A closed mouth gathers no feet.

Hello Tablets.  Honestly, how have you people gotten along without me?  Have you forgotten how to laugh?  It's been a solid month and a half since I wrote the last post, and I apologize.  I've gotten distracted, but I have a life too so back the hell off.  Also, I'm cripplingly afraid of commitment, and yes that even reaches into my online life.  I don't like expectations, and deadlines terrify me.  Moving on, a lot's happened since September 22nd, most importantly Halloween, which is easily my least favorite holiday by far.  Why, you ask?  Luckily for you I just happen to have a list of why Halloween sucks:

1) I am, at heart, a complete and total fucking pansy.  I saw The Ring once when I was 13 and have cried nightly since then.  Of course when I say I "saw" the movie, I mean watched it through squinted eyes behind a quilt with covered ears curled up in a ball behind the lay-z-boy.  And I've never looked back.  I understand that "scary movies" are supposed to scare you.  What I don't understand is why the HELL you want to be scared in the first place??  What wires are crossed in your brain that makes you want to trick yourself into the same state of mind that makes you involuntarily pee, scream, and cry?  I don't get it, and I have absolutely zero problem admitting that.  Do I want to go see Paranormal Activity 4?  Do I want to go through the haunted trail?  No.  Very no.  I have the terror threshold of a paranoid schizophrenic and the emotional stability of a toddler.  You have fun though.

2) When the shit did Halloween become a weeklong thing?  I mean this is an ordeal now.  When we were kids it used to last about two and a half hours then it was done, and we couldn't have been happier.  Now you plan more for Halloween than you do for your thesis paper, and probably have about the same number of references.  There is no possible way I can be held responsible for the quality and originality of my seventh costume.  The first night out I'll be in legitimately thought-out and creative attire, like a homemade transformer costume that actually transforms into a fully functional cement truck, but by the last night I'm usually going as a guy that is mind-blown that people are still even conscious at this point.  I mean shit guys, even God rested on the seventh day.

3) It’s way to effing cold.  Not to be even more of a bitch, but the temperature being eleven degrees really puts a damper on my evening.  Especially when I'm dressed in my slutty judge outfit.  Don't get me wrong, I love to have a good time, but I also enjoy feeling in my extremities and the absence of icicles on my eyelids.  Next year I'm just going to go as an Eskimo for all seven nights.  

Speaking of cold, I never officially got out all my thoughts about the fall/winter.  Throughout the past couple months I've been seeing an incessant amount of posts online about how ready everyone is for the colder seasons, and honestly I agreed with them at the beginning.   You're always ready for the next season, at least until it hits, then you want the old one back, but that's just because you're an ungrateful twerp that's impossible to satisfy.  Anyway, the main problem I have with the cold weather is.... well, the cold part of it.  To be clear, I love cold weather, but only at certain times, like between the hours of 11am and 8pm.  I'm rarely happier when it's chilly outside during the day and I can wear jeans and a jackets, roll the windows down and pump the heat in the car.  What I'm not okay with is the morning cold.  It makes it incredibly hard to get out of bed in the morning, and damn near impossible to get out of the shower.  How am I supposed to get back into the frigid air when I'm currently standing motionless and sleepy while thousands of tiny little warm angels massage my back? I mean I get dangerously close to comatose when I'm in that zombie position with my eyes closed, chin on chest, with hot water hitting my back, and the only reason I'll move is to turn the heat up because I've used nearly all the hot water for the entire house.  And it doesn't help that for the first couple weeks it was literally warmer in the refrigerator than it was in the rest of the house.

I've been having some extremely quirky dreams recently, and to no surprise, most of them have been about bacon.  A week or two ago I had one where I was diagnosed with serious heart problems, and was told I could never eat bacon again.  Earth-shattering to say the least.  You’d think that'd be pitiful enough for one dream, but it didn’t stop there.  It ended with me on the kitchen floor cuddling with a bag of bacon bits singing "It must've been love".  Then, last night, I had another one where I dreamt that a pig was elected to be the President of the United States, and that I was arrested because I assassinated him in an attempt to get bacon.  Just out of curiosity, at what point do I go see a therapist?

