publish your diary …or… make a movie of your most embarrassing moment

It is not a diary. It is a journal.
I do keep a journal. Not very well, however. I only use it to record significant events in my life; moments that I do want to look back on. I record seasons of growth; of change; of heartache. Every once in a while I have a nostalgic whim and want to look back on my thoughts and experiences. A written record is helpful to recall specific experiences.
Unfortunately, I often neglect writing in my journal so it is missing many major events in my life.
But just to over clarify…
it is not a diary.!
“Diary” has such a girly connotation.
I do not record a sentimental monologue of all my secrets and deep troubles about what Suzy said to me at school the other day. But for the sake of today’s question I will tolerate using the term for my journal.

Thankfully, I do not often experience embarrassing moments.
I have had a few though, and I don’t need to ask the mirror on the wall which of my moments is the most embarrassing of them all. I am fully aware of which it is.


14 years old. Car full of cousins and brothers. Driving to San Diego for a holiday. Decided to take the Coronado Bridge for the view. Got stuck in traffic in the middle of the city. Had to pee the entire 3 hour drive.

I’ll tell you now. I would not rather publish my diary journal. It is not that it is full of dirty little secrets. Okay, it might be but you will never know. Honestly, I just don’t think it would sell. My mom might buy it, but other than her, it would not do well on the market.
This would be unfavorable. I intend on publishing written work in my lifetime. I can’t tarnish my reputation by publishing my very poorly written, raw journal.
Maybe someday, after I spruce it up and toss in some fabricated anecdotes for entertainment purposes. But not today.

Well, we arrived at my cousins house. The long awaited toilet was just through the doors. My relief was in sight. Everyone, fully aware of my need to pee quickly exited the vehicle… except one.

My cousin, Dude, prevented my escape. I was stuck in the back seat of a van with one way out and my pressurized bladder rendered me incapable of fighting my way through his body barricade. Cruelty, it was.

He received his fill of demented entertainment at the expense of my agony and moments later I had stepped out of the vehicle onto the pavement. Across the street I could see my parents ready to greet us but my thoughts were fixated on the yellow brick road set before me and I was ready to meet the whizzerd.

The hope of relief covered me with a warmth that was like…no; it was too late. Standing there at 14 years old, in front of all my family, was I, in a sea of golden yellow.

Make a movie of it. I’d watch it. I’m a pants pisser and I’m proud.

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have a robot butler …or… have a monkey sidekick





Oh, how I wish.





Today’s post is inspired by Tim Kochenderfer’s post today about winning the lottery. I thoroughly enjoyed the idea of having a robot to a assistant and a gorilla to deliver messages for me. But which one would I rather have more?

A robotic butler would outstandingly beneficial.
How, you ask?
Firstly, because it is a butler. No more cleaning my room, making my bed, washing my clothes, or worrying about the batcave when I’m out.
A butler would take care of all these things! My life would become a breezy breeze.

Secondly, because it is a robot. Normal butlers are needy. They require payment, food, a place to sleep, and protection of their civil rights. Not a robot!
A robot doesn’t have all those high maintenance human components.
A robot will do my chores for free.
It will never complain about  being overworked or needing a lunch break or its own space to sleep. At the end of the day, he can go ion the corner and power down.

A robot butler would be wonderful.

Though, I must admit… old robot men do not strike me as the most trustworthy of characters.

Robotic butler is a great idea, but sidekick monkey takes the cake (or banana?)
I’ve always wanted a pet monkey growing up. They’re mischievous and get away with everything, they do acrobatics, they know how to party.
The monkey wouldn’t be my slave like the robot but that is not a problem. A monkey sidekick would be my best bud, my partner in crime, my righthand man. I would be Aladdin and he would be Abu.

I’m can’t deny the risks though.

 Upon looking up pet monkey pictures, I did happen across multiple images of wounds inflicted on an master by his pet monkey.
But I lean more towards nature in the great nature vs. nurture debate, so I blame the parents.


Then I also run the risk of my sidekick developing power issues and taking over the world, thus, forcing mankind into slavery.
But I’m not going to be jacking with my monkey’s genetics so this is highly unlikely.

Life is all about risks and rewards.
In my opinion, the rewards of having a pet monkey far outweigh the risks.
I would definitely rather have a monkey sidekick. And “I shall call him mini-me.”

Which would you rather?
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What could it hurt?

trust everybody …or… trust nobody

Either I am doomed to a life of naiveté or torment from paranoid schizophrenia. Lovely.
The choices appear insignificant but the consequences are grave.


Okay, maybe I’m being dramatic.
Trusting everybody would be wonderful.
I’m sure that, despite my inability to distinguish truth from lies, people would not take advantage of my innocence.


Instead of ranting on and on about the infinite number of ways people would be able to screw with my folly if I were to trust everybody, I would rather show you the immediate response of one of my closest friends; you know, someone who should care for my well being.
Do I need to explain the terror I would be forced to endure if a  criminal discovered my ever trusting nature? Case settled.

Lets explore the other option.
Would circumstances be preferable if I was unable to trust people?
I would not be subject to believe everything I am told, negating the risk of jumping off a building on account of a friend’s suggestion.

Though, I mustn’t underestimate the relevance of trust to daily living. Consider every minute  interaction that involves trust.

Currently, I am sitting in Starbucks. While ordering my drink I paid with a 100 dollar bill. $95.55 was my change. The register only contained 5 and 1 dollar bills. This meant I had many green pieces of paper coming my way. I had to trust the cashier as she counted my change before  returning it to me.



Imagine how that exchange would have gone if I was unable to trust people.
First of all, I would not have trusted her competence to operate the register because I’m not a math wiz who can calculate the sales tax and determine the correct amount that I should be charged for my beverage.
Secondly, I would not have trusted her count of the change which would result in my frustration and recounting of the money, likely resulting in a the making of “a scene” in the middle of Starbucks.
Thirdly, I would not have been able to trust that the line of people behind me were not going to stab my problematic tooshie in the back.
Fourthly, I would not have been able to trust the person who made my drink! They could have poisoned me.

All this lack of trust would lead to my becoming infuriated with everyone around me resulting in an outburst and, plausibly, a thrown chair or two.
Eventually, I would not be fit to function in society. I assume, that a diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia would soon follow and my moving into a psych ward would be imminent.

How could I trust anyone in a psych ward?

There is a risk but I would embrace the ignorance.

Which would you rather; to trust or not to trust?