The Perfect Ending

Today I’m teaching a girl how to break up with a guy.

That got you hooked didn’t it? If you’ve been keeping tabs on my life thus far, you know that I haven’t been the best at ending relationships. Of course I am referencing the infamous text-gate blunder of ’11, which put a sour taste in everyone’s mouth. This link might refresh your memory if you don’t remember that pathetic gaffe that I made.

Despite that courting error, I do fancy myself to be someone that can offer insight and perspective on how people work, and what they will respond to. I’m fascinated with human behavior and why we do certain things in our lives; what kind of responses will be given in conflicting situations between men and women who are just beginning or ending a relationship.

With that being said, I developed a break-up formula that in my opinion is foolproof, cannot be beaten, and will withstand anything when put to the test. For the sake of my friend in dire straits, I even decided to do a 24-hour run through to help her get accustomed to what was going to be happening to her once the curtains were raised. (A little background info, my dear friend The Italian RN, who by the way is awesome, has been on-again/off-again with a specimen we shall call Saul. He’s a loser, she’s better than he is, they need to go their separate ways, especially because long-distance relationships never work out well).

And with that, I give you what is known as the dating decimation process, or what is also called, “The Perfect Ending”.

Step 1/The Warm-Up: For a period of 45 minutes minimum, the Italian RN and her roommate need to go through and discuss all of the irregularities and moronic tendencies that Saul has. His laziness, his obsession with Wookie outfits, the fact that he hasn’t brushed his teeth and that giant black bean is STILL stuck to his right incisor, all of these give evidence to break up with someone. Yeah, I know, he’s a loser. This discussion will give her the emotional reasoning that he’s not worth her time (which he’s not), and that she’s better than him (which she is), and that she needs to find a guy who actually brushes his teeth.

Step 2/The Cut: This is the make or break/most important part of the entire process. This consists of a phone call that needs to stay under three minutes max, in which she delivers the final blow telling him that she’s just not that into him. The longer the call, the more time that doubt has to play a role in reversing one’s decision. It has to be quick, painless, and to the point, like a circumcision. This will leave him hanging (pun intended) and grief-stricken over what has happened. Following the deliverance, a third party must play a role in calling her attention away from him; a call waiting, or a doorbell. Something has to lure her away from him. Once it does, the call ends and the hard part is over.

Step 3/The Rebuttal: Following the blow, Saul will be looking to counter her delivery. This consists of phone calls, voicemails, novel-sized text messages, heartfelt songs about their relationship, angry tirades at 1:30 in the morning about how he’s better than she is, (which he’s not), all of these in an attempt to win her back. Once someone ends a relationship with another person, the victim goes through a grief cycle that consists of remorse, attention, and anger. Rinse and repeat. The delivering party must hold their ground, not give in to any forms of communication, and hold their heads high.

Step 4/The Grieving: This is where rocky road ice cream, BFF’s, and chick flicks all come into play. No matter how lame the opposite end of a companionship is, both sides do miss them. The quirks and unique traits about them are all focused on. She will miss the good things, not the bad things. So what if he’s obsessed with Star Wars and hasn’t been to the dentist since he was 11, he had such a sweet smile, and was a great kisser. It’s at this point when replacement stimulants such as sugar and booty calls play an integral role in forgetting the other person.

Step 5/Moving on: There are always greener fish in the sea, that’s what they all say. Someone else is out there looking for you and fits you perfectly Italian RN, so don’t fall victim to the “what are we?” conundrum that millions of couples surrender to after giving up hope (any Royal out there remembers the Megan Zito-Bryan Hutzley debacles that littered our senior year). Move on, find someone new, and get on with your life.

And that kids, is the formula for a perfect breakup. Think you have a better recipe?

Fast Times at Roy High

Took a stroll down memory lane this morning, that's right kids, I went back to my old stomping grounds, a place that all of my co-workers know how much I cherish and adore. I'm talking about good old Roy, Utah.

For full effect, download any song from the Blink-182 album "Take Off Your Pants and Jacket" and play at maximum volume throughout the duration of this post. Those were the tunes that Scott Buxton and I would enjoy while sluffing class in his Ford Explorer. Wait, forget Scott Buxton. What mature human being holds grudges for a break-up that's a decade old? Curse word you, Scott.

Today I had the privilege? Yeah, I'll use that word for the sake of alumni reading this. To go back to my alma mater, a place where the great ghost Mabel lives and dwells. Don't believe me, ask Mark Wilson. He'll tell you everything about that ghastly spirit who sits there in her red high heels and torn dress haunting the large auditorium. Trust me, she's there.

For the record, find me one person who knows every word to the fight song "Go, Royals Go" and I will give them $20. Nobody knows the words to that song, nobody, you hear? For all we know it goes," Go Royals, Go. Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na, Na-na-na." At least that's how I remembered it sounded like.

Roy is actually a pretty good place to go to school I must say. You've got some great teachers like Cheri Bryan, Candace Thurgood, and Herr Adams. Also, there's "The Hole" just up the street, which is the local breakfast club hangout spot in town. Yeah, so there may have been a minor bomb scare last spring. But don't let an attention-starved teenager's immature actions mar the greatness of the Apple fritters that Roy has to offer.

The Royals that I recruited today were some of the best students that I've seen in a long time, in fact probably the best group of kids I've talked to this entire year so far. They had so much school pride, especially for their football team; who by the way is 4-2 so far, which is the most wins they've had since my senior season when we went 4-7. Let's just keep our fingers crossed that they destroy Bonneville tonight for Homecoming. Man, we hate those Lakers.

They sure were great today though. They described to me what the hip slang for the word "cool" is. Which, I was told is the word "ill". They explained to me the concept of what a hashtag is. I got to meet Adam Watts' little brother, (yes, I'm an old man.) Also, I was told how a student shows sarcasm in a text message. Who would've thought that's possible? #HA.

