R.I.P.

Well, little quote blog, you were short-lived. My affair with you, I knew, would not last, for I am already devoted to another.

My co-authoring friends, they too have other obligations, other blogs to attend to. One of them does anyway. And so, I bid you adieu. Farewell, to you "Say What?", and all six of your hard-earned followers. You're just not worth the time or the drama.

In honor of this failed experiment, I'm going to list my favorite quotes from the five-week period it was online. Enjoy. 

Two guys I work with in the kitchen:

First guy: "Dude, don't touch my sausage!"

Second guy: (under his breath) "That's what she said..."

Some girl standing in line next to me:

"What state is that in? Antarctica?"

Two guys discussing their finals:

First guy: "Why are you being so depressed?"

Second guy: "Because I am currently struggling to complete even a single sentence of this essay. I don't know how you think talking to me will help in the slightest. As of now, my paper is on track to be so atrocious that it will come back from grading, literally drenched in the blood-red ink of criticism. Our teacher will be so mortified by my paper, she will literally set it on fire. From the flames will arise a phoenix bearing the shape of an F, my final grade, and as she looks on the flames in horror, she will grasp her heart for it will be breaking."

Our friend who was just dripped on by an AC unit:

"OH MY GA...freaking asbestos just dripped on my head, and now I probably have freaking hair cancer! That's it! I am SUING this company."

Orange.

If you're a tanaholic (or just of the female race), could you maybe explain the concept behind spray tans? Because as far as I'm concerned, there's no legitimate reason available as to why you would compromise your natural skin color to look like a walking Crayola.

Anyways, one of my coworkers falls into this category. Her goal, I've gathered, is to be the darkest hue available to Caucasians, and to achieve it, she not only lays out in the sun, she goes to a tanning bed, and uses "pigmentation lotion." Yeah, word it however you want, it's a spray tan.

This triple threat combination has left her very, VERY dark. We're not talking golden or even crispy. I'm saying oil spill, piano black, Mediterranean dark. And well, she's got this kind of...well...orange tint to her skin now.

Me, being me, I informed her of this in the best way possible, through a series of orange-themed insults. Before you freak out thinking I'm a completely heartless jerk, keep in mind that she's my friend, and we joke around quite a bit. It goes without saying that she has her own list of insults for me, but if I showed you those, I'd probably have to change the adult content filter for my blog. So, here's a few of my wholesome (and tastefully done) insults:


"Well on the bright side, you don't have to paint up for football games anymore!"



Responding to one of her insults:

"Oh whatever. Don't you have somewhere else to be? Like a lollipop guild meeting or something?"



Talking to one of my friends (with her standing close by):

"WHAT? Sorry, I can't hear you over her tan."



As she's leaving work:

"Be careful going home. If you get lost, remember to follow the yellow-brick road."



After she threw water on me (to get back at me for my earlier comments):

"I'd do the same to you, but I wouldn't want to clean a big orange puddle off the floor."


And my personal favorite...

"Hey Snooki, when does next season start?"

Free.

Today, we celebrate the reason we live, the reason we are. We reflect on the great Resurrection.

Many, many years ago, the Creator and Ruler of the universe not only humbled Himself, He entered a realm of humility and willingly experienced a magnitude of suffering that the human mind cannot fully comprehend.

Nailed to a rotting, wooden cross, all the power, glory, and holiness in existence was soiled, was saturated with the filth of this world. And us? We were given a chance at new life, eternal life. We were set free from the bondage of our sins. Free.

So, praise God today. Praise Him for the death, for the resurrection.

Praise God for freedom.
 

Back in the Day.

I'm a sap when it comes to old-timey stuff. My SIRUS radio is constantly tuned into the 40s channel. Seriously, Bing Crosby is my hero. I'd much rather watch a black-and-white movie than some flashy, oversexed action flick at the theaters today. It was a different time back then, a time that I wish I could've been a part of, a time that should've simply never ended.

There's an unmistakable charm in looking back at that era. Nowadays, we label the people and lifestyles of that time overly conservative, but back then, it was...well, it was normal. It was normal for people to hold open doors for each other, for people to say things like "Yes ma'am" or "My pleasure" without getting funny looks. It was normal for people to wear clothes that actually cover their bodies. It was normal to respect authority. Heck, it was normal to respect people. Period.

And honestly, what's wrong with any of that?

I don't know when having morals, a conscience, and a backbone was deemed "conservative", but if anyone could give me an exact date, I'd be very grateful. Archaic, maybe, but the people of that time had consciences, something that has apparently dissipated over time especially in our America.

Yeah, you just got called out.
     

There's a Reason.

It seems bad, but I tend to assume the worst in people. My trust is something that's very, very difficult to earn, and very, very easy to lose. I can count the number of people who've earned it on one hand.

But every now and then, I let my guard down. I allow the world to coax me out of my shell of mistrust. This is rare, and it only happens when things are going well for me, abnormally well. This state never lasts long though. Reality eventually swoops in, pecking at that temporary bubble of bliss until it pops, allowing all the crap of daily life to come pouring in. This surge wakes me up, reminds me that this place is not my home.

I'm in this world, but I'm not of it. I have my sights set on a better place and my heart set on a higher purpose.

Thank God, I have more than just this life. I have a reason to live.
 

Marionette.

It disturbs me that, as I sit here staring at my computer screen, I have no goal or topic for writing. I usually have, at least, a general plan, but not tonight. Honestly, I don't know how this will play out. I'm making it up as I go.

The recurring theme this past week or so has been manipulation, so yeah, let's go with that.

I am 100% guilty of manipulating people, but it's strictly to a verbal extent. I've come to the realization that I'm rather skilled at twisting words, especially the words of others, to work to my advantage. That's probably a bad thing, but in a sense, I'm cool with that. It's not that I'm any more intelligent or cunning than the next guy. I can just read people.

You know that feeling you get when you suspect someone of something, but you have no evidence to back it up? I have those feelings on a daily basis. And 9 times out of 10? I'm right on the money.

A few people call me a mind reader. I prefer to refer to it as "advanced probability," which is fancy psychology speak for, "I'm just lucky."

Don't mistake me for the kind of person that goes around manipulating with some self-serving motivation, leaving behind an aftermath of confused, disoriented victims and a newly acquired position of power. I've dealt with that rare breed of "human" before, recently in fact, and I can assure you, my DNA could NEVER be coded in a structure containing that magnitude of evil.

I'm no puppetmaster, hiding among the rafters shrouded in darkness. I don't delight in every swift tug of the strings and every forced motion of my current marionette, knowing that ultimately once they have served their purpose, I will cast them aside along with the other firewood. I've come into contact with people just like that though, people who watch each painted face go up in flames.

Without a single regret.

I construct this metaphor only to warn you. From a guy who's been on both sides of the fence, consider this: Who's really in control?
  

Spicy.

I don't really feel like blogging, but this was kinda funny, so I'll share.

One of my friends at work, who I'm convinced is a nine-year-old trapped in a thirty-year-old's body, was headed out, so he made one last run through the kitchen to see that everything was in order.

As he left though, he grabbed a couple of our sandwich stickers that had fallen onto the counter, and instead of throwing them away, he proceeded to very cautiously place them on the back of our unsuspecting coworker's butt. One on each side.

The sticker looks like this...

Unfortunately, the victim felt him when he came back and tried to add a "2 for $3" to the mix. There's really nothing more hilarious than the inappropriate use of stickers.