Adult Stuff That Isn't In Reference To Anything Sexual.

I haven't been a grown up for very long. And by very long, I mean I have never been a grown up. I mean, by age, I have been an adult for 4 years now. I can buy hooch and go to strip clubs if I damn well please at this point in my life. However, You have to act like an adult to be an adult, in my opinion. 

Acting like an adult. I never really understood what that meant until very recently. And even with that, I still don't get it entirely. I always thought that meant you're just 18 now, and you do whatever you want. However, 18 year olds are about as adult as Justin Beiber fans are connoisseurs of music. They're still brainless kids. No offense to any babies out there. But, I think in my effort to being an adult, I have compiled a list of things that you have to do in order to consider yourself an adult. Otherwise, You're just a shit. 

First and foremost, adults hold their liquor. There is nothing more I hate than sloppy drunks. We have a name for people that get so drunk they tell strangers that they love them, it's called "White Girl Wasted." The reason we call it that, is because when these little bitchy high schoolers drink, they belly up to a bottle of Green Apple Pucker and drink it until they can't feel their face, or legs, or feelings, or morals. Then they fall all over everyone and are annoying as all hell. And it isn't even exclusively for white high school girls. They just fit the stereotype the best. Here are some tips to being a successful drunk (as if there ever was such a thing.) One, don't over do it. Drink until you feel good. Don't drink until you piss your pants. There is a little trick I have heard about, it's called the Nog Knock. When you're pounding your flavored vodka shots, after a few, double up your fist, and knock on the top of your head like it was a door. If you can feel it, keep drinking. If you can't feel it, stop. It's seriously that simple. Another tip, Make sure to put your keys, wallet, and cell phone all in one place. Preferably in a sober person's pocket/possession. Nobody wants you to drive drunk, drunk text, or blow your money. And the most important tip of all, don't be a jackass. Okay? Easy Peasy.

For years now, I have worn nothing but band shirts, wrestling shirts, hockey jerseys, and other kinds of t-shirts. Honestly, my wardrobe has never varied from that. Shorts and a t-shirt. It's functional and mostly bad ass. But, this is what young Jake dresses like. Adult Jake can't really dress like that. Not if he is going to be King. At least, that's what I have been told recently. I think fashion is such a tender subject. Because you can go from looking good to looking like an asshole really easily. That's why I never ventured too far. I just always pulled off the under acchiever look. And that has worked for me up until now. I was talking to one of the most kick ass guys I have ever met. And he dresses pretty handsomely. In regard to his clothes he said "I dress so I can cash a check anytime I want to." Pretty profound. You can't walk into a bank looking like the depressed kid you are. You need to dress like an adult to do adult things like cash checks. So, on top of re-thinking my wardrobe, I also got a haircut. While I am in a band, the whole long hair thing wasn't working out too great for me. I looked like I played college baseball and chewed a can a day. Which I thought was fine. But, truthfully, it's unbecoming. So, now I look like I am trying really hard to look okay. Which I am. Adults dress nice.

I could go on and on about table manners and so on. But, I just wanted to talk about these certain things. Just because I have been thinking about them alot recently. For whatever reason. Hate it or love it. 

A Confession.

I don't really like animals. Or people. I think what is the most shocking to people, is that I don't like animals. I don't like puppy breath, I don't like animals hair all over the clothes I worked hard to pay for, and launder. I don't like that they not only invade my space, but more especially my real personal space (my goodies). I feel like every animal on the planet has a sixth or more sense that says "You need to step on this guys ding dong. He hates animals so we have to step on his no-no's." Or smell them or whatever. The point is, I just don't like animals. You know what is a great animal? A fish. That bastard causes the least damage ever. You feed him twice a day, he never tries to mess with your funny parts, he doesn't leave your clothes in disrepair, and he is kick ass to look at. I don't want a dog or cat, I just want a fish tank. I don't even want glamorous fish either. I will settle for some goldfish.

Aside from how stupid people must feel bagging their dogs shit in a nearby park, I feel like dogs cause so many problems in life. It's like paying for a child in your life, but one that isn't going to grow up and end up wiping your ass for you. It's going to be good for a while, then that little bastard is going to die, and its gonna be all sobs and running make-up. I feel like if Grandma died, there would be good reason to cry. She talked to you, made you cookies and stuff, bought you presents etc. All a dog ever did was shit on your lawn, tear things apart, and bit the neighbor kids. Animals die in the woods every day, and we don't cry about them. And they have more reason to be wept over. They didn't require anything of us. They weren't constantly begging me for things and ruining my life. 

