Shitty Date

                Perhaps I’ve been emboldened by my recent post about bathroom troubles at Thanksgiving.  Maybe I’m looking to again flirt with the success of my post about my failed first date.  Maybe I’m just desperate for funny stories and don’t really have the necessary shame-reflex to not share these kinds of embarrassing stories (definitely this one).  Whatever the reason, I’m going to recount a tale that combines the disappointment of both of the aforementioned posts.   You’re welcome.

                It’s been a few years since this happened, but let me set the scene for you.  I was out with a girl that I had been dating for a while (the fact that I was dating someone should tell you how ancient this story is).  She was in college at the time, so I picked her up at her dorm and went to the next town over (about 20 minutes away) to our favorite restaurant.  We had some soup, salad and pizza there; nothing crazy.  After that, we went out for ice cream; again nothing crazy.  I had never previously had an intestinal discomfort due to any of these foods.  Today, however, that would all change.

                Initially, the plan was to eat dinner and maybe catch a movie or do some shopping together afterwards.   This was not to be so, as our plans crumbled when my stomach rumbled.   I could tell something was brewing and it would not be pleasant.  I told my girlfriend that I wasn’t feeling well and that we should head home; seeing my discomfort, she obliged and we began to make the drive back to her dorm.

                The drive didn’t go well.  My stomach gurgled non-stop, extremely loudly.  Now, even though we had been dating for a while, I had yet to break the barrier of pooping when I was with her.  In fact, I had only farted near her once and that was because she was tickling me and I couldn’t hold it back (it was bad for everyone).  I was, up to that point, still trying to hide from her that I was just an average, disgusting human being (I mean, I do pride myself on smelling good…).  Needless to say, with an intestinal explosion imminent we were breaking new ground in our relationship.   I sat rigid in the driver’s seat of my car, with a strained look on my face and beads of sweat dribbling down my forehead.   My mind was in full-on panic mode as I struggled to hold back the building pressure in my gut.

                To her credit, she was very concerned and supportive during my struggle.  She asked if I was okay (I wasn’t) and tried to reassure me that she was not completely disgusted by the sounds that were leaking from my body (she was).  I told her that there was absolutely no way I was going to make it to her dorm and then all the way back to my house.  She responded incredulously that she had expected me to just use her bathroom, that it wasn’t a big deal.  This is where she was completely wrong.  It was a huge deal.  There was no way that my first time using her bathroom would be to unleash this unholy beast that was forming inside me.  I could tell that my colon had literally turned into the gates of hell and that whatever escaped would not only destroy her bathroom, but likely take both of our souls with it.  No, this had to be released on neutral ground, so I told her that I would just use one of the downstairs public restrooms at her dorm building.

                If everything went smoothly from this point on, I wouldn’t have much of a story.  But, if you’re familiar with how my life works, you know that things only went downhill from here.  I pulled into the parking lot at her dorm building and was met with the sight of a dark building, an alarm buzzing, flashing lights and the entire population of the building pouring out of the doorways into the street.  My heart sank into the bubbling mass in my gut (adding to my discomfort).  But, desperate times call for desperate measures.  I pointed out that I saw no smoke and my girlfriend texted one of her friends who confirmed that it was a fire drill.  That was all I needed, as I bolted from the car and pushed my way through the crowd spilling forth from the building.  I slipped through crowd of bodies, through the doors and made my way through the darkened hallways by the soft glow of the emergency lights.  I felt like I was Indiana Jones exploring the Temple of Doom, only under much shittier circumstances (haha, puns).

                I found the bathroom, locked myself inside and began my business in the dark (the power was still off from the fire drill).  I don’t want to get too graphic with this because that will not help me in my quest to keep growing my fan-base, but after a couple of minutes the lights came back on and I could hear all the dorm’s inhabitants navigating the hallways on the way back to their rooms.  And because I could hear them clearly, I absolutely know that they could hear me.  I’m sure to most of them it sounded like an exorcism was happening in the bathroom.  And I heard at least one person ask if they should evacuate the building again.  I finished my business, washed up, then waited for the sounds of passersby to die down so I could slink out of the bathroom with whatever shreds of dignity I still had left.   Waiting for me outside the bathroom door was my girlfriend with the most horrified look I’d ever seen on her face. 

Now, I’m not saying that this experience started us down the path towards her breaking up with me, but I can’t imagine she was comfortable dating someone who could commit that sort of atrocity.

-Ryan

Thanksgiving Troubles

                Since my last post was about the night before Thanksgiving, I feel like it’s only appropriate to make this post about Thanksgiving (obviously, well after Thanksgiving though because I don’t quite understand how “fashionably late” works).   What should be more impressive to everyone is that I’m making this post only a day after my last one (don’t get used to it; I can’t handle that kind of pressure).

                When we last left off I was a drunken idiot passed out on the floor of my room.  Thankfully (haha, it’s Thanksgiving, get it?), the drunkenness had worn off by the following morning and when I woke up I was just a sober idiot.  I had 4 stops to make on Thanksgiving and for the most part, everything that day went rather smoothly; until I got to my 3^rd stop, my dad’s house.

                As you already know, I put considerable amounts of alcohol in my body the previous night.  I also didn’t make the healthiest choices with my meals that day.   Couple all the garbage I had put into my system on Wednesday with the enormous amounts of food that I was ingesting on Thursday, and by the time I reached my dad’s house, my gastrointestinal system was under a good deal of stress.   Since everyone else was in the basement, I went to the upstairs bathroom seeking some sweet relief.  I don’t need to go into detail here (because I don’t want to drive away any more readers), but suffice to say that I was a gentleman about everything and courtesy flushes were had.

                Now is where we arrive at the problem.  I’ve finished up and I’m feeling like a new man.  I flush the toilet and watch and the last remnants of toilet paper swirl around before being sucked down the hole…and then they stop.  Halfway down the hole.   I’ve managed to clog the toilet in the middle of Thanksgiving.  At this point, I’m disappointed (and disgusted) in myself but I’m not overly worried.   The water is running but I figure I’ll just wait for the water to stop and give it another flush, hopefully clearing up the problem.  I waited and watched as the water rose, waiting for tank to stop filling so I could remedy the issue.

I never got that opportunity.   I have never in my life before seen a toilet that fills up with enough water to overflow with one flush, but the water in this toilet had absolutely no intention of shutting off.  And this is where the panic started setting in.  As I watched the water level rise closer and closer to the top of the bowl, I realized that I was in trouble.  Frantically, I scanned around the bathroom for a plunger.  Behind the toilet? Nope.  In the towel closet? Nope.  Under the sink? Nope.  I couldn’t find a plunger anywhere and by this time the water had filled the bowl and was now creeping up the lip around the toilet.    A breech was imminent, I had no time!  I scrambled back to the toilet and reached behind it in a desperate attempt to shut off the water, but the knob was jammed.

