tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37001336121244381592024-03-13T12:43:26.051-06:00RandomityThis is the best damn blog you'll ever read. Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.comBlogger569125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-74051203559496013052015-05-31T12:47:00.000-06:002016-06-29T12:01:34.396-06:00How I Met Your Mother<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OLZlWmzwtVM/VWtT0X2-8PI/AAAAAAAAD8E/kf4DsJsy0x4/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OLZlWmzwtVM/VWtT0X2-8PI/AAAAAAAAD8E/kf4DsJsy0x4/s640/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="552" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Kids, I have told you dozens of stories over the years that
have moved from Point A to Point B with hopefully some kind of moral at the end.
Out of all of the stories you have heard up to this moment, none are more
important than what happened last Sunday night on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For full effect, download “And There She Was” by The Solids
and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I am somewhat of a wise man. What I mean is, I have
picked up a few pieces of wisdom in the three decades I’ve been
wandering around on God’s green Earth. I can change a tire on my own car, I
know the difference between subsidized and unsubsidized student loans, I can
look up at the night sky and point out a handful of constellations, I can even
tie a bowtie on a good day. I think it’s safe to say that I know some things
here and there. Despite all of that, last Sunday night as a pretty girl and I
sat in a dirty restaurant off Bourbon Street eating $50 salads, laughing at how
New Orleans was the equivalent of the devil’s anus, I sat with my sweaty palms
under the table trying to figure out what I was going to say to this girl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s get out of this place.” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She stared back with a puzzled look on her
face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you mean lets get out of here? We just got to New
Orleans.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Valid point. We did just pull in to the most disgusting city
in the history of humanity. A place that makes Las Vegas look like a G-rated
movie. A town that is the closest creation to what Hell will look like in the
afterlife. As the seconds ticked on and my brain scrambled for an answer, I
just knew we had to get out of this dump. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know, let’s uh…lets just uh…go for a drive or
something? Maybe? Maybe go umm…out to the lake?” I said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nailed it. She had no idea what I was about to do. That
confused/perplexed/WTF look on her face meant she’s not suspecting ANYTHING out
of the ordinary. I, Brock Bybee, was a genius. That’s a cold hard fact. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh…sure. Let’s um…go for a drive.” She said. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw her swipe a salad fork and
put it into her purse for protection, but no, my mind was just playing tricks
on me. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cut to a mid-sized rental car on Interstate 10 being
pummeled by a thunderstorm the size of Mongolia with two young kids sitting in
trepidation going 17 miles an hour on a freeway with our flashers on like the
rest of the city. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maybe we should just go back to the hotel?” She said. “This
weather is crazy!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No! This is nothing. I’ve seen plenty worse storms than
this.” I lied kids, I had never seen worse storms than that. It felt like
Hurricane Katrina’s big sister was unloading her bowels on this city all
over again. Despite the weather, I knew for certain I was not going to drive
back to the hotel without asking this pretty girl a single, simple question. A
question that would change the course of both our lives forever. That last line
sounds cliché, I know. But it was the direction both of us were heading. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cut to the paved walkway on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain
where two crazy kids with no one else around stood with each other looking out
at the water. The rain had stopped but the storm had not, and lightning flashes
were dancing around us every 30 seconds. It was like a glimpse from a Bob Ross
painting. Seriously, not a better setting for what would happen next. You want
to find a more romantic scene than two people standing on a beach with a
lightning storm going on and no one else around? That stuff would make Putin
intoxicated with love.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So when do you think would be a good day to get married?” I
asked her as we stood there watching the lightning. She hesitated to answer,
probably because this was the first time in the history of our relationship I had ever brought up the M-word without making the entire situation
morbidly uncomfortable. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know, there are plenty of days to pick. This isn’t
something we need to talk about right now. There are so many other things that
have to happen first before we start thinking about this. So…I don’t know?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re right.” I said. “We might as well get those small
things out of the way.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And with that I knelt down before her, looked up in to her
eyes and said the most famous four-letter phrase uttered by millions of
scared-stiff men holding a small box in their hands. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Will You Marry Me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is the part where this pretty girl looked at me with an
unexpected look of surprise but a gentle smile on her face. She wasn’t taking
me serious. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you don’t even have a ring.” She said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For a moment I was confused. However it took me a split
second to realize that me, a 6’5” giant kneeling down to meet her 5’3” gaze,
this was the first time in our history we had actually been eye level, therefore
she was now looking directly into my eyes, and not down at the small box I was
holding in my hands. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well if you’d look down there’s a big one right in front of
your face.” I said with a smile. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Cue sudden rush of emotions, followed by tears in her eyes,
hands over her face, and the shocking reality that this moment, the moment that
every girl dreams about when they’re young, the moment they will cherish until
they take their last breath, that defining pinnacle moment of taking a leap
into the unknown with another person, was now happening to her. With lightning
blazing and rain beginning to spatter, I was on one knee asking this girl to
change her last name and become my wife.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So uh…yes? No? Maybe?” I said after 15 seconds of silence. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes! Of course yes!” She said back finally after catching
her breath. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And that was it. We stood on the shores of Lake Pontchartrain
holding each other, kissing each other, knowing that things were
heading in the right direction. That no matter what happened in the future, we
would make it out alright because we had finally found one another. If you would
have told me six months ago that I would be standing at this point with this
girl in my arms, I would never have believed you. But kids, that’s the funny
thing about life. Things never really go according to plan. We don’t always
know the answers to the problems that get thrown at us. We just have to buckle
down for the long haul and push our way through all the chaos until the answer
comes blooming out of nowhere. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see the one thing I never could figure out in all my
years was what I needed to do to fall in love with someone. There’s no uniform
answer for that of course, but for years I’ve been trying to solve that
puzzle. Everyone has a different way they do it. And mine was as unique as
they come. All I had to do was move to St. George so I could go back to school
after my mission. Go on a double date with the wrong girl. Total a car. Nearly
drown in a reservoir. Graduate from college. Have brain surgery. Start working
as a recruiter. Move up north so I could live on the road. Start watching
HIMYM. Date the wrong girl. Send an accidental text message. Fail the GRE. Move
back to St. George. Become a professor. Run a marathon. Then an Ironman. Move
into my first house. Date the wrong girl. Date the wrong girl again. Date the
wrong girl a few more times. Watch your Aunt Danielle and Uncle Jared get married
in Cabo. Pass the GRE. Apply to grad school. Date the wrong girl for the last
time. Talk to the big man upstairs a few times here and there. Go to a Dixie
State basketball game and meet up with a pretty girl who went out with my best friend on that same double date nine years ago. Turn to her at halftime
with a lump in my throat and butterflies in my stomach and just start talking
to her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
See? Easy. And that kids, is how I met your mother.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-769022727225566592015-05-18T17:56:00.002-06:002015-05-18T17:56:50.246-06:00Call Me Peggy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uGsITjwrfNs/VVp7FOS0KQI/AAAAAAAAD50/A1UMb3Gn3cs/s1600/workfromhome_mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="424" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uGsITjwrfNs/VVp7FOS0KQI/AAAAAAAAD50/A1UMb3Gn3cs/s640/workfromhome_mom.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
So remember that one time when I used to write on this
thing called a blog? </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
For full effect, download "Changes" by David
Bowie and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
Seriously people, I sound like a cookie cutter mid-30's stay-at-home Mother named Peggy with
three kids who just washed either chocolate or poop from her split-end littered hair, when I say the words "Here's a new post on my blog, just love me and
send uplifting comments about my stay at home life. Please! I need your attention!" That's who I am now. My name is Peggy, and I have a problem. I have relapsed
from publishing bi-weekly chronicles about my above-awesome life as a 30-year
old college recruiter and transformed into not caring about self-imposed
deadlines and pleasing a few hundred people with social media advertisements.
What the Hell is wrong with me?! </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
For years this blog has been my outlet, my
release, the vodka martini I would sip in doses to release my creative
juices or whatever moronic metaphor you want to use for me writing this. This
blog was my priority. It was, well, my life. And it has been for the last five years.
