What do you wear to work? Are you a buttoned-up, buttoned-down traditionalist, or are you one of those folks that feels comfortable showing up to a client meeting wearing pink sweat pants and a stained Metallica T-Shirt from 1985? Do your clothes make a statement about who you are? Do they say “this person is stiffer than Al Gore and really needs to get laid” or do they say “I just failed my drug test?”

I didn’t think twice about my work wardrobe until about six months ago. I wore pretty much the same thing to work everyday; a buttoned down oxford dress shirt with the company logo on the pocket (I owned about thirty of them) dress slacks, and a tie. If I had a meeting with a client I wore a suit, no questions asked. Our company president was about 65 (going on 90) and in the 15 years I worked for him I never saw him in anything other than a suit.

Then I switched firms six months ago. The president of my new firm is 40 (going on 17) and in the six months I’ve known him I’ve rarely seen him in anything other than cargo shorts and his version of a PETA T-shirt (People Eating Tasty Animals).

My new company works really hard at marketing itself as being cutting edge, hip,trendy and relaxed. When I first started, I went to Pasadena to do a trade show and I was to meet one of the guys from our LA office at the show. I showed up in a charcoal gray suit, starched white shirt, and a silk baby blue tie (a look beaten to death by politicians now for decades). When my coworker walked into the building he started laughing and said “what the hell are you wearing?!?!?” “What I always wear to trade shows” I mumbled sheepishly. He pointed around the convention hall and said “do you see any other human being here in a suit???” I had to admit I didn’t and so he sent me back to my hotel to change.

I’ve discovered since that time that the accepted dress for meeting with clients at my new firm is a pair of faded distressed jeans. However, they can’t be faded and distressed from having worn them a lot. They must come that way from the Versace store and they must cost more than a typical mortgage payment. The jeans are to be coupled with a designer shirt that has been cut so that it is intended to be tucked in, but AT NO TIME are you EVER to tuck a shirt in.

Yes, everyone who is the public eye in my company dresses this way, and to the best of my knowledge, none of them are gay. So I’m really confused.

We were all together a few months ago at a trade show in Las Vegas. While we were out one night they drug me into a trendy looking store and refused to let me leave until I bought at least one new shirt. They started picking out stuff and throwing at me. I kept looking around for cameras because I was certain I was on a mutant version of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy.” (Let me reiterate that all of these guys are married. However, I think I’m going to start calling their wives to see if these are simply marriages of convenience.)  I walked out with a black shirt that had silk cuffs with six buttons, a collar that would make the flying nun proud, and enough intricate detail work to keep a sweat shop worker in China busy for a week. I’m not going to say how much this shirt cost but I did have to take out a disbursement from my 401K when my credit card bill arrived.

I’m trying to be more hip. I’ve stopped tucking in my shirts, I’ve grown a goatee, and I’m wearing my hair a bit shaggier. However, I’m about to turn 51 and at some point trying to look “hip” becomes looking “silly and desperate.”

I just got back from a meeting in Mobile, AL with a very prominent African-American church. I knew my company’s “look” wouldn’t fly at that meeting so I wore a suit and it’s a good thing I did because everyone at the meeting was dressed to the nines in tailored suits.

I have to admit, I felt like I was back at home. What do you wear to work?

I am firmly behind the idea of health care reform, but I’m actually the perfect demographic to be opposed to it.

I’m a middle aged white male with an upper-middle class income who (up until about six months ago) had almost all of their insurance costs covered by their employer.  I’m in a high tax bracket and I know I’m supposed to be livid at the idea that somebody on welfare or somebody that has a different color skin than I have might get health care that I’m helping foot the bill for, because frankly, I’m out there working for mine and By-God they can do the same.

I’m embarrassed to admit that up until six months ago I didn’t even know how much my health insurance cost. My employer covered all but a fraction of it and I what I paid showed up as a tiny blip on my pay stub that I didn’t even pay attention too.

Then I moved jobs.

My new employer doesn’t provide health coverage until you’ve been on the job six months, so I took out a bridge policy that only covered catastrophic illness until insurance at my new firm kicked in. I thought it was a little pricy but I chalked it up to being a temporary policy. Since I’m brand new, my employer only pays for half of my coverage and none of my wife’s. I have no children left at home so I don’t need a full family policy.

