It's Called Helping...You're Welcome

By Aaron Blaylock

It started out as a desperate cry for attention and grew into an online cathartic therapy session on the World Wide Web. IT’S CALLED HELPING...YOU’RE WELCOME is a compilation of posts from a blog (don’t stop reading) I kept for a couple of years with a sprinkling of notes and articles that I wrote on various topics related to the human experience.
If you too are human then you will relate to the themes and topics in this book as it was written by a human for other humans. If you are not human then that’s pretty cool. How did you get a copy of my book? How can you read our language? Do you also care deeply about food? I would like to meet you but it’s probably recklessly irresponsible to publish my home address in a book so just Google me.
Anywho, human or not, you’ll find a comprehensive look at the world as I see it with helpful (hopefully humorous) tidbits on topics ranging from male/female relationships to bacon from parenting to poop jokes. Enjoy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Aaron Blaylock
• Release date: Oct 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311239211

Aaron Blaylock

Born and raised in Arizona, Aaron is proud to call the desert home. Although he lived just outside of Sacramento, California for several years as a teenager and served a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in Jamaica for two years, he has always returned home to the valley of the sun.He married the girl of his dreams in 2001 and together they are raising four beautiful children. He draws heavily on his own life experiences and his faith in his writing and has published a children's picture book for his kids as well as a satirical work for humanity. His latest work is a short story about a youth group on an ill-conceived backpacking trip.

Book preview

IT’S CALLED HELPING…YOU’RE WELCOME

By Aaron Blaylock

Published by Aaron Blaylock at Smashwords

Copyright 2013 Aaron Blaylock

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1: Men are Dumb Women are Insane

Chapter 2: Obsessed and Unhealthy

Chapter 3: Oh the Humanity

Chapter 4: I Should Just Stay Home

Chapter 5: Oh Boy

Epilogue

Prologue

It started out as a desperate cry for attention and grew into an online cathartic therapy session on the World Wide Web. IT’S CALLED HELPING…YOU’RE WELCOME is a compilation of posts from a blog (don’t stop reading) I kept for a couple of years with a sprinkling of notes and articles that I wrote on various topics related to the human experience.

If you too are human then you will relate to the themes and topics in this book as it was written by a human for other humans. If you are not human then that’s pretty cool. How did you get a copy of my book? How can you read our language? Do you also care deeply about food? I would like to meet you but it’s probably recklessly irresponsible to publish my home address in a book so just Google me.

Anywho, human or not, you’ll find a comprehensive look at the world as I see it with helpful (hopefully humorous) tidbits on topics ranging from male/female relationships to bacon from parenting to poop jokes. Enjoy.

Top

Chapter 1: Men are Dumb, Women are Insane

Being Boys

Boys never grow up. They do, however, grow old.

When not in the presence of a girl, boys of all ages are endlessly entertained and amused by poop stories and farts. They continue to exchange ‘your momma’ jokes with their buddies decades after they should have stopped. Really the only difference between an eight year old and a twenty-eight year old is the eight year old can’t buy his own video games yet.

Don’t believe me? I’m comfortably into my 30’s but in my department I’m the youngster, as my coworkers are all in their 40’s and 50’s. Just this week I busted out my atomic fart app (BOOM, iPhone!) at lunch and we giggled like school children all the way back to the office.

My wife still shoots me the same bewildered/disappointed ‘grow up’ look she did when we were seventeen. We call it her seminary look. We sat next to each other in seminary. I’d do things like read 1 Corinthians 13:34 for the opening devotional and hi five my buddy seated behind her before sitting down. The guys would laugh and the girls would get mad and I’d be quite proud of myself; that is until I caught a cold stare from the girl of my dreams (Neither of us is sure why she married me. I’m afraid to question it). Now I get that look for teaching our children that the Los Angeles Lakers are all criminals and would be in prison if they didn’t know how to play basketball (Again, I don’t question it).

There’s an old adage You’re only as old as you feel. Well that’s a lie because I feel I can relate to children and teenagers just as well today as I did when I was one. I don’t feel old, my joints and bones disagree. Getting out of bed in the morning is a symphony of cracks and pops; and not the good kind coming from a bowl of Rice Krispies.

I used to slam into people and the ground fifty times a day playing football and I’d pop right back up. Last week I hit the ground once during a rugby game and had serious concerns that my entire rib cage might have shattered from the inside. (For those over thirty, have you fallen recently? Try it and tell me how you feel.)

I used to be able to roll out of bed cold and play pickup basketball for hours. Now I’ve got to stretch for five minutes before going on a long walk.

I used to be out looking for something to do at 10:30 at night. Now if the phone rings after nine I worry somebody must be in jail or the hospital to be calling that late.

Here’s where the gap between my mentality and my reality get me in trouble. Occasionally I’ll run across a situation where either I believe I can still do something or I’m challenged by some young punk to prove I’ve still got it. Of course the mature thing to do is just let it go, but as we’ve established men and maturity are rarely simpatico.

Case in point: I was playing basketball with my nine year old son on our adjustable hoop in the front yard. We usually keep the rim at 8 ½ feet and on occasion, during our one on one games, I’ll show off my 6 inch vertical leap and dunk it (gotta show him who’s boss). We decided that his jump shot had progressed to the point where raising the rim to 9 feet would be appropriate. He then commented And also then you won’t be able to dunk. Incredulously I replied Pump the brakes there son, back in the day your old man could throw down. I can still get 9 feet.

