The Pizza and Taco Diet: Sean Gets Skinny

Sean and I used to constantly make jokes about each other's weight. I'm not even sure where it started because we were both only about ten pounds overweight, but we still teased each other unmercifully. It was just our thing.

"Oh. A second donut, eh fat ass?" I'd ask, as I passed him on the way to the office kitchen, secretly hoping he hadn't taken the last one.

"Would you like the eight or the twelve piece?" the Chick-Fil-A worker would ask.
"Oh, I'll take the twelve"
"Yeah, look at him. He's only ordering the twelve because you don't have a twenty piece."

"Do you guys want to walk to lunch or drive?"
"Well, I'm down to walk, but I doubt Size Large over there has the stamina to walk half a mile unless there's a park bench between here and there."

In August Sean decided that enough was enough. His kids were getting to the age that he was chasing them all over the place, and he took this as a sign that it was time to get in to shape. He wanted me to join him in his quest to get thin, but two things stopped me. First, I truly believed that losing ten pounds would just result in putting back fifteen once I stopped. Second, I was coupled and happy. If Rachael accepted me chubby, why bother getting skinny?

The thing about Sean is, when he starts something, he doesn't start small. He researches. He focuses. He dedicates himself. Normally this dedication lasts about a week until something new and shiny has come along, but if the Liang Prank taught us anything, it's that when he really sinks his teeth in to something, he doesn't screw around. Within a week he had a diet web page set up with the following mission statement:

I want to be skinny enough that I can call Jesse Bearden a fat ass without him being able to respond.

Good luck with that tubby, I thought as he droned on about calories and shoe-less jogging in the office.

To my surprise, three months later Sean had dropped twenty five pounds and seemed to be keeping it off. Even more surprising, he wasn't spending every waking moment rubbing it in my face like I would have done were the roles reversed. Of course by that time I was no longer coupled, and feeling less than emotionally fantastic.

When I get down emotionally, stage one is wallowing in it. This is followed shortly by stage two which is, "As long as you're going to be worthless, you might as well work on you." With that in mind, I soon joined Sean's diet crusade...

Sesquipedalis 2.0

I fully intended to be "done" with the new blog layout and everything by this time, but I realized something: Writing regularly is hard.

There are still a few things left that I need to fix, but for the most things "work" now, and I'll continue to fix them up as I try to get back in the habit of writing. You'll notice a few tabs at the top of the page. Hopefully those will be living documents that I update and perfect as I go. There are a few more coming that aren't quite done yet, but I am working on them.

Please let me know if you find something that isn't working, or if I've totally screwed something up.

The biggest change is to the commenting system. It may seem a bit unnecessary and overwhelming at first, but I was really getting tired of trying to keep spam off of the Shaq post, and I went looking for something new. Definitely let me know if you have issues with it, and if you completely hate the new comment system and don't want to use it, you can always email me at sesquipedalis@gmail.com.

- Jesse

Under Construction

So, I've been meaning to change a few things on the layout of the blog. I'm going to spend the next week, or two weeks, or year fixing it up. Hopefully I won't break anything in the meantime, but you'll be seeing some changes for a while. I'll post when I'm done, and maybe talk a little about what's happening.

I should note that the commenting section is being worked on as well. Right now, if you leave a comment, there's a chance it'll disappear, so if you've got something important to say, hit me up at my email.

Sesquipedalis@gmail.com

Nerd Word(s): Don't Take My Shoelaces Away

Don't Take My Shoelaces Away
- Statement

1. "I'm fine"

[ Origin: I believe that when prisoners or mental health patients are suspected of being suicidal, their shoelaces are taken away, or they are given shoes without them for fear of strangulation by shoelace. ]

- usage
1. "Man, when Ron Artest got that rebound and put back, that had to be one of the worst moments as a Suns fan. Are you going to be okay?"
"So long as Steve Nash is a Sun, you don't have to take my shoelaces away."

2. "There's a rumor that Miyamoto won't be directing the next Zelda game."
"You don't have to take my shoelaces away until we at least see how it turns out."

Good Mourning Rachael: Part 3

After a few months of being together, things got a little bumpy. While I tend to lead a carefree and easy life, Rachael was working six days a week, and putting in a lot of effort to make sure all the ends met up at the end of the month. On top of that, she was now putting up with my dumb ass eight or more hours a day. All of this added up to one stressed out monkey who had been uncharacteristically unhappy. For me this was just a hurdle that we'd get over together and continue on our way. After all, her problems were now my problems, and if there's one thing I can do in this world it's problem solve. I saw it all as a speed bump on our road to forever. Unfortunately, as I often do, I underestimated what was really going on.

