I don't hit rock bottom, I high-five it.

And lately I've been giving a lot of high-fives.

So I know that reading about other people's gym adventures is usually about as fun as head butting a golf cart, but trust me, this one's worth it.  Last Friday I went in to do a casual workout and I knew it was going to be a special day as soon as I walked in.  Upon entering the locker room, I nearly ran into a fellow gym-goer as I rounded the corner.  Normally you both just side step, awkwardly mumble something about your directional authority and possibly an apology, and move on with life.  This guy apparently didn’t know that.  I could instantly tell that he was a whole different breed of weird.  I'm talking about the kind of person that you walk in on and find him yelling obscenities at a jar of Marshmallow Fluff.  Anyway, instead of moving on, Mr. Fluff takes a large step back, cocks his head at the kind of angle that girls do when they're taking a picture at a bar after one to many drinks (you know, the girl-from-the-horror-movie angle), and just stares at me.  It wasn't an intimidating or angry stare, it was more like he was just mind blown that I even existed.  I stood there awkwardly for a second, waiting to see what would happen, and when nothing did I slowly side stepped and kept walking.  It was weird, but it wasn't over.  I changed and went out into the work out area and after a little while I noticed he was there too, on the opposite side of the room on an elliptical.  Side Note: As far as I'm concerned the elliptical is by far the most ridiculous "workout machine" ever created.  It's like the snuggie of the gym.  Just stupid.  Anyway, so he's over there looking slightly off balance but decently normal.  I go about my routine and eventually reach the part where I'm using the equipment on his side, and this is where things get amazing.  I'm off to the side of him when he apparently hit the part of his workout where he was supposed to speed up to Mach 3, and he is chuggin.  By that I don't mean that he's only going fast, I mean he's also breathing in such forceful ragged patterns that he sounds like a freight train with Asthma.  At this point there are a few other people around me glancing in his direction, slightly worried and a little scared.  I don't blame them.  He goes on like this for about three or four minutes, and I am now completely still, just watching him.  Then it happens.  All at once, he reaches for his water bottle, never slowing down at all, loses his balance, launches himself up off of the pedals onto the screen of the machine, emits an incredibly uncharacteristic yelp, and topples the entire machine onto its side.  Nobody moved.  It was amazing.  After a few moments the gym staff came to his rescue, at which point he was just slowly rolling towards the far wall like an awkward beached whale, but when they reached him he got up, tried to explain what happened, then just jogged off the locker room.  I had absolutely no clue what to do.  I gave up trying to continue my workout, and sat there for a few minutes trying to decide whether to feel embarrassed for him or to laugh it off.   Spoiler Alert: I laughed it off.  And don't judge me for that.  If you can't laugh at that, then either you misread the story, lack imagination, have no sense of humor, or all of the above.  Also, you're probably an accountant with bad breath.

If you're anything like me, you have three addresses permanently embedded in your memory:

1)  Yours.

2)  Your parents.

3)  P Sherman, 42 Wallabe Way, Sydney, Australia.

I don't know about you, but when I find a song that I really enjoy, like obsession status, I play it an absurd amount of times.  I realize that’s pretty common but for me it's a serious problem.  And nothing good comes from it either.  It's not like after a few days of hearing it I can wean myself off and go back to normal.  No, it's much worse.  In short, I listen to the song on repeat for a minimum three weeks.  There are absolutely no breaks.  Just that song back to back.  When I'm not listening to it, I'm whistling, humming, or singing it.  At the end of that three-week period, I promptly wake up in the morning, delete the song from my phone and computer, and send hate mail to the artist.  Nobody wins.

The other day I was zoned out whilst walking in downtown Atlanta, and began thinking about some really weird shit.  Most of it revolved around the outcome of a potential battle royal between WD40 and Duct Tape.  After much thought, I decided it would be a dead even fight, and the victor solely depends on who had the first move.  It's the only logical outcome.  If WD40 struck first, Duct Tape would never be able to stick to anything and thus would probably succumb to defeat.  However if Duct Tape had the first blow, it could tape shut WD40's opening, rendering it defenseless.  Trust me, I have thought out nearly every possible scenario.  Those are the simplified versions.  I need a hobby.

Of all the people in the world, I think I am most bewildered by the people who choose crunchy peanut butter over creamy peanut butter.  I just don't understand them.  Creamy is infinitely better.  Why would you want little chunks of nuts in any sandwich??  And don't even get me started on the Extra Crunchy people.  It's just whole peanuts in there.  What's the point of even having the butter part?  "I like the texture."  No, you like murdering peanuts.  The crunches are just little tiny peanut screams.  "Hey, use extra crunchy on mine.  And while you're at it, find out if the peanuts had any nicknames or family."   You disgust me.

Fact of the Day:  It only takes 7 pounds of pressure to rip your ear off.

Shout out to Rob Stiff.