With mere seconds to spare, I was almost completely out of options.  Almost.  I grabbed the toilet-cleaning wand from its holder and thrust the handle into the wad of toilet paper.  I stabbed at it with the desperate intensity of a knight thrusting his sword deep into the heart of a dragon.  And I prevailed.   The toilet paper was vanquished and the water level in the toilet quickly receded.  I had a real need to wipe the sweat from my brow, but I thought it was more important to wash my hands first.

There was some minor spillage due to the high water level, but I wiped that up with the bath mat.

-Ryan

Wasted Wednesday

                A few months ago I wrote a post about how I’m not a raging alcoholic, despite thefact that I have a lot of fun stories about drunken shenanigans.  One of the points I made in that post was that I only binge drink on weekends and holidays like a responsible adult.    Well, recently we had a holiday that ended up giving me one hell of a story to tell.

                Some of you may be aware of Wasted Wednesday.  It’s the day before Thanksgiving and it’s a hugely popular night to go out to the bar because everyone is back in town and there’s nothing to do the next day except be lazy and eat (which is pretty basic stuff, even for someone with a hangover).  It also happened to be the end of 24 straight days of work for me, so I was bound and determined to go out with my friends and unwind.  So, after a few pre-game beers at our apartment, my roommates (Kyle & Knuckles) and I walked over to the bar.

                We got to the bar and ran into a couple more of our friends, Düdders and AJ, and prepared ourselves for a night of revelry.  As expected, the bar was absolutely packed and it was taking forever to get drinks.  My solution to this was to order 2 drinks right away, then just keep cycling back to the bar once my first drink was empty (by the time I was able to order another drink the 2^nd one was inevitably empty).  In one respect, this worked out fantastically as I was never without a drink.  The problem with this is that whenever I have a drink in my hand or food in front of me I forget that moderation is a think and just continue to fill my face.

                My strategy for keeping my thirst continually quenched proved to be my downfall and at around 1:30 I decided that I was way too drunk to still be in public.  Without saying a word to anyone, I paid my tab and left the bar still carrying a drink in my hand.  I walked back to my apartment set my still-full drink on the kitchen table, heading towards my room.  Unfortunately, the walk from the kitchen to my bedroom was too much for me to handle.  I made it as far as the door to my room before I realized I’d have to make base camp and try for the summit in the morning. 

                I have absolutely no idea in what order everyone else arrived at the apartment because I was not conscious when they arrived.  But I do know that my friends found me lying face down on the floor in front of the door to my room.  AJ and Düdders, with the best intentions, took my shoes off and carried me to my bed.   This movement was apparently more than my body could handle as the entire world began rapidly spinning and I demanded a trash can.  As I expelled everything in my stomach into that trash-can, I kept shouting about how disappointed I was in myself.  Cries of “This is my own fault,” “I did this to myself,” and “I deserve this” rang out through the apartment in between heaves. 

                Kyle was sent to retrieve another trash bag, but found himself too drunk and disoriented to remember where we keep them.  After standing in the kitchen confused for a few moments, he decided that he needed to make a pizza instead.  This never happened either, as he fell down in the kitchen and wisely decided that he should probably just stay there on the floor. 

                Still in an absolute delirium, I now demanded a roll of paper towels.  Düdders and AJ obliged, handing me the whole roll, which I curled up with like a pillow, intent on going to sleep.   But the bed was clearly not where that was going to happen.  I started on the floor and that was where I intended to end up; I crawled out of my bed to the floor, still carrying my roll of paper towels, and drifted peacefully off to sleep.

Düdders, exhausted from the pure dipshittery of the night, decided just to pass out on the couch in the living room as it was equidistant between me passed out on the floor of my room and Kyle passed out on the kitchen floor. Before he left, AJ walked into Knuckles’ room to check on him, announcing “I found Ryan in a pile on the floor and figured if he was that bad, you had to be dead.”

                I think it’s worth noting that the last time I was that inebriated was when I was 21 years old and was going through my first break-up with alcohol as a therapeutic aid (I’ve since learned that the gym is a much better therapist).    Not sure what the hell I was doing on Wasted Wednesday, but at least I had the sense of mind to blame myself for being such a drunk-ass.

                Also, Knuckles is still alive too.

-Ryan

Winter Sucks, Too

                I think everyone is perfectly clear on how I feel about fall by now.  Strangely, after I took the time to go on a tirade about how terrible fall is, we actually had several weeks of very nice weather.  It made me look like an asshole.  Well, now the fall I’ve come to expect from the Midwest has hit and it’s just as terrible as usual.  Cold, miserable and we’ve even managed to get some snow already.  In fact, this morning I had to dig my car out of a hunk of ice.   Once I was finally able to get my car-sicle moving, my usual 45 minute drive took 2.5 hours thanks to the numerous ice-related accidents.  So, even though it’s not actually winter yet it sure as hell feels like it.  That’s why I felt it was time to make another post about my inability to handle seasonal changes.  So here’s 5 Reasons Why Winter Sucks and You Should Hate it:

1)      It’s Cold

If you haven’t noticed, winter is cold.  Much colder than the times of the year that don’t suck, like spring and summer.  I go outside and it’s cold.  I come inside and I’m still cold.  I have to make the conscious effort to start my car before I go anywhere because it’s cold.  When I take out the trash it’s cold.  When I get the mail it’s cold.  Everything is cold and it’s miserable.  I’ve heard people say “I prefer the cold because you can always put on more layers, but you can only take off so much if you’re hot.”  You know what?  I don’t even care about the logic behind that because it’s still stupid.  Here’s a great example of what that sort of thinking turns into:

If you like this, you’re insane. 

2)      There’s Snow

A lot of people get really excited about snow.  It seems like most of them are excited about how pretty it looks.  If that’s the entire reason that you like snow, I suggest you just Google pictures of snow or buy a snow globe because snow sucks.  It’s cold, it’s wet, it’s miserable to drive in and I hate it.  It turns a normal morning commute into Mad Max because everyone suddenly forgets every skill they learned in acquiring their driver’s license.  Maybe someday we’ll have roads that automatically melt the snow on them, but until that day comes snow is awful.  And while you’re digging your car out of all the snow it’s fucking cold outside.

3)      There’s Ice

Ice is snow’s asshole brother.   As terrible as it is driving in snow, ice is infinitely worse.   Snow makes your car unable to go.  Ice makes it unable to stop.  If you find ice with your tires, there’s a good chance you’re gonna be camping out in a ditch.  If you find ice with your shoes, there’s a good chance you’re gonna bust your ass.  If you find ice in your drink, it’s probably okay but that’s really the only situation where I’m cool with ice (see that awesome pun?).  That and hockey; I love hockey.  But ice can go straight to hell (where it will presumably melt and be water, which is far more agreeable).  And again, remember that while you’re busy scraping all the ice off your car and struggling to unfreeze the doors that it’s fucking cold outside.