Have you ever gotten really busy working or something and not been able to check your phone, then you finally do and have a ton of texts/calls/etc?  As shallow as it is, that's one of the greatest feelings ever.  The worst is when you’re on a plane, you finally land after a long flight, and turn on your phone and don't get a single notification.  Talk about bankrupting your self worth.  That's why every time I travel, right before the flight takes off I send out twenty or so texts, tweets, and everything else.  Then when I land I make sure my phone's on loud and let the sounds of my popularity ring out for the whole plane to hear as I sheepishly shrug at people in a fake air of embarrassment.  Pathetic?  Maybe (definitely), but nobody gets hurt and I get the sense of long-lasting fulfillment that really keeps me going.

Fact of the Day:  When glass breaks, the cracks move at speeds up to 3,000 miles per hour.

Shout out to Allison Renth.

Those who live by the sword get shot by those that don't.

So I have officially lived in South Carolina for a month now, and I guess I can say the Honeymoon period is officially over.  It's not that I don't like this place anymore, just that kind of Christmas-esque feeling of excitement from moving to a new place is gone.  Now's when you start realizing that certain things annoy you, like not having a disposal or sharing a house with a demon-possessed street cat.  Actually, that's not completely true.  When I think of something blog-worthy, I immediately have to make a note of it in my phone because I have the memory of a mentally challenged goldfish.  I wrote the part about the cat a week ago, but guess what??  Satan's kitty is GONE!!  I know, right?!  If I wasn't bankrupt in four states I would have bought a cake and Power Ranger Plates and had a party.  Actually, wait, screw that.  Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for sure, eff the Power Rangers.  Anyway, the point is that the animal is no longer a member of this household and I can't say I'm angry about it.

BREAKING NEWS:  As of September 20th, 2012 I can officially say that I have met the most excruciatingly painful person to spend time with.  I'm going to call him Lima Bean, because that was the first thing that came to mind when I thought about how to describe his personality.  Honestly though, if this guy had a patronus, it would be an earthworm.  If he were a color, he'd be a soft grey.  He’s like the human version of Crocs but with less to make fun of. Being around Lima Bean is like being subjected to 24 hours of Sarah McLachlan SPCA commercials.  Anyway, I think you get the point.

Have you ever been in a place like a college cafeteria or public restaurant and spilled a drink?  It's like your group of friends becomes a Chinese family and you've brought horrible shame upon all of them.  You immediately feel like everybody in the entire place is staring and muttering insults/harsh judgmental stabs, even though there's a 98% chance they don't even know you exist.  Your friends will help clean it up, but only after everybody jumps back from the table and offers a  "DUDE, what the hell?" or sarcastic "NICE man."  They've got to establish that they had nothing to do with the actual spill, just in case the judges were watching this time.  Shit I'm insecure.

You know what we haven't revisited in a while?  The Hate List.  For those that don’t know, this is the running list of things I hate most in the world.  Here's the updated top ten list with a few links to specific rants, just in case you're really bored:

