Cute puppies have met their match!

Dear, Abram:

You have a perfect face. Can you believe it? There’s finally two of us! (Confession: I was relieved that you didn’t emerge resembling a wrinkly old Benjamin Button, but I would’ve put on my game face and said how cute you were, regardless.) Not that it’s about me or anything, but your birth a week ago was one of the most intense experiences of my life. And I’m just your weird uncle. I can’t imagine how much your parents must’ve been falling in love with you at first sight.

In a cruel twist of fate, I didn’t get to hold you right away on your birthday. I had this horrible thing called a conference call, which is part of the reason why we have to protect your youth for as long as possible. Anyway, I’m sorry about that call, and it won’t happen again. It probably will, but next time I’ll just tell everyone I pooped my pants and am a little tied up with changing my own diaper. (I would never put the blame on you for such excuses. I have what they call “business ethics.”)

I think I might’ve had a small heart attack when the PowerPoint parted and I finally did get to hold you. I had the misfortune of having all six of your grandparents and also your parents looking down on me, wondering if I was literally going to break the baby. Well, if you can’t take the heat, sit down in a chair before you pass out, which is what I did to keep us both safe. See, we’re already conquering life’s challenges together. You’ll realize how valuable I am for such awkward situations when you can keep your eyes open longer.

Dude, good news: You lucked out and got a nice pair of parents! There are some real domestic losers out there, but yours are the cream of the nursery, in my opinion. They’ve lived with Uncle Jay of their own free will for a lot of years before you were born and never once complained about it to my face, but not in a fake way. (Uncle Jay is a nice, quiet roommate and all, but he wouldn’t be your first choice for a household cleaning or renovation project.) Oh, and when Uncle Jay recently fell on some more awkward transitional times in his suite life sans Zach & Cody? Your parents let me stay with them AGAIN, even as you were kicking Mommy and giving her heartburn and pushing down on her bladder like it was a prenatal Staples Easy Button. You’re crazy for doing all that! But in a good way.

Well, don’t worry, now I’m going to stop by all the time to see you, because I live approximately fifty feet away in a bush-ridden house I call–what else?–Bush Gardens. It’s a block over from yours, if you cut through that-one-neighbor-I-don’t-care-about’s overly tended yard. Basically, I’m like the houseguest that never ends, I just go on and on, my nephew, and the three of you Grunden’s have to share in the collective burden of keeping me company, no pressure. Three’s company, but four’s a partaaaay! With stuffed animals! We can invite Sophie the Giraffe and chew on her all-natural rubber face and everything, whenever you want. It’s going to be a blast.

Until next time…

Love,

Uncle Jay

I think we have ourselves a dump!

I recently bought a new home. Probably a bad decision. Now, instead of saying things like, “I really want a Golden Retriever puppy,” in front of people more responsible than me, I have to be all, “I should really put that brushed-nickel toilet paper roll on.” I mean, I never felt like doing anything around anyone else’s house, so why would I feel the sudden urge to have my own house to not do stuff in? I’ll never figure myself out, but before I file for Chapter 18 Bankruptcy (the fake one where the buyer is too lazy to mail their mortgage check), allow me to share with you a few tried-and-true tips for finding your very own money pit.

7 tips for snagging your very own dream dump:

