tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76635367619480416992024-03-05T00:13:02.314-08:00The Days and Nights of RobiertoThe life and times of Beto living in the big city. Playing his Saxaphone on the streets to passerbys in hopes of making enough money to go live his dream of being a back-up singer for Neil Diamond. His act is called simply, "Sax in the City".Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.comBlogger275125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-17379241049047302017-10-17T20:30:00.002-07:002017-10-17T20:30:42.107-07:00The Revelation of OthersI love when people get revelation for me. It saves me so much time in the hunt for a spouse. I mean, why would I receive revelation for my own affairs when there are a whole army of people intercepting them for me.<br />
<br />
One day at church, a sweet sister approached me with something very important to say. How do I know it was important? Because, she cupped my elbow with her hand and gently whispered in my ear, "<b>I need to talk to you about something very important. Can I meet with you after church?</b>"<br />
<br />
Thinking it had something to do with my calling or perhaps an assignment that needed to be filled, I politely agreed to meet her in the chapel after church.<br />
<br />
During Sunday School I kept thinking that perhaps she had contracted some terrible disease and needed a blessing or perhaps she was having some doubts about her testimony and was needing my help to get her back on track.<br />
<br />
After the block, I entered the chapel to see her sitting quietly with a very pious look on her face. As I approached, she gently guided me into the pew next to her. My thoughts began to race because she looked so concerned.<br />
<br />
She let out a sigh and said, "<i>Robierto, I was in Boise, Idaho over the weekend, and as I was sitting in Relief Society listening the the Relief Society President speak I felt greatly impressed that you should date her."</i><br />
<br />
She continued, "<i>Now I have her address, phone number, email address, and a hand drawn sketch of her. What you do with this information on this 3 x 5 card (she pulled a 3x5 out of her tweed suit pocket) is now up to you. You can do what you want with it...but you need to date this girl, because I got a revelation about it. I won't follow up with you on this, but the <b><u>power lies within you</u></b>.</i>"<br />
<br />
I tried to respond, but she put her finger, that smelled like Ivory soap, to my lips as if to say, "<i>I know, you are welcome." </i><br />
<br />
The next week, she approached and I tried to duck into the nursery, but they had the child proof door handles on, so I couldn't get in.<br />
<br />
So again, she gently cupped my elbow in her hands and said, "<i>Well have you called, texted, or emailed her yet?" </i><br />
<br />
(P.S. If someone ever gives you a name of someone to set you up with and then says they won't follow up with on it, be prepared for their pants to indeed start on fire before your very eyes. They are not strong enough to resist the follow up.)<br />
<br />
I wanted to gently cupped her elbow and say, "<i>Thank you for getting this revelation for me, I really appreciate it. However, I haven't finished dating all the girls in the greater Utah area. Once I have dated all of them, then I will consider putting myself out in other states. Mmm-kay</i>."<br />
<br />
But being the polite and spineless person that I am, I just lied and said that I got engaged and then I switched wards.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-47656829456992270302017-10-08T19:02:00.001-07:002017-10-08T19:02:41.046-07:00The Party Great EscapeFriends, I am not much of a party goer. In fact, if I am being honest, and I would like to think that I am, I HATE parties. I shouldn't say <i><b>"hate</b></i>", I like parties that have, oh I don't know, maybe 2-3 people attending. Once we hit 4 people in one room, socially I feel obligated to leave. It's too loud and the social responsibility to talk to all those people is just too much. Am I right?<br />
<br />
Last night, I attended a party. When I entered the party there was about 3 people mulling around. We had appetizers, we shared some laughs, it was fantastic.<br />
<br />
15 minutes later, all of a sudden there was a steady stream of people flooding the party. Little by little I was pushed into the breakfast nook holding my virgin mint julep and meatball on a tooth pick. I couldn't hear, and I really wasn't the center of attention any more. At this point the voice inside me said, <i>"Um-kay, it's time to go,"</i><br />
<br />
There was a slight problem friends, there was a sea of people between me and the door. Nursing my virgin mint julep, I began formulating a plan.<br />
<br />
Now, I know that it is polite to say thank you to the host and all those who planned the party before you leave, but I always worry that they will try to persuade me to stay, because I am so funny and do crazy karaoke (<i><b>you should see me do "Islands In The Stream. I can do both Dolly and Kenny. It's amazing!</b></i>), and because I am socially weak and have no backbone, I will usually cave and stay until late into the morning, just out of obligation.<br />
<br />
That couldn't happen if I avoided the host all together. <b><i>Ahhhh (with my voice going up at the end).</i></b><br />
<br />
So, I put my virgin mint julep down and slowing starting making my way to the door while pretending I was looking at the karaoke selections, but as I was almost do the there the host stepped right in front of the door and began convincing another guest who was leaving to stay.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>CRAP!</b><br />
<br />
I dodged to the left and made my way back to the breakfast nook to catch my breath. That is when the singing of "<i>Happy Birthday</i>" started and an idea emerged.<br />
<br />
I looked to the front door, but it was still blocked by the host. So I slowly made my way to the patio door that was slightly ajar. While the song was being sung the lights went out. As the birthday girl took in a deep breath to blow out the candles, I slowly opened the sliding glass door. As she blew out the candles, like a ghost I was gone. Sometimes friends, I impress myself greatly.<br />
<br />
Now, I did have to have to walk through the spooky woods, run through the sprinklers that were watering her backyard, and get chased by a dog to get to my car, but other than that no problems.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>PURE GENIUS.</b><br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-81068250949017586592017-10-03T20:42:00.002-07:002017-10-03T20:42:15.386-07:00The Blind "Blind Date"I love blind dates. They are my preferred method of meeting people.<br />
<b>False</b>.<br />
I hate this medium of dating. It is terrible and needs to be stopped immediately.<br />
<br />
People try to set me up on blind dates all the time and they have come to find that I am no longer subscribing to that method of social interactions, as it never ends well for me and I am pretty sure it is a major cause to my irritable bowel syndrome, or IB as I like to call it.<br />
<br />
But my friends have found a cleaver loop hole which I like to call the blind, blind date.<br />
<br />
It goes a little something like this. My friend will invite me over for, let's say a BBQ. They tell me, <i>"We haven't seen you for a long time and would love to have you come over and catch up. You are such an amazing human being and would love to have your influence in and around our children."</i><br />
<br />
How could I not pass up free food and such flattery.<br />
<br />
So I show up with the expectation of spending some quality time with friends, when out of the corner of my eye, I notice a girl who seems. strangely out of place. Did my friend get a maid or a foreign exchange student?<br />
<br />
