Señoras del Leño

Remember this girl? The one I told you I was falling in love with? Well, we’re in love. Both of us. With each other. It’s true. And she said I could tell you that. And

On the Single Dad Laughing Facebook Page, I asked what was the funniest status update you've ever posted on your own Facebook wall. Your answers had me ROFLSHMCSCMD (bonus points to whoever can guess what that means). Relaying a conversation that happened at our house...Katie is telling us about the sex ed class she's in right now. Her teacher apparently said "There are three types of sex: oral, vaginal, and anal." Tim says without pause "I don't want to hear anymore. Take your vagina upstairs." Would I be arrested if I ran through a fire station yelling movie? I don't care what you think of me. Unless you think I'm awesome. In which case, you're right. Carry on. Accidentally wore a blue shirt and khaki pants to Best Buy this morning. Long story short...I think I have been promoted to assistant manager. If I opened a camera store called Photo Shop, do you think I'd get sued by Adobe? Never thought it possible to loathe a cartoon character, but it really wouldn't phase me if one day Swiper decided to off Dora. My 3 year old Lucy: "My name of Lucy is not fancy. May you just call me Lucifer?" My ex has this thing where she likes to dress up like herself and act like a b**** all the time. I am proud to say that my a** is now large instead of extra large, thank you very much. Watching "Hoarders" -- lets me look around my messy house and say, "Hey! At least all of my cats are alive." I really wanted walnuts tonight. The only ones around were surrounded by brownie. Oh well... I play the hand I'm dealt. Yo Mama jokes aren't as effective if you crack them at your own children. So....the kids taught the baby to say "oh, poop", "butt" and "boob". I guess I can check those off my to-do list now. Good Moms let their kids lick the beaters...Great Moms turn them off first. Nobody tells you when you bring home your baby boy that one day your job will be to put athletic cups into his undergarments... I'm a mom, what's your super power? Made sloppy joes for dinner-so I guess all I have to do now is wait for FOOD NETWORK to call with my show offer! Me: Shut your cakehole! My son (without a moment's pause): If you want me to shut my cakehole, put some CAKE in it! In art history today we learned that in prehistoric times, the ideal woman had ginormous boobs and hips, a big belly and a whole bunch of junk in the trunk...I am in the wrong millenium. Is it possible to pull a muscle rolling your eyes? I may have a work comp claim on my hands if things keep going this way... Woke up this morning with a HUGE smile on my face... Yes my kids found my Sharpie stash. Oh my gosh, I just read them again. Too funny. Which were your favorites and what was the funniest Facebook status update you've ever posted? Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing

A while back I decided to ask one of my favorite questions to you over on the SDL Facebook page. “What is the funniest thing you’ve ever heard an old person say.” More than a thousand of you replied, and your answers had me rollin' on the floor ever...

