A Mental Lapse

I don’t know about the rest of you, but occasionally I have days where I act like the biggest idiot in the world. There was the day where I sent some Nigerian man a money order for $500 so that he could forward me the balance of his ex-brother’s father’s son’s parole officer’s bank account. There was the day I leaned against the freshly painted wall of a restuarant in a rented tuxedo. And there was the day I went into the women’s room at Serendipity, was told I was in the wrong bathroom, and then proceeded to walk further in, thinking the men’s room must be in there somewhere. But yesterday topped them all.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a dumb guy. I did really well on my SAT’s and currently attend UGA, which has actually become a somewhat respected academic university. I made it into the National Merit Scholarship competition with my PSAT scores (even though I was failing chemistry at the time; that was a fun conversation to have with my principal). So I have my head on my shoulders pretty well, I just sometimes forget to think. Anyway, story time:

Last week I bought a moped to get back and forth to campus more easily. I know I know, mopeds carry a bit of a reputation, but I am plenty secure enough in my masculinity to ride one. I consider it a conserative take on the motorcycle. The girls outside Starbucks a few days ago did not see it the same way though. Anyway, I got this moped but I’m not really used to it yet. I forget to turn the lights off sometimes, I take turns too sharply and jump the curb (also in front of the Starbucks girls), and I am terrified to get it over 40 mph.

But the other day I once again went outside to head over to the dining hall. The night before when I had been riding my mirrors hadn’t been adjusted quite right, and seeing as how I can barely keep the thing upright with training wheels on it, I figured I should wait and just adjust the mirrors the next day. I went outside and sat on it, playing with the mirrors until they were just perfect. Then I walked over to my car to get my helmet out of my passenger seat. (I had the helmet in the car because I like to walk around with it once i get wherever I’m going. It seems to garner a lot of respect; at least until someone asks me what my ride is.) I realized I didn’t have my car keys in my pocket and came back inside the house to my bedroom. That’s where it began.

I have a keyed lock on my bedroom door because my roommates have sketch friends who would like nothing more than to pawn my Sex and the City DVD collection for weed money. I had locked my door from the inside before I shut it and my room key was on the same ring as my car key. I tried desperately for a few minutes to break into my door with credit cards, knives, etc., but it was not happening. I finally gave up and walked around the house to break into my window.

At first I was going to use my hammer, which I then realized was in my room. Then I was going to use my Mag-Lite, which I remembered was in my car. I walked all through the house and the only thing available that was hard enough to get the job done was a golf club one of my roommate’s owns. I took it outside and looked at my window, laughing at the irony.

I had never noticed that my window is about 6 feet off the ground. And that immediately below it were the thickest thorn bushes I have ever seen. And that I had on shorts. Awesome. I grabbed a folding chair (the only thing available to stand on) and made my way through the thorns, cursing and muttering the whole time. I finally got up to the wall and opened the folding chair, placing it under my window. I stood up on it and it immediately collapsed, throwing me headfirst into the bushes around me. After whacking the bushes with the golf club I got back up and balanced myself on the folding chair.

I got up square with the window, and I was angry. I was bleeding out of places you should never be bleeding out of, and I wanted to smash the window. I took the club back, let out a great bellow, and swung with all my might. And I swear to you the window did not break. What it did do was bounce the club back and HIT ME IN THE FACE. So picture that: I’m standing out in front of my house, up on a folding chair, blood running down my legs, holding a 3 Iron and crying. Definitely a humble moment for me.

After awhile I got up the courage to try and again and eventually broke the window. I cut myself quite a bit clearing the pieces of glass, unlatching the window, and climbing inside. Once I got in my room I looked over on my nightstand. No keys. I always put my keys on my nightstand. Ok, no worries, they must be in my pants’ pocket from last night. Nope. Bed? Nope. Drawer where I keep my knitting supplies? Nope. I searched my room wall to wall and could not find them anywhere. I stood up and sighed, glancing out of the window I had just crawled through.

