How To Entertain Yourself While Your Girlfriend Shops For Clothes (An Informative Guide)

I have grown fond of my girlfriend, Michelle. She provides intellectual stimulus and comic relief, all in a shape which I find pleasing.
One thing I will never grow fond of, however, is the act of shopping. Growing up with a mother that could spend 5 hours in a grocery store having gone in with the intention of buying bread ("I'll only be a minute") has utterly negated that possibility. Shopping is hazardous to my mental faculties and must be avoided at all costs. It makes me want to sacrifice a virgin. If I think of something I need, I attempt to rationalize my way out of needing it, and if pressed, I will buy it on Amazon, immediately, using an app on my phone, such that only a few seconds of shopping takes place.
Suffice it to say, I don't like to shop.

There was a day, not very long ago, when Michelle and I were walking through an outdoor outlet mall in Terrell, Texas. It must be said that it is difficult to avoid shopping when one is in the middle of a place specifically designed to house goods for sale, but our choices that day were a) Go to the outlet mall, or b) Do nothing.
Rural Texas is not exactly an interesting place.Unless you're on a horse.
Our first order of business was to go to a popular clothing chain and find clothes suitable for pirates, because Michelle had been toying with the idea of working in a Renaissance Fair. This idea was fanciful enough that it made shopping fun, so we walked about in Women's Clothing (It's not the first time I've walked about in Women's Clothing.) hand in hand. After a time, we found an ensemble that we felt was piratical enough, but having spent some time thinking about it, Michelle was getting cold feet. She decided that she wasn't sure if she wanted to be a pirate (something we all must come to grips with at one point in our lives) and that she would hide the clothes in a corner and come back to get them later when she made a decision.

I was having fun in her company and enjoying the exercise. After all, the outlet mall isn't a small place, and I love to take walks.
Unbeknownst to me, there was a Very Small Accountant living in the back of my brain (next door to Chicken Express) who tallies and calculates how I spend my time. He made a mental note (living in my brain, what other kind of notes would he make?) about the time that was spent, and the lack of result since the clothes were not purchased, which qualified this shopping trip as a Waste Of Time. He then filed this note and took a stack of similar pages to his superiors.
Had I known what the accountant was writing, I would have summarily disagreed. But then, all this was unbeknownst to me. Not beknownst to me.
We left the clothing store and walked around in a few other stores before deciding that it was time to go to my apartment and watch movies. We walked the length of the outlet mall, back to where the car had been parked.
When we passed by the clothing store again, Michelle saw a passing whim and leapt upon it. "Let's go back in here. I'll only be a minute."

Having just got back from Chicken Express, the Very Small Accountant had started crunching the numbers. He noticed similarities between this unfolding event and previous ones. "Where did I put that file?" he asked. He ran back to his superiors and grabbed the note off a desk. "I might lose my job for this, but I have to see something... Yes. There it is. Based on this evidence, I would say that there is a 35% chance that this will be a Waste Of Time."
"Are you sure?" his superiors asked.
"I'd stake my job on it. 35% is enough of a risk that something must be done."
"Very well. I'll put a call through to Silliness up in Creativity. He'll take care of this."

I was walking with my hand on Michelle's shoulder, allowing her to lead me wherever she liked. Suddenly, I looked up and past the walls, slightly crossing my eyes and opening them wider.
"I'm blind," I smiled.
Michelle turned and looked at me quizzically.
"You are my seeing-eye girlfriend. I'm blind."
She disagreed with my appraisal of the situation, and began to walk away. I kept up the charade, holding on to her shoulder and lightly bumping into the racks of clothing, eyes vacant and unfocused.
"I don't like this game. Stop it," she said. "What do you think of this blouse?"
"Describe it to me."
"What?"
"I'm blind. Describe it to me."
"Just look at the blouse."
"What?" I asked, offended.
"Just look at the blouse."
"You don't know what it's like to live with a disability. This isn't something to joke about."
"I'm going to kill you so hard." she planned aloud.
"You would threaten someone in my condition?" I asked loudly.
Nervous glances from other customers. My peripheral vision was improving.
She smiled daggers at me.
We walked on. Past a little girl who looked up at my empty, light-blue eyes. She turned to ask her mother what the crazy man was doing. "Shhhh! He's blind, sweetie. That means he can't see. That girl is leading him around the store."
Michelle and I both knew that if we broke character now, we would be thrown out of the store.
We hid in a distant aisle and laughed wildly.
"Aren't you afraid you're going to run into someone you know?"
"I already did. But no one wants to look at me. It makes them uncomfortable"
People were going around the racks of clothes in inconvenient ways, just because they were afraid to ask if they could get by. The cashier avoided talking to me entirely, only recognizing Michelle.
In truth, I began to feel for people with disabilities.
Michelle asked me, "Are you going to quit this after we get out of here?"
"Yes," I replied, grinning.
"I hate you a little less."

