Never test the depth of the water with both feet.

Always go headfirst.  Especially if it's in the shallow end.

Recently I've noticed that ADD has been affecting every part of my life.  For example, when I go shopping for something I will be in the store for 45 minutes, and leave with two carts full of everything they had except the item I went to buy in the first place.  A few weeks ago this became very clear when I went to the grocery store twice in one day to get toothpaste, and after both trips realized I was home with a plethora of medicine and vitamins, several different types of frozen pizzas, one lime, and enough Sour Cream & Onion Pringles to build a life size replica of The White House.  In my defense, have you ever been shopping for something and you find something completely different on sale and you just get pissed because you know you have to buy it now?  It's not even a good thing.  You're just walking down the aisle and all of a sudden that stupid little yellow sticker catches your eye and screams that these Pringles are 5 for $4, and you just sigh dejectedly and load 25 cans into your cart as you reevaluate the pathetic sham you call your life.  That's what happened.  Pringles are a crutch for me.  Homeless people in downtown Atlanta have meth, I have Sour Cream & Onion Pringles.  Judge me.

Speaking of police officers, which we weren't, have any of you every really analyzed the tiny yet ever-present bit of evil in every one of us?  It's not really that big of a deal, because it's only observable in certain situations, and even then only to yourself, but it's definitely there.  Like when a car just hauls by you on the interstate at a speed usually reserved for fighter jets or time travel.  The hoodlum cuts you off and you panic but they're already gone.  Five minutes later though, oh such sweet revenge.  You come over a hill and on the side of the road is that same car, pulled over by a police officer.  You're full of shit if you don't admit that for just one little second you think, "HA.  Serves you right bitch."  Well you should be ashamed.  You don't even know that person.  They could be the nicest person in the world.  What if they were trying to get to the hospital so they didn't miss the birth of their firstborn?  What if their family member was dying?*  You have absolutely no reason at all to laugh maniacally at that person's misfortune, yet for a split second, you do.  And you really enjoy it.  You're terrible.  

*None of this is ever the case.  It's always some douchey teenager just generally sucking at life.

So about three years ago I was staying at my friend's parent's house in Pasadena, and stayed in his sister's room.  She had a Tempur-Pedic mattress, and that was the first time I'd ever slept on one.  I've been thinking about that bed on and off for the past few years now, and I still can't figure out how I feel about it.  They're advertised everywhere as one of the best beds you can get, and everyone generally agrees on that even though half those people have never slept on one.  The reason I'm confused is that when I'm awake, those beds are just the worst.  There's no bounce, and you feel like your laying in some kind of marketable quicksand.  God forbid your phone rings on the nightstand, because rolling over to get to it may as well be an Olympic event.  I hate it.  I just remember laying there for at least two hours trying to get comfortable, thinking about how I was never going to fall asleep, or at least sleep through the night.  Then I woke up three days later.  I don't even know what happened.  Somehow the most uncomfortable bed since people slept on nails* gave me a night's rest that rivals a decade-long coma.  And the glass of wine on the far corner of the bed didn't spill a drop!

*I have no proof that was ever actually a thing.

The last little tidbit for today is just a recap of my ongoing battle with any and all parking enforcement officers.  I'm never the one that you see yelling at the officer or begging to them while getting in the car to move it.  I'm much more mischievous than that.  I don't yell or beg, I scheme.  I'm the guy that will put this in my windshield.  And this time in particular, after getting my ninth parking ticket, things got drastic.  See I had to park in this specific area to get to class, and I didn't have enough money for the parking pass because I have the fiscal responsibility of an eleven year old, so when it came time to park there again or miss my test, I had to get creative.  After receiving a small photo album's worth of tickets pinned nicely under my wipers, I decided my only option was to remove the wipers themselves.  I figured I lived in Phoenix so rain wasn't an issue, and I'd have enough for the parking pass by the next week, so I could replace them soon.  Then I got cocky.  I left a note inside my windshield for the inevitable viewing of the parking official that simply said: "Your move."  Talk about feeling empowered and generally clever as hell.  (Side Note:  It is amazing how many other places they can find to put parking tickets on your car.)

Fact of the Day:  Last week was National Hobo Week.

Shout out to Katy Moakley.