Damn you, Celine Dion and your angelic, perfectly-suited-for-Christmas-music-voice!! I can't stand you and yet can't turn my ears away!!

You can't say that. . . ever

I'm not going to bore you with the tedious details of what I do to fill my time during the 23 hours of the day that I'm not hard at work for you, cranking out the highest quality blog content that very little money can buy. But I will tell you that I spend the majority of my day at an office that purports to engage in the business of insurance. However, most of what I observe going on around me has very little to do with business, insurance, or anything very similar to either. And I get it, when you're running a large insurance corporation/death panel training facility, it's tough to hire and retain nothing but folks who know what they are doing, are willing to do it for the full duration of a work day or work week, and do not have some sort of substance abuse problem. I acknowledge that it is a challenge.

However, judging by the phone conversation I overheard earlier today, it seems like Insurance and Death Panel Corporation of America (IDPCA) is not even trying anymore. What follows is a dramatization of the events to which I was a witness:


New Guy: "Blah blah blah, IDPCA script reading, blah, blah (I'm paraphrasing, but you get the point)."

Long pause

New Guy: "Well, I can honestly say I've never tried committing suicide like THAT before! Hahahaha. But seriously, we'll have the check out to you in about 180 days."

Call terminated

Oh no, the big three-- BARF

I have made it to the ripe old age of thirty. Against all odds, I have survived.

I've done things that are dumb. I have done things that are dangerous. I have traveled to multiple countries on three continents, all the while eating indigenous food from street vendors of questionable pedigree. I have jumped off of roofs, regularly engaged in shootouts with air rifles, and dated a Puerto Rican girl (that may not sound dangerous, but listen to me very carefully: it is). I habitually drive over the speed limit, I have actually been present for a real life drug deal, and I am currently engaged to a (beautiful) lawyer (who might be reading this. Love you, honey).

So when the time came to sum up the achievements of these last thirty years, to celebrate in a way that says (in a British accent), "You've done it, old chap. By Jove, you've actually done it. Jolly good show," what did I decide to do? I drank enough Tuaca to drown a shetland pony and subsequently puked my brains out. Of course.

And you thought all the danger and stupidity was behind me.