If at first you don't succeed, blame someone else and seek counseling.

Well nation, my least favorite time of the year is quickly approaching: the end of football season.  This means a couple things, the first of which is that the playoffs/Super Bowl are upon us.  I love the playoffs, even though my Cowboys haven't had a significant run since 1996.  I think that my favorite part of the playoffs, however, is the concept of the "Bandwagon."  The Bandwagon, for those of you who think the Super Bowl is that huge thing in the soup kitchen, is the figurative term for when someone starts acting like a huge fan of whatever team is doing well, effectively "jumping on the bandwagon."  Now don't get me wrong, I have jumped on the bandwagon tons of times in just as many sports, but let's be clear, I love supporting several teams (such as the New Orleans Saints), but when those teams lose, I can move on.  However, when MY team (Dallas) loses, I turn into the fifth grade girl that didn't get invited to the birthday party.  Unfortunately that seems to happen very often. But I'm getting sidetracked.  The Bandwagon.  As far as I'm concerned, the Bandwagon is the greatest thing that has been introduced to sports since steroids.  (If you haven't read it already, my opinion on steroids is made explicitly clear towards the end of this blog, click here to read it.)  What the Bandwagon does is ensure that there is always a surplus of fans for every game that matters, and that the majority of people are happy at the end of a season, as bandwagonners are prone to simply flip sides mid game by slowly making excuses during the game about how they really have enjoyed watching [insert star player from other team] throughout the season.  And I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I'm a pro at this.  But honestly if I could, not only would I jump on every bandwagon possible, I'd be the fucking driver.  How great would that be??  You'd have a winning season every season, a championship every year, IN EVERY SPORT.  Think about it.  Even if we lose, this is the scenario:  We're on the figurative bus, tailgating like it's our effing job, we watch the game, it ends, we lose, we pout for seven minutes, redecorate the bus and start celebrating again.  What was your justification for not doing this again?  I don't care, your reason is irrelevant and stupid.  Of course there are always those sports fans who are so avidly obsessed with their team that it actually takes the fun out of watching sports for other people, and these are the ones that will unfailingly call out the bandwagonners, saying (and make sure to read this in an extremely whiny voice) "I've been a true fan my entire life, even when they were losing."  Good for you, douchebag.  I'll be sure to let them know at the Fan Of The Year Awards that don't exist.  I call these people the Hipsters of Football.  (Side Note:  If and when the Cowboys win the Super Bowl in the future, I will without a doubt convert into a Football Hipster.)

Speaking of Hipsters, does anybody remember when long distance phone bills existed?  I completely forgot about those.

Okay so if you're reading this blog, you know that I have a very vivid imagination.  (That might be dumbing it down a little, but it's better than admitting I've gone insane.)  Anyway, my question to you is:  If a bad dream at night is called a "nightmare," is a bad daydream called a "daymare"?  I ask because if that's what it's called, then I had one hell of a daymare the other day.  Basically any time I'm running (it's a kind of exercise) or even walking somewhere that takes longer than three minutes, my mind dives headfirst into a daydream.  There is no pattern to it at all, but I can tell you that they aren't light-hearted daydreams.  In these dreams I'm not on a vacation or anything.  In the good ones, for example, I’ll be somewhere in an alternate universe and I've just solved their alien equivalent to cancer, effectively saving the entire species from extinction.  The bad ones, and they get bad sometimes, are simply too gruesome to write about.  Luckily this one wasn't too horrible.  In this dream I was base jumping off of the Marina Bay Sands Hotel in Singapore.  I jumped off, free fell for a little bit, and from there two things happened:  First, I was somehow transported over to a forest, but because this is a dream and that kind of stuff is for some reason completely normal in dreams, I didn’t even question it.  Second, I pulled the ripcord and promptly found out there was a hole in my parachute.  Being that I was in the middle of the jungle, I realized I had no hope but to try and land, so after a string of expletives I began looking for something soft to land on.  There was nothing, so I proceeded to aim for a tree with large branches that I could tangle my lines on and hopefully climb down.  I found such a tree and tangled my lines, then, because my own self-conscious hates me, the tree fell.  Now, in case you've forgotten, this was all a dream.  And not only a dream, a DAYdream.  While all this is going on in my head, my body is walking through campus surrounded by a large number of college-aged strangers.  God-knows what I was doing throughout the majority of this dream, but I can tell you that when that imaginary tree fell, I let out a short yelp and flailed my arms out to my sides.  I thought I was trying to catch any other branches to save myself, but in reality I was just punching the building I was next to while simultaneously stiff-arming the young woman passing me into the street.  Not one of my smoother moments.

I don't like the term "horror stories."  Also, I don't like horror stories.  But I really don't like when that phrase is used as a way to described a bad time.  For example, when someone is "telling horror stories from when they were in the war,” it means they're talking about some of the unpleasant times they had when they were enlisted.  And I don't mean to downplay anybody in that position, but when I hear the phrase “horror stories from the war,” I immediately picture the American military going to war against the girl from The Ring, Scream, and Casper the Not-So-Friendly Ghost.