Every single event that has happened since I gave that divorced ginger a tub of
ice cream for her birthday has been marked on Randomity. This blog has been my
life partner. And I felt guilty as a Catholic bishop when I missed a day, let alone a
week publishing. But now all that has changed. This blog has become just another blog. Just another website. A domain name that will be forgotten
in years to come when push comes to shove. And I am now just another Peggy who will publish something slightly above mediocre once every three months. Never thought
this day would come, but the fat lady inside me is about to be unleashed. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
The unavoidable reality is that life is full of blogs like this. Things that were once important, vital, that were held in the highest regard to us are now just meaningless piles of scrap tossed into a metal bin with the initials WM spray-painted on the side. Things change, they always do. Not that there is anything wrong or disturbing with change, because honestly change is incredible. There is just a dampening feeling at times when you realize you are morphing into something that will join the hordes of Peggy's across the country that have new priorities on their plates. Priorities like other people, and school, and a bunch of other grown up stuff that haunts people into having a mid-life crisis. Don't be confused, I'm not throwing in the towel on this blog by any means. I'll still check in to make you laugh and cry and teach you valuable lessons that have guided the course of my life and may give you a dose of advice here and there. But this blog, it doesn't matter anymore. This blog is just a bunch of helter-skelter letters thrown together, doused with sarcasm, chock full of movie references.<br />
<br />
This blog doesn't mean that much to me anymore. A pretty girl holding a yellow umbrella 252 miles away from me, she does though. And she means more to me than this blog ever will. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
Life is crazy kids, that's all I can say.</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-77403532436982036442015-05-01T13:27:00.002-06:002015-05-01T13:27:55.361-06:00This Makes No Sense<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_FL06G1u0rw/VUPSONmXMjI/AAAAAAAAD5A/x8uotOofaJs/s1600/386869_chelovek_voda_padenie_1680x1050_www.GdeFon.ru.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_FL06G1u0rw/VUPSONmXMjI/AAAAAAAAD5A/x8uotOofaJs/s1600/386869_chelovek_voda_padenie_1680x1050_www.GdeFon.ru.jpg" height="400" width="640" /></a></div>
<div>
Kids, right now I'm sitting in front of a class of students who are taking the final exam for the Interpersonal Communication course I taught this semester. Yes, actual people are taking a test that I wrote for a class that I taught. I'm not saying this to boost my ego, I'm saying this because holy freaking curse word, I am the mediator for how a student's academic future will look like. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
There has to be something wrong here. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For full effect, download "Something's Wrong" by Eric Benet, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You may be saying to yourself, WTF is going on in your life Brock? Where have you been? What happened with the consistency in your blogs? I know, I know, these last few weeks I have fallen off the social media radar and drifted into some type of digital purgatory, focusing solely on building relationships with actual people. That's crazy talk, tell me about it. Something people only born in the 1980's know about. But to be honest with you, I have no idea what's going on in my life right now. I mean, I do, but I don't. That makes no sense to you really, but let's be honest, it makes no sense that I am behind a computer assigning grades to my students while they wrap up their finals. That makes absolutely no sense whatsoever! We're talking about a kid who once had a seizure in this exact classroom and accidentally punched a hole in the front of a laptop while as an undergrad, now being given the keys to another human's academic development. Something has to be wrong here. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I will admit, I am very uncomfortable at this stage of my life. There, I said it. Things just don't make sense. Not logically, emotionally, mentally, any way you look at them, this is all some kind of jumbled mix of what appears to be erratic decisions and leaps of faith. I'm not in my "zone" as the sports world coins the phrase. Cue Johnny Thunder and his baritone voice reciting a play-by-play narrative of the NBA Finals. Please don't confuse the previous two sentences as my cry for help that an impending panic attack is on the horizon, all I am saying is that things at this point of my life do not, and I repeat, do not make sense. But then again, since when do I have to make sense about everything that happens? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Kids, I know I've tried to teach you a number of lessons with this online journal. Things like how you need to be your actual, true self in a relationship with another person, or how you need to listen more than you talk because frankly people won't care about you, or how Costco is a hidden gem of a cult that all of us need to bow down and worship. I have tried to sell pieces of both wisdom and crap to a handful of creatures that are still waiting to be made. And no, this isn't going to be yet another moral breakthrough that I want you to write on a piece of rustic leather and post to Pinterest, (does that even exist anymore). </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I guess all I'm saying is that right now in my life, things do not make sense. They just don't. They are a chaotic wreck of possible events that I have no stinking idea as to how will pan out. I am uncomfortable with where my life is going. And I'm okay with that. Shit's about to go down, and I'm not pressing the panic button. Call me crazy, but I am comfortable with being uncomfortable. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Go ahead and sell that last line to Pinterest, it's gold I tell you. </div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-51684030939669710492015-04-20T20:02:00.001-06:002015-04-20T20:02:47.445-06:00Hit The Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aeqTIoZbhsA/VTWviXbZ-TI/AAAAAAAAD4o/KqyDVZ_gAKk/s1600/Road-tripping-USA-Long-Term-Travel.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-aeqTIoZbhsA/VTWviXbZ-TI/AAAAAAAAD4o/KqyDVZ_gAKk/s1600/Road-tripping-USA-Long-Term-Travel.png" height="400" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1e1e1e;">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.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1e1e1e;">For full effect, download "Holy Moly" by the above-mentioned
artist and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1e1e1e;">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1e1e1e;">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1e1e1e;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #1e1e1e;">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.</span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-28324554784180567102015-04-05T15:50:00.000-06:002015-04-05T15:50:06.023-06:00This Is How I Met A Girl<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-16U6HSqBz_0/VSGrafV_W2I/AAAAAAAAD4M/sHLiz0RqjeE/s1600/ted-mother-himym.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-16U6HSqBz_0/VSGrafV_W2I/AAAAAAAAD4M/sHLiz0RqjeE/s1600/ted-mother-himym.jpg" height="384" width="640" /></a></div>
"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.<br />
<br />
"Totally man. I mean, you need to just stop blogging altogether. That way you'll be more likable." Said another.<br />
<br />
"Wait, so I need to stop telling my future kids this story of how I potentially met their Mother?" I ask.<br />
<br />
"Absolutely." They agreed. "I swear your stock will shoot through the roof if you do."<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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. <br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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...<br />
<br />
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 <i>The Best of Me</i> look like an incompetent chump! Damn you Nicholas Sparks!<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
And that's the story I'm going to tell. </div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-21163598270484684262015-04-02T11:41:00.000-06:002015-04-02T11:41:02.456-06:00Why, Thank You!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xC6Tp2w_-kY/VR1_BKQTPfI/AAAAAAAAD34/Ch1i93LS1Ng/s1600/dating-texting1-640x300.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xC6Tp2w_-kY/VR1_BKQTPfI/AAAAAAAAD34/Ch1i93LS1Ng/s1600/dating-texting1-640x300.png" height="300" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">“I never send an
after date text.” Brooke says to me last Friday night.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Come again for Big
Fudge?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“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?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download “Electric Love” by BøRNS and play at maximum volume throughout the
duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For example, men
have been handed the following rules to live by:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">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.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“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’?!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“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. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<o:DocumentProperties>
<o:Author>Authorized User</o:Author>
<o:Revision>0</o:Revision>
<o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime>
<o:Created>2014-05-19T14:41:00Z</o:Created>
<o:LastSaved>2014-05-19T14:41:00Z</o:LastSaved>
<o:Pages>1</o:Pages>
<o:Words>592</o:Words>
<o:Characters>3375</o:Characters>
<o:Company>Dixie State College</o:Company>
<o:Lines>28</o:Lines>
<o:Paragraphs>7</o:Paragraphs>
<o:CharactersWithSpaces>3960</o:CharactersWithSpaces>
<o:Version>14.0</o:Version>
</o:DocumentProperties>
<o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
<o:AllowPNG/>
</o:OfficeDocumentSettings>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:WordDocument>
<w:View>Normal</w:View>
<w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom>
<w:TrackMoves/>
<w:TrackFormatting/>
<w:PunctuationKerning/>
<w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/>
<w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>
<w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent>
<w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>
<w:DoNotPromoteQF/>
<w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther>
<w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian>
<w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript>
<w:Compatibility>
<w:BreakWrappedTables/>
<w:SnapToGridInCell/>
<w:WrapTextWithPunct/>
<w:UseAsianBreakRules/>
<w:DontGrowAutofit/>
<w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/>
<w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/>
<w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/>
<w:OverrideTableStyleHps/>
<w:UseFELayout/>
</w:Compatibility>
<m:mathPr>
<m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/>
<m:brkBin m:val="before"/>
<m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/>
<m:smallFrac m:val="off"/>
<m:dispDef/>
<m:lMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:rMargin m:val="0"/>
<m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/>
<m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/>
<m:intLim m:val="subSup"/>
<m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/>
</m:mathPr></w:WordDocument>
</xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
<w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
DefSemiHidden="true" DefQFormat="false" DefPriority="99"
LatentStyleCount="276">
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="0" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Normal"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="heading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="9" QFormat="true" Name="heading 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 7"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 8"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" Name="toc 9"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="35" QFormat="true" Name="caption"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="10" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" Name="Default Paragraph Font"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="11" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtitle"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="22" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Strong"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="20" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="59" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Table Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Placeholder Text"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="1" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="No Spacing"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Revision"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="34" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="List Paragraph"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="29" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="30" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Quote"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 1"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 2"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 3"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 4"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 5"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="60" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="61" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="62" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Light Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="63" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="64" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Shading 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="65" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="66" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium List 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="67" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 1 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="68" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 2 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="69" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Medium Grid 3 Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="70" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Dark List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="71" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Shading Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="72" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful List Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="73" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" Name="Colorful Grid Accent 6"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="19" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="21" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Emphasis"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="31" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Subtle Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="32" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Intense Reference"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="33" SemiHidden="false"
UnhideWhenUsed="false" QFormat="true" Name="Book Title"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="37" Name="Bibliography"/>
<w:LsdException Locked="false" Priority="39" QFormat="true" Name="TOC Heading"/>
</w:LatentStyles>
</xml><![endif]-->
<!--[if gte mso 10]>
<style>
/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:"";
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-font-family:Cambria;
mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin;
mso-hansi-font-family:Cambria;
mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;}
</style>
<![endif]-->
<!--StartFragment-->
<!--EndFragment--></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Valid point. Maybe
women really do know everything. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-4502191457475929982015-03-25T18:47:00.002-06:002015-03-25T18:47:52.784-06:00What The Hell Is This?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gjqPjqAqW2c/VRNVcqjRm2I/AAAAAAAAD3c/Qgz0ZfT4SvA/s1600/Frozen%2BHell.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gjqPjqAqW2c/VRNVcqjRm2I/AAAAAAAAD3c/Qgz0ZfT4SvA/s1600/Frozen%2BHell.JPG" height="452" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">“So you kind of
stirred the pot with your latest blogpost.” My boss says to me this morning in
the middle of our Title IX training.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Stirred the pot
with my blogpost? Uh-oh, with who?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“People think
you’re getting married.” He says back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download, “No Way In Hell” by the Bomfunk MC’s and play at maximum volume
throughout the duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Historically
speaking, these blogposts are primarily written for my children who have yet to
vacate and/or book a 9-month stay in the nearest available womb. I want them to
know about the crazy adventures their dimwit Dad took before they ever decided
to grace me with their presence. However, every once in a while there perhaps
may be a few other couple hundred bystanders who click on this link for some
witty entertainment on a bi-weekly basis, and are secretly living their single
lives vicariously through my personalized/humorous adventures in the dating
world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With that being
said, I must say I have been a little taken back as to how many people have
socially assaulted me with point blank questions about the pretty girl with the
rusty voice who I was buying groceries for at Wal-Mart at 3 in the morning. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="color: #10131a; mso-bidi-font-family: Helvetica;">“Is
this blog post telling me what I think it's telling me?????????????!!!!!” Asks
my old college roommate’s wife. </span><span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Word on the street
is that you might be making some ‘big plans’ in the future with someone.” Yells
a co-worker from down the hall, with an overdramatic “wink-wink” gesture and
embellished smile tossed my direction. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Who’s this girl
everyone’s buzzing about?” Says a lovely imitation of my Grandma who praises my
blog like it’s her adopted child. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“9-11 Emergency
Meeting through a text. Brockasaurus, are you in L-word??” Writes my honorary
little sister who I haven’t seen in person since Obama’s reelection. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">People, people, get
a hold of yourselves! All I did was compare two chick-flick stories between my
high school football coach and my almost dead Great Uncle about how they met
their significant others in dramatic fashions. Who’s to say that I was
referencing anything similar happening in my life at all? I haven’t been to a
stake dance since I still had pimples. I have never attended Utah State
University. And I sure as Shirley have never had the crowds part in a large social
setting, seen a pretty face standing in front of me and knew without a sliver
of doubt she was the girl I was going to marry. Sorry to be the cynical pin bursting
your romantic bubbles, but that’s just not me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There are a number
of assumptions being tossed back and forth about why I was in Wal-Mart at three
o’clock in the morning holding an armful of groceries, many of them including
the potential of a small ring and a future selection of groomsmen. Who’s to say
I wasn’t just on some daydreaming kick and this entire event didn’t happen
years ago? Who’s to say the pretty girl with a rusty voice wasn’t some kind of
fictional character I made up, a character I hypothetically hope exists
somewhere in the world. Who’s to say I wasn’t just buying breakfast for a chain
smoker standing outside in the parking lot? There are an infinite number of
possibilities that could explain my last blogpost, with me falling victim to
the disease of twitterpation absolutely last on the list. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I guess the point
I’m trying to make is that no, I am not getting married. No, there aren’t any
big plans in the future. No, the Brockasaurus is not in L-word. He will not
pass go, he will not collect $200. Come on people, falling head over heels for
a girl is one of the last things I would ever expect to happen at this exact point.
