Small Tales of Random Thought, Vol. V

Ah, yes. The Eggnog Disaster of Hairy Side-Spitting Troll Island. I remember it like it was 254 days, 12 hours, 36 minutes, and 19 seconds ago!

There we were. Surrounded by the ancient Eggnog tribe of Troll Island. But this wasn’t your ordinary Eggnog tribe; at least not like the ones you read in the history books. No. This was an Eggnog tribe with one specific talent. A skill-set unlike any other Eggnog tribe in the western hemisphere. They were hairy side-spitters!

…

In the early 1900’s, a young man by the name of John Jacob Jingleshmurfen set out on an adventure to discover the Eggnog tribe; more specifically of the hairy side-spitting variety.

Born and raised in Decatur, Georgia, John Jacob Jingleshmurfen yearned for adventure at birth.

His mother, Judy Jacob Jingleshmurfen, read him stories before bed about adventure. Far-off adventures to Troll Island and the mythical, undiscovered, Eggnog tribe.

“One day, John,” his mother would read. “Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to discover them for yourself.”

It was this passionate love from his mother that fueled his exploring desire. A desire that pushed him to Troll Island. A desire that ultimately led to a New York Times’ bestseller: The Eggnog Tribe – An Introspective Look into the Life of a Hairy Side-Spitter.

…

It was Ben’s favorite book growing up. A book that his mother would read to him over and over again. Every night. In bed. Dreaming of a life among the hairy side-spitting Eggnog tribe.

“What’s a hairy side-spitter?” Ben would ask his mother.

“Well, Benjamin, if you’re lucky, perhaps you can discover them one day for yourself!”

And so Ben did. He read the stories in The Eggnog Tribe – An Introspective Look Into the Life of a Hairy Side-Spitter, the book by John Jacob Jingleshmurfen, but he had to discover for himself.

With $5 in his pocket and a bride with a paper-ring, Ben set out on the adventure of a lifetime!

“Kate, I really appreciate you embarking on this adventure to Troll Island with me,” Ben said softly to his new wife. “If we do discover the Eggnog tribe, specifically the hairy side-spitters, it brings me comfort knowing that I discovered them with the woman I love!”

“I love you too, Ben. Now let’s get this boat off the dock and out of town!”

“Hey! HEY!” A voice rang loudly from the footsteps of the pier. “HEY!”

Two figures appeared from the fog with cinnamon sticks and drinking glasses in their hand.

“Is that, Melissa and RJ?” Kate asked.

“HEY, wait for us, guys!”

“Mel! RJ! How the hell are you?” Ben yelled with excitement.

“If you’re going to discover the Eggnog tribe of Troll Island, specifically the hairy side-spitters, I want in,” RJ snared.

“You got it, gang!” Ben said.

And so they set sail to Troll Island in hopes of discovering the Eggnog tribe; more specifically the Eggnog tribe of the hairy side-spitting variety.

This particular evening on the sea seemed different. The fog settled lightly on the sea as a breeze whisked in from the west. The smell of the holiday season was in the air.

“We must be close,” Ben uttered.

And right he was. Troll Island was no more than 200 yards ahead.

Ben steered the boat into position. The wind was working against the boat, but it was no matter. Ben navigated to the shore like a salt-water boss.

The boat crashed onto the unforgiving shoreline with a loud thud. A thud so loud that it didn’t go unnoticed among the locals.

HUCK-THWOOP. HUCK-THWOOP.

“What’s that sound?” Mel said with a hint of fear slowly drowning her voice.

HUCK-THWOOP. HUCK-THWOOP.

“It’s…It’s…It’s the Eggnog tribe; more specifically, the Eggnog tribe of the hairy side-spitting variety!” Ben screeched.

…

There we were. Surrounded by the ancient Eggnog tribe of Troll Island. The hairy side-spitters.

“Quick, Mel, grab my glass from the boat!”

Melissa rushed over to the nautical vessel and grabbed both glasses, cinnamon sticks in-hand.

“Toss me the glass, babe. I must have a taste!”

HUCK-THWOOP. HUCK-THWOOP.