But then at dinner I find that she is situated right by me, at our own table, with a candelabra under a tree, placed ten feet from all the other guests.<br />
<br />
And this beautiful young lady looked into my eyes and we knew we would never be separated from this moment on.<br />
<br />
<b>FALSE.</b><br />
<br />
We looked into each others eyes and realized that we got played by our friends. Come to find out they told her the same thing about how she was coming to a BBQ just with this family and didn't realize I would be her intended love connection for the night.<br />
<br />
So instead of continuing our conversation we sat in awkward silence the rest of the night. "Stickin' it to the Man" if you will.<br />
<br />
We showed them. We did the exact opposite of what they wanted and didn't even get to know each other and left the party early and both ended up watching Netflix alone in our separate homes.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I think we showed them.<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-75681311253360209052016-02-16T13:12:00.003-08:002016-02-16T13:12:42.340-08:00The True Test of ManhoodDo you ever find yourself in a place, where normally it is not acceptable to be, but then you have a genuine reason to be in that place, but everything inside you says you shouldn't be in said place?<br />
<br />
Let me explain.<br />
<br />
So, I am in a play and have to wear make-up. And for the first time in my life I have had to go to a place that feels so foreign to me, The Make-up Aisle.<br />
<br />
I get so self conscious in the make-up aisle, as soon as another human comes walking down the aisle, I bolt like a startled deer. No joke, I have made three separate attempts to buy the required make up and have ended up running to my car in absolute panic, rocking and crying in the back seat.<br />
<br />
So yesterday, was the final day I could go to get my make-up before the our dress rehearsal. So I drove to the Walmart, took a deep breath and plunged into the make-up aisle.<br />
<br />
I was immediately overwhelmed with the the selections, colors, and different items of make-up for purchase.<br />
<br />
Wouldn't you know as soon I walked in the aisle that a friendly Walmart sales person approached and said, "<i>Sir, can I help you with anything?</i>"<br />
<br />
Inside I wanted to say,<br />
<i>"Yes, you can. Can you just look at my skin tone and tell me, am I a Nude complexion or Nude Beige? Cause I want to say I am a Nude Biege.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Also, what is the difference between an eyebrow pencil and eye liner because they look like the same thing. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>If I need a light "blush" what does that mean? </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And can you show me what you have in a more masculine lip stick?"</i><br />
<br />
But being a man, I said, "<i>Nope, I think I got it</i>." Which was a complete fabrication.<br />
<br />
So finally, after 2 or 14 hours in the Cover Girl aisle, with various cosmetic products and equipment in hand, I headed to a cashier for a dreaded check out.<br />
<br />
So I laid out my sundry of cosmetic items on the conveyor belt and just prayed she would just ring me up without making eye contact...like all Walmart employees do. But no, she looked at me and said, "<i>Are you buying this make-up for your wife</i>?"<br />
<br />
Why would she assume it was for my wife?<br />
<br />
I wanted to say, "<i>Look Michelle, no it's not for my wife, it's for me, OK. I am in a play and I am playing the role of a 20 year old, and guess what? I am 40, so excuse me for trying to hide my crows feet and the dark circles under my eyes with a little concealer . And another thing, a lot of famous, <b>masculine</b> actors have to wear make up, people like David Bowie (may he rest in peace), Pee-Wee Herman, and RuPaul...OK, maybe these are not the best examples to site. How dare you make the assumption it was for my wife, madame. I am a man who wears make up and <b>I am not a shame!</b></i>"<br />
<br />
What I really said, was, "<i>Um, yep, it's, a, for my wife.</i>"<br />
<br />
It takes a big man to stand alone in the Cover Girl aisle, friends, a big man. And I am a big Man!<br />
<br />
Maybe I am born with it.<br />
Maybe it's Maybelline!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-7553802267964746822016-02-10T09:06:00.001-08:002016-02-10T09:06:44.232-08:00The Blind Date Add OnSo the other day my coworker was trying to line me up on a blind date, as all good coworkers do.<br />
<br />
She gave me the typical run down about this girl she wanted to set me up with, how we had a lot in common, how tall she is, how she had like two masters degree and knits bandages for Syrian refugees, etc.<br />
<br />
And then she added this little caveat which seemed oddly out of place, "<i>Oh, and she is really pretty, but my husband thinks she looks like a <b><span style="font-size: large;">witch</span></b>." </i><br />
<br />
"<i>OK, Yep,...wait, what was that?</i>"<br />
<br />
"<i>Yeah, my husband thinks she looks like a <b><span style="font-size: large;">witch</span></b>. But you are going to love her.</i>"<br />
<br />
So, I am not an expert on setting up people, but you might not want to lead off with the phrase, "I want to set you up with my friend who looks like a <b><span style="font-size: large;"><i>witch</i></span></b>." In fact, leave the similarities to her being "<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>witch</i></b></span>-like" out of the conversation all together. When you describe your friend as a <span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>witch</i></b></span>, you are driving a nail into her "blind date" coffin, or driving a stake into her heart, if she is in fact a witch...or is that a vampire, it's hard to say.<br />
<br />
Even if this women was the most beautiful women in the world, the men that go on a blind date with her will spend the whole evening trying to figure out why her friend described her as a witch, because men are pigs and are superficial that way.<br />
<br />
Any way, I am really excited for our date. I can't want to see if she is a good witch or a bad witch.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-85497336333962648642016-02-01T13:19:00.001-08:002016-02-01T13:19:29.559-08:00The Bell Ringer<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you ever go to Wal-Mart and your entrance and exit strategy is correlated upon the location of the Salvation Army bell ringer?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now don’t get me wrong friends, I believe in the Salvation Army and all the good they do, but seriously who carries around cash any more to drop into the bucket? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And let’s be honest, it does cause some unnecessary guilt when I don't donate, for which I do not need at this time in my life.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So what do I do? Well like most Americans I simply avoid the cause of pain and discomfort by completing avoiding the Bell Ringer all together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So as I pulled into to the Wal-Mart I noticed the Bell Ringer was stationed at the east entrance, so naturally I walked the extra hundred yards to the west entrance. And I chuckled to myself, “<i>This is too easy, how cleaver I am?”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After I finished my shopping I was heading for the west exit, when to my shock, guess who was stationed in front of my only escape from the Wal-Mart?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes,OK, well yeah…obviously the Wal-Mart greeter was there…who in and of itself is a bit of an obstacle to avoid, but no, the Salvation Army Bell Ringer had moved and was blocking my exit, armed with his little bell and red bucket!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His gaze met mine and his eyes seemed to say, “<i>I know what you did to avoid me and so help me I will beat you down before that ever happens again. Now you shall not pass until you drop in your pennies three.”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So for whatever reason, and I know this sound childish, I hid in the pharmacy until I could sneak out in a large group without making eye contact with the Bell Ringer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