I’m quitting my job, selling my house, and moving clear across the country for
school in a few months. A bowl of cake batter has better odds of surviving a
woman going through menopause than I do of finding the mother of my future
children at this stage of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“I miss you.” A
pretty girl with a rusty voice says in a text message at 6:54 am Monday
morning, automatically spurring a small rush of emotions that puts a smile on
my face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">Meh…To Hell with
the odds.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"> </span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-23194873585683420892015-03-22T20:09:00.001-06:002015-03-22T23:32:39.154-06:00That Spark<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnmULoEXNU4/VQ90rgjEwmI/AAAAAAAAD3E/TChqd_NPTEs/s1600/up_3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KnmULoEXNU4/VQ90rgjEwmI/AAAAAAAAD3E/TChqd_NPTEs/s1600/up_3.jpg" height="362" width="640"></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white;">You wouldn’t think
that a Wal-Mart at 2:30 in the morning would be the place that gives you some
of the most divine inspiration about the meaning of life, but every once in a
while, crazy stuff happens.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">For full effect,
download “Hey” by The Pixies and play at maximum volume throughout the duration
of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">A while back it was
a Thursday afternoon in October and I was in Anaheim, California, sitting in a
living room that hasn’t been touched since the Chia Pet was a best-selling toy.
To my right was a ruthless old woman flirting with Alzheimer's, having a hard
time trying to understand how a remote control does its job. To my left, her
89-year old, 100-pound, sopping wet husband sat in his La-Z-Boy and mouthed the
instructions back to her, shaking his head as this odd couple pondered in the
back of their minds how they had stuck with each other for almost three
quarters of a century. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“You dating anyone,
boy?” The old man said. And the answer is yes, when you have been born before
the stock market actually crashed, and your parents crossed the plains in a
handcart, you are still going to care about the romantic lives of your
posterity. That kids, is a cold hard fact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“Not really Uncle
Lavar.” I said back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">The old geezer
nodded his head to me and looked over at his totes adorbs geriatric
molding of a wife who was still trying to understand the dimensions of a small
piece of black plastic in her hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“Have I ever told
you about when I met your Aunt Afton?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">For the record
kids, I have heard this story almost a dozen times over the course of my now,
‘gasp’, 30-year existence, but due to the fact that I had time to kill on a
Thursday afternoon, and statistically speaking this might be the last time I
would actually hear this story from his own mouth thanks to old age and a bad
liver, I thought I would entertain the old man once again and hear his own Ted
Mosby version of how he met the mother of his children. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“I remember
standing in the middle of the ballroom at Utah State my freshman year, and I
turned around and looked in the doorway and saw your Aunt Afton standing next
to the girl I was going steady with. And as she walked in, I knew right then
that she was the girl I was going to marry.” He said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“You just knew?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“I just knew.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“But how did you
know?” I asked him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“There was a spark
about her, boy. Something inside me just went off when I saw her face in that
doorway. I took her home that night, and the rest was history.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Flashback to the
fall of 2001, where my high school football coach, Brian Berrong said the same
thing to me during a weightlifting class my senior year. And yes, I know a
story about twitterpated romance while you’re bench pressing does not seem like
a normal combination, but hey, Berrong was a hell of a coach and taught me more
lessons about life than just a bunch of X’s and O’s on a chalkboard. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“We were sitting at
a stake dance and I saw this beautiful girl walk into the gymnasium.” He said.
“Right at that moment I turned to my buddy standing next to me, pointed at her
and said, ‘That’s the girl I’m going to marry.’” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“You knew? Just
like that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“Just like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“But how? That’s
crazy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“I don’t know how
to explain it. But sometimes you just know.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">The similarities
between these two conversations are a bit eerie, I will admit. A, because there
is a 13-year gap between their existence, and B, because of the stark contrast
in the characters that gave them; one being a very simple, nearly 90-year old
Navy vet who is on his last dying leg, the other from a very brilliant offensive
coordinator who walked me through my own spiritual awakening.
How these two men share the same viewpoint about relationships is undeniably
alarming.</span><br>
<br>
But as the clock
ticks past 3 am, and I’m walking through an empty Wal-Mart that’s as deathly
silent as a funeral home, holding an armful of groceries so I can cook
breakfast for a pretty girl with a rusty voice in a few hours, I can’t help but
wonder if maybe these two wise old men are on to something.</div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-11370389355001493072015-03-11T17:20:00.000-06:002015-03-11T17:20:06.372-06:00It's Just Money<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWA5ozqk918/VQDL0i3B6gI/AAAAAAAAD2s/NtItKY6r4hk/s1600/IMG_0976.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-kWA5ozqk918/VQDL0i3B6gI/AAAAAAAAD2s/NtItKY6r4hk/s1600/IMG_0976.JPG" height="526" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white;">“Tickets! You need
tickets? I got two of ‘em! Left corner in da Gonzaga section, $175 a piece.
Come on man, take ‘em off my hands.” A fat man with French fries for hair says
to us before we even get out of our car.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">For full effect,
download “Holy Moly” by Matthew E. White and play at maximum volume throughout
the duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Kids, I have seen
some great sporting events in my lifetime. I sat courtside at the Delta Center
to watch my beloved Utah Jazz dozens of times. I saw Big Papi go yard on the first pitch in the
most beautiful baseball park in the West. I’ve had beer thrown on me while
watching two of the greatest college basketball teams ever duke it out at the
Final Four in San Antonio. I cheered with 108,000 other loyal Buckeyes and
watched the best team in the country beat the tar out of the Bearcats. I have
scalped and stubhubbed, finagled and fibbed to watch what I think God put on
this Earth to make sure I wouldn’t lose my sanity; sports. And last night as we
got out of the parking lot and had a fat man with beer on his breath breathing
cheap seats down our throats, I added another story to my memoirs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">For the record I
would like to make it very clear that I have no affiliation with the University
that is associated with Brigham Young, a.k.a. The Provo Bubble’s Mecca, a.k.a.
The Holy Land for Sheltered Idiots. With that being said, whenever they decide
to play in the West Coast Conference Championship Basketball game against one
of the most Bandwagoned teams in the country, you’re dang right I’m going to
throw on a blue shirt and get in a car with my best friend and his Dad to go
cheer for the Cougars. Somewhere in Northern Utah my Grandma fist bumped the
air in elation at that last sentence. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">For the record, I
would also like my children to know that I am anti-Gonzaga. Yeah, I’ll say that
too. I flat out don’t like the Bulldogs. First of all have any of you been to
the piece of belly button lint known as Spokane, Washington? On a scale of 1 to
Cher, Spokane is as hideous as 80’s fashion on Meth. Second, any team that
invokes a bandwagon/cult following because of a few upset wins over a decade
ago does not deserve the national respect their rose-colored glasses are
figmenting in their Jack Daniels-soaked, delusional minds. Third, they have a
lousy long distance ed. program that purposefully gave my best friend 9K of
debt and forced him to withdraw from their school because of piss-poor
communication. Ironic that it was their Comm. program too! Fourth, have I
mentioned that Spokane was ugly? Oh. I did? First reason? Well yeah, Spokane is
the phlegm that a two-legged pug coughs up before breakfast. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Flashback to the
parking lot of a second-tier Vegas casino where fattie fat fats with Boston
accents were roaming around like mosquitos trying to pawn off tickets to
foolish tourists holding red solo cups with watered-down beer in their hands. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“So 175 each. I’m
tellin’ ya, it’s only gonna go up from ‘ere. Ya can’t fahnd a bettuh deal dan dat!”
The balding French Fry wearing Miller High Life as cologne said to us. I
looked at my best friend with the same face a little kid wears when he’s trying
to protect an alibi for sneaking out of the house, and with that we shrugged
him off and continued our quest for official places to plant our butts in the
Orleans Arena. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“How much we
looking to spend?” My best friend’s Dad asked. Which by the way, have I
mentioned yet that this man’s name is Ivan? He sounds like a Polish monarch who
just conquered Mongolia in a chariot with that kind of title. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“I don’t know? Are
we wanting to dish out that kind of cash? I mean, I’m a fan of sports and all,
but is it worth $150 bucks a ticket? I don’t know if I want to spend that kind
of money.” I said. Which at that point in our deliberations, standing in a
parking lot in the crust of Sodom and Gomorrah, Ivan the Brilliant said one of the
most profound statements I have heard in my adult life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“But it’s just
money. I mean, you can’t take it with you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">The three of us
looked at each other, almost in a trance-like state as if the clouds had parted
and some deeper meaning of life had just been wiped across our foreheads and
the Scrooge McDucks inside our wallets had been shot in the chest. Without
saying anything we found the nearest French Fry smelling like beer and shelled
out $375 for fifth row tickets behind the bench. And you know what kids, it was
glorious. One of the most entertaining sporting events I have ever had the
privilege of witnessing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">Cut to three hours
later where three men wearing blue shirts are running down the stairs to escape
the drunken mob of Gonzaga fans wanting to revel in their victory. Yeah kids,
it was THEIR victory. All 6,500 of them who made the pilgrimage in a
drunken stupor to the city of sin to support their Bulldogs. Every single one
of them had won they game! (Cue sarcastic font). Escaping into the Vegas night, Ivan looked at me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“Well that was fun
wasn’t it?” He said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“Yep. $125 a piece
fun!” Scrooge McDuck said back to him. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">“Well hey, it’s
just money. We’ll remember this game tonight for years to come. We sure as heck
won’t remember our money.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">With those words,
Ivan the Brilliant took a penny-pinching cartoon character out behind the
woodshed and shot him right in the head. He was right, it was just money. And that
game, regardless of the fact that the holy team from Utah County lost to a
horde of drunken slobs, the three of us will talk about it for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white;"> </span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-34495507827921776482015-03-08T15:27:00.001-06:002015-03-08T15:29:37.081-06:00Well Uh…This Is Awkward...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qft-YCEGFmc/VPy9POyIjFI/AAAAAAAAD2Y/Db0S9Cyfe0Q/s1600/st.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qft-YCEGFmc/VPy9POyIjFI/AAAAAAAAD2Y/Db0S9Cyfe0Q/s1600/st.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Birthdays suck. Unless someone else is celebrating one then everything is fine. But when you're blowing out your own candles, a birthday is about as awkward as prom in West Virginia</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">For full effect, download "Cigarette Daydreams" by Cage The Elephant and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I've been on this Earth a hair over three decades now. Some of those years were beautiful, some of them ugly, but needless to say 30 years have come and gone and I am sitting here yet again plugging away a blogpost on a freeway just after midnight thinking deep thoughts about the direction of my life. Yep, this ain't my first rodeo. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">I'm not a fan of birthdays, but then again who really is? When you're at a party for someone else everything is cake (pun intended). But when it's your birthday, you almost feel like you've got a venereal disease everyone is forced to celebrate. I want to go on record that singing Happy Birthday to someone is without question the most uncomfortable 16 seconds anyone has to endure. It's more painful than </span></span></span><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">childbirth or being the big spoon while cuddling, neither of which are appealing. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"Happy Birthday To You!" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Oh boy, here they go… </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"Happy Birthday To You!" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Who do I look at? I don't want to make eye contact with anyone as they're singing this, I'll look like some kind of geriatric pervert if I look at them for longer than half second intervals. Please stop this madness! </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"Happy Birthday Dear Bro-ock!"</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Wait, they're singing this song to me? For a minute there I thought we were playing a drinking game. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">"Happy Birthday To You!" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Right now I kind of wish I died some type of horrific death at any point in the last year. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">That's a birthday in a nutshell. Uncomfortable songs around a flaming cake and forced text messages from people offering their congratulations on the best accomplishment any of our Mothers have ever done. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Old Maid also known as my Grandmother: "What are you doing to celebrate on your 30 day?" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Me: "Oh you know, just spend time with friends and text my Grandma, the usual. #smileyface" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Old Maid: "How fun! It will be more fun at 5....30!" </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Me: "Part of me wonders if you've been drinking…" </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Old Maid: "Really! This proves to you I don't have to drink to be stupid." </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Text messages from my Grandma hinting at the idea that she could be a member of Alcoholics Anonymous escaped from her Psych ward, could have been the best birthday text exchange I have had the privilege of enjoying. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Despite all of that nonsense, I will say that changing decades makes you think. About where you are now, about where you are going, about all of the dumb things that happened since 2005. One of the most common forms of personal self-reflection on our birthdays is recalling all the moments that we wish had never happened, that we regret. The moments we wish we could take back. Lessons we hoped to have learned before many of our infamous debacles ever occurred. If I could go back and talk some sense to 20-year old Swamp Thing, there are a few pieces of advice I would offer that might make his ten-year journey a little bit easier. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">1. Never eat sushi from a conveyer belt in Portland.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">2. Do not drive Lacey Fawson's Nissan after your family Christmas party in 2006. Your seizures haven't been fixed just yet. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">3. When you travel 300 miles to break up with a girl, make sure you don't accidentally send a text to her which was meant for your friend that says you guys just broke up, even before she gets home. You need to deliver this message in person. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">4. Crossfit is kind of a cult, minus the grape Kool-Aid. A good cult in some ways, but you really don't have to buy into their brainwashing. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">5. Start writing your blog immediately. Don't wait until 2010. You have a dumpload of stories that need to be told on this website. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">So yeah, that's where I am at this point. Close to 2 am sitting in a cold driveway listening to a band from Kentucky serenade me their wonder about the mysteries of life. Birthdays kind of suck kids, they really do. I've never been a fan and I don't think I really ever will. They are celebrations about absolutely nothing, a holiday inspired by <i>Seinfeld</i>. For the longest time I've always had a half-empty feeling associated with March 6th. A day full of my least favorite dessert and mandatory "Happy Birthday" voicemails from people you don't have saved in your phone. All these festivities seem like a wash I tell you. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">But then sometimes things change, and you play pick up basketball with some of the best men alive and you all gorge yourself silly on Austrailian cuisine. And then you eat your Mom's homemade Jell-O that's is your personal version of what Birthday cake should be. And then you take pretty girls up to the mountain and face plant on the slopes all day long. And when those things happen, and your Facebook is going through seizures trying to keep track of all of the friends who took 15 seconds out of their day to connect with you, that's when you realize that birthdays, well maybe they really are some of the best days of your life. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px;">Even if you're 30. </span></span></span></div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-78360821116369521522015-03-04T18:49:00.005-07:002015-03-04T20:27:00.109-07:00Wake Me Up Before You Go<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yvXdpum_NKw/VPeyeOo-KWI/AAAAAAAAD1w/ovq11G-_oy0/s1600/Nacho-Libre.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yvXdpum_NKw/VPeyeOo-KWI/AAAAAAAAD1w/ovq11G-_oy0/s1600/Nacho-Libre.jpg" height="390" width="640"></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;"><br></span></span>
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's 5:07 am on the West Coast and I'm somewhere on Route 95 going 90 in the dark. </span><br>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For full effect, download "Broken Crown" by Mumford & Sons, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. </span><br>
<br></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Nacho Libre: "When you are a man, sometimes you wear stretchy pants in your room. It's for fun."</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: "When you are a college recruiter sitting on four hours sleep due to a red eye road trip and a 4:15 hotel wake up call, sometimes you talk to your phone to make sure your eyes stay open for 90 minutes in the car. It's for fun."</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Yes, I just quoted the only Jack Black movie I have ever had the ability to watch without wanting to poke my eyes out with a paper clip, and no it does not make any sense nor have any relevance to anything I'm writing about but at this point when all I'm looking at are the yellow painted lines whizzing by to my left and the hairline of a mountain range silhouetted to my right, sometimes completely random comparisons between drowsy higher education situations and comedies about a Mexican wrestler are the best therapy to keep me from crashing headfirst into the oncoming semi. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">In a few hours I'm going to be knee deep in procrastinating lip rings and twitterpated pimples wandering around like cloned sheep drones named Dolly trying to understand the meaning of their lives. I'll be saying the same seven sentences to all of them. Encouraging their hopes of a college degree, offering sage words of advice about how to get the most out of their financial aid application, and using filler statements with their counselors to talk about important things like weather patterns. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Kids, this has been my life for the last five years. And I've loved it, I really have. Maybe not the plastic imitations for ham and cheese sandwiches that college fairs pose as refreshments, or the case of Bed Bugs I contracted from some hotel in Boise, or the 4:15 wake up calls from the front desk this morning, but all the rest I have adored more than any movie not starring Jack Black. The people, the places, the half-empty gas stations, the baggage claim counters, the hometown diners, the class presentations, the long distance romances, the audiobooks at three in the morning, all the stories that have made up my life since I turned to chapter 25. I know I've been in lesbians with it all. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Wallace Wells: "No, the other L word."</span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, don't ask where this Muse of recollection is coming from. I sure as Shirley can't explain my thought process this early in the morning. For all I know I'm hallucinating this whole blogpost and my body is hanging out the front of a shattered windshield in some ditch on the side of the road somewhere in between Fort Mohave and Boulder City. I have no idea at this point. The only thing I know is that my cars a runnin', I've got a Dew in one hand, and a steering wheel in the other, being serenaded by the posterity of Mumford, and flying down route 95 to go sell my school to a fresh batch of kids. </span></div>
<div style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(130, 98, 83, 0.0980392); color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.701961); font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; text-decoration: -webkit-letterpress;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You can't paint a better picture than that. </span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-29691226370883492422015-02-25T18:38:00.000-07:002015-02-25T18:38:11.765-07:00Back To The Future<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PrL4npSnnPA/VO544P7u7kI/AAAAAAAAD1Y/njXbrRXl91s/s1600/old-man-portrait-1920-1080-7973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PrL4npSnnPA/VO544P7u7kI/AAAAAAAAD1Y/njXbrRXl91s/s1600/old-man-portrait-1920-1080-7973.jpg" height="360" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">It’s a sad moment
in life when you realize the highlight of your week will be when you finally
file your taxes.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download “Photo Albums” by Daniel Licht, and play at maximum volume throughout
the duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had an idiot of a
creature sound off on how he is dealing with one of the most difficult problems
known to man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Putz who takes
selfies with his shirt off: “I mean, it’s hard being 22 years old, it just is.
Can anyone else back me up on this? Being 22 is one of the most difficult points
in one’s life. There are just a lot of tough things to deal with.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Like being able to
eat a Little Caesar’s Hot N’ Ready pizza all in one sitting while binge
watching four seasons of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Friends </i>without
leaving your dorm room, and then having the ability to pull an all-nighter and
still show up to class bright and early thanks to the glory of Mt. Dew? Yeah,
those sound like some difficult times my friend. I sure wish I had the freedom
that you did. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Aside from the fact
that this kid was both an ox and a moron, I did take something away from the
pathetic gripe that was tossed out to deaf ears, and this comes hinging on the
communication/life principle that we always want what we cannot have. Don’t you
dare argue with me on that, it’s freaking Brocktrine at this point in time. As this
dimwit was lamenting to no one that cared, I did realize that part of his swan
song sang truth, and that is the witty idea that we always think that things
will be better when we’re older. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And then we do our
taxes and realize the next most consistent thing in our lives is being thrown
in the ground six feet under. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">14-year old Brock
wearing a Hawaiian shirt as a fashion statement: “Things are just so hard at my
age. If only I could drive, and date girls, and have some responsibilities in
my life besides babysitting and spelling bees. Once I turn 16 and am behind the
wheel of a car, then, then things are going to be better, I know it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">17-year old Brock
after hitting a deer in his Nissan pickup: “GOSH MY LIFE IS SO HARD!!! I am so
sick of having to abide by rules in my house like emptying the dishwasher on
Mondays, and not watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Simpsons. </i>Once
I move out and I’m away for college, then, then things will be so much better,
I know it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">22-year old Brock
having seizures and struggling with Math 1050: “This just isn’t right. Why do I
have to take all these dumb classes that cost a fortune and go out with the
same girls over and over again. It’s like my life is on repeat as a college
student. If only I was graduated and had a career, and didn’t have to worry
about all these monotonous things every day, then, then things would be so much
better, I know it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">26-year old Brock
on the highway somewhere in between Spokane and Las Vegas: “This job is wearing
me out. I keep saying the same things over and over and over again to the same
students. It’s like I spend half my life in this car as a traveling salesman
surviving on Big Mac’s and Rockstars. If only I was already done with my
Masters and starting my teaching career as a college professor, then, then
things would be so much better, I know it.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We all say the same
lines in our head wanting what we don’t have and thinking the future only holds
better options. But sooner or later we reach a point where we don’t really look
to the future in anticipation, but more to the past. And I’m not saying this in
regards to regret, but more in the sense that our joints are starting to slowly
ache after a measly one-mile run, and 9 to 5 routines make us feel like we’re
on the verge of being shut away in a padded room wearing a straitjacket. That’s
when the rose-colored past seems slightly more appealing. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Soon to be 30-year
old Brock who just got done filing his taxes: “I’m nearing the three-decade
mark of being on this Earth. It’s not even 6:30 and my eyes are already
starting to shut for the night. I know I’ve got a “dream job” and I’m at the
“top of my game” as they all say, but sometimes I feel like being a big kid
isn’t as appealing as I always thought it would be. When tax returns and
episodes of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">The Walking Dead </i>are my
highlights, maybe there’s something wrong. If only I could go back to the days
when nothing mattered and all I did was wear Hawaiian shirts and pass notes to
Krystle Bailey in class, then, then things would be so much better, I know it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">If only…</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"> </span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-76466139152963522492015-02-22T18:00:00.003-07:002015-02-22T18:03:44.832-07:00Apostrophes In The Dark<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OyozEBumtRA/VOp8TLUhW3I/AAAAAAAAD1I/2LRu1nLkurQ/s1600/hook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-OyozEBumtRA/VOp8TLUhW3I/AAAAAAAAD1I/2LRu1nLkurQ/s1600/hook.jpg" height="352" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
Sometimes at 2:17 in the morning when I'm on I-15 somewhere in between a farmhouse and a herd of sheep, I talk to my phone and write a blogpost to make sure I don't fall asleep at the wheel.<br />
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">For full effect, download "Dry Your Eyes Mate" by The Streets, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. </span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br /></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So this one time in my life I woke up in a sudden rush of claustrophobia from a dream that helped give my life meaning, or at least gave me a stronger foothold on the direction my life is heading. And by this one time, I mean last Wednesday morning just after 3:41 am. And by "a sudden rush of claustrophobia", I mean I had an apostrophe.<br />
<div>
<br />
<div>
<div>
Dustin Hoffman playing Hook: "I think you mean an epiphany." </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Call it whatever you want. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
How many mid-life crisis moments have all of us had in who knows how many years we've been wandering around on God's green Earth? And when I say mid-life crisis moments I don't mean that we dye our hair pink and go buy a Mazda Miata, I mean moments where we come home to whatever residence we've mortgaged our lives into, sit on outdated furniture we spent too much money on, turn on some rerun of <i>Shark Tank</i> that we have on our DVR, and then stare at the blank wall in front of our faces and question the direction our lives are headed? Question the jobs we check into every weekday from nine to five, the paths we are walking down in terms of what we will accomplish in our professional careers. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Everyone does this, every single conscious-blinking day. Don't you dare lie to me or yourself for that matter that you don't. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We have our moments people. Some of them can be negative instances that scare the bodily fluids out of our system and make us question the meaning of life and debate the existence of a supreme being in the known Universe. Others can be calm reassurances to our subconscious that reaffirm thoughts or ideas that we have been wondering about for a significant period of time. i.e. whether or not we break up with this girl, take this job at the firm, move to a new house in Dowisetripla. We have moments in our lives. Big, small, good, bad, they are there keeping us in check every so often. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Last night somewhere in between dozing off to <i>Community </i>reruns and the sudden rush of punctuation that pulled me out of the sleep, I had one of those moments. A moment where my subconscious and a bigger picture grabbed hold of my shirt collar and said, "Brock, this is what you are supposed to do in your life. This is the direction you are supposed to be heading. It's not predestination or anything lunatic like that, but this pathway that you are about to embark upon, believe it or not, it is correct sir. Yes, the unknown may freak you out like the first three episodes of the <i>Saw </i>series, but who cares, keep going."<br />