With his glass in-hand, RJ crept up quietly behind the Eggnog tribe. As quiet as a mouse. Quiet. Quieter. No sound.

He reached his glass out to the side of the Eggnog tribal members.

HUCK-THWOOP. HUCK-THWOOP.

“Oh my god, I got some! I got some!” RJ yelled with as much excitement as Sandusky at a Chuck-E-Cheese.

Ahhhh, the sweet smell of Eggnog, directly from the hairy side-spitting tribal members of Troll Island. RJ was the first to taste the Eggnog, and the last.

With a quick gulp, RJ clinched his hands around his throat, let out a blood curdling scream, and fell to the shore.

HUCK-THWOOP. HUCK-THWOOP.

“RUN!” Kate yelled. “RUN FOR YOUR LIFE!”

Ben, Kate and Melissa ran back to the boat in a mad-dash for their life.

“Don’t look back guys, he’s dead,” Ben said.

HUCK-THWOOP. HUCK-THWOOP.

The hairy side-spitting Eggnog tribe was close behind, but the boat was closer. With a last hurrah effort, Ben, Kate and Melissa made it safely back to the boat.

“That was unbelievable,” Ben mumbled to himself. “I read the stories, but I didn’t think they were true! I’m in complete shock!”

Everyone was shocked. They just lost their best friend to a tribe that was thought to be extinct. Even non-existent to modern scholars!

They set sail back to the mainland. They were tired and full of fear, but they had at least a day at sea ahead of them.

Troll Island quickly became a distant piece of land on the horizon, and they tried to make it a distant thought.

“What’s that smell?” Kate asked.

It was the smell of the holiday season. A scent that seemed all too familiar for the trio. A scent that brought back the memory of Troll Island.

“You don’t think one of the Eggnog tribal members of the hairy side-spitting variety made it back to our boat, do you?” Mel asked.

CRASH-BANG-BOOM…HUCK-THWOOP. HUCK-THWOOP.

Regards – R.L. Bean

How to Say Goodbye to Someone You Haven’t Met

How do you say goodbye to someone you haven’t met? How is it even possible?

Melissa and I built up so much love for this entity that at one point was blossoming in Mel’s tummy.

Love that was built around the dreams we had of how amazing our kid was going to be. A dream that started the day we found out we were pregnant.

I’ll never forget the look on Mel’s face as she came out of the bathroom. This memory will always be with us no matter what the future holds.

It was in that instant that our dreams began to flourish. That one instant when we knew we were ready to be awesome parents. That tiny fraction of a second when her eyes met mine and we knew.

We knew in that moment we were in love with this new life we created. And that love for this new life took on a life of its own, for both of us had dreams in our head of our new little one.

“It could be a doctor, teacher, or anything it wants to be,” we thought.

We were overcome with emotions. Elated with joy that we were going to have a baby!

And it’s for this reason that it’s so hard to say goodbye to someone you love so much, but have never met. Only a black and white image of our little one, all 2.3cm of it.

We put our baby at the forefront, thought about it constantly, and made room in our hearts for it.

Those 13 weeks were joyous for us. Everyone was so happy for us and it was our turn to raise a child in this world.

We knew miscarriages were common in first pregnancies, especially before week 10, but we never thought about or addressed any negativity surrounding our situation. No one wants to address negative possibilities when there’s something you are so attached to involved!

When your wife becomes pregnant and you want to start a family, all you can do is take care of yourself during the pregnancy and hope for the best.

So we did. But unfortunately, it just wasn’t our time.

It makes us angry.

We are sad.

We are beyond heartbroken.

But we’re in repair.

We received so much support from our friends and family; support we never deemed possible, but so-much-so that it rained down on us like love from the Gods. We needed to be satiated. We needed to see the rain.

“You’ll be great parents.”

“Keep your chin-up.”

“It will happen soon.”

“I’m so very sorry for your loss. You and RJ will be in our prayers.”

Words of wisdom that spoke to us like a soft whisper from Mother Mary, Let it Be.

These words have helped us get through these last few days. The flowers, cards, phone calls and emails meant so much to us.

It’s a wound that will heal with time, but leave one hell of a scar in the process.

We will stay positive and we will always remember our little one that got away.