Fact of the Day:  Sounds travels 15 times faster through steel than it does through air.

Shout out to Joseph Mount.

I may have schizophrenia, but at least I have each other.

As I'm sure you all know, I live a very hard life and am constantly plagued with intense life or death decisions, such as Chickfila or Zaxby's, Sierra Nevada or Flying Dog, and Ranch or BBQ Sauce.*  My most recent dilemma can be solely attributed to social media.  My blog frequency has decreased, as I'm sure you have noticed during your hourly checks, and I completely blame this on Twitter.  I struggle daily with whether to tweet my random thoughts or save my genius for a blog, and recently Twitter has been winning out.  I'd like to apologize because I know how much pain this is putting you through.  Please do not harm yourself.

*Answers: Zaxby's, Sierra Nevada, and Ranch.

So winter break is over. (Side note: All of you with 2 month winter breaks that don't go back for another 2 weeks can go swallow a sword.)  Now that we're all back in the swing of things, let's talk about our travel. To get started, I'm going to go ahead and officially say that I win.  I did a lot of bouncing around this break, including 7 cities in 5 states, 5 flights, and a little over 30 hours of road tripping.  In short, I am better than you.  And coincidentally, I am also in far more debt.  It was fun though, and I got to do a lot of people watching.  However, I discovered something during part of my travel, and that's how much it sucks to be the one being people-watched.  On Christmas day I woke up and drove from Macon to Atlanta, then flew to Dallas.  (That’s Georgia to Texas for the geographically challenged readers.)  Now there aren't a lot of people that travel on Xmas, but out of all the people that did travel, every single one of them had a family member, significant other, or travel buddy with them.  It didn't even faze me at first.  As I watched the passers by I realized everyone looked sad.  It was pretty depressing.  However it wasn't nearly as depressing as when I realized that they weren't just sad, they were looking sadly at me.  These people were pitying me, and it was excruciating.  In their minds, no one loved me, I was completely alone, and the airport janitorial staff was the closest thing I had to family.  But you can't blame them, can you?  What sad, pitiful sap travels alone on Christmas?  I'll tell you who:  THIS FUCKING GUY.  Don't judge me, you don't even know me.  I'm traveling to see even more of my family, and then friends all across the country.  I get the most out of my Christmas, so you can suck it.  However, as much as I wanted to I couldn't yell expletives, accusations, and insults, so I resorted to throwing lightly salted, honey roasted peanuts at the strangers and taking their picture when they looked at me.  I think we all know who really won.

Another thing I learned over the break is that my mother is subtly trying to kill me.  You heard me, Birthgiver, I'm on to you.  At first I was in denial, but now the signs are too blatant to ignore.  For example, the last time I went home, there were no Pizza Rolls in the freezer.  NO PIZZA ROLLS.  Clearly the woman is trying to starve me.  And then I found out she redecorated my bathroom when I went to college.  My first thought was, "Okay, that's normal.  A bunch of parents do that when their kids fly the coop.  I don't technically live there anymore, so she's free to do whatever she wants."  I went home, and I have to admit it looked nice.  Little did I know it was a death trap.  The shower curtain is some new evil concept curtain that waits til you're comfortable in the shower, mid-shampoo, and then flings itself in your direction in an obvious attempt to suffocate you.  And the light fixture.... oh the light fixture.  Floating above the sink, illuminating the whole bathroom in a homely glow.  A glorious touch to the room's aura, or a malevolent concussion machine?  I'll give you a hint, it's the second one.  It hangs a solid 8 inches below the top of my head, blocking my view, and trying its absolute best to bash my head in every time I lean down to brush my teeth.  And it's getting very good at it.  I feel like I live in a slightly toned down episode of SAW IV.

I think Doritos are one of the greatest things ever.

During the break I drove up to Chicago to pick up my current roommate and all of his possessions.  We stayed with two of his friends, and like honorable guests we stayed on our computers nearly 100% of the time we were at their house.  At some point I came across an online quiz of company slogans, and it was enlightening to say the least.  My absolute favorite was Google's slogan: "Don't be evil."  It made me think two things:  First, I've got to take down Google if I ever want to rule the world, and second, what other companies have cool slogans?  So after spending and embarrassing amount of time researching this question on the Internet machine, here are my opinions on certain companies' slogans:

Company > Slogan > My Opinion

Guinness (2000):  "Guinness is good for you."  Okay Guinness, let's chat.  I find a couple problems with this slogan, namely that is absolutely wrong.  Yes, certain ingredients used in the brewing of your beer may be good for you, and you may feel good while drinking Guinness, but in no way does that mean the beer itself is good for you.  That's like saying that because peanuts are appetizing, dynamite itself must also be tasty.  (Peanuts are an active ingredient in dynamite.)  I appreciate the effort, but let's stick to something that isn't clearly a lie.  Also, who is honestly going to believe that?  We aren’t working with toddlers here, and even if we were, shame on you for trying to get toddlers drunk.  BOYCOTT GUINNESS, THEY’RE TODDLER KILLERS.

