jraywelch - Tumblr blog

[jraywelch]

The life and death of Thomas Jefferson, the cat

We found out on a group text that our cat was dying.

I suspect for families that genuinely loved their pets these moments would be grounds for a phone call or even a video conference that would involve the immediate family attentively watching the last breaths of their beloved friend. There could also be a kitschy burial ceremony with a brief, but genuine program with a eulogy and shared memories. The truly devoted might even erect some kind of memorial for their pet, or at least hang a picture.

In the case of one Thomas Jefferson Welch, TJ for short, there was no such pageantry. I'm still not entirely sure what happened to his remains.

My nonchalant approach to his departure to the big litter box in the sky is probably being passed off as cruelty, and that might be fair. I felt stronger emotions for the animated pups in Isle of Dogs than I did for the cat that inhabited the Welch home for 18 years. His presence alone made him a part of the family but before you judge me for being heartless (as highly accurate a claim that it may be) please try to understand the true nature of TJ.

***

At the end of every episode of The Price is Right, Bob Barker (and now Drew Carey) would conclude by saying, "help control the pet population by getting your pets spaded or neutered." I like to theorize that Mr Barker had a vision in which he saw our cat roaming the earth and thought, "This cat is bad news. More of him would be a terrible idea."

To put it lightly TJ very well could have been the devil himself, capable of turning the hearts of even the most ardent feline lovers.

His journey with our family began on the 4th of July, 1999 when my mother brought him home. She went to the grocery store and saw a woman giving away kittens and couldn't resist. This might be commonplace in some families but the Welch household had never been a home to any pets whatsoever. The closest we ever came was one year when my parents decided to tell us they were going to get us a dog by leaving bowl with some dog food in it under the Christmas tree. I don't know if my dad stepped in some dog feces or what changed their minds but they backed out and we only found out about the foiled plan five years later we found the bowl and unopened can of Purina buried somewhere in the basement.

The fact TJ came to us free of charge by way of a person we didn't know outside a grocery store called King Soopers was quite ominous. We certainly got what we paid for.

Those first few months with TJ were such a blur not because they went by so fast but rather the fact that once he grew in size all of those pleasant memories were replaced by nightmares. He was a gentle creature at first but once he discovered his sharp teeth and claws it was a different story. He became a ferocious creature who would prey on anyone who would walk through the front door. And I'm not just talking about a few harmless scratches here and there. TJ would pounce with purpose, that being to inflict a maximum amount of pain on his victim. Or so I assume.

At first we all through it was bare legs that set him off but once we all started wearing pants around the house TJ's clawing and biting would continue and eventually spread to arms, and in the case of small children, faces. If you don't believe me you go back through family photos you'll see pictures of my youngest sister Hannah with scars on her face and arms. Or you can ask any child under the age of six that ever visited our house. No matter how many times we would tell them, "THE KITTY KAT IS NOT YOUR FRIEND" they would immediately run over to try and pet his tail, which was reciprocated with a claw to the face.

Instead of doing the logical thing and getting his claws removed (my kind mother thought it would be too cruel) we decided to fight fire with fire. The only thing that TJ hated more than our presence was being sprayed with a water bottle, one of which was placed in just about every room of the house. A common scene would be the family sitting around the table eating dinner and my father holding his fork in one hand and a water bottle in the other, manning his post and ready to gun down the enemy combatant at a moments notice.

What’s worse is we never knew when to expect an attack. One second he would be completely docile and then at the flip of a switch he would set out on his warpath. Not that there is anything funny about pet-on-owner violence but it was rather humorous to be in a different part of the house when TJ would strike. First we would hear the loud screams, the commotion of a few others leaping to grab a spray bottle and then TJ bolting to a safe place. All of this was followed by more yelling, crying and my dad saying, “ahh that stupid cat.”

And it wasn't just the pain that TJ inflicted that made him a bozo. There was long list of strange habits including (but not limited too) jumping on top of cars that would pull into our driveway or only drinking water that came out of the kitchen faucet. There was the normal cat stuff, like sitting on the newspaper whenever someone was trying to read it but then there was the pooping everywhere but his litter box and the full on sprinting throughout the entire house for no reason whatsoever.

His true wildcat personality drove everyone bonkers but it played well in other areas. Not once did we ever find a live mouse inside or around our house. He did bring a few dead ones inside to show off his handiwork, making sure we knew of his worth. My favorite TJ moment was when I witnessed a standoff that he had with three deer who encroached on our front yard in New Jersey. Instead of retreating inside TJ held his ground against the three deer, who were on their way to feast on the freshly planted shrubs. After a few minutes of posturing, TJ jumped up and clawed one of the deer in the face, sending the three of them into the next yard. 

For about 12 years it was like this, pure mayhem inside and outside of the house, until one day things changed. Much like Saul on the road to Damascus, TJ was transformed from his life of sin and debauchery. His heart was miraculously softened not by way of a higher power but rather thanks to Prozac. Yes, you read that correctly. My cat was tamed by an antidepressant that is routinely prescribed to pets. (Routinely might be a stretch as I have no idea if this is a normal case or if our vet was so vexed for a solution to TJ's crazy that he decided that desperate times called for desperate measures.)

I wasn't living at home when TJ first started taking his new medication but apparently the first doses put him into some kind of inebriated trance that wouldn't allow him to take more than 37 steps a day. He went from leaping over six foot fences to barely being able to walk between the litter box and his food dish. They eventually figured out the correct dosage but once he we was medicated he didn't go back to his wild ways.

