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Big City Blues

     There’s a big difference between San Benito, TX, and Houston, TX.  One difference is that San Benito has about 25,000 citizens, while Houston seemingly has slightly less than a kijillion (pronounced kuh•jill•yun).  Actually, everything is different.  Last night, the local news showed reports on about ten accidents.  Ten accidents!  We didn’t have that many streets in San Benito (not paved ones anyways).

     Here’s another San Benidiotic problem I haven’t encountered in Houston yet:  if you go down McCullough Street in San Benito, on every corner it is spelled different (McCullough, McClugh, McCough, Macaroni, etc.).  Not to mention that San Benito’s Mexican restaurant to citizen ratio is 86:1.

     But there’s an emotional attachment to small towns that big cities (like Houston) cannot replace, which causes, what I’ll call, “Big City Blues.”  There are many symptoms of “Big City Blues,” which I will now list, so that you will understand when you see me doing one of the following:

(1)     Driving my comfortable 35 m.p.h. on I-10 (speed limit:  65)

(2)     Driving in between two lanes (surely there can’t be seven lanes on one street)

(3)     Standing on the sidewalk in awe of all the non-Mexican restaurants

(4)     Exclaiming, “Look how big the mall is!” (at the grocery store)

(5)     Getting confused with directions, mostly caused by my inability to comprehend there being two highways in one city

The DMV Conspiracy

     Many, many, many, many years ago, my father got his first driver’s license.  And honestly, in a completely non-gay way, he looked good.  But lately, DMV’s all over the nation – maybe even the world – have started a conspiracy against the citizens of the people of the United States.  For example, when is the last time you have seen a good driver’s license picture?  It is not before 1995, I promise you.

     Let me tell you a little about what I call “The DMV Conspiracy.”  See, first, they make you stand or sit in line for three or four days.  In reality, you know there are less than ten people ahead of you, but you always notice that they seem to be writing a novel between each ‘victim.’  You know why they do this?  Just in case you happened to have had a good day (and may have anything remotely close to a good mood), they know our fast-food generation can be stripped of any happiness by having to wait.

     Then they give you an “eye exam.”  During the examination, you look into these binocular-looking eyepieces, and at what:  itty-bitty black letters against an incandescent, super-bright green background.  “Why?” you ask.  Not to make you fail the test, but to make you slightly more blind.  Next time…oh, you’ll fail.

     Now that you’re impatient, unhappy, and temporarily blind, it is time for the picture.  Of course, you stumble around trying to find the line you are supposed to stand behind due to the temporary blindness.  Ok, it is time for the picture, and then, “No, no, stand on the line.”  You know she previously to stand behind the line, but you’re scared to talk back, because as your eyes begin to focus, you see the camera:  a gargantuan washing machine sized box that appears to be poised to shoot a rocket-propelled grenade at your head.

     So, in fear, unhappiness, and partial blindness, there’s the *FLASH*, finishing off your eyesight.  The DMV Conspiracy has caused me to propose two new laws:

1)      DMV workers are paid by the actual amount of people they help, and

2)      No more psychotic former postal workers can work for the DMV.

I'll set aside my opinion today to give you a gift received from my great friends at TheologyOnline.com.

What would it be like if women ran the world?

1) There would be no need for a United Nations....because a weekly 'girls night out' among the nation's representatives would solve the problems;

2) There would be no "on the brink of war", 'cause we could fix it with a phone call before it got too serious;

3) There would be no "mine is bigger than yours is" because bigger isn't always better. but only WE have figured that out;

4) There would be no need for need for "humanitarian reform" because we would have already seen to it that everyone had what they needed...and

5) the World Health Organization would be a thing of the past because chicken soup would be the order of the day

6) The church you went to wouldn't matter so long as your underwear was clean when you left the house.

But men are happier...here's why:

Your last name stays put.
The garage is all yours.
Wedding plans take care of themselves.
Chocolate is just another snack.
You can wear a white T-shirt to a water park.
Car mechanics tell you the truth.
You never have to drive to another gas station because
this one's just too icky.
Same work, more pay (but we're workin' on this one)
Wrinkles add character.
Wedding dress - $5000; tux rental - $100.
People never stare at your chest when you're talking to them.
The occasional well-rendered belch is practically expected.
New shoes don't cut, blister, or mangle your feet.
One mood, ALL the time.
Phone conversations are over in 30 seconds flat.
You know stuff about tanks.
A five-day vacation requires only one suitcase.
You can open all your own jars.
You get extra credit for the slightest act of thoughtfulness.
If someone forgets to invite you, he or she can still be your friend.
Your underwear is $8.95 for a three-pack.
Everything on your face stays its original color.
Three pairs of shoes are more than enough.
You don't have to stop and think of which way to turn a nut on a bolt.
You almost never have strap problems in public.
You are unable to see wrinkles in your clothes.
The same hairstyle lasts for years, maybe decades.
You don't have to shave below your neck.
One wallet and one pair of shoes, one color, all seasons.
You can "do" your nails with a pocketknife.
You have freedom of choice concerning growing a mustache.
In fact, you can hide anything you don't like about your face
from the nose down with a good beard.
(This hides a double chin real well too)
You can do Christmas shopping for 25 relatives, on December
24, in 45 minutes.

Living With a Newborn

My sister brought home her newborn baby a few days ago.  Since then, life has been much different for the whole household.  The feedings every two hours and the dirty diapers are enough to convince any brain-containing human to not have kids.  Plus, the constant crying is about enough to make you bang your head against the wall until you pass out (by the way, we need to clearly mark wall studs).

What amazes me the most, however, is the baby's inability to express himself.  What we have successfully deciphered so far is that crying means:  (A) he wants food, (B) has a dirty diaper, (C) is in pain, has gas, etc., or (D) is in need of affection.  I don't know who it annoys more:  me or him.  Because, he starts crying, and by the time we've gone through option B, we're so tired of the yelling that we're looking for the "OFF" switch.

I feel his pain though, as I'm sure it is horrible for him as well.  I can almost hear him thinking, "Stop saying, 'It's alright, Jayson.'  It's not alright!  I'm hungry!"  Or, "All I wanted was for someone to hold me, and now I have to burp because for some reason you think slapping my back until I get whiplash makes me feel good."

But we all have moments like these, where we feel totally helpless.  For example, a while back a friend asked me, "Are you being facetious?"  As I stood there pondering the meaning of "facetious," I did three things: (1) thank God that I was on the phone, so the girl couldn't see my blank stare into oblivion; (2) curse the worthless south Texas public school system, who hire people like my English 4 teacher, who thought a run-on was equivalent to a marathon; (3) quickly say "No" totally going off her voice inflection.

But I digress, knowing that in a few years my high school's faculty will probably have a 100% illiteracy rate, and that in 70 years, Jayson will probably be changing my diapers.