But most importantly, during this difficult time, we will always remember the silver lining; that being the support of our friends and family.

With a heavy heart, we press on to the future, knowing whole-heartedly that our time will come.

Warmest Regards – Melissa & RJ

What’s Up With That? Pato Shi

It’s time for round 4.

These are a few of my least favorite things!

Pajama Public Peoples – Seriously? Are you THAT lazy that you couldn’t take the extra 3 minutes out of your day to change into presentable clothing for the public?

And don’t give me any BS about, “I don’t care what people think. I’m an individual and do what I want!”

No, you’re not! You obviously care what people think because you want them to think you are your own person. You want people to think you don’t care, that you’re fighting the man, rebelling against the status quo of society.

Well, guess what? You did that, jackass! You’re just too cool for this planet with your plaid pajama pants and “Don’t Bother Me, I’m Grumpy” night shirt. Woo-hoo!

Organized Dancing – I get nervous when the Cha Cha Slide comes on, or when I hear the Cupid Shuffle, Electric Slide, or any dance that requires rhythmic/robotic moves.

I’m a free soul. I’m a maniac on the dance floor (after a couple of drinks). You can’t cage this beast once he wants to dance. I want to move like Jagger, not follow the same steps as everyone else. That’s not dancing; that’s following directions, and it’s for the weak individuals who would otherwise never dance.

Dancing is feeling the beat and just grooving. Dancing is not sliding to the left, then the right, then stomping three times and spinning around to do it again.

The next time you’re at a wedding or party, take a step back when one of these songs comes on and just watch. Watch the robots on the dance floor. It’s quite comical.

But don’t get me wrong; if you catch me at a wedding, I’ll be on the dance floor following directions OVER and OVER again, laughing with my friends as I think it’s a great song, adding my own variations as everyone laughs, only to have the song end, the next song come on and I head immediately to my seat…Or to the bar; whatever gets me away from actually dancing.

People that say “I Say What’s On My Mind” – No, you don’t. Drop the tough guy front and realize that if you are someone who says what’s on their mind, then you have no regard for other people’s feelings.

Speaking your mind does not garner you respect, nor does it make you a desirable person, rather it makes you an individual where people don’t want to act themselves around you because they are afraid of what you would say.

Granted those people are lacking the self-confidence to be comfortable with themselves; but that’s beside the point.

Congratulations on making people feel fake around you, only allowing yourself to think that you’re the coolest kid in town with your “I Don’t Give a Shit” attitude. We’re all applauding your efforts to be biggest jackass in the world; and it’s obvious you’re well on your way!

Contestants on Competition Reality Shows Who Tell the Audience they are Competing for a Dying Loved One – It’s been done, many times…PLEASE stop. We’ve all had loved ones die, we’ve had the support from our friends and family, we don’t need an entire country to mourn/support us and trick us into voting for you. THANKS!

Upside Down 8’s on Gas Station Prices’ Signs – The little circle on the eight goes up, the big circle is on the bottom. That’s why they make them that way, people.

Regards – RJ

Small Tales of Random Thought, Vol. IV

Ah, yes. The run-down pizza joint that caused each of us to spawn an evil twin after our first bite into the cheesy pie.

I remember it like it was 6 years, 4 months and 3 days ago.

“Welcome to Dante’s Pizzeria!” the host with the lazy eye said.

I could’ve sworn I just saw this same girl outside the pizzeria on her cell phone, swearing like a sailor, right before we came in!

The place seemed alright. It seemed easy on the eye and it made you feel comfortable. There was this glimmer about it that invited you in.

The smell of fresh dough, tomato sauce and garlic filled the air, just like Emeril’s kitchen I imagine. The scent makes you feel hungrier than you are.

Your eyes are as big as a pie when you walk in. 20” pizzas lined up in a row for your choosing. And the pickings aren’t slim.

There’s traditional fare such as pepperoni and cheese, but there’s also out-of-this-world flavors to choose from, flavors I couldn’t even pronounce.

“De Twino…It must be Italian,” I tell Ben.

The De Twino pizza looked like it was full of flavor; with the grease sitting right on top, waiting to ooze of your slice and down the sides of your mouth.