<br />
We love these moments. We long for these moments. And whenever they decide to show their face to us, they are certainly worth a journal entry or a blogpost or a 45 minute discussion with your cell phone. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In a few hours I'm going to stand in front of probably 200 kids and talk to them about why they should go to college. 200 kids that are unsure about the direction of their lives, unsure about what they believe in for crying out loud, and for 50 minutes I will have the chance to steer them toward a route that will alter the path they are choosing to walk down. In a few hours I am hopefully going to teach a few hundred kids the meaning of life when it comes to going to college. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Deep stuff I know. But here's the thing kids, I love my job and the stress it manufactures. I love late-night road trips like this that let me gather my thoughts and preach to a cell phone. And in a few hours I'm going to love talking to a group of adolescents and giving them my two cents on the meaning of life in the world of higher education. And who knows, maybe the things I say will cause one of them to have an apostrophe about the direction they're headed.<br />
<br />
"I think you mean an epiphany."<br />
<br />
Shut up, it's late. Oh look, more sheep. </div>
<div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-23164003133800885392015-02-11T19:08:00.002-07:002015-02-11T19:09:56.754-07:00The Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yaX7g1U2pIY/VNwJi91wpjI/AAAAAAAADnE/bAWMsbQfE4w/s1600/The_Road_to_Hell_by_Isilmetriel.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yaX7g1U2pIY/VNwJi91wpjI/AAAAAAAADnE/bAWMsbQfE4w/s1600/The_Road_to_Hell_by_Isilmetriel.jpg" height="480" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white;">I’ve said this
before, and I’ll say it again; I think the entire state of Idaho stopped
evolving somewhere around when Y2K hit.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download "Seven Nation Army" by Zella Day, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Seated to my left
is a bleached-tip sophomore in college wearing a camouflage jacket, a Reebok snapback cap and a puka shell necklace, yes kids, a curse-wording puka shell necklace.
He’s sitting at a table with a flip phone getting upset that his CD player
keeps skipping. To my right is a doppleganger of Stephen King sitting at a
table with his head down in his lap. He’s looking at one of those
things that have pieces of paper bound together by an adhesive with words
transcribed on them telling some kind of story. I think it’s called a book?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Do you have wi-fi
here?” I ask the host of the event I am attending who has a haircut Ward Cleaver would be proud of. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Uh…I uh…I don’t
think we have those uh…I can check with the chef and see if it’s on
the menu for lunch.” He says. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">That’s what I’m
dealing with on a Wednesday morning in a state that would more than likely elect
Pedro as their governor. And if you didn’t get that last reference, well shame
on you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It has been a while
since I’ve been on a solid, legitimate road trip. I’m talking trips that involve multiple
time zones with drive-thru meals on my lap. Trips where I can listen to
<i>Fahrenheit 451 </i>all in one sitting and then blast "Bohemian Rhapsody" when my car
starts to veer over to the rumble strip. Trips where Mt. Dew is the sole
replacement for water in my diet and my belly bloats like an overcaffeinated buck.
This has been my lifestyle for almost five years now, and slowly but surely
it is coming to an end. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A kid wearing a red
sweatsuit walks into the student center. Yes, a sweatsuit kids, he is wearing a bright red sweatsuit with the words 'Golds Gym' screen printed on the chest and thighs. I don’t know if he's behind the times or if he unintentionally became a fashion pioneer in this
state toting retro clothing. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
I don't necessarily miss life on the road, I will say that. I mean sure I've had some good times with this job, back to back late-night movies in downtown Seattle, discovering the glory of Podcasts, traveling to strange lands like Catalina Island, Portland, and Grantsville, three hour conversations with old friends about pregnancy and tramp stamps, or getting pandemic cases of the shngigglefits in Cafe Rios, yeah, those are the times I will relish in the years to come and recount to my Grandchildren about "back when I was your age..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But with those stories come the headaches, the struggles. The hotels that think pillows the size of a newborn's fist are large enough for your comfort. The strange looks from chiropractors tagged with warnings that scoliosis is in my near future if I keep putting 40K miles on my body every year. The botched relationships because I tell a girl in September the next time I'll be back in town is right before the tax deadline. Yes, those things I won't miss. Those things I won't remember when I'm old and hairy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The sweatsuit walks out looking down at his iPod. Dang, this kid is straight-edge, I'm telling you. What's that? They don't have straight-edgers in Idaho yet? My mistake. Ward Cleaver walks back up to my table.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry Mr. Bybee, the chef says all they're serving is pasta and steamed vegetables for lunch. Sorry we can't help you." He says.<br />
<br />
Sentences like that make me wonder if Al Gore has ever been to Idaho before. </div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-80613605807932204242015-02-08T17:04:00.000-07:002015-02-08T17:09:31.203-07:00For The Girls<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_8s4U_USF0s/VNf3aCDpdCI/AAAAAAAADmw/FgS7C-fF_Ls/s1600/10802077_10152692312174473_2518142815688529670_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_8s4U_USF0s/VNf3aCDpdCI/AAAAAAAADmw/FgS7C-fF_Ls/s1600/10802077_10152692312174473_2518142815688529670_n.jpg" height="430" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
"Brock, when are you going to write a blogpost about me?" One of my sisters says. I can't remember which one, I think the one who has kids.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yeah Brock, what about me? When do I get a post? I think I deserve a spot on your blog too." Says the one born in the 90's. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Seriously, you wrote one for Mom, when do I get one?" The one rummaging through her purse says. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Women. SMH. Can I get an Amen from the congregation? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For full effect, download "Lady Marmelade" from the soundtrack of <i>Moulin Rouge</i>, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
For those of you who haven't been stalking my life for the past 20-something years, let me fill you in on the details. Single child until I was five, Brady Bunch-esque situation happens at that point suddenly bombarding me with five older sisters. Following which, the estrogen levels at our house would be increased every year from that point with more double-X creatures being brought into this world until the big man upstairs said, "Alright, alright, eleven is enough. I don't want that boy of yours to forget he has a penis."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Now you may laugh to yourself and think this storyline is a Hallmark movie plot gone awry, but that last paragraph basically summed up my entire childhood. I lived in a home chock full of drama and pantyhose. A home with more hair-clogged drains, more prom dresses, more empty cans of hairspray than an entire season of <i>Downton Abbey</i> can tally up. I lived in a feminine paradise, littered with empty mascara tubes, crumpled up Peanut Butter M&M bags, and broken high heels. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You may say, "Dang Brock, how did you survive that mess of hormones and Tampax?" But on the contrary, it wasn't that bad. Honestly, I'm actually kind of glad I had them around to help raise me. Because they taught me quite a few things about the female gender that most males are ignorant about until their deathbeds. They taught me how to open doors and compliment on dates, how to just shut my face and be silent when women need to vent about how their cell phone lost service at the mall, that when a woman says they're fine, they're not, and that by saying the word "relax" to them almost always has the opposite effect. They taught me that the male gender as a whole have a mean IQ below 30, but on the contrary women as a whole are slightly irrational, and that I should just accept those facts. They taught me that for a few days every once in a while, I need to just be a little more patient with them, for the sake of future generations. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm grateful for those lessons. I'm grateful to have been blessed with a house full of sisters, every last one of them. The one who sang with me in Chamber Choir, the one who's in the seizure club with me, the one who's half black, the one I've never met, the one I call Lunchbox, the one across the country, the one I taught how to crawl, the one who's named after a Disney Princess, the one who I graduated with, the one who is a ginger, and the one who would pray with me every night over the phone throughout her childhood. Yeah, count em up. It's quite an intimidating list, I know. But I L-word every last one of them, and everything they taught me as we've all been on one hell of a journey over the years. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So there you have it girls, there's the post you all requested. I don't know what all the fuss is about. This blog isn't anything special or some kind of prestigious award or anything. Heck, only a couple hundred people are going to be reading this anyway. You do know this blog has now evolved into an online journal for my kids to read to try and understand how their old man works upstairs? Yeah, go ahead and thank <i>How I Met Your Mother</i> for that evolution. Either way, this post and these words will still be around in a few decades to tell my posterity how amazing all of you are.<br />
<br />
I hope you're all going to be around to tell them that too.</div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-6782200329471474832015-02-04T16:56:00.001-07:002015-02-04T17:58:10.917-07:00I Can't Feel My Thumbs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHEOq3E9GZs/VNK8ccuz_0I/AAAAAAAADmg/uOVQlEOOCvI/s1600/apple-shattered-iphone_large.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZHEOq3E9GZs/VNK8ccuz_0I/AAAAAAAADmg/uOVQlEOOCvI/s1600/apple-shattered-iphone_large.JPG" height="386" width="640" /></a></div>
Not having a cell phone is like one of those bad dreams where you wake up in front of your high school graduation about to give the most important speech of your life, and as you approach the podium, honor cords and tassels waving, you realize that you're buck naked. That's how I feel without the aid of a cell phone. Missing something important in my life, and a little bit embarrassed I'm not like the rest of the world.<br />
<br />
For full effect, download "New Slang" by The Shins, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.<br />
<br />
Now let me back up to Sunday morning as I was pulling in to my parking lot and my roommate decided to scare the little kid out of me before I could even get out of my car. Cue heart-stopping minor burst of fear throughout my central nervous system. Cue slight dampening of my pants caused by his sudden outburst. And also, cue recently purchased iPhone come flying out of my hands and on to the cruel patch of concrete he was standing on. This is also the part of the story where you may or may not cue a short burst of curse words to the sky in frustration at the now shattered screen of the device that keeps me linked to the rest of the world. #firstworldproblems #likeasailor<br />
<br />
And now, here I am. 72 hours later, surviving barely on fumes of social media, naked like a newborn disconnected from humanity.<br />
<br />
"Check out this Twitter feed that's blowing up about that five-star recruit in Salt Lake thinking about coming to Dixie State!" My boss says. This is the part where I show him the tiny shards of glass that are splintered into my fingertips and will be until they dissolve in seven years all because I stubbornly decided to not use the fingertip identification tool that Apple offers. Now every time my phone rings or my students text me, I have the moral dilemma of weighing out the options whether talking to them is worth another slice into my hands and the chance of contracting a bacterial infection.<br />
<br />
"How come you didn't pick up the phone when all of us tried to call you and tell you that Great-Grandma died! That is so insensitive of you!" My family will yell at me. A number 1, she's 96 and confuses her nephews for her husband in accidental make out sessions at funerals, and B number 2, it's because I just got over my recent bout of gangrene and didn't want to contract a staph infection from the open sores on my blistered to shreds fingertips, that's why. I love you Grandma, but not that much. Sorry, old lady. Just e-mail me the directions to the funeral home. I'll be there wearing mittens.<br />
<br />
"Why are you two hours late to work, Brock?" My supervisor holding a coffee mug will chastise me as I stumble into the office just before noon. Well the thing is, there was this one time when my alarm went off on time as usual, but when I went to turn it off, I gashed open my hand so badly that I couldn't control the bleeding. From that point I actually passed out on my own floor from extreme blood loss and it took me this long to recover and somehow stumble into this place. Yeah, that's what happens when your roommate scares the small intestines out of you on a Sunday morning and you can't turn off an alarm clock properly. <br />
<br />
I am addicted to my iPhone. I use it for everything. To call old friends, text family members, read reports from my boss, send e-mails, play Sudoku late at night, watch HIMYM on Netflix, keep track of the random thoughts that jump in and out of my head, calculate mileage for a work road trip, Facebook stalk morons from high school, swipe left or right on pretty faces, heck, half the time I write my entire blog on this device. It is my beating heart, the fire within, the fuel to me functioning, and any other figurative reference you can use to describe how I am on life support without it.<br />
<br />
Well, we all are. And until I get it back, I'm standing naked at the podium with no clue how to function in modern day society. </div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-72030606707659793432015-02-02T18:48:00.001-07:002015-02-02T18:48:20.444-07:00Bring Back The 90's<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1hMUHjI_ck/VNAnmQ_mIhI/AAAAAAAADmQ/hx-s17-Yzak/s1600/enhanced-buzz-27197-1329849734-45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1hMUHjI_ck/VNAnmQ_mIhI/AAAAAAAADmQ/hx-s17-Yzak/s1600/enhanced-buzz-27197-1329849734-45.jpg" height="458" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I’m pretty sure that long road trips play games with my
head and make me reminisce about the good ol’ days from my past when everything
was so much simpler. That’s what happens when you stumble on to a 90’s hits
playlist on Spotify somewhere in between Scipio and Beaver.</span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For full effect, download “Walking on Broken Glass” by Annie Lennox, and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.