Yesterday I told you all that I was falling in love with someone. I’ll talk more about that in the future. I really am falling, head over heels, but first I want to post this. I wrote the brunt of it a little while ago (I've edited it somewhat after yesterday's response) and feel like I should share it before time makes it irrelevant for me. And, since so many of you responded, "but I thought, but I thought, but I thought..." about my sexuality after yesterday's post, I think I need to do this. “I don’t think I actually like guys.” Those are the words I very unexpectedly found myself saying to my best friends a couple weeks ago as we stayed up late drinking beers and downing an entire pack of those new coconut Oreos (which, by the way, are sinfully good). After so much has happened since I came out as bisexual four months ago (and to people close to me many months before that), I really hated even bringing it up. I mean, I don’t want every topic forever more to be centered around my sexuality. And yet, here I am, and I'm going to remove that label from myself to you all today. If I can. I am not a bisexual. I am not straight. I am not gay. I am just me, and I don’t want to be pinned forever more into anything. All these months later, I’m realizing that as freeing as the label was, it is also equally as confining. Take, for example, yesterday's post. I told you all I was in love. Lots of you were awesome about it. Many of you commented only on my sexuality. Others of you questioned very openly whether I was lying to myself, lying to others, incapable of love, etc. etc. And to a large degree, it was my fault. After all, I painted a label on myself when I came out. But, "I don’t think I actually like guys." I really didn't expect to say those words to my friends. Was I wrong with who I told you all I was so many months ago? No. Was I mistaken? No. Am I recanting anything I previously said? No. Let me explain. Since coming out, my sexual attraction to men has not changed. At all. I still find myself very attracted to certain men (think Ryan Hurst, season one of Sons of Anarchy, maybe that’s weird). I could enjoy intimacy with a guy as much as a girl. But my non-sexual attraction to men has changed. I don’t like guys. So far. I’ve dated lots of them now, and I’ve learned something. Guys really are different in so many ways than girls are, especially in the dating world. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE. And I have found that in general, I very much prefer being a guy, dating a girl. I enjoy the dynamics of it. I enjoy the chase, and the interaction, and the friendly battle between the sexes. I enjoy a soft cheek against my beard more than a scruffy one. I also for some reason enjoy the conversation more with women. There’s just something missing in the conversation for me when I date guys.  I don’t know if it’s a certain balance, or a certain way of looking at the world, or just that the conversation isn’t completely dominated by testosterone. And do I dare even bring up sex? With just about every guy I’ve dated so far, there seemed to be this assumption that we would get it on after the first date. Sorry, I’m not that kind of girl, er, I mean guy. Some guys get offended and pouty about it when I tell them no. It’s as if my rejection rocks the very world that they have grown so accustomed to. I know there are other guys like me out there. Guys who date to date and not to have sex. I know there are lots of them. So where are they? And why are they so hard for me to find? I don’t know. But regardless, at the same time that I’ve dated men, I’ve also dated plenty of women. I love to date. It’s a great way to decompress in the evenings, and there are so many interesting people out there. And when it comes to sex I like dating women more because, well, most of them at least pretend that they’re not easy and if I say no, they never pressure me to “just let loose and have some fun tonight.”

How does falling in love happen? I mean, it happens so frequently to people in this world that it seems like it should be easy and somewhat effortless. But it’s not. At least for me. I really enjoy dating. With every new date I wonder if I might be about to meet the person I’ll end up falling in love with. Maybe it is the person I’ll spend the rest of my life with. I mean, all love has to start by meeting someone for the first time, right? Yet after every date, or at least after several dates with each person, the answer ends up being no, before I ever fall in love. Is falling in love really that difficult? Should it be challenging at all when I am blessed enough to be able to meet scores of people, all who are potentially wondering if I may be the person they’ll end up falling in love with; wondering if they might be about to meet the man they will spend the rest of their lives with? I mean, all love has to start by meeting someone for the first time, right? And it’s not like I only date people who are I know I won't love. I don’t seek out people with whom I already know it will fail like some others do. On the contrary, I seek out dates with people that are intelligent, successful, beautiful, down to earth, and funny, and I always seek out dates with the intent to see if something else more beautiful might develop. And it’s not like I’m unlovable. I’m all those things I listed above as well. Many people are out looking for a guy just like me. So why doesn’t it more easily fall into place? How does falling in love happen? Does it simply happen when two compatible people happen to be open to it at the exact right time? Does it simply happen when some external force finally puts you with someone else? Is it simply luck? If I go on a date with a woman, what is it that will make me look at her and see her as someone better for me than the rest? What is it that will make me, for some unknown reason, trust her with my deepest secrets? What is it that will make me miss her when she’s only been gone for moments? What will make me hang on her every word? What has to happen for me to find myself experiencing twinges of insecurity and bouts of silly jealousy, hoping that she feels the same? Hoping that I’m not stupid. Hoping that I’m not on my way to a broken heart. What transpires that will make me pass any chocolatier or florist and find myself unable to keep going without getting her at least something? How does falling in love with her happen? What is it about her that makes me suddenly push harder in those classes at the gym? Why do I suddenly lift more, run further, and stay longer after I meet her? And why do I, without even thinking about it, let down my walls that I built to protect myself? What happens that I suddenly trust her to see my biggest faults? What happens that I suddenly trust that I am safe with her? What happens that I suddenly trust that there is a future for us? CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE. How does falling in love happen? It’s been so long that I’ve somewhat forgotten how it works. To let myself fall for someone and feel all fear evaporate as I do. To find that one person I can’t get enough of. To not experience time as a limit or a requirement. Is this how falling in love happens? Two people meet and the timing is right enough that the same thing just happens to happen for both of them? Why does one person stand out in front of everyone else the way they sometimes do? Why does one person suddenly appear more beautiful than all the others? Why does one person suddenly make us want only that one person and no one else? Why does it become impossible to see even one tiny flaw? Why does it become impossible to concentrate on the everyday? Why does it become impossible to see a future without them? Is this how falling in love happens? Two people meet and the impossible becomes possible?