“Let’s get it!” Ben yells with excitement.

“Four slices of the De Twino, please,” we tell the chef.

We’re hungry and at this moment, it seems the only thing that will satiate us is a thick slice of the De Twino.

The chef pulls the slices out of the oven and they look appetizing. The cheese is bubbling up and the crust is a perfect golden-brown.

The host guides us to our seats and we choose a booth. Like all Americans, we prefer a booth. She asks if we need anything in the kindest of voices. We reply no, and she walks away.

As we go to take our first bite of what will probably be the best pizza money can buy, we are interrupted by the host, which seemed like no more than an instant.

“Hey assholes, do you need anything?” she asks.

“Uh, no. You just asked us and we said no,” Kate says with aggravation.

“Whatever! Go f*%# yourselves then!”

The lazy eye host walks away in the opposite direction she initially took.

“Is it just me or was she extremely rude?” Mel asks with skepticism.

There couldn’t have been more than 5 seconds in between this nice host asking us if we needed anything in her soft-spoken voice, to this rude lady cursing at us.

Something wasn’t right. Something felt strange about Dante’s Pizzeria. Nevertheless, we were hungry, and we had to eat to refuel before our backpacking excursion into the Ozark Mountains.

Ben takes the first bite and his reaction is priceless. His face lights up like a kid at Christmas. I follow suit, followed by Kate. The pizza is too good to be true. It’s divine. Heavenly. It’s magnificent.

All three of us devour our slices before Mel even has a chance to begin eating hers. She prefers to cut up her pieces, and stares at us like we’re pigs for doing the opposite.

“That was good, I’m going to have another!” Ben said with enthusiasm.

Ben got up from the table and proceeded to head to the pizza line.

We could see Ben from our booth seat at Dante’s. He was in our sights the entire time.

“I don’t feel so good,” Kate murmured.

“Me either, it feels like something’s growing inside of me, trying to escape!” I confer.

“Well, I’m not eating this pizza if it makes you guys feel this way,” Mel said.

Within an instant, before Kate could open her mouth with a reply, an exact replica…In the flesh, another human being with her exact features appeared out of nowhere next to her.

This twin grabbed the knife on the table and held it up to Kate’s throat, choking her until her face was blue.

A spawn of my own appeared next to me too, bumping Mel out of the booth. He quickly used his ruggedly handsome looks and swift fists and punched me in the face, knocking me out on the table.

“Oh my god, what’s happened?” Mel asks with a hint of fear. “RJ. Wake Up! Let go of Kate!”

The room is spinning for Mel. She’s scared.

RJ lay knocked out on the table; his evil twin wreaking havoc on the pizzeria. Kate has now passed out and her twin is gutting the other guests.

Blood’s now mixing with marinara sauce; no one can tell the difference.

BAM. The sound of gunshots ring through the air.

“Ben. Oh my god, Ben.”

To Be Continued

Regards – R.L. Bean

Through the Polaroid Lens at Age 25

Earth Space Science class, our freshman year in high school. It was in this class that I had the privilege of meeting my beautiful wife.

Emotions were racing through my mind that first year at Great Mills High School. I was a bad ass kid at Esperanza Middle School, and I felt I had to carry this image over to high school if I was going to “make it.”

I started the year with that mentality; but that quickly changed with each moment spent around Mel.

We started off exchanging pleasantries on a daily basis. She approached me the first day of school, without really knowing me, and introduced herself.

What kind of person does that? I had to know, so I carried the conversation on with her, which blossomed into this, both of us, year two in our marriage, year 10 in our relationship.

This picture was taken around our first few months together. We started dating in April 2002, which was right when baseball was in full swing (no pun intended). We already spent many months growing close in our Earth Space Science class, and we reached a point where we felt something for each other.

We couldn’t describe this feeling. I don’t think anyone could describe the feeling. If they try to put words to it, they would fail only to realize such words do not exist for feelings so strong and mature towards another being.

During baseball season, we grew a lot closer to each other as we were able to ride the bus together to each away game. It was tough because we wanted to focus on our upcoming games, but that seemed impossible as we were too busy getting lost in the thoughts behind our eyes; daydreaming of days to come.

