Nearly two years ago, I had a mishap with the BYU honor code office. Let me preface this by saying that  I am not, I have never been, nor will I ever be a BYU student. I did, however, used to dance on their swing team. When I showed up for the performance, the girl at the door smirked at me and wouldn’t admit me until I shaved my scruff… with a Bic razor, and what might as well have been a bucket of cold water and whipped cream. Needless to say, it was not a pleasant experience. You can read the entire recounting of the story here.

Anyway, that was a long lead in to the comment that I found on the blog post this morning, almost two years after writing it. Tim, a first time commenter on The Big Bags was nice enough to leave me the following message:

Awwwww…….. you had to follow the rules. Bummer for you. Of course, you always had the option of not going, but that would be too much for you. Next time I come into YOUR house, you won’t mind if I smoke, fart, vomit, etc. all over the place, or do you have ridiculous rules against those things? Whiner.

I love, love, LOVE how little Timmy relates me showing up to a dance with a few days of facial hair growth to him showing up at my home and smoking, farting and vomiting all over the place. I mean, I can see the connection… oh wait, no I can’t.

Also,Tim is like Hitler and likes to kill babies and puppies on the weekends. I’ll bet he also watches Glenn Beck and proudly works for the BYU honor code office. If Jesus was on campus, he probably would have made him shave too.

It’s incidents like this that make me want to crawl through the intertubes and surprise these ignorant, close-minded commenters with a punch in the throat through their computer monitor.

Yeah, I’m spiteful. Sue me.

Also, on an unrelated note, here’s a link to my most recent dating advice column.

Jamie Hyneman is awesome.  He blows crap up for a living and shows it on TV.  Also, he has a mustache.

So, I was talking to a friend of mine the other day. He told me that he had a mustache for seven years.  His wife used to say, “Sometimes you have to walk through a little sagebrush to get to the picnic.”  When I think of ‘sagebrush’ I think of Jamie’s stash… although I wouldn’t consider his lips to be a picnic.  I just don’t swing that way.

Farewell to a faithful friend who hung on to my upper lip for nearly four weeks.  As faithful as you were, I don’t think I’ll miss you.

We ended Movember a little early due to the fact that we wanted to vote before the month ended, and since the majority of our staff will be leaving for home over the next week to spend Thanksgiving with their families, today became judgement day.

Also, I feel absolutely terrible on the inside of my body, so I’m going to go to bed so my mom isn’t angry at me for being sick for Thanksgiving.

If you want to see the rest of the OrangeSoda mustaches, just click here.  It will be worth your while.

We may hate him… and that is in large part to his mustache.  Uncle Vernon is terrible.

In lieu of the Holy War today. I give you the University of Utah’s student body president.  I dare you to try to keep down your lunch.

They say a picture is worth 1,000 words.  I think this one is worth more.

I haven’t had a headache like this since I can remember. My heart beat sounds like the bass drum in a marching band at a parade. When I take steps, they echo in my skull with a force that is nearly unbearable. Needless to say, I’m wearing socks (to deminish the sound), layingin bed and listening to the only music I can tolerate when I feel this way… Kalai.

Here’s a sample of one of my favorites:
On My Mind – Kalai

This is the finger mustache.  Classy.

Also, it really has been a while since I posted anything of significance on this blog.  I’m not feeling incredibly jovial today, as I said goodbye to my little brother for two years.  He will be moving to Tampa, Florida to be a missionary for our church.

I’m excited and nervous for him at the same time.  I’ve been in a similar position, as I served a two year mission nearly 4 years ago in Santiago, Chile.  Saying goodbye is never easy, but I know that where he’s going he will learn to be a man and change people’s lives.

OK! Now that I’m done with that, I can stop being a downer, I can move on and share a story that I meant to write about weeks ago.

I hate being scared.  Really. I absolutely despise it.  I have a very vivid imagination which tends to get me into trouble in the scary type situations.  The body thrashes, and the voice squeals and people either get freaked out, annoyed or hit in the face. This is one of the main reasons I don’t like to walk alone at night or go camping… I invent monsters and crazy rapists who want to attack me in the night at the turn of every corner.

Naturally, with my fear of fear (is there even such a thing?) I’m not a huge fan of the frivolities that come along with Halloween.  I don’t mind dressing up, or eating candy.  Bobbing for apples is fine by me.  But, horror movies? I think I’ll pass.  And haunted houses?  I’d rather have a colonoscopy.  I hate being scared so much, in fact, that I’ve managed to avoid these things for my entire life.  I’m 24-years-old and have never seen a horror movie (besides Snow White… that Wicked Witch is scary) or been through a haunted house-that is, until a few weeks ago.

I consider myself to be a fairly stubborn and headstrong fellow, but I’m consistently amazed at how little effort it requires for a beautiful girl to convince me to do… well…. anything.  The last week of October was just such a circumstance.  My roommate and I were spending the evening with two wonderful young ladies when someone had the bright idea of going to the local ‘Scream Asylum.’

Naturally, I resisted the idea.  They persisted, and it took all of 2 minutes to convince me to grow a backbone and just do it.

One hour later, I had on a pair of wet pants, a hoarse voice and 3 friends with sore stomachs from laughing at my uncharacteristically foul language screamed at an incomprehensible high pitch.  As Jeff would say, I scream like a sissy-face-la-la-pants-bed-wetter.

There was one particular portion of this terrible, terrible place that really sent me over the top.  After passing by a semi-retarded clown in a wheelchair and a cheesy zombie with a chainsaw, we entered into a room filled with dismembered body parts hanging from the ceiling.  As we waded through the sea of limbs and torsos, squinting through the strobe light, my roommate stopped.

“Dude! Go!” I yelled with anxiety in my voice.  It was far too quiet, and eerie swinging limbs were everywhere.

“Just a sec,” he said without moving a muscle.

And that’s when I heard it.  It was quiet at first… until it got closer.

“Sooooo quiet.  Soooooooooo quiet,” rasped the voice.

I turned and saw a decapitated, bloodied corpse stammering towards me.  This is what I did (you really need to click that link to fully understand the situation), followed by a few expletives and a dead arm to my roommate.

I hated that haunted house.  But you know what? I’d do it all over again if she asked me to.  Man, I’m a sucker.

This is a gift from God.  He cheered me up tonight.

Internet, meet Badamsinh. He is the world record holder for longest mustache… in the world. Gross.