1. Don’t settle on the first annoying real estate agent that tries to find something in common with you at an open house. In fact, do a back-handspring in the opposite direction of that guy and get a recommendation from a source with good taste in people-you-can-stand.
2. Try to avoid riding in the same car as your realtor. It’s awkward and not worth the 38 cents you’ll save in gas.
3. If you have a specific neighborhood in mind, have them customize the annoying daily emails they’re going to auto-send you to include only dumps in your preferred neighborhood. This will save you from finding the dump you’ve always wanted only to realize the seller is trying to trick you into living on the wrong side of those tracks that run right through the ghetto. Note: Granite countertops are more enjoyable when your car windows aren’t in nightly jeopardy.
4. If you find a dump you can’t live without living in, make the seller an offer they’ll want to refuse but can’t because it’s just enough money to where they’ll feel vulnerable passing it up. But if you think the asking price is fair, why alienate Mr. and Mrs. Moving-to-a-Condo over a few extra hunjies? Pay it or be prepared to look elsewhere. If you’re that hard up, you might want to look at those depressing, housing-looking structures down the road. They’re called apartments, and I guess people live in them when they’re going through a transition/poor phase. I, of course, prefer to wear out my welcome in the utility-paying comfort of my close relatives, but we can’t all be like me, now can we?
5. If the seller accepts your offer, don’t let them walk over you as if they’re doing you some huge favor by letting you pay a 30-year mortgage on their soon-to-be-vacated house. If you want their stainless-steel fridge, freaking put that $*** in the contract. Anything that looks valuable and hard to move, put it on the list. Just make sure there’s a clause inserted requiring them to get the rest of their junk OUT. Because that’s what anything that’s not a shiny appliance really is, right? Art? JUNK. Fake plant? Junk. Vintage coffee mug set? JUNK. Tell them to take it all and never come back for a visit when they’re in the neighborhood, but in a slightly nicer way.
6. Prepare to pay a bunch of banking fees you don’t understand. Just let it happen unless you’re expecting a mysterious trust fund to kick in soon. Being irrational can only take you so far in life, trust me.
7. After having the dump inspected by some thorough weirdo you find on Angie’s List, ask the seller to pay for all of the repairs. No one wants to back out at that point, because you’re too far into the process. And it’s not really fair for them to ask you to pay $500 for a new electric box when they’re the ones who should’ve replaced the safety hazard that’s in there 15 years ago.

I’m sure I’m missing something, but I have to go stare at something in my new house and wish that it’d magically fix itself. Feel free to add your own dump-hunting tips below!

Or just click here to read a free sample chapter of The Edumacation of Jay Baker, which is definitely more affordable.

The outlet next to your table would go great with my crappy laptop battery, if only you’d leave.

Beret-wearing bathroom-hogging guy. Bonjour, I enjoy making fun of your beret as much as the next patron, but it’s harder for me to really sink my teeth into the snap judgment when you’ve been hiding in the bathroom for twenty minutes. What are you freaking doing in there? And why are you making it impossible for me to feel comfortable going in afterward? You are a terrible, selfish, beret-wearing person.

Ice-chomping ultimate-fighter guy. Hey, dude, I’m really pumped about your fight this Saturday, the one you’re describing SO LOUDLY on the phone to your friend who probably couldn’t give two bench presses, either. I think you having your hoodie on indoors right now a la 8 Mile is going to help the outcome, for sure. Your ears will be nice and toasty when it’s time to battle for the right to wear whatever (tool) belt’s one the line.

Weird interviewer/interviewee situation. Awkward, why are you, the interviewer, interviewing someone at Starbucks? And why did you, the interviewee, show up when the creeper across from you sent that email saying, “Meet me at Starbucks, would ya?” This just doesn’t seem like a legit interaction to me, the paranoid guy two tables over who can smell the desperation wafting up from the puffy coats you haven’t taken off. I’m not waving, I’m trying to fire you both with the obligatory Donald Trump hand gesture. Please gather your folders and leave, thanks.

Catching-up lady-friends. Hey, ladies. It’s been forever since you’ve seen each other, I know, but we have a problem: your table is better than mine. And I want yours. And that means you getting up and leaving. You’re not even using the conveniently located outlet next to it. Let’s be honest, your friendship really isn’t going anywhere. I can feel you both trying too hard. Better to just cut it off now, before anyone gets offended by a deliberately missed phone call or text.

Video-watching guy. Why is your sound on, dip****?

Click here to read vol. 1 of this incredible journey of hatred.

Can’t get enough of hating people at Starbucks? Click here to read vol 2.

Last but not least, whom are you hating at Starbucks these days? Post a cathartic comment below.

This is my brain on Lumosity. Can you tell the difference?

For those of you who don’t stay up toward the ‘crack enough to see the Lumosity commercials with the dumb short-haired girl cheesing out that it’s “serious brain training” with an animated light bulb over her head, I hate you for getting more sleep than me. For the rest of you, you know you want to try that infomercially goodness, don’t you?