We made it. It was finally time for Prom. We were in the third year of our relationship during this picture.

Three months in a relationship in high school seemed like a long time. Mel and I made it to three years!

We didn’t know why, nor did we discuss the reasons as to why. We just felt close to each other. We felt these vibes that I don’t think were ever discussed between our feelings.

We felt as though we could take on the world. We felt as though we were ready to start talking about life after high school. The conversation probably went something like this:

“Mel, are you going to go to college?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Well, then I guess I am too. I want to do what you want to do.”

I was terrified, having never discussed my future with anyone. It was always assumed in my head that I would graduate high school, and move on to find a job with my father or mother, the latter sounding like the more viable, less strenuous option.

College was not an option in my opinion. And the thought of doing it alone was certainly not in the cards.

But we pressed on.

Here we were. Fresh out of high school with majority of our friends moving off to college, joining the military, or some other ambitious adventure that deep down we yearned for.

We both waited too long to take the SAT and apply for universities in high school, so we were forced to begin our college career at the College of Southern Maryland. This saved our parents money and helped us (mainly me) determine if college was the right path for us.

In my first semester, I found out it wasn’t. I hated English. I hated everything about it. I hated it so much that I was one car ride away from joining the Air Force. I talked it over with Mel before telling my parents, and she understood. She was thinking about our future, while I was still trying to determine mine.

She had her thoughts together and knew what she wanted. She was going to be a teacher and she wanted to transfer to Towson.

I decided to stick out the whole college thing, and the rest of my semesters at CSM were a success.

Everything was going well, and it was in that moment, on a beautiful night in April, on our five-year anniversary, I asked for Mel’s hand in marriage. The night was magical.

We were both getting to a point where we wanted something more for ourselves and each other. We were jealous in the sense that everyone was leaving St. Mary’s, whereas we felt “stuck.”

In all honesty, it made me feel unsuccessful, like I deserved or was made for something more.

So we packed our things and moved to Cockeysville, MD, where we still reside. I will never forget the day we moved. We had all of our items packed. My dad and I went to pick up the Budget Rental truck and proceeded to load it up.

Everyone arrived at my parents’ house to set up the convoy. I led the way in my Ford Focus, and everyone followed.

It was the hottest day in August, but we all worked together and got it done. Mel’s family went back down the road and my parents grabbed a hotel to make sure we had everything we needed the next day.

They left us that morning and after tears, our life together, on our own, officially began. We finished unpacking all of our items and made our first meal at our new place, chicken teriyaki.

Towson was a breeze for me. I went through knowing what had to be done; graduate and get a job.

So I did. I graduated from Towson University on what was a happy day for my family and me, because I was the first in my family to go to college and graduate with a BS (I say Bachelor of Science, you can say Bull Shit ).

I graduated in early January, and Mel followed suit in May. We did it. We (expletive) did it.

And so the time came. In the traditional old-world thought, you graduate college and go to find a job. And that’s what I did. The day after my graduation ceremony, I was calling places and sending my resume out to whoever had an open eye and ear.

I landed my first full-time gig on April 1, 2010, and two years later, I’m still here at my first job out of college, one of the best jobs a fresh college puke could ask for.

Mel found her calling in August 2010 as she was hired for her first teaching job.

We were relived and excited to be making it in the world on our own. And to do it in Baltimore, a town where we felt on top of the world, where our privacy was never bothered and our love flourished, felt great.

Mel and I felt as though we were living the dream. And one of our greatest dreams was about to come true as September 18, 2010 was quickly approaching.

September 18, 2010. The greatest day in the history of days to be documented. There we were, up at the altar in front of people who loved and cared about us; proving to the world our love for each other.

It was a dream come true. And to think we were just two high-school freshmen with no idea what we wanted out of life, or each other. We found it in that moment. We knew then that this was truly our dream, one of our purposes of existence. It was evident that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.

We knew what we wanted. We were both young, we were both attuned to our surroundings and we both assumed we wanted to stay in Baltimore.

We’ve made so many friends up here and forged relationships that will last a lifetime. We were both sure that this was it for us. Baltimore was the place to be.