4)      Obligations

In the midst of all of this cold, snow and ice we find ourselves with a ton of obligations and reasons to go out in this crappy weather:  picking up food for holiday dinners, going shopping for gifts, putting up holiday decorations, going to several different houses to visit for the holidays.  All of this in addition to the everyday obligations like going to work, getting groceries, taking out the trash and standing outside your crush’s house while holding a boom box that’s blaring In Your Eyes (I assume this is a normal occurrence for other people, too).  If I could work from home, skype in to my family gatherings and afford to have somebody else do all my grocery shopping for me so that I could stay inside in my pajamas I totally would (I would still brave the elements for the boom box situation though, because that’s what love is all about).  I think everyone has had at least one 2-week span of their life where they had like 3 weddings, 5 birthdays and a bar mitzvah going on; but it’s pretty much like that level of busy for everyone from mid-November to the beginning of January, which brings me to my next point.

5)      It Hasn’t Even Started

Yes, I’m aware that winter doesn’t actually begin until the 21-22 of December.  I’m angry about winter already and it’s not even winter yet.  We’ve already had the cold, ice and snow.  We’re right in the heart of the aforementioned obligations.  So, this means that after a miserable lead-up to the first day of winter, you get to start off the season with some of the most hectic days of the year when you’re already tired of all the torment that’s associated with winter.  And once everyone is just getting a chance to settle down from running themselves ragged with holiday obligations, it’s just in time for the bulk of winter to hit.  Guess what you’re getting for Christmas.  More winter.  Guess what you have to look forward to in the new year.  More winter.  When you’re a month and a half deep into the crippling depression that is winter, guess what you’re getting for Valentine’s day.  More winter.  And loneliness (unless the boom box thing actually works. Fingers crossed).

-Ryan

Pita Pitiful

                If you’re a longtime reader of my blog (all 2 of you) you may remember one of my first posts, Mini Tacos and Mini Sodas, was me having an entirely awkward interaction while ordering food and ending up with a tiny soda and a huge thirst.  Well, for anyone that doubted my ability to frequently screw up simple human interactions, I have another very similar story.  I certainly hope somebody else feels déjà vu from this story, because this is pretty much my life on a regular basis.

                The story starts out with myself and a couple of friends, Rachel and Josh (because as I’ve previously stated, I’m everyone’s favorite 3^rd wheel), going out to dinner at Pita Pit.   If you’re not familiar with Pita Pit (which I was not), it’s basically like the Subway of pitas.   This would have been extremely useful information for me to know.   I even tried to do homework ahead of time by looking up their menu online and deciding what I wanted ahead of time, to make sure that I didn’t end up standing in front of their menu like a slack-jawed moron.   I decided on the Chicken Souvlaki because I was excited about Tzatziki sauce and thought maybe if I ordered the most difficult thing to pronounce it might make me seem more worldly and less stupid when I inevitably screwed something else up.

                We arrived at the restaurant and of the three of us, I approached the register first; exuding a level of confidence that I would soon learn was absolutely undeserved (why would I ever have thought otherwise?!).  I ordered my Chicken Souvlaki (and in my uneducated opinion, absolutely nailed the pronunciation).   The next step was to order my drink and I was absolutely prepared not to make the same mistake I had previously made with the aforementioned mini soda story.  I scoped out the drink sizes, stealthily glanced at the various sizes of cups on the counter and proudly proclaimed, “And a regular drink!”

                Feeling as though I had the monkey off my back, I stepped aside to let everyone else order their food as I waited for my pita to be prepared.  This is where my prep work had failed me.  See, I had looked at the menu, seen the list of ingredients that made up the Chicken Souvlaki pita and assumed that it automatically came with these various ingredients.  But no, the picture was a lie.  The only thing I was assured so far was a pita and a pile of Mediterranean seasoned chicken.  Instead of my work being done and simply watching my pita being made in front of me, I was now expected to select what else I wanted on it.   And through a combination of forgetting the ingredient list I had read online and sheer panic at this new revelation, I had no idea what else to put on it.

                It didn’t start off so bad.  The girl working the counter asked me what sort of greenery I wanted on my pita and I quickly responded with spinach because I know what is right and what is wrong in this world.  I still had some misguided hope that I was simply choosing the greens and the rest would still be handled without my interference.  Still wrong.  Only, I also didn’t quite understand when the girl asked “What else do you want on it?”  And my go-to reaction when I don’t understand what people say to me is to look them dead in the eye, smile and say “It’s good.”  This is absolutely the wrong reaction when you’re trying to get delicious fixin’s  on your pita because she passed my creation (or lack thereof) on down the line past all the various vegetables that I unwittingly opted not to put on my food.  And much like my previous food-related fiasco I refused to correct myself because I was too worried about looking like I had no idea what the hell I was doing (which I didn't).

                The chicken was piled on top of my spinach and pita failure and I was now asked what sauce I wanted on my pita.  This was actually the moment I had been waiting for as I finally spoke up (because for one split second I knew what the hell I was doing) and declared “Tzatziki!” with more enthusiasm than was really necessary for anything I was even doing at that point.   Perhaps this enthusiasm is what emboldened me speak up even further, as I decided to also say “Actually, can I get some cucumber on that too?”   To my delight, they complied and I felt a small sense of victory as I undid a tiny part of my previous failure.  However, still feeling awkward about admitting how stupid I am and also holding up the line, I refused to ask for the tomatoes and onions that I also desperately wanted to complete my pita.   Luckily, I at least knew well enough to ask for the feta cheese.

                I watched as they wrapped up the ingredients of my almost-correct pita; much like I roll up my emotions into a little ball and quietly tuck them away. I took solace in the fact that my drink was still okay, meaning that I at least hadn’t made the same mistake as before (instead, a brand new mistake!).  I grabbed my grown-up sized drink cup and walked over to the soda machine to put some ice in my cup.  When I lifted my cup away from the ice dispenser to select my beverage of choice, the ice lever remained depressed and I stood there helpless watching as ice continued to pour out onto the floor.  Before making any effort to remedy this, I looked over at Rachel who was laughing hysterically at my plight and I just shrugged as ice continued to pile around my feet.  

This is why I eat at home.

-Ryan

Bleed Blue

                I know I left a hint about this in my post about how much I hate fall, but I love hockey.  Specifically, I love St. Louis Blues hockey.   I mean, I’m a fan of the sport in general, but the most important team in my mind and my heart is the Blues.  I’ve grown up with them and I will grow old with them.    Now, anyone that knows even a little about the Blues should be aware that it’s not always easy being a fan; in fact, it can be downright heartbreaking sometimes.  We have 0 Stanley Cup wins.  And we have a history of underperforming in the playoffs.  And still, even with that, being a Blues fan is amazing.  So, just in time for their first game of the season tomorrow, here are 5 Reasons Why Blues Fans Are the Best.