Let me level with you guys. There is a profound reason as to my distaste to animals. When I was a kid, I had a dog. His name was Chief. He was a Blue Heeler, and he was blind. We got him for free cause our other dog would make a good lead dog for him. So, Chief was my dog. And I loved him. We had so much fun together. Well, as it turns out, one day, I came home and Chief was no where to be found. I was convinced he had run away. So I did what any sensible 6 year old would do, I went looking for him. I rode my big wheel up and down the streets of Draper Utah screaming "CHIEF" at the top of my lungs. It was like a movie. But, to no avail. He was gone. I was pretty upset about it. I looked for Chief for 5 days in a row before I gave up. Ever since then, I knew that dogs (And subsequently women) all eventually run off. And I warded them off forever.

Here comes the kicker. I had thought Chief had run away for 13 years of my life. It wasn't until 3 years ago that I learned that my parents told me that they had to give him away. So, that made me feel silly, but didn't erase the pain of a broken 6 year old boys heart.

I have ever since then hated dogs. I hated how happy these idiots were with their dogs. Their dogs weren't as cool as Chief! If I was going to be miserable, everyone should be. So, I carried on and loved things that would never leave me. Pokemon cards, to be precise. I eventually moved onto vinyls, and I am sure I will move onto something else. I think at the end of the day, I learned one lesson above all. Love something without legs. Cause if it has legs, it will probably run off one day.

I Now Know First Hand Why I Hate Clubs; As If I Needed Solidification.

Now, let me go ahead and stop you, before you start. I feel like everyone on the planet talks about how much different clubs are in Utah as opposed to other states. So, before you say something asinine like that, let me stop you, and tell you why that is bullshit. First, I have been to Utah clubs, and have now officially been to a club in downtown San Francisco. Yeah, yeah, yeah, make all the gay club jokes that you want. But, I am not going to allow you to ruin my life with negative comments like that. Cause it was a straight club. I promise you. 

I have a hard time understanding the difference of why people say things are so much different in clubs in and out of Utah. I'm going to go ahead and tell you the only differences that I can perceive between the two. Because frankly, they all kind of suck. Clubs in Utah will generally block out the shits, damns, and farts in their music. There is usually less people that are on drugs, or alcohol in Utah clubs, which isn't always a bad thing. Clubs outside of Utah also generally will have more skin showing. Otherwise, it's shitty ass house music being played so loud that it alters the proper functioning of your involuntary muscle movements, alot of people sweating all over each other, and a bunch of sleaze balls trying to pick up the easy men/women. Okay? So stop trying to make comparisons. Clubs across America are the same, and suck equally.

So, I don't really even know how I got roped into going to a club last night. But, in the end we decided it was a great idea. After a half hour or so of cycling through the three button up shirts I had, we finally were out the door. We jumped in a cab, and it was some East Indian guy that was talking to us and I couldn't really understand him. Cabs in and of themselves kind of suck. So, we finally get to the club, and the line is wrapped around the block. Which was something I couldn't understand. It was like people waiting to get into a concert or something. But, there was no good bands playing. We stood in line for like twenty minutes, and I almost wet my pants. We asked this security guy with a pony tail, that was also wearing a kilt if there was any way we could just go to the bathroom and come back to our spot in line, and he wanted 40 bucks. So we told him to go suck eggs. 

When we got into the club, I instantly lost my sense of direction. The music was playing so loud, and there was just people everywhere. It was a miracle I found the bathroom. I feel like this club was mainly designed to weed out any epileptic people before they get into the club. The lights were blinding, and even if you looked at the floor you had to squint when they were flashing. Seriously, the music hurt. I have been to so many metal concerts, and nothing has made my ears hurt quite like this did. Shitty ass dub step music.

So, the club name was Bootie. Like, pirate themed, but also has a nice butt innuendo. But, not to combine the two to make butt pirate and have more gay jokes being sloshed around. So, obviously I was going in there expecting to see some butts. Girl butts. But, unfortunately for me, there was about 4 guys to every one girl in this club. I would be dancing and enjoying myself, and find myself in the midst of four guys as sweaty as me. So, I kept moving, and it seemed like every girl in the club was making out with some Asian guy, while his three friends observed. Just, sausage fest. The biggest one I have ever attended. Sleepover parties had nothing on Bootie last night. 