7-Eleven:  "Oh thank Heaven."  To be honest, I love it.  Why?  Because when you walk into a 7-Eleven on a hot summer day and take a nice big gulp of your own personal Slurpee concoction, that slogan is exactly what goes through your mind.  Seriously though, think about the last time you when into a McDonald's.  At what point were you thinking "I'm lovin' it"?  I'll tell you when: Never.  After the first few bites you're thinking something along the lines of "WHY DO I KEEP DOING THIS TO MYSELF??" or "Sweet zombie Jesus this feels like edible suicide..."  Not 7-Eleven though.  No sir.  Thank Heaven indeed for the infinite number of Slurpee possibilities and seemingly endless array of snacking options.

Heineken (2000):  "Heineken refreshes the parts other beers cannot reach."  Stop it, Heineken.  I don't feel thirsty, I feel violated.

Visa:  "It's everywhere you want to be."  ...........God?

Folgers:  "The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup."  False.  The best part of waking up is realizing you have another hour to sleep.  Aside from that, it is a very catchy jingle that you're now singing in your head.  You're welcome.

Energizer:  "Nothing outlasts an Energizer."  You gotta hand it to them, that slogan just kept going and going and going and going.....

Sarah Lee:  "Nobody doesn't like Sarah Lee."  Also, nobody likes double negatives.  Are you trying to confuse us into buying your bread?

Okay so I could do that for a very long time, so I'm just gonna cut myself off there.  You get the idea though.  There are a lot of good slogans, but there are even more very very shitty slogans.  Just goes to show........ something.

Fact of the Day:  Domestic pigs average a top speed of about 11 miles per hour.

Shout out to Sarah Mellema.

Knowledge is power and power corrupts, so study hard and be evil.

Words to live by.

To my loyal audience, Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and [everything else].  I apologize for how infrequently I've been posting blogs.  I do have an excuse though.  As I'm sure you know, schools just got out for Christmas break, which means that a few weeks ago was final exam week.  This is my least favorite week of the year to be online.  This is the week that 99% of all facebook statuses/tweets are one of the following:

1)  Stereotypical whining about how exams are going to kill them.

2)  "__ down, __ to go"

3)  "Finished!"  (etc)

4)  A statement about how good their grades are/how amazingly awesome they are as a person

It drives me crazy.  Especially the last group.  Here's a clue:  Nobody except you and your parents give a flying shit about how smart you are.  And your parents only care because they want you out of college.  Cynical?  Maybe.  But I stay off the Internet machine until most of that is over with.

While I'm ranting about online antics, I wish there was a way to block certain statuses on facebook or certain tweets on twitter, etc.  It's not that I want to block the people, but there are specific phrases or words that compromise the integrity of whatever else is said.  For example, can we all just go ahead and agree that "lol" is the worst addition to the English language that was ever created?  I wish it was a person so I could punch it in the kidney.  In my opinion it should be banned from use for the rest of eternity.  First off, it's not even a real word, it's an abbreviation, and an idiotic sounding one at that.  Secondly, it's a lie.  I am overwhelmingly confident in my assumption that at least 99.995% of the times that "lol" is used, the person is not in fact "laughing out loud."  How are we supposed to raise an honest generation of children when this common lie is so easily overlooked and acceptable?  It's ruining our future.  Lastly, and this is what bugs be most, is the fact that it is most often used as some sort of an anti-liability measure.  By that I mean that people throw it in at the very end of a statement that they are not completely confident saying, as a last ditch effort of defense against people that would make fun of them for the statement.  For example, "So pumped for the new Twilight movie lol."  Come on, man.  If you're gonna say something, at least own up to it.  Don't go in half-hearted, you just look like a bitch.  And trust me, we already lost all respect for you when you even mentioned Twilight, don't make it worse by trying to act like you were kidding.  It's just sad.

I don't know about you, but when my phone has a low battery in the morning and I make it last the whole day, I feel like I just survived 40 days in the desert solely based on my superior rationing skills.

If any of you are like me, then you often get bored in the middle of conversations.  Most people would change the subject or just leave.  My hobby is subtly trying to make the situation awkward.  And subtly is the keyword here.  For example, from experience I discovered that if at any point the topic of eye contact arises, the entire rest of that conversation is essentially useless because all parties are now so concerned with their own level of eye contact that they cannot actually process anything that is being said.  It's wonderful.  Seriously, try it.  The instant that it comes up, watch the other person's mannerisms.  They don't want to look away too often because now they think you're judging them for not showing respect, and they compensate by staring wide-eyed at you like they're trying to see into your soul.  Then they realize what they're doing and try to calmly glance away every now and then until their ultimate demise at which point they bail on the conversation with an incredibly pitiful excuse and flee the scene.  It's just great.

