The Blog is Alive!

I’m back.

Yes, it has been a while since the last update of Humor, Comedy, Life and Other Random Neural Firings by Joseph Simmons. I apologize for the lack of new content, but I know my loyal readers are understanding of my needed time off. You see, great writers like Stephen King, George Will, Dave Barry and myself all need an occasional sabbatical to get the “creative juices” flowing again. Now that I’ve had my rest, I am ready to crack my knuckles and get bloggin’ again.

One thing I should mention: I would like to thank my readers for the hundreds of e-mails complimenting my writing and encouraging me to continue. Okay, maybe “hundreds” is an overstatement. It was more like “twelve”. But still, it is certainly nice to know that there were those out there in readerland who were missing me. In fact, I’ll be happy to share a few of those kind e-mails with you right now. Let’s go to my inbox:

Dear Joe,
Where do you get the nerve to call yourself a writer? This is complete garbage! You are a certified idiot. If your blog was the only website left on the web, I’d cancel my Internet service and throw a rock through my computer monitor. Why, I—

Whoops! Um, looks like I clicked on the wrong e-mail there. I wonder who that message was intended for. Uh, ha-ha, must be a zillion “Joes” on the Internet. Ha-ha. Okay, let’s try another message:

Mr. Simmons,
Congratulations and thank you for your subscription to HotNakedSororityGirls.com! Your $19.99 a month subscription entitles you to unlimited—

WHOOPS! Okay, maybe we don’t need to be looking in my e-mail box, like ever again. Because you just never know what kind of, you know, um, spam, yes, SPAM, you may find in there. Anyway, my point (yes, I did have one) was, I am flattered that people are enjoying my blog, and I wish I could update it every day. Alas, as a mortgage broker I have a pretty full schedule, making daily updates impossible. Just as an example, here is a typical morning for me:

6:00 AM: Alarm clock goes off. I turn it off and immediately get up and start my day.

6:30 AM: If you believe the line for 6:00 AM, you are, no offense, a complete moron. No mortgage broker-slash-humor writer has ever willingly gotten up at six o’clock in the morning without the threat of a house fire. And even if I did smell smoke, I’d probably assume that I could still get another 45 minutes of sleep “before the fire gets real bad”.

7:00 AM: I’m still completely and thoroughly unconscious, most likely dreaming about Keira Knightley. Have not moved at all except possibly to scratch my butt.

7:30 AM: Alarm actually goes off. I don’t even touch it. I just glare at it. It knows. It turns itself off and apologizes. I go back to sleep.

7:39 AM: Alarm goes off again. I slam on the “snooze” button. I say to the alarm clock, “I probably should go ahead and get up”. We both have a hearty laugh as I go back to sleep.

7:48 AM: Alarm goes off yet again. I reach for the “snooze” button again, but this time it dodges my hand. I reach to slam it again. It jukes me again. I curse at it. It replies, “No more snoozes, lazy ass!” “Please, one more!” I reply. It asks, “Do you promise to replace my emergency battery? I’ve had the same dead 9-volt since the Clinton administration!” I agree to.

7:57 AM: Alarm goes off for the final time. Instead of hitting snooze, I actually turn it off. I sit up…then I crawl back into bed. The alarm clock is powerless. I chuckle.

8:34 AM: I wake to a constant whining. As I slowly obtain clear vision, I notice I am looking directly at my dog’s eyes, and she is telling me, in no uncertain terms, that she will not be held responsible for any mess that is created if I don’t let her outside right now.

Of course at that point I am up, so I get ready for work and then actually go. Of course, I can’t blog while I’m at the office…it would interfere with all the sitting around I have to do. And I work late hours a lot, so that doesn’t leave a whole lot of time in the evening to write either. Even on the days I do get home at a decent hour I usually spend that extra time drinking two-for-one beers at happy hour volunteering or spending quality time with my family.

Ahh…but not to worry. I now know that I have a responsibility to my readers. So I will make every effort possible to find the time to keep this blog updated with a new essay at least once a week, with maybe a humorous blurb in-between. Because I know, deep in my heart, that every one of you will thank me by clicking on my Google ad above.

What Was I Writing About Again?

I was taking a shower recently when a question struck me. It was the question that every man approaching his mid-thirties eventually asks himself, and it is an indication of his maturation, experiences, mortality, and where he is in his life:

“Um, did I already wash my hair?”

Yes. I was actually standing in my shower, water splashing on me, while I wracked my brain for several seconds trying to remember whether I had already shampooed. This is very frustrating, since I have to imagine that most people would recall something that happened only a few seconds prior. Apparently, I do not have this “gift”, so I had to play the part of Shower Detective, testing the crime scene and looking for clues:

First Test, Running My Fingers Through My Hair: Um, it felt like wet hair. Inconclusive.

Second Test, Looking on the Shower Floor for Drips of Spilt Shampoo: I found two pounds of body hair, three ancient shards of Dial, a mildew colony so developed it has its own navy, about a half pound of wet dog fur, but no shampoo. Inconclusive.

Third Test, Inspecting the Shampoo Bottle Cap: This tells me nothing. I knew it wouldn’t tell me anything. I have no idea what I was expecting to find there. Maybe a little sign that said, “Yes, you’ve already shampooed you moron”. Inconclusive.

So, I was forced to do what I pretty much knew I would have to do all along: shampoo my hair, perhaps again. I had no idea whether it was the first or second time. But at least it was going to be clean.

So what the heck is going on with my memory? Does this have to do with me reaching the age of 35? I had always thought memory loss was something that happened when you got old. (And I when I say “old”, I mean “way older than I am right now, even though I am not as young as some of you loyal readers, but I really don’t want to hear about that right now, so why don’t you just shut up?”) My memory should not be wreaking havoc with my life the way it has. I mean, here is another recent shining example of how it has affected my morning routine:

Day One Shower: I notice that I am almost out of “body wash” (whatever it is called—the liquid stuff that replaced soap), so I make a mental note to make sure to stop at the grocery store that night and pick some up.