Which brings us to this day, March 17, 2012. I’m now 25 years old, which in old-man terms is a quarter of a century. I’m older, yes, but wiser, I’m not so sure.

We’ve lived in Baltimore for five years now, two of which we’ve had full-time jobs, and one and a half of which we’ve been married. But where do we take it from here?

Our thoughts are to the future, as that’s how you have to live these days. If you get too caught up in the moment, you will lose yourself within your thoughts.

We both know what we want. Or at least we both think we know what we want. We’ve talked about it, talked about it, talked about it and talked about it.

Our minds, at this pivotal moment in our lives and future seem clear now. It’s like we both had an epiphany.

We’ve pushed away our friends and family for so long from St. Mary’s. We’ve battled with ourselves to tell each other we’re better off up here in Baltimore. We can make it on our own. We don’t need anyone but our own selves.

That’s the mentality that we’ve had. The code of conduct so to speak that we’ve structured our lives around.

We were harassed every trip to St. Mary’s County, “Are you moving back home? When are you coming back home? Are you moving? Are you? Are you? Are you?”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.

It’s enough to make a sane man want to flip the switch and go ape shit.

It pushed us away. The constant badgering, bickering, the back and forth pushing and pulling, the fighting for us to be somewhere where we were wanted, but didn’t feel it in our hearts.

Until now.

Until this day, when Melissa and I are planning our future. A baby. A home. Buying into our American Dream with what we want, and what we think is best for our future.

And when we run through the pros and cons of our current situation, when we asses our future, our plans to bring another being into the world, we’re tortured by the fact that it may not have the same family bond that we’ve had for so long.

We want our child to experience the joy of staying over at their cousin’s house, spending the day with their grandparents; just being around family that will love the hell out of them for what it’s worth.

We miss that, now. We miss that closeness to our friends and family. We need that in our lives.

We’ve pushed it off for so long, thinking we were the modern-day rebels by living in Baltimore.

To be honest, we thought we were better than everyone in St. Mary’s for that reason. We thought, “Hey, we got outta Dodge and now look at us, we’re making it on our own!”

And we’ve pushed our families into a situation where we’ve called them selfish. Where we told them they weren’t being fair. We had it in our heads that we know what’s best for us.

And we still think we do know what’s best for us. We know what we want, and we know how we are going to go about getting it.

But to put our people who are dearest to us in a situation where they have to swallow their pride and think to themselves, “Alright, I’ve tried; they’re just not moving back to St. Mary’s,” is preposterous.

Why they’ve continued to support us, I don’t know?

Actually, I do know. It’s because they love the hell out of us. And we don’t say it that often, but we love the hell out of them, too.

Which is why I’m comfortable to say, that at the age of 25, after spending the best years of my life with my best friend, my wife, for the last 10 years, it’s an easy decision for both us: We will probably, eventually move back to St. Mary’s County.

It’s what’s best for us. For our family. For our beautiful child that’s yet to be conceived or born (sorry if I mislead on that part). For our sanity. For our comfort. For our future. For our life together.

We’re out of the rebel phase, I think. We’re at a point where we’ve been together for this long, and we can tell in our eyes when we get lost in our emotions; it’s time for the next phase of our lives together.

It’s time to come home.

“Come On, Get Up, Romeo…Don’t You Know What the Time Is?” – Band of Skulls

Regards – RJ

So What? Who Cares?

There used to be many things in my life as a young man, growing boy, adolescent, whatever term you want to use to describe me during the different periods in my life, where I was ashamed to tell my friends if I liked something that they might use as arsenal to mount a bullying attack and make fun of me.

I was afraid of what one might think about me dabbling in something that may be considered “joke’s on you” worthy at the daily lunch room table.

But you know what, I just don’t care anymore. I have so many things in this world that I really enjoy and I don’t care who knows it.

This is me, spilling my heart and soul, to the guilty pleasures that have inhabited my life over the years, making me the ruggedly handsome manly man I am today.

First on my list of clean laundry: Hanson.

I can’t stand the song Mmm…Bop. And it’s because of that song that I’ve always felt embarrassed to say that, as of today, I actually enjoy Hanson’s new music!

