Fruit of the Doom

Whenever I'm asked (read: sent) to the store to pick up things such as shampoo, conditioner, or body wash, I always get whatever the last variety was that I used. If it was a coconut-scented shampoo and conditioner, then that's what I pick up. I hardly care to try new “flavors”, especially when I rub these products on my body and wash them off. It's not like I'm eating them anymore. Err... I mean... Nevermind.

I think all “guys” do this though. We tend to follow a pattern, and we like it. Sure, change is fine and all when you're talking about trying a new beer, pizza topping, or video game. When it comes to personal hygiene though, we're just grateful that we mastered the basics. I don't really care what I smell like, as long as it's not swamp ass. Sometimes we're forced to choose, and I tend to lean towards the “manly” scented products. If my shaving cream, body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and even air freshener can all smell the same, then that makes my life even more simple. Once women get involved, the issue becomes a whole lot more convoluted.

A woman has to smell “pretty”. It's in their blood or something. Somewhere in the development of a girl into a woman, it's ingrained that they must change their scent every other day. Yesterday was coconut, but today is mango. Tomorrow, we're rocking peachy and the day after? Kiwi my friend. Kiwi. You'd think that Dole had a majority stake in personal hygiene products with all the fruity concotions available. So every week it seems, there's a new shampoo, conditioner, or body wash that smells and looks different than the last. That's fine though, right? Just keep trucking, keep the basics down. What's this, though? A shampoo bottle with a little left? I can't just throw this out...

No, this is where my man logic comes into play. I think “I'll just use the rest of this”. To my dismay, there's more in the bottle than I thought, and I'm soon shampooing more than just the hair on my head. Even better, my head now smells like kiwi-mango-monstrosity. Rinsing it all off, it's now time to condition. Ever notice that the conditioner always runs out before the shampoo? So I grab the conditioner, which happens to be some green-apple-medly. I condition my hair, and then grab my “shower poof” and lather it up with bodywash. Only, my manly-scented bodywash is gone as my niece seems to like it more than I do. What's left? Peaches and Cream. Stick to the basics... lather... scrub...rinse.

So there I am, rinsing off the conditioner and the bodywash. I feel squeaky clean and I really didn't think much about the various products I used to get there. You see, for us men – we celebrate the smaller victories in life. I managed to wash my own ass, that deserves a merit badge right? Then my nose starts picking out the various fragrences eminating from my body. First sniff... is that my hair? I smell like the Chiquita Banana lady. Is that a fruit basket on my head? Good gods. Second sniff... Peaches? Great... Just wonderful. My crotch and ass smell like peaches. The rest of the day, all I can think of is that I'm a walking Fruit-of-the-Loom. This is insanity.

Can't we just stick to one scent? Please?

Panera: Pandora's Bread Box

It happens sometimes. You're driving home on a miserable and wet Monday afternoon. You know that there's no sign of food at home. There's no will left in your body to shop for any food. Then you get that text message... the one where your partner in crime at home concurs with your feelings and the state of the cupboards. Desperate for food, and too lazy to do the proper thing, you begin reaching for those notions of "take out".

Now, being a "take out" veteran, you're well versed in the various kinds out there. You could always hit the Golden Arches, and then sit on the Porcelain Bowl. The same would happen if you decided to go Outside the Bun. Flirting with the King will leave you with the Queen of Farts. All in all, Jared looks like he's got the best idea, but do you really want *that*... *again*?

Pizza is always a safe bet with me, however I knew that wouldn't go over well at home. No, if I wanted to get a nice pat on the back tonight, I'd have to do something drastic. Something different. Something special... Oh yeah. Special. It started with Quiznos and the happy memories of their old bread bowls. Those memories went away when I was told, rather rudely, that such a thing no longer exists. Annoyed at both the attitude and the disappointment, I set my sights higher... I looked up on the hill behind me and saw my savior. I saw... Panera Bread.

I called home and got everyone to change their orders as I waited for 15 minutes in the line at Panera Bread. The first thing I noticed were the prices, but I thought to myself... "This is a one-time treat. This is a special treat. This will be awesome." After perusing the menu myself, I had three orders ready to go. Three sandwiches, two soups, and one mac 'n cheese. Easy enough, right? Oh boy...

Now, get the scene here. I'm dressed like a working-class schmuck who just got off work. I look like hell, feel like crap, and I think I heard a gay fashion major faint when I walked in. Not that everyone who eats at Panera Bread is gay, but I digress. I knew I had to make up for my lack of fashion and my crabby appearance with my suave ordering and people skills. With the orders decided upon before I even made it to the front of the line, I had it in the bag. I'd stroll right up and spell out my order with a smooth tongue and a smug look on my face. Yeah... I'm ready for it!

The words roll out my mouth, as if I knew what I was talking about...
"I'll have two 'Asiago Roast Beef' sandwiches, and..." - then it happened. I was interrupted. No matter, I'm not going to let a rude cashier get me down. Wait, she's talking... I listened to her question as she repeated it: "What would you like for sides?"
What's this? Sides? Oh-ho! That's easy. "I'd like sou..." - I couldn't even get the 'p' out before she corrected me. "No sir, the sides are chips, baguettes, or half an apple."
At this very moment, my suave and smooth mannerism went out the window. I tried desperately to recover from this blow to my well-planned order. I thought over the three options, and since my vocabulary failed me at this very moment, I decided to say "baguette". It sounded cool, it sounded suave, and I had no clue what it was. To me, I was getting a bagel. I like bagels.

