I am so adorable

Lately I've been getting a compliment from women that I'm not so sure about and when I say lately I mean my whole life. The compliment usually is prefaced in a nice way but basically its the same thing. It's the use of the word "adorable." Typically meaning I posses something that should be noted and described only with the use of that one word. For some reason that word just comes to a females mind when I am a topic of discussion.

But here is the thing, do you know what else is adorable, kittens. Yep, that's right, kittens are adorable, guess what else, babies, yeah, babies, also miniature tea sets, ponies, flowers that make their way up and threw cracks in city sidewalks, puppies, when a little kid first learns how to walk around and takes off their clothes and pees in the yard, old ladies who still refer to black people as Negro's, well actually that's kind of racist. Unless they are senile and then its just plain funny.

Also, sprinkles on top of cupcakes, those eight once glass bottles of Coke, your niece, you know the one you taught swear words to and when her parents hear her say them they wonder where she got it from and can't figure it out so they end up turning against each other and now they are fighting, which is good for you because now they are the center of all the family drama instead of you just because no one can let go of the time you drank an entire twelve pack of Pepsi at 11 o'clock at night and then decided for some reason to do a deep clean to the refrigerator, but you totally crashed from the caffeine and sugar high and forgot to put the mayonnaise back in until the next day and and then the entire family was sick from the potato salad made from it. But looking back on the whole experience is actually really funny and I think that's why everyone still talks about it and won't let it go. But mostly because it distracts them from there own problems.

Like that one family member we all have who just can't figure it out and even if you explained to them how the world works a hundred times a day they still wouldn't get it and just continue to waste there life trying to make it big in the world of Multi Level Marketing or some new grand invention that is actually a piece of crap but everyone it too afraid to let them know how much it sucks. I'm sure we all know someone like that right? So anyway, the moral to this story is that there isn't one but I'm sure all you ladies can think of a better word to use then adorable. Otherwise, I would just rather hear nothing. But hey, that's just me. I always look a gift horse in the mouth, I mean, what if I was living in Ancient Troy?

Painting Day

So, today my friend Jackie, one of my many platonic girl friends, who I have secretly had a crush on ever since we met that wondrous afternoon I was walking my dog in the park and she was doing the same with hers when that weird moment happens between dog owners as they are basically forced to watch these two creatures take in the scent of the most undesirable area that any mammal has to offer. I have not owned a dog in some time so you can get an idea of the amount of time I have been longing for Jackie.

It really was love at first sight, they way she would walk like some kind of dysfunctional robot with her feet pointed to the sides and almost like she was trying to kick her shoes off. So obviously she must have been emitting an enormous amount of pheromones for me to be able to see past all of her many god given flaws. But, hey I was just always the one who felt lucky to be around her. Jackie knew this and definitely had no problem taking advantage of the many monetizing traits which come from the frame and build of such masculinity which I encompass.

So she calls today and asks how I'm doing which is typically a precursor of a need she wants fulfilled but never a need in which I dream of doing. You know that kind of dreams where you wake up smiling and stuck to your sheets that just so happened to be the sheets you just washed the day before and now you have to do it all over again. I often wonder why that is. Its kind of like when about a month after you finally pay off your auto loan and now suddenly you have mechanic bills to worry about. Seriously, why can't they just make something that will last? And when are they going to start selling electric cars. Real electric cars, not the ones that burn gas and make electricity and then somehow are "environmentally friendly." You wanna know what an environmentally friendly car is? Otherwise known as a "Green Car." It's called a Bike, YEAH a freaking Bike.

Now as I answer Jackie's question about how I'm doing I can feel this energy in the way she breaths into the phone that she really doesn't give a crap so I stop in the middle of answering and ask what' s going on with her. She replies in a really sweet voice that nothing much is happening and she is also painting her living room and wondering if she bought pizza and beer if I would help. Normally this is not a bad deal and any real friend would gladly exchange an available afternoon for some quality time filled with painting, pizza, and beer. But Jackie is a sharp cookie. By the way, who thought of the phrase "Sharp cookie"? Cookies should never be sharp, and if they were would they be sharp in the same way cheddar is?

Okay, so the reason I say, "but Jackie is a sharp cookie" is because Jackie knows that I can't mix my high dosage of Prozac with alcohol and she also knows how much of love pizza but can't stand it the way she likes it, and she usually orders just one and knows we always argue about what to get on it and I'm just not in the mood for any confrontation right now. So I just tell her I'm on my way as soon as I finish watching an episode of Matlock. It's the one where he losses a case. Yeah, most people don't believe me about this but it really does exists. I actually really want to see her anyway. So I get there and we are about 13 minutes in to painting the ceiling and a little drip of paint falls on her face just above her lip and she wipes it off but there is still just a little bit on her and I all of the sudden think this could be my chance, I could help her get the paint off her face just like how people in movies help each other get food off there faces and end up in a passionate makeout session.

This could be it, this is the moment I have been waiting for all these years and who knew it could come in the form of a small drop of paint. So I let her know that she still has paint on her face and she goes to wipe it but I tell her its on the other side and then say no, the other side, okay up a little, then pretend to be annoyed and just get up close to her and wipe it up myself but of course by this point in time the build up of the moment have been so great that my nervousness ruins the whole plan and makes it seem less romantic and more like I'm her overweight Italian aunt who wipes the whatevers off all the kids faces.

