Stranger Danger

This afternoon I was walking down my street and there was some guy in a big ole truck parked on the side of the road. I stopped and talked to him for a while because now that I live on my own my "words per day" count has gone wayyy down and every now and again I stumble upon some unfortunate soul who becomes a victim of my daily dialogue dump, the vacating of all of my vowels and the coughing up of all of my consonants. We talked for a while and then he asked me "Which house do you live in?"

That threw up a huge red flag and I was like  "ummmmm.........over there........" and arbitrarily pointed at a bunch of trees. I just found it very odd to ask someone where they live and I'm not just saying that because he was a trucker. If he had been in a Subaru Outback I wouldn't have been like "Here's where I live, here's when I'm home and here's where I keep my spare key. You make me feel safe.” He seemed like a nice guy, but I didn't want to take any chances. I walked home thinking "What if that guy was some weirdo and robbed me or something? I really dodged a bullet there." So I walked away from that situation feeling pretty good. Also, not that life is a competition, but I got a little boost because he told me that my credit card number and social security number were wayyy bigger than his.

Wishful Sinking

Today I was cleaning some dishes in the sink and as I was rinsing off the last few pieces of silverware I noticed that I was bleeding. After the initial shock, the aftershock, the static shock and listening to Timbaland’s album, Shock Value, I had this surreal and straight up serendipitous moment of Samson-like strength as I thought “Dang, I was bleeding and didn’t even know it?! I must be bad to the bone!” I looked closer in order to assess the injury and came up with the demoralizing diagnosis that this substance seeping from finger was ketchup from the dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets I had eaten for dinner.

Puppy Party

Having a puppy means that I perpetually walk around my house with the demeanor of a parent who is sure their kid had a party at the house while they were gone, but they haven’t found any evidence to support the theory yet. Except instead of beer and smokes I’m looking for pee and poop.

“Just be honest. Tell me what happened and I promise I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”

Laugh Coach

I feel as though I'd greatly benefit from having a Laugh Coach.

It's like a life coach for social settings when I'm with a group of friends and conversation is going great and everyone is laughing and having a good time and then I go and say something completely off the wall and erroneous that brings out this chorus of comedy killing crickets and conversation quickly takes a resuscitation rerouting to a topic such as sports or weather.

On the flip side, believe or not, but not every thought I've ever had has made the mental migration from mind to mouth and sometimes I'll think "Nah, that's stupid." But then two seconds later someone else says it, everyone laughs hysterically like it's the first joke they've ever heard and tells them that the joke restored their faith in humanity and I'm left sitting there like a pouting preschooler who just got his toy truck stolen on the playground like "Hey, that was mine!"

I don't know, maybe I'll pay the judges from Last Comic Standing to follow me around and be like "Yes! Say that, quickly!" or "No! What are you, insane? Don't say that!" But now that I've typed this out, I've realized that I think the thing I'm describing is a conscience and the moral of the story is "Think before I speak."

Thanksgiving Tips

Mark Woonton’s Thanksgiving tip for the day: remember to sit at one of the ends of the table. This way you’re eating is less likely to be interrupted by someone asking you to pass something and thus your piggishness can be far more productive, you have an easier exit route to the bathroom and getting up to get seconds, thirds, fourths and fifths because you aren’t having to slither your way out from between two people like you’re trying to parallel park a Panzer tank and you aren’t getting caught in the crosshairs of a quadrillion conversations and can have the kind of intimate interactions that come with sitting at the end of the table. Plus, people sitting at the ends of a table are inherently viewed as more important individuals. Remember “please” “thank you” and whoever brings up politics first does the dishes. Happy Thanksgiving everyone!

The Classics

This morning I was flipping through the radio on my way to work and a crescendo of chords on the classical station managed to capture my attention. Before I knew it, Mozart guided me through a musical journey that had me absolutely lost in my car and not lost in my usual sense of automotive amnesia like “OH MY GOSH, THIS IS A ONE WAY STREET!” No, simply lost in the instrumental of emotion. I pulled into work feeling refined and sophisticated, while also thinking “I can never let anyone know about this.” Cuz how often do you pull up next to someone and hear them bumpin’ some Bach? Then I realized that my demeanor and dress probably leads people to a first impression that is something to the effect of “Here’s a guy who drained his emergency savings to follow the London Symphony Orchestra around Europe.” Luckily, I have the kind of ensemble of acquaintances in my life who may have thought that on a million occasions, but they have managed to play the most compassionate version of the Quiet Game of all time and I love you all dearly for that.

Pencil Wise

 On an annual basis, I walk into CVS and buy a quantity of pens and pencils that probably leads the person behind the counter at the store to believe that I am prepping to become Mark, the misbehaving medical student who is being forced to write "I will not tell patients that they have pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis because I think it is funny" 100 times.

The reality is that despite the infinite number of writing implements I seem to start the year off with, some get left in pockets and go through the washer, some get loaned out to Pencil Public Enemy No. 2 who has no intention of returning them and others simply get lost in the Ticonderoga Triangle and are never seen or heard from again.

By this time each year, I always seem to be miraculously minimized to one or two pens or pencils in my possession. I don't know where they go to on their pencil pilgrimage, but I hope they are happy and also, I will find them and I will write with them.