From behind I felt his gaze burning into my back. And I know that if I didn’t make it to my car in a hurry he would shot lasers out of his eyes and kill me, ala the sphinxes in <i>The Never Ending Story</i>.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I say, until the Salvation Army puts debit cards on the sides of their buckets I shouldn’t feel guilty.<br />
<br />
Right?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-78298940211943158362016-01-28T13:43:00.001-08:002016-01-28T13:43:25.753-08:00The Awkward Car PoolSo I was out in Elberta, UT, "cow country" for those of you from the city. It is was OUT there friends, we are talking 1 hour and a 1/2 from modern civilization.<br />
<br />
After I had finished my work there, a man approached and said that his wife had dropped him off at work that morning, but he was "in charge" of finding a ride home, and wondered if I could give him a lift.<br />
<br />
This is awkward for a couple reasons. First, who leaves their spouse to find away home an hour and half away? And who asks a perfect stranger to drive them home? And who in their right mind would consent to drive that perfect stranger home?<br />
<br />
THIS GUY!<br />
<br />
Before we proceed with this story I must tell all my gentle readers that I am not a "talker". I am a great listener and am extremely good at making sarcastic quips, but "chatty", I AM NOT.<br />
<br />
I have 7 really solid conversation starters, but once I have maxed those seven questions out, I am done. If people like to talk, these questions are great and usually can fill silent space for about 2 hours. After that...it is uncomfortable silence...which I cannot stand or tolerate.<br />
<br />
So we start driving and within, oh I don't know, 5 minutes into the drive I have maxed out my 7 conversations starters, and are sitting in absolute silence...loud, uncomfortable silence.<br />
<br />
So I start panicking and sweating, because I am not sure what to do. So I just started some rapid fire questions, hoping that something would land and a conversation would ensue.<br />
<br />
"What is your family like?"<br />
"Do you like Star Trek or Star Wars?"<br />
"What kind of TV shows do you like?"<br />
<br />
To which he responded:<br />
<br />
"They're fine."<br />
"I like Dr. Who."<br />
"I don't like to watch TV. I like to read instead."<br />
<br />
Wha-Wa-Wa<br />
<br />
So now I feel such terrible anxiety about the awkward silence happening in my Corrolla that I have sweat through all my clothes, my heart is racing. I just want to open my car door and roll onto the freeway, because that actually might feel better then the socially awkward experiment happening in my car.<br />
<br />
"Why isn't this man trying to talk to me?"<br />
"Why isn't he asking his 7 conversation starters?"<br />
<br />
I was kind of mad at him, nay, I was furious at him.<br />
<br />
So I finally dropped my little friend off at a family activity at Thanksgiving Pointe.<br />
After he shut the door he gave me a dollar for gas and said, "Thanks for the ride. I really enjoyed getting to know you."<br />
<br />
To which, I responded, "Thanks friend, I had a great time too. If ever you need another ride, please let me know."<br />
<br />
Wait...what?<br />
<br />
I love that in my ability to be polite, I completely set myself for another day of awkward silence. To which I am happy to report happened the following day.<br />
<br />
Solid work, Robierto, Solid work.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-347910439106992402016-01-26T10:30:00.000-08:002016-01-26T10:30:39.804-08:00The Long Walk<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I was asked to give the opening prayer in sacrament
meeting on Sunday. A relatively easy assignment that fills me with complete
anxiety. The praying isn’t the hard part, but rather the timing of the walk up
to the podium fills me with shear anxiety.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That walk up to the podium is tricky because you have to
leave at the exact right moment during the last line of the hymn. If you leave
too early you are left standing on the podium awkwardly waiting for the last
strains of the hymn to come to a close. If you leave too late there is a very
loud and awkward silence after the hymn and people start looking at their
watches and clearing their throats to indicate that they are not happy that you
are wasting their valuable prayer time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I was sitting in my seat, singing the last verse of
the opening song, prepping for the long walk to the podium, debating when I
should make my move.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>OK, the chorister is leading really slow so I could probably
wait a couple more seconds, and leave right when we start singing the last
three words of the song. Wait, how far back am I sitting? Um, let’s see, if I used my
thumb to measure…OK, I am about 100 thumbs back…divided by 12, I am about 25 yards
back, I have plenty of time…Wait, what is that breeze? Oh no, I am getting a strong
westerly breeze coming in from the foyer. I better leave now…OK I am going”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I make my move. I am going at a nice clip and I still
have two more measures until the hymn wraps up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could see in the eyes of my fellow parishioners a look of,
“<i>He is making his ascent a little too soon. He is going to make his arrival too
early</i>” but I caught the eye of the organist and he seemed to be waving me in.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I excitedly took my place at the podium right when the last
chord of the hymn was played and the chorister was sitting down. I am not going to lie to you, it was a great
moment. I was doing inward toe touches and cheering in my head.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I did get a lot of strange looks after I came down off the
podium. Apparently, the congregation doesn’t love it when you spike the Kleenex
box like a football, but whatever. I did good work friends…good work.<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-33040880164954508492015-06-08T21:08:00.003-07:002015-06-09T08:23:31.979-07:00The "I Don't Have Time to Do Fun Things, Because I am Doing Amazing Things with My Time" Friend.So I invited a friend of mine to attend a movie this weekend.<br />
<br />
His response, "<i>Oh I wish I could, but I have so many things going on. I am working on my Masters degree, during the day, home schooling my children in the afternoon, and then our family knits bandages for Bosnian refugees in the evening</i>."<br />
<br />
And this is my favorite part..."<i>You are so lucky you have so much free time on your hands that you can go do things, like go to the movies.</i>"<br />
<br />
Which, if you really think about it, is a back handed way of saying, "The things I am focusing on are so much more important, then what you are focusing on in life."<br />
<br />
Um...OK.<br />
<br />
Obviously, my friend hasn't seen the movie trailer for "<b>Jurassic World</b>" because, friends if he had, he would put down his knitting and realize that the greatest issue that requires our time and attention today, is the issue of genetically enhanced dinosaurs threatening our way of life in the United States...or Isla Nublar...which is part of Costa Rica...which rhymes with Puerto Rico, which is a part of the United States...and that spells <b>Trouble</b>. With a capital "<b>T</b>" and that rhymes with "<b>P</b>" and that stands for "<b>PTERODACTYL</b>".<br />
