JUST HUMOR, JUST WRITING, JUST MICHAEL

After years of putting it off while pretending to be financially responsible, I accidentally did what millions of my ancestors had done before me: I got an Apple Watch. Before you pass judgment, please know that I put years of thought into this purchase. I considered the pros and cons. I called my momma and my shrink to get their feedback. Once my attorney and my barber gave me their OK, I did what I had to do.

You know how you have one of those days when you’re in a sharing mood, but you probably should have phoned a friend for guidance before posting an allegedly controversial picture on the interweb? Well, I had one of those days recently. There I was, doing my civic duty and simply trying to uplift the nation when, instead, I found myself in the middle of a sausage controversy.

For those of you who haven’t heard my faint cries for help from afar over the past few months, I recently moved. Now, I’ve never been one to be overly dramatic, but I’m here to tell you I’m never moving again. Even if World War 22, The Battle of Walmart vs Target, broke out right here in my apartment complex, I would throw on a wig and pretend I’m Jennifer Hudson in Dreamgirls and sing from my balcony, “And I am telling you, I’m not going.”

These past few weeks of social distancing have really gotten me to look at things in my apartment differently. I’ve found the desire to do stuff I’ve never considered before. After living here for five years, I found myself in the kitchen one evening learning that the square thingy my Keurig sits on has been a stove all this time. Who knew? I thought my apartment had a stove. I’d just never known where it was located.

Somehow, I recently found myself the target of some online criticism and ridicule from friends, family, and countrymen. This isn’t exactly out of the norm for me. After all, I do have a day job, so there isn’t much I haven’t heard or been called. As a matter of fact, there was that one day where I was fired before 9 AM because I used staples instead of paper clips on a progress report. I hadn’t even turned on my laptop or gotten my coffee yet that day.

If you know anything about me, then you know I am always completely reasonable and rational. I’m so even-tempered that I was voted “most level-headed” when I graduated from kindergarten. While other kids were playing with blocks or other silly things, I was doing advanced toddler yoga over by the swings. Yes, if anything, I am well-balanced … kind of like a set of new tires.

I recently got the bright idea to try the Master Cleanse. I’m not exactly sure why I made this decision, but maybe it was because my laptop camera got tired of trying to fit my whole face into the frame during facial recognition. It began to “suggest” all types of advertisements for various diets. At one point, no matter which sleeping cat video I tried to watch, YouTube showed me videos about how I could lose 15 pounds from my neck overnight. I took the hint.

You may know this about me already, but sometimes I find myself in awkward situations. I’m not sure why this happens. Perhaps it’s because of my upbringing. Maybe Mercury is in a retro arcade. Perhaps it’s because of my zodiac sign, but even that’s awkward because my mother could not decide which sign was best, so I was born on the Libra-Scorpio cusp. For the rest of my life I’ll be arguing with grandmas and policemen about whether I’m really a Libra or a Scorpio.

Every holiday season I somehow find myself running up and down the aisles of various retail stores looking to buy a variety of gifts. Regardless of past experience, I consistently use bad judgment and sign up for whatever Secret Santa or White Elephant Gift Exchange that I stumble across.

Like most people, every Black Friday I’m forced to make major life decisions. I scrounge through the sales ads and ponder whether I should pay my rent or throw caution to the wind and get a Nintendo Switch and the new Apple Watch I’ve always wanted. Some may argue that these items aren’t necessities, but to those people, I respectfully say, mind your business, grandmas!

A wise person once said, “Never have drinks with coworkers.” Because I have problems with authority, I usually don’t listen to wise people. Instead, I drink with as many coworkers as possible. Sometimes we take our first round of shots as early as 8 AM to start our day on the right note. That noted, it wasn’t surprising that I found myself bar-hopping after work on a Friday evening as if I were still in my teens.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am not one to harp on things. As a matter of fact, I barely bring things up. I don’t even mention them. I’m better than that. Besides, the assortment of medications my team of shrinks provides me definitely helps with quieting my authentic self and allowing the truly fake me to present himself…or herself…or itself. Hey, we like all the pronouns here. We also like all the medications.

