When I Bling

It all started on a cold Saturday afternoon.

My friend, Christina, was over and was getting picked up for a date later on. The guy was a total creeper...sideways baseball hat, gold teeth, said "fidy" instead of "fifty." OK well definitely the baseball cap.

So Christina doesn't want the rapper guy to know where she lives, so she tells him my address. He comes to pick her up, she says that I was just visiting her, me and Gold Tooth exchange head bumps, and they depart. Foolproof, one would think - pretending that this was her house.

Then I get a text from her later that evening, "oh no - would about when he drops me off?"

Christina convinces Baggy Pants to drop her off on the street, and she walks in to my apartment late Saturday night and fills me in on her night. We have a good laugh, reminiscing how funny it was that Bling Boy didn't notice our huge family portrait.

Monday rolls around, and everyone but my roommate is gone. Then guess who decides to surprise Christina by showing up at her house?

So my buddy is sitting on our couch, and in Crip Walks the creeper, asking where Christina is? My friend has no idea what is going on, and tells him that this is a guys house. The poor Low Rider tries to play it off, like he knew it was a dude's place all along. Then he walks home alone, in the snow, pulling his pants up every few feet.

Moral of the story: If I ever go visit a girl's home and it turns out to belong to guys, I'll turn my hat sideways and go join a gang.


Our family portrait, it's 2x3 feet in our living room. Pretty obvious to any visitor, one would think.

Cake Chef

I typically say that I'm a decent cook, and I even used to teach a kid's cooking class.

I decided to bake a cake with my twin brother, so we got out all of the ingredients, mixed them together, and put the pan in the oven. After 20 minutes we checked on the cake to take it out, but it still wasn't ready.

30 minutes, and still not done.
45 minutes, and not even rising.
1 hour, I decided to consult with someone else.

I took the box to my mother, and told her that I followed all of the instructions perfectly. She looked it over, and asked if that was the correct box. I said of course it it was! My own mother questioning my ability to put the correct cake mix in! I went on to explain how everything was measured, and even threw in some food pyramid vocabulary to further justify my cooking knowledge and ability. Perplexed, she then she asked why the box was unopened?

I had forgotten to put the cake mix in.

Essentially I was baking eggs, milk, and canola oil in a well-greased pan. Maybe if you're lucky you'll get one of my specialty cakes for your next birthday.


Actual picture from later that night, although I have since switched ethnicity

Giggle

I was walking out of the library today, through the doors facing the mountains, just walking alongside this girl and there was a pair of people in front of us. They opened the first set of doors for themselves and we followed close behind. Then we got to the second set.

The door that was opened for me closed slowly and quite gracefully, and left plenty of time for me to continue walking. My counterpart, on the other hand, her door's hinges must have been greased recently, because it had a mousetrap-like spring back and totally nailed her. I can't think of something more embarrassing than having a door slammed on you. Actually I can...

Here is a list of things that have made me laugh recently:
-Running with a backpack
-Throwing something left-handed
-The word "giggle" in general
-The cactus' in the testing center
-Wii hula hooping
-Describing the "No Shhh" zone to a non-BYU person
-Velco on bowling shoes - now you can look like a decrepit old person
-Slipping on the ice and trying to look like nothing happened
-Mr. Bean
-Cat posters

Electromagnetism

I am electromagnetic. No, seriously I shock everything...I now live a life of fear.

It all started my freshmen year at BYU - I went a week where I emitted static electricity. My watch stopped working, my car radio kept bugging out, and even my cell phone stopped working. Then it all went away, and I thought my life would be carefree.

When I moved into my townhouse this year, I noticed that my clothes were full of static. Then it got worse, much worse.

The following are things that I have shocked in the past week:
-the dishwasher
-plastic light switches
-door handles (I feel like the bad guy in Home Alone, tapping the doorhandle before I grab it)
-hangers
-soccer ball (the shock might have also been a sign from above not to touch the ball on Sunday)
-sobe bottle
-mounted piranha ontop of fireplace

Before I touch something metallic now, I try and "rub off" my static electricity on other things. I was walking into one of my classes, and was thus engaged in releasing my energy into the wall and realized that everyone in the hall was looking at me. I guess it is peculiar to see someone nervously tapping the wall, then to stop dead in front of the door and stare it down. Testing my hand getting closer to the handle, I can feel the build-up of electricity. I go for it, and then lightening shoots out of my hand and connects with the metallic ball of pain that is the doorknob.