The order proceeded as I ordered the third sandwich and countered her "Side?" question with a quick and smooth "Potato chips". I knew the niece would likely not eat a "baguette" as it sounded funny. Then I moved onto the final round of ordering - the real "sides". I rattled off like I owned the place... "Yes, I'd also like a small Mac 'n Cheese, and two soups in a ... " - Interrupted again, and guess what her question was? Guess?

"What side with the Mac 'n Cheese?"

Perplexed, I looked at her and said "That *is* the side... " She countered me with a list of the sides again, so this time I decided to say "baguette". It was fast becoming my fall-back word. My way to regain my composure, though it wasn't working well anymore. The reality set in as I finished my order with two soups in bread bowls: I just ordered six menu items, and now I have three bags of chips and three baguettes. Whatever those were. Suddenly it hit me... what about flavors? Chips have to have flavors, and maybe baguettes do too. Especially if they're like bagels. I like bagels.

"Excuse me..." I started smoothly, "What varieties of chips and baguettes do you have?" I had her now... she didn't expect me to ask for variety! I was back in the game. Or I thought I was.

"Well, we have regular baked lays, or our kettle cooked for the chips..."

Realizing that the baguettes likely don't have varieties, and that there was no selection for the chips, I meekly replied with "Kettle cooked sounds great. Thank you." I fumbled with the pen as I signed my life away on a receipt that had a figure I want to forget, but before I could turn to walk away, she handed me a pager. A pager? Am I being seated at Olive Garden? Confused, I took the pager and went to find a seat in the dining area.

As I settled in a comfortable easy chair by a warm fire, I thought about how wrong the set up was. They should give you the pagers as you walk in, before you stand single-file for 15 minutes waiting to order. Hand out iPads with the menu displayed to every customer who walks in. Heck, make a vibrating and blinking add-on for it too! Anyway, I digress again. There I sat, with the pager on the table next to me. I thought to myself, "If they gave me a pager, I'm here for a while. I might as well fiddle with the new Blackberry I have here. Yeah, if I pull out a Blackberry, I'm bound to regain some composure."

I caught a glance from two college girls who were studying diagonal from me. I think the Blackberry worked as I hoped. I knew it... they probably think I'm some important artist or some business man, dressing down to avoid the pressures of the corporate world. As my brain swelled, thinking I was finally of the same caliber of the patrons there, my fantasy was shattered by a loud vibrating noise on the table next to me. To my dismay, that same loud vibrating noise also drew the attention of half the patrons. Here we go again...

I grabbed the pager and made my way quickly to the front. All I wanted was for the intrusion into my yuppie fantasy to stop, but then I recalled my purpose for being there: Food. The cashiers were too busy to notice me, and there were no signs at all telling me where to go with this annoying thing vibrating in my hands. I wandered for a moment until I came to the back of the counter where this large man spoke to me.

"Put the pager in the basket. Here is your food."

Confused, I looked at him blankly as I tried to hand him the pager. I suppose he noticed my confusion and dismay as he repeated himself slowly this time. "Put the pager in the basket..." I complied. "Here is your food." I accepted the bag and uttered a meek "Thank you..."

Here's a thought. There should be an application for phones that has a schematic layout of all restaurants. They'd tell you important things, so you'd know where everything is and wouldn't feel like a total jackass. For instance, you'd know that the bathrooms are right over there on the left, and that you get your food from the big dude with the basket behind the counter. Really, there should be an app for that.

Anyway, as I left the store feeling like a jackass, these two young ladies were walking up. I thought to myself, "There's no hope to regain my composure with those folks in there, however if I manage to hold the door for these lovely ladies, at least someone in there will think 'Hey, that ugly man in mix-matched clothes wasn't a jackass. He held the door for us.'"

As I walked to the car, I vowed to myself... "Next time... Hot Pockets."

Introduction!

Hello.

 This is some good bread, isn't it? Actually, this blog has nothing to do about bread. I apologize if I've misdirected all you bread aficionados. This blog will actually have everything to do with the humor in my life. While there may be bread involved, I promise you I will not hurt it in the making of any blog post. Actually, I can't promise that as I'm currently chomping down on some bread right now. Enough about bread though, what about this blog?

While I'm not the happiest and funniest person in the world, I do firmly believe that the key to being happy in life is to find the funny in everything. If I can laugh over some bad luck or an embarrassing situation, then I tend to feel better about it. If I can make you laugh too, then I'm spreading the joy of my own misfortune! Er... I think the term I'm looking for is Schadenfreude. That's a German word that roughly means "pleasure derived from the misfortune of others". Let's face it - that's the reason you're reading this blog, right?!

So, if this blog is about Schadenfreude, then why is it called "Good Bread"? Simple! It's an inside joke. You see, I don't fully recall the conversation, or even the night, but my family and I were enjoying dinner one night. We had bread on the table, and I recall that an odd topic came up. Maybe it wasn't a topic. Something happened, and to chance topics into something happier I picked up a piece of bread and bit into it while saying "Good Bread". That is the essence of this blog: To distract from the pain and misery of life, and if we can laugh at it too, then awesome!

So, that's all for now. I have a post I'm working on about my incident at a "high class" eatery... speaking of bread...