For the last few years of his life he was finally the nice cat that everyone could enjoy, which is a hard thing for me to understand. To me he was a wild beast and then all of the sudden TJ became this beloved creature that even some of my other family members began to forgive and embrace. My niece and nephew love TJ (probably more than they love me) and it takes a herculean effort to restrain myself from yelling, "IF YOU ONLY KNEW HOW MUCH HE HURT ME. HOW MUCH HE HURT ALL OF US."

Maybe my opinion of our feline frienemy will probably be forever skewed by the fact that I am allergic to cats and everyone just pretended that this was a normal thing. When a family discovers that their kid has a nut allergy do they plant a couple of walnut trees in the back yard? For years I've endured itchy eyes, sneezing and difficulty breathing just so he could stick around. Every Christmas I would make a plea for his exile so I could enjoy a holiday break free of Benadryl drowsiness or an endless runny nose but no, the cat had to stay. Until now.

His antics aside, TJ saw our family through what was the largest period of transition as we moved across the country and back again with many changes in between. As each of the kids left the house for college he was there for my parents, not so much to be a warm cuddly friend but someone to keep them on their toes.

TJ made life difficult but maybe in the end he was just preparing us for the challenges that would come our way. Who knows if any of us could have survived disappointment or heartbreak if we were not first betrayed by the only pet we ever had. We usually despised him and in doing so we were united in our disdain, a special bond that can last a lifetime.

So thank you TJ. Thank you for being the cause of evil that unified our family, even if it was you that we were united in fighting against. 

And best of luck on the other side because I sure as heck won't vouch for you.

[jraywelch]

Peeping Nuns

Nudity has never been an issue me for.

Let me add some context to that statement because some of you (if not all of you) have already passed judgment. I’m not THAT kind of person. Goodness. Let’s try this again.

I’ve always been very comfortable in my own skin.

While that might sound like a tagline of a new soap campaign that encourages people to love their bodies regardless of their shape, size or regrettable college tattoo, it doesn’t make it any less true in my case. I’m the first to admit that I’m not a sculpted individual by any means but I’ve come to like the way that I look, regardless of the (countless) imperfections.

While I always thought that my somewhat irrational confidence in my body was a good thing, it put me in somewhat of a precarious situation not too long ago.

***

I happen to live in a delightful part of Los Angeles that doesn’t quite have its own distinction, rather it’s best described as just south of something and in between here and there. The blocks are stuffed with mid-sized apartment complexes that house Middle Eastern families, recently graduated UCLA students, retired folks who can’t quite afford to live on the beach and yours truly, an almost-30 Caucasian man with a bubbling (sporadic) social life. Very seldom do these groups intermingle but we all get along, aside for the one instance where someone broke into my car to steal my Ralphs frequent shopper card and my childhood baseball mitt (of zero monetary value) but chose to leave my golf clubs. If the thieves wanted to leave me utterly befuddled, they succeeded.

There is one more group of individuals who live on our block, that being the handful of nuns that serve the nearby Saint Sebastian church. There are a delightful bunch that can always be seen shuffling back and forth between their little house and the church which is about 500 feet up the street. It just so happens that their house and my apparent building share the same alleyway so every once in a while I’ll bump into them we’ll exchange hellos.

I happen to live in the penthouse of the apartment building, which is just a fancy way of saying we get to climb the most stairs. My room is great because on the east wall I have a relative large window that lets in morning light and I also have a door that opens up to the roof of the building, On the roof I have a nice little patio where I can do morning yoga and grow tomato plants. I never do either of these things but it’s nice to think that I have the option if one day I felt the desire to limber up or start my own garden.

This is where the whole “nudity has never…” I mean… “I’m comfortable in my own skin” got me into trouble.

One day after a long run through the city streets of LA, I returned to my apartment and sought to cool off the quickest way possible, part of which included me removing all of my running attire. It was a very long run and the sun was really beating down me that day so I was at peak exhaustion. So there I am in my room, naked as a jaybird, and instead of heading off to the shower I decide to look out my window and take in the view of more apartment buildings and a maybe a palm tree or two.

While enjoying the concrete scenery, I notice two of the nuns emerge from their house walking in the direction of my building. At a certain point the stop dead in their tracks, pause for a few moments and then quickly scurry off to wherever they were going. At this exact moment I didn’t think anything of it because I figured the window was a few floors up and my birthday suit wasn’t visible from there. It wasn’t until a few days later when I was walking I the very same spot where those nuns were and I looked up into my window to see my roommate standing there and I can see him clear as day. And that’s when it hit me.

Those poor nuns saw me naked.

Now I say poor but for all I know they could have enjoyed the view. These devout sisters dedicate their entire lives to the church and surely their strict adherence to chastity forbade them from ever seeing such…things. For all I know I was a source of temptation for one of those sisters and she can’t help but think of that mysterious man in the window. Maybe one of them felt so entranced by the experience that she had to go to confession to absolve herself of her lustful desires.

But if we’re being serious, we all know exactly what happened. There was no temptation and there was most certainly no confession to the priest at Saint Sebastian.

After seeing my awkwardly pale figure one of the nuns probably whispered to the other, “I don’t know about you but I thank my lucky stars in heaven that we took that vow of celibacy. I mean we really dodged a bullet on that one.”

[jraywelch]

“Well... I still think you should date her.”

It is the nature of my family to involve themselves in my love life.

I can’t say that I blame them entirely. It’s a basic human instinct to provide help to those who are clearly struggling. Someone starts to lose hold of their groceries and you offer to lend a hand. A child gets lost and you form a search party for the parents. And in the case of my family, if your delinquent son / grandson / cousin can’t find himself a wife then you offer up your expert services.