And there, in the ignition of my scooter, hung my keys. I could see them from the window that I had just paid my dignity to climb through. They were shimmering in the sunlight, almost as if trying to say ‘Here we are Josh! Look at us!’

You know, sometimes it just seems like life is problem after problem. One thing goes wrong, then another. And they slowly build for awhile. But my theory is that we as humans have a tolerance for that, and eventually we reach a point where none of those things matter any more. When I saw those keys hanging there I laughed for a long time. I knitted a nice little cover for my window and taped it up, then went outside and headed on my way. So if you live in Athens and see me on my scooter, just remember that I’m not very comfortable on it still, so if you honk or yell my name I’ll probably wreck.

Josh

I’m Sorry

I sincerely apologize to anyone who ever read this blog. I originally started it out of boredom, thinking nobody other than my family and a few friends would read it. In the months since I essentially abandoned it I have had people I haven’t spoken to in years, not to mention complete strangers, ask me why I stopped writing. Apparently everyone found it quite funny, and I was just starting to gain a more serious following when I quit.

I’m not sure why I did. I had more stories to tell, more hilarious encounters, but for whatever reason I just stopped writing. I can blame it on a busy semester, but truth be told I skipped plenty of class and could’ve written instead. I want to finish with “I guess I just…” but I really don’t know.

But in two weeks I am moving to Athens to start school at UGA, and in my visits so far this summer I already have good stories. Not to mention the stories I already had that I never told in the first place. So I’m going to start back writing. I won’t be updating daily. In fact I’m not going to update on any sort of regular basis whatsoever. But I will update. And I hope you’ll check back from time to time and see what I’m up to. First new story in a long time is coming soon. Stay tuned.

Josh

The Hiatus

Hello everyone.

As you already know Parmesan Fleas has had a serious lack of posts for a little while now. Well, I’ve been quite busy with school and life and as much as I would like to put all of that on the back burner and write nonsensical articles, society dictates that this is unacceptable. However, the hiatus has taught that a lot more people read this blog than I thought, and that I must have been doing something right because I’ve gotten more than 20 emails regarding new articles.

Well rest assured that the Parm is not done and new articles are on the way. I think I may have been somewhat overzealous in trying to post daily. In doing that not only am I expending material incredibly quickly, but the articles aren’t as hilarious as they could be because I am just trying to get them posted. Thanks for all the messages and concerns though, and check back soon for a new article, only at Parmesan Fleas.

Josh

More Help Than Needed

Ever since Al Gore invented the internet, people have had trouble using it. Some people can’t even turn on their computers, some can’t set up their router, and some can’t figure out why the blogosphere isn’t round. I have never had any of these problems, as things like the internet generally come pretty easily to me. Math? Not so much, but the internet, yes.

Yesterday I decided to list an item on Ebay, so I went to the site and started the process. I’ve had an Ebay account for quite some time, but I’ve never used it. I just wanted to get the name awhile ago, because new members have that little star next to their name and that little star is a blockade against trust. Nobody is going to bid $800 on some toast with the face of Jesus in it if you have that little star next to your name.

I got to the screen where I was choosing my method of payment for the posting fee, and I needed to update my credit card info. I clicked the “Edit Card” link and nothing happened. I clicked again, and nothing. I know the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again expecting different results, but I mean, it’s Ebay. They couldn’t possibly have a dead link. Not Ebay.

As it turns out Ebay offers no call center because they want to make things as difficult as possible, so instead they have a “Live Support” feature where you can chat with a guide who will try and help you with your problem. I’ve always thought that these were really just smart computers that analyze your responses, but I’ve always been too scared to type anything random in to see. If you feel so bold, I would type “boobies.” If it’s a computer, it will probably just ignore it. If it’s a person, well good luck to you.

The support person, whose screen name was Ved, walked me through various steps to fix the problem. She kept trying to take me on different link paths to get to the page I needed, but everything took me back to that one dead link. Eventually I just got fed up and decided that it wasn’t worth the trouble and I would use Paypal.  I told Ved this and things got interesting.

