The Truth About My Brother

In light of a renewed attempt by those in my family to further disparage my reputation, and lest I be considered a coward, I feel it appropriate to share some things about my brother, which one I will not specify. You may look at him and see an attractive, articulate, young professional who has been places and is going even more places, but here’s the side of the story you don’t hear.*

For most of his time in Brazil he had to wash his clothes in the toilet because that was the only water source in his apartments.

He never removes the lint from the lint trap in any dryer he uses. NEVER.

He has a poster of Ryan Seacrest in his room. He also has a photoshopped, framed picture of himself hugging Ryan. Draw your own conclusions.

He has paid full price for every piece of clothing he owns.

He went through a Chuck Norris stage when he grew a beard and tried to roundhouse kick everybody he met in the face. Even little kids!

No matter how simple they make Geiko, he still can’t use it.

His favorite sport is Soccer, which is un-American. He was even more interested in it when he got back from his trip to Europe, which would make any reasonable person suspect that he made terrorist ties there.

He doesn’t like seafood. I think that’s because he’s racist against Asians.

He has dated many lawyers. I suspect that this is because he is engaged in illegal activities (maybe the terrorist activities implied above?) and will need the representation. Think about it: who else keeps in touch with their ex-girlfriends? Nobody.

When I was around 10 he convinced me that our dog wasn’t a dog but actually a midget in a dog costume that my parents paid to be my friend because I was such a loser. I cried for years.

He knows a wrong way to eat a Reese’s, but not the same way Chuck Norris knows, because my brother discovered this way while trying to eat it one of the right ways.

He drives a motorcycle. I challenge anyone reading this to name one member of society who was productive while driving a motorcycle. Does that make him a lowlife?

He also drives an Acura. Are you a hard-A pretending to be a metrosexual yuppie or a metrosexual yuppie posing as a hard-A? Make up your mind, nameless brother of mine!

He once dated a horse. Not a girl who looked like a horse, an actual horse. I won’t embarrass him any further by saying who dumped whom.

He shampoos his hair and then puts stuff in his hair that makes it look like he didn’t. It doesn’t take an expert in supply-chain management to figure out how inefficient that is.

He doesn’t know when to use a half-windsor and full-windsor tie knot.

He eats a whole lot of candy. He started eating candy when somebody told him it was made by handicapped children in sweatshops.

Last I counted, he owns around ten watches. I think he may have obsessive compulsive disorder—why else would he want so many ways to know exactly what time it is?

He shaves his arms. He would have you believe that he does it for looks, but it’s really because he has no emotions and doesn’t want anybody to notice that he never gets goosebumps, even when he sees puppies die.

*At least one of the reasons you never hear this side of the story is because it is at least partially made up by me. But some of these things could conceivably be true, and in fact one or more of them is.

A Magical Night

Last week I had an amazing date. This entry contains my most intimate feelings, and I’m only publishing this because I know that the girl this is about will never ever read this. To be fair, not all of these things actually happened under a narrow interpretation of the word “happened,” but when you think about it, what is reality but a bunch of things you believe to be true? And if I tell myself they happened so many times that I convince myself, what’s the difference between that and something that truly took place?

From the beginning she was so mysterious to me. Invisible flying tiger mysterious. So of course I asked her out. Man, if she found out I compared her to an invisible flying tiger I would just die.

First, we went to Chili’s. She ordered a chicken sandwich with fries. I know, a sensual combination. She was so suggestive in the way she ate, I had a hard time finishing all my tortillas. But I was hungry so I did. She even offered me some of her fries—a well-known girl code for “take me now.” It took some self-restraint in the face of such licentiousness on her part, but I was determined to maintain my gentlemanly reputation (the last thing I want is my number written on the institute ladies’ bathroom wall underneath “call for a good time”). Of course she only ate half of her sandwich, which allowed her to leave the other half in my car so that its erotic aroma could further tease my emotions. She asked me several questions about my past relationships, some of which would make a sailor blush. Again, if you know her, don’t let a single word of this get back to her because she will kill me.

The next stage of the attempted seduction occurred at the miniature golf course. It was there that she confessed to me, in the most direct of terms, that she was once a nanny in Germany. It was as if she had tapped into my innermost thoughts and found my wildest fantasy, which involves a German nanny among other things. She then let me win the game by a large margin (another calculated turn-on, no doubt). Thank goodness she’ll never see what I am saying, regardless of the fact that it’s on the internet for the entire world to see. That would be very embarrassing.

Then we watched the go-carts at the track, betting on who would win. Again, she let me win, but she did it in a mystifying way. She placed her bet on a car that was ahead at the beginning and well behind by the end, while I bet on a car that was behind and eventually pulled ahead. I felt that this was her subtle way of further informing me that her feminine desires were a mystery, and while a man may gain her favor for a time, it is entirely possible that another, faster moving one can easily take his place. Again, I can’t state emphatically enough that I don’t want her to read this, even though she’s one of my facebook friends and the link to this blog is right there on my page and I told her that I was going to post an entry about our date.

