I love cooking with wine. Sometimes I even put it in the food.

So as you know by now I have an extensive and eccentric list of things I hate the most (how’s that for a happy start?), but I've got a new addition.  Here is the updated top ten list for those of you who've somehow forgotten:

1.  Anything associated with the University of Florida (namely Tim Tebow)


2.  Mayonnaise


3.  PETA


4.  The Smurfs


5.  Bongo players


6.  The little hole in the airplane window


7.  Tornado Chasers


8.  Flamingos


9.  Wheelbarrow Races


10. Cereal


The update, of course, is the addition of Tornado Chasers.  I don't know why this came to mind the other day, but I realized that I find these people really irksome.  In the shows they're always so hyped up like they're on the edge of some new frontier.  I hate to break it to you friends, but we know pretty much everything there is to know about tornados.  The people in the cars also act like they're the ultimate adrenaline junkies.  You're not.  Skydivers, base jumpers, wing suit divers, those are adrenaline junkies.  You people are just idiots.  I mean I'm no rocket surgeon, but if you keep doing what you're doing you aren't going to get whisked off to Oz, you're going to be pelted in the face by bullet-like rain and get hit in the face with a Volvo.  Then again, I guess Darwin will take care of these people for us eventually so whatever.


So as some of you know I just moved again, this time to Denver, and while I know a grand total of four people here including myself, it seems like a perfectly good place.  What made this trip interesting was the process of getting up here.  Not the decision making process, that is.  That took all of three beers and eleven seconds.  The actual travel up here was the good part.  Of course by "good" I mean "fantastically stressful".  My game plan from the beginning was fly back to the Georgia on the 20th to see my mom, then to Dallas to see my dad, then back to Phoenix where I’d work for one more week, then calmly and safely drive up to Denver and move into my new place.  Here's what actually happened:  On December 18th I lost my car.  No, I don't mean I forgot where I parked it for five minutes or left it at a friend’s house for a night, I actually lost it.  Like on-the-phone-with-the-police-to-report-it-stolen lost it.  Luckily, before I actually called, I had a network of cabbies looking for it while I was at work.  They found it, told me where it was, and I didn't ask any questions.  (This is how things work in my world.)  So, on the morning of the 20th I got a ride to my car so I could pack up and head to the airport.  Things were looking alright, then I got in my car, started driving, and my tire blew out.  Already frantic and running late, I hopped out and put my spare tire on as fast as I could, which was pretty damn fast.  I then got in my car, drove roughly thirty yards, and my spare tire blew out.  Just wonderful.  At that point I just drove it home and a friend took me to the airport.  When I got back I had to go buy and new wheel and tire, change it, and get to work by 11:30am the next morning.  Thankfully everything worked out pretty smoothly until I left Phoenix a week later to drive up, which was an unbelievable exhausting drive during which I was so delirious I began coming up with names for the trees I was passing.  I got here though, and within a week had found an apartment, a bed, and a couch.  And on top of all that I got a job too, life was looking up!  A little too up though, apparently, cause on the way back from the interview in which I was hired, guess what happened?!?!  My back right tire blew out. "You're kidding, right?"  NO I'M NOT KIDDING DAMMIT.  There have been very few times in my life where I was so instantly exhausted and totally enraged at the same time.  Anyway, all of this was basically to say that I'm very frustrated with customer service companies that have to come to you to provide service.  I know it's pretty freaking spoiled to say that, but honestly it feels like every time you need service from Comcast, or in this case AAA, they reply in a sickeningly enthusiastic tone, "Absolutely, we'd be delighted to help!  We'll be there sometime between 1:30pm and June."


Speaking of timing, I've decided that when it comes to waking up in the morning, I'd rather freak out and jump up because I'm running behind schedule way more than waking up early.  Why?  Because either way I'm going to end up in a totally panicked state, trying to get ready in time.  Let me explain.  When I wake up, look at the clock and see I'm running twenty minutes late, I turn into the epitome of efficiency.  There is no “waking up process”.  I launch out of bed like I just did three lines of cocaine and chased it with two liters of espresso.  I'm in the shower before my boxers are off, jump out, dress, inhale breakfast, and boom, I'm at work/school/Sea World right on time.  Waking up early, though, that's dangerous.  When I wake up early I lounge in bed for a while, and lazily move about the house because hey, why not?  I've got so much time.  You don't really pay attention to the clock because you're way ahead of schedule, right?  WRONG.  You lower your guard, and think you can get on facebook/twitter/foodnetwork.com cause you have time to kill, then all of a sudden you realize you were supposed to leave eight minutes ago, and all you've done so far is watch a video of LeBron playing the violin, read three articles about the best way to refinish a coffee table you don't even own, and taken an online quiz to determine your Disney spirit animal.  (It's Pegasus.)  Either way you're going to have a split second heart attack, so you might as well sleep in before it happens.  

