Growing up in a conservative, borderline oppressive, church environment, a lot of my education about the world came from fairly random sources. My sexual education classes were nightly listening to a radio show called Loveline, with Dr. Drew and Adam Carolla. They weren't broadcast near my university, but I have recently found a podcast to listen to them (well, Drew and the new host, Psycho Mike) regularly again. I highly recommend the show, and not only because I hope it keeps going long enough for me to someday have Dr. Drew's job.

Anyways, in listening to Loveline today on my way to work, I learned there is such a thing as post-coital headaches. And I have just gotta say... WHAT THE?! Talk about the ultimate bitch slap from whatever deity you choose to believe in! "Ah, I see you just had an orgasm. Pretty happy yourself, huh? Well BAM! Migraine!" And even if you choose not to believe in a higher power, that makes it even worse, because you just come to the conclusion your own body thinks you should lose the contest of survival of the fittest. I mean seriously. This has got to be one of the crappiest non-fatal diseases. It would absolutely blow to have. Except with no alternative positive connotation to the word blow. Because you get a blow job and... BAM! Migraine!

On the plus side, it has given me something new to scream out my window at drivers who push my road rage over the edge. So if you ever see someone hanging out their window, middle finger in the air, screaming "I hope you get post-coital headaches, jackass!" be sure and roll down a window, let me know you read my blog.

So, last night, a British Monarch got married. Throw that next to Jennifer Aniston's dating status in the "Things lots of people talk about that I care nothing about." I really don't get the generally fascination with following celebrities lives. What's the point of living vicariously through someone who is as likely to be going to rehab for depression and drug abuse as they are to be happy?

I am re-watching the cartoon Ducktales. I feel weird, being 26 and watching cartoons... but its just more entertaining than 95% of the television shows on now, and I work 16 hours tomorrow, meaning no going out and having fun.

Applying for jobs is almost as annoying as working the one I currently have.

Wait, the girl everyone is talking about that got married is good looking, close to my age, rich, and has an english accent? I take it all back, I care. There are only so many girls like that in the world, and Plan A for my life, marrying one of them, is still on. Of course, if Kaley Cuoco, Emma Stone, or Anna Kendrick is reading this, I will totally settle for you on the whole accent thing.

I love having a smart phone, but I really wish it had come with a more clear idiot's guide. After a month and a half, I still have no idea how to stay signed out of stupid facebook chat.

A large contingent of my extended family is traveling here tomorrow for my sisters college graduation. Being around family is a lot like drinking. There is a certain amount you can handle... but even that night when you are having fun with everyone, you just know the moment is coming when you are going to have a massive headache and wish everyone would just shut up and let you sleep all day.

Today should have been my cousins 23rd birthday, instead of the 1 month anniversary of his passing away. As a friend of mine astutely observed: Death Sucks.

I'll try to get back to something I can pass off as witty and contributing to society tomorrow :)

I grin when I fight, but not when I dance.

I am rant.

Am I the only one who thinks pretty much every where that has a line you stand in for more than 5 minutes needs to have a second non-idiot line? I'm looking at you, DMV. You know most of the people showing up aren't the sharpest crayon's in the box; have somewhere for those of us who looked up online which documents we needed and filled out our damn form before delicately squeezing our rotund self's into the que. I mean you too, every fast food restaurant ever. Let those of us who can determine which path we want to take to heart disease in advance have an actual fast way to do so.

They have the right idea at Midway airport in Chicago, with an "Expert Traveler Line" for getting through security... unfortunately the majority of assholes who think of themselves as "experts" are wearing suits and ties, so even them knowing what they are supposed to be doing takes just as long as the idiot women who still wear boots that take forever to take off, 5 layers of coat and 10 different "accessories" to make sure they look good for the suit and ties. (Girls: Just go with damn sweats, and shoes you can slip on and off without tying. Trust me, for suit and tie, it doesn't matter how you look, the fact you aren't nagging him constantly makes you more attractive than than his wife back home.)

My solution for places looking to incorporate my second line idea, but wanting to avoid the problems of Midway? Hire me to stand at the front of the line. Pointing at people saying "Yes" or "No" based on idiot level at a glance, for what minimum wage laws dictate would be the same as I am making now, sounds perfect for all of us.