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.  Flamingos

8.  Wheelbarrow Races

9.  Cereal

10.  School buses

Really the only change since last time was the addition of bongo players.  I'm sure everyone reading this already follows me on Twitter and gets personal alerts every time I release 140 character bits of genius hilarity, but for those of you who don't for some reason, I think bongo players are some of the most pompous douche bags on the face of the planet.  I mean honestly, think about it.  Every time you see a bongo player, they have this infuriatingly smug look on their face, like they think they're the best thing to hit the musical stage since the effing Beatles.  Holy shit, I get so pissed when I think about this that my hands are literally shaking right now.  (That also might be because I chose to sit here and write this instead of eating today.  That's how important you are to me.  I love you.   Don't smother me.  You’re being clingy, I need my space.)  First off, you don't "play the bongo".  You slap a piece of wood and animal skin that, at it's very best, can make a whole two different sounds.  (Three if you hit the side, sorry I didn't mean to downplay your magnificence in the world of musical innovation.)  The only requirement of the bongo is your hands, and you can still probably play it without those.  It's literally the only instrument that an infant enjoys as much as an "expert", and it basically sounds the same when either of those two play.  The bongo essentially ranks on the musically talented level of the triangle.  Yea, that stupid little piece of metal used in second grade band class and sometimes to let cowboys know dinner's ready.  The worst part is that the bongo players are always up on stage next to the real musicians playing actual drums or guitars, yet they always look confident that they are the glue holding the band together.  Dude, you're the guy with little-to-no talent that they didn't want to feel left out.  At the very best, they needed something to keep time, and couldn't afford a drummer.  That's what you are, you're a glorified metronome.  I bet you like the opera and crumpets too you pretentious dick.  Man that was angry, I really need to eat.

Law of the Day:  It is illegal to sing off-key in North Carolina.

Shout out to Cambria Eber.

To succeed in politics, it is often necessary to rise above your principles.

Also, it helps to not have principles to begin with.

So for those of you that don't know, I recently moved to Columbia, South Carolina.  I'm going to optimistically assume that none of you are cereal killers and won't abuse that information.  Anyway, almost two years ago I moved from California to Atlanta, and even though I was back on the eastern side of the country, Atlanta didn't really have that Southern feel I was used to when I lived in Mississippi or central Georgia.  Well, now that's over.  South Carolina has made up for it and more.  About a week ago, I participated in something about an hour north of Columbia, called The High Cotton Classic.  And if we're embracing stereotypes, and The Daily Tablet always does, it's pretty obvious that this event is about as Southern as it gets purely because it has "cotton" in the name.  Anyway, The High Cotton Classic, or "High Cotton" as us locals call it, is a skeet shooting competition.  If you don't know what skeet shooting is, it's when these clay discs get launched into the air and you shoot them with shotguns.  If you don't know what shotguns are, then you're an idiot.  I know what you're thinking:  "So basically it's bunch of rednecks with loaded guns running around shooting them in the air just to see shit explode?"  No, that’s not "basically” it.  That’s exactly it.  And it's AMAZING.  Turns out, as extremely surprising as it was, I'm a natural when it comes to shooting shotguns.  As awesomely terrifying as it is, I'm like goddamn sniper out there.  It was a nice change of pace, considering how when I first stepped out there, I had to turn to the guy next to me and ask him how to load the shells, how to turn off the safety, and whether or not he closed one eye when aiming.  Pathetic start I know, until I fucking NAILED those clay bastards out of the air like they burned down my family tree.  Beast mode whatup.  Damn, I did it again.  I wrote an entire paragraph just because I wanted to say one thing.  Consider all that an introduction.  I wanted to talk about a certain guy at High Cotton, at least until you distracted me.  Anyway, when we were lining up to get started with the competition, this guy drives up on a four wheeler, decked out in camouflage, shotgun on his back, and wearing the most nerve-wracking sneer on his face that I've seen in a very long time.  Now I don't mean to judge a book by it's cover, but have you ever looked at somebody and thought, "I am confident beyond a shadow of a doubt that this human being in front of me has killed a man."  I have.  And of course I'm sitting on the back of the cart, forced to face the probable axe-murder armed with a shotgun.  Now I'm no pansy (*yes I am), but this was thoroughly disconcerting.  It was all I could do not to load up and shoot him right there in a preemptive attempt at staying alive.  I didn't though, I just sat there calmly with closed eyes, muttering prayers and clutching my probably unloaded shotgun.