1)      We Live On Hope

As a Blues fan, you start every season hopefully thinking “This is our year! This is the year we win the Cup!”  It’s standard fare.  Not that we expect to win each year, but we always hope that this is the year that we get the monkey off our backs.  We always hope that this is the year all the pieces come together.  We’re a bunch of people that believe in our team each year; unlike some of those jaded fans who just know that their team will suck.  We start off bright-eyed and ready to believe every single season.  And we end each season confident that next season will be even better, with cheers of “We’ll get ‘em next year, boys!” 

2)      We’re Humble By Default

This may not make much sense, considering the previous point, but let me explain what I mean.  Because we aren’t one of those teams that is consistently favored to go all the way, we don’t face a huge letdown when we get eliminated in the playoffs.  We’re (hopefully) not the city that starts flipping over cars and lighting fires when our team gets unceremoniously eliminated.  We’ve been there, we’ve done that, we'll move on and look forward to next season.  We may be losers but we’re good losers.  And I’d rather be that over a sore winner.  We’re humble by default because we have to be.

3)      We’re Dedicated

Let’s be honest here: you don’t keep paying for tickets, watching games, buying merchandise and all around supporting a team with 0 Championships in 47 years of existence if you’re not dedicated.  And we are die-hard.  There is a reason we say that we bleed blue and it’s not because we’re nobility.  There’s a reason why we have the first 2 qualities I mentioned.  There’s a reason why we still hope that each year is our year and why we don’t turn on our team when they lose.  It’s dedication.  It’s also dedication that makes us walk to 14^th & Clark in the blistering cold of winter, not wearing a coat because we want everyone else to see the Blue Note we’re proudly wearing (look forward to a future post about how much I hate winter).

4)      We’re Used to Being Marginalized

Okay, so being marginalized isn’t a positive thing, but it definitely adds to the character of Blues fans.   We’re used to being second-class citizens in our own city.   We are right in the heart of Cardinal Nation, so we’re used to getting pushed around in favor of baseball.  Our hockey coverage gets bumped to secondary radio and television stations in favor of baseball games.  We’ve seen parades down Market Street for the Cardinals and been asked “Where’s the Blues’ parade?”  We’ve even seen the Rams bring home a trophy.  And we take it all in stride.  We wait for our turn.  We’re not one of those teams whose fans brag about how many titles they have.  We’re the fans that brag about how much we love our team, even when we’re not the popular kids in town.

5)      We’re Family

Take all of the above qualities and put them together.  It gives us all, as Blues fans, familiar ground to stand on.  We’ve all got that similar experience.  Whether you’ve been with the Blues since ’67 or ’97, we’ve felt the same highs and been crushed by the same lows.  We’ve carried on the love of the game and passed that on to those around us.  We sit in our cars outside the arena and honk “Let’s go Blues” waiting for any one of our 19,000 closest friends to shout it back in return.  We wait for our crazy uncle, Towel Man to go nuts and count off our goals for us.  We sing and dance together as the organ plays “When the Blues Go Marching In.”  We high-five and hug the people around us when the lamp lights up.  We aren’t just a bunch of fans at the game.  We’re a family (and just as insane as any other family).

So, maybe this post wasn’t funny like most of my other posts are (or maybe it was just as unfunny as all of my other posts are).  But, sometimes I feel ways about things.  St. Louis Blues hockey is one of those things that I feel a way about.   Being a fan of the Blues is not just a hobby, or a mindset.  It’s a way of life.  And I’m damn proud to live that lifestyle.  Let’s go, Blues!

-Ryan   

Facebook Breakup

                So, something slightly out of the ordinary happened the other day.  Starting at about 7 pm Tuesday and until around 3pm Wednesday, I was inexplicably unable to post, comment, like, share or do pretty much anything else on Facebook.  And I still have no idea why.  I can only assume that I was flagged as a spam account due to the fact that shortly before it happened I had “liked” somewhere in the neighborhood of 30 comments made by various people in a hockey discussion and that kind of camaraderie and supportiveness is (possibly) not tolerated.

                I never really thought I’d find myself terribly attached to Facebook.  I hardly post anything personal on it.  If anything, I mostly just use it as a place to share the jokes I write and a way to find an audience for this blog.  That being said, upon realizing that my account had been rendered useless I found myself quickly spiraling downward into madness.  It’s not that it’s specifically Facebook, it’s more the fact that I’ve been using the same account there for about 8 years now and have a lot built into that.  I’ve made many connections with people, have a fair amount of pictures on there and I like to think I’ve built a pretty solid reputation for posting funny status updates (a few people have told me this and I took the liberty of extrapolating the data).  

                In the midst of my panic over how my jokes and blog posts would continue to reach the audience I’d built around myself, I came to a few hysteria-induced conclusions.  First, is that I crave the validation of my peers and that humor is the most natural way for me to achieve that.  Furthermore, Facebook makes the approval of my humor easily quantifiable.  So, without the ability to post my newly written jokes, I found myself sitting the broken remains of a Rube Goldberg machine that was designed entirely to stimulate my sense of self-worth.  Imagine the game Mousetrap, only instead of catching the mice at the end, the game gave you a hug.  Then your little sister breaks the game and you no longer get the false satisfaction of a hug from a game that actually doesn’t care about you at all (ouch, that got dark pretty quickly). 

                The other thing I noticed is that in some sense, it was kind of like Facebook had broken up with me.  I could still log in and see what other people post, but I was not allowed to interact with anything.  Facebook had broken off contact with me.  It was ignoring me.  It wouldn’t return my calls or texts.  But I could still see it all the time, still having a great time because it had already moved on from me and I was just sitting a dark room by myself looking at my computer screen and wistfully remembering the way things used to be; hoping that we could reconnect and patch things up because I always thought we were great together.

                I tried to be as logical as I could about the situation (reports of my success in being logical may vary).  I sent a few reports to Facebook explaining the situation (and begging them to take me back, swearing I’d treat Facebook better this time).  I never heard any response as to why my account wasn’t working but thankfully, it was fixed before I ended up standing outside of Facebook headquarters holding a boom box over my head blaring Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.”  If anything, I think this taught me that I need a lot more practice at being funny in fewer than 140 characters, because Twitter is hard for me.

                There are people in this world having real problems, yet I spent most of my day here losing my mind because I had no idea how I was going to share my blog posts without the use of my Facebook account.

If it ever happens again, I’m fully prepared to start a #FreeRyan campaign.

-Ryan

Storytelling, Sobriety and The Sixth Sense

                After my last couple of posts about my drunken shenanigans in Memphis (and before I post any future stories about drunken shenanigans), I feel like I need to make a post detailing the fact that I am not, in fact, a raging alcoholic.

