Hit The Road

Kids, right now I'm heading south on I-15, somewhere in between Mesquite and mile marker 127. I've got a bowl of Cap'n Crunch in my belly, a pair of fancy schmancy sunglasses on my face, listening to Matthew White elegantly serenade profanity to me as I use my left thigh to navigate past truckers, trailers, and Priuses while I write down my memoirs on what will be the last road trip I will ever take as a recruiter for Dixie State University.

For full effect, download "Holy Moly" by the above-mentioned artist and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Life on the road has taught me a thing or two, I will say that. Things like how you should never break the speed limit in Idaho, or that Best Westerns are a very undervalued hotel chain nationwide, or that the state of California needs more money to fund their drivers education programs, or how sunflower seeds are the best therapy to keep your eyes open when you have a few hundred miles to go and it's just after midnight. I sure have picked up a few “life lessons on the road” over the years. Geez, that sounds like a roll your eyes premise for an ugly Nicholas Sparks novel or something. What is wrong with me?

I've been around kids, I really have. And yeah, go ahead and smirk a dirty thought or two about that last sentence, we all do. I've logged miles from Newport Beach to Spokane, from Boise to Phoenix, from Logan to Vegas and every single small town in between, I kid you not. Duchesne? Check. Lyman? Been there. Pioche? Done that. I've got a few hundred thousand miles logged on to my tailbone at this point in my life, and it hasn't even been five years yet. Damn, life on the road goes by too fast sometimes.

It's a little screwed up to think this will be the last time I sit behind this steering wheel on a trek paying my dues to the institution that raised me. Going 80 on a freeway by yourself sure does makes you think about the hypothetical direction you're headed. Kids, the next three months of my life are without question going to be some of the most path-hinging moments I will ever experience. And as I'm nearing the California border, I can't help but wonder what crazy tales will be spun in the next 90 days. Things are going to get batshit crazy, that's for sure. But at least for right now, the things that haven't happened yet, the things that will happen, the lunatic/WTF-is he thinking things, they don't matter yet. All that matters now is I've got my seeds, my tunes, and a full tank of gas, ready to tackle the last long road trip of my young recruiting life.

This Is How I Met A Girl

"So you really need to tone the blog down. I mean, just quit telling all these stories and stuff. You're making us look bad." Said one of the brothers.

"Totally man. I mean, you need to just stop blogging altogether. That way you'll be more likable." Said another.

"Wait, so I need to stop telling my future kids this story of how I potentially met their Mother?" I ask.

"Absolutely." They agreed. "I swear your stock will shoot through the roof if you do."

For full effect, download "Fell In Love With A Girl" by The White Stripes, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Now there may or may not have been a slight influence of sarcasm on both sides in that conversation, but that's neither here nor there. The words we tossed back and forth did in fact get me thinking about the picture I'm painting to a bunch of paint-covered boogers that aren't even close to be conceived at least for another decade. Yes, I have told quite a number of stories on this blog. 584 to be exact. And perhaps there may have been a few of these stories that have been slightly exaggerated for a more dramatic effect, but hey, that's the beauty of telling a damn fine story. You have to keep the audience entertained. And sometimes the details need to be stretched for full effect.

I say these words because based off my experience with hearing my married friends tell the stories of how they met each other, I kind of want to put my head in a vice and pluck my eyeballs out with a pair of rusty tweezers. Yes, that's how pathetic your tales are when it comes to how you met your soul mates. Now dear brothers, I'm not saying that's the story you are both telling of how you met your own wonderful wives, but seriously, I have heard some awful narrations of how it was "love at first sight" between two people, a.k.a. she didn't mind when I farted, so I guess she was the one.

Anonymous Friend: Well, we hooked up at a rodeo, and at first, I was a little ashamed to call her my girlfriend. Like, I didn't want anyone to know that we had made out. But then one thing led to another, and now we've been married for eleven years.

Anonymous Uncle: We dated for like six years. And neither of us could really make up our minds. I mean, we both kinda thought getting married was good, but neither of us really had that 'push'. Anyway, I was almost 40, and she couldn't really find any other guys to date, so we just decided to get married. And uh, yeah. It's been uh…good, I think.

Anonymous Student: So it was late, and I had been on Tinder for a while. I swiped right for a good time. And after the booty was…eh…mediocre, we decided to tie the knot. It's been six months and uh…well, I guess I'm happy...