I'd like to take this time to rehash my hatred for small animals.  Rats, squirrels, small dogs, and my roommate's cat.  If I could rid this planet of every rat, mouse, gerbil, shitty little dog, and Pluto the cat, I would do it in a heartbeat, then spend the rest of my incredible life celebrating.  Actually, so far there are two crappy little dogs I wouldn't kill.  One in southern California because it is quite possibly the funniest looking creature I've ever seen.  I’m pretty sure it’s a distant cousin of the Taco Bell chihuahua, and it clearly took fast food eating to a whole new level. It’s not as much “fat” as it is “perfectly spherical.”  I have actually kicked this dog across the yard because I thought it was a soccer ball*.  It’s far too entertaining to execute.  The second mutt is in northern California, and I wouldn’t exterminate this one simply because this particular owner is even more obsessed with their dog than most microwaveable-dog owners, and wouldn't stop bitching for the rest of eternity.  The cat, on the other hand, I would have no qualms about slaying.  It pissed in my room TWICE less than 24 hours after I moved in, has bitten two of the four houseguests we've had over, and meows extruciatingly loudly and high pitched every 1.6 seconds.  To be clear, I will give $50 to whoever offs this cat.  I don't even want to know who you are, just come to my house, eliminate it, and slip your address under my door.  I will mail you cash, burn the address, and the world will be a better place.

This summer was an interesting one, for good and bad reasons.  I was scheduled to moved into my house here on August 20th, after renting a U-Haul trailer, packing up, and driving from Macon, GA (about 4 hours).  What made this interesting was that at 9:00pm on August 19th, I was about 2,600 miles away in Chico, California.  I made it work by driving to Sacramento, taking a red-eye flight to Charlotte, NC, then another flight to Atlanta, a shuttle down to Macon, then renting the U-Haul, packing, and driving to South Carolina.  And all of this with no sleep.  Well anybody that follows me on Twitter knows how my flying experiences tend to go.  I've basically established that flying is the way God retaliates for everything wrong I've done in my life.  I have yet to have a single flight without a screaming baby, a kicking child, a fantastically sweaty and obese neighbor, or vomiting passenger within arms reach, and these two flights were no exception.  This time I won't go into detail, though, because that's not what this post is about.  In my sleep-deprived, slightly angry and completely delirious state of mind, I started thinking of what my ideal flight would consist of.  The list escalated quickly and this is what I came up with, or at least the stuff I remember thinking… 

Ladies and gentlemen, we know you have a choice when it comes to flying, and we’d like to thank you for choosing Hirschey Airlines.  Here’s what your flight will consist of:

-There is no first class restriction, and the front is a soundproof room with Tempur-Pedic mattresses

-Coach is just one big beanbag.

-There is a plane-wide Rochambeau tournament (that’s “Rock Paper Scissors for you uncultured folk) to determine who gets to try to land the plane.  (Don’t worry, we land in a giant ball pit so you’ll be fine.)

-Babies, dogs, and fat people ride in the cargo hold.

-There is a mandatory mid-flight freestyle rap contest between two randomly selected passengers.

-The tray folds down and already has a plate of freshly cooked bacon on it.

-Anyone deemed overwhelming annoying or high maintenance by a majority vote must sit in the bathroom for the remainder of the flight.

-There's an option to drag behind the plane for the duration of the flight while it's at cruising altitude.  (Yes, I know this isn’t possible right now, make it happen NASA.)

Also, on this plane, to hell with the oxygen masks.  If the plane's going down, the only thing dropping from the overhead compartments are jellybeans, cause let's be honest, when your plane's about to haul ass into the ground at five hundred miles an hour, putting a yellow cone over your face isn't going to do shit.  Unless of course you're trying to imitate a duck, in which case they can be located at the front of the Tempur-Pedic section.

Fact of the Day:  There was once an underwater post office in the Bahamas.

Shout out to Victoria Shao.

If you believe everything you read, don't read.

