to cook naked (especially if you’re using oil or grease), but I like to live dangerously, and I’m not going to wear my drenched post-workout clothing while I’m cooking.  I sweat like Shaq when I so much as walk a street block in the summertime, so I want those clothes off of me as soon as possible. And I’m certainly not going to take a shower before coming back to the kitchen to prepare a meal, because like I said: I glisten impressively, and stoves are hot, so I’d have to take another shower right after I finished cooking anyway.

Efficiency > Safety. Continue reading…