<br />
I mean, you talk about issues that need addressing, how about "<b><i>The Great Dinosaur Infestation of 2015</i></b>". I don't feel like we can stand idly by, while our dear friend Chris Pratt battles to keep our borders safe from man eating dinosaurs. I <b>can't</b>...I <b>won't.</b><br />
<br />
And besides friend, if the dinosaurs do attack, there won't be many Bosnians left TO bandage, I can tell you that right now.<br />
<br />
Man, my friends priorities are <b><i>so</i></b> messed up.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-76944172345256593032015-05-31T11:35:00.003-07:002015-05-31T11:35:57.855-07:00The Phlebotimist Blind Date RequestSo here is something that happened to me last Saturday that has troubled me lo these many days.<br />
<br />
I went to go give blood as I am oft to do, because I am an amazing person who gives of himself. As part of the screening process, as you may know, you are required to go into a tiny room, well more like a closet, to go through a very rigorous screening process and answer some very personal questions.<br />
<br />
So there I was, sitting literally knee to knee with this phlebotimist, trying to make awkward small talk about things like, oh I don't, how uncomfortable I am with being in tiny spaces with complete strangers, when I let slip that I was "single". Now, I am convinced no one should reveal among those who are married, because when that little nugget of information is out there friends, you know a blind date invitation will soon follow. Am I right?<br />
<br />
As predicted, she put down her stethoscope and blood pressure cuff, and said, "Can I ask you a personal question?"<br />
<br />
"Sure", I said, knowing what her next question was going to be.<br />
<br />
"Can I set you up with my sister?"<br />
<br />
Now, let me press pause here friends. Don't you think that is totally weird? I mean this women doesn't even know me. For all she knows, I could be smuggling pandas illegally in the country or have a dangerous addiction to crunchy Cheetos, she doesn't know<br />
<br />
I mean, what does this women really know about me? Sure, she may know my sexual history, where I have traveled in the last 3-6 years, if I have been to jail in the last 12 months, had a tattoo or piercing, what medications I am currently taking, and my blood pressure...OK...that is...that is actually some good information to have about someone. Even still...<br />
<br />
It is one thing when friends and family members try to set you up, but I will be darned if I will allow my phlebotimist to be one of those people.<br />
<br />
Needless to say, I turned her down cold, which resulted in a very painful blood draw. Never make a person with a needle angry. Can you even draw blood through someones forehead? It's hard to say really.<br />
<br />
Any way, people are getting pretty sloppy with their set ups.<br />
Let's tighten that up people.<br />
Tighten it up.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-66298657490733984392015-05-21T21:12:00.001-07:002015-05-21T21:17:16.380-07:00The Movie Peer PressureA movie came out recently that had everyone talking.<br />
<br />
<i>"The special effects are amazing!"</i><br />
<i>"That movie had me on the edge of my seat for all 15 hours."</i><br />
<i>"I laughed, I cried, It cured my gingivitis!"</i><br />
<br />
I won't tell you the name of the movie, because I don't want to hurt anyone's feeling who really liked it, but it starts with and "<i>I</i>" and rhymes with "<i>Mintersteller".</i><br />
<br />
A group of my friends took me to this movie and we are all excited because, as I said before, the buzz about this movie was off the charts. So my expectation was that I was really going to love this movie.<br />
<br />
So 15 hours later, the lights came up and here were my thoughts:<br />
<br />
"<i>Wait..I don't get it. Do he go back to space? Wait. What? I don't understand. Am I stupid? Why is everyone in the movie running on different times? Dangit I knew I should have taken AP Physics? I don't get it! This movie is super confusing."</i><br />
<br />
Needless to say, I didn't like this movie. In fact I <b>HATED</b> it. It was just a tad big for it's britches and more importantly...it made me feel like an idiot. How dare they keep throwing all this science at me? And nobody, I mean no body, puts Robierto in a corner by making him think too hard in movie. Who am I Albert Eise..Eckert or...you know who I mean.<br />
<br />
But all my my friends, one of whom was crying like baby, where saying things like:<br />
<br />
"<i>Wasn't that movie amazing? What a powerful message about love and space."</i><br />
<i>"Does anyone have a tissue? I just can't stop crying. It was just so beautiful." </i><br />
<i>"Wasn't that Patthew PcConaughy (<b>the name has been changed</b>)such an amazing actor? I didn't think he could keep his shirt on for entire movie, but he did it...he did it."</i><br />
<i>"Was that movie 15 hours? Wow, the time just flew by."</i><br />
<br />
And then they turned to me, "<i>Robierto, what did you think?</i>"<br />
<br />
Now this is a delicate situation friends, which requires some judgement. Do I tell my friends I hated it because I was too stupid to understand most of it, or do I tell them I loved it, and have them continue thinking that I am a pretty awesome person?<br />
<br />
My response?<br />
<br />
"<i>That movie was awesome. I love the part about the science...and space. One the best movies of the year!"</i><br />
<br />
Friends, I may be stupid...but I ain't that stupid.<br />
Social standing <b>always</b> trumps intellectual standing...always.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-28124111113258243272014-05-18T18:16:00.002-07:002014-05-18T18:16:40.795-07:00The Church WifeToday I was running late to church.<br />
<br />
I walked in and greeted the fellow handing out the programs for the service. As I reached for a program he pulled back and said, "I already gave a program to your wife."<br />
<br />
Which is odd, because as you know, I don't have wife.<br />
<br />
But then I thought, "May be my future wife is here. May be this good brother didn't make a mistake but was, in his own special way, telling me that my future wife was in the congregation, today, right then, waiting for me to share a program with her."<br />
<br />
I rushed in hoping to find her.<br />
<br />
Apparently, she got tired of a waiting, because I couldn't find her any where. It looks like she got tired of holding the program by herself and left.<br />
<br />
I really need to get to church earlier, and my wife needs to be a little bit more patient in waiting for me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-38784541014009287252014-03-31T20:31:00.001-07:002014-03-31T20:32:21.058-07:00The Great Toilet Paper Purchase 2014<div class="MsoNormal">
Friends, I am gonna be real with you.<br />
<br />
I am a 38 year old man who still feels extremely exposed, vulnerable, and embarrassed when I have to buy toilet paper.<br />
<br />
If I ran a store, I would sell toilet paper like they sell ice. You whisper to the cashier that you need it, and then you exit the store grab it from a container, throw it in a cooler in your car, and take off to the beach. No muss, no fuss, fantastic!<br />
<br />
I have found a loop hole, so I thought, that has helped me to avoid the purchase of toilet paper every month. I buy my toilet paper in bulk from Costco.With the help of Costco I have avoided having to buy toilet paper for 20 years.<br />
<br />
So last week I had gotten to my last square of toilet paper, so I went to Costco for the Great Toilet Paper Purchase of 2014.<br />
<br />
