Thursday, April 30, 2009

A Startling Revelation

I’m pretty sure I’m an angsty 15-year old girl trapped in the body of a goony dude from the Midwest.

Don’t worry, Faithful Readers, this isn’t about to be some sort of post where I give a life-altering revelation of my plans for a very expensive, presumably very painful surgery.

No, no…rather this is just the vibe I’m getting upon listening to my iTunes playlist for the past half-hour. You see I’ve got a whopping total of 6,450 songs on my playlist. That’s 31.39 GB of my hard drive’s 74.5 GB of space. Played out song-by-song, back-to-back it’s just over 18 consecutive days worth of music.

Needless to say, I’ve got a pretty decent assortment of songs, artists and genres at my disposal.

I’ve got everything from Bjork and KD Lang to Metallica and Beethoven. I’ve got soundtracks from movies and musicals. I’ve got one-hit wonders and legends of rock. I’ve got NSync and I’ve got Britney Spears, but I’ve also got Cross Canadian Ragweed (aka: the other CCR) and the Cure. There’s a half-a-dozen guys named Bob and one bad-ass chick named Janis.

My playlist pretty much has it all.

Here’s the thing…when I put it on random this morning I was hit with seven (count ‘em, seven!) of the first ten songs that were by Taylor Swift, Avril Lavigne, Vanessa Carlton and Katy Perry.

Do you know how many of my 6,450 songs belong to those four ladies? I bet you don’t, so I’ll tell you…30.

That’s right 30 out of 6,450 songs on my computer are by those gals and yet seven of the first ten songs played this morning were by those four ladies; three songs from Taylor, two from Avril and one each from Vanessa and Katy.

I think iTunes is trying to tell me something. Clearly it believes that—despite my very eclectic song list—I’m a 15-year old girl.

I mean what better reason can you come up with for my random playlist popping up seven songs by artists notorious for their songs directed at younger, female audiences.

A bunch of songs about how rough life is in high school and dealing with cheating boyfriends is not how I’d intended to start my morning, but was not—by any means—a bad thing either. I do enjoy all of those gals and their music, which is why they’re on my playlist, and I did find myself bobbing my head and singing along.

So I guess if I’m going to be labeled as an angsty 15-year old girl by iTunes, I’d prefer that iTunes view me as more Taylor Swift than Avril Lavigne.

I think Taylor is angsty because she’s stuck in a small, hick-town and isn’t quite old enough to drive her hand-me-down two-tone Chevy pick-up and has to rely on her older friends to drive her into town and she simply doesn’t feel pretty or cool enough to be hooking up with the cool football players, but deep down she knows she’s going to move on to bigger and better things because she’s a deep, introspective soul stuck in a place that’s not big enough to allow her wings to spread.

Avril seems like that rich chick who moved to the suburbs her sophomore year of high school and made-out with every boy in her Chemistry class to be popular right away and all of the other girls hate her for it, but she could care less. She’s only doing this whole angsty, dark nail polish thing because it pisses her off that her parents moved her out of her posh big-city school and she’s trying to do her best to piss her parents off.

Anyway…where was I going with this?!

Oh yeah…I’m an angsty 15-year old girl…but the less bitchy kind.

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Confessions: Twitter

So I totally caved…

For months I’ve ranted about how I thought Twitter was ridiculous and nothing more than further proof of our society’s never-ending narcissism.

I mean honestly, who really gives a rat’s patooty what we’re doing every second of every day?!

…that was before I got my first follower.

You see, I dipped my toes in the Twitter pool nearly two months ago to see what all the fuss was about. To be quite frank, I wasn’t real impressed. I couldn’t find more than a handful of people I knew and it seemed like all of my status updates were in vain since no one was reading them.

As such, I forgot about Twitter altogether until earlier this week when there was something on the news about Twitter’s low retention rate amongst new users.

Upon hearing that I decided to go onto Twitter and cancel my account, why leave a dead account just floating out there. I figure that I finally cancelled my MySpace account after letting it sit primarily unused for the better part of its entire existence, so why not cut-off this Twitter account now rather than let my name sit attached to another dead entity in the virtual world.

Then it happened.

When I logged in, I noticed that I had a follower.

Much like a king can grow too powerful the larger his kingdom grows, I immediately felt invincible, from this one follower. I couldn’t believe how cool this was. It turns out that there actually is someone out there who wants to know what I’m doing every second of every day!!!

As anyone who knows me will tell you, I promptly dove right in: updating my status, following other people, hunting down friends and celebrity crushes left and right and personalizing my Twitter profile.

Within 24 hours, I’m nearly up to a full dozen followers!!

What I’m realizing, however, is that it seems darn near everyone on Twitter is following just about everyone else.

This makes me feel moderately less special about my burgeoning mass of followers, but alas I’ll just ride it out until I either get bored with Twitter, find a way to pimp my blog with it and earn millions and/or I die of the Swine Flu...whichever comes first.

Breakfast Salad

Grace is a tricky little minx!

This morning I got up expecting to have a nice big bowl of meatless cereal to tide me over. I knew we were running low on milk, because last night when Grace was taunting me with the mountain of meatballs she’d made, she quite casually mentioned that we were “running low on milk.”

Well, I took “running low on milk” to mean that there was enough left for breakfast and I’d need to snag a new jug on the way home today.

No, no…apparently in Grace’s meat-fueled mind “running low on milk” means the jug has exactly one teeny, tiny droplet of moo-juice left.

So there I was, scrambling to find something to eat. I dug through the cupboards and realized that my options were quite limited.

There was a box of Mac-n-Cheese and a box of cake mix.

Both would require far more time than I was willing to put in and both required milk. Unless of course your one of those people who uses water instead of milk, in which case, I don’t think we can be friends anymore.

So I dug a little further and stumbled across a jar of nacho cheese and some refried beans.

I don’t have any tortillas, so the idea of a bean burrito was out the window.

I don’t have any chips, so a big plate of nachos was out the window.

I contemplated just spooning out the refried beans and dipping each spoonful into the nacho cheese, but then I thought that seemed a little sad. Plus I can’t imagine any scenario where Grace wouldn’t leave me upon hearing that was my breakfast.

At this point I contemplated assembling what would probably go down as the first-ever refried beans and nacho cheese sammitch. I figure throw down a few slices of bread and pile on the burrito fixings…it can’t be that different from a burrito, right?!

Well, what seemed to be a good (and innovative) idea eventually turned sour and I was forced to give up on the idea when I couldn’t find a can-opener to get into the refried beans.*

Apparently I’m absolutely helpless in the kitchen.