I know Christmas is over and that kind of sucks, but at the same time I am SO HAPPY because that means that I have around 340 days until I have to hear Christmas music again.  Call me Scrooge, but some of those Christmas song renditions are the worst excuse for "music" I've ever heard in my life.  And it doesn't help that there are only about 20 songs total to choose from.  This year I heard a version of "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus" that made me want to take an ice pick to my ear drums.  I think it was a girl singing but there was no real way to be sure, as the voice sounded like a drunken child with no professional vocal training, and a blender full of screws in the background.  It was miserable.

Nation, I've decided to compile a few lists for you concerning the holidays.  The first of them pertains to shopping and returning gifts.  I have personal experience with this because work at a large retail store which will go unnamed for fear of possible litigation.  I call this first list "Tips on How Not to be an Asshole During the Holidays":

1) Don't get irrational frustrated with the cashier.  It was your family member that put the wrong gift receipt in with your present, not the cashier's.  And it's not the cashier's fault that your aunt got you a pair of extra small, gold-plated Crocs for Christmas instead of the [insert literally anything else].  Just be patient, because chances are that cashier has dealt with roughly 11,002 other people with the exact same problem that probably also had a stocking shoved up their ass.  And usually if you're nice,  they might just say Screw it and give a full refund anyway.

2) If you're going into an electronics store to complain/get something fixed/ask a question, please don't act like you know what you're talking about.  If they ask you a question, answer it honestly, but don't hesitate to say you have absolutely no fucking clue what they're talking about.  Trust me, they've seen worse.  Namely the old people who were the rocket scientists of their day, but somehow can't figure out how to set an iPhone to vibrate.  But from the other day, I can personally attest to how amazingly moronic you sound when you interrupt the specialist trying to act like you are Steve Jobs reincarnated.

I know there's more to that list, but that's all I can remember for now.  Moving on, I'm always entertained with the "Top 10 _____s of the Year" lists, so I figured I'd come up with a couple of my own.  After this first one I got bored and gave up, but here it is:

Top 10 Letdowns of 2011:

- The Rapture in May:  I really thought the end of the world would be more....world-ending.

- The McRib:  Honestly, I should have seen this one coming.

- Winter:  When I think winter I think snow, not 70 degrees and humid.

- The Office:  Michael Scott is gone.  Just give up.

- Turning 22:  Congrats, you're just old enough that your birthday isn't really a big deal anymore, and you've got another 25 years til it's even remotely special again.

- All football but the SEC:  Have fun in third place, rest of the country.

- Still No Hovercars:  Those advertisers back in the 60's were full of shit.  The best we've got are hybrids, and those just piss me off.

- High Cholesterol:  Great.  Just great.

- The Indianapolis Colts:  Self Explanatory.

- Occupy Wall Street:  I've always wanted to get thousands of people to go on a camping trip at the same time, but I never thought there'd be this much complaining....

Word of the Day: "Snirt"- A Minnesotan word for the mixture of snow and dirt on the side of the road.

Shout out to Erin Donahoe.

Only in a math problem can you buy 60 cantaloupes and nobody asks what the hell is wrong with you.

For Thanksgiving this year I did a lot of traveling and a lot of eating.  It all started when I picked up my friend from the Nashville airport.  (I live in Atlanta by the way, and does he pick the airport seven minutes from my house? Noooooo, instead he chooses the airport a solid four hours away.)  Anyway, after a nice little eight-hour joyride we kicked off the break with Zaxby's, as everyone should.  To continue the greatness, the next day we went and ate at a place in Atlanta called The Varsity, or "The V" for you people who don't like calling things by their God-given name.  Anyway, for those of you that don't know, the Varsity is a semi-famous fast food joint in Atlanta that serves stereotypical fast food.  By that of course I mean burger, hot dogs, fries, onion rings, etc.  However, there are two things that separate the Varsity from other fast food establishments.  First, the workers there don't hate their jobs, they hate YOU.  They are famous for their catchphrase "Whatllyahave"(one word) which is usually delivered as loud as humanly possible when you're still ten feet from the register and have absolutely no idea what you’re going to order.  Secondly, saying that the Varsity is unhealthy is kind of like saying Bill Gates has a couple bucks.  To clarify, I’m saying that the Varsity has more grease per square inch than an actual grease factory.  (Side Note: I'm not actually sure there is such a thing as a "grease factory" but just go with it.)  And of course that means one thing and one thing only:  The food is INCREDIBLE.  Now obviously after a couple cheeseburgers and some onion rings you cannot move for roughly half an hour, but that forces you to sit and bond with your eating partner, so technically everybody wins.  Anyway, after the Nashville jerk left for Alabama (wanted to "spend it with his girlfriend" or some bullshit), I then flew to Dallas where I proceeded to have the stereotypical Thanksgiving dinner of Turkey......and shrimp and scallops and pheasant and quail and crab cakes.  Also, all of those were deep-fried.  Yes, I realize I have about four years to live and I'm okay with that.  On my tombstone, I want my epitaph to read:  "Tab Hirschey: Ate like a champ, and never even tasted tofu."  Or something along those lines.  Okay, we need to pause for a second.  To be completely honest, I started writing this paragraph fully intending to talk about shampoo.  That should show you how my mind works.  Evidently my mind thought it prudent to take me in another direction, so instead of spending another eight to ten lines trying to turn this back around to the originally intended topic, I'm just going to start talking about shampoo now.  Ready?  Go.  Why the hell isn't all shampoo tear free?  Why only kid's shampoo?  Do they just get to a point where they're sitting in a conference room and they say, "Fuck it, they're adults, they can handle it."  I mean it's not like I wash my eyes with shampoo every morning, but it seems like an extremely simple precaution to prevent very unnecessary pain.