I did my best to assist with the small things. I tried to help with the laundry, and when she refused, I went and found a laundry service. I sent flowers to her work, and when she accidentally spilled wine on her carpet, I rushed out to find an appropriate cleaner. It wasn't much, but she was a tough person to take care of. I'd screwed up before in my life by not putting enough effort in. This time, I wasn't letting that happen.

One day Rachael left on a trip to visit her sister in Chicago. There had been a little emotional distance between us, and I hoped that the physical distance would make her miss me and maybe bring back the good times. I also thought that a little time away from every day life would do her some good. I dropped Rachael off at the airport. What I didn't realize at the time was that I was saying goodbye to my girlfriend Rachael. The girl who came back was just my friend.

Stress and responsibilities had overwhelmed the girl that I cared so much for, and in the end something had to give. In this case, I was that something.

And just like that, the girl who this very blog brought to my door and I were no longer a couple. While the story of how we met was, in my opinion, quite remarkable, the story of how we parted was typical in most regards. There were a few attempts at reconciliation, a few distraught late night calls, and a few sappy emails. In the end though it wasn't enough, and one day she was just gone.

Were you expecting a better ending? Sorry about that. The extra U in the title wasn't because I was feeling particularly British or anything.

When you write a blog that's basically a sitcom representation of your life, you tend to leave the bad things out and therefore some stories never get their proper ending. The truth is that sometimes Ross and Rachel just don't end up together. But that doesn't mean it's the end of the world.

For me, this blog is a lot about perspective. My people, the nerds, tend to be an overly emotional and sad lot. That's a little bit of self fulfilling prophecy. It's probably easy to see this as a sad tale of the nerd who didn't get the girl, but you'll notice that a solid two thirds(Or more) of the story are about how much I truly cared for her(And still do). I've spent my whole life wanting to spend a decent portion of it alone, so to enjoy someone's company that much was honestly groundbreaking for me. While the story itself doesn't have a perfect ending, there are really a lot of positives to take away.

So, hopefully I didn't bum anyone out. I've already had two people tell me this story was utterly depressing, and I hadn't even gotten to the bad part yet. Don't worry about me, I don't write about things until I'm cool with them. There's no need to take my shoelaces away.

Good Mourning Rachael: Part 2

Despite my first failed attempt at romance, two weeks later Rachael and I were inseparable. Every morning was a struggle on my part to get her off to work, followed by a day of exchanged emails and texts. The day was broken up with lunch, and the afternoon of work was just a break in the action before some night time event. It didn't really matter if it was Sushi and a night out or curling up on the couch to catch up on True Blood, a show I didn't even like. So long as Rachael was there, it was the perfect evening.

For the first time in my life, I wanted to hold hands. I wanted to skip through the park and have picnics. I was completely cheesy and I couldn't have cared less. When Rachael wasn't around, I missed her like a fat kid on The Biggest Loser misses cake. I talked about her to the point that people told me to knock it off. Even I knew it was annoying, but I couldn't help it.

I was that guy. I was in love.

To the outside world, the relationship was probably completely nonsensical. There were times that a look was enough to induce pants-wetting laughter. We practically spoke our own language, and rarely discussed anything serious. We didn't have time for that. We were too busy cracking each other up and joking around.

One morning the alarm went off. Rachael had to be up three hours before I did, but I always made an effort to get her up and going. I am a morning person. She is not. Rachael is not a morning person like I am not a Lakers fan.

The alarm went off, and as I reached to silence it, I was mauled by the tiny girl to my side with a cry of, "I missed you!"

It was a silly moment the likes of which you'd see in Rachel McAdams movie. The girl proclaims to have missed the guy while she was sleeping in the same bed. Normally I'd have been the first to call bullshit, but truth be told, I kind of missed her too.

That day I realized that this was it. This was how I wanted to wake up every day for the rest of my life. We had only known each other a few months, and I knew it was far too early to become so emotionally invested, but I didn't care. I was all in.

Nerd Word(s): White Picket Fence Syndrome

White Picket Fence Syndrome
- Affliction

1. An overconfidence in life/fate.

[ Origin: In my teenage years, I seemed to be the confidant to many members of the opposite sex. Despite being straight, I was essentially their gay boyfriend. A number of people, especially women in their youth, think that life's journey will be a complete storybook, without bumps along the way. ]

- usage
1. "She wants to date for two years, then get engaged. The honeymoon is going to be in Hawaii. Then we get married, and move out to the suburbs by her parents. She wants to have two kids, and she already has their names picked out."