I got my first paycheck after my new health insurance policy kicked in and I was certain there had been a mistake. I called our company accountant and said “you took $360.00 out of my check for health insurance. Do you just deduct for health insurance once a month?” “No” he laughed, “your out-of-pocket is $740.00 per month. $360.00 will be taken out of every paycheck.

I almost shit myself. “That means that health insurance for just my wife and I costs almost a $1,000 per month?!?!?” “Yes,” he replied. “We’re trying to negotiate with other providers to find a cheaper solution but that is what it currently costs.”

How freaking much would it cost if I had five kids at home?!? My insurance is purchased along with many others in order to get a group rate. How much would it cost if I was just trying to provide it on my own?!?

I’m lucky; I don’t like paying $740.00 out of pocket every month, but I can do it without worrying where my next meal is coming from. How does anyone living on minimum wage afford health insurance? Obviously they don’t. Now I understand why hospital emergency rooms are overrun by people simply needing basic health care.

I’m sure many of you reading this are thinking “welcome to reality buddy” and you would be exactly right. I’ve been living in my little insulated white-bread world hearing others in my demographic whine about how their choices might be limited.

I’ve read all the arguments. I understand that the right is afraid of anything that reeks of Socialism. I’ve read history books too. I understand the argument that any government that pays $3,500.00 for a hammer is likely to screw up health care. As a foster parent I dealt with DHS all of the time and I fully understand how the government can f*#k up a social assistance program. But frankly, if you’re in my demographic and you’d rather see those less fortunate than you suffer and possibly die because of a lack of adequate health care just because you don’t want the government involved and you don’t want any of your tax dollars to help pay for it…I’m embarrassed for you.

Editorial Warning: The following post may be offensive to many of my fellow liberal Democrats because it reveals the fact that I just shot several small defenseless woodland creatures with a 12 gauge shotgun, and worse yet, I enjoyed it.

I realize that as a fervent, card carrying member of the Democratic Party that I should adopt PETA’s philosophy and become a vegetarian who trades tofu recipes with all of my friends at the local organic food store, but dammit, have you tasted prime rib??!?!

I think Panda Bears and baby Seals are just as cute as the next guy and I find the idea of any animal suffering needlessly to be morally repugnant. But I also know that many animals taste really good with barbeque sauce, so I’ve never been able to jump on the PETA bandwagon. I might jump on if it were a chuckwagon, but that defeats the whole spirit of what they are trying to accomplish.

I also know that I’m supposed to hate guns and support strict gun control. I understand the arguments intellectually and I’ve tried really hard to become fervent about the issue. I liked the John Cusack, anti-gun movie “Runaway Jury,” but I also liked “Grosse Pointe Blank” where Cusack played a hit man. I’m sure if I, or someone I loved, had been the victim of gun violence I would feel differently, but I can only describe my feelings about gun control as complete ambivalence. Perhaps that’s because I’ve lived my entire life in Oklahoma where it is a state law that everyone own at least one Ford F-150 pickup truck with two shotguns in the gun rack and a bird dog in the back. Or perhaps it’s because I have to admit that I find it a wee-bit disingenuous to want the government to stay out of the abortion issue and the whom should be able to get married to whom issue, but want them to step in when it comes to guns.

So to all of my fellow Democrats who are shaking their heads in disgust at me, I’m truly sorry. But be careful…I might be packing.

I have recently become the Great White Hunter. I don’t actually hunt, or at least I haven’t in over 30 years, but my boss asked me if I’d like to come on an office hunting trip. I really had no desire to go but since I’m a salesman and a soulless whore (see previous post) who would gladly do anything to promote his career I immediately said yes.

My boss is the poster child for the NRA. His personal gun collection totals well over a quarter-million dollars. The man owns his own 50 caliber machine gun for God’s sake. He could easily defend most third world countries all by himself. Today was the opening day of Dove season in Oklahoma and I’ve discovered that my boss closes the corporate office each year on opening day and takes the entire staff hunting.

He told me to wear camouflage. Of course I don’t own any camouflage so I went to Wal-Mart to buy some. Everyone in Oklahoma wears camouflage. In fact, you might well find many pastors preaching in camouflage on any given Sunday, so I shouldn’t have felt so conspicuous in it, but conspicuous I felt. I was certain that anyone looking at me could tell I was so out of place in those clothes that I might as well have been auditioning for a fifth spot with the Village People.

I got up at 4:00 a.m. to drive to meet everyone (apparently birds keep really stupid hours) and was handed a 12 gauge shotgun and shown how to use it.  We hiked way the hell out into the middle of nowhere and sat down and waited for the birds to fly by.