Everybody farts. And that's okay. In fact, It's more than okay. Farts are often some of the funniest things ever. At least in retrospect. Anyway, as I put together this morning's yoga fart post, I thought it might be fun to make today an all around act-like-a-12-year-old day. So, over on the SDL Facebook page, I asked you to share your most embarrassing fart stories. One commenter replied, "my aunt refers to a fart as a "panty burp," which I laughed out loud at, so I hereby name this series "Horrifying Panty Burps." But before I share those, I'll share one of mine. I think it's only fair. The year was 2006. I was in Denver interviewing candidates for a manager position at one of our stores. Because I wanted to get in and out as quickly as possible, I was moving them through one after the other, bam bam bam bam bam. I wasn't too impressed with anybody but then my dream candidate walked in. Well dressed, well spoken, skilled, hard worker, good work history... the whole shebang. The only problem was, I was desperate for him to leave because something was bubbling up in my innards, and I knew I couldn't hold it much longer. But, not wanting to lose this guy, I grimaced and held it in. "So, if I were to hire you, how would you expect your employees to act when it comes to mannerisms and classiness?" I said. And right as I said the last words, a tiny but powerfully loud fart burst out of me. I just looked at him with wide eyes. "Hopefully better than that," was all I could reply. He didn't take the job. Anyway, enough about me. Here are your stories. There were at least enough hilarious ones to do two volumes. Maybe more if you share lots of funny stories in the comments. HORRIFYING PANTY BURPS Vol. 1 My daughter told everyone at the shops that the night before I had done a fart so huge I said it felt like I had just given birth to a wind baby. My 4 year old just denied farting. She said her butt growled. Was a month into marriage we are "getting it on" I feel a fart coming and can't hold it in... only it wasn't a fart...that beloved amazing man is still married to me 4 years later and he handled it with grace and love... but did make me wash the sheets...twice. My worst was while I was on that block waiting for the start gun to blast at a swim meet, with the timer person behind me. When my husband and I were newly dating, we were watching a movie on my couch together. I was lying down with my legs on his lap. I honestly just had to cough, but somehow a fart came out at the same time, totally unexpected. He laughed so hard, and to this day still thinks I did the cough to cover up the fart My older brother once farted in line at the Soaring ride at Disney World. It smelled so repulsive that this lady in line in front of us (who mistakenly thought it was her husband who farted) got so upset that she slapped her husband! My friends and I were outside smoking and I was really really really drunk...Apparently, while we were all talking...I backed up, stuck my butt out and let it rip. From what I was told the next day, it was very loud and very long...Thankfully, I don't remember this event. I was in a crowded elevator with my mom and I thought it was going to be silent, but it was the loudest fart in the world. I started laughing because it was awkward and I kept farting with my laugh! It was horrifying! During sex, omg, talk about embarrassing! In Anatomy & Physiology lab, we had to measure the output of our lungs by blowing as hard as we could into some sort of contraption...the air from my lungs was not the only air expelled. On a romantic getaway with my husband. Painful tummy, that I was holding back. Finally, we were alone, I thought, and waffled off the biggest and loudest one ever, only to turn around and see a lot of people looking at me in disgust. What could I do?? I pointed at him. Was really sick in 8th grade. Sitting in algebra sneezed and farted at the same time.