I think what was more weird to me, was that at certain areas in the club, there was a congregation of gay people. Like, eight dudes kind of huddled around each other establishing their territory. And I know they were gay cause they were touching each others necks/faces. A lot of the times I would see them making out with each other also. The problem I had was not staring at them when they would be making out. People making out is so uncomfortable. And that isn't even exclusively for gay people. It was weird when heterosexual couples were making out. But, what was more bizarre, was when I would see three people in one make out session. I didn't even know things like this existed. But, I saw three mouths smashed up against each other on multiple occasions. Someone is getting screwed in this deal. There has to be one person that is getting like alot of cheek/beard/mustache/nose/eyebrow and not enough mouth. But, I guess you probably lower your standards when you consent to kissing two people at one time. 

After finally dancing my way around all the couples, gays, and Asians, I found myself at the door ready to leave. I was ready to leave the fog machines, the sweat, and most importantly the overwhelming amount of testosterone in the building. How someone can attend these clubs on a phsycadelic, is beyond me. I would be laying on the floor watching the lights and try and make sure my heart doesn't explode. I feel like clubs are just a way for people to go, get drunk, and meet up with other drunk people that are down to knock boots. In theory, that sounds great. But, what people don't always take into account, is the scraps. See, scraps is a term for the leftovers. All the handsome assholes, and the fly honeys seem to find each other. And they will take a cab to the nearest pay by the hour hotel. Then, whoever is left, is the scraps. I was falsely mislead into believing that there was only women scraps that were left at clubs. And that you could just fly in like a vulture, and pick some scraps and go home. But, the truth is, there was a lot more left over men than women. Last night, I was the scraps.

Truthfully, I was thankful to be some leftover scraps at this kind of club. I feel like there was a high risk of coming home with a nasty case of crabs from a place like that. I have never been one to go and hook up with a girl for one night. For a couple reasons. The first being I am not really cut out for that sort of thing. One night stands mainly lie in the hands of kids who wash their laundry on their abs, then dry it on their ego. Those guys are always assholes, and I don't really care to be loosely associated with them anyway. Secondly, I would way rather talk to someone, and get to know them as opposed to just getting thirsts quenched for free. I get way too emotionally attached to people. When I like someone, I really like them. And it's always apparent. I can't find it in myself to just work it with someone and never really talk to them again. Plus, who wants that anyway? I mean, it's all fun and games for a few years, but at the end of the day, the town bicycle never marries. Nobody wants a whore for a wife. People really ought to have more respect for each other, and more importantly, themselves. Take some pride in yourself. Have some self worth. Be better than meeting your demise in a drunken mans bed. Say what you want; oh, he's just bummed out cause he didn't score. He doesn't know he's just some bearded portly white kid. he would be different if he could get hookups for a night blah blah blah. All I ever hear is "I'm a big asshole." We'll see who's right in fifteen years. Good luck at the strip clubs!

A Night In The Woods. With BYU Kids.

I realize that this title sounds like a horror film. It also sounds like I have some kind of superiority complex about Brigham Young University and it's students. All I am going to say in response to that is; Meh. I'll let you go ahead and determine all of that.

I have a dear friend that attends BYU. I don't hear from him terribly often, but when I do, I am always glad to. One time, he and I were at a concert and this kid came up and sucker punched me in my head. So my friend elbowed him in his head repeatedly, until he left the concert. It was one of the greatest things that I have ever witnessed. Not that any of this has to do with the story. But, it does go to show that he is one of the coolest cats I know. So, I get a text from him saying that he is going up to his cabin with some friends and would love if I were able to tag along. I was happy to be a part of something. He did say that he was bringing some friends, and I was welcome to do the same. Unfortunately for me, my friends all suck. So I was going to make this venture on my own. I had my reservations seeing how he was probably going to bring his family home evening group, and I am a foul mouthed Snow College bandit that does nothing more than raise hell. But, I was always happy to go and stir the pot, ruffle some feathers and make some people uncomfortable.