Two weeks ago I ventured north to Oregon for a family reunion, consisting of my dad’s side of the family. I would have approached the occasion with some trepidation seeing that I am the eldest unmarried member of that side of the family however my mind was put at ease by the fact that there would be three babies in attendance. My thought was that the adults who were usually concerned with setting me up with their hairdresser’s sister would be preoccupied by the infants. While my 6-month-old niece Elsie performed admirably in Operation Distraction, it wasn’t quite enough to divert the full attention of my extended family members.

The best part of the light interrogation from my family was how much hope (or lack thereof) they demonstrated in my romantic prospects based on the types of questions they asked. A cousin who wasn’t worried about my ability to court a female would say, “Of all the girls you are currently pursuing, who are you most interested in?” This inferred that I had an abundance of options and it was only a matter of me making a decision, like the valedictorian trying to decide on which prestigious university he / she should attend. 

On the other hand, a certain family member who doesn’t think I’m capable of tying my own shoes would ask, “Is there ANYONE, maybe even a former girlfriend or even just a good friend who likes bald men, who would want to date you?” The tonality of this sentence made it seem like it didn’t matter what I thought so long as someone could put up with my sorry self I should jump at the chance of dating them.

At this point I should reiterate that I know that my family members offer up their attention / advice / oddly detailed instruction based on their love and concern for me. This expression of familial love is unique, but I appreciate it nonetheless. So while the story that follows is rather embarrassing, it’s all built on a foundation of love. Kind of.

After the family reunion had ended, I drove back to the Portland area to stay the night at the house of my aunt and uncle before flying back to Los Angeles the following morning. After we finished up with dinner I found myself in the kitchen with my two aunts (both of my dad’s sisters happen to live in the same city) and cousin discussing my dating life.

Initially we were discussing the types of girls that I have been dating in Los Angeles. “Are most of them working professionals? I hear there are a lot of nannies that work in LA as well. What about UCLA or USC students? Would you ever consider dating someone older? I hear you prefer Latinas. What about gingers?”

I was explaining the reasons why my last relationship didn’t work out when my dear Aunt Julie very firmly said, “You know what Jake, I’ve been thinking about this for a while and you should date Aubrey. She’s beautiful, very witty and has a great job. Give me a good reason why you shouldn’t be seeing her.”

At this point my brain went into hyper drive.

Aubrey. Who in the heck is Aubrey? I know a couple of Aubrey’s but all of them are either married or 10 years younger than me. She’s not suggesting that I date an 18-year-old, is she? And what kind of job could she have that would be so great if she’s 18? If she works at Red Lobster and can hook me up with some of the cheddar biscuits, I wouldn't be mad. I wonder how much their menu has changed since I last went there. Wait, who am I supposed to be thinking about?

I had to fess up. “Julie, I don’t have the slightest idea who you are talking about.”

“Oh sure you do,” she insisted. “You follow her on Instagram, don’t you?”

“…uh.”

“Come take a look and I’m sure you will know who I’m talking about.”

At this point she pulls up the popular photo sharing app on her phone and searches for Aubrey’s profile. As I’m scrolling through the pictures I see images of a girl that I have never met. Ever. As Aunt Julie continued to sing her praises, I began to think to myself. If I don’t know who this girl is, then how in the world does Aunt Julie know her? And better yet, why does she think that we know each other?

Then everything came into focus.

“You see Jake. When you and your dad were in Chicago, someone commented on your photo and asked if you and Aubrey were going to meet up after the game. I assumed that you two were going on a date or something so I checked out her profile. She was so interesting that I decided to follow her.”

At this point I was beside myself. “AUNT JULIE. YOU’VE MADE  A HUGE MISTAKE.”

Yes, a friend did comment on my photo in which she asked if Aubrey and I were going to meet up after the game HOWEVER that didn’t happen because 1) we didn’t know each other and 2) see number one. I assume our mutual friend also assumed that we knew each other and seeing that we were at the same event, we should at the very least get to know each other. But we didn’t. We are still strangers to this day.

“So you mean to tell me that this girl that I have been following on Instagram has no idea who you are? And you have no idea who see is?”

“YES. IT LOOKS AS IF THAT IS THE CASE.”

“Well…I still think you should date her.”

***

Since the advent of social media, family members have made it a point to create embarrassing situations. Combine an anxious audience (family) with the abundant flow of personal information (social media) and all hell breaks loose. Unofficial statistics state that millennials are 57% less likely share the full name of their significant other because they fear that their mom will go on an unsupervised photo liking spree. The last thing anyone wants to hear is, “so I see your mom started following me on snapchat.” 

This incident, or something similar, was bound to happen and quite frankly I’m surprised that it took this long.

As for now I’m charged with the task of finding Aubrey, explaining why she has a random follower on instagram named @juliewelchandreson and why my aunt thinks we should date. With all of those fancy social media sites out there, that shouldn’t be too difficult.

[jraywelch]

Over and Out - Jan 19

I know I always joke about looking old but tonight I am dressed the part. Long sleeved shirt with a list of 5K sponsors on the back, tucked into grey sweatpants. Tucking anything into gray sweats will make you look old. (Yes, I did just use grey and gray in the same paragraph. Rules be damed). Maybe these Ugg moccasins will make me...yeah I'm not going to finish that sentence.