                People are always surprised to hear that I didn’t drink until I was 21.  Like most things in life, I didn’t have a good reason for this decision.  I had ample opportunities to drink before my 21^st birthday, but for whatever reason I just always thought “Eh, I’ll wait,” (this is my attitude towards a lot of things, which is why I still haven’t seen The Sixth Sense, no spoilers please).  Naturally, by the time I was 21 I had a lot of lost time to make up for, and boy did I ever make up for that time.  I’ll get to some more of those stories some other time because that’s not the point of this post (and because I don’t feel like writing a novel).  Eventually, my days of nonstop partying were fulfilled and the drinking slowed down to where I now only binge drink on weekends and holidays like a true, responsible adult.  That being said, one of my biggest pet peeves is when people tell me that I drink too much.

                I’m not exactly working on a cure for cancer, but I have a steady 40+ hour a week job (that I’m always mostly on time for!), a fulfilling social life and many hobbies to keep me busy (such as this incredible blog *wink wink*).  Realistically, the only damage alcohol has done to my life has been in my wallet, because even going out to a bar once a week requires a small loan (is it appropriate to bring a flask to a bar?).  In fact, there are plenty of things that I do far more frequently than drinking, such as binge-watching Netflix, playing video games, going to the gym, getting rejected by women (I’m single, ladies!), etc.  But nobody ever says “You need to cut back on your Netflix,” or “You have a gym problem,” (which I probably do because I have no idea what I’m doing, but I bought these workout cloths and I’m determined to wear them).

                I guess maybe the biggest part of the problem has to do with many of the stories that I tell.  Obviously, they only make up a fraction of the posts I’ve made so far (for instance, I can sink a boat while entirely sober), but I do have some pretty fantastic stories about nights out drinking.  There are, however, a few problems with assuming that these stories mean that I drink too much.  First off, anyone who has had a good night on the town knows that one night of drinking can spawn several awesome stories, confused questions and embarrassing pictures (also, sometimes hospital bills).  Another issue is that I’m probably not gonna have too many interesting stories about the other activities I do (that’s not true, everything I do is hilarious and you should keep reading this blog indefinitely for more funny stories). And even if I think something funny or interesting happened, that doesn’t mean you’ll agree or want to hear (read) about it.  I might think it’s hilarious that the last time I played Dungeons & Dragons my wizard was so incompetent that even his magic missile missed it’s target, but that doesn’t mean you will (ladies, I do not play D&D…unless you like that kind of guy, then I totally do…D&D players, I’m actually not that bad, my wizard was pretty badass…everyone else that doesn’t get that joke, carry on).

                So, maybe what I’m really trying to say is, don’t judge me if (when) you see future stories about drunken shenanigans.  But also realize that there are (probably) just as many stories that I’m not posting about.  In fact, for any post you read on here, there’s a probably a pretty good chance that I wrote it while binge-watching Netflix (or I likely just scrolled through the Netflix menu screen for hours on end).

                But all this writing has made me thirsty.  I’m gonna grab a beer. 

               

 -Ryan

Memphis Revisited

Because I am all about giving (and don’t have enough to keep me busy), I decided to do a little bit of extra homework for my Memphis post from yesterday and revisit it with some exact locations, coordinates and satellite imagery so that you, my readers (all 14 of you), can see exactly where I took my parking garage nap at and where the car actually was.  It's like supplemental reading! And, because I’m so awesome (trust me, I’ll tell you), I’m going to give you the coordinates to look up in Google maps so that you can play along at home.

First up, if you look at the coordinates 35.141330,-90.051212 you will see the parking garage I kept finding countless times.  And, if you zoom in, it’s pointing out the exact corner of the roof that I curled up in to take my nap.  Please, use this information responsibly if you find yourself lost in Memphis in dire need of some shut-eye.   If you look around, you can even find the skywalks I mentioned that led me back into the garage from across the street.  Here is the aerial view:

Now, let’s take a look at the parking garage where the car was parked.  You can find that parking garage at coordinates 35.143341, -90.052682.  Here is the aerial view of that parking garage:

Now, let’s take a look at where those 2 garages are in relation to one another.  You’ll find my nap garage at point A and the well-hidden (possibly in Narnia) garage at point B.  And you can also see their relation to Beale Street, which runs along the bottom of the image:

As you can see, I wasn't terribly far off, and if I had the energy to wander around for another 4 hours or so, I’m sure I would have eventually stumbled across the correct parking garage.  But I stand by my decision to nap in public because it made a great story.

Seriously though, don't do the things that I do.

-Ryan

Memphis

                I've been to Memphis 3 times.  Since it’s only about 5 hours from where I live and has great barbecue, it seems like a no brainer for me to go there on a weekend trip.  And speaking of having no brain, let me tell you a little story of the last time I went to Memphis.

                My sister (Sis), her boyfriend (D-Town) and myself were heading down to Memphis to spend the weekend there and check out the annual Memphis in May BBQ Contest.  They invited me along because I’m a lot of fun and also a well-documented third wheel.   For those of you that don’t know, in much of Missouri it is legal to consume alcohol in a vehicle as long as you’re not the one driving.  So, naturally, D-Town and I took full advantage of this while my sister drove.  We started off down the road at about 8:00 in the morning with a few breakfast sandwiches and a 6-pack of tall-boys (because you can’t drink all day if you don’t start in the morning). 

The first problem we encountered was my near constant need to use the bathroom.  For those of you that don’t know: I pee frequently.   I have a tiny bladder and as soon as I feel a little discomfort, I feel obligated to relieve myself.  This issue completely flies in the face of my usual rugged manliness (take note, ladies).  So, by the time we got near the Missouri/Arkansas state line, I was feeling compelled to stop and relieve myself about every 30-45 minutes.  My sister was not happy with this.  D-town used one of these numerous pit stops to buy the two of us more beer.  And I, not being one to turn down this sort of hospitality, drank the beer and subsequently had to pee more.   Needless to say, I believe that Sis and I both agreed that we could not get to Memphis fast enough at that point.

Once we arrived in Memphis, the first thing on the agenda was to eat lunch at the famous Charlie Vergos’ Rendezvous.   D-Town and I had a couple of pitchers of beer and I proceeded to shove pork ribs into my mouth with the same level of class that you would expect from a caveman.   After getting sauce everywhere and using somewhere in the neighborhood of 5 rolls paper towels to clean up after myself, we headed out to another bar on Beale Street.  As we sat in this bar drinking enormous beers and watching the NHL playoffs (because priorities), I happened upon some random guy who said it was his birthday and then proceeded to buy me a shot (because you buy other people shots on your birthday?).  The hockey game finished up and we left to check out the BBQ competition and consume more beverages.

After wandering around the BBQ competition, it was time to head back to Beale Street for more shenanigans.  This included buying a 100oz Hurricane drink (a Memphis tradition!) and making sure to try on every hat I found in the various souvenir shops. 