After a long drive through Fairview canyon, I finally made it to the general location of the cabin. I was lost for a minute or two, but my friend Blake came down off the mountain to find me. When we pulled up to the cabin, there were kids in button up shirts outside playing horseshoe and saying "Sweet merciful heavens!" when they would get close but miss. My first thought was that this could not be more stereo typical. I came strolling up in a black Story So Far shirt, SF Giants hat, and carpenters shorts. I haven't had my hair cut in almost a year, and my beard is reaching a length that looks more and more like Al Queda every day. I look like the last time I went to church was when the priest dunked my head in the water as an infant. I felt like I was on one of those movies when someone criminal walks into the lunch room and there is an overwhelming silence, and everyone quietly whispers to one another, but never takes their eyes off the culprit. If I drank, I would have cracked open a beer at this moment and taken long pulls on it. I resorted to a knock off version of sprite instead and sat on the floor and stared at everyone. I wish I had a lazy eye and could've given people half hearted drooly stares like I had just recently been out of prison and this was my first interaction with people. I just couldn't do it... Yet.

Everyone got bored talking to and looking at each other, and decided they wanted to play a game. So, they decided to play twister, without the twister board or the spinner. Which was bizarre. Basically, it was trying to stomp on each others feet and try to push each other over. Which sounds right up my alley right? Well, it was still early in the night and I didn't want to make everyone look foolish just yet. But, rest assured I would have won. I just stood and watched with my arms folded like I was scouting talent or something. 

It started to get dark and everyone thought it would be a great idea to go out and play night games. And hopefully not get mauled by a bear or cougar. Or mass murderer. So we venture out into an open field and made ourselves perfect bait to get murdered, raped, or both. We started hooting and hollering, and seemed like we were trying to coax leather face from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre to come out and play. But, in reality we we're trying to figure out which night game to play. I sat on the ground with an eye always on the hills just in case I see anything or anyone approaching and I can run like hell and leave them to get scooped up to die. Have these kids never seen a horror film before? I mean, The Grudge doesn't count. Or any PG-13 movie for that matter. We finally landed on Manhunt. A game where two people go hide in the woods and the rest go out to find out where they are hidden, and everyone dies. Literally. Like, we go on this mountain side looking for the people that are hidden. Hopefully we don't step in a live trap, a tiger pit, or something I haven't even thought of yet. So, the kids run off and we count to 40. Then everyone ventures up this mountain side in an effort to find the two that are now hidden. I try to get them to laugh out loud to reveal their hiding place by saying things like "Blake! Your mom is on the phone! I told her you're in the woods with some other boy!" but that wasn't enough. I walked up this mountain face, got things in my hair and scratches on my legs, and almost had a tumble or two. Finally we found where they were, and decided we had had about enough of that game. So, back it was to arguing about what game to play. Finally we landed on... Missionary Tag. SURPRISE!!! If I had a dollar for every ironic moment, I would have somewhere between 35 and one hundred dollars. I give that cushion because I wasn't paying attention for most of the night. Because I was too focused on saving my own ass when a murderer comes to send all these college kids to heaven. Missionary tag was a game where there was one person running and another chasing and you had to link onto someones arm to be safe or something. I don't really remember the rules. It was dark and I would just push people and run away. After everyone had had their fill of running around (Which I had mine before the game started) We decided it was time to go back to the cabin. Where it was safe. 

When we got back to the cabin, everyone was jumping up and down about a new game to play. Which was beyond me. These damn kids couldn't just sit still for a minute. After some heated debates, we decided to play a game called Smurf. In essence, you pick a verb, and then two people have to ask questions until they guess what the verb is. Of course, the verb has to be a G rated verb. No verbs like dumpster hump or pantie raid allowed. I liked this game mostly cause I would sit in a giant lounge chair, and answer the questions. But, this game also involved the turning point for the night. I got a little ahead of myself and threw out a "Dammit!" They took me outside after that, and tarred and feathered me. Which only made me swear more. 

After a series of other games in which you try and find who is the most intelligent and I won them all, it was time to wind down. I was thinking of turning on Rambo or Terminator to settle me down to where I could go to bed. But, they all settled on Heavyweights. Which, is one family movie I fully endorse. Something about fellow fat kids just resonates with my soul. 

I finally retired onto a bed that smelled strangely like my grandma's house and slept like a baby. Until they were all up at 8 am having scripture study or something else loud. At the end of the day, I had a lot of fun with these kids. I think just before I went to bed they finally all realized that I, too was LDS and a returned missionary. Not an ex convict. Being an RM and knowing what kids go to BYU, I have my reserves about hanging out with their kind. But, for a night in the woods, these kids can keep themselves pretty entertained. Sober, nonetheless. I think I would get exhausted of showing my intellect and comedic genius every night. And not having ranuchy comedies, and dirty conversations to keep me entertained. But, there was never anything wrong with trying something different. And getting back in touch with my more holy side. It's been a while, after all. Rise and shout.