Commemorative Plates

Imagine my frustration as I'm cruising down the highway when I was suddenly cut off by someone who didn't signal. They flew right past me and across to the next lane. In a raging fit of anger, I silently muttered their demise in my car and turned up the radio. I'm sure they got the point.

After a few minutes, I completely forgot about the incident and continued on my way to work. Everything was going smooth and I was enjoying the ride. Suddenly, the same car was within my vision. The very first thing I did was turn down the radio and concentrate on the car. Nothing was muttered until my eyes settled on their license plate. Wouldn't you believe it? They were from Jersey. God help the person who would have to read my eulogy if our interaction resulted in my death. 

"We're here to celebrate the life of Eric Remly, who was so suddenly taken from us by the douche of Jersey. Too young and too soon. May he rest in peace and Jersey lay in ruins." That's about right.

Terrible thoughts of how much I hate Jersey ran through my head. There was more muttering and raising of the stereo volume. It was then that the car slowed down and I got a better look at it. I had been so wrong. This driver wasn't from Jersey. No, not at all. He was the tragic victim of my prejudice because he had the most recent New York plate.

Oh God, could he ever forgive me? This poor man must not have seen me when he was merging. For all I know his turning signal was busted. Man, did I feel like crap.

It's all that damn Yellow's fault.

No. That dude was jerk. 

Accessorize the Demons

It cracks me up how accessories have become as important as they are. Watches, wallets, and key rings are a part of our daily lives. Most recently, the cellphone case has become a huge one, and if you own an iPhone, it's become absolutely essential. The days of sticking one's phone in their pocket just the way it is has gone out with yesterday's trash.

I remember when I was younger, my friends and I would laugh at the attempts of kiosk workers peddling Louis V knock off cases in the mall. The joke was on us, I guess. Years later, people are lining up to get the latest iPhone and holding a case in their free hand.

They've even become more than a hard exterior to protect your phone. Some are fashion statements, while  others are just making a statement that you clearly don't know how firmly grip a phone. I remember spending an hour deciding between two cases that I wanted. That's when I realized I was an idiot and chose one. Of course, I've realized I was an idiot on plenty more occasions. God help me when I get married.

Of all accessories, watches are my favorite. I know what you're thinking, "there's a clock on your phone." But cellphones don't look good on your wrist. As much as I like them, watches always leave me disappointed. It's not the watch's fault. It's me.

See, the Lord, in His infinite wisdom, chose not to bless me with large hands. They do the job, but, when it comes to watches, they're terrible to work with. Every single watch I tried on during my last "watch outing" made my hands look even smaller than they already were. Luckily, I found one that was just the right fit. Sadly, it took about three days.

But, have you seen the sizes of watches these days? They're huge! They also weigh a ton. I can only imagine what horrible accidents they will cause when people remove them. Hands flying at their faces to brush aside some stray hairs will probably result in black eyes. Hailing a cab will dislocate one's shoulder. And some one will, undoubtedly, wake up in the hospital after knocking themselves unconscious, trying to answer their phone three days prior.

It will serve as a reminder that accessories really aren't important.

Commando

The following is a work of fiction.

So, there I was standing in my "glory" explaining to my manager why I had to explain to him why I was in my birthday suit.

See, it all happened this morning when I woke up. There I lay in a pool of my sweat, sheets all over the floor and my pillow at my feet. This story would be more racy if there was a girl in the bed with me, but there wasn't. It's just been absolutely sweltering these couple of days and the night hasn't brought any relief. Have you ever had to wake up to wipe the sweat from your cheek that your mistakenly thought was drool?

I lift my self to a seated position with my head in my hands. Wiping the sweat from my forehead and slicking back my hair, I make my decision. 

Commando.

I get up and grab my towel. Nothing was going to hold me back from this. I think about the different, embarrassing,  scenarios that could possibly arise from my choice. "I'm a grown man. I'll do what I want."

As I step out of the shower, I clean the condensation from the mirror and look myself up and down. Am I ready for this? You're damn right, I am. And so begins the normal after shower routine.

Deodorant applied? Check. Teeth brushed? Check. Hair styled? Check.

Then I come to the next usual step.

Boxer briefs? Negative. "I've got to do something though, right? Can't jump without some sort of a net."

Powder? Check.

I proceed. My jeans in my hand, I step into them and throw on a shirt. I feel different. I feel different. There's a breeze and it's completely welcomed. Throw on some shoes and we're golden.

After a good half hour of checking my pockets to make sure I've got everything and throw down some food, I'm ready for the day. I grab my keys and head off to work. 

Everything feels amazing and I'm smiling because I've got a secret no one knows about. I strut down the hallway in front of coworkers with the confidence of a cat whose dog attackers have been put behind bars. I point to Shelly with my finger mimicking a gun and wink. She's weirded out. I hurry to the break room.

After grabbing some coffee, I make it to my work room. No one else in here but me. I sit down and kick my feet up onto the desk. I sip and take in the wonderful world of Commando. I sigh.

I tip to far back. It all happens so slow. I try to regain balance. The cup flies out of my hand. I lean forward. The cup flips. I watch. Coffee flings itself out of the cup.

Oh God.

"AHHHHHHHH!"

"So, you see? The coffee went all over my crotch. I was burning alive. My manhood was in danger. I had to take off my jeans."

My manager looks at me in silence for what seemed like an hour. "Ok. I get it. But, why does it look like you rubbed toothpaste all over your junk?"

Stupid safety net. Thanks for nothing.