Fact of the Day:  Hippo milk is pink.

Shout out to Tori Kennedy.

Reality continues to ruin my life.

That's a quote from Calvin and Hobbes.  I've been on a C&H kick lately, but even so I truly believe that Calvin may be the most relatable human I've ever come into contact with.  Never mind that he's an irresponsible, irrational and not to mention completely fictional six year old.

Speaking of relationships, I was in the library a month or so ago pulling off the god-knows-what-number all-nighter of my collegiate career when I realized something about how I value relationships.  If you've ever met me, heard about me, or even read a few of these blogs, you know all too well that long term commitment is not exactly my shtick.  I'll be the best damn friend you've ever had, but for the most part when it comes time to actually commit to something, I'm out of there faster than Usain Bolt on a Ducati.  Anyway, what I realized is that I do actually form deep bonds with people, it's just that those people never actually know it.  Actually they don't even know who I am.  For example, whilst in the library I was sitting at a large table studying/trying not to cry, and a small foreign male came and joined me at my table.  He was there for just over an hour, and not once was there a shared word, moment of eye contact, or any interaction whatsoever.  But for some inane* reason, when he stood up to leave, I was distraught.  Don't get me wrong, I did absolutely nothing to act on this, because that's just not how it works, but I legitimately felt sad.  Maybe it's the hour we spent together in suffering while doing a mutually hated activity.  Maybe I'm just batshit crazy.  Either way, whenever this situation occurs I always want to say something because I feel like we've been through so much together.  "Good luck in your future endeavors my scholarly companion.  I will never forget you."

*No, that was not supposed to say "insane", and yes, "inane" is a word.

A while ago I tweeted that I if I had a daughter I was going to draw Ed Hardy and Tapout shirts on all of the evil characters in her book so she'd grow up hating them, and the more I pay attention to the people in today's society the more I agree with that idea.  Now I'm not saying that I'm perfect*, but some people just take it to a hilariously awful level.  Earlier today I was grabbing food at Chickfila because why the hell wouldn't I, and I saw a girl wearing essentially nonexistent pink booty shorts that said "angel" on the back in glitter.  Now I'm not saying it's out of the realm of possibility that this is a perfectly wonderful human being, but if that's the case, her halo is broken in three places and probably doesn't even glow.  Or maybe Heaven is just full of sluts.**  If I have kids, and God-forbid a daughter, she will only be allowed to wear Snuggies until she’s 40.

*I'm perfect.

**Please don't kill me God.

I've been traveling a lot for the past.... well, 24 years, and I've noticed a lot of things about plane flights.  Lately I've been only flying Southwest, partially because of the two free checked bags, but mostly because they have my soul and if I'm going to pay them the equivalent of one vital organ per month to settle my credit card debt, I'm going to get some damn travel points for it.  Anyway, for those of you that haven't flown Southwest, they do a kind of free-for-all style boarding where you aren't assigned seats, you’re assigned a boarding number based on who checked in first, so when you get on the plane you can basically choose whatever seat you want.  This results in a couple things.  Firstly, you've got to be early so you can claim the armrest.  I've already got a 6 year old demon in the seat behind me, I'll be damned if I'm sitting with my arms awkwardly crossed on my lap like a nun for three and a half hours.  Secondly, once you sit down you’ve got to become an animal in the wild.  After you get to your seat, make yourself look as big and intimidating as possible so nobody wants to sit next to you.  And as far as choosing seats, there's always the battle of "Do I take the middle seat in the third row or do I take the window seat halfway back?"  Here's some advice:  Always take the window.  Always.  I don't care if it’s in row 327 and you have a connection that leaves almost immediately after this flight lands, middle seats are never worth it.  Sure, those people look civil now, but as soon as you take off, you're going to realize that you’re stuck in the middle of two strangers that probably have the worst tendencies known to man.  One of them is probably fat, and with great fat comes great body odor.  The other one, based on my research, is either extremely old, racist, and snores louder than the jet engine, or the compulsive talker that will Never. Shut. Up.  Also, if there’s a window seat, take it.  The window seat holds all the power.  "Oh, you're going to keep annoying me? Well guess who DOESN'T get to see the Rockies anymore??  And because I’m me, every time I fly I always imagine what would happen if the plane were hijacked or we went down in a crash.  It's like an extremely morbid recurring daydream.  I don't get scared, mind you, it's just like I'm watching a quick movie that I'm starring in.  I just hope if it ever actually happens I go down as a hero or at least remember to turn to the person next to me and say something witty like, "Great, now I'll never make my connection in Phoenix."

Update:  I live in Colorado now.  More on that later.

Fact of the Day:  Bananas are slightly radioactive.

Shout out to Hailey Williams.