Day Two Shower: I curse myself as I realize that I had forgotten to buy body wash the night before. I squeeze as much as possible out of the old bottle and tell myself to definitely stop that night to pick some up, because there is nothing left in this bottle.

Day Three Shower: I berate myself as I realize that my idiot brain had forgotten again to pick up body wash. I squeeze and squeeze the old bottle, mostly just making fart noises. I end up somehow showering with about two molecules of the liquid soap. I make a mental note to absolutely, positively, definitely go to the store tonight to pick some up. No one can forget something three days in a row.

Day Four Shower: Shower with Hartz flea and tick shampoo.

Even after my shower, my memory affects my routine. For example, sometimes I’ll be staring at myself in the mirror* after my shower when I will suddenly think to myself, “have I brushed my teeth already?” And I will have NO IDEA what the answer to that question is. This means I have to go through yet another search for clues (“Is the toothpaste out? Is my toothbrush wet? Does my mouth taste like a goat’s ass?”) before I can leave the house for work.

So, is there a solution to this problem? And, is it really a problem, or just a product of nature? Is this something I can deal with? And furthermore, what was I talking about again?

Oh yeah, my memory. I had another point to make here, but I forgot what it was.


*Never for more than 15 minutes. I’m not a complete narcissist. Okay, maybe 30 minutes. Alright, an hour tops!

My Apologies for Lack of Blogging, Episode 2: Procrastination Strikes Back

I am very sorry for my lack of blogging lately. I’ve just arrived back in Florida, having been out of the country for a while now. I wanted to post my latest column before I left, but due to my rigid, strict schedule of procrastinating doing any sort of packing or preparing for my first-ever international trip until the night before I left (“Where do I apply for a passport at 3 am?”), I really had no time.

By the way, what a wonderful vacation! I can hear the pangs of jealousy whenever I tell people where I went. Everybody reacts with the same excited response:

“Um…where?”

Don't worry...they weren't fooling me by hiding their envy with confused looks.

Anyway, I went to Riga, Latvia. It is the capital city of the northernmost of the three Baltic States in Eastern Europe. I have a friend from there who invited me, and she was nice enough to be my tour guide for my entire stay. I have begun to write about my experiences there, so you’ll be able to read about my trip in an upcoming blog (estimated posting date: February 2008).

Okay, unlike a lot of bloggers, I have this thing called a “job” and I need to get there pronto. Look for an update within the next day or two.

Special note for my sister Lori: At last count, I still have two kidneys and one liver, and the only torture device I encountered during my trip was my hotel-room shower. So I guess I made it okay.

To All the Naysayers Who Said I'd Never Find a Girlfriend (UPDATED!)

My latest attempt at dating 

In case you are confused: no, I have not settled down yet. This picture was taken with a crappy cell phone camera, which is probably good since the "special effects" consisted of my sister holding a Barbie Doll with her hand as she was taking a picture of me on the couch.

All you ladies jealous yet?

UPDATE: I regret to announce that our relationship is over. While I definitely enjoyed the conversation (I noticed that I seemed to do most of the talking, which was fine with me), I found her to be too materialistic and plasticky for my tastes. I mean, come on, a pink Corvette with her name all over it? The real deal-breaker, though, was all the weird positions I'd find her in on my niece's bedroom floor. I'm thinking she needs to lay off the cosmopolitans a little.

Where Would I Be Without the Support of My Sister?

(I was on the phone recently with my sister Lori discussing, among other things, a new update for my blog. I’m struggling a little on my latest column, and this is definitely not it. However, I thought this conversation was too funny NOT to post. Oh, and bear in mind that my sister is a website designer with a incredibly expensive digital camera, whereas I wouldn’t know HTML unless it’s printed on the bottom of a Miller Lite bottle and I think I got my digital camera free with five proofs-of-purchase of Cap’n Crunch. Therefore, along with her world-renowned sarcasm, she is also an Internet elitist snob.)

Lori: That picture you posted of your bumper sticker is terrible. It isn’t properly cropped and the resolution is really poor.

Me: Could you make out what the bumper sticker said?

Lori: Well…yes.

Me: Then yeah, I'm sure there are people out there that are thinking, “Well, I would have laughed at the sticker, but the humor is just killed by the cropping”.

Lori: (Laughs)

Me: Face it: you’re jealous that I am a skyrocketing Internet star and you’re a piece of roadkill on the Information Superhighway.

Lori: Oh, yeah, sure you are. They might even make a movie about you. They could get Tattoo from Fantasy Island to star.

Me: Whatever. I think they’d have to have Keanu Reeves play the part of me, though I’m not sure he’s good-looking enough.

Lori: Plus, I don’t think he has the acting range to play someone that dumb.

Me: Whatever. They’d probably get Janeane Garofalo to play you, though I’m not sure she is sarcastic enough.

Lori: Whatever. They’d probably get Screech from Saved by the Bell to play you, but I’m not sure he’s ugly enough.

Me: Whatever. Maybe they’d try to get Jessica Simpson to play you, but she’s not airheaded enough.

Lori: Whatever! Maybe they’d get Tom Cruise to play you…oh, wait, he’s probably heterosexual.

Me: OHH! So we’re going to the gay jokes now? Okay, let’s see, they’d probably get Rosie O’Donnell to play you…

(In case you are wondering how this conversation ended, IT HASN’T. Verbal volleys have been going back and forth all day, most of it unprintable, and will recommence with the next phone call. Love ya, Sis.)