There's nothing like turning on your heater for the first time of the season and getting that "Holy-shit-my-house-is-burning-to-the-ground" smell.  Gotta love winter.

Recently I had chili for dinner, and because I'm a fidgety person, I have to have something to dip in it.  I chose Frito's, because I'm a slave to my family's traditions and have very little free will.  Now just so you know, chips are a very important snack to me, and I judge myself on which chips I like and dislike.  Doritos, for example, are God's gift to the snack industry.  I have had every kind of them, and I will stand behind them fully, at least until they go insane and try to pull that bullshit that Lays pulled and start making Dill Pickle and Toe Jam flavored "snacks".  And don’t even get me started on the plain Lays.  They’re basically oversized pieces of dandruff.  When it comes to Frito's though, I have always turned them down unless eating chili.  Why?  Because they're a tasteless, corn-made, old-people chip.  No young people, at least none that matter, are presented with a wall of chips and choose Frito's.  When you’re really young you go with Funyuns (or if your parents are picking for you, Pringles).  As you age, you then progress to Cheetos, then Doritos, with momentary lapses back for Flamin Hot Cheetos.  After that, I just assumed the natural route was to gravitate towards Ruffles until an ultimate demise to Frito's.  So about a week ago I had leftover Frito's after my chili escapade.  I was boredom eating, which for those of you new to the game is when you’re not even remotely hungry, but you are bored, and therefore gain the ability to eat every single item in your kitchen without getting full.  Anyway, it came down to me and the Frito's.  I should have known better, but I was in a boredom-induced state and thus I wasn’t thinking straight.  Then disaster hit.  Not only did I eat them, I LIKED THEM.  It was a devastating blow.  I couldn't sleep that night, all I could think about was my 401k and how the next thing I know I'll be driving under the minimum speed limit and handing out Werther's originals*.  I don't think I'll ever recover.

*Did you know that some people actually consider Werther’s Originals candy?  Granted, most of them are senile, but still, candy??  Get your head out of your ass Gramps, talk to me when you’ve dipped your solid bar of sugar into more different flavored sugar.  Fun Dip for life.

I realize this is what is now referred to as a "first world problem", but sleeping on a bead made of any kind of feathers is essentially involuntary acupuncture.

Nation, as you know, I like to rank things.  Things I hate, things I love, things that are funny, and things that I think should be wrapped in barbed wire and dropped in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean [cough, Snooki].  Well, I have another bunch o’ rankings:  Meats.  This is a new system, however, one that I've adapted from someone else whom I will not name for fear of litigation.  It is a system of ranking meats by the clothing they relate to.  (I promise it’s not as gay as it sounds.)  For example, here are the first few I've come up with:  Steak, obviously, is the tuxedo of meat.  Ground beef would be camo jacket, and turkey is the maternity wear.  Bologna, oh bologna, is that dirty shirt with holes you've had for a decade and just can't bring yourself to throw away.  And as much as I hate to admit it, Bacon is the Snuggie.  The only reason I say this is because Bacon, like the Snuggie, makes you look terrible but it just feels so right.

Fact of the Day:  Peanuts are one of the initial ingredients of nitroglycerin, and thus dynamite.

Shout out to Brian Laughlin.

Cholesterol is just a fancy word for flavor.

And boy do I love flavor.  And cholesterol. 

I call this blog the Bipolar Blog, because it basically consists of only rants about thing I hate, ballads about things I love, and combinations of the two.  Read it and weep.  (Just make sure it’s not on your keyboard.  That would ruin your computer.)