The obvious exception being this blog of course.  Always read The Daily Tablet.  And believe everything it says.  Also mail me money.

Has anybody ever thought about how long stoplights last?  Have you ever seen one out or even being changed?  Do these things last forever?  Can I have one for my room?  Enough of this Energy-Saver bullshit, I want an infinity light that can double as a children's game or instructions on whether or not to enter my room.

Another question:  Have you ever been in the car with someone and started to get nervous about their intentions?  Not sexually, I mean more like…murderous.  For instance, a little while back I was getting a ride with someone and they took a detour saying "I just wanna check something out."  Terrifying?  Not exactly, but in my completely logical mind I immediately think to myself, "Holy shit this man is going to slaughter me.  You want to “check something out"???  Yea right, I see right through your scheme you sick twisted murderer!  You're taking me out to a field where you can hide the evidence.... I’ve got to escape!!"  Of course right as I've stealthily unbuckled my seatbelt, unlocked the door and am moving to fling myself out of the car we turn back onto our original course and I realize that I may have been a little jumpy.  The issue is that this happens every single time.  Not to mention that the driver in that specific story was my stepfather.  I'm unstable.

Speaking of family, about a month ago I went home to visit the Birthgiver and her husband.  I hadn't been home in quite a while, and it was a serious culture shock.  I forgot was it was like to have a fully stocked pantry and fridge, and that wasn't even including Ramen!  It was wondrous.  I didn't realize it until I was in the kitchen, and my mom was making me lunch and asked what I wanted.  I immediately panicked.  What do I want?  There are choices??  What do you mean what kind of cheese?  You're allowed to have more than one kind of cheese in the refrigerator?!  Holy crap you have stuff in your freezer besides frozen pizzas and ice!!  What is this magical place?!?”  Sadly I'm back in my own house now and have reverted back to Pizza Rolls, turkey sandwiches, and a cheeseburger every now and then when I'm really feeling adventurous.

I've come up with another list, for those of you that are actually read these.  This is my list about things I assume hell is like.   In my opinion hell is:

-Not being able to sneeze when you REALLY need to.

-Having to go to the bathroom when you don't have any shoes.

-Needing to scratch your eye/nose/etc when playing a video game or something else totally consuming.

-The Jersey Shore

-Knowing you have something in your teeth but not being able to get it out.

-Always being about a dollar short when buying anything.

-Anything related to the Kardashians.

There are tons more but I'm bored of this topic.

So I know we've covered this a lot, as has everybody else in the country, but I'm seriously getting sick of Chickfila's policies.  Not the gay/anti-gay stuff cause honestly, it's chicken, who gives a shit?  I don't even want to know what the owners of McDonald's opinions are, I’m assuming they're against human life or happiness or something.  I'm talking about the being closed on Sundays.  I realize that's part of their Christian image, but let's be real, Chickfila being closed on Sundays isn't going to make me a better person.  If anything, it's going to make me sit around and sulk all day like a troll with rage issues all because I can't get two chicken egg and cheese biscuits, hash browns, biscuits and gravy, OJ, and a large Ice Dream.  It's torture.

Fear of the Day:  Papaphobia: A pathological fear of Popes.

Shout out to Emily Rycenga.

In life there are terrible temptations, which require immense strength and courage to yield to.

Fortunately I am strong and courageous enough to yield to nearly all temptations I come in contact with.

I was talking with a friend about luck and chance the other day, and the topic of being struck by lightening came up.  As one or two of you know, I have a cousin that was struck by lightening a couple years back.  I started thinking about it, and I decided that I would absolutely be willing to get struck by lightening as long as I got some kind of superpower from it.  Actually, shit, I'd probably be down if I got a free t-shirt out of it.  Think about it.  "...then he came out of nowhere and stomped on my foot and broke it."  "Yea?  Well I took a 35,000-degree, 500 million volt blast of electricity and fire straight to my face.  But seriously, is your foot okay?"