Let me say that I was feeling really confident about my ability to make a toilet paper purchase. After all, the last time I had to buy toilet paper was when I was 18. I was young and socially awkward then, but now I was 38. I was a grown man. I could totally do this.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I walked into Costco with my collar popped, ready to buy me some paper, toilet paper that is. I didn't even take a cart, I was determined to carry that hygienic package out of Costco with my head held high.<br />
<br />
If you haven't been to Costco to buy toilet paper, let me tell you that the toilet paper package is the size of a small house. It was so big and bulky that after several attempts to wrap my arms around the stupid thing I ended up just throwing it over my shoulder and heading to check out.<br />
<br />
That's when I started noticing the stares.<br />
<br />
Now friends, I am not a small man. I am 6'5, and if you add a toilet paper package on top of that, I am at least 15 feet tall. As I walked with my bundle of toilet paper over my shoulder, people in Costco were dropping their samples, stopping their Blendtec demonstrations, and driving their carts into each other.<br />
<br />
If I could translate some of the facial expressions of the people of Costco, their faces seemed to be saying:<br />
"<b>Does that guy ever leave the bathroom?</b>"<br />
"<b>Doesn't he know there are carts up front. He just hit that little girl in the head with his giant package of TP</b>. (<i>Which I confess to doing. All I can say is thank goodness for Charmin TP or that girl would be dead today</i>)"<br />
<br />
I could have been reading a lot into their stares, but their stares made me feel exposed and ever so vulnerable. So I did what any grown man would do...I hid my giant package of toilet paper underneath some Signature Kirkham's sweaters and got the flip out of there.<br />
<br />
Thank goodness Amazon sells toilet paper and delivers it right to your door, or the great Toilet Paper Purchase of 2014 would have been a complete disaster.<br />
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-18652252294481021192014-03-27T20:26:00.000-07:002014-03-27T20:26:10.953-07:00The Caucus MeetingSo I went to my first caucus meeting last week.<br />
<br />
Let me pause here to say, that if we are trying to get younger voters involved in the political process perhaps we need to change the name. "Caucus" sounds like something you get after you have had a bad Indian meal. Why not call it "<b>Political Dance Party 2014</b>" or "<b>Vote 'til you Die, Sucka</b>'". This, I feel, will bring out the young voters.<br />
<br />
So I show up to the caucus meeting not even sure what I am supposed do. I enter a classroom with a bunch of people who seem super pumped about the republican party. There was even a guy with the constitution printed on his t-shirt, wearing a lovely red, white, and blue fanny pack, which, if we are being honest, was concealing his 9 mm handgun.<br />
<br />
So I made my way to the back and thought to myself, "<i>I think I am just going to watch to see how this process works." </i>And then I hid behind the man with "constitution T-shirt."<br />
<br />
So after a prayer, yes, a prayer, Oh, and the pledge of allegiance, which I haven't done since I was 10. We took our seats. That's when the nominations began...<br />
<br />
So the next thing that happened is that they started nominating people to be their delegate reps.<br />
So I am sitting there thinking, "<i>Well this will be interesting. No one knows who I am so I am safe...did they just say my name?"</i><br />
<br />
They sure did call my name friends.<br />
My sweet neighbor nominated me...I wanted to kill her.<br />
<br />
But I said I would accept the nomination, because I believe we should all take part in the political process, and I knew there was no way anyone would actually vote for me.<br />
<br />
So then they asked us all to come up and tell a little about ourselves.<br />
WHAT??<br />
<br />
They asked me to start off. I didn't know what to say, but I remembered what people did on the Miss America Pageant when they introduced themselves to the judges and thought it might be effective.<br />
<br />
"<i>Hello friends! My name is Robierto, and I hail from the great state of Utah, and live in the beautiful city of South Jordan. I am in my fourth year as a freshman at the University of Utah, studying plant life. I enjoying hiking, racquetball, and spending time with my 12 cats. So let's hear it for me!"</i><br />
<br />
Then some super political lady in the front row said, "<i>That doesn't tell us anything about your political views</i>." It wasn't so much what she said but how she said it that bugged me. She was kind of snotty with me.<br />
<br />
So I launched into, "<i>My political views? Um, well, I don't believe we should nominate friends who are ill prepared to give a political speech. I don't know how I feel about starting a political meeting with a prayer, AND, I don't appreciate you bullying people the first time they attend one of your little "Caa-Caa" meetings. So chill out, sister!"</i><br />
<br />
Um, after that I was pretty sure I was not going to be elected. In fact I almost just left because I felt so stupid.<br />
<br />
But guess who will be representing his area as a county delegate?<br />
This Guy!<br />
I won because there were only 12 of us at the meeting and there were 12 positions to fill.<br />
<br />
Good bless America!<br />
This political system of ours, is working great!<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-46895996266807683782013-12-16T11:15:00.005-08:002013-12-16T11:15:55.301-08:00The Personality Test<div class="MsoNormal">
So I just paid $9.00 to take a personality test to help me
find a new career.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had some general ideas of different fields that I think I
might be interested, like training or counseling but I felt like I needed a
second witness, if you will, confirming that my career options are in fact a field that my personality and biology are predisposed to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here are some of the exciting career options that this
survey says I would be great at.:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Library Technician or Assistant</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Computer Operator (Isn’t that I what I do all
day any way?)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">File Clerk</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Utility Meter Reader</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Telephone Operator</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Slot Supervisor (I hope they are referring to “slot
machines”)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Bus or Subway Driver</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Postal Service Clerk</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Costume Attendant</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Parking Enforcement Worker</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Gaming Dealer or Gaming Cage Worker</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Parking Lot Attendant</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Cook, Fast Food</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Maid</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: Symbol; text-indent: -0.25in;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><span style="text-indent: -0.25in;">Nonfarm Animal Caretaker</span></li>
</ul>
<!--[if !supportLists]--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What? </span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Are they serious?</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am now really confused. None of the options I have been considering,
that I have some natural raw talent in, even
make the cut. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And secondly, if these, in fact, are the careers that I am
predisposed to enjoy, why in the world did I waste so much time going to school
and getting a Masters degree. In hind sight, that was a just huge waste of time.