Melissa got me hooked on their new stuff, and as I’m typing, I can’t stop singing Penny & Me. It’s a great song. They write their own music, play their own instruments and produce their own songs. What more could you ask for in a band?

I like Hanson.

There. I said it. So what? Who cares?

Second item on the list of guilty pleasures is filing my nails.

I don’t like my nails to be crooked and the edges rough like a rock. I like them to be smooth to the scratch, and a little glossy after buffering.

So what? Who cares?

I use women’s hand lotion. I’m a big fan of Magnolia Blossom from Bath & Body Works, and I’ve always loved Cucumber Melon. There’s something about the scents of a woman in hand lotion form. They leave my hands oh-so-soft and keep them moisturized throughout the day.

Here’s a quick shot of RJ Liquor to bury down the hatch for thought; I used to use women’s body wash, more specifically Cream Ribbons by Oil of Olay.

So what? Who cares?

I know almost every word to every Jonas Brothers song. I’ve even seem them in concert with my wife. Their newest CD was their best yet, but just like all boy bands, they had to come to an end.

So what? Who cares?

I don’t like touching door knobs or handles in public…AT ALL. I refuse to use my bare hands to open a door and often have Melissa do the favor. If I’m wearing a long sleeve shirt, I will pull my sleeves over my shirt and open the door that way.

But if I’m in a situation where I absolutely have to touch a door knob, I like to make my way to the nearest bathroom to wash the filth off of my hands after going through the life changing experience.

So what? Who cares?

I hate peanut butter and jelly sandwiches; with a passion. When I was in second grade, my mom would make me a sandwich every day for lunch. I would never eat them, and I often collected them until the end of the week and threw them away at school on a Friday.

One day, a substitute teacher caught me in the act and scolded me for not eating my lunch. I started freaking out and crying, I mean balling! I had to go to the nurse and my grandparents came to pick me up early.

I never had to carry a peanut butter sandwich again.

So what? Who cares?

Speaking of food; I have a hard time getting over my gag-reflexes when it comes to eating food at a pot-luck style party. I have developed this crazy idea in my head that the food has picked up transportation germs as it has travelled from one house to the next.

Plus I’m very picky. So that doesn’t help the Transportation Germ Contagion.

During the holidays, my mom will make food at her house and take it down to my grandmother’s house (no more than .25 miles away). I will not eat that food, even though I enjoy my mom’s cooking.

Call me weird, but so what? Who cares?

I used to wear athletic tracksuits back in elementary school. My favorite one was my Notre Dame Fighting Irish ensemble, even though I had no inkling as to who Notre Dame was, and why the Irish liked fighting.

So what? Who cares?

I used to make my G.I. Joe’s with the kung-fu grip stand watch as bodyguards for my sister’s Barbie’s. It was a tough task, but Ace had to pull through for his plastic ladies.

So what? Who cares?

I was playing with a cigarette lighter in my grandmother’s car when I was a young boy and burnt a hole in her seat (sorry grandmother). To this day, unless she’s reading this post, I’m not sure if she knows or even remembers.

So what? Who cares?

I really enjoy watching Vampire Diaries on The CW. It’s a show full of soft-core vampire sex, blood, werewolves, hybrids and other out-of-this-world shenanigans. It’s almost like True Blood, except you save your eyes the pain of having to see Sooki naked and follow a story that leads you nowhere.

So what? Who cares?

I’m no longer bothered by these things that I have otherwise let bottle up inside of me and spew out like brain matter through a tiny hole in your skull. I just told the world my inner-most secrets that I’ve kept hidden away from many.

Now it’s your turn. Air out some guilty pleasures or past feelings below and we’ll see who’s worse.

“I’m not afraid anymore. Did you hear me? I’m not afraid!” – Kevin McCallister, Home Alone

Regards – RJ

Small Tales of Random Thought, Vol. III

“We gotta get out of this place,” I yelled. The stench from the blood was too much to take.

We were expecting a state-of-the-art facility where one could access quick and easy transportation to local hotspots, but we were in for a rude awakening that fall evening.

