I make mistakes. When I do, they give me the squirms. Even the smallest misstep haunts me. I may, at times, be too hard on myself. If you, on the other hand, have ever justified a lack of attention to detail with the phrase, “Hey, we’re not doing brain surgery here, relax!”, I want you to immediately stop reading this and put a staple in your tongue.
When it comes to dogs, there are two things I have never been: a “dog person”, and shy about sharing my disdain for them and their owners. I know! It’s ridicule that is unfounded, uninformed and unfair. I’ve never owned a dog. But, it only takes one nippy, yappy, smelly, slobbery pooch to swell my ignorance. It also only takes the stench of one deviant un-scooped doggy swirl on the bottom of my shoe to radiate my fanatical furor into a sweeping criticism of all of their cult-like masters. That is, until I spent a month with Hunter. After even just a few days living with this Border Terrier, I discovered my inner dog person, and what I learned is crucial to your success at work and at home.
For the first time EVER, I had lunch with my father and my mother, just the three of us. READ what happened when my stepmom came home early.
Due to shocking new information from reliable sources, I have decided that it’s my civic duty to artificially inflate my social media numbers. You might find this disturbing: I am not getting certain gigs based solely on my lack of social media fans, subscribers, or followers. Trust me, I never expected to make any money as a social media star. But, I also never expected to lose money because of social media. So, I’m going to buy as many bots, trolls, hacks, fakes and posers I can afford. Because you’re worth it.
WARNING: this article contains explicit content that might jinx you. If you’re a superstitious person, read on with caution, or stop reading immediately. If you’re still reading at this point, you’re probably not that superstitious about bringing misfortune upon yourself, or others. Still reading even now? Well, not being superstitious in any way whatsoever might be an indication that you’re a sociopath.
I’ve never experienced a concussion from playing sports myself, but from what I understand, they feel something like having the flu with a hangover while seasick staring directly at the sun as Mike Tyson punches your brain.
It’s happened before and it will happen again: someone asks me, “You’re a comedian. Why do they even have ‘All-Girl’ comedy shows anyway?”. My knee-jerk response is, “why do you even care?”. But, I know better. My short answer is: because they enhance your experience of comedy, even if you never attend one. Since you asked, the longer answer is: the All-Female comedy show model is responsible for such things as the thriving Canadian music scene and could save television in this country. It’s not like there’s a lot of them happening in the first place, but they should be mandatory.
There’s almost nothing less interesting to me than hearing someone talk about his or her dreams. Aside from listening to them read their tax return, or analyze their playoff draft picks, which are… nope; I’d prefer to hear them talk about those things before struggling to stay awake as they attempt to describe their “crazy” dream. That’s why being a therapist who specializes in dream interpretation in clinical psychology has got to be one of the worst jobs in the world.
My “Man Brain” and I get into enough trouble on our own as it is; we don’t need any assistance with digging ourselves deeper into any holes of disapproval, thank you very much. Yet, at a recent Brunch with friends, I found myself in the glaring spotlight of unpopularity with the Momttendance because of a comment about a younger woman. Even worse, the “I just don’t understand the ‘Man Brain’ sometimes” comment about me came from a woman whom I had just met! But, what was worse than the even worse, was the comment that got me into trouble wasn’t even made by me- it was uttered by my WIFE!
If my calculations are correct, it will be anywhere from 3 months to 6.25 years before at least one of my kids realizes just how cool I actually am. That approximates the window of time between which my oldest child and youngest child graduate from high school. I’ve based this estimation on the scientific evidence I observed in how the perception I had of MY parents changed upon embarking for a post secondary education. I figure, despite how complex and wildly unpredictable the teenage brain is, there are certain consistencies to the human experience that are reliable in determining when your kids become aware of your true swagger.