I’m not sure if I can pull off what I need to in today’s post because it involves sounds and exclamations that are somewhat difficult to spell out. You may want to listen to the podcast for this one as well. In the past few weeks, and I’m being careful not to be specific in case any of you were there with me, I was doing my non-flexible awkward giant-guy thing in a yin yoga class. It’s a restorative yoga class where you hold these long releasing poses for like five minutes at a time. Now, look. I know what it’s like to really have to fart while you’re exercising. I mean, just a few weeks ago, I made this e-card: I also know what it’s like to accidentally let one slip here and there. It’s inevitable. When your body is moving, and you’re bending, and squatting, and maneuvering all weird, it’s bound to move some air around inside you. Thankfully, and luckily, I’ve only ever let the occasional toot slip at the gym while there was loud music pumping. And I took comfort in the fact that everyone else probably was, too. But in yin yoga, there is no loud music. There’s only very soft, light, quiet, peaceful music to relax to. As you lay or squat in your poses, the instructor walks around, helping people relax even more by rubbing their shoulders, or pushing them deeper into their poses. And that was precisely what was happening that day in yin yoga. My friend Meryn and I were on mats next to each other doing the frog pose; there were probably 15-18 other people in the class. What is frog pose you may ask? I’ve included a photo above. Basically it’s where you lay face down, spread your knees like a frog to each side, flatten out, and go through an excruciating five minutes of torture while you do serious “restoration” to your upper legs and joints. It’s by far the worst part of yin yoga for me, the fat huge guy who doesn’t look like all the pretty flexible girls who surround me. And there we were. Deep in our frog poses. Trying not to cry because it was really starting to hurt. And it happened. Ffghgfhght. (That was a fart sound.) Only it wasn’t my bum that made the sound. It came from somewhere behind me. And it was immediately followed by a “woahaha.” Only It wasn’t like a “whoahaha,” it was more like a “oooahah.” No, that’s not right either. Just know that it was a short verbal cue that let the whole room know that the farter knew that they farted, and that they were embarrassed that they farted. The translation of their response would have been, “oh my god, I’m so embarrassed right now, please don’t judge me!” CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE. And that’s when I felt my throat tighten. And my lips curl. And suddenly, with more effort than that person was probably using to hold in their fart to begin with, I was trying not to laugh. And if you were to look over at me, I’m sure you’d think I was having involuntary spasms. Spasms that I liked because the smile on my face was too big. Had they just farted their tiny fart and left it at that, I would have been fine. But it was the response that really did me in for some reason. And the more I thought about it, and the more I thought about not laughing, the harder it got, and I just buried my head in shame, knowing that I wasn’t hiding it well at all. It was not lost on me that I was about as mature as a twelve year old right then. And judging by the fact that I heard no giggles coming from anyone else, I must have been the only super childish one there. Eventually I got it under control and the class moved on. I’d still smile from time to time, thinking about how hard I was trying not to laugh. Twenty minutes later we went into some other pose with a name I don’t know, but it’s where you lay with your knees to one side and then turn your head the other way while you lay on top of a bolster. This pose is not stressful and is actually quite nice. And about two minutes into it, it happened. Ffghgfhghtfghgfhght.

My nephews spent the night over here with Noah last night. We had a party. We ate pizza. We watched movies, played, and we all went to bed with chocolate-smeared faces. Our apartment looks like a bomb went off in here. Which is how it should look after nights like we just had. But right now I'm so angry at my sister. Tomi Ann. She came to pick up her boys this morning. She pounded on the door which woke me up. But it didn't just wake me up. She pounded so hard that I leapt out of bed before I even knew I was awake, and had to pause for a moment while my heart attempted to not explode. My head pounded as if I'd been out binge drinking the night before. The boys let her in before I could get there. They had been out in the living room watching Wreck-it Ralph while I attempted to catch a few more Zs. It was necessary since my nephew had wandered in mostly asleep every half hour since 11PM asking if it was time to wake up and turn on the movie yet. As soon as the boys opened the door, Tomi burst through, pushed past her boys, and came straight into my bedroom where I was still in the process of finding a shirt. No "hello." No "how'd it go?" No anything at all. As if I was just an obstacle on some course, she maneuvered around me and straightway entered my closet without asking. I hadn't noticed but she was carrying something. A package. A toy. I'm not sure what. Noah had followed her in and watched as she uncovered all the Christmas presents I had already bought for him (and was hiding) and pushed her own package into the pile. "I can't let Joshy know that I have this!" she said excitedly. I looked at Noah. His eyes were wide. a grin started to form. He had seen all his presents. I looked at Tomi Ann. She didn't care. She had accomplished her goal. Whatever that was. At whatever the cost. And I was mad. And then I actually woke up. And my bedroom door was still closed. I could hear the boys in the other room watching Wreck-It Ralph. And I was still mad. I looked toward my closet. How could she blow my surprise for Noah like that? Oh wait. It was a dream. Then I looked at my closet again.  The presents were still safe. Then I looked at my closet again. Oh wait. There are no presents in there. And then I panicked. It's almost Christmas and I haven't gotten Noah any presents yet. Then I closed my eyes and woke up even more. Oh wait. Christmas was months ago. And I'm pretty sure I'm actually awake right now. I'm pretty sure what's going on right now is real. Yet I'm still brooding somewhat at my sister and her barging-in. Yeesh. I better drink some caffeine before I take the boys back home. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing PS. This blog post has also been recorded as a podcast. You know, if you're into that kind of thing.