Despite all the begging, pleading, and letters I wrote to Santa, my birthday has somehow managed to come around again this year. As many of you and AARP know, this will be a major one for me. I won’t bore you with the exact number, but let’s just say you’d need several spreadsheets to do the math. Survey says my glass is half empty and leaking profusely.

As you all know, lately I’ve been searching for all types of ways to relieve stress. Throughout the process, I’ve gotten a ton of recommendations from family and friends. Some of them were totally doable. Some of them made me blush. And some of them were illegal in at least 42 states and Guam. I know because I did my research. I cannot go to jail again this year—even if my Grandma is already there.

So, I was minding my own business the other day, wondering how I could solve world peace while also appearing on the next season of “The Bachelor” when it hit me: I had 99 problems and stress was one. Right then and there, I started rubbing my neck with Ben Gay and Robitussin. Why Robitussin, you ask? My momma said it works for everything. You all may not know this, but I lost an elbow back in the day. Thanks to Robitussin, it grew back.

The day I was born, I looked over at my mama and said, “One day I want to go viral on Twitter. I don’t know how it’s going to happen or when, but I promise to eventually use Twitter to make you proud.” Perhaps the conversation didn’t exactly go that way. After all, I was a baby who was probably drunk at the time, and Twitter wasn’t even a thing in 1920. Maybe my memory isn’t serving me correctly.

The other day, I was minding my own business when I looked into the mirror and saw something very disturbing. I almost screamed. My eyebrows had grown so bushy that they looked like “The Lion King” reboot could have been filmed there. If you listened closely enough, you could hear lions and tigers singing “Circle of Life.” No kidding. I wouldn’t lie to you unless it was about my weight or my credit score.

So, I know that many of you consider me to be fairly knowledgeable in all things. Some of you have even called me a leader. Some people have claimed that they use my blog as their sole source for information. While I don’t consider myself the equivalent of CNN, I can say that I’m doing kind of, sort of, partially a little OK at this whole adulting thing. My mommy doesn’t exactly see it that way, but I believe she is secretly paid to disagree with me.

Four score and fifty-three years ago, I decided to pursue a Master of Business Administration (MBA). The main reason I made this decision was because I wanted to add more capital letters to my name. My parents only gave me four, so I didn’t think I had enough. People have asked why I didn’t choose to pursue a Ph.D. instead. First of all, stop being so judgmental. Secondly, Ph.D. only has two capital letters whereas MBA has three. Clearly, MBA is a better choice.

The other day I lost an argument to my carpet. You should have been there. It got pretty heated. At one point my sofa and my love seat had to hold me back. Well, if I’m completely honest, it wasn’t really an argument because it was very one-sided. I was actually being lectured. Apparently, my carpet has needs that I haven’t been meeting lately, so it decided to no longer just lie there and take it. It was very disturbing.

So, allegedly, honesty is the best policy. Actually, someone probably made that up just to make people feel bad about shopping on Amazon at 3 o'clock in the morning and then telling your significant other you have no idea why packages keep being delivered at your front door. For me, I always blame it on my fish. They’ve gotten very active online since I brought them iPads. One of my fish even has more Instagram followers than I do.

The other week, I was challenged by my manager to join her in doing the SlimFast diet. Now, any reasonable person probably would have revolted for several reasons. However, because I am neither reasonable nor am I a person, I agreed to join her on the weight loss journey. I mean, what’s the worst that could happen?

The other day, I was minding my own business in the middle of Target. As usual, I was only there to pick up one or two items, but I ended up with a cart full of stuff. It’s really not my fault though. Once you find out that BiC has a line of gel pens in assorted colors, you do what you have to do. At that point, they’re a necessity. Once you know better, you do better.

So, I was minding my own business at a comedy club the other day. No, I was not performing. Although I appreciate your faith in me, I’m just not at that level yet. Give me about 10 more years of performing for my fish in the comfort of my own dining room and then maybe I’ll be ready.

When I was just a little boy, you know, back in 1858, I had big dreams of what I would become when I grew up. I don’t remember ever wanting to be a teacher, or a doctor, or a bus driver. Instead, I wanted to be famous. I didn’t know how I would become famous, exactly, but I knew it would involve me being either a rapper, an actor, a singer, a dancer or a stripper.

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