"Man, sounds like a weird second date. Total White Picket Fence Syndrome."

Good Mourning Rachael: Part 1

If I'm guilty of one sin throughout the writing of this blog, it's most definitely of not finishing a story. Now now, I know what you're thinking. "One sin? You also suck at spelling, grammar, character development and..." Yeah yeah, I get it, but just roll with me here. The problem is that hope and newness is easy to write. Disappointment is just, well, sad. Still, it seems that if this blog is to be the narrative of my life(Or some representation of it), then I could serve it well by finishing a story.

If you need to catch up on the first part of this story, you can do so by clicking here and reading from the bottom up.

I was pretty excited after meeting Rachael. I don't think I've ever had such a good first impression in my life. It felt like I had just met my best friend again for the first time. She was smart, funny, personable, and everything just seemed to "click" in a way that hasn't happened since I was too ignorant to realize that there was something other than "clicking". Oh yeah, she was also breathtakingly gorgeous. My worry, as always, was that I had said something stupid or scared her off.

Should I call and ask her to lunch again? Should I play it cool? Will that come across as needy? Should I be aggressive?

I was shocked two days later when the phone rang and it was Rachael, asking me to lunch again. Another hour long meal passed in the blink of an eye, proving that the first meeting wasn't just a random aligning of the stars. We parted ways, but this time my fears were put to rest. One time might be lucky, but twice in a row was something right?

The meals and good times continued on for a couple of weeks, and despite the fact that she was one of the most amazing women I'd ever met, I was steadfast in my romantic stance. I was not getting a crush on a girl who was so ridiculously out of my league.

Spurred on by either my frequent disappearances around noon, or the new ear to ear grin that was permanently plastered to my face, Sean decided to question me as to what was really going on.

"So... are you interested? Are you going to make a move or what?"
"I don't know. You know how when you first meet a crazy cute girl, and there's all this sexual energy you hold back?"

"Sure, I guess"

"Well, it's nothing like that. I mean... I'm attracted to her, but that's so secondary. I just really want to spend all of my time with her. When she's around, we're constantly laughing and... I don't know. It sounds cheesy, but just happy."

"That's not the girl you date bro," he said, pausing for dramatic effect. "That's the one you marry."

And that's when it sort of hit me.

Long time readers may find this hard to believe, but I had never been dumped in my life. In fact, every romantic relationship in my life had ended for the exact same reason: I just always enjoyed my personal space too much. I'm fond of saying, "I don't know how guys cheat on a woman. Who needs 2? I only want a girlfriend 3 days a week. I need a time share woman."

But it wasn't that way with Rachael. Every meeting left me hungry for the next, and every joke made me laugh a little more. She was like Zpizza. I never got tired of her.

Finally I decided I had to make a move. I didn't want her so much as I just always wanted her around. The medium hotness rule was thrown out, and one night as we lay next to each other discussing something silly I decided it was time.

A million things raced through my mind. What should I say? What should I do?

What didn't race through my mind was the fact that we were laying in complete darkness, and since I have yet to develop super power night vision or obtain retinal implants from a secret government experiment, I couldn't see a thing. I had never been more nervous in my life as I leaned slowly over, inching closer and closer.

I puckered up, and landed squarely... on the nose.

Shit

In a feeling that would soon become common for me with Rachael, nervousness quickly turned to embarrassment. She would respond with what would become the cornerstone of our relationship. She doubled over in laughter.

Nerd Word(s): Medium Hotness Girl

Medium Hotness Girl
- Noun

1. A girl who is a great catch, but not completely out of your league.

[ Origin: After years and years of dating and being surrounded by ridiculously beautiful women, I announced to Sean one day that I was just looking for someone who wasn't out of my league. ]

- usage
1. "You should meet my sister, she's single"
"Your sister?  I've seen her on facebook.  She's not medium hotness, she's a ten.  Pass"

- see also
1 to 10

Nerd Word(s): Pardon

Pardon
- Interjection

1. Excuse me

[ Origin: A few years ago my coworker Marloue and I got sent to Vancouver for work. The Canadians didn't have much of an access, but there were two points that stood out. First, they said the word "Process", "Pro Sess". Second, instead of "Excuse Me" they always used the word "Pardon". Marloue and I decided to bring the word back from America's Hat as a souvenir. ]

Jesse Gets Jumped

I've been sick for the better part of two months now. First it was the ear infection from hell. That was followed shortly by a sinus infection. There's a solid chance that I'm dying, so if you're from that Make-A-Wish foundation please send a scantily clad, short, nerdy girl over to my house as soon as possible. Bonus points if she's in to short nerds, or gets a discount at zPizza.