The ridiculous thing was not that I made such a claim or that I felt I had something to prove to my son. The most ridiculous part was that I actually believed I could do it. I’m 6’2 with my shoes on. I weigh two hundred and shut your mouth pounds. Back in the day when I could throw down was over ten years ago when I worked out or played basketball nearly every day.

There was no turning back though. I was committed. I stepped back, palmed the ball and sized up my objective. A shuffle of the feet and three bounds later I was ascending towards my goal with the ball at the end of my extended right arm. I got just high enough to slam the ball into the side of the rim. This sent a shockwave reverberating straight down my spine. Upon landing on the ground it felt as if a balloon had been inflated underneath my shoulder blade. Immediately I regretted the last 50 seconds of my life. The cherry on top of this crap Sundae was my son looking at me and saying, Told you.

I hung my head and went inside with more than just my pride hurting. I told my wife what I’d done and she looked at me and said, with all the patience and compassion you’d show a puppy that’d once again peed on the floor, Why’d you do that?

Because I’m a boy. That’s why.

Cuteness over Comfort? Really?

At work yesterday I heard the following conversation.

Lady #1 Cute shoes.

Lady #2 Yeah, but they are really uncomfortable.

Lady #1 But they look so cute.

Lady #2 I know that’s why I got them.

This has been a constant fascination/quandary of mine. Why do women buy uncomfortable shoes?

Just last week I witnessed a girl, preparing to go home for the day, change her shoes ala Mr. Rogers. When I questioned her on this she explained that pair #1 goes with her outfit and are cute but uncomfortable and also not allowed in the lab where she had work to do that day hence the need for pair #2.

I don’t know why I continue to question this behavior as it is clearly insane and I am left baffled each time I peel back another layer of insanity. I keep thinking that I’ll move closer to a logical explanation when in reality I know one doesn’t exist.

I recently purchased a new pair of running shoes. I walked into the store knowing which pair I wanted. My wife had shown me an ad in the paper and I selected the pair that looked good to me. Upon arrival in the store I found my size in the desired pair. Mind you I really liked the look of these shoes. However, upon trying them on I found them to be a bit on the uncomfortable side. I tried on several different shoes before finding a pair whose look wasn’t exactly what I was looking for but whose comfort was off the charts. I purchased the shoes and haven’t had a moment of regret.

You see that is what a logical sane person does. You put on a pair of shoes and think ‘Boy these are uncomfortable’ and then you put those shoes back. You do not think ‘Well these babies will probably cause me feet to bleed but they really set off this pant suit. SOLD!’

What is it about shoes that cause women to cast aside common sense and dive into this world of masochism?

Could you image hearing someone say Sure this blanket feels like sandpaper but it’s so cute. Or This hat has cut off all circulation to the top of my head but it’s adorable. Or Having to cram myself into this mini Cooper everyday has given me scoliosis but it looks super cool. No, you’d call the loony bin and have that person carted off for their own protection. So why do we all stand by and allow this self-destructive behavior to continue? Who is there among us that will stand up for feet?!

I too, in my quest to understand this sickness, have sat idly by and shook my head and smiled. But no more! It’s time for an intervention. Ladies please, stop this madness. If you try on a pair of shoes that suffocate your feet like a boa constrictor put them back. I don’t care how cute they are, it’s not worth it. Taking off your shoes at the end of the day should not feel like being liberated from a Nazi internment camp.

You spend all the time and money taking care of your body, your skin and your hair but treat your feet like John Rambo passing through Hope, Washington. Why?

They deserve better, you deserve better. Say it with me My feet are my friends. Now next time you see a cute pair of hoof hurters just ask yourself, ‘Would I treat my friends like this?’

Empty Headed Animal

Men like to pretend to be thoughtful. On occasion we’ll bring home flowers or candy. We’ll write a love note or bring home a card. We like the reaction and enjoy the adulation much like a toddler who learns to poop in the potty.

Women also like to pretend that men are thoughtful. You enjoy the heartfelt words expressed in pen and paper. You are delighted to open an unexpected gift from the wind beneath your wings. You love to brag on your man and how sensitive he is.

Here’s the truth. We brought you home something as a reflex action to something we saw or heard. Perhaps we saw it in a movie or on TV; possibly a coworker or neighbor had recently done something nice for his wife (no doubt as a reflex action to something he’d seen) and we wanted to do the same. The most probable reason is because you’ve dropped several not so subtle hints that such a gesture would be appreciated and it finally sunk through our thick skulls. Both of us erroneously believe that this idea sprung forth from some instinctual attentiveness. It’s not that we don’t love you or think about you; we do, it’s just that we’re incapable on our own of reaching that level of consideration.

There are those reading this right now who are thinking ‘Not my man, he’s so thoughtful’. He’s not. You are compiling a list of nice things he’s done for you out of the blue and formulating a comment to retort what I’ve said and defend this supposed thoughtful man. Let me just stop you right there.

It’s not that men don’t do thoughtful things. We do. That only perpetuates the illusion of thoughtfulness that later gets us into trouble. An expectation is set that will only lead to a letdown when you realize what an empty headed animal you are dealing with.

Case in point. Let’s say that, hypothetically, there is a day where it is customary to exchange gifts with those you love. It could be a jolly holiday just passed or a rapidly approaching day that might fall somewhere in the middle of February. In the course of preparing for this day you and your significant other discuss the whole arbitrary gift giving situation and through this discussion it is decided that you won’t get each other anything. This idea comes from the woman mind you because no man in his right mind would suggest such a thing. She may be motivated by the amount of money already spent on others or by a sincere feeling of contentment. It doesn’t matter. The