What a world of fear we live in. I hope the X-Men contact me soon.

The Parrot

I don't have a lot of luck pet-sitting.

My neighbors asked me if I could watch their dog and parrot for a week while they were on vacation. I visited twice and day and took really good care of them. Talking to the bird, playing with the dog...you couldn't get a better house-sitter. The day before they got back I organized their mail into a nice little pile and made sure the pets were well-set for their return.

The next day I got a call from them.

"So how long has the parrot been dead?" they asked.

I was shocked, I had just had a great talk with the bird the night before. I explained that it must have died during the night, and they were really nice and understanding. Even though I refused to get paid, they wrote me a generous check.

I kept on forgetting to cash the check because I was pretty busy. I was talking with them about a month after the bird died, and they started talking about how considerate it was that I didn't cash the check.

I had just cashed it that morning.

I might submit a shorter version to fml. But pretty much, if you ever need a house-sitter be sure to let me know!

The Easter Bunny

What is the singular scariest thing you can imagine?

If you thought of the Easter Bunny, then you are correct.

When I was little, I understood the following about the aforementioned rabbit:
1. He came at night
2. He must be huge, as to hide the eggs in such high places
3. He produced eggs spontaneously, both plastic and somehow the ones I had painted
4. He had free access to my house, backyard, and secret hiding places

Needless to say, Easter's eve was always one of terror. I would lay awake in my bed, imagining this 10-foot rabbit hopping around my living room, he had these red eyes that could see in the dark. "He must eat his carrots," I would think.

Really think about this concept here - if the description of this bunny doesn't match what you were taught, and if you would be scared of anything else like that lurking around your house, then you're with me. I'm not saying we should abolish the Easter Bunny, but rather change what we teach children about him. Or maybe abolish.

Similarly, I don't think rabbits should be used in children's education. Think of the Teletubbies, those rabbits are huge! If one of those Flemmish rabbits hopped in front of your car, you probably would lose.

Blood

(This post will have no picture...I went to google search "blood" and almost fainted).

Those of you who know me pretty well are aware of my unwavering fear of blood. And necks. And wrists for that matter. All are vital for your health and well-being, and should therefore be left alone.

When working for Lands' End over the summer, I was pushing a giant cart with about 1,000 wooden hangers. I was just bouncing away, and then I totally ran the over-filled rack into a lip in the carpet. To watch a thousand hangers fly in every direction was quite a sight, but probably not as interesting as watching me swan-dive over it and hear all of those hangers explode as their wooden frames hit together.

The entire three floors of the store seemed to watch as I got up. My co-workers came over, laughing, and helped to start picking up the hangers. One of them pointed out that my finger was bleeding...a small cut by my fingernail. Horrified I looked at my finger, as they told me where I could go to get a band-aid if I wanted one.

I tried to play it cool, walking over to the first aid room while staring at my hand. Two nice ladies were there to help me, and I kept on looking at my little cut thinking, "man, that blood should really be inside of my hand."

The next thing I knew I was waking up from having fainted. The two women were confused and alarmed, yelling to call an ambulance. Waking up, I told them not to worry about it...that I fainted every time I saw blood. I stayed in the office for a couple of minutes and then went back to work.

The cut probably didn't even need a band-aid.

Blood is best inside the body. I don't know what all the hype is about the BODIES exhibit, telling accident stories, or wearing red for that matter. Let's just let it be.

What Freshmen, Monsters, and Meteors have in Common

On my first day of class I realized there had been a mistake.

The teacher was explaining how the testing center works, what an iClicker is, and that all of the guys should stay clean-shaven. He then asked how many students in the class were freshmen, to which almost all of the enthusiastic arms in the class shot up. I knew I had forgotten something my freshmen year, and this class was it.

Have you ever been in a class with someone doing sign language? It's pretty distracting.
Now have you ever sat next to a Periodic Table the size of a small house? You can't take your eyes off of it.

Right next to me every day is this amazing Periodic Table with all of the elements, and I feel almost like a bug looking into a light. It encapsulates you. I sit there trying to guess what Thorium and Einstenium is. Maybe I've seen it before. Maybe it's in the gum I'm chewing.