It was at this point that desperation started to settle in and I realized I had only one option…yet another freakin’ salad.

That’s right folks, day three of “No Meat Week” and I was already reduced to eating a breakfast salad.

It wasn’t even a good salad, either. All the salad really consisted of was some very questionable, very soggy lettuce, a bag of croutons, about a half-gallon of ranch dressing and my salty, salty tears.

You win this round, Grace…but you will not win the war!!

PS: Grace, please buy milk on your way home.

*Note: I would later discover the can-opener in a different drawer; the burrito sammitch may still come to fruition!!

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Adventures in Ticket Scalping

So I tried my hand at scalping tickets for the very first time the other day.

It did not go well.

You see, I’d purchased two tickets for last Tuesday’s Twins/Red Sox game back in December for a steal at $35 each. If you’ve never had to deal with ticket prices for games at Fenway, $35 a ticket might not sound like a steal, but believe me it is.

Anyway, so Grace and I were all set to go to the game when the rain rolled in. The game started in a rain delay and Grace and I sat underneath the right field bleachers drinking expensive cheap beer and hoping the storm would pass.

It didn’t.

As such, the game got rescheduled for the next day at 12:35pm (Eastern Standard Time, of course). Grace, like everyone else I know, couldn’t take the day off to catch a game at Fenway so I was stuck with an extra ticket.

Initially I was worried I’d get busted for trying to scalp the ticket and miss the game altogether, but when I saw dudes scalping by the dozens, I figured I was in the clear. Unfortunately, not getting busted would be the highlight of my scalping experience.

Potential Buyer Number One

This dude looked to be in mid-40s and was dressed way too nice for a baseball game. He had on a nice black suit and was carrying a briefcase. Amusingly enough he was also sporting a very worn-out Red Sox cap. I assume he had some important meeting he couldn’t blow off and came straight from work to the stadium…you gotta respect that kinda dedication.

Cap’n Charisma: “I got one ticket…you need a ticket?”
PBN1: “Where at?!”
Cap’n Charisma: “Bleachers…”
PBN1: “Ehhh…pass.”

**PBN1 walks away and promptly hands over a couple $100 bills to a different scalper for what I’m assuming was a slightly better ticket.**

Potential Buyer Number Two

This dude sucks at life. He was probably in his late-40s or early-50s, whichever age it is that dudes turn super gross and slimy. His hair was all slicked back and he was wandering around with his hairy chest doing its best to escape his sloppily-buttoned Hawaiian shirt. He was hand-in-hand with someone who could logically be his daughter but based on him randomly groping her ass, I can assume she was probably a “professional acquaintance.”

Cap’n Charisma: “I’ve got one ticket…you need a ticket?!”
PBN2: “Where at?!”
Cap’n Charisma: “Bleachers, right field.”
PBN2: “I’ll give you $20 for both of ‘em…”

**PBN2 pulls out a big wad of cash. He licks his fingers and pulls off two $10 bills for me**

Cap’n Charisma: “Yeah, I’m only selling one of ‘em.”
PBN2: “Well, I’m buying both of ‘em.”
Cap’n Charisma: “No, no…I’m only selling this one.”
PBN2: “Are you trying to hustle me?!”
Cap’n Charisma: “No, I’m just selling the one ticket. Not both of ‘em. Just this one.”
PBN2: “Come on, Kid…$20 for both of ‘em, final offer.”
Cap’n Charisma: “No, Dude…I paid $70 for these. $20 for both is robbery. Plus I’m only selling one.”

**PBN2 looks back at the girl—who could not care less about going to a game at Fenway if she tried—and then looks back at me.**

PBN2: “Who sells one ticket?!”
Cap’n Charisma: “A dude who is going to use the other one to go to the game…”
PBN2: “Come on, Kid…just sell me both tickets! I’ll give you $30 for both and you can go buy a different ticket.”
Cap’n Charisma: “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. Why would I sell you both tickets for less than I paid for one of them and then have to go and buy a ticket from someone else to get into the game?!”
PBN2: “FINE…$35 for both.”
Cap’n Charisma: “Seriously?! I. AM. ONLY. SELLING. ONE. OF. THEM.”

**He takes a minute to look all huffy and pissy. I take a minute to contemplate whether or not I can get away with murder on a crowded street right before a Sox game. I assume if I wasn’t wearing a Twins jersey my odds would be significantly better.**

PBN2: “FINE…I’ll give you $7 for the one ticket.”

**I just stare at him for a second as he is counting off $7 from his wad of cash. **

Cap’n Charisma: “Ticket’s not for sale…”

**I then walked off while he huffed and puffed and cursed me out to his lady-friend.**

Potential Buyer Number Three

This dude was like 15 and clearly cutting class. He was there with a pack of like six other dudes who were also cutting class and bouncing from scalper to scalper looking for the best deal. He smelled like weed and skunky beer. He was all kinds of hammered and wearing a backwards Yankees cap. I wanted to punch him a little.

Cap’n Charisma: “You looking for a ticket?!”
PBN3: “Yeah…you got one?”
Cap’n Charisma: “Yeah, Dude…that’s why I’m out here missing batting practice.”
PBN3: “What do you want for it?”
Cap’n Charisma: “Just looking to get what I paid for it…$35.”
PBN3: “Whoa, Dude, that’s a lot.”
Cap’n Charisma: “I suppose I could for as low as $25 if that’s all you got.”
PBN3: “Cool…”

**He went for his wallet, opened it up and realized he didn’t have any cash. He then asked me the dumbest question I may have ever received from a human-being (outside of a library that is).**

PBN3: “Can you take a debit card?”

**At this point, I just walked away from the stoner and headed into Fenway.**

And that, Faithful Readers is why my first attempt at ticket scalping will go down as my lone attempt at ticket scalping.

I got blown off.

I got stuck with a douchey haggler.

I had a pothead ask me if I accepted debit cards.

I think I’m officially out of the ticket scalping business from this day forward.

Maybe next time instead of trying to sell it and recoup my investment, I’ll simply give it to a homeless person or something.

Or maybe I’ll get more friends who are willing to take the day off to join me at Fenway.

Either way, I shall scalp no more!!

The Break-Up

Friday was a pretty big day for me, emotionally speaking that is.

First I was savagely attacked on my way to work. Then, at the end of the day, I finally decided to go through with something I’ve been contemplating for awhile now…a break-up.

A very big break-up.

I’m not going to lie to you, Faithful Readers…this break-up was a long time coming. In fact, I feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my back now that I’ve finally gone through with it.