I've noticed something funny about people and relationships over the past couple months, and I've determined that the relationship between a man and a woman doesn't even come close to the intensity of a person and their phone or favorite television show.  I've picked up on this because, over the past year, several shows have been benched or cancelled.  For example, when a guy and his girlfriend break up, he gets sad, drinks with his friends, and slowly gets over it.  However, when their favorite TV show is cancelled or they lose their phone, all different kinds of hell break loose.  They spend weeks upon weeks sending hate mail to the producers or writing angry and pathetic Facebook posts, their friends pity them, and next thing you know they're taking longs drives, openly weeping and eating gallons of Ben & Jerry's ice cream while screaming Adele.  Of course absolutely none of this is from experience........ probably.

While we're talking about couples, I've got another little nugget of knowledge I've picked up on over my wonderful time working in restaurants.  Well it's more of a list, actually, but who are you to judge my terminology?  I don't see you contributing to this blog at all.  Consider yourself in time-out for the next twenty minutes.  Anyway, here are several fairly consistent couples that come into the restaurants I've worked in:

1) Beauty and the Beast:  In this is the couple the girl is absolutely gorgeous.  Not hot, but beautiful.  She looks innocent, healthy, and just all around pretty.  On the other hand, the guy looks like some steroided-out version of a Donald Trump right after he came out of a horrible body-mangling gas explosion.  I've never quite understood this pair, but they seem to be everywhere.

2) The Brother and Sister:  Get your minds out of the gutter, these two aren't actually brother and sister.  This is the pair that have been dating so long that they are actually starting to look like each other.  It's really kind of eerie.  However as far as temperament goes, these people are great.

3) The Male-Dominated Couple:  This is the couple that will be in the restaurant for an hour and a half, and the girl will say less than eleven words.  The guy has taken it upon himself to be the alpha male, which in his mind makes him responsible for all outward communication.  He's very proud because he is ordering for the woman, and knows exactly what she wants.  Unfortunately he is usually very wrong, but the girl just goes along with it.

4) The Female-Dominated Couple:  This is a complicated one, because the girl has control over everything, but acts like she wants the guy to be in charge.  For example, when asked what the couple wants to eat, the girl will widen her eyes at the guy, signaling him to order or ask a question about the food.  When he does, the waiter responds, at which point the girl completely takes over the conversation with more questions and very specific demands.  Usually this is the point in time where the guy starts attempting to signal for help to the waiter or surrounding tables.

5) The Movie Couple:  This is my least favorite of all.  This is the couple that truly believes they are in a movie.  And not just any movie.  They think they are in the happiest movie that has ever graced the human race.  They immediately consider themselves best friends with every one of the staff, even though this is the first time they've ever freaking seen them.  They are loud as HELL, with obnoxiously flamboyant laughter at shit that's not even remotely funny.  It's infuriating.  You have completely average lives, settle the fuck down.  You literally make me hate happiness.

6) The God-Help-Humanity Couple:  This “couple” is more of a category, and a category that though it varies greatly throughout, is generally terrifying overall.  To sum it up, the last pair like this that came through looked like a Circus Ringmaster and a crack whore.  I'm talking one in a full on whack-job suit and the other in an oversized dirty and saggy sweatshirt with suitcases under her eyes.  The kind of group you try to avoid like the black plague with a bad personality.

Speaking of evil people, which we weren't, I now have a vendetta against one of my friends, who we'll call the Dreamcrusher.  Now I don't know if this particular "friend" thought they were being nice, or if it would be just hilarious, but they decided it was necessary to wake me up by lighting a bacon scented candle near my bed.  Well Dreamcrusher, you are an asshole.  I don't know if you've ever known what it feels like to wake up in the most incredible mood, feeling like the world is in your hand and knowing happiness like never before, and then had it all ripped away from your in a chorus of the devil's laughter, but I have felt it.  It’s life ruining, and it's your fault.  Here's a tip for the future:  If you ever wake me up like that again, you better have some goddamn bacon, or I will burn everything you've ever loved, and most of the things you've liked.  Watch your back.