And why did I choose that symphony you may ask? Because it is the theme song
that epitomizes the decade I miss with a passion. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I never thought I would ever say the phrase “Back in my
day”. That’s just an expression usually designated for someone who keeps their
teeth in jars of Alka Seltzer and is legitimately looking forward to buying a
new pack of diapers for themselves, but needless to say,” back in my day”, life
was just awesome. True story, it really was. Back in my day things were so much
simpler. Back in my day we had professional
basketball players who made blockbuster movies with an all-star cast of
cartoons and Bill Murray instead of idiot sports icons who cheated on or hit
their wives in open public.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You see kids I grew up in a decade called the 90’s. Not
to be confused with the 80’s, which was a neon concoction of Jennifer Grey
movies, Teddy Ruxpin, and hairspray. Ask my Mom, the 80’s was an ugly time in
all of our lives. The 90’s is also much different from the dreaded 00’s. How do
you even say those numbers correctly anyway? The 00’s was a bunch of TRL reruns
and Razr phones soaked in pictures of Paris Hilton. The 90’s were, well the 90’s
were just perfect. All the way from the pilot episode of <i>The Simpsons</i> to the introduction
of Napster and every single Goosebumps novel and slap bracelet in between. The
90’s was ten years of magic doused in Surge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The 90’s was a decade of book covers and Bill Nye.
Birkenstocks and boy bands. The 90’s owned one-hit wonders. Lou Bega,
Chumbawamba, Sisqo, Deep Blue Something, The Rembrandts, Harvey Danger, the
list could go on for miles. How many of us have cried to The Verve’s rendition
of “Bittersweet Symphony”? It was a decade
where our own version of Spotify was when we made personal mixtapes by calling
the local radio stations and requesting our favorite songs and then hitting the
red record button on our stereo right when the guitar started to come on over
the DJ’s voice. Yeah, mixtapes kids. We
invented mixtapes. A true sign that you actually cared for another person. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">90’s kids were so much more responsible in our youth. We
were more organized and productive. We were taught the principles of marriage, career,
financial, and family planning with sheets of paper with the letters M.A.S.H.
boldly scribbled at the top. We wrote out, folded and gave notes to our crushes
instead of just sending them a measly text message. Our lives weren’t dictated
by social media distractions in the palms of our hands. The 90’s were the days
when we could figure out what someone was thinking simply by asking them a
question about their life, instead of stalking their Twitter feed or liking a
bunch of pictures from their album. The 90’s was when the dial-up connection on
our home PC’s was so mind-numbingly slow that we actually went outside in our
backyards and made up our own characters and storylines. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Things have changed. Life is much more harsh, more
severe. The envelope has been pushed to its limits. Heck, when I was a
freshman my Dad once broke a Blink-182 CD because he didn’t like the fact that
it had a picture of a bunch of guys standing around in their underwear. Have you
heard Pitbull, watched Chris Brown, or seen any of the Maroon 5 album covers?
They make Mark, Tom, and Travis look like Saints. The 90’s was just so much more
smooth. Heck, the worst public offense was our President lying through his
teeth about having an affair with his secretary. Ok, never mind. That was kind of messed up.
But we still love the saxophone-playing senator from Arkansas anyway. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Skee-Lo put it best with his one-hit wonder “I Wish”. I wish
we still had the 90’s. I wish we still had bubble tape, Koosh balls, Oregon
Trail and those little pencils that had like seven different pieces of lead all
stacked on top of each other. I wish we had T.G.I.F. and Saturday morning cartoons.
I wish I could keep all my work papers in a Trapper Keeper and go home and try
to figure out where Carmen Sandiego really was hiding. I wish Macaulay Culkin
would keep slapping his face, and I could roll one pant leg up to my knee. I
wish I was a little bit taller. I wish I was a baller. I wish I had a girl who
looked good, I would call her. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Cue rabbit in a hat, with a bat, and six-four impala. </span><o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-19047153435318220802015-01-28T17:01:00.002-07:002015-01-28T17:03:20.523-07:00Virtual Death<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g9G2qGuSvzw/VMlywuflrXI/AAAAAAAADmA/V8zC2D1rOLQ/s1600/1DobD00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-g9G2qGuSvzw/VMlywuflrXI/AAAAAAAADmA/V8zC2D1rOLQ/s1600/1DobD00.jpg" height="640" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Someone posted this picture on Reddit this morning saying that they saw a glimpse of what the future looks like.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We laugh, and jokingly mock someone sitting at a table with a virtual headset on their noggin, sipping back on a mochaccino and living their life through a surrogate superhero that doesn't really exist."That's the kind of stuff that only happens in movies" We say. "People like him are a minority." We laugh. "Crap like that is never going to happen." We vow.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">But then a few hours later my boss e-mails me a scheduled appointment with a potential client who wants to develop a virtual reality campus tour where students can point and click on any building on campus and see what our university "virtually" looks like.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">In his e-mail he states: "Imagine if directly on your
website prospective students could take a walking tour of your campus, exactly
like the one you offer families that are able to visit in person."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Wait, so let me get this straight, you want to create a virtual environment where people don't actually get to see the campus in person, feel what it feels like to have the warm sun beaming down on their faces in January, have an actual conversation with an actual human being, a human being with social skills and intelligence and a slight funny awkwardness that any college kid has in their voice. You are telling me that all of these real life experiences can be eradicated and people will have the chance to see what our campus is like through a pattern of 1's and 0's shaped like the landscape of St. George, Utah? You are telling me we are better off deleting the concept of interpersonal communication with another human being because wearing a headset and sipping a mochacccino is a more streamlined way to live our lives? You are telling me the world is a better place with technology wiping out the world we live in, one mouseclick at a time?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
Yes. Sadly, that is the direction we are heading. Reality is nearing its inevitable execution.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-30935520174282403302015-01-26T17:42:00.000-07:002015-01-26T17:42:19.483-07:00Late Night Hugs<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Of7TZEIt9ds/VMbdbQ371_I/AAAAAAAADlw/4Q6NMSVA1YU/s1600/dr_mario_by_mauricediekmann-d52peaz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Of7TZEIt9ds/VMbdbQ371_I/AAAAAAAADlw/4Q6NMSVA1YU/s1600/dr_mario_by_mauricediekmann-d52peaz.jpg" height="450" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
There has got to be something wrong with me. If I can't push out a 700-word blog on my regular agenda, I think there's something off-centered with my head. Either that or 30-hour road trips to recruit students in SoCal have my internal clock on some kind of confusing schedule. Either way, I apologize for the tardiness of this blog. I know you need your entertainment.<br />
<br />
For full effect, download "The 2nd Law: Isolated System" by Muse and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post.<br />
<br />
"Brock, we never hang out. What has happened?" a pretty girl asked me last night just before 8 pm as a foursome and I were knee-deep in funny stories about past failed relationships and Dr. Mario battles. Yes, I'm almost 30 and every once in a while I relive the childhood I never had and play Dr. Mario with my friends on Sunday nights to relieve stress. It's a lot better than tipping back a bottle of Jack. Don't judge.<br />
<br />
"We don't hang out because I'm not important to you. And that's okay." I said. For the record, don't misinterpret my last comment to be a woeful stab of self-pity in hopes that I would somehow get this girl to take a few moments out of her life and talk to me. It was the truth. It was reality. And I was only stating the facts to an old friend, nothing more.<br />
<br />
"What do you mean you're not important?<br />
<br />
"I'm not a priority." I said.<br />
<br />
"Oh, so you know my priorities now do you?"<br />
<br />
"I do."<br />
<br />
"What are they?" She asked.<br />
<br />
"In this order. A number 1, finishing up this semester and graduating with your degree in Dental Hygiene. B number 2, finding a career somewhere in Salt Lake, or Oregon, or somewhere crazy that's not St. George. And C number 3, finding a man you can boss around and be romantically tied to for the rest of your life. Am I right?"<br />
<br />
As I said these words the stare of reality came across her face as she realized that things have changed, and the friendship that at one point in time she and I both cherished had diminished to a more elevated form of an acquaintance. We were now just a little deeper than average surface friends. Friends who could get together and reminisce about the days when we rode tandem bicycles around the city, or our heated games of Mafia where we would lie through our teeth to one another. People who were technically classified as friends, but really better known as associates who would forget about each other and go back to our regular scheduled programming once the night was over. We didn't matter to one another. And that was okay. That's how life goes sometimes.<br />
<br />
"Yeah, you're right." She said quietly.<br />
<br />
For the record, this may be the first and only time in my near three-decade existence that a member of the female gender has said those three words in that order to my face.<br />
<br />
The games went on, the dialogue continued, nothing really magical happened after that exchange, but in the back of our heads we held on to that cold, cruel fact that things change over time. Friends come and friends go. Things that at one point in time meant something to us, had significance in our eyes, didn't really hold their same value anymore. We subconsciously realized that over time our relationship had morphed, as all relationships do. Sometimes for the good, sometimes for the bad, sometimes just neutral evaporations into acquaintanceship. People come in and out of our lives for different reasons. And most of the time there is no way to control how or when or why they will be with us. That's just life kids. Kind of screwy, I know.<br />
<br />
As the clock struck midnight and we finally told the little children inside all of us to finally go back into hiding, the pretty girl who flosses teeth for a living got off my couch and said she was finally turning in for the night.<br />
<br />
"I'm too old for a late-night run to Denny's." She laughed as she laced up her shoes.<br />
<br />