You see we’ve been drifting apart for years now. The spark disappeared and neither one of us has found a way to get it back. We’ve tried some new things here and there, but nothing ever rekindled that feeling we had when things were fresh and new and exciting.

So, in case you run into my old MySpace account on the street…be wary, it may be a little awkward now that we’ve broken up. Also, if you could not mention that you’ve seen me spending a lot of time with Facebook…that’d be great, it’s probably a little too soon.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Recruiting Call: Carrie Underwood

Carrie Underwood already holds a place in my heart as one of my favorite country songbirds, but today I learned that she’s also a stud athlete.

Apparently she played softball and basketball back in high school and she still makes it a point to play some slow-pitch softball whenever possible.

Here’s a quote from the flaxen-haired crooner:

"I played softball for like eight years and I played catcher for a long time. I played fast pitch in high school, but I couldn't devote all the time needed for practices and stuff because I had some singing to do here and there.”

Rumor has it she’s got some good wheels on the bases and a pretty solid throwing arm.

Needless to say, if Carrie is looking for a team to join up with during her concert tour this summer she can feel free to give me a call and I’ll get her in my starting lineup immediately.

Heck, I’ll even get her hooked up with an official Bibliotechs jersey.

Carrie would fit right in as the Bibs have a rich history of keeping talented musicians on the roster. Plus the Bibs are always on the lookout for fresh talent...both musically and on the softball diamond (read: Astroturf).

Gimme a call Carrie, the jersey and some post-game refreshments are on me ;-)

Public Service Announcement: Assaults on the Rise

This morning, I was assaulted on my way to work.

Yeah that’s right folks, it can happen anywhere—even in safe little Cambridge, Massachusetts!!

It’s hard for me to talk about, but I think I need to get it off my chest. So here goes…

I was walking to work today, minding my own business, and I was on the sidewalk between a building and a bunch of bushes. Seems simple enough, right?! Well it’s not!!

So there I am walking peacefully, right. I’m just sauntering along bobbing my head to “Best Days of Your Life” and thinking about what a beautiful day it is and how I can’t wait go buy donuts for my co-workers and life is great and wonderful.

…and then it happened.

Out of nowhere…

*takes a deep breath*

Sorry, getting a little choked up trying to talk about it.

Out of nowhere…a bird flew up and out of one of the bushes and rammed into me.

That’s right…one of those devil winged-vermin launched itself out of the bushes and into my shoulder. I did what any dude with an irrational fear of birds would do and I screamed like a small child and ran off toward the building, arms flailing madly about.

The bird did roughly the same thing in the other direction.

Now I don’t know if it was a pigeon, a robin, a hawk, an eagle, an osprey or a pterodactyl…but it was big. REALLY f’n big!! And it was angry and violent and psychotic and fueled on PCP, homemade whiskey and animalistic rage.

Heed my warning, Faithful Readers…this can happen to you too!!

Any time. Any place. Birds are out there.

…and they’re f’n evil (and probably on drugs).

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

The Dreaded Nyquil Hangover

As I mentioned last week, I’ve been suffering from what has proven to be an annoying head cold.

And as I stated in the aforementioned blog, I attempted to battle this nuisance via the use of what I would later learn were generic store brand versions of Benadryl and Sudafed. Although as both The Peter Norman and my work husband, Mr. Ryan Gray will attest to…all that did was make me all-kinds of loopy Friday morning.

As such, I’ve since decided my next method of attack would be the old standby, my go-to, the end-all, be-all of cold destruction…Nyquil.

It worked, pretty well anyway, I got a great night’s sleep and I feel far less stuffed up this morning. Huzzah!

Unfortunately, I am now suffering from the dreaded Nyquil Hangover!!

For those who have not experienced the Nyquil Hangover, consider yourselves lucky. Nyquil is a deceptive little elixir that—much like Tequila—can often come back to haunt you after a night of good times and sweet, liquid-induced slumber.

When my alarm went off this morning, I sluggishly flailed around trying to find it, much to Grace’s chagrin. I finally managed to turn it off, which was not my intention as I was definitely aiming for the snooze button. So I spent nearly a few moments trying to reprogram my alarm for fifteen minutes into the future whilst dozing in and out the entire time.

When it finally went off again, I rolled myself out of bed and lumbered into the bathroom to shower, under the misguided notion that a shower would perk me right up. The thing is, with a Nyquil Hangover, there is no counter-acting it with mere water. No, no…my attempts were feeble at best.

I tried a really hot shower and nearly fell over I was so tired. So I tried a super cold shower and, in addition to screaming like a small child, I still felt my eyelids getting heavy and I leaned on the towel hook for support.

After nearly passing out face-down in a bowl of Raisin Bran Crunch, I pulled myself together enough to slap a sammitch together. I then made the slow, methodical walk to work. The whole time staring longingly at all of the places I felt my body could comfortably curl up to continue my coma.

Now I’m at work, doing my best to be productive, but struggling mightily. My legs feel like Jell-O. My brain and eyes want to shut down. My body is achy from the gym yesterday. I can’t focus on anything…but I did sleep great last night.

But I guess that’s the trade-off…one great night’s sleep for one very messed up day.

Here’s to hoping no one asks me to operate heavy machinery or perform open heart surgery today.

Monday, April 20, 2009

People I May Heinously Murder: Kim Kardashian

So making the rounds in the “news” is that Kim Kardashian took herself a little nappy-poo while sunbathing in Mexico and got a very bad sunburn.

Here’s a direct-quote from her official website:

“I am so sunburned and need help! I'm in Mexico and I was sunbathing when I fell asleep with my huge Prada butterfly sunglasses on and now look at me! I'm going to have to hide from cameras for days. I usually never get red, I always get dark. It hurts! Do u guys have any remedies I can try to help ease the pain and get rid of the redness?“

Now I don’t know about the rest of y’all but I am having a really hard time trying to feel sympathy for Ms. Kardashian on this one.

I mean seriously, little Ms. Famous-for-No-Reason wants us to feel sorry for her because she got a bad sunburn while napping on a beach…in Mexico…in April with her Prada sunglasses on?!

…yeah, sorry Kim...that one’s not going to fly for me.

I know I don’t speak for the masses, but given the millions of people who have been laid off in recent months and the millions of others working just to make rent and pay bills, I can’t assume you’re going to find too much sympathy for the sunburn you got on your mini-vacation to Mexico.

Take your sob story somewhere else and start watching your rather rotund backside, because as soon as you and Reggie Bush break up---and he’s no longer present to physically dismantle me---you’re as good as gone!!

