Stressin

Stress sucks. These years are supposed to be the best part of my life, and instead I find myself waiting for them to get over. I want normalcy..

Which is ironic, in a way, because I am slowly realizing that no matter what I am doing, stress will always be there waiting. It will change masks, if you will, but stress in and of itself will always be there.

Thankfully, I opted out of a little extra stress I was making for myself by quitting my second job. I worked with them for about two weeks, and found out that there was no way I could juggle 19 credits, my main job at the restaurant, and being the president of the culinary club and succeed at all of them with keeping my mind. Plus the added stress caused by my favorite, you lovely ladies out there.

When I get married, new kinds of stress. New problems, new solutions. I know I will always come out on top though. I think that the best way lately I have found to deal is to just be confident. At the restaurant, when 20 tables are sat at once, I take a deep breath and just do it. And I almost always do everything well when I do that. At home I have found that I need to stop being the problem solver for everyone and jut let people live their own lives and make their own mistakes. Same goes for friends as well. I don't really know how people should go about their lives any more than I do about how to go about mine. I am always going to learn and grow. At school I have trouble displaying my confidence, because I fear that it will make me seem like an asshole. I know I CAN be an asshole when I want to be, but it's totally different than always being one because of how I am acting.

I don't know why I am truly writing this, but I need to explain to someone how I am feeling, and quite honestly, nobody is awake to call at this time of night. So I blog to vent. This has been my first official vent blog.

So to all of my friends out there who need to deal with stress, just be confident in your ability to do it, and it will get done.

Lazy Moose

So Fox warned me that if I couldn't keep up on twitter I would struggle to keep up to date on my blog. Of course, I accepted this challenge. Moose that do not accept challenges are held in disregard at the high council of moose. Often times this leads to exile. Lonely moose are irrational and often experience extreme mood swings.

I digress. But the point is, Fox was right! I started off great, blogging as often as I could. But then life picked up pace a little bit, and writing was placed on the back burner. I often times would be at work and hear something and be like "I should blog about that..."

But I didn't. I have been a lazy moose. This is my informally formal apology. I won't actually say I am sorry, I was doing other things, but in retrospect, I probably could have written blogs in some of my down time. I probably had great ideas too! But I cannot prove that, because i have the attention span of a sugar addicted chipmunk watching a manatee. Manatee's are like the sloths of the ocean. Just so you follow. Fun story: I did not know how to spell manatee until I wrote this blog.

Chipmunk: WOW! LOOK AT THAT MANATEE!!

Manatee: *doing something as if it were in slow motion, even though its probably at full speed* *its probably eating* *and its meal is probably something nearly as boring as the manatee* *but thats impossible, because unless it were eating a sloth nothing could be as boring as a manatee* *this has gone on way to far*

Chipmunk: WOW! THIS SUCKS! I'M GOING TO PISS OFF SOME CAMPERS BY GETTING JUST CLOSE ENOUGH TO LET THEM TOUCH ME AND THEN SCAMPER THE HELL AWAY EVEN THOUGH THEY AREN'T EVEN REMOTELY FRIGHTENING ME!!!!

Seriously chipmunks, just let me freaking pick your cute selves up. I wont eat you. I'll probably give you marshmallows.

In other words, I forgot my ideas to blog about.

BUT NO LONGER MY FRIENDS! I promise I will try to blog more often. I hope that some of you enjoy this as much as I do. It help me to jut get ideas written down. Makes my head less cluttered.

So heres an update:

I don't want to be a chef when I grow up. I want to be a psychologist. And that is great because then I can stay in school longer and stall growing up officially as much as possible.

I may own a restaurant somewhere down the road, but I don't want the headaches that come with doing so for the majority of my adult life, I want something better, and dammit, I'm going to take it.

I am going to finish culinary school as a personal quest to prove to myself that I can commit to doing something and finish it.

Wow, the went from light and gently humorous to like a new life motto. Didn't mean to do that to you.

That was just since my last blog post... so like... 2 months ago. It has been an interesting two months. I have to go to class now. I will write more later.

My Sisser.