One would think that after three months analyzing this monster that I would have conquered it and since gotten bored, moved on, or become so completely absorbed that I look forward to the stare down. Definitely the latter.

Aside from being surrounded by freshmen writing letters to missionaries and sitting beside a looming, fact-filled distraction there has been one benefit of taking the class: meteors.

I spent Monday night up the canyon watching the meteor shower, laying on the snow-covered ground with blankets and coats and leaving behind any idea of personal space. Tuesday night I saw the biggest meteor I had ever seen light up the sky like day. And finally Physical Science has a purpose!

I was told this past week that I could have taken Astronomy instead. MLIA.

Anyways, this video shows the meteor seen on Tuesday.

Tomatoes

When I came to a realization that Mike had a more recent blog post than me, I decided that it was time to take some action.

So I was buying groceries on Saturday, and while I'm sitting there in front of the tomatoes half pretending to look well-versed in tomato-choosing and half resisting the urge to juggle them (they're the perfect size and were screaming my name), a girl walks up behind me.

"I'm sorry, can I squeeze in here?" she said, indicating that she too wanted to look at the tomatoes, and for all I know she wanted to juggle them too.

AND BOOM!

It hit me. Why in the world do we apologize for such ordinary things? She was so sincere in her asking that you would have thought I was guarding a roomful of sleeping babies, and she had turned on the fire alarm. I think there could be a much more natural way for us to inconvenience people without diminishing the sincerity of an apology.

"It's okay," I said. "That's like saying you're sorry for hitting me in bumper cars."

She laughed and we started talking, and she taught me the secret to choosing a good tomato is by its smell.

So pretty much, if you want a good tomato, smell it first.

Tribute to William Hung

Do you remember William Hung, the American Idol star? Well if your like most people then you probably don't, whereas I still proudly wear my "William Hung Fan Club: No Professional Training Required" t-shirt.

If you're unfamiliar with Hung, he became famous after horribly singing "She Bangs" by Ricky Martin in the American Idol try-outs. He had gotten his courage up after winning a talent competition in his dorm at Berkeley. So after singing the song, the judges were laughing at him and here's the dialogue that followed:

Simon: "You can't sing, you can't dance, so what do you want me to say?"
Hung: "Um, I already gave my best, and I have no regrets at all. You know, I have no professional training of singing and dancing." Simon: "No? Well this is the surprise of the century."

What a stud! Consequently he has put out three CDs (to which I have bought every one on the first day). He's been on tons of talk shows, competed in Celebrity Deathmatch, been in commercials had starred in two movies, and is still performing today. The funny part is that he's been taking voice lessons and actually getting pretty good. If this story isn't motivation enough to inspire you, hopefully these pictures of William Hung are...

The Alleger Factor

So while teaching Martha how to play tennis, I was telling her how to keep score and started wondering why it was so complicated. I want to share some interesting things I have learned in the past few days:

• Tennis scoring. Tennis was invented by the French aristocracy, and they invented an unusual scoring to “veil” the score from peasants (for example, deuce, love, add, etc). They could hide the score of the game even though the peasant may be watching.

• Tying the knot. Comes from when beds didn’t have springs, but rather cut pieces of ropes that you would tie to each end of the bedframe. When a couple got married, they would have to assemble their bed. Similarly the phrase sleep tight came from the process of tightening the cords so they wouldn’t sag, and consequently so the bed bugs couldn’t as easily get to them.

• McDonalds. There has never been a war between two countries with operating McDonalds in them. Consequently Arby’s is the leading cause of warfare today.

"Subway freeze"

So when I was in line for Subway, I had pre-decided what I wanted and then turned my mind off while I waited. Then it finally comes to my turn and I order what I want - the meatball sandwich.

"Oh I'm sorry, we're out of meatballs. Can I get you something else?"

AND FREEZE.

Your mind was set. Only meatball sounds good. You don't even know the other options. Everyone is waiting. You can barely read the menu because you're still in aftershock from them not having what you want.

This common symptom I would like to coin as the "Subway freeze." This happens in more places than just Subway. When you're at a girl's door dropping her off, when you're in a job interview, when you jump during a scary movie and need to think up an excuse, or when someone drops something and you have to quickly decide how to tell them. Subway freeze.