If I would have jump into of these great
career fields instead of wasting my time in school, I could be a head cook at McDonalds
or the Head Costume Attendant at my local Zurchers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like I have wasted
so much time that I can never get back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well this has been most eye opening. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am putting in my application for a Nonfarm
Animal Caretaker today…on second thought, Um, I think I want my $9.00 back!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-8566669808887446242013-10-17T08:57:00.000-07:002013-10-17T08:57:19.293-07:00The Awkward Birthday Greeting<div class="MsoNormal">
So the other day I ran into a co-worker, after she picked
herself off the floor, I asked her how her birthday was, 'cause I am totally
nice like that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now let me pause here to say, that I want people to think I
am awesome. But it isn’t very often that I come across that way. So I wanted to acknowledge her age and congratulate her on this milestone birthday.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remembered my co-worker’s birthday was a big one. I
knew it was a rite of passage birthday, with a big “0” behind it. But for the
life of me I couldn't remember how old she was turning, but I had a hunch it
had to be either 50 or 60.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After she told me about her awesome party, she recounted how
she hated turning older, and getting wrinkles in various parts of her body. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wrinkles? Getting older? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Woman please!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Being the amazing genius that I am, with my keen sense of
deduction, I was pretty sure:<br />
<b>wrinkles + getting older = 50. </b><br />
<b><br /></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I was so excited to let her know how fantastic I was,
because not only did I remember her birthday but, I remembered her age.<br />
How great am I?<br />
Ahhh, pretty great.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<b><i>Robeirto, you are so thoughtful and smart. I had no idea
how smart you are</i></b>.” She would say.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I would say something like, “<b style="font-style: italic;">Oh you! I am not as
thoughtful or smart as all that.” </b><br />
But inside I would be like,<b style="font-style: italic;"> “You are
right! I am thoughtful and terribly smart. Not to mention terribly good looking
in this suit from Mr. Mac.”</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So in my excitement, I spouted off,<br />
“<b><i>Hey don’t worry about
getting old. <span style="font-size: large;">50</span> is the new 30</i></b>!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
(<i>Awkward Pause</i>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i><b>But I’m 40</b></i>.”, she said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
(<i>Dramatic Sigh</i>)<span style="font-size: large;">Simplicity</span>. Friends, a simple “Happy Birthday” is enough
to make people think you are an awesome person. Don’t mess with guessing
peoples ages.<br />
I’m not going’ to lie to you…<br />
they don’t love it.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-41329664047374042012013-09-24T08:21:00.000-07:002013-09-24T08:21:08.816-07:00The Free Beverage and Nuts<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
What is it about flying that delights us so?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Is it hurdling through the air at 1000 mph?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
Is it the bathrooms that no normal sized person can fit in to?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
How about the seats that never seem to recline enough to actually be
comfortable? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0.0001pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Honestly, my
favorite part of the flight is the complimentary beverage and snack.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I get giddy when I hear the metal cart banging into seats
and unsuspecting passenger’s legs. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my mind the flight attendants are saying, “<i>Robierto, <span style="font-size: x-small;">and all
the rest of you little people</span>, you are being such good fliers and behaving so well…we
are goin’ sneak ya’ll a little treat. Don’t tell the Captain</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turn into a five year old inside and actually have to talk
myself down so my heart rate doesn't spike, “<i>Robierto, be cool. Be cool. It’s free food I know, but let’s be cool</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I start flipping through the in-flight magazine, trying
to find what my options are for my free beverage and snack. But some idiot has
ripped out the pages,and has already filled out the crossword and Sudoku…and
those flight attendants are two rows away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now I am totally panicking. “<i>OK Robierto let’s think
logically here and break this down. You know that if you get tomato juice they
will give you a whole can, which will be good… but that will make you gassy,
and it’s a five hour flight. But if we go with Ginger Ale, you will only get
half a can, but you actually like Ginger Ale. <b>Why am I cursed with such difficult
decisions</b></i>?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now the cart is one row away.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Robierto, you have got to make up your mind. Tomato juice
or Ginger Ale? Come on buddy you can do this!?</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now the cart has now arrived. And the flight attendant
says, “<i>Sir, can I get you a complementary beverage, followed by a light snack.</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I just blurt out, “<i>Yes, I will have some…</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Oh not you sir, I was talking to your neighbor</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So now I am even more nervous because I got shot down by a
flight attendant.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So finally she gets to me, “<i>Sir, can I get you a beverage
and light sn…</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Yes. Yes, you can. Yes. I, I will have a, um, a tomato
juice with a, um, peanuts.</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Which isn't really what I wanted but I panicked. So I
savored my whole can of tomato juice, and tiny bag of three peanuts, while wishing I would have gotten the Ginger Ale and cookies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Was I gassy? Yes. Do I regret my decision…possibly.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But friends, I just love that with the purchase of your
$5000.00 plan ticket you get a free, <b>FREE</b> beverage. <b>FREE</b>!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I mean what isn't incredibly exciting about that? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s got to be the best deal in town.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-52405803736354205182013-09-16T10:59:00.002-07:002013-09-16T10:59:28.623-07:00The Foot in the Mouth<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you ever get too big for your britches? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I live a quiet, reserved little life, but there are moments
when someone gives me a little free reign and for a while I am sky high. Then I fly too close to the sun and I crash
and burn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So last week I was helping my friend with a 5k race in
Brooklyn, New York.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What was my job you ask?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My job was to get a few runners, well let’s just say 8,000
runners, pumped up before the start of the race.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now I am a very quiet and reserved person, so the idea of getting
in front of a large crowd scared me to death. But I didn't want to let my
friend down so I agreed to the task.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When he handed me the microphone to start my “<i><b>pumping up</b></i>”
extravaganza, I felt like I was going to have explosive diarrhea, and friends
that wasn't going to help anyone get pumped up.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Admittedly, since I grew up in the 90’s I fell back to what
I heard VJ’s say on MTV. Such things as, “<i>You go girl</i>” and “<i>Gurl, you are
workin’ that head band</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But after some initial awkwardness, and 8000 weird looks
from my friends in Brooklyn I was flying high. I had those runners in the palm
of my hand. I was throwing out swag. They were dancing. I was rapping. It </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
was a
beautiful thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then it happened…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now keep in mind we were in <b>Brooklyn, New York</b>. Now, Brooklyn
is not known for the niceness of their people. This is where people die. I knew
most runners at the race were packing heat in their lycra spandex and sports
bras. So I was trying to do my best not to anger my friends in Brooklyn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But friends as the time past, I got a too little excited, and
forgot to think before I opened my mouth.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Again keep in mind I am in <b>Brooklyn</b>, <b>New York</b> in
front of 8,000 people.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here is what I said, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me:</b> “We are so
excited to be here with you beautiful people in the <b>BRONX</b>!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Runners: (<b>A very loud silence</b>)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Me</b>: Come on my
friends from the <b>BRONX</b>. Show me how
excited you are to be here today!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Runner: And then a child’s voice, simple and clear rang out over the awkward silence, “We
are from <b>BROOKLYN</b>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<b><i>OH, Dang</i></b>” thought I, as I saw hands reaching into their lycra
spandex and sports bras.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What do I do here? There was no place to run. No words or
witty comments that could smooth over the damage that had been done. No amount
of knee high socks or fanny packs I could throw out that could heal the damage
of mixing up the name of their fair city.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I did what any sane person would do. I pulled out my gun
and started the race, and yelled, “<i>Have a good race Brooklyn!</i>” and started the
race 15 minutes early.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think I handled the situation really well. A gun shot can erase a lot of bad memories from
people’s minds, I have found.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although, uh, I didn’t get an invitation to attend next year’s
race. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, um…yeah.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-91363686880585281332013-08-06T09:33:00.000-07:002013-08-06T09:33:01.025-07:00The Inadvertent Maturation Talk <div class="MsoNormal">
So the last couple of weeks I have been teaching at a summer
camp for kids called “theater school”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, I had an experience that may have barred me,
unintentionally, from theater school “for corrupting the minds of young
children.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I was, trying to maintain my class full of 10 year
old girls, as I was trying to teach the blocking for the song “Popular” from
the musical Wicked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You might be asking yourself, Robierto, why is a 38 year old
man teaching 10 year old girls one of the most prissy and girly songs in all
of musical theater?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh friend, that is a great question. A question that has made me wonder what kind of a vibe I give off, for the director to think, "<i> Do you know who be excellent at teaching little girls how to be prissy, girly-girls?</i> <i>Robierto. He would be <span style="font-size: large;">great</span> at that!"</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But there I was, trying to get their attention so I could
give them some notes, because they were so excited to run their scene, again.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In mind I wanted to say, “<i>I need your attention girls. Give
me a sec</i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what came out of my mouth was, “<i>I need some secs</i>.”