It was at that point when I realized that for a few hours of her life, an old friendship became a priority to her. A golden, celebrated companionship with a handful of fellow friends that had now become dusty and rustic to all of us, had suddenly vaulted the rankings and topped the list of what mattered to this girl. Four hours of stupid jokes and Dr. Mario concoctions had meant more to her than sleep, or food, or homework that would one day lead to a successful career in hygienics. None of those things mattered to her that night. We did. And vice versa, a girl that in my eyes no longer had any precedence over my career, over my education, or over any of my life choices had sat in the front seat of the last four hours of my life. I had changed what mattered to me, if only for a few moments on a Sunday night. And I was okay with that.<br />
<br />
Walking up to the doorway, I gave her a giant bear hug and held on to something that in a few months from now will be gone. Dissolved. Completely eradicated from either of our existence. Late night hugs in doorways after long nights of Nintendo 64 marathons and comical conversations would no longer be around anymore. We would go our separate ways and begin new chapters in our lives that would only stay linked via Facebook updates and Christmas cards. But the future didn't matter last night as we hugged in the doorway. What mattered was that we were still friends, we were still priorities, we had logged yet another memory with one another that we will both remember in the years to come.<br />
<br />
And those memories with friends are what make us L-word this crazy, nutty thing called life. </div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-86342811735043870582015-01-21T18:15:00.000-07:002015-01-21T18:15:35.727-07:00Beautiful People<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HRM912wIDLQ/VMBOcSvRwbI/AAAAAAAADlg/HDRMCsILJXo/s1600/DSC_0110.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HRM912wIDLQ/VMBOcSvRwbI/AAAAAAAADlg/HDRMCsILJXo/s1600/DSC_0110.JPG" height="402" width="640" /></a></div>
A few nights ago I
had the chance to witness a wedding of two of the most beautiful people I have
ever met in my life. Yeah, it was journal-worthy I must say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download “Bad Kids” by The Black Lips and play at maximum volume throughout the
duration of this post. I was going to use the song by Manson, but well, I'm sure you can understand why I didn't. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You’ll have to
forgive the tardiness of this post, sometimes life-altering conversations and
103-degree temperatures for a week take priority over a web journal to my kids.
But regardless of my excuses, I apologize for not keeping you entertained. With
that being said, can I just tell you that weddings make me laugh? They are the
most hectic, stressful, OMG-I-AM-PULLING-MY-HAIR-OUT-FROM-UNDER-THIS-VEIL days
in anyone’s life. 24 hours of pure pandemonium with the intent of celebrating
the betrothal of two people who somehow met at the right time during the right
place at the right instances of their short lives. Weddings are ironic to say
the least. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Culturally,
weddings are heavily influenced by whatever part of the world the Bride hails
from. Predominantly I have seen the Utah culture steer a wedding celebration
down the road of a church hall with plastic bouquets tossed in basketball
hoops, because that’s what sheltered cornbread people do in these parts. On Saturday however, the Bride gave her claim to fame to the islands of
the South Pacific. Cue emotional dancing, loud shrieks of passion, and the
nearest relatives doing a mild version of the Haka, all while random people
walked up to the Bride and tossed money at her as she performed her celebration
dance. I’ve never really known of a culture that enthusiastically promotes the
concept of throwing money at girls on a stage, but hey everyone is different. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As the night
carried on celebrating this young couple, I sat at a dinner table in between
two of the most noble “power couples” I’ve ever had the privilege of gawking
over all while ladybug boogers floated around in our drinks. To my left was an
all-star Dixie State dream team who sarcastically tell people that yes, it’s
crazy they’ve been married for over five years and they almost have enough
money for a brand new boat/mind your own damn business on when we’re going to
have kids. To my right was a couple who are a few weeks away from welcoming
their third little runt into the pack of kids who decide to contract the e.Bola
virus or the Black Plague whenever Dad decides to be away from them longer than
five hours at a time. That is loyalty, I tell you. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As I sat there on
Saturday night getting drunk on raspberry lemonade ladybug boogers, watching
7-year old ring bearers receive the inspiration to one day be pole dancers, I
had a small moment of reflection that I will admit did bring a few tears to my
eyes. Maybe it was divine inspiration hitting emotions that I didn’t really
know existed. Maybe it was Karma touching me in the heart to teach me a
life-lesson that you see in Hallmark movies. Maybe it was the concoction of
Nyquil, Sudafedrin, and Carbamazepine to combat my week-long bout with the flu,
who knows? Whatever it was, I felt grateful to be sitting at that table by four
beautiful people sharing their lives with one another.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You see kids, people
are important. People are significant. People are what get us from Point A to
Point B, and all the crap that happens in between. People are who we tell
stories to, who we tell stories about, and who we make stories with. People are
who we put up with, and likewise put up with us. People are the most important
facet of our existence, and as a seven-year old dancer had 55-year old women
making it rain over him and insects crawled out of my carafe, I came to realize
that life lesson yet again, late on a Saturday night. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br />
People are what
make everything beautiful.</div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-41080893985795713722015-01-11T17:21:00.002-07:002015-01-11T17:25:25.586-07:0030 Something<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4pRsHVTNuss/VLMTa_uouUI/AAAAAAAADlA/GZIDLw_eRW4/s1600/Large_himym-murtaugh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4pRsHVTNuss/VLMTa_uouUI/AAAAAAAADlA/GZIDLw_eRW4/s1600/Large_himym-murtaugh.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">I'm sitting in church and perhaps about to have a nervous breakdown. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
</div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">For full effect, download "Veronica" by Elvis Costello and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Segoe UI WPC, Segoe UI, Tahoma, Microsoft Sans Serif, Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">When I say I'm about to have a nervous breakdown, I actually mean it. I've never understood the concept of having an anxiety attack, or panicking under the pressure, but I'm not going to lie my palms are sweating, my heart rate has risen, I'm hyperventilating with everyone around me staring back with strange looks. I am in full freak out mode coming to the realization that in a few weeks from now, I'll be 30. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">I know, it's a hard knock life. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">You may chuckle to yourself and shake your head in amusement, but I'm being 100% stone cold serious. I am nearly to the point in my life where any shred of my childhood has been burned at the stake and the ashes spread out over my future funeral plot. I am becoming ancient, decrepit, a young buck turned old stag with streaks of grey starting to show. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">30 means icing your knees after yoga. 30 means bedtimes before 10 pm. 30 means being banned from using emoticons in text messages. 30 means, well 30. It means you're a decade away from 40. And then a few blinks from 50. And then oh my gosh why are you throwing me a retirement party?! For the love of everything sacred please pop those balloons! 30 is the beginning of the end. And I'm a few steps away. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">Time breathes down all of our necks. And for the first time in my life, for the first legitimate moment of my near triple decade existence, I'm starting to feel it. Becoming old is becoming a reality. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Segoe UI WPC', 'Segoe UI', Tahoma, 'Microsoft Sans Serif', Verdana, sans-serif;">Can someone get me a shot of Metamucil?</span><br />
<br />
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-80746363084444040232015-01-07T18:10:00.001-07:002015-01-07T18:10:34.490-07:00Ain't That The Truth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0A2cQfUmdYk/VK3XukpxiJI/AAAAAAAADkw/U1z1H0jl0a0/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0A2cQfUmdYk/VK3XukpxiJI/AAAAAAAADkw/U1z1H0jl0a0/s1600/maxresdefault.jpg" height="324" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Normally this post
is designed to mock the concept of New Year’s resolutions and the bombardment
of gym memberships that will go spiraling down the drain because of the
“holiday of rebirth”. You know how cynical your Dad can be at times. But I’ve changed kids, we all change. Today, I
want to tell you one of the most significant lessons I have learned over the
last few months of my life. And that lesson is a simple, clear phrase that will
get you further down the road than anything else ever will. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Be honest. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download “I’m Gonna Be” by Sleeping At Last, and play at maximum volume
throughout the duration of this post.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Kids, life is full
of deceit. Everyone around you is lying all the time; family, friend, foe, old
fart, young fart, genius, idiot, boy, girl, black, white, green, it doesn’t
matter. Whether it’s the weight on their scales, the dollar amount
attached to their annual salaries, the number of medications they’re popping
back as morning cocktails, or even their alibi for where they were on Friday at
2 in the morning. Everybody lies, that’s plain and simple Brocktrine to its
core. And if someone says they are not lying, you can bet your next stepson
those last four words out of their mouths are laced with slander. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We lie in
relationships. All the time. We lie to the people we want to please the most in
hopes that someday down the road they will see past our dishonesty and settle
for the reality of our disappointment. We tell them we are something special,
when really we’re not. We build imaginary edifices of
creatures we think will be most appealing to those we are in hot pursuit of
attaining. We lie through our teeth, hiding our weaknesses in hopes they will
ignore them and won’t view our shortcomings as potential red flags. We lie
about who we are every single day to every single person we take out to dinner.
Sometimes those lies carry on past engagements and well on into marriages. And
those are the lies that seem to hurt the most. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Why do we do this, kids?
I really don’t know. Maybe it’s because we think people won’t accept us for
having flaws. Maybe it’s because we don’t believe in our true characters, the
characters that only we know exist, the characters that have been built through
years and years of experience and quietly come out when we are by ourselves and
everyone else has left us alone. Maybe it’s because we don’t like ourselves.