Saturday, April 18, 2009

Shout-Outs: My Brother, Eric

I just wanted to go ahead and give a shout-out to my older brother, Eric.

Earlier today he came in first-place in the 30 meter motorized wheelchair race in the northwest Iowa regional round of the Special Olympics!!

As a result of today’s victory, Eric will be competing on the campus of Iowa State University in Ames, Iowa, next month in his quest to acquire another gold medal.

Given today’s triumph I figured it was only fitting to hook him up with an official shout-out here at “Blank Stares and Blank Pages.”

The Mailbag

I’ve been requesting comments and emails from my Faithful Readers for awhile now and I’ve noticed a rather large uptick in the comments section—always nice to get some responses to your writing—and I’ve even started receiving a few more blog-related emails as of late.

As such, I’ve finally decided to debut my “mailbag” and respond to five different pieces of fan-mail, hate-mail and/or black-mail.

So without any further ado, I present the first installment of “The Mailbag” here at “Blank Stares and Blank Pages.”


If the McRib were to show up at McDonald’s would you break your Embargo? – Chris T.

Wow, that is a great question, Chris. I suppose when I started this Embargo, I didn’t give any thought to the potential re-emergence of the McRib. In the two and a half years I’ve been out here, I’ve yet to encounter that sweet, sassy pork treat on a McDonald’s menu…I can only assume that will remain the case.

If, however, by some chance the McRib were to land in Boston…I’d probably have no choice but to break the Embargo and devour as many of those wonderful rib-shaped delights as I could until the two-week promotional period came to an end and they disappeared back into the heavens.

You suck and I hate teh [sic] blog. Your [sic] not funny and Jennifer Aniston is old and ugly. – ruff_ryder

Well thank you, ruff_ryder. It is always a pleasure to hear from one of my more educated fans. I will, however, have to disagree with your comment regarding Ms. Aniston. She just turned forty, which is by no means old, and last time I checked she was still gorgeous.

I’d recommend you download some pictures of Ms. Aniston to serve as proof, but you should probably check with your parole officer first to ensure you’re not violating the terms of your probation. :-)

I work in a library and never deal with the stuff that you do. Do you think that you are cursed? – Rick C.

You know, Rick, I’ve often wondered this myself. The amount of borderline crazy things that happen to me in/at/near the library is absolutely ridiculous. I don’t recall building anything on ancient burial grounds or anything of the sort, so I don’t really know where the curse would be emanating from.

I think in the end the biggest problem is that I have a very generic look. I have people tell me all the time that they recognize me from somewhere and this is problematic in a library because all the crazies see you as a familiar face too. The other problem is that I am generally quite smiley and I look inviting to any crazy person who may want to unload their life’s woes upon me.

I think I need to scowl more…

You have made mention about wanting to a write a book. Are you serious and do you have anything in the works? –Bekka B.

Thanks for asking, Bekka. I’ve contemplated writing a book for a long time. The problem is I really don’t know what it’d be about and/or who—beyond my legion of Faithful Readers—would read it.

I’ve got a few different ideas in mind. Some fiction stuff and some non-fiction stuff and then some stuff that’s pretty much what you see here, but you know…with pages. I guess time will tell whether or not anything comes out of it, but it’s good to know someone is interested!!

Do you have a strategy for the no meat challenge and what do you think Grace will do to make your life a ‘living-meat-filled-hell?’” –Rose B.

This challenge has been generating a lot of intriguing comments and mail lately, so thanks for your question, Rose. I think my strategy will be to make as many non-meat things as possible that I like. I love a good salad—granted it usually has ham and bacon—and I enjoy pasta, so those two will become staples if I’m to survive that week.

As far as Grace is concerned, I have no doubt that she will go any length to win this contest. I’m anticipating waking up to the smell of crackling bacon every morning and I can only assume she’ll develop a sudden desire to make pork roast and cheeseburgers every night of the week. I know she’ll be crafty, but I think I can handle it.

If not, I’ll never hear the end of it…


…and with that we conclude the first-ever edition of “The Mailbag.”

Feel free to send in your comments, questions, general remarks regarding my ill-fated attempts to grow facial hair, concerns and/or anything else you might want to send my way by clicking the link in the right-hand column.

Friday, April 17, 2009

This One Time, in Milwaukee...

So I’m pretty sure I got solicited for sex in an airport bathroom.

…oh, I hadn’t told you this yet. Whoops.

Okay, y’all…let me set this one up for you. This happened two weeks ago during my layover in Milwaukee prior to the beginning of a weekend full of shenanigans with The Boys.

I was taking a tinkle in the one of the pooper stalls, because all of the urinals were taken. Note: Milwaukee is not a big airport and, as such, does not have that many urinals.

Anyway, so there I was taking my pre-flight piddle and all of the sudden I hear this tapping noise. I ignore it at first, but it gets louder and louder and louder and sounds awfully close. So I finally look down and what do I see?!

Well, Faithful Readers, here’s what I saw. Some dude tapping his foot underneath the tiny dividing wall and roughly three inches from my foot.

Immediately I remembered that Senator from Idaho who got caught doing this a few years back at the Minneapolis airport and was arrested and eventually had to resign.

Apparently foot-tapping in a bathroom stall is Morse Code for let’s get it on…you know, all classy-like, in an airport bathroom…in Milwaukee…where one of us may or may not have just been dropping a pooper.

Boys are gross.

Being that this was not a co-ed bathroom—thus negating any chance that it was Jennifer Aniston or Amy Adams on the other side of the wall—I passed on the offer by zipping up my pants and hauling ass for my next flight.

So I can only assume one of the following to be true about the dude in the other stall:

a) He really liked my shoes (doubtful)
b) He was impressed with my manly gait (also doubtful)
c) He thought I walked like a real man’s man…maybe even like a cowboy (no chance in hell)
d) He was just tapping his foot while he poo’d and I overreacted (probable)

I guess I’m not sure if I feel insulted or flattered by this situation. There are two ways I could look at it.

One on hand, I was solicited for dirty bathroom sex by a total stranger.

On the other hand, I was solicited for dirty bathroom sex by a total stranger.

Although for all I know it was an undercover officer who was beaming with pride when he saw a good ole Midwestern boy like himself turn down his advances and flee the restroom like a cheetah on speed.

Yeah…yeah, that sounds good. Let’s go with that.

Random Fact #861

I still smile and say hi (more often "howdy") to strangers on the street.

For all y'all back in the Midwest, I should let you know that it’s not exactly the norm to do that in Boston.

I believe that's why most people look at me like I’m high on some combination of PCP, Red Bull and a low-grade beaver tranquilizer…but I just sorta deal and keep smiling.