I shot and killed four defenseless little doves. Yes, the birds that bring strips of cloth to Cinderella so she can make her dress for the ball. I know I should feel terrible but actually, I really enjoyed it.

I didn’t enjoy it enough to go buy my own gun and hang it in a gun rack in my car (primarily because people who stop at the end of on-ramps deserve to be shot, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to help myself) but I did enjoy it.

At one point my boss was complaining that I wasn’t taking enough shots. He told me that I could shoot at birds that were farther away because “your barrel is three or four inches longer than anyone elses.” I immediately replied “I can’t count how many women have told me that” because, frankly, any opportunity for a good penis joke should never be passed up.

So I’ve become the Great White Hunter and I’m afraid of what might happen next. If start repeating Larry the Cable Guy jokes, or start referring to myself with two first names (i.e. Billy Mark) I hope that all of my liberal Democratic friends will come and stage an intervention.

Hi. I’m the Director of Sales and Marketing for a privately held multi-national firm. I have made my living as a salesperson for almost 20 years, and I have a confession to make: I DESPISE salespeople.

Not just a little mind you. When I have to deal with a salesperson I usually find myself wanting to cut off their eye lids, cover them in honey, and stake them to an ant pile. Or better yet, shove their polyester clad ass into a wood chipper and spread the resulting mulch over their grave.

Ok, I might be exaggerating a little bit, but my feelings are intense enough that when my wife and I go shopping for a big ticket item she makes me repeat all the way there; “I WILL be nice to the salesperson, I WILL be nice to the salesperson.”

My contempt was rekindled last week when the “Cash for Clunkers” programmed lured us into a local Ford dealership.

ME: “We’ve been reading about the Escape Hybrid. Do you have one on the lot we could test drive?”

SALESPERSON: “I don’t have one here, but there is one at another lot nearby. Why don’t we go into my office and we can start drawing up the paperwork while I have it brought over.” At this point my wife saw the vein bulging in my neck, took my hand and whispered; “steady.”

ME: (attempting to remain pleasant and calm) “I really couldn’t commit to purchasing a $30,000.00 vehicle without either seeing it or test driving it.”

SALESPERSON: “I can assure you that it is the only one left in the state and it will be gone within the hour. If you don’t buy it right now, you won’t find another one for months.”

ME: “I’m afraid you’ve left me no choice, I’m going to have to kill you now.”

The only form of life on earth lower than a car salesman is a furniture salesman. They never take “I’m just looking” as an answer. They cling to you like blood sucking parasites, insistent that you come and look at the latest shipment of baby furniture even though you just told them your kids are 35 years old.

To be fair to car and furniture salespeople, I don’t live in their world. In my business a single sale is generally hundreds of thousands, if not millions of dollars. People don’t make buying decisions of that magnitude quickly. The sales cycle is at least several months and often several years. I can’t imagine what it would be like to live and die by having to close sales every day.

So it’s not so much that I despise them personally, I despise how they have to do business (and the soulless whores it turns them into). So here are a few rules of thumb when given the pitch by these guys (or gals – I’m an equal opportunity despiser).

1.    If the salesperson says that what you want to buy is one of a kind and that if you miss this opportunity, the object of your desire will be gone forever, flip them on the nose and walk out of the building. They have factories for a reason…to make more of whatever the hell it is you want.

2.    If the salesperson says that the sale ends today and that you won’t be able to get it at that price tomorrow, they are a lying sack of ca-ca. If they can make the deal today, they can make the same deal next week if they want too. If they don’t want too, screw them and go buy it from someone who will.

3.    If what they are selling is not “value-added” and the only purchasing factor is price, do not be embarrassed to make a low-ball offer. All they can do is say no, and to the best of my knowledge no one has ever died from being told no. Even if they say they don’t negotiate, everybody negotiates. Life is a negotiation. With that being said, don’t expect to get something for nothing. Every business deserves a fair profit.

4.    Do your research and know what you want before you go. Be polite (yes, I can be polite if my wife threatens me enough) but be firm. If they start the sales spin crap walk away.

5.    And finally if a salesperson ever begins a sentence with “Let me be honest” everything that comes out of their mouth from that point on is complete shit. No one ever says “let me be honest” if they are actually being honest.

As soon as I post this I’m going to go interview a builder for the home we are hoping to start construction on soon.

I have my wood chipper ready.