The other day I was mowing the lawn. This is a task that I perform with "noncommittal abhorrence."

Meaning I loathe it with almost every fiber of my being, but I still do it out of fear of social repercussions that come if someone in the neighborhood does not cut their grass. Once someone (and in my block it is ALWAYS the same people) cuts the grass, they look around expectantly to their neighbors to see when they will follow suite. I think this eventually just turns into a repetitive pattern. But being the person that I am, I do not like these types of patterns. I feel like I should be able to choose when my lawn is cut, rather than the Jones's from house 3981 across the street. Often times I disobey the "schedule"...

This is not what I want to blog about, so I'm stopping there before it becomes a post about a guy blogging about something that he did not intentionally set out to blog about and throw any and every reader into a spiral of hateful spite towards me. I don't want to upset you in that way.

No, I was however mowing the lawn the other day and I was thinking about my childhood. It was fun, and made the task I was doing a little more bearable than it often is. I then realized that my twenty years on this earth were a gift, as there have been a plethora of times when I should have died. There are a few times when I had accidents that were of my own consequence, but that really was not what struck me. I am, of course, referring to my being murdered by my sister and/or brother.

There was the time when I was probably about five, and she was six. We were close in age, so we kind of grew up together. Firstly, we went into my brothers room when he wasn't home. He was like eleven at that time, and apparently there are top secret things that go on in eleven year olds room's. No matter, the point is, he forbade us to go in there.. so naturally we went in there. He probably would have better luck if he just left the door open and welcomed us in. What's the point in going in there, then. Secondly, we were jump-boxing. I don't know if that is actually a sport, it is no Dangerball, but it involved jumping on his bed and play punching at each other while jumping. This was smart. The details are a little fuzzy for me, as I cannot recall if we had been doing this for a while and then I punched her two top front teeth out, or if I simply didn't realize that we were only supposed to fake punch, but yeah, I did that. I think she was fine with it, as they were both loose anyway, but naturally, when someone gets a tooth punched out, they bleed. Not only do they bleed, but they scream. Imagine being a mother that is just upstairs while your two normally clam children play in the basement and then having your young daughter fly up the steps screaming and having blood run down her front. Probably pretty traumatic for her. Blood got on my brothers bedspread. I tried washing it with like water in a bucket, but that only made it painfully more obvious that someone had been in my brothers room that day, and that they had bled and tried to hide it. I am lucky my mom was home at the time he returned from school, or I am pretty sure he would have had my head.

Then there was the time that I caught the biggest fish of my life. We were up north with our neighbors, and were out on a boat with my mother. Normally we try to catch panfish, but suddenly, a huge fish of some sort jumped out of the water and tried to swallow my mom's bobber. So, me being impulsive, change out my normal fish hook and worm setup for a lure, and whip that pole behind my head and flung it. Would have been a great throw, but it never really made if off of the boat. It did, however, make it right into the top of my sister's skull. I am a good swimmer, but not sure how i would have done with her holding me under...

Best part of that story, actually, is when we finally got home, I guess it didn't really hurt anymore, so she naturally wanted it out, and she was yelling at my mom and our neighbors to just "rip it out" but none of us could do it, more out of fear for her than anything. So, after going to the hospital and waiting for a long time, we got a large man, who was our doctor in. He numbed her skull partly and that big man needed every ounce of strength in his muscles to push that hook through, clip the barb off, and then work it back out. I'm pretty sure if we had done that we would have hurt her terribly. Oh, and while at the Ashland hospital, we heard a conversation through the curtain that almost made me laugh aloud. Apparently there was a man there with some back pain. Apparently, when you fall off your roof it hurts your back. The part that made m laugh was when the patient was like, " Well, the last time I did this it was like an 8 (I assume looking at the pain rating chart), but this time it is like a seven and a half." You'd think that one might be slightly more cautious when up on a roof after they had fallen off once, but this man was a trooper. Anyway, point is, I am amazed my sister didn't drown me that day. She told me once that she was very close to at least pushing me in, but who knows.