I’m hoping this is one fact that doesn’t change.

My Nose is Not Happy

So I’ve determined that I’ve either got a basic head cold or I’m developing allergies.

It’s hard to tell exactly which it is.

I almost never get sick, but the lovely Ms. Bethanie Edwards (soon to be Pinkus!) was sharing her nasally delights with the entire processing office earlier in the week, so it’s entirely possible I caught whatever it was that made her sound like Smurfette all day Tuesday.

Although, since I never get sick it could be allergies, which would be a new frontier for me.

I’ve heard that a lot of people don’t develop allergies until their roarin’ twenties, so it’s very possible that’s the case.

That would sorta suck considering how much I’ve made fun of Grace about her allergies over the years. I guess that’d be a swift kick to the pills from karma, huh?!

Either way be it allergies or a head cold, something is definitely amiss. In the last two days I’ve sneezed roughly 63 times. This is a pretty big deal because I think prior to that I’d sneezed a grand total of eight times my entire life.

No, seriously…ask around. Almost no one has ever seen me sneeze until recently. In fact, in the few instances I have sneezed it tends to leave people frightened and/or confused. True story.

Anyway…since I don’t know what’s going on in my noggin, I don’t exactly know how to diagnose it to make it go away. I’ve got a runny nose, but I’m stuffed up, being stuffed up is giving me watery eyes and some weird pressure in my face that I’m quite unaccustomed to…oh yeah and I’m sneezing like crazy!!

So I dug through Grace’s various remedies and found two that seemed to fit the bill…sort of.

One box said it would it would stop my runny nose and watery eyes.

The other box said it would take care of the congestion, pressure and sneezing.

The thing is…I can’t help but think that they’ll sorta cancel each other out. If one is to get my nose-a-runnin’ to stop the congestion and the other is to stop the runny nose in its tracks, wouldn’t that just get me all congested again?!

Not knowing which one was the right way to go, I just took two of each and we’ll see how that works itself out. I’m sure there won’t be any ill-effects from this decision.

On an unrelated note, everything has a blue-hue and smells like beets. Weird.

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I’ve Been Googlized!!

Huzzah!! It finally happened, y’all!!

That’s right, Faithful Readers, I’m officially one of those drop-down suggestions on Google!!

I realize this is probably one of the single saddest things a person could be proud of, but I’m pretty stoked either way!! The main reason for my place amongst the Googlized is based largely on the success of my blog!!

According to stats on my blog, people search for my blog via Google by typing in “Jeremiah Graves” or “Jeremiah Graves + blog” or something along those lines roughly 20+ times a day. This means one of two things.

a) No one who is reading my blog has it bookmarked.
b) My random thoughts are slowly building a decent fan-base via the proverbial “grape-vine.”

No matter what the case may be, it is quite satisfying to see that if you type in my name…it apparently generates 804,000 results.

Sure, sure only maybe half of those are actually me—it turns out there were a couple of good ole boys named Jeremiah Graves in the 1800’s who kept journals and stuff as well—but whatevs…I’m in the mix, baby!

Plus “Blank Stares and Blank Pages” pops up in the top ten results!! Gotta love the interwebs!

Here’s to hoping that Bill Gates or some other rich dude is searching for “Jeremiah Johnson” to read about the movie, but accidently stumbles across my blog and falls in love with it…and then offers me a couple gajillion dollars to write a book or something.

Yeah…that’d be swell.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

Shout-Outs: Lindsay Lohan

I just wanted to go ahead and give some major props to Lindsay Lohan.

Sure she's just another spoiled Hollywood actress, but I fell madly in love with her during 2004's "Mean Girls" and then promptly fell back out of love with her during that whole coked-out, super-skinny blonde dye job thing she did a few years later. That preceded her ill-fated decision to start partying with Paris Hilton.

Since then it seems everything has been in train-wreck mode, but let's be honest, Paris Hilton has that effect on everything and everyone. Does anyone remember what the economy was like before we'd ever heard of Paris Hilton?! Think about it...

Yeah, that's's all her fault.

Anyway...I just wanted to give a shout out to Lindsay Lohan for being able to make fun of herself in this eHarmony-parody. It's absolutely hilarious and made me giggle like a small child.

On a related note...if you pay close attention to her eyes during the video you can tell that after turning down my advances for the better portion of 2003 through 2006...she's totally into me!!

...unless I'm misinterpreting something?!

People I May Heinously Murder: "OctoMom"

Okay, so I was flipping through the interwebs today and according to the fine folks at, the woman who gave birth to octuplets, Nadya Suleman, is seeking to trademark her media nickname – “OctoMom” -- for a TV show and other marketing ventures.


I mean…seriously?! This is really happening?!

I realize we live in an age where anyone (see: Hilton, Perez) can become an overnight celebrity thanks to the interwebs and borderline psychotic levels of media coverage, but really?!

This lady was already raising six kids on welfare and then went of her way to get injected with enough baby-makin’ goo to pop out eight more and now she’s going to land a TV show out of all this?!

Why don’t television executives just go back and un-cancel all of the awesome shows they’ve axed too soon instead. It’ll be a win for everyone. People get their favorite, underrated shows back and the world is spared a weekly look into the life of “OctoMom.”

In addition to the TV show that’s in the works, one trademark would cover “OctoMom” disposable and textile diapers, dresses, pants and shirts.

So she is going to ride her fame as the “world’s largest welfare case” all the way to a line of clothing and diapers on top of the TV show…this is just f’n ridiculous.


Listen up Nadya, you’re going to be hard to get to with all the TV cameras and the fact that you have a mini-army at your disposal for protection. I mean, I feel like I could take out two or three kids in a fight…but you’ve got six older ones and a whole batch of young guns…I don’t know if I can handle all that.

So consider your freakishly fertile fanny safe for now…but when those kids grow up and go to college (on my dime) I’ll be coming for ya…

Sick of the Deception

Hummus is not chip dip.

Hummus looks like chip dip, it smells sorta like chip dip and is even packaged the same as chip dip. It does not, however, taste anything like chip dip.

I want to make this very clear to you hummus. I’m sick and tired of you trying to trick me into thinking that you’re chip dip. You’ve pulled off this little bait and switch more times than I’m proud to admit.

You see, Faithful Readers, hummus is essentially a non-entity in the good ole Midwest. Out in Boston, however, it is all the rage and a must for every occassion.

When I first moved out here, I was still mistaking hummus for haggis. So when I saw what I assumed was some sort of bean dip, I just dug in. I was immediately disappointed. It tasted the way I assume stucco would taste or maybe that stuff that ladies put on their face at spas.