Stop right there, Mr./Ms. Clicky. I’ve tried it for you, been training my brain for the last 15 days, in fact, so you don’t have to waste your money/life.

Here’s what I’ve discovered about my brain through the seemingly pointless neuroplasticity-building games of Lumosity:

1. My brain still wants to call this site/service/elaborate hoax Luminosity instead of Lumosity, which it feels dumb having me pronounce. I don’t blame you, brain!

2. Lumosity claims that their games are designed by neuroscientists, but my paranoid brain suspects this whole deal was designed by a group of sandal-wearing Harvard undergrads with obnoxious laughs who think they’re starring in The Social Network.

3. It doesn’t matter what the game, my brain will latch onto it, play it a million times, and suck the fun out of it, until I’m the BEST OF ALL TIME. Either that or it wants to quit right away and try something else. (Tip: Press the refresh button on your browser so a bad round doesn’t affect your overall score.)

4. Shooting birds that flash on the screen while simultaneously remembering a flashing letter doesn’t make me a better athlete and/or driver, as the site vaguely promises. It does, however, make me a better time-waster.

5. My brain thinks remembering where a series of blocks should be placed is annoying; again, I have a tendency to agree with my brain.

6. My brain is in the 90-somethingeth percentile of people in my age range. These people are probably monkeys that the aforementioned Harvard douches keep in their dorms as test subjects, but still … my brain is pretty impressive, no?

7. My brain really wants to believe the training is working, as indicated by me asking people, “Do I seem smarter lately?”

8. I’ve invited my sister and her husband to join me in training, so I don’t feel quite as dumb doing it myself. My trick worked. They’re hooked!

If, after reading all these “learnings” of mine, you’re still tempted to try Lumosity, I give you permission to click here. Just make sure you come back and post a comment about the experience. If you forget, then the training obviously didn’t work, sorry.

Oh, and apropos of whatever, you should probably download a free sample chapter of The Edumacation of Jay Baker.

Trapped inside a glass house of boring? Throw these zen stones at the windows and get out!

As someone who has my PhD in hating people, I’m constantly on the lookout for new and exciting ways to rise above it all — all of mankind, that is — legs crossed and hands pressed against one another with a superior spiritual look on my face. Which is why lately I’ve been exploring the world of Buddhism via podcast and audiobook, so I can avoid some sort of awful group setting whereby I have to share my life experiences with others.

Assuming you don’t feel like breathing on people in a temple, either, I’m making it easier on everyone by posting my Buddhalicious learnings to this blog in easily scannable list form. Prepare for an awakening.

1. Karma. According to a source I forget, Buddhism is all about karma. Hate unto others as they would hate unto you, and vice versa, and therefore and such as and the Iraq. That’s their philosophy, and I think I get it: Keep your hatred held inward, close to your shriveled heart, and others will never have the opportunity to hold you accountable for it. Neveeeer!

2. No judging. Basically, you can’t have fun at the expense of others, even if everyone has to sit around being bored, looking at each other like, “What now, stupids?” (You can’t call people stupids unless you want the same treatment, see how hard it is?) Avoid karaoke, Facebook, and friends that are having a hard time of it lately.

3. Don’t kill bugs. I’m assuming this rule doesn’t apply to basement-dwelling spider-hybrids that hop up as you throw the bathroom rug over them and stomp accordingly.

4. Meditate. I don’t think I’m doing it right, but perhaps you’ll be better about focusing on your breath, letting go of intrusive thoughts like, “You haven’t posted on your blog in a while, stupid!” and, “You’re thirty, by the way, ha-ha!”

5. Be mindful. Before you say what you really mean–”I hate everything about your face!”, for instance–take a deep breath and ask yourself, Why am I feeling such rage? If the answer is Because I hate this person, then fire away. On second thought, see number 1.

6. Get a lot of fresh air. Because only when we become one with the freezing aspects of nature can we stop complaining about how hot we are all the time. (I’m hot, by the way.)