You know how sometimes a baby becomes, for some reason, inconsolable? And no matter what Mom or Dad do, the screaming continues. And no matter how much rocking, or feeding, or burping, or singing, or bouncing goes on, the screaming continues. And with every second that passes, Mom and Dad both start going just a little more crazy. And their muscles start spasming. And their eyes start twitching. And their teeth start clenching. And they start pulling their own hair out while they try to figure out what is upsetting their baby so much? Well, I have this theory. What if the baby is just experiencing a really terrible itch? Maybe Mommy’s hair brushed across her baby’s nose and left it itching like freaking crazy. And his little arms and brain aren’t developed enough to reach up and scratch it. And the more the baby thinks about it, the worse it gets. And to make it worse, Mommy’s not doing a dang thing about it. Instead she’s forcing milk down his throat or bouncing him up and down, all the meanwhile this itch is threatening the baby’s very ability to be happy or content or love any part of the world at all… Or maybe after Daddy picked up his baby, lifted her in the air, and kissed her back, his whiskers set an itch in motion that would spread from her back to her shoulders and pretty soon consume every part of her. And her little arms and brain aren’t developed enough to communicate this so she just screams and screams as if to say, “scratch me, dang it!” But Daddy just makes it worse by shoving a binky in her mouth or singing about how everything’s going to be okay. Seriously. We all know how itches work. We all know what it’s like to have an itch hit us so badly that we have to stop everything we’re doing to scratch it out. We all know how itches spread when we don’t take care of them. We all know how much worse they get when we try to ignore them. Shoot. Just writing this is making me itch like crazy. So what if all a parent needs to do for their inconsolable baby is give her a good scratch. Scratch her nose, and back, and legs, and arms. Find the spot that’s itching. Just a thought. I never got to test it because I only came up with this theory a couple years ago. But I think I want to have another baby just so that I can test it out. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing PS. What do you think about my theory? What other things could drive a baby crazy that we so easily remedy for ourselves? PPS. This blog post has also been recorded as a podcast. You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.

A few months ago, I bumped into an old friend from my earlier years, and she for some reason said to me, “I should have fallen for you in high school!” Yeah right. Sorry. You missed your chance. And I know that sounds bad. But hear me out. You missed your chance to fall for a guy who was so broken that he didn’t know who he was. You missed your chance to fall for a guy who was trapped inside of a life of beliefs that weren’t really his. You missed your chance to be the first Ex Mrs. Dan Pearce because with who I was, there was no way a marriage was ever going to work. You missed your chance to watch me gain major amounts of weight to compensate for my depression. You missed your chance to watch me yo yo through my eating disorders. You missed your chance to hear about everything I loved but didn’t really love at all because I was more worried about what other people thought than I was about my own happiness. You missed your chance to fall for a guy who thought he was unlovable by anyone worth loving. You missed your chance to fall for a guy who would get attached to anyone should they pay even the slightest bit of attention to him. You missed your chance to be with someone who lacked the courage to make a move, go in for a kiss, hold your hand, or even give the slightest hint that he liked you. You missed your chance to do a lot of things. That’s for sure. And thank God for that. Thank God we all get the chance to grow out of who we once were and to become new people. Life gives us all the opportunity to shed our demons, hold onto the good parts of us, and become reinvented. Constantly. You missed your chance for the more sad, bad, and mad parts of me, but if for some reason you are someone who falls for me now, you didn’t miss out on any of the good parts of me. Because those parts haven’t changed. If anything they’ve gotten better. You didn’t miss out on my ability to make you laugh. You didn’t miss out on my want to cherish you and treat you right. You didn’t miss out on my work ethic and my belief that I am my own man who can make his own life. You didn’t miss out on the part of me that constantly saw the injustices that go on in the society and community that surround me. You didn’t miss out on the devoted friendship I have always so freely given. You didn’t miss out on my love to woo and wine and dine you. You didn’t miss out on my talents, and my passions, and my gifts. You didn’t miss out on your chance to fall for a guy who is stubborn enough to stand up against what he thinks isn’t right. You didn’t miss out on your chance to fall for a guy who loves children and old people. You didn’t miss out on your chance to fall for a guy who cared enough about you to be honest and faithful. Those parts of a person remain constant when they’re sincere, and they were part of me then like they are now. Oh, I’m sure fifteen years from now I will be making a new list, contrasting the person I am now compared to the better, more balanced person I am then. I hope I do. The only difference is that right now I’m glad that the person I’ll spend the rest of my life with wasn’t there during the roughest parts of my past. I'm glad I didn't drag her through that. I hope that the next time I write this list, I am standing beside the person who was there teaching me what a person can’t possibly teach themselves. I hope that I’m looking back thinking, I’m so glad I didn’t miss my chance to be with them and learn and become as much as I have. Just some random thoughts. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing PS. This blog post has also been recorded as a podcast. You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.

Not all people watching is epic. Sometimes it’s just creepy. Have I ever told you all what a lightweight I am when it comes to alcohol? I’m a cheaper date than a four foot nothin’ girl who’s never had a drink in her life. Seriously. Sometimes all it takes is a couple beers, or a glass or two of wine, or a single shot of the harder stuff and I’m drunk as a skunk getting punked. Anyway, I was at karaoke last Thursday with a big group of friends. One by one they all called it quits and wandered off to their beds somewhere far away from the bar we were having so much fun in. Eventually, all that was left was a few of the regulars and me as I pounded water and sang a couple more on my own. I was a little tipsy, but not too bad. When my last friends took off around 1 am, almost immediately this creepy looking, fully-mustached, short little chubby drunk Latino came from behind and clutched me softly by the shoulders. Expecting it to be one of my friends based solely on the friendliness and gentleness of it, I swung around with a smile on my face. Maybe I hadn’t been ditched after all. Instead I came face to face with this unnerving guy who had just as big a smile on his own face. My own beaming countenance disappeared as I realized I was about to be propositioned. Or murdered. Or worse. “You want that we do something?” he said. I hadn’t even seen him throughout the night. And I had no idea what he meant by “do something.” He certainly hadn’t been singing any numbers. “No, I really don’t want to do something.” I attempted to turn back around but he grabbed my shoulder and stopped me. “I know you,” he said as he did. Don’t ever grab my shoulder and try and force me to stay and talk to you. I don’t care who you are. Nothing will tick me off quicker. I pushed his hand off rudely. “No, you don’t,” I informed him. “I seen you and I been watching you.” I closed my eyes and attempted to gauge my sobriety. I still wasn’t quite there. I could just sit the rest of it out in my car. “You’ve been watching me, huh? Where?” I stood up. “I seen you and I been watching you.” I was done. This dude was weirding me out. Big time. I pulled out my wallet to leave the waitress a tip so that I could take off. “Oh no, man, I don’t want your money,” he suddenly said panicked. “Don’t worry. It’s not for you,” I told him as I laid a crisp fiver on the table. “Take it easy.” I started heading for the door. “Wait! I know you! You want that I come with you?” he yelled after me and started following me. I tensed up and slowed. I knew that to keep going would lead to a very unfriendly altercation in the parking lot as I tried to shake this guy. Then an angel appeared. My waitress must have noticed what was going on because she got between us and started coaxing this guy to his barstool again. She gave me a nod, I returned it, and was on my way. As I headed through the door, the last words I heard from this guy were to the waitress. “But I know him,” he said. Yeah, it was creepy. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing PS. This blog post has also been recorded as a podcast. You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.

Look. Pretty much all of us love Facebook. There’s no reason to lie about that or cover it up. Social networking is a fun and guilty pleasure that makes our lives so much more interesting. I mean, you get it all with Facebook. Drama. Laughs. Blunders. Whining. Romance. Getting on Facebook is like watching a special episode of Days of Our Lives guest-starring Jim Carrey, Betty White, Morgan Freeman, and that one creepy guy that shows up in every movie but no one knows his name. That being said, some work needs to be done. Facebook has been around for what, eight years now? And as I scroll through my feed I can see that people still really need a quick lesson of how to phrase their status updates so that they don’t bore the world to death. And I get it. I get that most of our daily lives are completely boring (mine is no different), and that we need to post at least something every day to let the world know that we’re still breathing. I just think we can all do it in a way that, you know, doesn’t suck. Hopefully this little guide helps. 17 Ways to Make Your Facebook Statuses SO Much Less Boring 1)When you're excited about food. Facebook status you've seen a million times: “Stopped at Papa Tony’s and got a couple pizzas for dinner. The kids are looking forward to a night of unhealthy eating!” The less boring way to update your status: "Right this second in the back seat of my car (I kid you not) is 200,000 calories that I intend to let my kids devour and not feel guilty about in the slightest." 2)When your lover was amazeballs. Facebook status you've seen a million times: “Oh my gosh. Can I tell you how amazing my husband is? I came home to the dishes done and a clean house!” The less boring way to update your status: “Listen ladies, what I’m about to say is going to make you want my hubby. He just cleaned the whole house while I was gone. Please be respectful and know that I can only lend him out to one of you at a time." 3) When you just broke a sweat. Facebook status you've seen a million times: “Just ran a 5K, had my best time yet!” The less boring way to update your status: “I am a freak of nature. I’m pretty sure my mother was a cheetah and my father was a Ferrari because I just ran the best 5K of my life!” 4) When you just realized how bored you currently are. Facebook status you've seen a million times: “I’m trying to decide what color to paint the baby’s room. Any suggestions?” The less boring way to update your status: “I am so bored right now that I’m starting to think about things I normally wouldn’t. Like whether or not it would be pleasant to have a walrus sit on my face.” 5) When you realize your body is falling apart. Facebook status you've seen a million times: “Ugh. Results came back from the doctor’s office and all they pointed to were more tests.” The less boring way to update your status: “My test results from the doctor left me thinking that one of two things must be true. Either I’m about to be dead, in which case I leave my garbage pail kids collection to my older sister who was always jealous. Or, I’m a serious hypochondriac, in which case she better keep her mitts off.” 6) When your kid is the cutest ever. Facebook status you've seen a million times: “I can’t tell you how much I love my little guy. Every day I feel so blessed to be the mother of such an amazing tiny person.” The less boring way to update your status: “The big guy in the sky obviously loves me more than you. Why else would he give me a kid like this? I can’t get enough of him! Oh, and are any of you free to babysit Friday night? I really need a parenting break.” 7) When you're feeling old. Facebook status you've seen a million times: “Sometimes I look in the mirror and wonder when the heck I got so old. Found some gray hairs today. This sucks.” The less boring way to update your status: “When you pass me in the street later,

