It’s normally not hard for me to dress myself in the morning.

The southern half of my body is the easiest.  I generally wear the same jeans, a pair of Levi’s I refer to as Old Faithful.  Curious readers should note that they are washed frequently, lest they think of me as an unhygienic bum.

Some men hunt bucks with guns. Others push dirt with trucks. Adult males routinely build, destroy, conquer, tackle, and force.

I shop. For groceries.

I'm surely not the only male to do this, but I believe to be somewhat unique in my desires to do so and my self-diagnosis as a fast, efficient shopper.

A Shopping Ninja, if you will.

Christmas is a special time of year when we honor two people whose existences are subjects of great debate.

Jesus Christ and Santa Claus.

To be more specific, the arguments against the Biblical Jesus are many and inconsistent. Many say he never existed. Some state he did, but was just a mere man. Others contend that he grew up, professed to be God, then got married (an action that would surely cause one to doubt their own deity).

Many of my seven dedicated readers probably recall a column I wrote some time ago about my resistance to the cell phone culture.

My point in that piece was not to portray cell phones as a stain on our nation, but that their misuse was of great concern to me.

Years ago I authorized my lender, who I will affectionately refer to as Sallie Mae Powerful Evil Empire Jerks, Inc. to deduct money from my account every month. Since that time, they have received $79.16 on each occasion.

I had heard before that it is not a good idea to shop for groceries while hungry. It often motivates otherwise decent human beings into make unwise purchases.

Years ago, I was in Sam's Club staring lustfully at a large tub of nacho cheese, the size of which was not unlike something one would use to store great amounts of rock salt for winter use. As I stared longingly at the great reservoir of cheese, I sensed a mutual understanding that we should be together.

I hope this doesn't sound arrogant, but my grandmother is better than yours.

This is no casual observation. I have been watching her for more than thirty years, constantly evaluating her grandmotherly nature. Truth is, she leads the league in every important category.

I’ve got big plans for this summer.

It happens each winter that look out the windows at what snow and ice deny me and imagine great experiences in which I perpetually celebrate the sunny warmth.  I remind myself that the previous summer was a dud and that the upcoming solstice will be different.

I’m sitting down to my laptop much later than I would’ve liked today. I normally prefer to wake up in the morning, grab it from the floor beside my bed, and then use it until I sense suggestive stares from my wife.

It’s not that she is the nagging type. In fact, my other half is quite adept at disguising her displeasure, which has been a key to our 10 years of successful married life. Her problem is that I use the computer too much, which I certainly do.

It's no fun growing old.  It's just like that guy said.

What's his name, the one with the brown hair?

I'm only 33 or 34.  According to my recollection, the biggest frustration I have is my forgetfulness.

It was about ninety degrees. My shirt was off and I was swinging a garden tool like a Grandfather clock with ADHD.

As inspiration, I tried to imagine that I was Charles Ingalls, pouring all of my energy into cultivating the land to support my family. Without my efforts, we would surely starve. After all, we could not make it on what Mrs. Olsen paid Ma for her weekly egg sale.

"The laughs go up." she explained. "Don't be too hard on yourself."

Don't be hard on myself? Why not ask me to not be myself. The two go hand in hand.

I really had no reason to be upset, other than my inability to hear much response. I should've prepared better, anyway.

I knew this.

It's not that I like to walk into hard things or enjoy thinking homely people are attractive.  I've just always thought people look more intelligent in glasses.

You see, I've always been a man that wants to look smart to other people.  In order to accomplish this, the first thing I tried was actually being smart, but that took a lot of work and I was not very good at it.

BLIZZARD WARNING

A blizzard warning is what you hear from your coworker, who oftentimes during the winter will remark, "S'posed to be a cockah this weekend!"  The comment is usually motivated by the loneliness of a man who people are generally not interested in speaking to.  If there is a real weather emergency, your trusted meteorologist will issue a COCKAH ALERT.

My wife always grabs them (the brochures).

This is because she only has one simple desire in life – to do every possible thing that could ever be done as soon as possible.