I recently crossed over to the dark side and have become a Mac person. I used to hate Mac people because they were all like mutant Jehovah’s Witnesses; constantly extolling the virtues of all things Mac with an air of superiority that made me want to shove their MacBooks up their MacAsses.

The firm I joined six months ago didn’t give me a choice. They do everything on Macs and as I’ve used Mac products I have slowly become a convert. In fact, I’m typing this using iWork ’09 while I listen to iTunes on my iPhone. I work from home so I keep in touch with my colleagues on iChat and we coordinate our schedules on iCalendar. If I decide to add a picture to this blog I will do it with iPhoto and perhaps I’ll even add a video at some point using iMovie.

I think you get the iPoint.

What is beginning to iChap my iBehind, however, is how marketing people have begun to steal Apple’s use of that little lower case “i” to make their product seem hip and cool.

This happened several years ago with the letters “X” and “Z.” Someone, somewhere decided that using either of those letters in a model number suddenly made their products seem much edgier and, of course, every marketing person on the planet followed like sheep.

I’m in the commercial sound, video, and lighting business. Our company is a dealer for over 850 manufacturers. Each of those manufacturers make hundreds of products and the model number for EVERY FREAKING ONE OF THEM starts with and X or a Z.

Don’t try and tell me you haven’t noticed this trend. Think about all of the cool cars you would like to own. Now think about how many of those car models begin with an X or a Z. If you’re like me you’d really like to drive your vintage Z-28 over to the BMW lot to pick up a new Z-4, or perhaps over to the Jaguar lot to pick up an XF, a XK, or even an XJ.

But now the mighty X and Z have been begun to be replaced by the tiny, unassuming “i”, and it’s starting to piss me off.

I’ve seen advertisements recently for an iSafe, an iBoat, and even an iCheeseburger. The coup de grace, however, may have been a seminar I saw advertised last week promising to teach young couples wanting to have children how to be iParents.

(I know you see this coming) That is just iCreepy.

I think I’m going to start a marketing craze in which all product model numbers begin with an umlaut. Soon you will be able to purchase an üToaster, a üTV, or perhaps even a üPet. And the best part will be that I will get a small cut from the sale of every üProduct because of my marketing genius.

Or maybe I’m just üCrazy.

My secretary tapped on my office door inside the First Baptist Church of small town Oklahoma, peeked inside, and said “Mrs. Blackwood is here to see you.” Then, making sure only I could see her, she rolled her eyes and backed out of the doorway, leaving room for my visitor to slip past her. I invited Mrs. Blackwood to come in and set down while I tried unsuccessfully to suppress a guilty grin.

“God has been speaking to me” she began in an incredibly condescending tone, “and he wants me to tell you that he disapproves of the post-prom party you are planning for the youth group.”

“Really? and exactly what is it he disapproves of?” “Well” she replied, “by having the party start after the prom rather than having it during the prom you are implying that the church feels it is acceptable for young christian men and women to dance together in a lascivious manner.” I attempted to counter by saying that, at least in my own personal experience, it was what happened after the prom that usually got kids in trouble and that to the best of my knowledge no one had ever actually gotten pregnant while on the dance floor.

“I don’t appreciate your cavalier attitude young man. I intend to bring this up to the church board, have the party cancelled, and see that you are disciplined.” “In the future” she continued, “perhaps you should spend more time in prayer and personal Bible study so that you can more accurately discern the will of God.”

“Thank you for your concern, and for sharing your opinion, Mrs. Blackwood. However, if God wants to tell me something I imagine he would speak directly to me.”

I know this sounds like a scene from the movie “Footloose” but it’s actually a scene out of my life in the ministry, circa 1987.

The scene above repeated itself in many, many different transmutations over the course of the 17 years I was a minister. Which is why, even today, if I hear someone start a sentence by saying “God told me” I turn my back away from that person because I figure I’m about to get fucked in the ass.

“Bitter much?” I hear you say. No…not so much bitter as I am incredibly world weary of the ways that people use religion to justify and promote their personal agendas. That is a subject I’ve beaten to death in this blog and there is no reason to beat a dead Sunday School Quarterly again. I only bring it up because of a response I got to my last entry.

It happens every time my blog is on the front page. My liberal leanings make somebody want to try and save me. I received the comment below on my last entry:

I’m sending an important message to people from Jehovah God that is in the Bible: “And my holy name I will make known… and I will not suffer my holy name to be profaned any more: and the nations shall have to know that I am Jehovah.” (Ezekiel 39:7) (YLT)

Well, god dammit, I’d better straighten up and fly right.

