I'll give you an answer, just not a correct one.

I should be examined by National Geographic on one of those medical mystery dramas. The ones where I am interviewed in a dimly lit room punctuated by moments of a dramatic reenactment. My character would be portrayed by a rarely-used actress, like Kelly from Life Goes On or something. So there's Kelly, playing "Carrie", and she is shown in a work environment. A nearby coworker casually muses to herself about the origins of the blue jean. There is no need for a response, but "Carrie" confidently states, "Oh, I think jeans come from the mid-western farmers who needed sturdier clothes to work the fields."

"Sadly, this is a common event in the life of Carrie," the narrator interjects. "She suffers from a genetic disorder. A disorder passed down from her mother, and her mother's sister, Diane. Carrie feels the need to give inaccurate information and pass it off as a statement of fact."

It's true. I have the affliction I spent years accusing my mother of having. I once listened to my mother and Diane talk at length about a field of crops we had passed by driving on a country road in Texas. They had not only come to the conclusion-quite quickly- that it was asparagus, but had also agreed that asparagus was the main export of Fredericksburg. I endured this nonsensical chatter for as long as I could stand before I had to be the voice of reason.

"Not only is that not asparagus, neither of you have any experience whatsoever in the field of agriculture. You are a realtor, and you are a banker. And that is hay. Not asparagus, hay. And you really should also know that the American Alligator is not a native species here. Really a non-issue. Too bad that guy on the plane is now sadly misinformed for life."

And now, coworkers give me the same sympathetic look of false encouragement you would give a three-year-old who thinks they're a great artist. I will hear myself tell Taylor that you should apply ice to sore muscles after running, and then there will be a long pause between us. Because I don't run, Taylor is training for a marathon, and she is too nice to point out my massively ill-informed 'knowledge'.

"I'm talking out my rear end, again." I concede.

"You are. That's okay."

I don't know the name of the pine tree in Florida we once saw, but Mom, Diane and I all agree it is a "Princess Pine". I don't even know if that's a real type of tree. I don't know that the blue jean actually originated in 17th century France in the town of Nimes, but it doesn't stop me from answering. It's like I can hear the nonsense leave my mouth, and think, hmm..there is a 25% chance that is a real answer...

Just be prepared. If you are ever in a room with me, my mother, or my aunt, that you should keep an open mind and have access to Google. Because you most likely just got fed a whole lot of nonsense.

Whaevah, guy.

I live in Texas now, have for six years. It's easy to forget how frickin awesome a Worcester accent is, guy.

Let me school ya if you don't get it. Worcester, (pronounced Wuh-stah) is a city about 45 minutes west of Boston and has a slightly different affliction accompanied by a particular mannerism. Think Good Will Hunting meets a six-pack of Natty Light and a rowdy Pats fan.

I associate this little walk down Shrewsbury Street memory lane with some good times. About a minute after they got married, Aimee and Joey graciously allowed me to live with them in their home near Worcester like a displaced foster child. We all just graduated college together, and to repay them I helped them paint and drink their beer.

Joey taught me all about Dr. Dre and the Beastie Boys, and I listened to them-on cassette-in my mint green '87 Olds Cutless Ciera. Aim showed me how to clip coupons for the Big Y and how not to cook like a college student. We were like a mini-family, and they let me hang out with all their hometown buddies.

One day, Aim brought me to see Joey in his softball league. I was probably wearing stonewashed jeans and a Champion sweatshirt it was so long ago. Anyways, we're hanging by the chain-link fence in the middle of this grimy city at a small park and-hand to God-someone yells,

"Hey guy, ah bet you a handle of Captain Moh-gins you can't hit one frickin pitch, guy."
And someone answered, "Whatevah, guy, you can't even hold a frickin bat without puttin down yoah frickin beah. Frickin homo."

I miss berating your close friends with every disparaging comment you can arrange into a single phrase. In Texas, the conversing would have gone as follows:

"Hey, good luck! You're doing well."
"Thanks, you too."

Just leaves something to be desired. So for all yous back home tailgating a Pats game or kicking the living crap out of your piece of s**t snowblower this winter so you can get a beah at The Dive, I'm thinkin of ya. You frickin loosah.

Civilized lies

Oh, politeness. It's so...restricting. I am civilized, refined, and respectful. And a liar. Here are a few things I have thought about strangers that I would have very much like to have shared but didn't.

1. "Sir, I can see your nipples through your shirt. Because it's mesh. It's a mesh shirt. And you're in the grocery store. In the frozen food section."

2. "Can I tour your home? I just want to see the inside and go through all of your personal belongings."

3. "You remind me of Santa Claus. But thinner, taller, and with less of a heavy red furry overcoat."

4. "I only wanted a short answer when I asked how you are doing. I kinda just want to pay for this and leave."

5. "Why aren't you two talking to each other? Are you fighting? What are you fighting over? Why would you come here and not talk at all? It's so odd. Would you recommend that spinach dip you are sharing? Are you mad about the spinach dip?"

6. "I know that you are judging me as you silently stare. I can feel your cloak of judgement. Well, I will see your cloak and I will raise you a poncho. How does my poncho of disgust feel? Heavy? Not so fun, is it?"

7. "What life choices brought you to own so many broken automobiles?"

8. "Will you give me some of your money? You have quite and bit and I would like to be wealthy. Thank you."

9. "I need for you to pause in conversation so I can leave without feeling awkward."

10. "I think your dog is kind of a slut."