Meaning, "<b>I would like some time
from you sweet children to explain how
to do this scene better</b>." That makes sense right?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But then I replayed what just came out
of my mouth and realized what was actually heard was, “<i><b>I need some sex</b></i>.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I froze. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Everyone turned to look at me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I knew that what I did in the next second would determine how this would
go over.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My face was turning red, and my fight and flight
response started kicking in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Should I just run out of the room?</i>” I thought.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No. That would draw attention to the fact that something was
wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I just figured, "<i>Robierto, they are 10 year old girls they
don’t know about sex. Just keep going and they won’t even notice."</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I stuck with my plan, and while blushing, I continued on
with the class.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I left my class I thought, “<i>Robierto, you are a <b><span style="font-size: large;">genius</span></b>. A
lesser man would have crumbled under the pressure, but not you, because you are
so good, nay, <span style="font-size: large;">you are so great!</span>”</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the point, a parent approached and said, “<i>I heard you told
your class you need some sex.</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am thinking today I will be asked to turn in my turquoise theater
school t-shirt…or be assigned to teach the middle age theater school, where they are teaching “Chicago” / “Rent”
classes.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-32064253303225712422013-07-11T13:31:00.003-07:002013-07-11T13:31:55.983-07:00The 20 Year Reunion<div class="MsoNormal">
So this weekend was my 20 year high school reunion. An event that has filled me with anxiety lo’
these past few weeks.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let me describe to you how I perceived myself in high
school. I never thought I was popular enough. I had a lot of acquaintances,
but very few real friends. I worried every day of my high school career about
who I was going to eat lunch with. I remember feeling insecure, wondering if I was a
good enough student, if I was athletic enough, if I was talented enough.
In short I just never felt like I was “enough”.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But after 20 years I feel a lot better about myself. I have accomplished some pretty amazing things in the last 20 years. Currently, think I have more self confidence then I have
ever had in my life. So why wouldn't I want to go to my 20 high school reunion?
I am freakin’ awesome! (toe touch)<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So on my way to the reunion I was feeling really good about
my self and my decision to attend, because after all I was no longer that
insecure 18 years old boy any more, I was a confident man. And I was sure that
everyone would feel the same way. <br />
<br />
Plus 20 years had past and we were all different people. I felt like I could look past all the stereotypes, the social cast system, if you will, that I held to so strongly to in high school. I was excited to get to know people not for who they were in high school, but who they are today.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I held this belief all the way to the front door, and as I
entered the reunion, that scared, insecure 18 year old showed up at the party. All
of sudden I felt insecure and scared. Afraid that I wasn't enough and that no one would want to talk to lowly Robierto in all his weakness and insecurities. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And to add insult to injury, I started putting my high school chums back into the social
categories that I once held them to: jock, nerd, stoner, nose picker, popular, class
clown. And I started to think badly about those that had snubbed me or who
didn't want to be friends with me 20 years ago, <span style="font-size: large;">that's right 20 years ago</span>.<br />
<br />
Needless to say I didn't stay for long, I couldn't wait to get away from this awkward situation that reminded me who I once was, and not who I am today. I felt like I had let myself down, but worst of all I had let my classmates down because I wasn't strong enough to see past who they once were either.<br />
<br />
I am hoping that in 20 more years I will have changed and the scars from high school will have healed...but I am not counting on it, social scars are almost too deep to heal.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-53523440231686449402013-06-24T20:43:00.000-07:002013-06-24T20:43:06.075-07:00The Deseret Industry Treasures<div class="MsoNormal">
So over the weekend I got to volunteer at our local thrift
store, called Deseret Industries.<br />
Ah, the sights, the sounds, and oh, the sweet,
sweet, sweet, smells of people’s garbage.<br />
It’s a pleasure and a delight to be
there.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Saturday was a special day, not because it’s the day we
get ready for Sunday, but because there were some special treasures that were
dropped off at the Deseret Industries that make me want to rush back and perhaps
purchase them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Item Number 1- </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This item was dropped off by a man, who was one of those
people who you imagine plays Dungeons and Dragons in his basement, has created
replicas of every weapon from Lord of the Rings out of tin foil and toilet
paper tubes, and still, surprisingly, has no girlfriend.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friends, how ‘bout a coffee table with swords attached. “In case of Orc, goblin, or zombie attack, break glass.”<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWprs1Pfoq8qe33beE6-qYFCLj8TBjg2Sz44UXuamO4fw9Q2N8wF_6L-Fl3mpdha5nBMWqxjpetyl51TNTBQOnQHHmTkmlAqkuTEFW-a2tHOIbbkbC-jc0aLiZ-b5p9DvZjWP5jSWdQixL/s1600/me2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWprs1Pfoq8qe33beE6-qYFCLj8TBjg2Sz44UXuamO4fw9Q2N8wF_6L-Fl3mpdha5nBMWqxjpetyl51TNTBQOnQHHmTkmlAqkuTEFW-a2tHOIbbkbC-jc0aLiZ-b5p9DvZjWP5jSWdQixL/s320/me2.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>Item Number #2-</i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I was unloading truckload, after truckload of donations, which is fancy name for "other peoples trash", I noticed a
trunk coming with a mysterious donation wrap in a blue tarp. As we pealed back the blue tarp we discovered a statue,
the likes of which had never graced the Deseret Industries showroom floor. It
was a plaster statue of a man in a G-string. You heard right friends a statue of a man in a G-string.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92muyevLPTcuA2dAgvPKJY1hk0eKboEC1pNrDdqXTndu9G-Lkmk9NN5d5ZhoIIo3bu2iP0JS15gE2t0uXRccye3rgZi9gDxcBuSGpzUEbXej8-SKSb3fLe3sxJaoortm1uCUaqdkax-aP/s1600/me1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh92muyevLPTcuA2dAgvPKJY1hk0eKboEC1pNrDdqXTndu9G-Lkmk9NN5d5ZhoIIo3bu2iP0JS15gE2t0uXRccye3rgZi9gDxcBuSGpzUEbXej8-SKSb3fLe3sxJaoortm1uCUaqdkax-aP/s320/me1.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't you love how the Deseret Industries employee "photo bombed" my picture?<br />
I can just hear the statue saying, "Um , Dude. My eyes are up here."</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
It took four grown men to drag this little cutie out of the
truck. And then we all stood around thinking, "what is the story behind this monstrosity?"<br />
I think is has something to do with this man's wife, and a mid life crisis.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If any of you live close to the West Jordan Desert Industries you might want to see how much this rare piece of art is going for.</div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I kind of want to buy it just to drop it on someone door step and run.<br />