(What can I say, Mrs. Blackwood could never get me to change my cavalier attitude.)

While I’m sure the author of that comment has only the best of intentions I imagine they would be highly surprised to learn that I’m still on a church staff even if it is a volunteer position.

We’re a weird little church. We try and feed a lot of people. We try and provide clothes to a lot of people. And we could care less what color you are, what language you speak,  what your political affiliation is, or who you sleep with. We don’t proselytize, and we don’t point fingers. Most of all, we have lots of fun, and the best part may be that my pastor is my best friend and my best drinking buddy. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t get any better than that.

That doesn’t make my “brand” of religion any better than anyone else’s, but I can say that I never start a sentence with “God told me.”

I might start a sentence with “My bartender told me” but it won’t mean I’m about to fuck you in the ass.

I mentioned awhile back that I have a Facebook page like every other person on the planet, but that I never mention politics or religion in that forum. That’s because I have lots of very conservative friends on Facebook (i.e. customers and fellow employees) who do not know I am a baby-killin, homo-loving, tree-huggin, wack-job liberal, and they would cease to do business with me should they discover this fact.

Perhaps you find it disingenuous that I’m less than forthcoming about my personal dogma in the pursuit of filthy lucre.

If you do, you can just keep on worrying about my ethics and I’ll keep on paying my mortgage.

Anyway…I can be open on here, so I’d like to state for the record that I’m confused about something…

All of my Republican friends on Facebook keep talking about how they are against health care reform because they can’t abide the idea of government interfering in their lives.

Fair enough, but if they are concerned about government interference in their lives then why do they think it’s perfectly acceptable for the government to:

• Tell a woman what she can and can’t do with her own body.
• Tell everyone in America who they are allowed or not allowed to marry.
• Invade the privacy of American Citizens while playing on their fears.
• Promote Christianity over other religions by instituting “faith-based” initiatives.

Maybe I’m nuts, but I don’t mind the government making sure that every American has access to health care and I don’t mind helping pay for it, but I do want the government to stay OUT of my bedroom, my church, and my emails and phone calls.

So…if Republicans are really against government interference in our lives, then maybe I’m a Republican after all?

I am a member of a secret society. There are only three members and we can only be identified by our sagging Depends and the empty bottles of Ensure littered around our feet. We are the “MAN club” and our mission is to come up with ever more pathetic attempts to hold onto our waning masculinity while that effing bitch Mother Nature sneaks up from behind and gives us all a prostate exam. (1)

Actually, it’s just three guys who are the same age (and have birthdays within a few weeks of each other) who have the bodies of Abe Vigoda and the maturity of Ashton Kutcher.

Let me introduce you to the gang: Of course you all know me. I’m a sales manager for a technology company. Then there is Scott who is a pharmaceutical rep, and finally Bill, who works in manufacturing. On a given day the most strenuous thing any of us might do is staple a report together, and yet when we pass certain chronological milestones we feel compelled to go somewhere and risk our lives to try and prove that we are still testosterone oozing, mastodon killing, women clubbing, hunks of manhood. (2)

When we all turned 45 we learned to skydive. Since no one died, we promised ourselves that when 50 came we would do something even stupider. We batted around several ideas. One was to rent Harleys and ride to Vegas, Wild Hogs style, for a weekend of debauchery. But we decided that there would be too much chaffing involved and that they stay up way to late in Vegas anyway, so we scrapped that idea.

Instead….(drum roll please) We head out this Thursday for a trip to Canon City, Colorado to white water raft the Royal Gorge.

The literature states that we need to be in very good physical condition. I took that seriously and since we booked the trip I’m very proud to say that I have done at least three setups. (3).

Our wives feel that we need a chaperone so they are sending along Bills son; Bobby. Bobby is 27. Bobby was a Navy SEAL. Bobby bench presses over 300 lbs. So you know what this means don’t you? We are all much more likely to kill ourselves proving that we can keep up with Bobby than if he just stayed home (4).

When I get home I’ll update and let everyone know how it went (5). Until then, wish us luck and wish us fun. And here’s hoping our Depends will be buoyant enough to keep us afloat if we fall out of the boat.
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(1)  She refuses to use lube.
(2)  I can see you rolling your eyes from here.
(3)  Not all at the same time, of course.
(4)  Thank GOD he’s going, I’d be scared shitless if he wasn’t.
(5)  Providing I’m not in traction.

  

In Dante’s Inferno the avaricious and the prodigal occupy the fourth circle of hell and must spend all of eternity pushing giant boulders across a circle. In Mark’s Inferno those greedy enough to covet a more luxurious domicile must spend all of eternity carrying a top heavy Chest of Drawers up and down a narrow staircase with their significant other: “Push!/I am pushing!/Go to your left, no, not that left, the other left!/It’s too big, it’s never going to fit! (1) /Are you pushing?/Yes, I’m pushing!/Well, stop pushing!!!”

Yes, my wife and I moved last weekend.

Actually, the conversation above didn’t happen this weekend because we discovered early on in our marriage that we can do virtually anything together except move furniture. I hired four burly men with a big truck to come and move all the heavy stuff. It cost a shit load of money but trust me, it was worth every single penny.

This is all part of our insane master plan. First we remodeled and sold the home my wife owned when we got married. Then we remodeled and sold the home I owned when we got married. Now we’ve moved temporarily into a small rent house while we build a home on the lake. We’ve done all of this in the span of one year.

It looked good on paper, I swear it did.

While we build the new house (two year estimated time frame) we have moved from a 2500 sq. ft. home into a 1250 sq. ft. home. My wife and love each other very much, but now we’re going to discover how much we actually like each other. To say it’s cozy around here would be a gross understatement. If I could figure out a way to stack the dogs on top of each other and make them stay that way, I would do it.

But our insanity doesn’t stop there. Fortified by the experience of two successful remodels we have decided to act as our own general contractor in order to save money. I expect heavy medication will be involved (2).

The Parade of Homes begins in two weeks here in Tulsa. Our plan is to tour about 50 homes, writing down everything we see that we want to incorporate into our new home in a big notebook. Once we have accumulated all of this information and designed our dream home we will burn the notebook because there will be no friggin way we’ll be able to afford any of it (3) .

We believe strongly in the green movement and our ultimate desire is to build a green home (as much as is financially feasible.) We’ve been looking into the costs of various green technologies and it may be that painting the house green is as close as we’re going to get, but we’d really like to try. Some of the technologies we’ve looked at have very expensive initial costs. They promise, however, to more than pay for themselves over the life of the home. That’s very nice but I’m 50 years old and I will be dead long before the return on investment would become a reality for many of these possibilities and that has to be considered. But never fear; armed with multiple copies of “Mother Earth News” and our back yard composter we are marching head long into the final phase of the master plan.

Now, if you’ll excuse me my lovely wife is waiting for me to help her move a dresser from the house out into the garage (4).

_______________________________________________________________________________
  (1)  Boy, if I had a nickel for every time a woman has told me THAT.
  (2)  I will be accepting donations.
  (3)  A 60” plasma TV and Surround Sound in the pantry would be nice, but do we really NEED it?
  (4)  The OTHER right/Stop pushing!!!

When I decided to rename my site I felt a huge amount of pressure to come up with a great name. It had to be something witty, something clever, something thought provoking, or perhaps just something totally offensive.

I was at a loss. All of the great names like Primeval Wench, Transvestite Rabbit, Bad Dogma, and Unoriginal Sin had already been taken. I racked my brain for several days before deciding “Screw it, nobody cares what the name is…let’s go with Cold Skivvies.”

If you’ve been reading my site long you might remember the story behind this name, but that would assume that anything I’ve written would be memorable enough for someone to recall the reference. I find that highly unlikely so here’s the story again:

My mother was a schizophrenic. She often became confused and she had a habit of doing the laundry, folding my underwear, and putting it in the crisper in the refrigerator. There is nothing that will wake you up in the morning quite like slipping into a pair of cold skivvies chilled to a perfect 40 degrees.

You might think that is a terribly lachrymose story to be used as an inspiration for a blog name. Not at all. When my mom was lucid she had an amazing ability to see her illness from the outside. I have a very clear memory of her reaction the first time she chilled my tighty whitties for me and then realized what she had done. At first she was mortified. Then, as she thought more about it, she began to giggle. That giggle grew into hysterical laughter until she was on the floor, unable to catch her breath.

I come by my sick and twisted sense of humor quite honestly.

So, for me, “Cold Skivvies” is everything that is right about the world, no matter how screwed up that world might be.

I hope you’ll continue to come by and see me.