And we have this clouded perception that if we don’t like ourselves, then how the
curse word will anyone else like us either? Maybe it’s because this world is a
messed up place, telling us we should be something exceptional, that we should
fit some kind of mold, that we should be a cardboard cutout of success, an expectation of brilliance. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The sad thing is, those expectations we have and the reality that ensues, very rarely, if
ever, match up. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Now kids, I know
over the years I’ve given you points of advice in this blog that I feel are
some of the most important life lessons you need to hold on to during the
course of your own journeys, and who knows where the Muse for this post of
spiritual guidance is coming from. All I can say is this: I don’t care what you
do, I don’t care what faults you have, what screw-ups you’ve
concocted, or what failures you are ashamed to bring out to the public. If you
want to succeed in this life with your academics, with your careers, and most
importantly with the relationships of the ones you hold the closest to you, be
honest and tell the truth. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You may think you
are a complete waste, and that you need to formulate some odd concoction of
mistruths that will make your worth look more appealing on the surface for the
world to judge you. You may think that lies are what will make you look better and
will have you be accepted by someone you want to be with for the rest of your
days. But here’s the thing. In the long run, you won’t look better. In the long
run, those truths will eventually come out into the open. In the long run, your
real character is going to be exposed. And you need to find someone who will
L-word the Hell out of who you really, truly are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">Not for someone you
aren’t.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"> </span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-5924853356359654962014-12-31T18:15:00.001-07:002014-12-31T18:15:44.516-07:002014<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MNRZieHOm4M/VKSfqPzTFsI/AAAAAAAADkg/_L9bX7quWq8/s1600/6a00d8345194a469e2019b03496da5970c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MNRZieHOm4M/VKSfqPzTFsI/AAAAAAAADkg/_L9bX7quWq8/s1600/6a00d8345194a469e2019b03496da5970c.jpg" height="358" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">Rather than post a
Facebook link with all my useless tagged pictures hosting the tagline, “Thanks
for all of the memories” or something else cheesy like that, I’ll go classy on
this year to remember business and bombard you with a sarcastic/sentimental recounting
of the last year of my life. Go ahead and close this browser now if you don’t
want to laugh and cry in a matter of four minutes. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download “Butcher’s Tale” by The Zombies, and play at maximum volume throughout
the duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I’m actually kind
of excited that 2015 is only a few hours away. Mainly because according to
Robert Zemeckis and Michael J. Fox, this is the year we all get hoverboards.
I’m sure every other kid born in the 80’s has been counting down the years until
those glorious contraptions are invented. I know we all can’t wait to have
self-drying clothes like the ones Marty Mcfly wears, but before we jump to what
the world is going to look like through <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Back
to the Future</i> glasses, lets just take a second to soak in the last 525,600
minutes of my life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2014 was…well, it
was a year I couldn’t have planned any better. At times it almost felt like I
was on repeat, cycling through the motions of calendars past, but there were
other moments where I encountered paths I have never walked down before, and
traveled to places that only existed in my dreams. 2014 had without question
some of the best moments I have ever experienced in my 29-year, 9-month
history. Moments that intoxicate people like dandelion wine on a hot summer
afternoon. It was golden I tell you. Absolutely golden. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In 2014 I was a
nomad. On the road and in the sky. On busses, jets, golf carts, L-trains,
subways, 15-passenger vans, ski lifts, rental cars, taxis, and on foot. I
racked up more miles than a Visa frequent flyer card can keep track of.
Journeying to exotic lands such as Cabo San Lucas, Seattle, Chicago, and
Duchesne. I traveled more this year than I have ever done before, surrounded by
friends, family, audiobooks, and empty bottles of Mt. Dew to keep me company. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We talk about the
defining moments of our lives all the time. And there may have been a few
dotting my pages in 2014. Saw my first professional baseball game, four of them
for that matter. Took a three-day road trip with a pair of twins born three
decades later than they should have been who in turn got me two speeding
tickets in under 90 minutes. Slept next to a drug addict on a Greyhound
overnight while holding $21,000 in a dufflebag. Ate Mexican tacos at 2 am from
a street vendor who used her dog as the waitress. Said goodbye to the greatest
sitcom that I’ve been subconsciously modeling my life after. Saw the Grand
Canyon for the first time in my life. Yes, it was from the window of a 747, but
either way that crevasse Paul Bunyan’s axe dug up sure is spectacular.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2014 was, well it
was incredible. That’s all I can say. Watched my little sister exchange vows on
the beaches of Mexico. Went on a Brocation with some fellers and toured the
Pacific Northwest, Brooksby’s bowels and all. Ran, swam, and biked like a
half-iron lunatic for the second year in a row. Became unintentionally
intoxicated and performed the best version of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bohemian Rhapsody</i> a karaoke party has ever witnessed. And I sang
“Carmen Ohio” with 108,000 other screaming nutcases in the most decorated
football arena I have ever had the privilege of visiting. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Who knows, maybe
next year when I’m writing my annual year of remembrance blogpost, I’ll be back
there again. Surrounded by a bunch of nuts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">2014 has been the
best year of my life. There’s no question about that. Dined like a millionaire,
ran like a Kenyan, laughed like a drunk, and cried like a stay at home Mother
of four. 2014 was simply, beautiful. That’s the best way to put it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">And I can’t wait to
see what happens next…</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"> </span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-8846055255852168232014-12-29T16:37:00.000-07:002014-12-31T13:12:31.960-07:00Tradition! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mYUuZWnDf4/VKHke6pGqOI/AAAAAAAADkM/9rKXe6MWJqQ/s1600/714_5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--mYUuZWnDf4/VKHke6pGqOI/AAAAAAAADkM/9rKXe6MWJqQ/s1600/714_5.jpg" height="358" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
You'll have to forgive me for my absence on this blog. Go
ahead and blame the egg nog, frosting-smeared sugar cookies, and packages of socks for that. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
Christmas season
sure does have its effect on all of us. In fact, that's what I'll write about
this afternoon. I...wait....something's off here...I uh...oh yeah...For full
effect download "Tradition" from the soundtrack to <i>Fiddler On The
Roof</i> and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. There
we go, that feels better. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
We all have traditions this time of year, that is a certainty.
Some people give out pajamas on Christmas Eve and take pictures in order of their birthing. Others have extravagant parties in trailers involving alcohol and the
game Twister. Krystle Bailey's Father once told me he takes their family out
for cheap Mexican food and goes out to a movie every year, which honestly I
find to be a quirky yet honorable holiday tradition itself. Whatever it is,
we've got them. Annual things we do on cue that trigger moments of reminiscing
the years past of all the good times we shared with each other. Weird Jell-o
recipes, ugly sweater contests, diverse members of your family standing up and
singing a horrendous yet beautiful rendition of Feliz Navidad. Traditions are
what keep us alive these holidays.They are the moments we look forward to with
a cringing eye. They are memories that we shudder over, yet appreciate all in the same sentence. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
My family sure has traditions I'll tell you. Every year we go up to my Uncle's house in Logan, gorge ourselves on some of the finest dining my family can concoct, sit in a giant circle and exchange a bunch of random white elephant gifts to one another, and at the end of the night we all hand over a set of pajamas to the same old fart pretending to be Santa Claus. For the record, don't you dare comment on this blog with the sarcastic question, "There's no such thing as Santa?!" If you do, I will hunt you down and punch you right in the coccyx. That joke stopped being funny back in 1991. At this point we all look around the room and have what most people would misconstrue as a half-empty version of AA, confessing our sins and revelations to each other while the MC of the party makes us feel rather uncomfortable with his chopped up rendition of "The Giving Tree."</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
Swamp Thing: "Hi, my name is Brock, and I have a problem."</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
My family: "Merry Christmas Brock! Show us your pajamas!"</div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
From here the night concludes with a Grandmother and her girls singing "The Aaaah Song", my sisters, my mother and yours truly doing our own Partridge Family impersonation, and a random Asian person that no one has ever met before bearing witness to us that Communism is the true light of Christmas. At least that's what I interpret his gibberish to mean every year. After that there are awkward gift exchanges and side hugs aplenty as we all share our love for one another with monetary objects. This year I got a blanket that feels like sex. Sure beats the broken nosehair trimmer from a few years back. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
These are my traditions. Every. Single. Year. And yes, I did just use the formerly popular sequence of periods in between individual words to drive the point home. Don't tell my cousin Alicia about this, she still thinks that punctuation is trending. This is my Christmas festivity on cue the last week of every December of my life thus far. A living room full of bold personalities taking pictures, forgetting names, shedding tears, all while a group of lovely ladies sing their song about vowels, creepy couples dressed in snow suits ask little kids in a semi-pedophiliac tone to come sit on their laps, and random Chinese people bump their faces on barstools. These are my traditions, and this is my family. </div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoPlainText">
And as odd as they all sound. I sure love 'em. </div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3700133612124438159.post-84116158794041936352014-12-17T17:55:00.000-07:002014-12-17T18:01:30.952-07:00What Happens In Vegas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKtQctFpNnU/VJIl2raXEEI/AAAAAAAADj8/XEQr3qpaTHY/s1600/Zach-Galifianakis-in-The-Hangover-Wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XKtQctFpNnU/VJIl2raXEEI/AAAAAAAADj8/XEQr3qpaTHY/s1600/Zach-Galifianakis-in-The-Hangover-Wallpaper.jpg" height="390" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">Kids, some of the
best moments of my life have happened in Vegas.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For full effect,
download “Tribute” by Tenacious D, and play at maximum volume throughout the
duration of this post. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Please don’t
misinterpret my hook line, because I’m not trying to impose in your minds any
type of sexual or alcoholic innuendo whatsoever. All I’m saying is that I have
been to Sin City many a time in my 10-plus year history in the small town 110
miles north, and some of the best stories I can tell open with the line, “So we
all jump in my car and head down to Vegas...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">For the record, I’m
not here to tell you that the modern day Sodom has some kind of special place
in my heart. Because it doesn’t. I don’t get a warm, fuzzy feeling in my soul when I think about the disgusting amount of life savings that are littered into
slot machines and craps tables. That butterfly effect in my stomach doesn’t show
up when a taxi drives by broadcasting a topless woman. Seriously, this is a
filthy place where good things go away to die, where STD’s are handed out like
watermelon Jolly Ranchers. When your motto is don’t tell people what we do
here, there has to be something wrong. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">With that being
said, I have truly had some glorious moments in this city of smut, glorious
moments I tell you. I’ve been attacked by a drunk Russian Ambassador, watched
the best athletes on the Earth duke it out at the Thomas & Mack, wandered
the drunk-laden streets as a sober 21-year old on New Years Eve, sold worthless
software in an economy soaked with a depression, and soaked myself in
world-class saunas. None of these moments mean anything to you, because none of
you were with me, therefore they’re not really part of your stories. But that’s
okay. Vegas is a cornucopia of sin and stability. A place where choices are
made that instantaneously trigger regret. A place the devil hangs his hat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background: white; color: #282828; mso-bidi-font-family: Tahoma; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And so here I sit.
In a white suburban with five of the finest people in the world, somewhere in
the middle of the Nevada desert listening to the most confusing Spotify
playlist ranging from “Bone Thugs” to “The Proclaimers”, all of us getting ready
to cheer our faces off and convert a room full of people to the gospel of Dixie
State University. Seriously kids, some of the best stories of my life have
happened in this metropolis of muck, and the reality is that what ever does happen in Vegas doesn’t really stay in Vegas. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #282828;">And it shouldn’t.</span></div>
</div>
Brock Bybeehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01705642664355706023noreply@blogger.com0