What do you want me to say? That I created this fake profile on BlackFarmersOnly.com and sent her a stalker message asking her to meet me at Zupa's for dinner? Or that I had taken her best friend out and when I got dumped, I thought I would handle sloppy seconds? Or that I got bored one time at a family reunion and decided to hit on my cousin? Come on people, I need a story that will sell millions as a best-selling novel and make the author of The Best of Me look like an incompetent chump! Damn you Nicholas Sparks!

No! You want a story that will trigger a whir in your heart and make you have a bunch of flutterbys get stirred in your stomach realizing that maybe this is True L-word. You want juicy details about eight-year hiatuses in between our first and second dates. You want me to tell you about that one time where I spent $150 on a second date with a different girl, and ten minutes in I was already missing the one girl I shared sushi with the night prior. You want the rose-colored stage being set for a grand ol' showing of two people making a connection at the right place and at the right time in both of their lives.

And that's what I'll tell them. Whether or not this girl ends up being the Mother of my future #awesome offspring, I'm going to tell one Hell of a story about this chapter of my life. Because that's what life is anyway. It's dramatic, full of twists and turns, it makes you laugh, makes you cry, puts Nicholas Sparks to shame, and makes you feel happy that the good guy wins in the end.

And that's the story I'm going to tell. 

Why, Thank You!

“I never send an after date text.” Brooke says to me last Friday night.

“Come again for Big Fudge?”

“If a guy is interested, he’ll fight to take me out again. Since when is that text a mandatory thing every girl MUST do once the date is over?”

Um, why does anyone spend money on another person and not get a thank you in return? Since when is the dating world we’re all playing in a figurative version of a strip club?

For full effect, download “Electric Love” by BøRNS and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.

Kids, when it comes to the messed up world of modern dating that all of us single people have been condemned to wander around in for years at a time, there are a number of rules that get set in place in order to keep things somewhat structured. It’s not like there is a formal monarch enforcing these rules to make sure we all have the best experience, because lets face it; everyone has been the victim of a bad date. But regardless, there are a certain number of rules and regulations that all of us have subconsciously vowed to abide while we’re out looking for the next Mr. or Mrs. who will share last names with us.

For example, men have been handed the following rules to live by:

1. The rule of the gentleman. A man is required to open all doors, drive all vehicles, and pay for all meals. No halvsies or going Dutch is allowed whatsoever.

2. The rule of the tool. A man shall not wear any shade of pink on their upper body. If wearing a collared shirt, they are not allowed to pop the collar and/or tuck the front of the shirt into their belt buckle. A side addendum to this rule is the Corey Hart decree that a man shall not be allowed to wear sunglasses indoors, or 30 minutes after the sun has set below the horizon. 

3. The 60-40 rule. On a first date, a man will allow things relating to the woman’s life to make up at least 60% of the conversation, where he will make up the remaining difference. In the future, the 60-40 ratio will substantially grow in the favor of the woman’s life to the point where if both sides agree to be married, it then becomes the 90-10 rule. 

There are of course many other rules and stipulations that we as a male gender have been asked to abide by, but those are all contingent on circumstances and context. With that being said, there are a few rules the female gender have been asked to abide by when a stranger asks for their digits and takes them out to a night on the town.

1. The Dress Your Doll rule: A girl is required to wear clothes that are above average for social settings. Never on a first date may she wear sweat pants and an un-matching hoodie. (Okay, maybe there’s a little biased bitterness behind this one, but I think you all agree.

2. The PT rule: On a first date, a girl shall not bring up any information, whether positive or negative, that has anything to do with a previous relationship. You have no idea the disqualification it does to a man to hear about a previous douchebag’s Dodge Ram and the size of his biceps.

3. The Text of Chivalry rule: Following a first date, depending on the time it takes for a man to return to his own dwelling, a girl is REQUIRED to send an after date text, thanking the gentleman for his kind efforts in courting her on that lovely evening. 

“Out of all of the rules that girls are handed down, why do you have to disregard the after date text rule?” I rant to Brooke in hysterics. “Why can’t you just send a tiny blip of 1’s and 0’s to space and back, letting them know you appreciate the amount of time, money, and courage they mustered up to take you out? I know you want to make a guy chase you, but for the sake of common courtesy, why can’t you just send a text message with the two simple words of ‘thank you’?!”

“Well I didn’t send the after date text to you, and look what happened! You sure came chasing after me, didn’t you?” She says.

Valid point. Maybe women really do know everything.