While we’re on the topic of emotions, I've discovered it's very hard to be sad or angry when you're eating Starburst or Swedish Fish.  I think it may have something to do with the fact that they get stuck to your teeth and your first defense is to start chewing by opening your mouth as wide as humanly possibly in an attempt to get your teeth out of that deliciously exhausting trap of fruity goodness.  Either way I wish I had had some on that cursed drive to South Carolina.

Readers, we have officially reached winter.  We have passed Halloween, and are now in Thanksgiving territory, or as I like to call it, Turkeytory.  That means several things.  First, getting out of the shower is now the hardest part of the day by far.  No contest.  Second, now is the time when you start seeing wart-covered, ugly colored gourds in those weird little horned baskets.  I have no idea how that became a thing, but I don't support it at all.  However, Thanksgiving is very near, and I couldn't be happier.  There are very few things in this world that I know and love like food.  I love food so much, and eat enough that I could be a scientist on the matter.  As a scientist, I can confidently say that Thanksgiving food is the best seasonal food ever (besides crawfish).  Between huge fried turkeys, countless pies, and enough stuffing to build a life size replica of John Madden, Thanksgiving might be the best day of the year.

With my feelings on Thanksgiving now being out in the open, I’d just like to take a second to ridicule a friend that hates this most wondrous of holidays.  You know who you are.  I just want you to know that I disagree with everything that you represent.  For the week of Thanksgiving, I will despise you on a cellular level.  Honestly, who hates Thanksgiving??  It’s an excuse to hang out with friends, tell them you're thankful for them without sounding like a pansy-shit, and eat the hell out of some awesome food.  Some people just hate great things for no reason, and all I'm saying is that some people just need a hug........around the neck..........with a rope.

Speaking of hate, here’s another thing I dislike:  Cold.  Obviously I hate “colds” like the sickness, but I also dislike what I call “useless cold”.  Useless cold is when it’s just freezing outside and nothings comes from it.  There’s no snow, nothing’s cancelled, and it’s roughly as frigid as the hole where Donald Trump’s soul used to be.  Don’t get me wrong, Colorado, Utah, y’all are doing it right.  But Georgia?  Honestly?  It’s cold as shit and windy, not a single snowflake, and it just ruins my day.  That’s why I support Global Warming.  If Global Warming means 65-degree winters, I’m going to buy a couple Hummers and let that shit idle in the driveway for the next 10 years.  Send that carbon emission straight to the atmosphere.  Screw the polar ice caps.  When’s the last time you visited Antarctica?  When’s the last time anybody visited Antarctica??  The only things I care about in that area are penguins, and I’ve got some of those in the Atlanta Zoo, so I’m covered.  As far as I’m concerned, I’ll take the occasional typhoon if it means I can feel my fingers in December. 

You know what I hate?  Getting old.  Well not necessarily getting old as much as getting “oldish”.  By that of course I mean, losing my childishness.  In no way am I saying that I am not childish anymore, because that would be a boldfaced lie, but I am starting to lose some of my childish powers.  For example, vanilla ice cream actually tastes good to me.  That may not mean anything to you, but personally this is a huge blow.  Gone are the times when I would eat mint chocolate chip ice cream with chocolate chips and a solid pint of chocolate syrup, washed down with a quart of chocolate milk.  Now it’s vanilla.  A single bowl of vanilla.  I’m dying inside.

Fact of the Day:  The US spent $277,000 on pickle research in 1993.

Shout out to Andrew Medearis.

Friends are like trees, they both fall down if you hit them repeatedly with an axe.

I find that to be true for most things.  Also, both stand around uselessly most of the time and taste terrible.  Weirded out yet?

Okay loyal readers.  I realize I've let you down recently, and of course by “recently” I mean the past 37 days. But you know what helps?  Whining about it.  Actually that's a lie.  What helps is a new Daily Tablet that is long enough to make you hate reading more than you already do.  And guess what the best part is?  I happen to have one of those RIGHT HERE!!  HUZZAH!!  As a heads up, I'm forcing every little thing that I've meant to write about for the past month and a half into this blog, which incorporates thing from the summer and beginning of the school year, so don't be confused when I reference things that are SO two months ago.  Get over yourself.  You sound like a 13 year old girl.*

*No offense if you actually are a 13 year old girl.

In one of my chemistry classes, I have a professor who is......well let's just say unique.  Or eccentric.  Honestly he's just insane.  He is the perfect personification of THE mad scientist.  A while back, he walked into our lab, brought everybody to a halt, yelled at us to be quiet, and turned on a video.  Now I don't want to say that this was the weirdest video I've ever seen, but I'm not prepared to say that it wasn't.  Being the completely unbiased and fair person that I am, I watched intently as the video began.  I lasted roughly 11 seconds before bursting into laughter.  I don't want to describe the video in too much detail, mostly because I would probably be sent to an insane asylum, but here the gist of it:  Imagine a video that starts as a set of random video clips of the universe.  Now take that video and add some weird lighting and colors.  Now think of the weirdest spoken word you can muster, incorporating the words "Science is poetry" as many times as possible, and use that as the soundtrack for the video.  And finally, take that acid-induced, trippy color-mashing, somewhat-chemistry-based "song", and autotune it.  It was magnificent.