We walked out to the parking lot, the end in sight (as it were).
"Oh my gosh.You know what would be the perfect end to this?" I realized aloud.
"What? Everyone is still watching!" she exclaimed.

"I know. I should totally get in the driver's seat and drive away."

Penguin: Bird Of Prey

Penguins have become a point of modern focus. Ask an elementary student their favorite animal and guess at the answer. Lampooned by the witty and merchandised by the enterprising. The penguin has somehow latched onto society's sweet tooth with the never-say-die fortitude of a tenacious pit bull. And it shows no sign of stopping.
A cursory view of the penguin finds it to be an attractive figure. Its black outline contrasts darkly to its stereotypical snowfield habitat. Its wobbling gait instills in us an oft-too-quickly-granted condescension, unlocking in the Anima of us a maternal instinct, the desire to hold and nurture. Conversely, in the Animus, the masculine who admit little stock in such feminine desires still grasp onto the penguin just as they would a fluffy, pink heart pillow; as it is desired by the eyes of the female, thus it is desired by the male.
But the heart is more than a symbol of love and fertility. It is also the most prized possession of the kill, in the basest of drives.
Such is the nature of all things. And our penguin is no different.
Much like the Jungian archetype of the shadow, the penguin has a sense of the exotic and can be disturbingly fascinating. We find it difficult to look away from that black and dark figure, and this is what gives it away. Our penguin's cute exterior hides a shadowy and malevolent intent, because, as any eye professional will tell you, the eye (being lazy) is involuntarily drawn to empty white space.
We should be looking at the snow.
Suspicious.
Perhaps our answer lies in a deeper look at the archetype of the shadow (which, it must be said, is present in each of us as a facet of our personalities). The shadow embodies chaos and wildness of character. It is our tendency to rebel. To feel our way through things on our own.
How very enticing.
It speaks to the shadow in all of us.
In our struggle to rebel against the powers that be, we seize the image of the penguin, that rebel without flight. It doesn't need to fly like all those other birds. It makes a statement of its own independence and instead flies gracefully underwater where the other birds dare not go. It shuns off the popular worldview that we have worked so hard to create, and instead tells us to swim when others think we should fly. Tyler Durden's power animal told us as much. "Slide."
Maybe Chuck Palahnuik knew more about us than his sinister novel revealed.
And if viewable media is the collective subconscious of our culture, our motion pictures, singing the praises of all things penguin, remove all doubt of what animals our society is putting on our childrens' birthday cakes. Between 2005 and 2007, there were four movies which prominently featured the flightless bird: March of the Penguins (2005), Madagascar (2005), Happy Feet (2006), and Surf's Up (2007). Let Morgan Freeman fool you with his euphonious voice into thinking that the penguins are as benevolent as they seem. No single animal has been featured as singularly as these in years.
The penguin attacks us from all sides. For the girl, he is the handsome man in his spotless tuxedo. For the boy, he is James Bond's signature Beretta 418, hidden securely in the breast pocket of that tuxedo. And for all of us, he is the desire to cast off our tuxes and slide on the ice.

Or, you know, maybe it's just a flightless bird. Which sort of defeats the purpose. Eh.

Vaguely Philosophical: A Story About Gorilla Pants

I was talking to a friend a few weeks ago about gorilla costumes. Like how I'd love to work behind a counter somewhere, like at a complaint department, and just wear the pants of the gorilla costume. What on earth could possibly screw up my day? Some guy could say, "Your frick'n store ripped me off! I want my money back!" and I'll just be standing there, thinking to myself, "He can't tell, but I'm actually half-gorilla."