So at this point I'm thinking damn, no good pizza, nothing good to drink, and not even a makeout session is going to happen. But at least I'm out of the house so I'm not more or less forced to watch my parents cuddle up to a movie in the basement which I called dibs on three days prior. Man, we need a sign up sheet for that part of the house or something.

The Letter

Dear Becky,

I don't know if you got the letter I hand wrote, cried on, lightly dusted with my cologne (the one you said you wanted to smell for ever and ever), folded tightly, and squeezed into your bedroom through the window that is painted open approximately a quarter of an inch that you are constantly trying to seal up with old stockings and electrical tape. So I thought I would follow up with an email just to make sure you know what is on my mind. I want you to know that I'm really upset you ditched me in the middle of our date.

I know I'm not the most good looking, caring, richest, most cleaver, best smelling, well dressed, talented, charming, successful in anyway, spiritual, kind, generous, playful, mature, sexy, tall, strong, well groomed, and gracious man in town. But I think I deserve better then to be treated like that. If you only knew how I felt on the inside right now, you would break down and cry. Possibly on your little sisters bed. You know, the sister with like a thousand stuffed animals and that tired poster of Joey Fatone right above the headboard. You would probably end up in the fetal position and everytime a tear hit the her mauve colored sheets you would kick one of the animals in the groin region, sending it flying into the pink and white shag carpet she begged and begged your father for until he bought it just so he wouldn't have to listen to her whine about it anymore, even though at that time your family was on a limited budget and he was collecting unemployment but was so ashamed by the loss of his job and possibly his career due to industry changes every day he would just go for a really long breakfast at Dee's Family Restaurant but only order coffee which normally waitresses can't stand but this one imparticular had an attraction for men who looked depressed and wore, as she put it "A mustache like a movie star."

No one at that diner knew what she meant by that and some of her co-workers claimed she had one of the most extensive collections of Classic movies ever heard of. Almost to the point where she could put MGM's vault to shame. But I'm sure that was just a rumor. So there your father was sulking in his own self pitty and staring at reflections in the rich black coffee. He liked it black, no cream, but lots of sugar and it was always a habit for him to order it and then immediately after in a quiet and soft voice, he would say to himself "Yeah, just like I like my women" but it was always loud enough that everyone including any table adjacent to him would hear. Your family dinners out must have been embarrassing and or uncomfortable at times I'm sure. Especially since everyone in that small of a town knew he was a closet racist and some how there was always the educated and well dressed black family sitting in a booth nearby and he never noticed until it was too late.

But It wasn't his fault really, he just developed a distaste for black people from the experiences he went through. Or maybe it was his fault. It all started with him refusing to forgive Jimmy. Yes Jimmy, a good man, a decent and kind man, a black man. I mean, sure he could have forgiven Jimmy, but he just wouldn't let it go and now for some reason he thinks the color of his skin is to blame. See, Jimmy and your father were best friends all through life up until their senior year of High School. Oh, those were the good ol' days, when gas was cheap, a new Mustang was less then four grand, dippidy doo hair gel and madras shirts were in style, teens were listening to The 5th Dimension and the one thing that never goes out of style and the one thing we should all blame was all the rage, Hormones. That's right, hormones. That's what we should blame. I'm sure you don't want to hear the story again but in my opinion, your father is better off without her. Last time I saw Jimmy he was living in a Red Roof Motel and smoking Parliament Lights. Although I can't blame him, who doesn't like a recessed filter?

So, I guess what I'm trying to tell you is that I miss you and it hurts because you're the only one who made me feel alive and who could also replace my unhealthy addiction to an extensive harpsichord collection. Well, I suppose its just more expensive then it is unhealthy, I mean its not only the pieces themselves but also the enormous storage costs involved. Plus, no one can even believe how many cases of Pledge I go through in a year. Please just call, I want to talk.

With all my Love,

Brad

The Girl with an Orange Sweater

I saw a girl today with an orange sweater and I went up to her and said "hey how's it going, I like your sweater. My garage door is same color orange, just like pumpkins, I just thought you might find that interesting what a crazy coincidence right?" So she looks at me with a polite smile and backs away slowly, then abruptly gets in her car and speeds away. So now I'm standing there feeling like a total idiot and as I walk away my inner dialog says to me;

Wow, that's a really boring thing to say. Man, my game really needs some work. I mean, was that supposed to be some kind of pick up line? Totally lame. Well, my door really is orange but who cares?! What is she going to be like "OH WOW, it's a sign! I must get to know this guy" I don't know, maybe a chubby girl at church will pick up on me and we'll date for a while. Most of the time I will be scheming of ways to get her to loose a few so I will feel like I'm some sort of success in life just because the person I'm dating is "hot." Whatever that means. I really should be thinking of ways to enhance "inner beauty" but who knows what that really is. Plus, you can't put that on the cover of a magazine. So to the rest of the world and from an economic standpoint, its pretty much useless. So where do I go from here? I'm not sure. Maybe I'll meet some ladies in a bikram yoga class but then I'll probably be so covered in sweat I'll be too self conscious to even open my mouth to say hello to anyone. I suppose I should just go to bed, cuddle up to the body pillow and hopefully drift away in 20 minutes from the Tylenol PM my mother packs in my medication tray.