One day the ear was so bad that I took the morning off from work and just slept in. I awoke at noon to find the phone all abuzz with work emails detailing various problems, and finally decided to haul my sorry ass in. The thing with being a software engineer is that when you're not around, it's all your fault. Everything. Even in my weakened state, I wasn't going to stand for that, so I cleaned myself up, threw on a fresh set of clothes, and headed in to the office, prepared to kick some nerd ass.

As I rounded the last stairwell in the parking garage I heard a voice.

"Excuse me... um... excuse me?"

I hadn't seen anyone in the garage, so the voice took me by surprise. I searched around and eventually found a head hanging over from the floor above. This head happened to belong to a particularly cute girl and it was staring back at me.

"Um... could you jump me?"

Holy crap, am I still sleeping? Did I accidentally walk on to the set of a porno?

I considered taking my pants off and doing my sexy time dance, but instead opted for something less.

"Pardon?"

Normally I'd have put two and two together, but my brain still wasn't functioning yet. I stared back at her questioningly.

"My car... the battery is dead. I think I left dome light on."

Oh... of course...

Minutes later I'd be helping her with her car and trying to awkwardly make small talk. It wasn't my usual D+ game, but I was sick so I'm giving myself a pass. Later in the month I would find out that the girl actually lives on my floor a few doors down.

While I haven't talked to the girl since, I like to think that we're just taking it slow. At our current pace, I fully expect to tell this story at our wedding in 2054. Save the date cards coming soon!

Nerd Word(s): Literally

Literally
- Adverb

1. Often misused on purpose as a means of mocking a person who overuses the word, or uses it incorrectly.

[ Origin: For some reason, the incorrect usage of literally has always rubbed me the wrong way like a stripper at a club in the bad part of town. ]

- see also
1. Figuratively
2. Totally

- examples
1. "I literally drank so much that I should have died."
"Literally?"
"Yeah, literally"
2. "He's literally the greatest basketball player in the world"
"Your cousin Tommy?"
3. http://evohno.blogspot.com/2010/04/lets-never-go-back.html

That Must Have Hurt

I started off writing this story in the comment section of Extensive Vamping as a response to this post. In the end I figured it was decent enough to post here. Enjoy.

One day my friend Rose and I were walking in to Pei Wei when a guy and girl walked out. He had on one of those button up shirts on with the big collar, which was basically the Ed Hardy first date shirt of 2001 for frat boys across the globe.

It was obviously early in the relationship because despite looking like a total ass, the guy held the door open for her and actually seemed interested in the conversation, despite the fact that "I just want to get laid" was written all over his act.

As he walked by he said to his date in that triumphant end-of-my-story-you-should-laugh-now kind of way, "and it was so good that I literally ate my ass off."

At that point Rose and I both turned to look and see if his ass was still there. Thankfully it was.

Then we both literally laughed out loud.

Are You Coming or Going? (A note from the author)

I originally wrote this on December 2nd. I didn't publish it though because I still had some hope of getting my mojo back, and it seemed a little too self serving. Tonight I went back to take a look through my half finished posts to see if anything sparked my interest and found this post.

I realize it's been quite some time since I've written here. The truth is that there's a very specific emotional state that I need to be in to write what I call, "A Sesquipedalis Story", and that state and I just haven't been able to find each other lately.

I was telling someone about my blog tonight and getting a little excited when I realized it's not really fair to call myself a blogger if I don't, you know, actually blog. The problem lately is that I feel like I've said everything I could possibly ever have to say, and then some. I'm just really a quiet guy who's not all that opinionated. This isn't a case of writer's block, it's just the repetitive nature of life.

I said something absolutely idiotic to a girl in the lobby yesterday. I was excited to have a small story to blog about until I sat down to write it and realized, "Been there, done that."

I'm still around, and I plan on blogging again sometime in the near future. I've been kicking around the idea of taking the blog in an entirely new direction, or starting a different one. I'm not really sure though. If you have any suggestions, feel free to let me know.

While I'm gone, I hope everyone is well.

Jesse

Still With the Elevator

I never really planned to have an entire section of my blog devoted to elevator stories, yet here we are again. I guess the thing about it is, elevators are awkward no matter what. When sharing a ride your choices come down to forced social interaction, forced social avoidance, or playing with your phone and pretending to text/check email/avoid eye contact. I normally go for choice number three, but sometimes the elevator has plans of its own.

