My Faithful Readers, I have failed you.
I intended to do some sort of countdown to my 30th birthday, playing off the “Five Good Years” post I wrote back in 2008. I also intended to post something on my birthday regaling you all with stories of what I’ve learned in my 30 years on this earth. I even intended to really get this blog up and running again with regular postings.
Clearly, none of those things happened.
Despite my best intentions, I’ve done a pretty crappy job of making writing the priority it deserves to be in my life over the last year and change. I’m hoping to right the ship in 2014, but that will likely prove easier said than done.
In the meantime—in lieu of any real writing—I’ve compiled a list of 30(ish) random facts about me now that I’m 30.
Full disclosure, I started writing this list over Thanksgiving weekend. Naturally, some of the things are a bit dated. Some were written after a few beers. Some were written when I was angry or sad or whatever. It may read a bit disjointed, but I think that pretty accurately describes where I’ve been at for a while now, so here it be in all of its random, rambling glory:
I am pretty much the worst video gamer in the world. I really like the idea of being a gamer, but I generally get distracted or busy with something else and only end up playing video games maybe half-a-dozen times or so a year. When I do play – especially if it’s a sports game – I spend hours manually updating all of the rosters before I ever actually play the game at all. Tangentially-related, I just recently finished the first season of my franchise on Madden ’04. It’s taken me roughly a decade to complete one season and the playoffs, but I won the Super Bowl. So there’s that.
I like my cat more than I like 91+% of the people in my life.
I legitimately contemplate the merits of quitting my job at least once a week, every week. Not because I don’t like my job, but because of the time and energy I put into it and the fear that I’ll end up doing it for the next forty years, only to regret not trying something I loved in lieu of something that I liked and happened to be good at instead.
I like deer jerky more than I like beef jerky. I think bacon jerky tastes like death; wet, soggy, dirty-sock-water-flavored death. Yep.
In addition to Minnesota State University, Iowa State University, and the University of Northern Iowa; I also applied to New York University as a senior in high school. This was when I still had high hopes of being some sort of writer or – quite briefly – a comedic actor and I assumed that living in New York would pretty much ensure my success. Also, I really liked Friends and wanted that kind of life (read: making out with Jennifer Aniston in between cups of coffee and never, EVER going to work…also, rent control!) and everyone knows that kind of life is automatically bestowed upon anyone who packs up and moves to New York City.
I ultimately ended up at Minnesota State where I earned a relatively unused degree in journalism (note: it’s still in mint condition, I’ll sell it to you for half the original price) and some minors in creative writing and communications.
I once asked my parents for “a little sister” as a Christmas present. In hindsight, that was a pretty ludicrous request. I believe I got a calculator and some white tube socks instead. This was a solid response on their part.
I’m not crazy tall or anything, but I am tall. As a result, I’d say I bash my head on something (ie: low doorway, low-hanging lights, droopy tree branches, etc.) at least three times a week. I’m basically a walking PSA for concussion awareness.
I once paid for a single Laffy Taffy with a credit card at a gas station.
I am more broke now – as a “legitimate professional” – than I was at any point in college or while working as support staff for the better part of the last decade. I am absolutely mystified by this phenomenon. The internet implies that this is probably Barack Obama’s fault.
I have never made it through Ken Burns’ documentary “Baseball” without crying at least a little bit. Not once. I’ve seen the series a bunch of times now and it always seems to vary when I’ll breakdown, but it’s guaranteed to happen.
I once ate five McRibs in one sitting. I felt tingly for hours afterward. Oddly enough, it was the same way I felt tingly when I was gobbling Vicodin every four hours after my lung surgery back in college.
I am still secretly holding out hope that some network will swoop in and save Happy Endings from cancellation. I hold this hope despite the fact that the show has been off the air for the better part of a year and most of the cast and crew have moved on to new jobs.
I keep a baseball on my desk at home and at work. It’s like a stress ball, but without the squish-factor.
I owned a Furby as a kid. It died within roughly a week. We sent it in for a replacement, but it was never the same. I think they have souls and I never really connected with the replacement Furby in the same way that I did the original. This saddens me.
True Fact: A Furby will spend 83% of its lifetime thinking fondly of cold-blooded murder.
I always want to be a better version of me. I will never be the version of me that I want to be. This also saddens me.
I’ve noticed that ever since we moved into our new apartment and put the litter box in the bathroom – as required in our lease – Honey and I seem to be on the same potty schedule. There’s been a lot of uncomfortable mid-poo eye contact.
I am a horrendous public speaker. When I was young, I won awards and a scholarship based on my public speaking skills. I’m not sure what the hell happened to me. I blame rock-n-roll music and violent video games.
I think I disappointed a lot of athletic coaches growing up. They’d often say “you’re going to be a monster when you fill out” and I get that. I’ve got a big frame and with some legit muscle, I’d be a pretty big dude. The problem is, I’m now 30 and still have the body of an anorexic 13-year-old Swedish ice dancer. I think I’m as “filled out” as I’m ever gonna get. My apologies to every coach ever.
I’ve never been a fan of caramel corn. Also, I pronounce it car-mul not care-uh-mul. Now you know.