Roast Recovery

"A roast, in North American English, is an event in which an individual is subject to publicly bearing comedic insults, praise, outlandish true and untrue stories and heartwarming tributes. The implication being that the roastee is able to take the jokes in good faith and not as serious criticism or insult, and therefore show their good nature. It is seen as a great honor to be roasted, as the individual is surrounded by friends, fans, and well-wishers, who can receive some of the same treatment as well during the course of the evening. The party and presentation itself are both referred to as a roast. The host of the event is called the roastmaster. Anyone who is honored in such a way is said to have been 'roasted.'"

What an honor to be a chosen roastee! Perhaps...

Some of the highlights of the "Jason Alleger Roast 2009" included:
-Baby Gap, to which I still don't have a comeback for...
-Hoover Dam story. Once you've seen it and walked most of the way across, there's no need to go the rest of the way!
-My sense of direction. One story told about me getting directions to go around the corner.
-Torch juggling incident, told from an eye-witness. It was followed by an embellished story of me shaving my legs afterwards, only partially true.
-Ice Skating. Not a natural ability of mine.
-Snuggies. Yes, I take full credit.
-Pick up line: "If you were a pirate, would you have a parrot on this shoulder, or this shoulder?" Never actually used it, although it seems more appealing every time I hear it.
-Turning on lights. Is this really a bad thing? Life is more enjoyable with light, you get more things done, etc. Living like a caveman...not my style.

My stomach hurt the entire night, both from laughing so hard and from churning every time someone would get up to tell a story. I enjoyed the formality of the event, and that every 'roast' ended with "Boom, roasted" as if to emphasize their point and make sure the knife was fully penetrated in. This night was a tribute to all that is good in life. As Christy put it, "every moment with Jason is a roast anyway," so I'll keep on living the dream.

In an effort to "roast" some of the attendees, I hope this picture I stole from Beaz' blog will suffice:

Arby's...really?

"I'm so hungry I could eat at Arby's!" -Homer Simpson

"Lisa, people do lots of crazy things in commercials...like eat Arby's." -Marge Simpson

"If I can keep down Arby's, I can keep down you." -Homer Simpson

What do all of these celebrities have in common? Yes, they all feel the same way towards Arby's. Usually I don't blindly follow the media, but in this case I think they have a good point.

Have you ever woken up in the morning and thought, "boy, I feel like eating Arby's!"
Do you eat at Arby's when you're not on a roadtrip?
Do you even know what the Arby's mascot is?

If you answered 'no' to these questions, then hopefully you realize that this restaurant is not for you. You may have also realized that their meat on their sandwiches comes from a liquid gel and that they get one of the worst cleanliness reviews of all fast food restaurants.

For some reason my roommates love Arby's. To be honest I think they took this side because of my strong preference against it. While coming back from grocery shopping we take a vote on where we want to eat, and to be funny they teamed up against me and choose Arby's.

Upon arriving, the restaurant was barren-empty and the workers all looked ready to kill themselves. We all ordered (myself very reluctantly) and I think it's safe to say that we all had an Arby's-sick feeling during and afterwards eating. I guess the real kicker was that when we got home and were setting up our router, untold to me they named our wireless connection name "We love Arby's." Now whenever I meet someone from the area and I tell them I live in Aretta Gardens 16 they say, "oh, so you love Arby's?" fml

With such good promotions as this, how could you resist the Arby's craving?


If you want to see something really funny, when I googled "arby's" for the picture, I came across this wikipedia article.

How a Speedo Changed my Life

Speedos are more uncomfortable than they look.

In our society, if one were to wear a Speedo to a public place, they would receive some interesting stares. On the contrary, in France someone would be kicked out of the public pool for not adorning one.

While living in France over a summer, I went to a pool with some friends and I showed up in my typical knee-length swimsuit. The lady at the front desk stopped me, saying that it was interdit (forbidden) to wear a suit similar to what I was wearing. She rudely pointed at a sign over her shoulder.

On this sign were two little boys. On the left side was a little frowning child sporting a similar shorts-style suit as mine with a giant "X" mark through it. On the right side was an exuberantly happy child with his hands on his waist, proudly wearing his speedo. At this moment I came to a realization that I would be faced with the decision to leave my comfort zone completely.

I asked one of my friends if he had a spare suit I could borrow, to which he reached deep into his bag and pulled out a small, blue speedo. Just my luck.