Pictured here: Poor decisions

I also managed to find a solid 20 minutes to make small talk with a girl working in one of the shops who I thought was cute (I was presumably still wearing that stupid hat).  This conversation abruptly ended when I realized I had no idea where Sis and D-Town were, panicked, and ran out of the store (I’m super smooth).  After finding them and wandering around in the hot, Memphis sun for a while longer, I decided that I was in dire need of a power nap and insisted that my sister give me the car keys so that I could go recharge my batteries.   This is where the story gets extra fun, because she refused and I felt that this was an injustice, so I charged off on my own to find the car (and presumably take a nap on the ground next to it?).

The first problem that I ran into was the fact that all the intersections and sidewalks leading away from Beale Street and patrolled by police officers who make sure that nobody takes alcohol off the street.  This was a problem for me, as I still had half of my Hurricane and was in no way willing to dump it out.  I solved this problem by waiting for a distraction and using my advanced drunken ninja skills to slip past the officers.

The next problem that I encountered was trying to find the parking garage where our car was parked.  I started off entirely confident that I would be able to find it and set off in the general direction where I believed it to be.  This ultimately proved to be a terrible decision on my part because, try as I might, I could not find this damn parking garage.   I did, however, find a different parking garage.  And I managed to find this incorrect garage about 7 different times.  The first time I stumbled upon it, I thought it was the correct garage so I scoured the entire thing looking for the car before leaving.  I thought I had properly left that garage behind me, but somehow I got myself turned around and ended up right back there, 6 more times.  At one point I even went inside a building across the street, went up several stairs and across a skywalk only to end up back in the same damn parking garage.

By this point, I was extremely intoxicated, exhausted and had a pounding headache.  And upon entering the same, incorrect parking garage for what seemed like the hundredth time, my impaired brain rationalized that this was my destiny, to end up in this garage.  With this stark realization, I knew that the only thing I could do would be to make the best of it, so I walked all the way to the roof of the garage, found a corner where I thought I wouldn't be bothered and sat down with my giant Hurricane to enjoy the sunset and finally get my nap.

Let me pause for a moment and just add in that I absolutely do not advocate napping in the corner of a public parking garage in a strange city.  While I happened to get away with it, all in all it is a pretty terrible idea.  Best case scenario, you’re probably sleeping in something disgusting and worst case scenario you’ll probably get mugged and/or murdered (which both seem pretty bad).  Seriously, don’t do the things I do (even though I do make them seem REALLY cool).

About 45 minutes after I sat down for a nap, I was awakened by my phone ringing.  It was a call from Sis, panicking because she had made it to the car and I was nowhere to be found.  First, I questioned her as to how the hell she managed to find the parking garage, because it was clearly hidden from me by some sort of sorcery.  Then, I assured her I was both perfectly okay and still in possession of half of my Hurricane (my priorities were apparently different from hers).  And finally, I forced her to stay on the phone with me and guide me to whatever wormhole I needed to pass through to find the correct parking garage.

Upon arriving at the car (which I can only assume was located in Narnia), I apparently had underestimated my level of drunkenness and also how helpful that nap would be, because I took a sip of my Hurricane and flopped down into the car, ready for more sleep.  Once at the hotel, I set my Hurricane down in the bathroom (for safe-keeping) and immediately collapsed onto the bed into a useless pile of Ryan, quickly passing out.

Now, I’m not one for wasting alcohol (I was raised better than that), so as soon as I woke up the next morning I made a trip to the ice machine so I could chill what remained of my Hurricane and finish it.  To my sister, this was absurd.  To D-Town, this was awesome.  I chose to side with the latter and happily placed myself and my drink in the backseat for the long ride home (with several more pit stops).

I do not think I will be invited on any more road trips with them.

-Ryan

Fall Sucks

                So, it’s September now.  Summer is coming to a close soon.  It’s going to be fall.  I've been seeing a lot of people getting excited about the end of summer and the start of fall and honestly, this makes no sense to me.  In fact, I’ll just say that I think it’s stupid.  To me, that’s like saying “I hate warm weather and fun.  I like when everything is cold and dead because I have a severe personality disorder.”  So today, I’m just going to list my Top 5 Reasons Why Fall Sucks and You’re Wrong if You Like It: 

1)      Colder weather

Let’s start off with the obvious one.  It’s going to start getting cold.   Why is this a good thing to anyone?   You can’t do any activity that involves water like swimming, float trips, water parks, etc. (not water sports, that is an entirely different and much grosser thing).   I guess if you’re into bobsledding you’d be excited about colder weather, but even Jamaica has a bobsled team and they're warm.  It’s not like in the summer when you can have nice warm, sunny days.  Hell, even warm rain showers.  No, now you’re getting cold, dark, depressing rain to match all the dead leaves and shattered dreams of autumn.

2)      Heavier Clothes

Going hand in hand with the colder weather, you have to start wearing heavier, less comfortable clothes.  I hear people saying “I can’t wait to wear jeans and a hoodie, it’s so comfortable!”  First of all, you can wear jeans in the summer, too, a lot of people do.  And you can’t tell me that jeans and a hoodie is more comfortable than shorts, a t-shirt and most importantly, flip flops because you’re just wrong.   There is no argument, you're just wrong. You have to wear more layers, which is more layers to take off when you get to work, home, the bar etc.   And then that’s more layers to babysit, too.  You go to the bar when it’s cold and you wear a coat, all of a sudden you’re forced to make the decision of wearing the coat the whole time and getting overly warm, or taking it off but having to babysit it all night when all you really want to do is show off your sweet dance moves set to a soundtrack of all the greatest pop hits of the 80s.

3)      Less Daylight

In addition to the colder temperatures and the extra layers of clothes you’re forced to accept, there’s also less hours of daylight to enjoy.  So, not only do you have fewer hours to be outside and enjoy the sunlight on your days off, but you also get the pleasure of going to work in the dark and then coming home in the dark (just in case you weren't already horribly depressed about going to work).  I would also tell you how terrible it is to be stuck inside at work just watching the only sunlit hours of the day pass you by, but I don’t know what that’s like because the only window near me is just frosted glass between me and the office next door.  But I’m sure that would really suck too.

4)      Pumpkin Everything

As soon as the season starts changing, suddenly anything and everything comes in pumpkin flavor.  Now, I like pumpkin as much as the next person (actually, maybe I don’t since I’m complaining about it), but why are we going wild about pumpkin flavored everything?  If everyone likes pumpkin so much, why aren't these pumpkin flavored items available the rest of the year?  People go crazy about pumpkin pie, yet for some reason they’re only having it for Thanksgiving, when pumpkin pie filling is sold the entire year (trust me, I worked it a grocery store and only ever had to stock it in November).  And Pumpkin Spice was never even good enough to be a part of the Spice Girls.   I actually like pumpkin myself,  but I don’t think we need to go crazy every year with pumpkin flavored coffee, candles, soaps, condoms and whatever else we decide it’s necessary to add pumpkin flavor to  At this point, I’m terrified that McDonald’s will release a Pumpkin Spice McRib and the collective pumpkin flavored orgasm will destroy the earth.

5)     The Inevitable Winter

Finally, the worst thing about fall is that it’s basically just the opening act for an even worse show: winter.   Fall is basically just Winter Lite.  It’s just a warm up (cool down?) for the terrible times ahead.  Cold weather, snow, ice, miserable driving conditions; if you like things that suck then winter is right up your alley.  I don’t think I need to make a very long explanation for why winter sucks and I don’t know how much more I can say about winter without getting angry and just using a string of expletives, so I’m probably going to have to cut this one off there, but seriously, fuck winter.

About the only good thing I can even say about fall is that hockey season will be starting and I am extremely excited about that.  But really, it’s 2014 and hockey is played indoors now (it’s even played in Florida!) so we could realistically just move hockey season and then Fall/Winter would have absolutely no redeeming qualities whatsoever.

Also, before I go, I Googled “Pumpkin Spice Girl” and found this absolutely terrifying picture:

No wonder she never made it into the movie Spice World.

-Ryan

Depressing Foods

                Sometimes I get bored and mess around in MS Paint.  Mostly it’s just doing an extremely shoddy job of editing together pictures.  Every now and then I actually create something that shows exactly how untalented I am.  Today, I’m going to share the latter with you.   For whatever reason, lately I’ve been creating depressing food items.  I don’t have any back-story to these.  I have no context for these images either.  In fact, I don’t even have any real reason that I’ve been doing it; I just made them because sometimes I do things.  But I also can’t help but share this (questionable) creativity with my blog readers (is it up to 9 yet?).  Plus, this counts as new content and I’m all about getting an easy update when I can.  So, here’s the kind of useless nonsense I’ve been working on lately.

 And, you've probably noticed that the Regret-Spaghetti may also be referred to as Regretti because I think it sounds pretty cool.

-Ryan

The Murder Room

So, some of you may have assumed by some of my previous posts (or been blatantly told by me) that I don’t always have the best luck with the social interactions.   What I do have, are numerous glorious failures, hilarious rejections and just outright insane moments.  And I feel like one of the best ways to follow up “Sorry I was gone” post is with one of the single most insane human interactions I have ever had in my life.

                Last winter, my roommate (who I will refer to as Knuckles) and I went out to a trivia night (because sometimes we like to remind ourselves how little we actually know).  We happened to run into a female acquaintance of ours that we hadn't seen in a while; we’ll call her J.  After being sufficiently reminded of how dumb we were, we all decided the best thing to do would be to go to the bar and kill some more brain cells.  After several hours of drinks, shots and 80s pop music, Knuckles and J were both wasted and I being the youngest and most responsible adult, suggested that J walk back to our apartment with us rather than trying to drive home.  Knuckles went to bed, I went to bed, J went to bed.   That is the last time anything made sense that night.

                At approximately 3:30 in the morning, I awoke to the distinct sound of someone peeing on the carpet.   You’re probably wondering how I instinctively know what someone peeing on the carpet sounds like, but that’s only because you clearly don’t have a roommate.    I jump out of bed in a panic and turn on the lights to find J, stark naked, hunched over, peeing in my closet.

                I’m not sure if anyone else has ever woken up to a scene like this, but pretty much the only reasonable reaction is to start yelling at them.  From here on out, I will try to transcribe the night’s dialogue as best I can (there was a lot of yelling from me and drunken-slurring from J).

Me: “What the fuck are you doing?!”

J: “Just using the bathroom.  It’s cool.  Bathroom…”

Me: “No! That’s my fucking closet! You’re pissing in my closet!”

At this point, J picks up the nearest thing to her, which happens to be my St. Louis Blues hoodie, and begins wiping up her piss with it.  This is probably the biggest sin you can ever commit in my house.  I absolutely lose it and scream at her, “YOU’RE MAKING EVERYTHING WORSE. STOP DOING EVERYTHING!”

                She stops dabbing at the pee, drops the hoodie and stares at me for a moment like a deer in the headlights before drunkenly scampering out of my closet and into the living room.  I follow closely behind her, terrified of what she might possibly pee on next.   As I walk into the living room, I find J now standing in front of my DVD shelf/bookcase staring.  She quickly spins around and asks me, “Where’s your religion cup?”

                Now, I admit, I’m not a terribly religious person.  So, I was not sure if this religion cup was actually a real thing or the insane construct of a woman who had just drunkenly peed on my floor.   Is it supposed to be some sort of goblet? The Holy Grail? Is it just a cup where you put your rosary and/or communion wafers? I think I accurately captured this uncertainty by responding with, “Excuse me?”

J: “Your religion cup?  Where is it?  Where do you store your religion?”

Me: “Eh…..wha?”  (I think I shrugged and uttered some other random syllables)

                Obviously dissatisfied with my lack of a religion cup, J scampered off again.  At this point, certain that I must be hallucinating, I went to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and hopefully jolt myself back to reality.  This only served to confirm that I was, in fact, experiencing this in real life and that the sounds of doors crashing open in the rest of the apartment was some new problem I needed to investigate. 

                I walked out of the bathroom to find J, still completely nude, standing in my roommate’s room looking around bewildered (my roommate, unfortunately, never did wake up for any of this).   She charged out of his room to the next door and flung it open before angrily snarling at me, “Where is your murder room?”

Me: “One, what the fuck is that?  Two, what the fuck is that?”

J: “Your murder room! Where is it?  I’m gonna murder you.”

                I don’t know about anyone else, but as a general rule, I don’t enjoy guests in my house threatening to murder me, with or without a murder room (for the record, I do not have a murder room).  Despite the fact that I knew I was dealing with someone who was blacked out drunk, I was not prepared to let this murder room threat just slide past as I responded with, “You’re not gonna fuckin’ murder anyone! You need to lay down before your drunk, naked ass gets locked outside!  Go the fuck to sleep!”

                I’m a pretty intimidating guy (obviously), so that did trick and J quickly scampered away again, this time towards the kitchen.  I thought I would have a moment to try to wrap my mind around the subject, but the sound of things crashing around the kitchen quickly brought me back to reality.  As I exited the hallway into the kitchen, I was met with the sight of a naked ass, hunched over in front of the refrigerator, throwing things into the middle of the kitchen (thankfully, I’m a bachelor so my fridge only has beer, hot dogs, and condiments).

                By this point, the sheer ridiculous of the situation (and the fact that it was nearly 4 am) was wearing me down.   I wearily muttered, “What the…” and J quickly stood up and spun around.

J: “You must think you’re some kind of superhero.”

Me: “….eh?”

J: “My friend PMS is coming to town.  All she does is piss everyone off.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure she’s already here.”

                And with that, she once again scampered off, this time straight into my room to face-plant on my bed and pass out.  At this point, I was in no way willing to awaken the sleeping beast and chose to simply let her steal my bed.  I put the ketchup and mustard back in the fridge, turned off the lights and went to sleep on a couch on the complete opposite side of my apartment (because I wanted my roommate to be the first one in her sights if she woke up still wanting to drag someone to the murder room).

                The following morning, after explaining to her in detail how bat-shit crazy she was, she simply responded with, “Well, that’s weird,” and left.

                I haven’t seen her since.  I’m okay with that.

-Ryan

Naps

It’s been a long time since I’ve written anything.  There are a couple of factors that have led to this problem.  First off, I believe the best comedy comes from being inspired; and if I force myself to write when I’m not feeling inspired, it will generally suck.  Second, I’ve been taking a lot of naps.

                Now, for the first point, I’m almost certain that when I started this blog, I said that I wasn’t sure how often I’d update or even have anything worth talking about (I may not have said that, I don’t know, I don’t really pay attention to the things I say).  And I stand firm by that, but I also kind of feel bad for the people that were waiting for me to update.  I can only assume that this absence has dropped my fan-base by at least half (from 6 readers to 3).   For those that stuck around, thank you.   For those that left, you’re not reading this anyways so it doesn’t matter what I say.

                And as for the 2^nd reason why I haven’t been writing, I feel next to no shame about all these naps I’ve been taking.  They’re awesome.  I remember when I was young and I hated naptime because I thought it was a waste of my time.  I was stupid.  I admit it.  I think back on all the potential nap time I missed in my life because I was young and dumb, and I can only imagine how much more rested I’d be these days ( I don’t know if that’s how sleep actually works).

In all honesty, I’ve actually tried to start writing this particular update for weeks.  I’d sit down on my lunch break with the full intent to write a new blog post pointing out and apologizing for my absence.   I’d get the first sentence down and then decide that was a sufficient amount of creativity to warrant some rest.  By the time I was done with my nap, it was time to go back to work and next-to-no writing was accomplished.   The next day, instead of starting from where I left off (1 sentence) I’d start all over again (because I have no idea what I’m doing).   My writing pad actually looks like I’ve been serving detention because all I’ve done for the past few months is write the same sentence over and over again.

What’s even more ridiculous is that I have pages of things that I’ve previously written just sitting on my desk for such an occasion as when I go through an inspirational dry-spell.  But rather than just touch-up and post one of those (because they obviously weren’t good enough to post the first time around), I decided I needed a “Sorry I was gone” update and then something new and exciting to go with it.   As such, I will not be posting this until I can follow it up with a fresh new post the very next day (that’s also bait for you to check back in tomorrow).  So, it’s time to get back to writing.

But first, I’ll need a nap.

-Ryan

Weather Nation

                It’s probably old news by now, but DirecTV and The Weather Channel recently came to terms on a contract dispute.  Personally, I neither know, nor care who wanted what and who eventually gave in.  The important thing about all of this is that, while they were at odds, DirecTV was promoting a network called Weather Nation in place of The Weather Channel.  Now, despite what my last post may lead you to believe, I’m not a huge weather buff.   In fact, the only time I watch these channels is when I’m at work because it is the default channel for the TV in our office.  In this time, however, I did notice a stark difference between Weather Nation and The Weather Channel: Weather Nation showed weather and The Weather Channel showed pretty much whatever the hell they wanted (pictures of people at a Comic Book convention? Golf tips? No problem!).   Now, if I wasn’t watching these channels to keep up on the weather, this probably wouldn’t be a big deal, but when you’re labeled as a weather station, I feel like weather is a pretty important thing to show.

                So, I got pretty comfortably with Weather Nation.  I even got to know some of the on-air personalities.  I mean, spent every weekday with this network staring me in the face, Gretchen and Kristin were pretty much family to me!  Naturally, when the contract dispute between DirecTV & The Weather Channel was resolved and DirecTV defaulted back to The Weather Channel, I was not a happy person.  But thankfully, Weather Nation was still one channel down from The Weather Channel and I used my superior technological skills to default our office TV to Weather Nation (by technological skills I mean that I keep the remote at my desk and hiss at anyone that touches it).

                Well, imagine my surprise when, while browsing the Weather Nation website one day, I find that they have a job listing for a product manager.   I have a degree in marketing, I like Weather Nation, I am a person, and I am entirely devoid of qualifications beyond that; it’s perfect.  Well, because I have too much time on my hands and not enough hobbies, I sent in a resume and, what I believe is, an epic cover letter.  Ladies & gentleman, if you are writing a cover letter to a company, I feel like you should make it look a little something like this:

“Dear Sir or Madam:

In response to the position advertised, I have enclosed my resume for your review. I feel I have the personality, knowledge and drive to become a valuable asset within your growing company.

To be perfectly honest with you, I had a very nice, professional sounding cover letter written out and it sounded far too bland for me to even consider sending it to you.  I deleted the whole thing and decided to write something that I believe gives a more honest picture of who I am and why I am applying for the product manager position with Weather Nation.

Prior to DirecTV’s contract dispute with The Weather Channel, I had no idea that Weather Nation existed.  But I quickly became a fan and have managed to stealthily keep all of the televisions in my current office tuned to Weather Nation, even after the dispute ended.  I’m not a huge weather buff, I only had one meteorology class in college (that I was AWESOME at), but I believe you have a quality product and I can see that there is passion within the company.  And that is where I can fit in with you: I have a passion for all aspects of marketing and management and an appreciation for the product you are selling. Also, if you need me to be on TV at all, I can be really handsome.

As you can see from my resume, I have both plenty of experience in both marketing and management and next to no experience in meteorology.  Beyond that, I have a firm belief that you cannot sell any product to a consumer without first selling them on yourself.  That is a skill that I have been perfecting my entire life through constant development of people skills and also a quirky sense of humor (humor is a subjective thing…).

In addition to my appreciation for your network and my background in marketing and management, I think you will find that I am also a focused, driven and also friendly individual with the skills and desire to succeed.  Strictly speaking, I will not and do not fail at any task placed in front of me.  And in accordance with your requirement for someone who is not afraid to roll up their sleeves, I have also included a picture of myself with my sleeves rolled up as I believe this shows that I have a willingness to go the extra mile and also that I am comfortable with my forearms.

My salary requirement is flexible and negotiable, depending on such factors as additional benefits, faster salary reviews, increased advancement opportunities and the possibility of green-screen shenanigans.  

I feel quite certain that I am well qualified and could be a natural fit for this position. I look forward to hearing from you.”

If you read the entire letter, you probably noticed that I said I sent along a picture.  Well, their job listing asked for “Strong problem solving skills and willingness to roll up one’s sleeves.”  So, I sent them this picture…

Hopefully there is someone there at their headquarters sifting through resumes all day that got a good chuckle out of my submission.  Because I am absolutely certain that I will never hear from these people.

-Ryan