2012

The last day of work this year was today. Which means that the last day I will likely contribute much of anything to society of any value this year was, well, today. I'm not quite sure about the verb tenses on that. As such, I am going to take stock of what has happened to me (and the way that I reacted to those things) in 2012.

I came into my own at work at a job that I very much enjoy. The last time I enjoyed working where I do this much, I was in college. And that was a while ago. 

I went to Chicago in February to see The Promise Ring play a reunion show. Highlight? When they played "Stop Playing Guitar" which encapsulates the way I feel (to a large extent) about playing music.

I went to California in April to go Coachella. I don't like outdoor music fests and after Cornerstone 200X, I vowed to never go again. When I found out that REFUSED was playing, I bought my ticket immediately. Here is the video of them playing. They were perfect.

In June, a woman told me that she was in love with me. I was not in love with her. She also told me that she was deleting me. I'm not sure what that means but we haven't spoken since. I guess that's what that means.

In July, I turned 32. Frankly, I'm surprised I've made it this far. 

In September, I went to Iceland. Iceland feels like another planet. Watch this.

In November, a woman flew 1700 miles across the country for me. This was a risk worth taking but (as everything that doesn't end up in death does) didn't end up quite as well as what was hoped for... On the plus side, I didn't end up in the backyard puking by the tree like I did last September. This one hurt.

I went to Michigan for Christmas. I didn't take any pictures of videos. It wasn't the most enjoyable Christmas.

I bought a new car yesterday. It's a 2013 Nissan Altima. I figured it was time to own a car with a heated steering wheel. Here is what it looks like:

Also, I haven't shaved in almost 8 months. I figure I'm gonna keep not shaving until I have to, well, shave. 

I have no idea what's in store for 2013. But I'm hoping it will be as much of an adventure as 2012 has been. There are still three days left. If you would like to join me for what is sure to be an evening that will not be remembered, please join us at Warfield on Monday night for this:

 

Do 2013 better than you did 2012. Do tomorrow better than you did today.

Connect

I have never been to Connecticut. At least, I don't think I have. I've been up since 2:45 this morning (a combination of having to be at work very early and my extreme excitement for The Hobbit this afternoon so my brain is a little bit fried at the moment). I know two people that live there. With the exception of my two friends that live there, it's a spot on a map. I mean, Hartford doesn't even have a hockey team anymore or a single notable brewery. How much of a state can it be?

I came home from work with the full intent of taking a nap before going to see the movie but since all I can think about is what happened in Connecticut that probably isn't going to happen. The nap part, not the movie part.

Those of you who know me know that I value my freedom and I value my independence. My nearest family members are 500 miles away. I far too infrequently ask for help and when I do, I try to make it as private as possible. Unless it involves a ride to and/or from the airport. I need one next Friday by the way as I am going to be flying to see said family members if anyone would like to help me out. This post is not about me.

All I've seen on the social media sites, the internet, and the TV, for the past few hours has been the coverage of the shootings in Connecticut. Everyone seems to have an opinion: it's the government's fault for not having tougher gun control laws; the gunman/men clearly had a mental condition; how could someone just walk right in and do this? The answer isn't having tougher gun laws. [Since when do those who want to commit actions which are called "crimes" ever care about "laws"?] The answer isn't publicizing about improved medical care for those with mental health conditions. [There's no need to fount over what condition someone may or may not have.] The answer isn't more or less coverage in the media. [These are the same organizations that cover the death of Khloimalamadingdong Kardashian's pet.] The answer is that there is no answer that can be legislated. There is no comfort in that.

I'm not a parent. I can't imagine losing a child because I don't have one to lose. There is no comfort in that, either.

What this is about is tonight. No, not about "The Hobbit". But about you and me and everyone you can think of. It's about giving someone a big damn hug. It's about talking it out. It's about taking the biggest risk you can possibly take and even if it blows up in your face, you knew you took that risk. It's about connecting. Go make a connection. Find that lonely person at the party tonight and invite them to the conversation. Call a friend in another state and tell them that you miss them. Call your mom and tell her that you love her and can't wait to see her next week. Go buy a glass of scotch for your roommate. You never know whose life you could save; the life you save could be your own.

As much as this tragedy (which is a word that has become far too commonplace in our world) has affected all of us on whatever scale you'd like to believe that it has, the only thing it makes me want to do is connect. With you. With all of you. Throw down your guard. Go. Connect.

That's it.

Juan Valdez, Shakira, Coffee and other stuff from Mexico

For the past three months, I have been working on a software implementation project at work. I am by no means a project manager. I am also by no means a software implementor. I just happen to have those skill sets. I'm just some dude who is pretty good at spreadsheets and really good at human resources. As such, I have had many early mornings at work over these past three months -- some days arriving as 3:00 in the morning.