Me:  Thanks for the help, but I think I’ll just use Paypal.

Ved: No, I should be thanking you. You have been too kind and patient.

Me: Haha, no worries. You tried to help, that’s all I can ask for.

Ved: I wish I could’ve helped you more. You seem great.

Me: Haha. Anyway, thanks again.

Ved: So what are you trying to sell?

Me: Uh, a cigar cutter.

Ved: Ooo you smoke cigars? My ex-boyfriend smoked cigars, I love them.

Me: That’s great, you should go bid on my cutter then.

Ved: Haha you’re funny too. So where do you live?

I didn’t answer this question, but instead closed the window. I have never been hit on by a (hopefully) girl on the internet, much less one from an Ebay support center, but I know it’s not something I’m comfortable with. Then again I could be wrong about the whole thing and it was still a computer. Damn crazy smart horny computers.

Josh

The Valentine Rant

**In case this is your first time here, Parmesan Fleas is a humor blog, despite the following article. I have only put it up since it is seasonably applicable. If you are looking for humor, there are 20+ hilarious articles under this one, and I hope you enjoy them all. The comedy will be back fresh in just a few days. Thanks, Josh.**

For those of you that read this blog who know me well, you knew this was coming. For those of you who don’t, I look forward to hearing your opinions regarding my beliefs on Valentine’s Day. I will approach this argument carefully and with tact. I will also put this disclaimer up, as I have on every Valentine Rant prior: I realize not all people share my beliefs. If you feel differently than me, write me and say why. I can respect anyone’s opinion and perhaps your argument will be convincing enough for me to change my beliefs.

I feel that Valentine’s Day is one of the most ridiculous, overrated, heartless concepts we as humans could partake in. The idea that all people everywhere should stand up for love is a wonderful idea; this is not at all what Valentine’s Day is about. Valentine’s Day is an idea people (not just girls) use to force a display of emotion out of someone, generally a significant other. This is my first problem with it.

I am in no way a warrior against the idea of love. I think being able to share your life with someone is a beautiful thing. I recently had a situation that, while far from love, may well have been on its way there. I could not wait to see this girl and talk to her, even about the smallest of things. It didn’t matter what we were saying, it was the bond underneath, the connection that set her apart from being just one of my friends. (This situation is still being worked out; when I know if there’s another chapter or just an epilogue I’ll be sure to edit this post accordingly. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed for another chapter though.)

I hope that last paragraph shows that I do not despise love in and of itself. I despise the idea that there is one day where I am supposed to express my love in a visible way for no reason other than that everyone else is doing it. When I feel something for someone I show her whenever the mood strikes. I text her just to say hi. I bring her a box of Whoppers because we talked about how we both love them on the phone the day before. I tackle her onto the bed and jump around like an earthquake until we’re both laughing so hard we’re crying. I show up and take her out to eat and actually have a meaningful conversation, even if she is dressed in ridiculous clothes that nobody would find her beautiful in but me. I do these things not because there is a standard telling me to, but because I want to.

Valentine’s Day takes this idea and shoves it into a convenient (or inconvenient, depending on your view) package for everyone. There are some boyfriends who love it because they only have to take their girl out on this one day and she’s content. (I can’t imagine dating a girl who would actually think that way; that lack of expression is not a relationship, no matter how you slice it.) Women can mirror this as well, cooking something or wearing something special for him on this one day. (Again, I would never stay with a girl who thought that one evening of romance would make up for a year of mediocrity.) My point is, buying the card and getting the flowers and going to Red Lobster doesn’t prove in any way that you love someone. It proves you own a calendar.

I hope I haven’t offended too many hearts or lost too many readers with this post. I hope that I made my case clear, and that nobody thinks I just hate the idea of love. Love is the most beautiful thing on this Earth, and in time, I hope everyone (including myself) experiences a true love. A love that exists in the little texts, or the box of Whoppers, or the bed earthquakes. The idea that originally created Valentine’s Day is a beautiful one, but the day in itself is just no good.

Love,

Josh