Fact of the Day:  On average, there are 178 sesame seeds on each McDonald's Big Mac bun.

Shout out to Emily Caulfield.

Just remember, if the world didn't suck, we'd all fall off.

I think it could suck a little less and we'd still all be fine, but I'm no scientist.

Seeing as my summer just officially began, I've decided to devote this blog to summer.  You're welcome, Summer.  Don't let it go to your head.

To start, I've made a small list to help guide you through the summer.  I call it: "Tips for the Summer".  Yes, I know it's astoundingly creative, but the title isn't important, the tips are.  Let's begin:

1) Rope swings are dangerous and usually illegal.

2) Alcohol and water sports do not mix.

3) Always bring shoes and a shirt.

4) Sunscreen is never a bad idea.

5) Cliff diving in unknown territory is always a bad idea.

Okay actually I'm just gonna stop there.  To be honest, I follow literally none of those rules.  That is the Pansy-Bitch List.  Here are the rules I live by in the summer:

1) Rope swings are awesome.

2) Drink light beer.  Unless of course you want to look like a slightly more red version of the Michelin man by the end of summer.  Drinking in the sun burns skin, not calories.  Nobody's gonna rag on you for not drinking a Guinness when it's 112 degrees.

3) Standby flights will increase your number of trips significantly.

4) Standby flights will increase your number of hours spent in an airport by an unimaginable number.

5) Skin cancer is for nancies.

6) There is an incredible difference between shell beaches and sand beaches.  Always go with the latter if possible.

7) If there's a camera, it's worth it.  Always.  No questions asked.

Overt the past couple weeks, I've been fortunate enough to be able to vacation to a friend's lake house up in North Carolina.  I went with the owner and a group of coworkers, and to be honest, when we are together we manage to transform into the most immature, irrational, unsafe group of people this side of the Prime Meridian.  Anyway, I've also composed a list of tips and notes that I've learned from these two trips, and here it is:

1) Take nothing valuable if you ever want to see it again.

2) No matter how mature you think your friends are, you are wrong. 

3) Men can giggle, loudly and frequently, and it is exactly as disturbing as it sounds.

4) Floating docks, while fun, are a recipe for disaster.

5) Never assume that anybody is on the same page when it comes to immediate plans.

6) Any liquid at all, if opened, is assumed to be at least partially alcoholic.

7) Whatever groceries you bought, go back and buy double.

8) Sunburns are a bonding experience.

9) The possibility of lightening should never stop you from being out on a wet wooden dock during a rainstorm.  At the very worst, you'll get a good story out of it.

10) Go ahead and accept that whatever regularity your sleep schedule had previously is completely out the window.

11) There is no dancing on the tables and chandeliers.  They're selling the house next week.

12) Two fully-grown guys fitting on a single kayak meant for a child is absolutely doable.  That does not in any way mean it is a graceful or even remotely efficient means of travel.

13) If you can't do a flip, just flail.

14) Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should you EVER stand up on a canoe and assume that your friends are decent enough not to immediately push you over.

Okay that's enough of the lists.

You what I don't understand, besides vegetarianism and people who voluntary purchase satellite television?  People who wear pants in the summer.  It's been over 100 degrees in Atlanta for the past two weeks, and there are still a plethora of idiots wearing pants everyday.  I just don't get it.  Are you impervious to temperature?  Are you hiding something?  WHAT ARE YOU HIDING??  Do you have a human tail?  As far as I'm concerned, if you have anything short of a tattoo of Barbie riding a bright orange beluga whale, you shouldn't be wearing leg sleeves after April.  Get it together.

Fact of the Day:  Bubble wrap was originally invented to be used as wallpaper.