Not only does it taste bad, but it doesn’t even come with good stuff for dipping. Apparently hummus is supposed to be eaten with crackers or old, stale bits of pita.

Come on, Hummus!!

Knock it off already.

You see Hummus, here’s the’re not chip dip. You’re never going to be chip dip. Stop going around pretending to be chip dip and tricking innocent Midwestern folks.

It’s not funny anymore, the first two times, maybe…but not anymore!!

Tuesday, April 14, 2009

Laying Down the Gauntlet

God Loves Social Networking

Shout-Outs: Library Workers…all of ‘em

Hey y’all, little known fact…today is National Library Workers Day!!

I gotta best honest, I didn’t even know there was a National Library Workers Day until, well, today.

Here’s the official description of what NLWD is all about:

“NLWD is a day for library staff, users, administrators and Friends groups to recognize the valuable contributions made by all library workers.”

Apparently there is even a website and an online store!! I can’t imagine anything more awkward for patrons than to wander into a library full of folks wearing these t-shirts. Would they feel obliged thank us?! Congratulate us?! Continue to irritate us without reprieve?! Mock our shirts?!

Anyway, I just wanted to give a big ole shout-out to all the library workers out there who keep these creaky old buildings running as havens for all the patrons, students, researchers and—of course—crazy folks who frequent ‘em.

Pat yourselves on the back y’all…because it’ll be another 365 days until the next NLWD, assuming your next fiscal budget even allows you to learn of new holidays mid-day. ;-)

Toots-day Morning

So there I was, half-asleep and opening the library this morning.

Just like any typical Tuesday morning, right?!

Well, for the most part, yes. I wanted to be back in bed. I wanted a sausage, egg and cheese McGriddle (note: two month anniversary of the McDonald’s Embargo today!), I wanted to continue rocking out to Miranda Lambert’s “Famous in a Small Town” and I wanted to sit down and begin meandering about the interwebs to find any late-breaking baseball news that had taken place between my last interaction with the world wide web 20 minutes prior (note: none).

So you see, Faithful Reader, it was just like any other Tuesday, except that when I swung open the front door to the lobby something was amiss.

What could it be you ask?!

Was it a band of rogue wolverines hungry for groggy, Midwestern flesh?!

Was it George Carlin’s ghost come back to haunt me for stealing his material during a stand-up comedy act freshman year of college?!

Was it Jennifer Aniston finally coming to confess her undying love for me…and to publicly admit that she also thinks John Mayer is a tool?!

No, no, Faithful Readers. It was an odor; a foul, pungent odor that does not belong in, on, around or near a library.

What acrid odor did my nose detect?!


Bad fart.

The stench may have caused some slight hyperbole (as stenches of this magnitude are wont to do) but there was a bluish-gray haze in the air and the paint had begun peeling from the walls like in some trippy early ‘90s rock video.

The two men sitting in the lobby were both stone-faced and suffering. I could tell one of them was responsible and the other was simply taking it like a man, which is to say he was stupid.

Men are known for being stupid and any man who will try outlast a fart of this enormity is clearly very stupid.

As soon as I retreated back into library with its old and musty—yet vastly superior—air, one of the dudes jumped from his seat and went into speed-walking mode and zipped right by me and into the library. The other dude just stayed in the lobby.

Logic would say that the dude who stayed was the one who did the ozone harm, but I’m not so sure.

The dude who bolted may very well have been the offender in this situation and simply wanted to exit the premises of his latest caper. That would make the guy in the lobby, not only stupid and an obvious glutton for punishment (I assume he’s an extreme sports enthusiast), but also somehow incredibly smart for choosing not to follow the tooter into a rather small enclosed library.

This man may be the ultimate paradox of stupidity and genius in one package.

Although in the end, I guess it doesn’t really matter which dude smelt it or which dude dealt it.

…it smells like poo either way. :-(

Monday, April 13, 2009


So I’ve set myself a little goal for this week.

After spending a week back in the Midwest and eating out for darn near every meal, I should probably do a little something to reverse that trend. I figure I’ll start small and that’s why I am planning to bring lunch from home every day this week.

Actually, scratch that, let’s not say “bring lunch from home” because that implies that I’ll actually get up with more than six minutes to spare before I’m supposed to be at work…which I can usually only guarantee one or two days a week.

So instead, I’ll just say that my goal is to not purchase lunch all week. Sure it might mean that one or two days I just eat whatever random candy bars or chips are stowed away in my desk, but whatevs…it’s all about baby-steps, right?!

Lessons from the Gym: The Necessities

The Lesson: ALWAYS double-check the contents of your gym bag!!!

I threw out my back about two weeks ago and it was not pleasant.

As a result, I’ve been skipping the gym to avoid further aggravating my achin’ sacroiliac. While I was back in Iowa last week I accompanied my Mama to the chiropractor and went ahead and got my back cracked. Apparently eleven years is a little too long to go without an adjustment, who knew?!

Anyway…so I made my triumphant return to the gym today and I’m sure tomorrow I’ll make my triumphant return to sore, achy muscles confused as to why I’ve betrayed them.

In my layoff, I’d emptied my gym bag and when I headed out today I forgot to repack two very important necessities…extra socks and extra undies.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize I’d made this error until after I’d worked out and gotten my sweat-on. I came back from the shower and started digging through my bag when the realization of what lay before me set in.

I was going to be forced to wear my sweaty underoos and socks.


The worst part was the panic-attack. You see, my Faithful Readers…when a dude is freaking out and digging through a locker the way I was there are only three things he could be looking for with that much fervor: World Series tickets, his child or some clean socks and undies.

In the end, I kept as cool of a head as a dude can in that situation and I spent ten minutes trying to dry my sweaty garments on the hot-air hand dryers. It worked well enough for me to wander home and change.


Sunday, April 12, 2009

Encounters with Airport Security

So there I was wandering into the airport in good ole Boston to hop a flight to the Midwest when I was “randomly selected” for additional screening.

Now let’s be honest here…there is no “random selection” when it comes to airport screenings. They only pull you aside if you have a name that could belong to a terrorist or if you’re incredibly bubbly and happy at an inappropriate hour.

Well, Faithful Readers, I fit both criteria.

I think you’ve all spent time thinking to yourselves that “Jeremiah Graves” sounds an awful lot like the name of someone you’d expect to bomb your home, school, workplace or favorite Chili‘s. With a last name like “Graves” there really isn’t any questioning it. Throw in “Jeremiah” for a first name and all hell is breaking loose. Last time I checked Jeremiah was a bullfrog and bullfrogs tend to croak and croak is slang for die!!