You're welcome world.

Also, hot girls really are still hot in sweats. When will women figure this out?

I like lists.

So, this morning upon waking up, I managed to get a splinter in my toe from my wooden floor. And as I sat, awkwardly trying to find a position in which I could hold my foot where I could see the side/bottom of my toe and also have enough dexterity to remove the splinter, I thought for the millionth time: I really need to move.

I'm currently planning on Southern California, sometime over the summer. There are a lot of reasons to move there... but the superficial ones are the most important. Every friend I have who lives down there has the prettiest girls in their facebook pictures. And at this age, I am thinking it's about time to settle down... but still young enough I haven't started to settle for girls actually in my league.

So, while my toe bleeds from my mutilating "mastery" of the use of tweezers, I think it's time to start a running list of things to do while in Southern California:

1) Meet Kaley Cuoco
2) Serenade Billie Jean to Cassie Olsen
3) See a Dodger game
4) Go surfing and snowboarding in the same day
5) Ride every roller coaster at Magic Mountain in one day
6) Take a date to Disney Land, have it go well
7) Do Neil Patrick Harris's "Accomplice: Hollywood"
8) Tour the Queen Mary on Halloween
9) See a filming of Big Bang Theory
10) See the Irish play the Trojans

I'll just keep adding more, as they come to mind.

Girls in Minnesota...

How is it that every time I fly to Minnesota, there is a plethora of attractive girls near my age on the plane... but I never see any when I am anywhere in the Minneapolis/Saint Paul area; other than when at the airport? There are never any on flights out of Minnesota. Have the Boundary Waters turned into some sort of bachelor heaven? Cause I can afford a canoe...

In case I've forgotten...

So future me, also known as my primary, perhaps only reader, here are a few things I am no doubt hoping to know but struggling to remember, as my mind slowly goes the way of my dear Grandmother's.

If there is a Dr. there who looks like an older version of the person below, ie nothing like you, she is your sister. Tease her about being adopted. (She wasn't.)

This goofy looking guy, taller than you with a slightly large nose, is your best friend Brent. He has been your best friend forever, which for your memory is about since you got your 3pm snack, but in reality is since before you were a teenager.

If you have memories of being married to a blond actress named Kaley Cuoco, it probably never happened. I'm only telling you because I am confident you will forget what I just said in a few minutes, and still start your nap thinking "Jackpot!"

Stop complaining when the people at your home make you take naps. You worked long and hard to be a financial burden on whoever is paying for you to be there, to get those daily naps. Savor them.

You used to like ska music, swing dancing, ice hockey, and science fiction. Feel free to tell those young whippersnappers that music was better back in your day. It is. Bust out one of those old school dvd players, and re-watch Firefly. It is still the best television show ever made.

Use the term whippersnappers. You've earned it.

The condoms are in your brown puzzle box. I bought a new box and placed them there 6 months ago... it's still full as I write this. If it is still full as I read this at age 80... something has gone terribly wrong. (Continued to go terribly wrong, I suppose?) Don't bother with them now, they are as expired as your testicles must be.

Well, I guess that is it for now, my primary reader. Now take your pants off, and go wandering around pretending to have no idea what happened to them.

And so it begins...

So, inspired by a couple of friends, I've decided to start a blog. As much for myself to look back on as for anyone else to see, I have no idea what I will post about. But I turn 26 today... and think it would be nice to keep track of the next year in a way I can look back on.

So, future me, if you are looking at this, wondering how in the world I got the idea to start publishing my idiocy in a semi-public forum... it was a whim. Sorry.

So, I've been thinking. Love and Gravity are very similar. I'm sure this has been said before, and probably in a much more romantic sense. But for me, they are alike in the sense that neither can really be explained. Both just too complex for modern science to even prove the existence of, they're more theory than fact. Seemingly mystical, magical, inexplicable forces... that eventually will be explained away by science and taught to 5^th graders. Well, 3^rd graders in Asia. (First blog and I'm being racist already. And so it begins.) And most importantly, they can both be succinctly summed up in a 20 second clip from my current favorite TV show:





They are both heartless bitches.

Cheers!