Good times, I must say. I did get a little sentimental sniffing the hallways as I walked through my old home turf. And yeah, so what if I can't remember all the words to the fight song "Go, Royals Go." Deep down, I guess I still bleed black and gold.

Life Lessons

Since my favorite show is back on the air, I thought I would share this image that a fellow Redditor made that sums up everything that we need to know about life. In the meantime I will keep my eyes open for that girl with the yellow umbrella. She's out there somewhere.

Life in Provo

Today kids, we will be privileged to hear from a guest blogger, a dear friend who has decided to take her talents to one of the scariest places on Earth; Happy Valley. Both she and her husband will be greatly missed as they move on to a place that's more creepy than a West Virginian family reunion of gingers. And so, without further ado, I give you the great Mrs. Dixie Bo Jackson.



In my humble opinion,

I am nervous to move to Provo, UT. I've never lived near the infamous city nor ever had a desire. However, JDawgs and the BYU creamery called and said they are excited to see me regularly. Then Gold's gym called, after talking to JDawgs and the creamery, and guilted me into visiting regularly too. With a land full of Mormons I am legitimately praying that I don't come to any realization that the Baptists and Obama campaign are right and we really are a cult. But if so, I guess it's too late now.

Not only am I nervous about moving to Provo, I am trembling about living in student housing at the Lord's college. I once again am pleading on my knees that no one from the Relief Society befriends me with carrot red jello. If the Relief Society President was a true Mormon she would drive off campus and buy me a good 32 oz. Diet Coke to start welcoming me to the 1,231 Provo Ward. (Diet Coke is my water).

I am also looking forward to this conversation with Provo residents,

Zoobie: "Did you go to BYU?"

Me: "No, I graduated from Dixie"

Zoobie: "Ohhhh......................................And you're exiled. Beginning now."

I would love to follow up with a reminder in an "I'm joking but not joking" tone that I paid for their school through tithes and that I would appreciate a little gratitude. But we can only hope I grow the balls to breathe those words.

And dear Utah County, whose idea was it to do construction on 98.67% of the roads? That was just poor planning on your part. I should be the City planner. Consider it.

Lastly, I'm dreading the fact that I have been married for more than three months and I don't have kids. I think I'll get a lecture at least within the first 72 hours I'm living there. LOOKING FORWARD TO IT!!

Sincerely,

Me.

The Best Meal I Never Ate

“Politicians and diapers have one thing in common. They both should be changed regularly.”
-Anonymous

Yesterday morning I was randomly selected to witness one of the largest, most distinguished political events to ever happen in the great Beehive state of mine. This by far trumped the Democratic Pepsi Dumping of 1978, or even the Shakespeare/Moody recall of ’03. Yesterday I had the chance to rub shoulders with, wait, scratch that…go head to head, no, that doesn’t sound right either…lick the heels of some of the snootiest, most egotistical Republican bastards this side of the Colorado.

For full effect, download a sound clip from the Glenn Beck and/or Rush Limbaugh talk show and play at full volume throughout the duration of this post.

Now don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a blog to bash the party that uses an elephant for a mascot. (By the way, what buddy of Ben Franklin who was probably sky high on some form of colonial shrooms decided to pick an elephant for the Republican’s mascot? That makes no sense to me). I am not knowledgeable, nor active enough, nor do I actually care that much about awful debates to write a blogpost about the political issues that our country is facing these days. I’m no Roger Winston Eddingbright the 3rd or anything.

Back to the story.

Yesterday morning I was cordially invited by my ridiculously affluent Uncle to attend the Mitt Romney campaign fundraiser luncheon. Yes kids, you read that right, I was at a political brownnosing orgy held at the Grand America hotel in downtown Salt Lake. I would have been able to feast upon the glories of a thousand dollar a plate lunch, but for some reason my ride didn’t get the memo that the secret service wanted us to show up early.

I had no business being there. I’m not rich, have no political ties to the man, have never actually voted in a public election, heck, the only grasp I have to anything related to politics is my late-night catch up sessions on “The Daily Show”, which in my personal opinion is the most true form of objective journalism itself. That Jon Stewart would put Walter Cronkite to shame, right Liz?

I was out of my league I tell you, a speck of plankton in the political Pacific Ocean. I was but a mere pit-stain on the wife beater of the work shirt of the 14-year old zit-covered teenager that mows the lawn for all of the bigwigs and fancy farts strolling in and out of that hall. The donors and supporters that lined the walls of that auditorium will more than likely have higher value for their urine than what my cumulative lifetime salary will end up being.

“I piss excellence.”
-Ricky Bobby

We came. We sat. We watched the nominee deliver a rhetoric thanking the aristocrats for their money. Sitting in an 800-seat auditorium with 1100 people groveling at the Governor’s words, trying to zoom their iPhones on a figure that they’ll brag about to countless nobodies on their Facebook posts was one of the highlights of my week. Yeah, he didn’t answer questions about health-care reform, immigration, or the stumbling economy, but so what? A guy running for President of the country paused his political pissing to wave his platformed palm in Utah. We should all be grateful.

Yes kids, politics is an art. It’s a world within itself. Fast-talkers and issue-switchers stroll down the red carpet of public admiration and glamour only to be bombasted by Anderson Cooper or the host of “Red Eye”. I know nothing about this battle that Romney will be facing over the next few months. So what if the guy uses floss made of pure silk, watching him do his dance on the podium in person was sure worth a meager 45 minutes of blogging.

Even if he was full of crap.

Back In The Day

Found this photo in the bottom of a cardboard box in my storage unit. Think you can tell which one of these awkward adolescents is me?