Jeremiah Graves = Death, Terrorist-Style

So in addition to my Jihad-inducing name, there is my obviously questionable early-morning demeanor. Now I’m sure that most people hopping the first flight out of Boston act in the usual Bostonian way…pissy, unruly and seemingly constipated at all times.

Not me. No, no…I am a pro at dealing with little to no sleep and I was jacked on two Spike energy drinks and some No Doze. So I was rocking my Iowanness and smiling and wishing everyone a good morning and safe travels, etc…

Clearly this was a red flag to the fine folks at airport security.

As such, they pulled me and my belongings aside. I was commanded to sit silently and watch as Joe Security Guy tossed all of my tightly packed items asunder.

Joe Security Guy: “Do you have any weapons in this bag?!”
Osama Graves: “Just my razor for shaving…is that even a weapon?!”
Joe Security Guy: “In the wrong hands, anything can be a weapon.”
Osama Graves: “Riiiiiiiiiight, well that’s all I got.”

So JSG continued throwing my items to as well as fro and eventually got down to my undies and socks. He was curious as to why I had socks with skulls on them.

What I Said: “They’re comfy and were on sale at Old Navy.”

What He Heard: “Because these skulls represent all of the Americans I am hoping to kill on this flight with my dull Mach 3 razor blades!!!”

After swabbing my bag for anthrax, LSD and the bubonic plague and finding nothing he finally told me to stand with my arms and legs spread because it was time to check “my person” for weapons.

At this point I’ve got a solid audience of folks who have passed through security in one simple swoop thanks to their patriotic-sounding surnames like Jimmy McBaldEagle and Jessica StarSpangledBannerington.

They’re all just sitting back and watching the tall, goony dude get passed over time and time again with a metal detector as the guards continually ask him whether or not he has anything dangerous on “his person.”

Osama Graves: “Does the crappy music on my iPod count as dangerous?!”

JSG stopped in the middle of his fifteenth scan for metal and stared me directly in the eyes.

Joe Security Guard: “Do you think this is funny, Son?!”
Osama Graves: “Not so much funny as ridiculous.”
Joe Security Guard: “You think National Security is ridiculous?!”

Realizing that there was no right answer, I chose to stay quiet and instead reply in my head with not ridiculous, but certainly blog-worthy.

Eventually---following an all-too-thorough pat-down---they realized that I was not, in fact, a threat to the lives of American citizens. JSG hastily jammed my things back into my bag--nearly destroying the zipper in the process--and sent me on my way.

I’ve never been more proud to be an American than I was that morning…especially because I then had to scamper at a pace far too rapid for 6:00am to find my gate and board my plane in the final moments before they were about to close the doors and leave the gate.

Thanks airport security. You’re the bestest.

Saturday, April 11, 2009

Time Wasted

So I was thinking about it today and realized that I spend a ton of time untangling the cords to my iPod headphones.

In fact, if you assume that I spend roughly a minute and a half (potentially an understatement) untangling my headphone cords twice a day, five days a week during on average year it comes out to a total of thirteen hours a year spent doing nothing but untangling my headphones.

Think about that.

As far as I’m concerned that’s two to three goodnight’s sleep spent untangling headphones. Granted for any normal person this is like a night and a half of slumber.

That’s just under two full days of work.

That’s roughly the same amount of time it takes to run three marathons based on national averages.

That’s almost exactly the same amount of time it would take to drive from my apartment to the nearest Taco John’s in Athens, Ohio.

That’s roughly the same amount of time it would take to listen to Journey’s Greatest Hits just shy of thirteen times back to back to back to back to back, etc…

No part of me is happy about this, yet I cannot think of anyway to remedy this situation beyond ending my love affair with the my iPod. And let’s be honest here folks, that scenario ain’t happenin’ any time soon.

I guess it’ll just have to be thirteen hours a year that I am willing to donate toward untangling cords instead of watching season eight of “Friends” one and a half times.

Wednesday, April 08, 2009

Poet's Corner #002

Welcome to another installement of "Poet's Corner."
Today's spam email was sent out by "Exum" to the "freefood@mit" mailing list. Needless to say this isn't a prime example of the emails that this particular list usually receives, however, I did find the poetic undertones to be absolutely top-notch and worth inclusion here at "Poet's Corner."


SUBJECT: How To Get A Girl To Do Anythinng And Everything In Bed


Of that gang of devils, visible and invisible, considered
as dead? For what may a kingdom be with the disengaged halfyard
of flannel undershirt.

Friday, April 03, 2009

Ill-Advised Decision-Making

As I mentioned in yesterday’s blog I had all day Thursday to myself while everyone else was working.

I made the most of it. I hit up Taco John’s and Jimmy John’s and Mazatlan and had breakfast pizza…thus knocking four things off my list of “stuff to eat in Mankato” in one fell swoop. I also managed to have a few beers at Mankato’s finest bar, Blue Bricks.

I dropped some money on some compression shorts at WalMart (I know, I know…don’t be hater) that would have cost me at least double in Boston. I decided to take a gamble that a massage would help remedy whatever seemingly irreparable damage I’ve done to my back in the past few weeks. So I wandered into the local massage school and got a cheapo massage that was quite pleasant, but didn’t do much to help with the achin’ sacroiliac.

Then, when I was going to purchase some beer for that evening…I wandered past a tanning salon.

Here’s the thing, I’m pretty white. In fact, I’m so white that albinos often approach me on the street and thank me for supporting “the cause.” I usually then wander home and cry.

Anyway, I wander in--still not quite sure why--and I asked for the basic tan. I figure that I’ve got a wedding coming up in a month and a half and a lil’ color couldn’t hurt. Let’s be honest folks, I’d had a few beers and for whatever reason tanning seemed wise.

Well, here’s the thing, I don’t tan. I burn. I can get a solid farmer’s tan and little else. Yet, that logic never clicked when I wandered in and handed over my cash. So there I sat, in a tiny UV-laden tube thinking that it felt warm and nice.

Then a few hours later, I started to feel a little warm. Perhaps a little too warm.

When we got back to Mike’s place after eating supper and kicking back some monster margaritas I finally took a peek and found out that I was bright red. Just about everywhere.

So apparently instead of the nice golden shine I was expecting when I wandered into the tanning salon with a buzz…I’m as red as Hellboy and I can’t help but think this will go the way most of my burns do. I’ll be bright red and in pain for like three or four days and then I’m promptly return to pale white and it’ll be like it never happened.

So in the end, I paid someone $10 so that I could be in pain for a few days.