Read that last part again. 3:00 in the morning.

I haven't had much time to blog lately as the 6 (six) of you who read this thing can tell. I'm usually pretty exhausted and my brain is pretty fried by the time that I get home from work that I eat dinner, drink a beer, and fall asleep watching hockey. It's like I'm married but without the companionship or sex. Actually... it IS like I'm married.

You may be reading this and thinking, "Wait... It's 8 something in the morning on a Thursday. Why is peanutisawesome blogging? Did he lose his job?" The answer is no, I did not. I am off for vacation for the next few days and my laundry takes time to dry. I tried to use magic on it but it didn't work.

Anyway, for the past 6 1/2 years, I haven't drank caffeine. Well, I take that back. I can count on one hand the number of times that I have drank caffeine in the past 6 1/2 years. And none of these 3:00am starts at work were among those times that I drank caffeine. I know I'm impressive.

In the world of dating (so I'm told), men often take women out for coffee as a first date. Coffee and all of those machiattoespressolattezombiemutantlibertarianintellegnsia drinks all seem to have caffeine in them. So now I'm double screwed. But what really grinds my gears is the baristas.

Wait. What?

Yes, the baristas.

Now, since I know nothing about the world of hot caffeinated beverages, I am going to make some broad, wildly sweeping generalizations across the board that are based on nothing but pure emotion and entertainment.

First of all: Look at this asshat.

Secondly, when in the hell did barista become a respected and honored occupation? I'm certainly not trying to belittle a person who has that position, I'm simply trying to belittle the position itself. And, yes, based on the list of jobs that I have held (in either a part- or full-time capacity) that I am about to list, I feel that I am fully capable of passing judgment:

- HRIS Analyst

- Freelance Sticker and Bookmark Cutter Outer

- Executive Recruiter

- Employee Resource Specialist

- Flower Delivery Driver

- Bar Trivia Question Writer & Host

- Pizza Delivery Driver

- Window Washer

- HR Administrator

- Shoe Salesman

- Taco Bell Crew Member (Employee of the Month, September 1997, Howell, Michigan)

- Pizza Restaurant Cook and Dishwasher (unrelated to the Pizza Delivery Driver position mentioned above)

I think that covers it. My point here is none of these positions has ever been revered and as well thought of as a barista. Some of them have even paid pretty well. Some of them even allowed me to, if I could afford it and if I could make it happen, take a girl out for a cup of coffee to be served to us by the aforementioned barista.

Third. Dude. It's coffee. Mexico has a shit ton of it. I know because dudes with mustaches and donkeys pick the beans and then gringos are like, "Hey, I won a contest! Give me all of the coffee beans!"Colombia is part of Mexico, right? Oh, shit! Colombia is where Shakira is from! I'm an idiot. To make it up to you, here is a picture of Shakira holding an apple while being attacked by a BabyTree.

Maybe, though, that I just don't get it. And that's usually the case.

The Return of the Give Flowers to a Single Lady in Nashville on Valentine's Day Giveway

Every year, Valentine's Day rolls around. It's like Christmas. Or Jeopardy! at 6:00pm (which I am currently watching and knocking the shit out of these college kids including some guy from Vanderbilt -- take THAT!). Or wait... That last thing is daily. What else rolls around? Marbles? Sure. Every year, Valentine's Day rolls around like marbles. How's that for a simile? And just like a room full of marbles, navigating Valentine's Day is particularly tricky. Unless, of course, you are a cast member of an ensemble romantic comedy starring everyone ever. Then things just sort of fall into place. Like marbles into marble-shaped and -sized holes.

Have I written enough about marbles yet? Maybe for today but I don't promise anything. Except...

That's right, Ladies. With a capital "L". It's just about time for my annual giveaway. That's right: Give Flowers to a Single Lady in Nashville on Valentine's Day Giveaway

Here are the rules. 'Cause what's the fun of having a contest if you can't have rules? That's the fun part, right? The rules?

1.) First of all, you won't owe me anything. You don't have to call me. You don't have to text me. You don't have to even know me all that well. We don't have to be friends on facebook (which is my FAVORITE thing on earth). I'm not even looking to celebrate the infamous Steak and BJ Day the following month.

2.) The flowers will be from A Village of Flowers. I used to work there and any chance I can get to support them, I will support them. They've been making dudes look like champs for years.

3.) I will spend up to $65. This is the approximate cost of a dozen roses. If you want roses, that's cool with me. I can think of many other flowers that I like better but these are for you and if you want a dozen roses then, damnit, you're gonna get your dozen roses.