I obsess over the number of Twitter followers I have, this despite the fact that asinine ramblings like these are all I provide, thus severely limiting any potential for building a large audience.
I often think that if I’d been more focused or tried just a little bit harder at the whole baseball writing thing, I could be Aaron Gleeman right now. (Blogger’s Note: Gleeman writes plenty of great, thoughtful non-baseball stuff too. Read it or you’re a square…people are still worried about being squares, right?!)
I care way more about people thinking that I’m funny than I do about people thinking I’m smart.
I’ve got an odd OCD(ish) affliction when it comes to toilets. I’d tell you more, but I’m busy scrubbing bleach on our toilet with a toothbrush right now.
I want to win the lottery very, very badly…but I have literally no idea what I’d do with that kind of financial freedom. Pay off student loans, buy a nice house, maybe get a few new ties, upgrade Honey to a fancier clumping litter, and start turning up the heat in the winter like a total boss?! Beyond that, I really don’t know. Maybe try to get Happy Endings back on the air…is that a thing you can do with loads of cash?!
Seriously, just put this f’n show back on the air already and no one gets hurt!!
I wanted very, very badly to get two cats instead of just one when we adopted Honey. I wanted to do this for two reasons: 1) so that a single cat wouldn’t be lonely while Grace and I were at work or out enjoying our bubbling social lives and 2) so that I could name them Turk and JD.
I don’t like leftovers. There is no legitimate reason for it, but I think it stems from when I was a kid and my family was pretty strapped for cash. Leftovers were mandatory, not an “if you’re feeling lazy” kind of option. I think subconsciously, I prefer not to think of things that way so I opt for new food whenever possible to avoid any lingering “we wuz poor folks” kinda feelings. I’m making it a point to eat more old and decomposing food leftovers in 2014.
I am completely obsessed with animated GIFs. I assume it’s because I’m turning into more and more of an online presence than I am a real human as I age and I find they are a palatable way to emote.
I’ve never beaten a single level of any “Grand Theft Auto” game. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever even tried. I generally just run around stealing cars, getting in gang fights, and avoiding the police. I assume this is because it’s as close as I’ll ever get to being a bad-ass in real life.
I use the same password for everything. It is “b00g3rbutt2002.”
I lie about my passwords to the internet.
I have over 500 Christmas cards. I buy them almost every year after the holidays when they’re on sale and I think to myself, “…next year I’m gonna be all over this. I’ll send out cards to everyone! I’ll get ‘em out over Thanksgiving weekend and it’ll be fantastic!!” Inevitably, I spend Thanksgiving weekend watching football, drinking beer, and giggling at cat videos online. I then realize that it’s December 22nd and I haven’t even thought about the cards since I purchased them and it’s too late to send ‘em. This has happened to me every year for the last half-decade.
I currently have 14 beers in my fridge and 14 Starbucks Doubleshots in my fridge. I’m oddly tempted to alternate them one after another until they’re all gone, just to see what would happen. Although I fear that experiments like that are how supervillains are created.
I’ve had a recurring dream for nearly two years now in which Honey is the size of a full-grown lion and she allows me to ride her around town in lieu of taking public transportation. In real life, there would be zero survivors if Honey were lion-sized. None. Zip. Zilch. Nada. Dead. Every last one of us. She can be quite cantankerous.
I’m probably going to outlive a lot of people who are way healthier than I am and I believe it’ll piss them off something fierce. If they choose to haunt me after their untimely passing while I’m gorging on cheeseburgers and churros, I’ll be miffed, but I’ll totally understand where they’re coming from.
I have watched the “PowerThirst” video on YouTube roughly 32,000 times since 2007. I don’t believe this is an exaggeration.
I am somewhat ashamed to admit that for nearly a year, I thought that “burning CDs” legitimately meant that people were burning CDs, like, putting a CD in a fire. I have no idea why I thought this, but I did. I was absolutely flabbergasted that people would pay $15-20 for a CD and then turn around and set the sucker on fire. It’s possible that I do not understand context clues. There may be a link between this and the “banging my head all the goddamn time” factoid from earlier in this post.
I once made parmesan-crusted chicken breasts and pasta for a romantic dinner Grace and I were having in college. The very next day, I burned the noodles for Mac and Cheese…twice. I am a cooking enigma.
I had my first legitimate celebrity crush on Leah Remini after she played “Stacey Carosi” on Saved by the Bell during the gang’s summer at the beach. I typed a lengthy letter professing my undying love on an old typewriter in hopes that it would win her over and we could would live happily ever after. I threw it away after I realized her address wasn’t in the phone book. Granted, I was looking for Stacey Carosi and not Leah Remini…not that either name figured to show up in the O’Brien County, Iowa yellow pages.
I believe my greatest fear is failure, more specifically, public failure. Or maybe squishy toilet seats…or wind chimes…or maybe hornets…or really all flying things; especially birds. Yeah, fuck birds.
I still have a second-generation iPod shuffle that was brand-spanking new in 2006. It holds all of my Taylor Swift and Glee cover songs with aplomb.
I have, on occasion, wondered what my life would be like if I hadn’t made the decision to move to Boston with Grace in 2006. The fine folks at Formal Sweatpants have been kind enough to answer that question for me with this comic strip: