blessed indifference

The dating scene has been a little boring as of late. That's not to say that I haven't had any dates, let's just say that the ladies aren't exactly lining up in droves for a chance to go out with me (not that I'm complaining...I like money). A day or so ago there was an incident that made me realize just how much I've changed over the past couple of years. I'm going to be slightly vague just in case the person I'm referring to spontaneously decides to start reading for pleasure and stumbles upon this blog.

We were at an event and as always I was getting a little goofy and when I say "a little goofy", I do mean a little. Comparitively speaking I only exhibited a mere fraction of the goofiness I have been known to display. Allow me to elaborate: It was warm so I took off my long sleeved shirt and instead of carrying it like a normal person (boring) I tried to come up with a more creative way of taking it with me. Option A was to tie it around my waist......gay. Option B was to throw it over one shoulder...tried it, didn't like it. So I jokingly went with the next option and draped both sleeves over my shoulders and tied it in the front in true "Prep Boy" fashion. I then puffed up my chest, turned up my nose and began to saunter and strut in an effort to really sell the act. My companion jokingly acted embarrassed, told me to take it off and tried to fall back so as not to be seen with me. Well I wasn't going to let her get out of becoming a public spectacle that easily so I walked over and put my arm around her so that everyone would know that she was with the idiot. As would be expected, she laughed and ducked out from under my arm to run a few steps away and once again told me to stop. I continued my strut unhindered by her protests.

Long story short, her laughter and lighthearted protests weren't exactly genuine. Turns out she was legitimately embarrased and informed me later on that evening that I'm a little "too goofy" sometimes. She went on to clarify that she wasn't trying to change me, it just made me seem "immature". After all, she's dated guys that were goofy before, but never anyone quite as goofy as me, so I might want to turn it down a little bit so I don't make myself look immature. Oh boy, here it comes...

*deep breath*

....Okaaaaaaay...I hear ya...and all I gotta say in response is:

*raspberries*

(I really did give her raspberries...how's that for immaturity?)

Yep, that's it. Right then and there I realized I had changed. In the past, a statement such as that would have cut deep. I would have taken it to heart and beat myself up about it for the rest of the evening and possibly even the rest of the week. I would have made every possible conscious effort to throttle back on my silliness and try to be more "mature". I would have apologized and said "...you're right, I'll work on that". Not this time folks. No siree. My immediate reaction was actually a stifled laughter and a hearty helping of indifference. If she only knew how far down the list that particular incident was on the Jordon Silliness Scale. She's lucky I didn't take off my shirt, tie it around my head and start swinging from the nearest tree branch. I mean honestly, wearing my shirt over my shoulders is too goofy? You aint seen nothin' yet toots.

I did apologize to her, however I didn't apologize for embarrassing her or for acting "immature" but instead I very sarcastically told her that I was sorry I wasn't like her stuck-up friends and former boyfriends and that I wasn't afraid to be myself and have a good time. I rather bluntly told her that if you didn't like the goofy Jordon then say goodbye because that's the one you're going to see most of the time. I've already done the whole change bit and it only ends up making things worse in the long run, so from now on I'm going to be myself and if you don't like it...lump it.

In closing, I'd like to add these very fitting lyrics from the 1980 Popeye movie with Robin Williams...

I yam what I yam and I yam what I yam that I yam
And I got a lotta muscle and I only gots one eye
And I'll never hurt nobodys and I'll never tell a lie
Top to me bottom and me bottom to me top
That's the way it is 'til the day that I drop, what am I?
I yam what I yam.

Couldn't be more fitting...except of course for the part about only having one eye.

olfaction

Want to know a telltale sign that you need to start eating healthier?

When the smell of a cardboard box makes you hungry for a pizza.

True story.


While on the subject of smells, here's some other odd aromas that I seem to enjoy:

• old books


• new books


• fresh cut grass


• new swimming pool floats (vinyl)


• exhaust (especially from model airplane fuel)


• my Zippo


• the faint smell of skunk (I know...I'm a freak...)


• this one particular oil paint at work that reminds me of my second grade classroom for some reason...


• fish
  
• woodshops


• cedar


• cooking...(Vague you say? Nope, more like all-inclusive.)


• the ocean
• fireworks and fresh-struck matches

the call of the domestic

So there I was, at the mall with a couple friends. As we weaved our way through hordes of prepubescent Abercrombie models we found ourselves standing outside "the exotic pet store". I call it "the exotic pet store" but don't let the name deceive you. It's not like they sell zebras and rare african lizards with names you can't even pronounce, but compared to your average pet store it's definitely a lot more unique. Actually, the owner does have a big custom made cage in the front of the store where he keeps his pet Ringtailed Lemur but unfortunately it's not for sale. I have however seen, hedgehogs, skunks, pot bellied pigs, short tailed opossums, and a fox all for sale at this particular store, not to mention the hodgepodge of new dog breeds they're coming out with like Choweenies, Puggles, and Bullshepamutes. Okay so I made up the last one, but you get the idea. Can you see now why I refer to it as "exotic"?

I'm used to seeing all kinds of crazy dog breeds at this store but this particular day I saw something that I haven't been able to stop thinking about. I was walking past the cages and noticed a rather large gray "puppy" that I could immediately tell was no normal dog. It had the most amazing, piercing blue-gray eyes I've ever seen on an animal. It was technically still a puppy so it goes without saying that is was cute but at the same time it seemed uncharacteristically mature, like he was too cool to be hopping around the cage and licking the glass like his hairy little cohorts. I approached it's cage, read the sign and I was right, it wasn't a normal dog. It was a wolf hybrid; 90% Timber Wolf and 10% German Shepherd...and I wanted it.

I immediately thought of the books "White Fang" and "The Call of the Wild" and imagined how awesome it would be to own a Wolfdog. What could be more macho and masculine than having a wolf as a pet?! I know a couple of people that have those little annoying yappy rat-dogs and I've joked that when I do get my own dog, I'm getting something that EATS things like that. A wolf definitely falls into that category.

Obviously the next move after seeing something you want is seeing how much it's going to cost you. Yeah, that was a bit of a shock: 800 bucks. That's a hard pill to swallow for someone who's had strays as pets his entire life. However, that still seemed a fair price to pay for such an awesome animal. As much as I wanted to whip out my credit card right then and there, I managed to peel myself away from the glass and leave without making any impulsive purchases, but I left with a firm resolution to start my Wolfdog research as soon as I got home.

And that's what I did...then wished I hadn't. The research I did turned up some very fascinating things about them but also made it clear that it probably wasn't the best idea to get one at this particular time. One website actually repremanded people who impulsively purchase one because it's "macho" or "masculine" but aren't ready to take on the responsibility of caring for it properly. Phew, glad I didn't whip out my credit card.

Turns out wolfdogs make wonderful companions but terrible pets. My observation of the little guy at the pet store being "more mature" than the others was right on the money. Wolves and Wolfdogs are around 30% more intelligent than your average dog. Because of that they require special care and attention and can't be treated like a normal dog. Special methods must be used to train them because the whole bribe-them-with-a-treat method doesn't always work. Violence can never be used in training because they remember it and hold grudges. Once you've lost its trust it becomes very difficult to ever regain it.

Since they are used to digging for food outside, Wolfdogs are very destructive when kept in a house all day and are impressive escape artists when kept outside (I read stories of them jumping over 8 foot fences or digging underneath them in order to get out). They also become destructive when left by themselves. Wolves are pack animals and therefore very social creatures, requiring constant companionship to keep them from getting bored. The pack nature of the Wolfdog also adds another challenge to training them: Dominance. A Wolfdog will constantly be challenging its owner for dominance and requires constant and habitual reminding of who the "Alpha Male" in the household is. Because of this, they make terrible watchdogs. Since you are the pack leader, your pet will bark once to let you know something is up but then expects you to deal with it. You should also not expect them to come running to your aid if under attack because they consider you perfectly capable of fending for yourself.

Amidst those negative aspects, all of the websites agreed that if cared for properly, Wolfdogs make extremely loyal companions. They aren't like a silly dog that will be mindlessly loyal to you even if you treat it like crap, but more like a human in that they require attention and effort to maintain the relationship. It was a fascinating bit of research on a remarkable animal and I'm more convinced than ever that I want to get one some day...especially if I don't get married.

having a (paint)ball

My whole life I’ve fallen into the “athletically challenged” category. Not necessarily for lack of skill but primarily for fear of failure. I never really tried out for sports because I never thought I was good enough, so I settled for being videographer, water distribution engineer or equipment management supervisor. It all worked out for me though. I had all the perks of being on the team (i.e. leaving class early, road trips to out of state tournaments, hanging with my friends, etc…) without all of the negative aspects (i.e. running my butt off every day, injuries, cost of equipment, etc…) so all in all I really had few complaints, except for the "non-athletic" label I was branded with by my friends. Unfortunately, that cloud of athletic failure hung over me all through grade school and well into college, forever banishing me to be the last one picked in any organized athletic activity.

Well for one weekend, the curse was lifted. For once in a long time…no…probably my life, I was picked first for a physically demanding endeavor requiring speed, agility, and coordination. Out of 14 other guys between the ages of 18 and 30-something I was the very first one selected once the captains had been appointed (let me just clarify that this was not because the captain and I were in cahoots or because he owed me a favor). The activity I’m referring to is of course paintball and lemme’ tell ya, it was a hoot and a half! I’m going to try and keep the horn tootage to a minimum but I surprised even myself with my performance. I’ve been paintballing on several occasions but this day was different for some reason. I was fearless. I’m talking jump-on-a-grenade-for-your-comrades fearless, not jump-off-the-garage-on-your-skateboard “fearless”. I’d like to attribute my bravery to the inclement weather conditions and the overwhelming number of action movies I watch but whatever the root cause, I was the navy seal of the paintball world this particular day…and everyone noticed.

The cold/wet/muddy conditions were perfect for sliding, army crawling, and diving behind bunkers, and boy did I take advantage of it. We had already played several games and were all soaked to the bone, covered in mud and loving every minute of it. One game in particular that day stands out as the pinnacle of my paintball career. Here’s a brief summary of how it went down:

• An immediate sprint behind enemy lines followed by what the supervising official referred to as “the most awesome slide he’s ever seen during a paintball match” (this deserves a quick explanation: because it was wet and muddy and I had already been sliding everywhere, I ended my sprint into enemy territory with a baseball-style slide behind the nearest bunker to shield myself from the barrage of paintballs whistling over my head. The particular bunker I chose just so happened to have a monster puddle in front and as I slid into it I kicked up a “rooster tail” or a huge wave of water that sprayed up behind me. The referee was thoroughly impressed and made a big to-do about it but aside from the recognition, it was just downright FUN!) I digress…
• Forcing a former member of the military to surrender by outmaneuvering him
• Sneaking up ninja-style behind the guy guarding the flag and forcing his surrender (that’s two forced surrenders in one game)
• Making a reckless mad dash for the flag (while avoiding friendly fire from my own teammates not expecting one of their own to pop up behind enemy lines)
• A final sprint to the enemy base including a police chase-style hood slide over a tire bunker
• Capturing the enemy flag almost single-handedly and leading my team to victory
  

I’m just going to end there. This incident has become my single-greatest achievement in the field of athleticism. I don’t know if I’ll ever have such a braggadocious moment so I figured I’d better go ahead and document it…you know, strictly for posterity of course.