I woke up late today, and found myself rushing through the morning routine. There isn't really a late per se at my job, but I was intending to leave at a reasonable hour, and as such I really should have been in earlier than I was.

I got to the building around nine and grabbed the elevator that was open. It's a simple procedure that I've managed to perform correctly for the past five years, but today when I pressed the button labeled "15", the elevator did something different.

It didn't move

I waited a moment, but nothing. A quick step out and glance at the other elevators gave no clue as to how to solve my predicament. I decided that before going to talk to someone I should give the elevator one last try.

The "Door Close" button was feeling my frustration when the elevator finally relented and the doors began to close. At the same time I looked up to see a woman who resembled a thirty-something year old Kim Kardashian trying to get on.

I caught the door just in time. She thanked me, and in turn I explained why I had been so focused on the button panel.

"The door wouldn't close for the last three minutes. I guess it just wanted to wait for you."

I was fairly pleased with myself for making what seemed to me, an appropriate comment that was at least slightly amusing.

Kim apparently didn't share my amusement. She looked at me as if I had just asked her for her sign in some Scottsdale bar and dryly said, "Charming"

Jesse gets Zugged

A few months ago I was reading an article at www.zug.com about the best office pranks ever. I'm a big fan of the site, and the creator John Hargrave, but with all due respect I felt we had done it better. I left a comment on the entry with a link back to our prank, and left it at that.

Soon after I got an email from John asking me to rewrite the story so he could host it on Zug. I double checked with Sean since it was, after all, his prank, and then agreed.

Unfortunately life got a little busy, and I never got around to writing the article. John emailed me again after the holidays, and I finally got off my ass and wrote it. It's now one of the featured articles on the site.

http://www.zug.com/live/83619/shr5/The-Office-Prank-My-CoWorker-Will-Never-Forget

Enjoy!

The Valentine's Day Wrap Up Part 1:J.R. Wins

I realize it's been an exceptionally long time since I last "blogged". I had a whole post written out explaining why, but then I realized, nobody cares. I've decided to kick off my (semi)return to blogging with a few stories that have been sitting in the vault for a while.

This particular story is probably one of the bigger ones of my life, but then 5 days later I met Shaq at a diner, and that story sort of occupied my time for a while.

Back in February I ran a contest to send flowers out on Valentine's day. The Valentine's day contest has become a bit of a tradition around here, but last year I took it to a whole new level sending all manner of prizes and gifts. Despite the fact that there were numerous entries deserving of flowers, and despite the fact that no inmate received flowers, I still feel like J.R. was really the winner. He took upon himself to not only enter the contest and provide insightful comments on the other entries, he also did a little work of his own.

Friday was the day before Valentine's, but most of the "prizes" were scheduled to arrive that day. Only for the "big winner" did I actually pay the extra ten bucks for Saturday delivery. As I strolled in to work, I was mentally making notes of what was going where, and double checking to make sure I hadn't missed something. For 2009 it wasn't just a contest, it was an operation.

I entered my office and became the envy of every extremely myopic drunken 22 year old female. I had received flowers from the Baller himself.

J.R. didn't just send me flowers for Valentine's. He took it one step further and included the following, heartfelt poem:

Bitches Ain't Shit,

But Tricks And Hoes.

Maybe It's Time You Give Up

On Girls, And Switch to Bros.

Have A Bro-Mantic

Valentine's Day!

Baller

By noon things were on trucks and "out for delivery". All told there were 3 sets of flowers, 5 gift boxes from The Popcorn Factory, and one set of two dozen long stemmed Roses.

I hate sitting around to see how a plan unfolds, and since I had no particular Valentine of my own, when Kendall, my 6'1 modelesque friend, invited me to L.A. to hang out for the weekend I took the rest of the day off work and headed home to pack. As I walked in to my building I ran in to Agnes, my ninety-two year old building crush.

"So, any Valentine's day weekend plans for you?" I asked.
"Valentine's? Love?" she looked at me like I was crazy, "I'm too old for that stuff."

I reached the eleventh floor, and minutes later I had a weekend's worth of clothes packed in to a travel suitcase. I was about to leave when I spotted J.R.'s flowers. I didn't think they'd do much good in my place since I'd be in L.A., so I took them with me.

As I walked out of the Landmark I handed them to the guy working the front desk.

"Could you give these to Agnes for me?"
"And who should I say they're from?"
"Oh. Just tell her they're from a secret admirer."