Yesterday I was at Target and the lines were horrifically long at checkout for some reason. No. Seriously. I’m not exaggerating. They were so bad you’d think I was at Walmart on Christmas Eve. Or at Disneyland trying to get into Splash Mountain. Or at the mall trying to get my autograph cause I’m, like, so hot right now (somebody please recognize me, someday, please!). I had hardly anything in my cart. A carton of milk. Toaster Strudels. Rockstar Recoveries. Beard dye. You know, bachelor stuff. The average load in each of the 46 carts in front of me was about 392 items, and by how things were going, at least half of those items weren’t ringing up properly or needed manager assistance. I wanted to go put all my man-stuff away and come back when the impending-apocalypse wasn’t going on, but my beard roots were growing by the second and they were screaming at me to stick with it. Then behind me hobbles up this old woman and chooses my line to get in. Judging by her meticulously stacked cart, she had gone through a Tetris addiction in the eighties, which probably was during her eighties. Her skills were obviously slacking though because the stack was towering dangerously high. I looked at her cart. It’d probably take the cashier a good 20 minutes just to beep her stuff through. I looked at my cart. It’d take the cashier a good 50 seconds to beep my stuff through. I looked at the woman. She was old. And she was hobbling. And my brain said, “dude, it’s only a 50 second difference for her.” And my heart said, “dude, it’d make a 50 second difference for her,” which, by the looks of her might be a significant percentage of the life she had left. I had quite a while to think about whether or not I wanted to be a good person that day, and finally I gritted my teeth and offered to let her go in front of me. She graciously accepted and I let her hobble past, hoping that others would follow suit. No one else did, though (the weenies), and we all moved grudgingly closer to the checkout. I prepared myself to catch her should she drop dead before we got there. CONTINUED ON NEXT PAGE. But she didn’t die, and a good 15-20 minutes later she made it to the conveyer belt. She began slooooooowwwly taking groceries out of her cart and putting them on the belt. Not wanting this to be her last act on this earth, I jumped in and kind of just took over. She called me “sonny” (in a positive way) which made me feel ridiculously giddy for some reason. After for freaking ever, her cart was loaded back up, she whipped out a checkbook and began the pain-staking five minute process of writing out a check. I was a little annoyed that I couldn’t jump in and help her with that, too, especially when she started filling out the registry and balancing her account. Still, she was too old for me to actually be annoyed with her, so I was patient and overly thankful when a Target employee offered to take her groceries out to her car for her. Eventually she hobbled off and it was finally my turn to buy my seven things. Of course at this point the lines had pretty much all died down to nothing. The cashier beeped the first item. Then the second. Then the third. Then the fourth. And the fifth. And the sixth. Then the seventh item wouldn’t beep. She tried at least ten times. Nothing. She tried keying it in. Twice. Nothing. She tried vigorously typing things into her keypad. Nothing. She tried shaking her equipment and then entering the data again. Nothing. Then, she flipped her lane light on to signify that she needed help. It took a few minutes for a manager to show up. While we waited, I told her we could just leave that last item off, and she tried but the whole thing was frozen. I was stuck. Finally the overly bubbly manager (and by overly bubbly I mean she was hating life as much as I was right then) arrived and did the exact same things the cashier had done to try and get it to work. And… nothing.

It’s Noah’s birthday yet again. Wow, I can’t believe this is the third birthday post I’ve written for him since I started this blog. He turns six today, and as I contemplate just how vibrant and unbelievable a little human being he is, I would like ...

I was walking through the new outlet mall on Tuesday (seriously, it’s my new favorite place, and I am fully prepared to admit that I may have an addiction) when I saw a young mother next to the brick fireplace that sits in the center of it (it’s an outdoor mall). Her three or four year old daughter was holding her hand while she stood up on the ledge, and they were walking circles around it together. I didn’t think much of it. But as I was passing, a dark bearded man, bundled in a wool coat and at least ten years older than the mother approached the pair. “Miss, you’re going to need to get your daughter down from there,” he said very authoritatively. “It’s against mall policy.” She laughed and didn’t move her daughter. “Miss, I can call the authorities right now and have you arrested for child endangerment. Is that what you want?” He looked passively ticked. I was getting passively ticked myself. There was definitely nothing overly dangerous about what this mom was doing with her child. “Hm.” She replied. He stared her down. The young mother didn’t flinch and looked at him square in the eyes. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen,” she said. At this point I had inched closer, awkwardly wondering if things were about to get ugly. “We’re going to stay here, and keep doing what we were doing.” “Oh really?” he snorted back. She smiled. “Yep. And let me tell you what you’re going to do. You’re going to walk over to Rocky Mountain Chocolate Factory, and you’re going to buy me and my daughter a caramel apple and bring it back here.” “A caramel apple? You really think I’m going to go buy you a caramel apple?” Again she smiled. “It’s either that or call your little authorities.” She said it with the biggest and cutest attitude I’d ever seen. Then, and this was unexpected, he said, “what kind do you want?” She began whispering to her daughter, settled on something, told him what they wanted, and he disappeared around the corner. I should have skedaddled but I really wanted to see if this guy was going to do it. And I didn’t see the harm in hanging around. They seemed oblivious that I had parked it against the brick fireplace myself, pretending to do something on my phone. A few minutes later the man appeared again, carrying a brown paper sack. He held it out to her. She began laughing, reached out, and pulled him into her. And gave him a kiss. Judging by the way they kissed, I’m pretty sure that I was the real sucker because I was buying this couple’s roleplaying silliness hook, line, and sinker. Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing PS. This blog post has also been recorded as a podcast. You know, if you’re into that kind of thing.