We parked our car and headed to what we thought was the entrance. The outside of this “new” facility didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel new like the brochure suggested.

There was a light flickering by the only door we could see; almost to the effect of a strobe light. It was entrancing, a psychedelic feeling as if we lost all control of our senses.

It seemed like time stood still as we slowly crept toward the door. Were our feet moving at a normal walking pace? One can’t recall.

But it was evident something was happening. It was clear to all of us that, on this day, at this moment, something different was in the cool, autumn air.

Melissa reached for the door. Before she could get it halfway open, a man (or what appeared to be a man) entered the doorway. Something was different about this being. He was rather deathly looking, with his white face and veins that you could see bulging from his neck.

He didn’t seem kind. He didn’t seem like the kind of person you would find at a brand new Park N’ Ride facility. But despite his not-so-easy-on-the-eyes look, we felt attracted to him. We felt as though he was the most handsome man we’d ever seen.

His coal-black hair was slicked back to perfection. Two teeth were protruding over his bottom lip. He smelled of Brute Faberge, a scent that stung our noses as we caught a whiff when he opened the door.

“Enter…Enter if you dare, feeble humans,” a dark, deep voice twisted our brains.

“Let’s go, guys!” Kate said.

We were all oozing with excitement, but we didn’t know why. We all looked at each other, then looked at the sketchy entrance to what we thought was the Park N’ Ride; looked at each other again, and decided to enter the decrepit building.

“Yes…Yes…Right this way, my four-course meal.”

Unknowing to what awaited, we made our way inside. We felt as though we had to. It was like falling in love all over again. We couldn’t help our actions, but knew they were for a greater means to an end.

We navigated down a long, dark hallway. There were no lights for at least 200 yards.

“I’m Vladimir, and it’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance,” the coal-black slicked-hair man said. “I’m the owner of this place, and you guys are right on time.”

In the distance, we could hear the thump of bass, pounding our ear drums and making our brains rattle. The sound of acid-infused techno music was blaring from the end of the hallway. Finally, there was light.

“Please, step inside,” Vladimir said.

We followed him into what seemed like a dungeon. There was a foul odor of rotting flesh and blood; blood of all types. Animal, human, you name it. The stench was too overwhelming for Ben’s stomach. He blew chunks all over the floor.

We couldn’t take the smell; the smell of that smell. It entered our noses and had an eerily similar scent of a million rotting corpses piled on top of old diapers, mixed with a fresh batch of dead skunks and methane gas.

We all started blowing chunks. Dry-heaving because our stomachs were empty; we hadn’t yet had dinner.

By the time we finished vomiting, it was clear that this wasn’t the Park N’ Ride. This was something else. Every person in the building was either covered in blood with wounds on their necks, or with blood covering their faces.

That’s when it hit us. We were dealing with the Vampires of White Marsh.

“We gotta get out of this place,” I yelled as I coughed up blood after dry-heaving from a few minutes before.

I could see the blood spew out of my mouth in slow-motion, taking its time as it made its way to the dusty floor.

It was on.

The Vampires of White Marsh sprung from their seats and circled around us like vultures. They all looked the same and they all wanted one thing. Our blood.

“RJ, we gotta get out of this place,” Mel screamed with fear. “I’m scared, husband.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll get us out of here!”

Or so I thought. But how were we to escape the clutches of 20 or so Vampires of White Marsh? It seemed impossible and highly unlikely. The odds were not in our favor.

The Vampires of White Marsh inched closer and closer with their coal-black hair, slicked back like a Yuppie. Brute Faberge filled the air like a Bob Seger concert. They were all tatted with crosses on their spines and we could see their fangs. They were salivating like dogs. They had an insatiable appetite for our blood, and nothing was standing in their way.

WHOOSH!

Suddenly, the floor beneath us dropped. And before we could blink our eyes or have time to comprehend what just happened, our booth on the train started moving.

“Thank you for visiting the White Marsh Park N’ Ride. We hope you enjoyed our newest attraction here, VAMPIRES OF WHITE MARSH 4-D. Please buckle up and enjoy your ride.”

We were terrified, we were covered in puke, and we were brothers.

Regards – R.L. Bean