I'm not sleeping right now because for the first time since college I downed a Diet Mountain Dew. This had nothing to do with nostalgia, rather I did so in order to drive five hours straight so that I could sleep in my own bed tonight. There is irony in this here situation but soon enough I will get tired and fall asleep and the drive will be worth it because I slept on a pull-out bed this weekend. Two nights on an alleged mattress that was made for sleeping in the same way that high heels were made for walking but only worse because said mattress did not make my butt look toned.

I shouldn't complain about my sleeping arrangements for the weekend because they were offered up for free by a person that didn't know me. They knew my roommate who was also there and they decided that my association with him granted me access to their abode. Regardless of these associations, none of these people knew what they were getting into. I could have lit a small fire in their sink. I could have insisted on air drying my body post-bath (yes, I could have taken a bath) in their front room so the daylight could naturally dry my body. I did neither of these things but those are the risks I always assume when accepting a house guest. Prepare for the worst and you will always be pleasantly surprised. "Oh good, you didn't throw out all of the gluten in our fridge to save our waistlines from a hostile gluten takeover. Thanks Dave. How long are you going to be with us again?"

I ate leftover Taco Bell this morning. And later this afternoon. Judgement has already been passed so I won't provide the excuse as to why I ate a day old bean burrito.

Today I met a man who owns more pairs of shoes than his wife because gender stereotypes don't exist in 2015.

Over and out.

[jraywelch]

My First Relationship

It should come as no surprise that most (all) of my relationships can be quantified by days and weeks as opposed to months and years. Some say that it’s my lack of focus and attention that leads to these short relationships, but I think that duck tacos would be quite delicious.

Wait, what was I talking about? Ah yes, relationships.

To be completely honest, I think my habit of brief relationships stems from my very first romance that barely lasted one weekend. There is no official record of this but I don't doubt that it was the most awkward three days of the late 90’s. For those who completely missed middle school, let me break down how most of these things worked out.

At some point during the 6th grade, some kids decided that they were going to start pairing off and declare that they were “going out.” What exactly motivated this trend?  I’m sure any lunchroom supervisor could go into great detail but we don’t have that kind of time. Ultimately this “going out” business led this exact conversation between parents and pre-teens everywhere.

   “Son, who is this girl you keep sneaking off to call in the middle of the night?”

 "I don’t what you’re talking about.”

 “It’s 1999. We have a landline. You can't hide anything from us.”

 “Fine. Her name is Lindsey and we’re kind of going out.”

 “Going out? Where are you going? Do I need to drive you? I have to get up early tomorrow to take your sister to a Beanie Baby auction on the other side of town so you better be in by 9pm.”

 “No Dad. We’re not going anywhere. We’re just going out.”

 “I don’t get it.”

“You know, she’s like a girl and we like go to the movies and like stuff.”

“Well if that’s not the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.”

  This led to a few more awkward discussions with your own parents, which led to discussions between your parents and his / her parents, and then it usually ended in someone being grounded, or worse yet, multiple parent-supervised group hangs that required a minimum of 6 members of each sex.

My first foray into the mess that was middle school dating started when I got a cryptic / giggly phone call from a girl in my math class asking if I had a crush on anyone. I was honest with my classmate and said no. She then proceeded to tell me 37 reasons why I should like her friend Chelsea. (This is not her real name. I don't believe in publicly shaming.) I didn't really know Chelsea all that well but according to her friend she was a really nice, cute, fun, well dressed, cute, cool, funny, cute girl.

After I managed to grunt out a few semi-comprehensible words, the matchmaker dropped the last of many hints by saying, “Well, she thinks that you are cute so you should talk to her.”

For those who are not aware, 13-year-old boys, much like men in their mid-twenties, are completely clueless. Instead of realizing that Chelsea clearly had a crush on me, I was dumbfounded by A) how this girl got my phone number and B) why she would call me to talk about her friend. Did Chelsea not have a phone? Did she lose her voice and have her friend call in proxy? It was all so confusing to poor 13-year-old Jake.

For the next few days waddled in bewilderment until the friend found me and went ballistic. “WHY HAVEN’T YOU TALKED TO CHELSEA? DO YOU NOT THINK SHE IS CUTE? ARE YOU GOING OUT WITH SOMEONE ELSE? DO YOU SPEAK WORDS????” I rattled off a few rounds of “I don’t know” and promised her that I would talk to Chelsea at lunch.

What happened that day in the Ranch View Middle School cafeteria was a modern miracle. I approached the table where Chelsea was sitting and found a mutual friend that I could sit next to just in case things went bad. I then proceeded to carry on a conversation with Chelsea about the most banal of subjects like how much we hated our language arts teacher and how cool it would be to go to a Goo Goo Dolls concert. It was about 10 minutes into the conversation that I realized she liked me and that I might have liked her too.

The next thing I knew I had asked Chelsea if she wanted to go out with me. Against her better judgement she obliged. We decided that our first “date” would be to meet up after school to watch the girl’s basketball game, which is always (never) a good idea. The rest of our relationship went as follows.

We attended the basketball game where she discovered that I wasn’t capable of speaking in complete sentences, which led to a lot of awkward silence and even more awkward hand holding. After the game I asked if she wanted to go to a movie on Saturday night, to which she declined.  Then on Monday Chelsea’s friend found me in hallway and notified me that Chelsea didn't like me anymore that we were breaking up. I’m 99% positive my exact reaction was, “Yeah, I didn't like me either. I mean her, with me and…yeah.”

It never ceases to amaze me how quickly that relationship formulated and subsequently dissolved. I mean, getting a girl to go out with you nowadays is much more complicated. The flirting, the texting, the dinners, the game playing, the begging. It’s all so arduous. Breaking up in middle school took all of 13 seconds where my last breakup took nearly 4 hours of “It’s just not what I really need at this point where we are both so committed to such different social understandings and we would be much better off exploring other possibilities that would lead to much greater success,” bologna.

The more I think about it, maybe we need to go back to the middle school approach where you could be direct (albeit through a middle man / nicely folded note) and things moved along quickly. Relationships never got too messy and everything could be solved with a trip to Cold Stone. The real question we should be asking ourselves is, “what would the 13-year-old version of me do?”

I mean, what could go wrong? Another three-day relationship? Trust me when I say that worse things (a three-week relationship) have happened.

[jraywelch]

LA’s Most Exciting Singles

While I was out exploring the sights and sounds of Los Angeles, of which there are many, I happened upon a newspaper. And when I say newspaper I mean it was one of those useless fliers that go in those bins right next to the newspapers. Anyhow, this piece of paper that was grouped together with other pieces of paper had a massive headline that caught my attention.

“THOUSANDS OF LA’s MOST EXCITING SINGLES.”

Before I could read the rest of the copy that detailed some fancy pants dating network, I thought (waaaaayyyyy to much) about what it means to be an exciting single.

First off, let’s break down the word "singles." From ages 3-17 I only associated the world single and its plural forms with Kraft Singles, which was God’s gift to child sandwich chefs. Five-year-old me would be dumbfounded by the fact that I am now labeled a “single.” I imagine the conversation of current me talking to the kid version of me going somewhere along the lines of…

“Jake, one day you will be single. Well, for a good portion of your life actually.”

“How is that even possible? I’m going to be an AM radio talk show host, not a piece of cheese.”

“No Jake, talk radio is not in your future and people who aren’t married are also referred to as singles.”

“Wait, you’re not married?”

“Really? The five-year-old version of myself is going to give me crap about not being married?”

“Get it together Future Jake. Gosh.” 

ANYWAYS, I find it interesting that being single is very similar to the cheese of Kraft Singles. In theory, it’s great. You’re on your own and you don’t have to be lumped together with everyone else. You’re an individual and that’s cool. But then you realize that maybe being attached to another piece of cheese is what you really wanted because that cheese actually tastes good and Kraft Singles are the worst. 

Now, my main question for this dating service is how these single people are deemed exciting. Is there some formula that calculates the level of excitement that one should feel while around this person? That scares me because people with multiple personalities and massive gambling debts could register a high excitement score while the librarian of my dreams fails to qualify. 

To be honest I have a hard time using the word exciting to describe another human being. They can be personable and fun, but exciting? That’s the word I usually use to describe an amusement park and I DO NOT want to date a girl who is like an amusement park. While they can provide cheap thrills and delicious things with lots of cheese, all of them have a seedy underbelly. You do not want to know what happens in the Morocco section of the Epcot Center after dark.  And please don’t ask me how I know.

I also have to assume that when I go onto their website that there is a filter for the most exciting people. That is unless they reject people the not-so-exciting folks, which would be a horrible thing to do. Can you imagine getting rejected by the dating site itself? It could actually be a huge favor those “unexciting” people because the website is preemptively rejecting them so they don’t get shot down by real people. Actually, everything I just said is pure sadness. 

If this ad were to say something along the lines of “LA’s Most Interesting Singles” then I would be on board, just as long as they these people are the “I’m doing research on prescription drug abuse” interesting and not the “I abuse prescriptions drugs and accidentally ate my purse on my way over here” interesting. The purse eater would also qualify as exciting because who knows what will happen.

So in the end the only thing you really need to know is this. Don’t sign up to date the exciting singles. It will be just like what Forrest Gump said about the box of chocolates, in that “you never know what you’re gonna get.” Except instead of getting an assortment of chocolates you would get a few half eaten Milky Ways, some toe nail clippers and a balloon full of worms.

[jraywelch]

Old Man Welch

I’ve always looked older than my actual age. Most of my friends point to the fact that I started going bald at the age of 15 but I figured that my mature demeanor is what caused most to mistake me for someone much older. Regardless, this curse has resulted in many unusual situations. At times people have assumed my father and me to be brothers while others thought that I was my mother’s husband. It was embarrassing at first but then I realized it was a lot better than looking significantly younger.

Now that I am 26 years old, I look more my age but I’ve made a recent discovery that I might have the soul of a ninety-two year old WWII vet.

It all started a few weeks ago when I was playing tennis over on the campus of the University of Colorado. I happened hit a ball over the fenced in area and into the parking lot, which is a somewhat regular occurrence. I was going leave it be until I saw a girl going to her car in the vicinity of the tennis ball. To get her attention I said the first thing that came to my mind.

“Excuse me young lady!”

I’m sure she assumed that it was her Grandpa Walt stopping by to drop off a batch of Nana’s lemon bars but no, it was me. Some twenty-something dude that was clearly horrible at tennis. She gave me a very confused look and then threw the ball back over the fence. Since this incident I have noticed other pieces of evidence that point to me being a geriatric.

Take a gander and decide for yourself if I am indeed an old man at heart.

Evidence #1 – I have a lexicon that includes that phrase “Dag nab it.”

Evidence #2 – I like Werther’s Original way more than anyone my age should.

Evidence #3 – My favorite time to go see movies is at 11 am on a Saturday so I'm not harassed by all the youths.

Evidence #4 – I regularly find myself in awe of modern technology.

Evidence #5 – When I go to baseball games, I enjoy keeping the tally on a scorecard.

Evidence #6 – My most prolific basketball move, the scoop shot, was very effective in the 50’s.

Evidence #7 – There are few things I enjoy more than a game of Bingo.

Evidence #8 – I find myself yelling at the radio as if the people on the other end can hear.

Evidence #9 – I listen to AM radio.

Evidence #10 – Grace Kelly is my celebrity crush.

Evidence #11 – The first time I heard dub step I’m pretty sure my exact reaction was “What is this noise?”

Evidence #12 – I love trains.

Evidence #13 – I have a hard time getting the girls I date to like me as much as their grandparents do.

  Just writing out that list confirms that I should probably start subscribing to the AARP Magazine right now. But you know what, I’m OK with that.

Old King Cole was a merry old soul just like me an he had three fiddlers that would play him music whenever he called. Sounds like the good life if you ask me.

[jraywelch]

I fought the law, and the law won

Just a few bits of information that one might gather if they were to come across this traffic citation.

The name of the person driving the cited vehicle is Matthew R Davis.

The offending vehicle is a majestic green Geo Metro this is fast enough to break the law but not so much so that it can elude traffic cameras.

The person operating the vehicle is clearly handicapped, as witnessed by the  handicap sign on the rear view mirror. (It should be noted that violators will be ticketed even if the sign is present, contrary to the moronic thoughts of the driver.)

The City of Boulder finds it necessary to tell violators of the law that obedience to red signals is required. The driver will assure you that they are not messing around when it comes to required obedience.

The City of Boulder is outsourcing their traffic violations to the state of Arizona. The residents of Boulder should find this outrageous considering the fact that refuse to buy their organic vegetables that are grown more than 3 miles outside of the city limits.

Moral of the story? If you are going to "borrow" the car of your handicapped friend,  be sure to wear a ski mask as to cover up the most identifiable aspect of your being. 

[jraywelch]

Dear BYU

Dear BYU,

Congratulations on stepping up your game. Not only did you discover my phony mailing address but you somehow found out where I actually live. You didn't stop there though. Instead of sending your documents in the traditional BYU letterhead (because you probably know everything I get from BYU, I throw away...except for miniature diplomas), you outdid yourself by using some other school from Georgia's envelopes. Impressive, really. 

But for the last time, you won't be getting a dime unless you change the name of the Taco Bell on campus to the "Jake Welch Memorial Taco Bell - May Every Friday Be A Fiesta."

Better luck next time,

Jake

PS - Use the Postal Service again to try and get me to donate money and I will run around your campus in the buff...again. Our dear mailmen and women have a thankless job and making them deliver such rubbish is pouring salt in the wound. Have some respect.

[jraywelch]

The Truth Behind Mini Diplomas

Today I received a piece of mail. This is not unusual. I receive on average 4 pieces of mail per week. There was a point when I first moved to Colorado that I would purposefully write my address down on mall display raffles and credit card debt surveys knowing that I would receive a litany of junk mail in return. I hold fast to the idea that mail and publicity are the same in that they have now downside. This could be debated heavily, but I digress.

The piece of mail that I received today was in a white envelope and had my named spelled correctly. This is unusual. Very few junk mailers have my real name. They only know my hipster baby name alias Jakup Welltch. Thus the correct spelling led to further investigation.

After a few dead giveaways, I knew this piece of mail was from BYU, my dear alma mater. I knew for a fact that I paid all of my parking tickets, so this had to be something new. I opened up the envelope and within was placed a laminated mini replica of my diploma.

The appearance of said mini diploma sent me into a tailspin of confusion. I already had a full sized diploma. Did BYU mistakenly tick back its clock to 1999 when all things mini were desirable (Mini Discs, Mini Coopers)? Is BYUSA behind this?

After much deliberation I came to the conclusion that there were two distinct reasons behind this mini mystery. I’m disappointed I didn’t think of them sooner.

Reason #1 – It’s pretty clear BYU sent me this mini diploma so that I could prove to people at any time and place that I did indeed, graduate from college. Why do they feel like I need this power? They must know that in the future the majority of my friends, co-workers and general acquaintances will doubt that I actually graduated from college.

I’ve only been in the real world for a few months and I have not had the experience in which someone demands proof of my higher education but I’m sure it happens all the time, right? Can’t wait for the day someone calls me out on it. I imagine the interaction going a little something like this…

Boss - “You know what Jake, this work is sub par. It’s disrespectful at best.”

Me - “I’m sorry boss. Credit analysis really isn’t my strong suit.”

Boss - “Why would you tell me that? What are you some kind of stupid?”

Me - “Not that I know of.”

Boss - “How did you get hired here? How did you get a job anywhere? Did you fake your way through college? I knew it! You’re a fraud!

Me – “Actually sir I did graduate from college. In fact, to prove it I have a laminated mini diploma here in my wallet.”

Boss – “I see. Well this is something so ridiculous that you wouldn’t even fake making one of these. You must have gone to college.”

Me – “Yes, yes I did.”

Reason 2 – As mentioned above, this laminated card is sized in such a way that it can fit into any wallet, masculine or feminine. You know what else people keep in their wallets? Money and cards that give you access to money.

This little demon card was produced so that every time I take out my credit card to make any purchase I will see my mini diploma and I will remember all of the good ole days I had at BYU. While reminiscing about blowing up pumpkins and screaming profanities at Mountain West Conference officials, I will suddenly feel the overwhelming desire to cancel my purchase of popsicles and instead donate that money to BYU.

Just in case I forget how to give money to BYU, the mini diploma has a phone number on the back that has a prerecorded message that asks about the size of my donation, starting at $300.

In conclusion, I have this mini diploma because BYU thinks I’m stupid (or they think other people think I’m stupid) and they want my money.  Well they must be stupid if they think they are getting a dime from me. Mostly because I don’t have a dime to my name, but even when I have thousands of dimes at my disposal, BYU will not be getting them.

You picked the wrong guy BYU. Best of luck with the 2012 graduates.

[jraywelch]

Story of My Life: Pictures, Ticket Stubs, etc. (Taken with instagram)

[jraywelch]

Home away from home (Taken with instagram)

[jraywelch]

Organized. Finally. (Taken with instagram)

[jraywelch]

Really Ugly Towels

A very smart person once told me that you can tell a lot about a person by the things that they spend their money on. This is actually a lie. No wise sage ever told me this; rather it's something I say. It just sounds a lot cooler when I allude to this mystery being because somehow it makes it more valid. This is getting wildly off topic.

Like I was saying, by taking a look into someone's shopping bag you can make some interesting conclusions about said person. This train of though began when I started to do some serious self-analysis upon my returning home from a brief excursion to Target. I thought the items I purchased were fairly non-descript but in reality they tell many stories. There are two in particular that paint a perfect picture of my life at this point in time.

The items are two of the ugliest towels anyone will ever lay eyes on. 

It's not some strange design that make these towels hideous because they are solid colors. It just so happens that the color of these towels could be identified from space. They don't have a overzealous pizzazz to them, rather they slowly burn holes in your retinas and then touch the nerve of your brain that makes your sick to your stomach. For this very reason they were half the price of all the other towels.

Now don't go jumping to conclusions that the reason I bought these towels is because I am a penny pincher. While this might have been true in my younger years, I can assure I moved on from that way of life.

Exhibit A - When ordering fine cuisine from the establishments such as Taco Bell and Wendy's, I no long order exclusively from the dollar menu.

Exhibit B - I bought a MacBook Pro instead of a HP SmartTechPowerPavillionThing.

OK, fine. I will admit that the price did have a small part to do with my purchase but wasn't everything. These were "premium" towels and with the "ugly" discount were the same as the low grade product. I'm sure that after a few weeks, these ugly towels will do just as good a job as those normal colored towels, unless the color starts to eat away at the cotton...which might happen.

So what was my reasoning behind me buying the towels? In short, I'm single. 

Usually when people buy towels there are a few motivations behind their decisions. More often than not people will buy towels that go with the theme colors of their bathroom. Those who fall into this category are married people, females of all types and guys who are trying to show girls that frequent their house that they are capable of buying the right color of towels. Those who are on the outside of this group, single guys, usually buy the first towel they see, or the one that is the same color as their favorite football team.

I bucked the single guy trend because I asked the question, "Is there anyone else besides me that is going to see this towel?" Maybe my roommates might see them but only for the 1.5 seconds that it takes me to get from the bathroom to my room.

Besides that I couldn't think of anyone. I'm not in a marriage relationship where the other party can criticize me on my inability coordinate colors. I'm also not at a point where I'm worried that a potential love interest might judge my horrible sense of style. I'm just a single guy that is trying to be smart about his purchases. My only motivation is the fact that I want my calves to be dry when I put on my pants.

So what if I buy ugly towels? Is it a crime? Will this haunt me for the rest of my life?

When you see them for yourself you can let me know what you think.

[jraywelch]

Thirty Day Blog Challenge: Five Ways to Win My Heart

I recently read the blog post of my dear friend Sorah and saw that she was doing a thirty day blog challenge. I decided that I needed something to inspire my blog writing so I have accepted said challenge. A lot of these topics I'm sure were intended for women (ie deeply emotional inquiries having to do with self image, clothing and dark chocolate) but I'll try to make them as interesting as possible. 

#1-Five Ways to Win My Heart

1) Taco Bell- This is more than just allowing me to having Taco Bell but a woman who enjoys Taco Bell is good in my book. Nothing says I am low maintenance and festive like a girl who likes to make the occasional (or regular) run for the border. 

2) Be mature- I can't stand girls that take themselves way too seriously but simultaneously act like they are 13 years old. For example if a girl ever says anything along the lines of... "Jessica tried to apologize for borrowing my favorite pair of skinnies on the day I was totally going to wear them for our date but I'm still ignoring her. That's like so mean of her...RIGHT?!?!?" she couldn't be less attractive.

3) Have direction- Kind of going along the lines of #2, females that have goals and ambitions are infinitely more attractive than girls that have graduated from college but don't want to pursue a real job because that would halt all progress in their quest for marriage. Don't get me wrong, I want to get married but trust me when I say its OK to think about something other than finding your eternal mate.

4) Don't be afraid to call me out of my crap- 37% of what I say is dangerously inaccurate or absurd. I need someone who is going to provide me with an adequate amount of checks and balances in conversation. Another example. I was once at a social gathering and had the following coversation with a girl.

Girl-"So what are you majoring in?"

Me-"self-discovery."

Girl-"Huh, interesting. What kind of classes are you taking?"

Me-"Oh you know just a lot of meditation, hiking and bowling."

Girl-"Sounds like a fun major. I'm an elementary education major."

I'm 100% positive that she had no idea that I was lying. Maybe I should change this one to "Don't be unintelligent" or "Know when I am being sarcastic."

5) Enjoy baseball games- I understand that baseball isn't for everyone. I'm not looking for a fanatic, just someone who enjoys going to games with me. She also has to understand that as soon as I retire that I'm going to drop a few hundred...ok probably more like a few thousand dollars on season tickets. 

[jraywelch]

The Day I Realized That I Was Special

For some reason I find myself thinking back to the time when I realized that I probably wasn’t a normal kid. This wasn’t a, “I am bound to do something great in my life,” kind of realization (don’t worry, I have those on a daily basis) but this was more like a, “Maybe I’m one of those special kids” realization.

I was a third grader. At this point in my life I was spending an average of 20.4 minutes per day in the bathroom because I started to make the realization that if you were the bathroom you didn’t have to be in class. This discovery was motivated by my semi-rational hatred of my 3rd grade teacher Mrs. Erickson. She always forced me to write in cursive and insisted that it was a great opportunity to do so. So in order to avoid writing in cursive, I would kick it in the boy’s bathroom.

As a side note, it should also be known that at this point in my life I was slightly addicted to minor acts of mischief. I think it started when I saw an episode of The Wonder Years when Kevin and Paul go with a bunch of kids to TP someone’s house. After that I started to plan out how I would accomplish my own act of deviancy.

One day in particular I remember sitting on the toilet, examining the toilet paper dispenser. The next time you go into a public restroom look at one of these things. What you will find surprises me to this day. 93% of public restrooms have toilet paper dispensers that have locks on them. I guess at some point in human history there was a shortage of TP and people started stealing it from restrooms, manufacturers made sure that every dispenser was equipped for such attacks.

Anyways, while I was sitting on said toilet looking at this toilet paper dispenser I realized that the lock system of this dispenser could be picked quite easily. I unlocked it and then locked it a few times just make sure that it wasn’t a fluke and that I was becoming a lock picking genius. After confirming my ability to unlock the dispenser I started to think about how I could use this newfound power to my benefit. What came next was most evil genius plan ever concocted by a 3rd grader.

The plan was as follows. Every day I would sneak off to the bathroom and use my pro lock picking skills to steal a roll of toilet paper. I would only steal one roll at a time because if I took all four then the janitors would be overly suspicious. I would take the roll of toilet paper home with me and I would do this until I had 200 rolls because at that point I would have enough paper to pull off a serious act of mischief. Since most, if not all, of my hatred was directed towards my teacher Mrs. Erickson and school in general, I would unleash the toilet paper furry on the school itself. And for all of you keeping score at home, yes, this would mean I would be covering the school in their own toilet paper! Pure evil genius, right? Well, I thought so.

After making this realization I rushed back to class to tell my two friends, Casey and Tyler, about my plan. Instead of lauding me with endless praise, they questioned the legitimacy of my plan on every level. They found it immoral to be stealing from the school and assured me that I would go straight to jail if I was caught. In short, they thought it was the dumbest idea of all time.

I couldn’t stand to hear my idea get shot down so I scurried off to the corner of the room so I could rethink my plan. It was then that I realized that maybe I wasn’t like most other kids. I mean, here I was, thinking of plans to vandalize the school where most everyone else was wondering if they were going to play tetherball of four square during recess.

 In the end, I concluded that I was highly advanced in comparison to my classmates. Or maybe I was just one crazy little kid. Probably a little of both.

[jraywelch]

So, what are you doing after graduation?

You know what I love? When people ask me questions that I don’t have the answer to. This all started back in elementary school when a teacher asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had no idea because I adopt the same philosophy then that I do now. The philosophy being just plan out the rest of the day because that’s all you can handle right about now.

Ever since then the questions have kept on coming and now I’m faced with, “What are you doing after graduation?” After much thought and deliberation I decided to make a list of answers to give to people. I did the same for when I went to my cousins wedding and people asked me when I was going to get married and it worked out great, except for those instances in which people left with the impression that I was gay. Anyhow, if you ask me in the near future what I plan to do after graduation, these are a few examples of what you might hear.

1)      I am planning on moving back to New Jersey where I can somehow infiltrate myself into the mafia. I can start out delivering pizza and then with my dedication and hard work I will sneak my way into a dangerous crime family. I would simultaneously start working for the FBI under the pretense that I am an insider to this crime family. Instead of ratting out said crime family on a regular basis, I would occasionally leak information to both sides just to keep things interesting. So while both parties would think that they are benefiting from my insider information, neither are really making any progress. I’m sure at one point the mafia or the FBI will find out and I will either be dead or in prison. Maybe that’s not the best option…

2)       I think I’m going to take some cello lessons because I have always felt that I would have been a master cellist. I have no real logical reasoning behind my feeling this way but I am 97% convinced that if my parents put a cello in my hands at age 3 that I would have been a child prodigy. It’s sad to think that I could have been playing concerts with Yo Yo Ma and OneRepublic. As a direct result of this regret I am going to start taking cello lessons now after I graduate. Could I still be a prodigy? Is it less spectacular for an adult to pick up an instrument and play perfectly? Maybe I will start a new generation of adult prodigies.

3)      I’ve actually been working on this new product that not only protects your house from burglars but it gives a line of defense against those pesky pets and rodents. As genius as this might sound, it’s just a ploy to help save young men from wasting their summers selling security systems and pest control. The super product will undoubtedly create a monopoly on the summer sales market and force all of the other companies, such as APX and Pinnacle, to go out of business.

4)      Is there a place in the world where you can still make a living being a shepherd? For some reason I have this idea that herding sheep in New Zealand would be phenomenal. If this is a possibility, someone please let me know.

5)      I’m going to start a new line of work called self esteem restoration. I would go around and visit people that have lost their self esteem and I would lift their spirits but showing them how horrible I am at singing. They pay, I sing, they laugh and feel a whole lot better about life.