As I changed into my borrowed speedo, a lot of thoughts crossed through my mind. How does one walk while wearing a speedo? Sit? Bend over? Then I realized that the real reason I was there that day was not to wear a speedo, but to swim. The speedo was a means to which I would accomplish this goal, and with that I proudly marched out of the locker room in my tight-fitting suit.

As I peered over the edge of the pool, I realized that I would be joining the French ranks as one of their own. A smile itched its way over my face as I realized what I was about to do. What a story! What an adventure! What overcame me at the moment must have been a sight to see. I was suddenly an Olympic diver preparing for the dive of a lifetime. My mother would be proud of me, I thought as I raised my arms to jump headfirst into the pool. How good I must look in this Speedo! My shoulders arced back as if to compliment my otherwise perfect form. With confidence as my wings, I gracefully dove into the frigid water. The landing was not as elegant as one would have hoped, and the Speedo had its way of telling you.

Regardless I swam around and was having a great time with my friends in the pool. Once we had gotten our fill with water activities, my friends decided to embark on a new adventure - the waterslide.

It stood five stories above the surrounding area and I could see little French people in the distance hurtling down the beast, screaming the entire way. I was reluctant but my friends were persistent. I climbed the five stories and anxiously looked down the snaking slide. Without thinking twice I jumped in.

Turns out that French waterslides are a bit different than other waterslides. This one had clearly been assembled piece-by-piece, which meant that every five feet or so there was a significant bump. In a regular suit or with other protective padding this would be fine, but in a speedo you are infinitely more exposed. It is a lot like being thrown down a rocky hill - in your underwear. Now I understood why everyone was screaming.

Arriving at the bottom of the slide, a bit sore and without breath, I vowed never to go down a French waterslide again. The rest of the day was quite enjoyable, and I even had a picnic lunch outside of the pool while still in my Speedo. It was a great cultural experience and I learned how to adapt in new situations.

As I walked past the front desk I looked again at the sign of the child proudly wearing his speedo, and this time I realized why the little boy was smiling.

Human Torch

One cold night at the end of my freshman year at BYU, my friends and I decided to go up into Provo Canyon for a torch juggling show. I grabbed my torches, gasoline, and a bucket for water.

Upon arriving there was snow on the ground and everyone was anxious for the show. My friend and I lit up our torches and began to juggle. After a few minutes of juggling the flame typically dies down so you blow out the rest of the flame and refuel the torch.

You would think that after 19 years of blowing out birthday candles I would have been able to blow out a simple torch. Unfortunately the flame didn't go out all the way, and blindly I continued the process of refueling the torch. Dipping a lit torch into a bucket of gasoline is a lot like the aftereffect of two Sumo wrestlers slamming into each other - both explode outwards.

Needless to say, I was an instant human torch. Now, have you ever been on fire before?
It's an interesting sensation.

Everything goes slow motion, and everyone is screaming and you have no idea why. You look around and everything is on fire, and all you can think about is "boy it's hot." All of the stop-drop-roll training that you learn in Elementary school isn't applicable because you can't believe that you're actually on fire.

Luckily one of my friends there was crazier than I was, and he ran and tackled me into the snow. We rolled for about ten feet until I was extinguished. Then after about a minute of just lying on the ground trying to figure out what had happened, one of my other friends comes running over with a bucket of water and throws it on us. Completely unnecessary, and I guess no one taught him what water does to a gas fire. So I was burned, wet, and now without any body hair.

I ended up being ok, and smelt like burnt hair for the next few days. Since my legs were hairless, a few of my friends shaved their legs in honor.

I guess the best part about this story was its infamy. The story spread across the BYU campus, and even this past year (3 years later) I had someone tell me about the guy who caught himself on fire in the canyon while trying to torch juggle. I just smiled and nodded my head, my friend completely oblivious that they were talking to the legend.

Actual picture from the night:

Even this blog posting could be a story...

I'm taking the leap into the blogging world!

All who know me know that I have quite a few stories. This blog will try to capture these classic moments so that you, the reader, can enjoy them for more than when you're around me.

On an unrelated note, please enjoy this picture of "The Blob" from one of my favorite movies Heavyweights. After looking up the picture, I thought it ironic that the words blob/blog are so similar. Foreshadowing?