So I found this post I made a few weeks ago but apparently forgot to publish... this actually not the one I wrote today, but you might be getting a double dose of postage today. And no... I am not going to pay for you to mail things.. I mean.. well.. you get it.

Dangerball. It is as legendary as it sounds.

I am sweating. Not from sex, mind you. No. The reason for this sweat is as a result of the most epic duel between a Badger and a Moose this world has or probably ever will see. This duel is Dangerball.

Dangerball can take place in any setting, indoors or outdoors. Time of day, race, sex, and or religious affiliation do not change the rules, or prevent any from playing. Irish people may be more apt at this game due to the amount of physical abuse they normally can take on. I am basing this solely on the antics I have witnessed in Boondock Saints.

So, obviously, you are now interested in playing your very own game of Dangerball. Here's how.

Step One. Strap on your big boy pants. This game is not for the weak.

Step Two. Locate a place in your house/yard that will be your arena. This place should have two flat(ish) surfaces that are to be used as your base. Neutral platforms may be added for an interesting twist.

Step Three. FIND A FUCKING EXERCISE BALL. I only had one, if any of you experiment with multiple sized/number of exercise ball(s) please let me know your results.

Step Four. Somewhere adjacent to your platforms, set up a "goal" This must be jut about the size of the exercise ball(s), and not easy to have them land in.

Step five. Place the exercise ball in the center of the two platforms, and take your platform. a race to the ball determines first possession.

You are now ready to play. Here is how to win.

A win may be achieved by scoring 21 points. Using the exercise ball to knock your opponent's ass off of his platform earns you a point. Obviously, you must be in control of the ball to do so. Gain control of the ball by catching it. If you catch it, you earn a point. Alternatively, if you dodge COMPLETELY, you also earn a point. You may pin the ball to gain control of it, but no points are awarded.

The game automatically ends if and when:

1.) an opponent yields in pain, exhaustion, or due to the need to change their drawers from laughing so much.

2.) whenever the ball enters the goal after ricocheting off of your opponents body. This also awards you 10 points. Much like Quidditch, when the Snitch is caught, the game ends, but it does not necessarily declare you the winner. If you are behind by more than ten, you do not want to score the goal.

Obviously, if you die, the game is also over. Try not to die.

Bases. These are important. Taking over the opponents base may be done while the opponent is occupying a neutral platform. However, if your opponent takes control of your base while you are moving to occupy his base, he occupies your base. If, however you reach you opponents base while he/she is occupying a neutral zone, that player forfeits his base. He must now stay upon that neutral platform until game end. Your opponent may now go from base to base as he pleases, and shots can be taken at any time.

This game was invented by Badger and Moose, June 28 2010 at 1:45 A.M. Please, unlike all those lame TV game show games, TRY THIS AT HOME.

Clubbing

I cannot truthfully say this for sure due to my age, but I believe that clubbing is extremely different in Europe, more specifically Germany, than it is in the States.

For example, in the States, it is my general opinion that girls go there to dance, and guys go there to (try to) get girls. Girls stand in a small circle of her friends, sometimes surrounding their personal belongings and shoes, and they dance. Guys spend the rest of their night trying to find a way "in" that circle. Not literally. Just maybe right behind. Ha. But it is difficult to do this. Again, I have never actually been to a "real" American club. The one I have been to was one of maybe 7 in Wisconsin that allow people under 21 in. Obviously they cannot drink, but they can go about doing the aforementioned activities. Actually I just remembered that in this particular club there were like 6 or 7 guys that could dance. Like really well... so the roles were kind of reversed. Was interesting to see all the girls I went with trying their best moves to get the guys attention.. anyway I digress.

Germany's clubs, at least the two I got to see, are more about having a fucking good time. For everyone. There were like 4 or 5 different dance floors at the one in Berlin.. all playing different music. So for the people who didn't want to bleed from the ears to heavy techno could go all the way across the club and hear all of the latest rap and R&B, passing by the karaoke area and folk song/stripper rooms. No, they weren't really strippers, I guess. They wouldn't accept money at any rate, like more of a professional dancer. I must admit, there is something fun and yet frightening about having a half naked woman pour Jagermeister down your throat. MY favorite ares was the folk songs area. In both clubs... there was a floor and several bars devoted to songs that everyone (except me) knew the lyrics to. So I'd be out on the floor with a bunch of people I did not necessarily know, shouting "YA"! when they did as we all drank excessively. It was fantastic. I don't know what most of the words were, but they made everyone else happy as hell, and so I was also happy.

I did not party EVERY night, but I did go out three times. I had a blast every time. Except maybe the end of the last night in Berlin, when I had to act as a shepherd for a whole herd of drunken and disgruntled people and get them back home safe at 6 in the morning. Yes. I partied right through the night and came out of the club with the sun in my eyes. I scratched that one off my bucket list. I have never actually seen that movie, but I think that I have the concept right. Even the fact that a member of our group peed right in the middle of the street in the rising daylight cannot make me feel less proud of myself for that.

Germany

Today has been amazingly uneventful, yet for some reason I feel like I have been busy all day and need to go on vacation. This is probably due to the fact that I just came back from a two week trip to Germany. It was a fast, very eventful two weeks. In fact, getting picked up from the Frankfurt airport by Jan and being told by the same that the Autobahn was "Like war" seems decades ago. I do not think that I have the ability to culminate all of my experiences there into one blog post, it would be ungodly long. I will try to keep it at least decently readable.

I have never before flown for more than 3 hours. Actually I think the only time prior to this trip the furthest I have gone by plane was Florida. I was six, and my mom was like "Just go to sleep." And I did. I slept the whole way there, apparently... I do not remember it really... was a long time ago after all. Actually the only thing I truthfully do remember form that trip was hugging Micky Mouse, who in all probability was a guy sweating his balls off in a giant mouse suit, constantly teetering on the edge of madness. But, he did his job. I was happy. I think.

The flight over the Atlantic in and of itself is only eight hours. Due to the time changes though, my human body was awake from 7:30 on Wednesday morning and arrived to the school at roughly 9:00 the following morning in Darmstadt, Hesse. That is the federal state where Darmstadt is located in Germany. We were served what in America we would not really consider breakfast. But it was definitely breakfast. Sandwiches, Chili con carne, and assorted beverages. This was one of my realizations, breakfast does not need to consist of what in America we call "breakfast foods." Don't get me wrong, I love a good bacon and eggs on a Sunday morning as much as the next guy, but I just had a preconceived notion that this was a universal thing. Not always true. Just letting you know that, so when you do travel, it won't rock your reality of the world to the core.

I wanted to sleep, but they mentioned drinking beer, and I perked up immediately. So we went to a beer garden. So my host, and good friend, Christian took us there. Sort of. We wound up walking around looking for this place for like an hour. It was with good company, however, and the time was well spent anyway. Christian went to a different school that the rest of the students, So he was not familiar with the area where we were going, specifically. It was fun anyway, and made the beer even more enjoyable.

Beer deserves its own paragraph, and I am giving it one. I feel that my experiences with what I called good beer in Wisconsin cannot even be compared to the stuff that is in Germany. It is so rich and flavorful. It has a different consistency and a totally different effect on your body than beer here does. It is also very filling. The thought of drinking light beer, I think, makes them either laugh or cry. It is a heritage of Germany. Christian was telling me that most cities have their own breweries. And if you owned a bar in that city, you served that brewery's beer. It is a thing of pride. And I very much so enjoyed getting to know that part of their culture. Beer tastes, looks, and even smells better over there than almost anything I have found in Wisconsin. It was jut great. Also, at the beer garden I met Vivian. She was probably the person who helped me adjust to being away from home the most and also easily. We immediately got along like we'd known each other for a long time, at least I feel this way. We liked a lot of the same things, and I have many of inside jokes with her from just this one week. I am happy I got to know her through this program. It is also because of a bet I made with her that I will be learning German in less than or around 3 months and 25 days. Anyone who can aid me in this task, please do.

I have just realized that I want to tell every detail that my mind can retain and grasp from this trip. This may be an insanely long post, and I will have to definitely divide it into parts. Due to my jet lag, I have very little energy to continue telling about this trip, and this is only the first half of day one. I will continue after I find some energy.

After the beer garden, Christian took me back to his home to introduce me to

The Instabarf

Whole working some time ago, I do believe that i discovered a new term, and possibly something new entirely.
Now I am not saying that it is not possible that others that have traveled the course of this world have not encountered this prior to my life, but it's new to me.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the Instabarf.

When reading the word itself, an overwhelming urge to grimace may come across you. I encourage this.

Let me break it down for you:
I arrived to work like around 1:50 on a chilly Tuesday afternoon. Mountain Dew in hand, I entered the door and began my normal tasks to open up the restaurant. Turned on the fans, ovens, grill, and brought up the meat, fish and poultry items that were taken to the downstairs cooler overnight and for the weekend. Everything is wrapped still at this point, so I continued to set up the kitchen. Little did I realize that life was about to change.
Things went perfectly fine until I came to the fish. More specifically the walleye. It is a type of fish that is typically a bit scented, just is the nature of the meat. However, something must have happened to these particular fillets to cause this to happen:

When I opened the saran wrapped top of the container, the concept of "bad smell" was completely banished from my mind. The odor that crept up my nose, to this day, still makes me cringe. I cannot truthfully compare it to any bad smell that anyone can relate to; it took up a category of its own.

Now usually when someone vomits, there is a cognitive process that goes on inside your mind. That little voice in your head is like:

Little voice:*uh oh*
Stomach: *gurgle*

It is the *gurgle* that usually cues us that a particular system in your bodies is about to reverse gears and cause some problems for; you, the nearest surface to be projected on, the person behind you on Raging Bull, etc.
However, in this case, no cognitive process went on in my brain. There was no warning, red lights, or thoughts to get to a toilet or garbage can. It was smell,vomit. That's it. No middle ground here.

In the aftermath of the instabarf, there was a puzzled look upon my co-workers faces, followed by what I call the 'guy-laugh'. It generally is followed be things that are not in any way particularly funny. When someone tells you something that is pretty sad, but for whatever reason, you laugh. Now It is not like a verbose, obnoxious laugh, its more like a smirk with some noise coming out. It is also usually followed by something like "That sucks." I only call it a 'guy laugh' because most of the women in my life are a little more empathetic towards people that have just had a unfortunate thing happen to them. Let's see an example, because after reading this, I am slightly confused:

Monkey: *goes to take a bite of a sloppy joe, and the back end leaks and falls on his brand new shirt*

Me: *guy laugh* "That sucks..."

Whereas if Monkey was eating with Fox nearby, it may have gone something more like this:

Monkey: *goes to take a bite of a sloppy joe, and the back end leaks and falls on his brand new shirt*

Fox: "Oh no!" *goes on to explain a remedy for how she would eliminate said stain from her appearance, that I did not hear due to the 'guy-laugh' and then turning to examine my own clothing due to my ADD.



Editors note: Since Monkey is a relatively neat eater, and cares a lot about his clothing and appearance in general, this probably never actually happened. It was also likely that even if I was not eating a sloppy joe, there was a stain from one on my person. *shakes head sadly*

I digress. But yeah. So they did the guy laugh thing, and I had to clean up a mess...

All I can say is thank the Lord above that I said no to the tuna salad my mom offered to make me prior to leaving to work...

The Game

When I was in college at Concordia, I roomed with Monkey.

Unlike other best friends that are like, "Hey man, lets room together at college!" And the other is like " FUCK YES!!" and whatnot. Then six months later they are plotting ways to make each other either die, or move out.

That didn't happen, thankfully, with Josh and I. Even after one year of rooming together, we remain pretty much brothers. I'm 95% certain the doctor just messed up on some paperwork.

Even though we did not wind up resenting each others existences, there was still some tension. I am also certain that this is normal whenever two or more humans are required to share personal space. For example, as a moose, I am pretty much unorganized and messy. Looking around my room right now, I can see that is pretty much the same. Josh (Monkey) on the other hand... very cut/straight kind of kid. Likes his clothing in drawers and hangers, or dirty ones in a hamper, paperwork in folders and... well, he likes his shit nice. Lets put it that way.

So day one of rooming together. We get all our furniture, clothes, beds, desks and miscellaneous personal attire adjusted. We are tired, sweaty and satisfied with ourselves for being in college and getting settled in. I decide to enjoy one of my favorite snacks. I like cheerios right from the box, and water. Not mixed, but just water to wash them out of my teeth and into my belly. It fills me with glee. So I go about doing this. I don't remember if he went to shower or to get some food or something, but either way he left for some time.

During my grazing on the horde of cheerios (seriously it was like one of those double boxes) I spilled a few....
Okay like a lot...
Alright, alright probably like half the box.

Anyway, I picked up like as many as I could see and reach with ease. I'm lazy. What can you do.
Nothing really happened that night. I am sure that the monkey saw the Cheerios and just didn't care at the time. He was also tired and wanting to be lazy at the time, I am sure.

Around nine in the morning, I was probably already awake, but he goes and gets our shitty vacuum. I think he vacuumed for like twelve hours. And these Cheerios, needless to say, upset him on a very deep level. I may have even damaged his pituitary. I am still investigating this.

No matter how hard he tried that day, Cheerios just kept showing up. And not like far in the corner, they'd seriously just morph into the middle of our floor. Honestly, even I can't explain this part. It's like they were in our shoes or something, and then whenever we stepped over the middle of the room, they decided to fall out. It even bothered me a little bit honestly.

So Monkey decided to have a conversation with me about this. At least I like to think he did. It makes me entertained. Here's a brief synopsis our this conversation.

Monkey: "Fuckin' Cheerios!!!"

Me: "Yeah."

So my mind began to work. I knew that he wasn't terribly upset about them, but he frowned at this Cheerio morphing thing that kept happening. I also enjoy pranks. So I decided to play a little game with him. Throughout the semester I was going to strategically place Cheerios among our dorm room. Not like large amounts of them. Just like one here, one there. In the shower, behind his Kleenex box. Etc.

Now I know that this was at least 35% asshole, but it was just too fun to see him go a little spaztic about finding a Cheerio in his copy of "The Canterbury Tales" on page 53. Priceless in my humble opinion. You can't buy that kind of entertainment. Well, you probably can, but porn shops are pretty gross.

I mean there must be semen everywhere. At least I think so.

So that is pretty much the game. It is not very elaborate or intricate, but it definitely provided some laughs and entertaining events. And even with all of those Cheerios, we still don't hate each other. Matter of fact the kid is still my best friend. No doubt about that. Not sure how he will react to this post, since I don't think I ever told him about the game yet.

Maybe Crispix next?

Ode to Snow

This morning began like most others. I spent the most of the very early morning stumbling my way across the world wide web in search of the obscure, horrifying and entertaining. I succeeded. By the way, I'm not really doing an ad for stumbleupon.com, but if you ever decide that that f-word that consumes peoples lives (and very possibly souls) isn't enough to keep you entertained anymore during your free time, I would go to this site, and sign up for it. It's free, and you basically click little things that you are interested in. Like I picked music, online games, funny, cooking, and a few others. Then it puts a toolbar in your browser and you hit stumble and BAM! Be entertained for hours without actually having to think of things to type, Stumble will do it for you. I'm almost certain this will triple your usage, oh great Stumble. Now pay me! ;P

OK so I dislike that I cannot tab to indent on this. Stupid.

Anyway, I then went to bed, because my computer crashed. I woke up to my alarms about four hours later. The only way to actually drag myself, actually probably any moose, out of a bed is with a bare minimum of three alarms. I use five. And they are strategically placed at all corners of my room. In college, I usually didn't need this, because I roomed with Monkey, and he almost always got me up in the morning. Or the sheer desire to play WoW all day did. Or melodic thuds from the room down the hall to the right. One of those three. Fun fact #1 about Monkey: When he is like just past falling asleep, he will do one of two things, the first being shaking his head very rapidly on the pillow he happens to be lying on. The second is kicking his feet like a kid that is just learning how to swim. Makes me laugh every time. It also let me know when I could go about playing the game I invented in college. I don't think he knew it was a game, but I'll probably make a post entitled "The Game" later, so try not to be confused about it for now.

Anyway, both of those paragraphs are a result of pure over tiredness and my English Toffee cappuccino wearing off. So like I was saying, to get a moose out of bed, place the bare minimum of three alarm clocks around the room so that the moose actually has to get up out of bed, find the source of the cacophony, shut it off, and then go back to bed. This takes at least three attempts before it will actually stay out of bed, mostly because he is too tired to deal with any more frustration in anywhere from 3-7 minutes. So that is how I got up, angry and bitter, (don't worry, I am always angry and bitter of my alarm barrage in the morning) I went and turned on my light, which did nothing, because I broke it 3 months ago and am still convinced that if i really really want it to the bulbs will magically replace themselves. So I stumbled ( literally, not another website promo) to my blinds and yanked them open and started my day with a profanity. It began with 's'.

My entire lawn was covered in snow. Not like the one possible inches that the weather lady said... like four Effing inches. I was just mad. This year in Wisconsin, we had too much snow anyway. And as I'm getting older I am realizing how much I hate long winters. Like we had this amazing March near the end, like 70-80 degrees a week straight. It's like God is up there going "Oh, you wanted spring?? Well, I changed my mind. You get second winter! And I was just sad and depressed, cuz heavy wet snow was destroying my hopes of getting to school early and finishing my homework probably. Or just going online and watching fat kids fall. The
drive to school was slow, I was late, and I failed at getting my homework done. I also almost went in the ditch.

So in class before we went into the lab, I made a simple note, and opened the
window and threw it in the snow. Only reason being is that I don't think snow has a P.O. box... It went like this.

Dear snow, you truly really suck.

You made me slip and slide today in my big brown truck. I hope you melt and that no more of you will pelt my window in the morning. I almost died because of you, head on collisions are not fun. If you had a head, I would shoot it with a gun.

Srsly. GTFO.

So anyway in class we made a bunch of cool garnishes and centerpieces...

Fuck. By the way, Internet, I am in culinary school. I am also pretty musically inclined. I am also single. (Ladies, line up over there.) Just playin. I also work at THE BEST restaurant in all of Fond du Lac, Theo's Cream City Chophouse. Seriously, if you ever happen to find yourself in Fond du Lac, you should try to get there. Ill make you food. :) (we do have a website... I think if you Googled the name, it will show up.

Anyway so like I was saying once I figure out how to post images on the blog, I think I will show you jsut exactly what my ADD and Garde Manger do when mixed for four hours. It was kind of awesome. No, actually it was straight up awesome.

I will be making another post later tonight about something that happened to me at work yesterday. But I have to return to work and stuff. Wish me luck! I just got a raise and a promotion last week :).

Things that crossed my mind at 12:32 in the morning. And Flying Squirrel Mullets.

I have never given serious thought to starting a blog. Not once, ever. I have however attempted multiple times to journal. You know, like pen and paper... inks, notebooks and and ice bath for my goofy hand. Seriously, I write like a lefty with my right hand. No joke, I freaked out a little bit with both excitement and curiosity when I discovered that. I was like... what else do lefty's do differently. Do they throw a ball at a different angle and curvature? Bowl with different fingers?

I think this merits investigation. Not by me though. See the first thing you must learn about a moose, like myself, is that we simply just do not care. Honestly internet, short of you intruding into my personal space, prodding me with a stick, or actively hunting me, I will pretty much leave you to your business. This lack of care often leads to procrastination. I cannot tell you how many times I have looked into a mirror and seen foliage hanging off my antlers (things stuck in my hair, teeth) or like just a sopping wet mane and coat and just been like. "yeah, that will go away by itself." I also an a bit passive aggressive, and I think that is pretty standard when it comes to us moose. You see me all like chill in the little pond thing doing moose stuff and then you get closer and its like.. well I'm not sure how it would go but I think something like:

Interloper: Oh, wow, that's a moose!

Me: I hope he doesn't try to come closer and investigate my moose stuff.

Interloper: I'm going to get all up in his moose stuff!

Me: Shit.

Interloper: "Hey Moose! What are you doing??"

Me: "Nothing." JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!! (in my head)

Interloper: "Looks like you're carving obscenities into the door of your locker, there moose."

Me: "Yup, now please leave me alone."

Interloper: "Can I join? I got a real nice obscenity carving tool here...

Me interrupting: GO AWAY BEFORE I USE THAT HANDY OBSCENITY CARVING TOOL TO MAKE A SHANK OUT OF YOUR SPINE!!!

Okay, well I only actually say that last part in my head. Because I'm passive-aggressive, and if I actually said that, well, its not really passive aggressive. Unless i misunderstand the term. I usually just cut the person off in a must subtler way, then make them pay for their interloping over time.

Sometimes I wish I had the moose balls to just say things like that. It could really simplify things if I could immediately let the interloper that no, I would not like him to join in on my obscenity carvings on MY locker door, and that it would bring me great joy to make a shank out of their spine. But if I did that, then I wouldn't really be a moose. I'd be like a bear. Cuz bears don't fuck around with interlopers. Something like this?

Bear sees Interloper.

Interloper dies.

I don't know if any of that was necessary. The point is, just let me carve my obscenities. I promise they are probably not about you.

Another thing you must get used to (apparently) is me jumping from rural ponds with moose to modern high school hallways, college dorms, medieval combat society fields, and urban locales. Probably just for this first post, and since I have ADD, I probably wont keep it up for very long.

All I wanted to do thus far is explain a little bit about myself and why I am called moose by my close friends. I am a relatively calm, passive aggressive person who writes funny with his right hand, which is a problem I imagine all moose have, AND I like to be left alone when carving obscenities. And I have ADD. Im not sure how badly. bad? whatever. I passed, well, failed the ADD test as a child, but it was by a margin, and I know I have it. You will too after several posts. Hell, you might know already.

I am sure my physical stature also has something to do with it, as I am a 6'5, I have brown hair, often times long, brown eyes and a walk that you could call "lumbering" -- haha, okay so after re-reading this before posting, I thought of the grandpa from "Chitty Chitty, Bang Bang"... where he's like "and the big brown bear came lolloping over the mountain, and I lol'd.... yeah don't judge me

Either way, That is a bit about me and some things that have crossed my mind at.. well now its later but whatever.

Holy Shit! I almost forgot about the flying squirrel mullets. So I was driving to work today. And I saw this older gentleman on a bike with like a long, stereotypical Amish beard, you know, long, and poofyish. He also had nothing short of the most impressive mullet that I have seen up to this point in all my life. I can only describe it as a definite sign of the apocalypse. I'm fairly certain that Matthew says :and there will be wars, rumors of wars, famine, plague, destruction and reality altering mullets.

Oh, by the way, another thing you know about moose is that we are almost always completely full of shit.

Anyway, so this mullet, it was just awesome. I almost crashed into the suburban staring this thing down. Was it weird that it it was staring back? First thing that popped into my head was "Wow, that looks like a flying squirrel is sitting on his head, but has lost control of his back legs." Because the braids. See, not only did this man have an insanely large beard and mullet, he had gone about braiding them. You know Captain Jack Sparrow style, minus the sheer awesomeness that it was Captain Jack Sparrow. This guy was not Captain Jack Sparrow, so therefore is being named Captain Flying Squirrel Mullet. Except I'm also sure he is not a captain. Because he was on a bike, not a ship. But the front braids in his bead looked like the front paws of the flying squirrel, the bald patch on his head looked like its' skin flappys, and the back braids looked like his extended legs. It was captivating and spectacular.

You know what, if you couldn't sense my ADD after that, I worry about you.

I really hope I see Captain Flying Squirrel Mullet sometime when I have the ability to snap a photo. Because I guarantee that you would see it too. And when a moose guarantees something, you bet your ass.. yeah that's a lie waiting to happen.

So that is all from me for now, If anyone reads this I hope you enjoy it. The other characters I mentioned on my main page thing will come into play in time.. I just want to attain their permission before I tell stories, use their real names, etc.