Shout out to Dylan Vanderhoff.

If you can't be kind, at least have the decency to be vague.

Everybody likes vague.

You know what else everybody likes?  The excitement when turning on your phone after a long time of having it off and waiting for it to ring like a spastic, tourette-stricken mobile device for eight minutes while you're showered with text messages, missed calls, voicemails, tweets, and emails.  At least that's how it is for me.  There is a contrary side though, which happened to me a month or so ago, and that's when you turn it on after a while and nothing happens.  Nothing at all.   NOT A SINGLE DAMN NOTIFICATION.  It is the most demeaning let down ever.  I thought I had friends, but apparently when I disappear and they can't get a hold of me they just give up and assume I’m dead.  Some friends they are.  You know what y'all are getting for Christmas?  Anthrax.  And a dead raccoon, because apparently that's what I'm worth to you.  Jerks.

So a little over a year ago I wrote a blog about carpooling.  Holy Balls I've been doing this for a YEAR.  Anyway, I not-so-briefly presented an example dialogue between the driver and passenger of some new carpoolers.  Here's the link if you haven't read it, or need to refresh your memory.  Yea, so I covered most of the panic and general terror that comes with carpooling with strangers, but I just recently was thrown into the same situation again.  This time was a little different, as it wasn't a stranger, but it was a new friend, new enough to where you're still a little nervous about what they think of you.  And it wouldn't have been that big of a deal if they weren't obsessed with music, and if I didn't listen to the crappiest music on this planet (except Nicki Minaj, I at least have the wherewithal to hate her).  So basically my friend hops in my car, and it hits me, "Holy shit, this is my car, I'm supposed to supply the music."  Instant panic.  It ended up being okay because I realized that I had recently made some playlists to avoid this exact situation, but to fully grasp my alarm you have to realize that the music on my phone has ability to make me seem like a completely normal guy with pretty good taste in music, but at the same time it can make me look like a cross dressing twelve year old.  (Let your imagination take you wherever on that one, I don't have a clue what a cross-dressing twelve year old would listen to.)  Moving on.

I recently tweeted about how I judge guys on how they react when they walk through an unexpected spider web.  It is a wonderful tool of judgment because it really reveals their true manliness, such as my rugby-playing friend who would probably start openly weeping and having seizures because he's deathly afraid that Daddy Longlegs are going to learn to fly and take over the world.  Anyway, since then I've added to that statement a few more practical, even deep, ways.  I believe that the three things you can judge a person's character on are how they handle lost luggage, a rainy day, and tangled Christmas lights.  If you think about it, it really makes sense.  That being said, I personally handle all of those things terribly.  Lost luggage is cause enough for me to burn down an airport.  Rainy days, if too cold for a slip-n-slide, result in me sitting inside watching TV and complaining for the entirety of the rainstorm and probably several hours after that.  And tangled Christmas lights?  Fuck it, throw em away.  They're like $1.15 at Walgreens for 100, stop being cheap and make your life infinitely easier.  Chances are once you finally get them untangled you'll have broken at least one of them in an irreparable way and you'll have to buy new ones anyway.  (Side Note:  I once mentioned arson as a solution when American Airlines lost my luggage, and that went over about as well as a condom in a collection plate.  I wouldn't recommend it.)

The other day I saw one of the most surprisingly cool things I've seen in a while.  Whilst walking out of my summer class, a guy in downtown Atlanta went flying by riding a wheelie on a moped.  Besides being about as useful as being able to juggle scarves, it was cool just because I didn’t expect it at all.  Then again, he was on a moped, so that's working against him, but hey, props for being unique.  It also got me thinking about mopeds, and I realized that mopeds are one of those things that are never hugely popular, but they're always hanging around, kind of like Brisk Iced Tea or Matthew McConaughey.  

Fact of the Day:  The cigarette lighter was invented before the match.

Shout out to Norris Clay.