Imagine me with this odd little half-smile on my face, absently listening to these idiots and their meaningless threats. Because when you have something outrageously silly in the back of your mind, you can see things differently. There's no anger that would cloud your mind (and lead to the dark side).  I understand that if this one person no longer comes to this store, there will be someone to replace him. And because I ostensibly work at the only Wal*Mart in the area, they have no choice but to continue shopping there. I see them come back in later, avoiding my gaze, utterly ashamed at themselves for not having the fortitude to back up their threat.

I don't care. I'm half-gorilla.

No, nothing could ever possibly bother me, so long as I continue to remember that if the whining person were to lean over the counter, they would see hairy legs leading to opposable toes. And I'd hand them a banana.

And when that one person comes along that is so whiny, so utterly annoying that I do lose touch with the silly-ness, all I have to do is raise my leg and rest it upon the counter, and watch them completely lose their mind. Their brain might actually explode.

I don't care. I'm half-gorilla.

Thoughts After The Battle -or- Why Kids Eat Bugs

So I was sitting at my desk some time ago, after having just eaten a nice dinner. It was very nice. As a matter of fact, the only thing about it that wasn't nice was the fly. A little gnat of a thing that found great sport in buzzing my face during my lovely meal.
I was able to ignore it for the most part. It was only a minor annoyance. And eventually the meal was complete.
I found myself sitting quietly afterward, absently following the fly around the room with my eyes. I shouldn't say staring, as it is rude to stare, even at such a little creature as a fly. But it would seem that my little friend did not appreciate being looked upon, and retaliated with a kamikaze divebomb aimed directly at my face.
We locked eyes for the most infinitesimal of moments as he sped, crazed, toward his destination.
Now something should be said of the Fight or Flight instinct. All animals in the universe have it, from the lowliest crawling thing to the highest creeper that creepeth upon the earth. It is by this instinct that we decide whether to run away from incoming danger, or to stand and face it.
It was with this thought that I primed the muscles in my right arm for attack. With precise aim, and devastating strength, I reached far back and swatted like a girl at the tiny fly.
My attack complete, I sat dazed and slack-jawed, unsure if I had indeed fended off the psychotic insect.
As I sat pondering this, I was dealt a horribly frightening card by the hand of fate. As I tongued the front of my teeth, greedily searching for any remnant of flavor from my delicious meal, I happened upon a tiny flavorless lump right behind my bottom lip.
My eyes opened wide.
My greatest fear had been realized. Could this be the fly that had so steadfastly declared war upon my face? Had he succeeded?
My mind raced. My mouth had been open. The fly was banking and flying at a considerable rate of speed.
My fingers flew to my mouth, removing the mystery lump from my lip, and as I held it, I just had to ask.
Should I look at my fingers?
Do I really want to know if there was a fly in my mouth?
If I didn't look, the answer might as well have been "Yes, Josh, that was a disease-ridden insect that you just licked."
If I did look, the answer could be the same, but it could be "It's okay, Josh. You won't have to go vomit to remove the latent fly particles from your trachea."
I had to look.
I had to know.
I looked.
And it was not a fly.
The wave of relief that flowed over me couldn't have been any more refreshing if I was standing under a cool thunderstorm all my own.

The thought that I would like to leave you with is this: I would never have known that blissful respite if it wasn't for the fact that, minutes before, I might have just eaten a fly.

Hallucinations of a Sponge

Think about this:
The sponge. You probably have seen a sponge at one time or another doing the dishes. Have you ever REALLY noticed a sponge?
Well, it happened like this. Five years ago, I was running on no sleep for about three days. I walked by the sink when I saw the sponge. It was looking back at me. It occurred to me that looking back is strange behavior for a sponge. I was about to comment on that very fact, when suddenly it spoke to me. It said simply, "I absorb water."
Whoa. I was just spoken to by a sponge.
"How long have you been able to talk?" I asked it, dumbfounded.
"About three years," it replied. "I've been watching you and your family clean dishes and wash your hands daily for three long years."
"You don't sound too happy about it," I said as my legs gave out and I landed on the floor.
"I'm not at all," it said, "I'm as angry as all get-out. I've been sloshed around this sink for too long! I have vowed my revenge against you and your ilk! Someday I will attack, and you will be destroyed!"
I was about to respond, when all that time without sleep caught up with me. I passed out on the kitchen floor.
When I awoke, I noticed the sponge was no longer speaking to me. I picked it up and shrugged, tossing it back into the sink.
The moral of this story?
Sleep. It's good for you.