At her doorstep, she told me that I was the most amazing man she had ever met. She said she couldn’t have even possibly dreamed of meeting a man as attractive as I was to her. She wanted to know the next time she would see me so that she could begin to count the minutes. In the spirit of a huntress she went in for a kiss but I drew strength from some unknown source and pulled away. If this is going anywhere, first and foremost I need her respect. I couldn’t help thinking as I drove home in my intoxicating chicken sandwich-scented car that I had gained it that night.

Baby You are, For All Intents and Purposes, the Most Amazing Woman I’ve Ever Met

This one’s dedicated to a relatively special lady. She knows who she is:

Baby, you’re virtually breathtaking. Almost the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve seen very few eyes as enchanting as yours and feel similarly about your lips.

The mere thought of you sends shivers most of the way down my spine. While it doesn’t quite make my palms sweat, it gives them a definite moisture that was not there before. Even writing this right now, while I technically can stop smiling, it requires a focused effort, and I admit that I’m still eating and sleeping at a healthy level, but I have been doing both a little bit less than usual since meeting you.

You occupy a portion of my thoughts that is near a majority of those thoughts dedicated to women, which is a majority of my thoughts. That’s a pretty big chunk if you think about it. Did that make sense? Being almost in love is a funny thing, because it doesn’t make sense unless you think about it a bit. Just today, I hardly noticed most of the other women around me. In fact, the only ones that were able to catch my eye were, well, very hot. Believe me when I say that I only have eyes for you and a select few others.

Do I have a chance with you? That almost-consuming question has quasi-lingered, rendering my mind still useful, but not for as many things as it could focus on before. If you are unsure I would do or attempt many things to win your affection. I would ride up to 75 miles on a bicycle. For your heart I would run 4 miles, provided I could take a break in the middle. I would even climb a mountain for you depending on my schedule, the height and how my ankle is treating me (a big “if” lately, but that’s for another entry).
Please put me out of my discomfort and tell me! If your answer is no, I certainly understand and will have to figure out how to live without you. If you do feel the same way, however, this could be the beginning of an above-average relationship, one in which I, after some consideration, promise that I will be there for you for a lot, if not most, of the rest of your life.

Accusations that I use a Thesaurus are Preposterous, Outlandish, and Downright Not Sensible (Which is an Antonym to Preposterous, by the Way)

A comment to my most recent entry contained a conjecture, also known as a supposition or a deduction, that I use the aid of a thesaurus to artificially augment, or enhance, the range of my lexicon. I categorically, positively and unconditionally deny making use of any such thing.

Such accusations are unfounded, groundless, unsupported, baseless, unsubstantiated, speculative, tenuous, and unproven at best. They are malicious, hateful, spiteful, malevolent, mean, nasty, cruel and wicked at worst. The only way that somebody could offer this termination would be if they were suffering from a lowliness complex or some advanced (though not irrational) form of sibling enmity. The only people who would believe such an insipid claim would have to be gullible, naïve and easy to fool.

I’ll sever to the pursuit: such a distrustful Thomas has put me in somewhat of a grab-22. I mean, since I resolutely, doggedly and decisively stick to my firearms it probably seems like I got up on the mistaken region of the cot. If, on the other give, I had ignored the claim, my silence could have been misconstrued as a tacit confession or coming-clean that the feline had been let out of the sack, my fast route to blogger-stardom would be compromised, threatened, endangered, in jeopardy, vulnerable, exposed, in danger, or even at risk. But the dollar stops here and while I will in the future let sleeping canines loll regarding this untruth, I would appreciate being given the advantage of the uncertainty.

The Blind Date

I'm in favor of blind dates for the following reasons:

Unlike other cultures, where there are blind marriages, the closest our individualist culture has come to allowing others to make one's own mating decisions is the blind date. It's hit or miss, so it's risky (definitely more exciting than a normal date). I have had a lot of fun on blind dates. My brother was set up with his wife by friends, and she's way cool. On a blind date, more than in any other social situation, I know for a fact that another person whom I have never met is single, looking, and is giving me a chance. I will probably have things in common with her (at least the third party thinks so), and am in the same approximate league. I can get away with making the date cheap, because I don't know the person.

I'm convinced that life would be easier if the dating scene were restricted to blind dating. Think about it--shyness would not be a factor and, unlike dating somebody from work, a class or a social group, there will be very little awkwardness afterward if things don't work out, since the two people would rarely see each other. In short, the cost:benefit ratio is just so much lower than with traditional dating.

What's the worst that can happen? Spending an evening and a little bit of money with somebody I don't really click with. It beats watching a movie with my roommate. Don't get me wrong, it would be an exhausting experience if it were more than once every week or two, but I can't think of a more effortless way to branch out.

I have a blind date this week and you know what we're doing? I'm taking her to a friend's birthday party and, as you may have guessed, there will be no cover charge.

Welcome to my Blog

To anybody reading this:

Two of my brothers told me to check out their blogs and, never to be outdone, much less by siblings (I am after all a middle child), here's mine. You'll find my grammar, diction and spelling impeccable, and the scope of my vocabulary more expansive than either of theirs.