4.) As my friend Ryan has already jokingly inquired, yes, you have to be a woman, you have to be single, and you have to live in Nashville. I'm not driving out to Lebanon after I've been at work all day. Antioch is also out of the question. Madison? Doesn't count. You get the idea.

5.) The winner is picked by me. Don't feel bad if you don't win. It's not that exciting. I'm probably going to show up in dress pants and a button up shirt. I sit in front of a computer all day.

So, why am I doing this? Well, let's look at Valentine's Day. For the two weeks leading up to it, all you hear on the radio are commercials for buying that special lady in your life a diamond that looks like a piece of frozen spit from a chain

jewelry store. Or if you listen to a really awesome station, a commercial telling you to buy your sweetheart a cell phone. I shit you not, I heard that very commercial last night. I'd probably be pretty stoked if someone bought me a cell phone. I'd turn around, sell it on eBay, and then use that money to pay for these flowers that I'm getting some lady. That's a pretty cyclical argument, in'it? No, the real reason is that I feel like an ass most of the year. And as much as everyone says that they hate VD -- that's Valentine's Day, you sickos -- you, and me, and everyone else that's sitting at home all by themselves watching Muppet Treasure Island on a Friday night whilst updating their blog probably wishes that they weren't... Which will likely mirror my Valentine's Day night. I just randomly picked those last things out. Muppet Treasure Island. And Friday night. Updating their blog. By myself. My point is (and, yes, I realize how incredibly long this paragraph has become) is that I'm trying to be nice. I'm not very good at it and this about the one thing that I can do each year to do something, well, nice.

If you don't want flowers, that's cool. Don't enter. If you'd like to be in the contest, just send me a message/email/facebook thingy and let me know. The more creative the reason, the better chance you have of me showing up on your doorstep a week and a half from now with an arrangement and wearing business casual clothes and smelling like a manufacturing facility. I'm not trying to be romantic, I'm just trying to make one lady's day a little bit better

.

Qdoba vs. Chuy's

It's Monday, January 2nd. Normally this would be a day when dudes who have jobs like I do (the kind where you wear dress pants and leather shoes) would celebrate the New Year holiday by not going in to work. But do to a tiny incident last year, there was a bit of a shut down, some holidays got cancelled at the company I work for, and so I went in to work today. This meant that instead of watching football all day long, I was at work and had to wait until this evening when I got home to watch games.

I was preparing to watch the Tostito's Fiesta Bowl, which I have no real rooting interest in, but was merely excited at the prospect of a quality game. As I got to thinking what I should eat for dinner, the words "tostito's" and "fiesta" kept popping into my head. I like Mexican food just like anyone else. Anyone who says that they don't like Mexican (or TexMex or Texican or Salvadoran or whatever) food is a liar. I got in my car and headed some place new. I told my friend Andy that this year is the year that I take more risks. Seemed like a food good idea at the time.

As I headed near midtown, I could see the glow of the neon outside the new TexMexiSalvadoran restaurant in Nashville. It's a little place called Chuy's that people have been losing their shit over for the past few months. I can't figure out why. I have eaten Chuy'sonce before in my life. They catered a meal when I contracted at Asurion -- a place where I subsequently got in trouble for blogging about when I worked there. It was pretty good, as I recall, and the queso cheese cow juice dip was really damn good. Seemed like a good idea at the time, right?

I thought it was. Like the time I asked out that 22 year old. Or that 19 year old. Or that married woman. I didn't know she was married. Not my fault.

I walked into Chuy's here in Nashville and the dude at the host station, who I'm going to go ahead and assume was the manager, and the chick at the same host station, who I'm going to assume was the co-manager, asked me if I would like a table. I didn't. I just wanted to place a to-go order. Tostito's. Fiesta. Football. Remember?

I told them about my desires. Not the desire to ask out a 22 year old. Or that 19 year old. Orthat married woman. But the desire to order food to go. The very nature of to go implies speed, quickness, rapidity -- all things related to the length of my relationships and/or infatuations with some woman who may be 22, 19, or married. They told me that "we'll get someone to take your to go order in just a second."

So there I stood. Waiting. And greeted by a few other people who work there telling me that they would get someone to take my order. I know that working in a restaurant can be hectic. I've done it. I rememememememember that no matter how busy you are in a restaurant, you're never to busy to take care of a customer who wants to give you money. I learned that from Reservoir Dogs.

I waited, becoming more and more annoyed that no one would take my money order. 17 minutes I waited.

So I finally said, "Screw it" and went to Qdoba. I don't know what I go anywhere else. Ever.

The lesson here, friends, ladies who happen to be reading this and want to ask me out on a date (and AREN'T 22, 19, or married), is to not go to Chuy's restaurant and to go Qdoba instead.

And also to drink beer. It makes you attractive to the opposite sex. And also to listen to Slayer. They are better than Winger.