If you are lucky that neighbor might be you.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-16225476402600729892013-05-26T17:26:00.001-07:002013-05-26T17:26:10.276-07:00The Star Trek Bladder Problem<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have a problem.<br />
My bladder is the size of a peanut.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I forgot that when I went to go see Star Trek, and chugged a small fountain drink, which if you have noticed lately aren't really small at
all. The new “<i>smalls</i>” at a movie theater, I swear are at least 109 oz.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I sat nursing my “<i>small</i>” fountain drink, when all
of a sudden as Kirk, Spock, and I left federation space, I felt a felt a
little pressure on my bladder. But I thought, "<i>I will be fine, this movie can’t
be longer than 30 minutes.</i>"<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An hour later, I was feeling so very uncomfortable, but I
thought it is my duty as a member of Starfleet Command to stay with my crew and
support them in their fight with the Klingons. What kind of a person would I be, if in the heat of battle I sashayed off to the little boy’s room?<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Two hours into the movie I was HNEOKN lOIJJKO, which is
Romulan for “<b>hurtin’ fer certin</b>”. I was in so much pain that I sat in the plank
position in my chair hoping to take some pressure off my bladder. I tried to stay with Captain
Kirk, but I had to abandoned ship, because there was a time bomb about to go off
inside of me.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I
did an Olympic size leap, well, it more of a crawl, over the back of the chairs
and dashed to the restroom.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Feeling 109 oz lighter, I returned to my seat and found that
the Starfleet mission had taken a dramatic turn.For whatever reason “Good
guys” were now “bad guys”, people were crushing each others heads, phasers were
not set to “stun” as they were when I ran to the bathroom. It was crazy. And everyone around me was so enthralled as to
what was happening they didn’t want to take the time to explain what I had missed.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
I felt like I let my friend on the Enterprise down.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next time I go see a movie I might opt for the adult diaper. That bulk around the waist is so flattering to my Star Trek ultra mini.</div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-955601813872730462013-05-06T08:15:00.002-07:002013-05-06T08:15:38.169-07:00The Anonymous Text<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do you ever get a text message that says, “Hey, we are
having a party and we want you to come over.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They are not one of your contacts, and they didn't attach their name to the text. <b>So who in
the world is this person?</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The sad thing is that I really want to attend a party, but I
don’t want to text them back and say, “<i>Um...Who is this</i>?” Because I kind of feel like I should know who they are, even though I really don't.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this person obviously thinks we are friends, and that we
are good enough friends that I would have them as one of my contacts. I fear by
asking them who they are might hurt their feelings and may cause a retraction
of an invite to their super fun party.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So instead of doing something, I do nothing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Problem solved?</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-75877587077906362942013-04-25T13:43:00.000-07:002013-04-25T13:43:05.444-07:00The Forced Relaxation Excercise<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So this morning I went to a seminar about reducing stress in
the workplace, which, if I am being really honest, I only attended for the free
light breakfast. Oh, and by "light", they meant "lite", because “breakfast” was a
“create your own yogurt parfait” bar. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was
when I walked in and didn't see an omelet bar with a whole bucket of crispy
bacon waiting for me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I sat listening to various ways of reducing stress
in the workplace, when, out of nowhere, the speaker said, “<i>OK everyone get on
the floor. We are going to do a visualization relaxation exercise.</i>” And
instantly, I felt a surge of anxiety shot through me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I was in “child’s pose” wishing that I had worn my
leotard, which I usually wear under my clothes just in case something like this
happens, trying to figure out why I was feeling so anxious doing random Yoga poses in
my “business attire” on a conference room floor.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as I sat there in the dimly lit room, a couple of thoughts floated through my mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Anxiety Cause #1</b>- I always assume someone is going to walk
in, turn on the lights, and an be like, “ <i>Um, look at these idiots in their dress clothes
doing “downward dog</i>. <i>They look so silly.</i>”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It would be different if we were all close friends getting
together to work out, but we are total strangers, we haven’t even been
introduce yet, and here we are performing this very intimate action of lying on
the floor together.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Anxiety Cause #2</b> -Could it be that I have had too much fruit in my yogurt parfait and I may or may not have been feeling just a touch gassy? It's hard to say, but what I will say is: <b>Yoga + Gassy Stomach = Terrible Consequences. </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b>Anxiety Cause #3</b> - Here is what my anxiety boils down to. How dare someone force me to relax! It’s as if this instructor was saying “<i>You
cannot be trusted to relax on your own, so you will relax now, and you will
like it. Stop crying and RELAX</i>!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
'Scuse me? <b>You Relax</b>! I will relax when I am good and ready. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the meantime, I will be soothing my anxiety by meeting chicks at the yogurt parfait bar.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7663536761948041699.post-8272888945958105472013-04-19T15:26:00.001-07:002013-04-19T15:26:18.375-07:00The Overconfident SingingDo you ever look at your program at church, and you swear someone just made up the title of the closing hymn, because you have never, in your 37 years of church, sung it?<br />
<br />
Now everyone in my ward are what scientist call "timid singers". Our singing is almost inaudible because no one sings out.<br />
<br />
Now, I don't like to toot my own horn about my singing, because no one likes a bragger, <b>but</b> I was a soloist in my fifth grade choir, thus, I am not afraid of singing out, for I, like Charlotte Church, have the voice of an angel.<br />
<br />
So as the introduction to the song started, I thought to myself, "<i>Rob, why don't you do everyone a favor and lead out on this song. Help these struggling saints find their inner singing voice</i>."<br />
<br />
So I just jumped right in there, singing in a full, strong voice, "<b><span style="font-size: large;">Ring out wild Hills, and save us</span></b>...."<br />
<br />
That's when everyone turned around and looked. And that is when I realized the organist was still playing the introduction, and I came in about three measures early.<br />
<br />
Now in this moment what do you do?<br />
You already have everyone's full attention, so whatever you do is going to be noticed.<br />
<br />
You wanna know what I did? Well, like any mature adult, I just smiled, gave a friendly nod...and then faked a nose bleed and walked out of the meeting.<br />
<br />
That's what grown ups do, Right?Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05702882063841170012noreply@blogger.com0