Also, while we're on the topic of chemistry, guess what I found out the second week of class?  My chemistry teacher is dyslexic.  No, I'm not joking.  I mean it’s a good thing the overwhelming majority of chemistry isn't already a jumble of letters right?  RIGHT? Cause that would just mean this semester would be a living hell.  Please send help.  (Preferably in the form of a permanent substitute.)

More about chemistry.  I know you love it.  I would like to take this time to express how disappointed I am in my chemistry lab.  I was clearly misinformed on what a chemistry lab would entail.  I was under the mistaken impression that we would be dealing with very brightly colored chemicals, such as those found on Bill Nye the Science Guy, and would be mixing those chemicals, creating explosions and PRESTO!!  A pink Starburst!!  (It's a juicy contradiction.)

Let's keep on with this class stuff.  One of my teachers is the way-too-involved kind, trying to change our lives with knowledge and all that nonsense.  The kind that actually said, "There's no such thing as a stupid question."  That is the single most incorrect thing I've ever heard.  No such thing as a stupid question?!?  Seriously??  Wait, the Earth isn't flat?  Who is Barack Obama?  Tab, would you like some bacon?

In one of my classes we are required to spend a few hours every week in the computer lab.  It is a large classroom with 60-70 computers, so if you go early in the week you don't have to worry about being surrounded by strangers.  Usually that’s how it works.  This day was different.  I went in, sat down at a completely empty table, and began diligently doing my homework.  After about half an hour, this guy walks into the lab and stops at the door, surveying the room.  At first glance, I knew this guy was weird.  Not like the casual weird though (whatever that means).  This was the kind of guy that irons his jeans and asks you what your least favorite kind of pavement is.  And wouldn't you know it, this guy decides to sit right next to me.  Whatever, I'm out of here in an hour or so, I just won't make eye contact or anything.  After a little while I notice that this guy is grunting every now and then.  It's kind of distracting, but I can get by.  Then it becomes more frequent, so I bravely venture a glance over.  It becomes clear that these are grunts of frustration.  And they're getting louder.  I'm beginning to get uncomfortable as this guy is getting more and more agitated at his online homework.  He gets to the point where he’s clicking the mouse eight times as hard as he can, then flinging it at the monitor.  Now I'm getting worried.  Then out of nowhere, he yells, stands up, and frisbees his laptop across the room, decapitating two people.  Okay that might be a slight exaggeration, but his did throw his mouse and made a noise that resembled a confused but angry bark.  It was very weird.

Ladies and gentlemen, I've had another discovery.  Cloudy weather makes people angry.  "Well no shit, Sherlock,” you might say.  Well first off, my name is not Sherlock.  It's Tab.  It's right over there on the right side of the page.  Secondly, I don't appreciate your language.  This is a public website and there's no need for your sailor's mouth around here.  Jerk.  Anyway, back to what I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, cloudy weather makes people angry.  Normally you'd assume rain makes people sad or gloomy, and sunshine makes people happy, but those are only because of the outdoor activities associated with their respective weather.  When it's sunny, people are outside in plain view doing fun things.  When it's rainy people are usually indoors, but who's to say their not having the best day of their week, month, or in some more pitiful cases, year?  Even if they're inside and looking out the window, they could have a smile on their face thinking, "The day has finally come.  The world's largest slip-n-slide will be built.  Today will go down as the slip-n-slidiest day in American history."  Don’t act like you know what going on inside their little head.  You ain't no Professor X.  You know what?  You're really getting on my nerves in this paragraph, and that, combined with the fact that I completely forgot where I was going with this, adds up to me just ending this paragraph here.

I wonder if big cats go apeshit fucking psycho like housecats do.  Can you imagine how absolutely TERRIFYING that would be??  Think about it.  A full-grown tiger is just chilling in a tree (because that's what they do) in that lackadaisical pose on a tree branch with one arm slightly hanging off.  You know exactly what I'm talking about.  Then, out of nowhere it just takes off, chasing after absolutely nothing at a full sprint.  It's not even attacking the animals around it, but it damn sure is scaring the ever-living shit out of them.  Ground.  Tree.  Back to ground.  Over a gazelle.  Straight up in the air with no apparent goal at all.  Completely terrifying.  I get scared shitless when my fur-ball of a cat at my parents house has it's five minutes of insanity, turning all furniture and people into it's own personal 100 mile an hour obstacle course.  I can't even imagine a 700 lb jungle cat bolting around like it just did 32 lines of cocaine.  Terrifying.

Revelation of the Day:  Mint gum plus cold water is like drinking Mt Everest.

Shout out to Tyler Knudsen.