I gotta be honest, I probably could have just given one of The Boys $5 and they could have punched me in the nuts and it would have had the same overall effect and saved me some cash.

Needless to say, my entire day of awesomeness in Mankato was somewhat dampened by my ill-advised decision-making.

Thursday, April 02, 2009

Cat Scratch Fear

So I’m at Mike and Alicia’s place alone today.

Both of my hosts are at work and have left me with their humble abode and an automobile so that I may traverse around the bubbling metropolis of Mankato as I see fit. For this I am quite grateful and wanted to give them both a public shout-out for their good deeds.

I do, however, want to make something else public…while there’s still time.

If anything is broken, destroyed or suffering from fire-damage when you two get home today…it is NOT my fault!!

You see folks, Mike and Alicia’s two cats--Merry and Pippin (I know, right?!)--are going out of their way to establish dominance in this household today.

Thus far they’ve both hissed at me numerous times. Which is only weird because they do it after they’ve come up, meowed all lovingly and I’ve been petting them for a bit, then--out of nowhere--HISSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!

I guess I just don’t get it.

Pippin was ignoring direct orders from me to stop climbing around on the TV and to stop pawing at a lamp. Merry has been chewing on my things: shoelaces, computer charger cord, rubber strap for charger, etc..

They both took turns pawing at my breakfast pizza despite my feeble attempts to push them away.

I have no doubt that they are contemplating burning this place to the ground and framing me for the crime. They’ve both spent a lot of time just sitting and staring at me and then they sorta huddle up in a different room before returning to stare at me some more, as they‘re both doing right now.

I know they’re plotting something.

I think they’re out to prove that since I moved out of this home, I’m no longer welcome.

Thus far, mission accomplished.

Wednesday, April 01, 2009

Midwest Misadventures

In roughly one hour, I’ll be getting on the subway.
In roughly two and a half hours, I’ll be getting on an airplane.
In roughly ten hours--unless I snag a standby flight--I’ll be back in the snowy Midwest.

That’s right, my Faithful Readers…it’s road-trip time once again. I’m in for a whirlwind week in Minnesota and Iowa. You may feel free to exude extreme jealousy at any point.

I’m quite stoked for this actually, it’ll be the second straight year where my otherwise boring and dreary post-winter, pre-spring months are broken up by a nice little jaunt to the homeland for some good times with The Boys and the family.

This morning I am getting ready to head out to the airport and catch my botched flight to Milwaukee where I can hopefully snag a standby flight to avoid spending a very long, very grueling five hours in the desolate Milwaukee airport.

Tonight, Mike and Craiggers and yours truly will be taking part in the National Fantasy Baseball Championship online fantasy baseball draft. This is the second-consecutive year I’ve entered in hopes of someday obtaining the $100,000 grand prize. If last year’s final results were any indication, I’ll have to step it up a notch this year--and never let Mike talk me out of drafting the Toronto Blue Jays ace, Roy Halladay, ever again!!

Thursday is my lone empty day on the docket. I figure I’ll try to weasel a car out of someone and spend the day eating Taco John’s and taking in all of the things I love about scenic Mankato, Minnesota. If I can’t weasel a car out of anyone, perhaps I’ll just sit at Mike’s place, drink some beers and blog all day long?!

By Thursday night Johnny and Travis will have joined the fray in Mankato and at that point I cannot guarantee the survival of anyone. Friday we figure to spend the whole day just hanging out until the rest of the crew shows up later that afternoon/evening following work and whatnot. By day’s end we should have a brood consisting of all the Kunkel-boys, two of the Graves-boys, Craiggers, Jay, Travis and some various friends from alma maters galore.

Friday evening shall be the backdrop for a second-consecutive April bachelor party in Mankato. Last year we took Craiggers out and showed him one of the best--and arguably worst--times of his life. This year we figure to do the same with Jay. The difference is this time we’ll have a much larger crew given all the aforementioned various friends who will be in attendance. As such, expect death and/or other various forms of mayhem to ensue in the usual haphazard manner.

Saturday will presumably consist of everyone else fighting hangovers whilst I giggle incessantly about how I don’t get hangovers. This will no doubt drive my friends and their throbbing brains and livers into a frenzy. It is quite possible they will rise up as one queasy unit to slay me…or I could just turn on bright lights and talk loudly to subdue them. Either way, it should be intriguing.

The rest of Saturday will include yet another fantasy baseball draft, this one for our personal league which is celebrating it’s 10th season this year. Huzzah!! I would like to assume my lack of hangover-related symptoms, coupled with my vast knowledge of baseball will give me some sort of advantage over my far less competent and hangover immune comrades. Unfortunately, history has taught me one thing…no matter how much I know, I’ll seemingly never win my own fantasy baseball league. It is a cruel, cruel irony.

Sunday morning Travis and I will be driving down to Iowa and I’ll spend all of Sunday hanging out with my family. Again, if history has taught me anything it is that my brother Eric will want to spend all-day playing videogames. My brother, G-Doggy will want to talk and/or show me the latest improvements on his house. My cat, Tom S. Katt who is nearly 7,000 years old, will take nearly the entire day to remember who I am and get comfortable with me. He will then go sleep behind the couch.

My Pappy will keep me up until nearly four in the morning chatting my ear off about everything from Barack Obama to the New York Mets to Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. No topic is off-limits. My Mama will wander around doting on me and constantly asking me if I’m hungry or thirsty or tired and will promptly do everything in her power to reverse any of those situations be it with a cheeseburger, a Coke or some No-Doze.

On Sunday, my brother Eric will also be ordering WrestleMania and is super stoked for me to watch it with him. As an only quasi-closeted wrestling fan (I know, right?!) I feel no shame in admitting to all of you that I will be watching and probably screaming like a madman.

On Monday, Mama is going to drive me back to Mankato where Craiggers, Mike and I will once again join forces to drive up to Minneapolis and meet up with Johnny and his pal Kyle. The five of us will then descend upon the Metrodome for the Minnesota Twins last home opener in the old ballpark.

With seven dollar beers and high altitude cheap seats, I am once again unable to safely say that no one will perish. Check back for later posts regarding an updated body count.

Then Tuesday morning--at roughly four in the AM--Johnny will (hopefully) wake up from his overpriced stadium beer coma and drive me to the airport to catch my 5:45am flight back through Milwaukee to Boston. At which point I currently intend to go straight from the airport back to work…unless of course this entire adventure leaves me preferring death and/or the sweet, sweet cocoon that is my bed.

Here’s to hoping I survive and/or get a chance to post a few travel updates whilst I’m away…