It has been a casual 118 days since updates on the Texas Bro-cation came to an abrupt and tragic end. Having hooked the reader with tales of Landon’s budding Texan vanity coupled with his insatiable hunger for gastrointestinal abuse, I set this humble audience of 12 (and counting!) up on a painful cliffhanger. Truly, his masochistic dietary choices, caffeine addiction, and lack of self-awareness were set up for a Day 3 collision course, a reckoning of Bold Texas BBQ and foppish floral attire.

Would Landon be bested by the brisket? Would he make a margarita-induced scene along the thoroughfares of Congress Avenue? Would he forever vanish into the Texan meadows, where the wildflowers in the earth could match the flowers on his bro-tank?

But I failed to deliver.

Nor will I here. Suffice it to say, that in the passage of time it does not behoove us to dwell obsessively over the remnants of a forgotten past. Nor does it serve our best interest to wonder at what might have been, at a decision left unmade, at a path left untrodden. No – it is best for us to decide each day to move forward towards the future, to learn from the past what we may while striving towards a better tomorrow.

So with that cop-out out of the way, let’s channel my advice and look ahead to more topical subjects: To a new member of Landon’s family.

It has recently come to my attention that in Landon’s desperate attempts to mitigate the effects of human companionship, he has sought to replace me with a dog: an irascible little hell-spawn named Velvet.

And yes: you are likely having the same thought as I am: “Landon can barely take of his own beard, much less another living creature. What is he thinking? If the poorly angled lines of his facial hair are any indicator, this dog doesn’t stand a chance at a healthy, structured life.”

But alas, my concerns have fallen on deaf ears. His attempts to replace me with a dog (understandable, yet wildly hurtful) appear to be coming to fruition. While I will do my best to befriend this Cerberus, this Cujo, this harbinger of Armageddon, this may mark an inflection point in the tale of this friendship.

But for now, all we can do is wait. More to come! (Sometime within the next quarter. But like, not within this quarter. Sometime before the end of the next one. So. Technically December.)

 

 

 

Day two of the Bro-cation.

The antacids, though very likely effective in their own right, find themselves negated by several pots of coffee, gas station tacos, and 3 lbs of BBQ.

He sits pensively along the far wall of a local coffee shop, eyes staring wistfully out the window, his floral tank top and finely trimmed beard radiating his vanity, while casting doubt on his (admittedly difficult to find) masculinity.

Although I’ve attempted to dissuade him (both from his foppish attire and his, for lack of a better word, “Tubbish” eating habits), I’ve been met with an iron will that one wouldn’t expect to find nascent under a field of tank top flowers.

As such, a day of Whattaburger, margaritas, and blue pastel shorts awaits me and the fine people of Austin, Texas.

In the meantime, the antacids wrapper lies empty by the sink, the coffee pot brims with freshly brewed coffee, the hour of reckoning draws nigh. Soon day 2 will come to a close, and day 3 will rise, rife with unlearned lessons and the remaining sentiment of the prior days mistakes.

Stay tuned!

 

 

 

Day one of the Bro-cation.

I find myself stranded in an Air BnB in the heart of Austin, Texas, with no way to contact the outside world other than a moderately strong WiFi single, perfect cell phone connectivity, and an aggressive mobile data package.

There’s a dirty, abandoned pool adjacent to our unit; a single child playing alone in the labyrinthine alleyways of this rundown condominium complex; a sad, bearded man-child sitting on the couch across from me – complaining of stomach pains and an ironic lack of acknowledgement.

As I sit here chronicling my thoughts, he stands over the sink – popping antacid pills and listening to Kendrick Lamar; a bro-tank hangs from his lank (yet oddly, amorphous) frame, and a pair of sunglasses hangs obnoxiously from his neck. Such intense bodily discomfort reminds me of bro-cations past, particularly an unfortunate trip to Florida resulting in intense skin “purpling” and acute blistering, a function of an irrational faith in my skin tone, and the unrelenting wrath of the Florida sun.

His innate self-destructive qualities (and questionable understanding of the human body brought about by a Clear Lake, Wisconsin education) have led him to consuming copious amounts of coffee this morning to offset his stomach pains. Up next is BBQ and breakfast tacos.

I will keep you posted.

Disclaimer: I know there are technically more than 12 days remaining until Christmas from the time of this blog post. However, given my clearly established inability to maintain this blog with any sort of real consistency, and the unlikelihood that Landon is able to manage doing something interesting for 12 straight days, I’ve decided to get a head start. Enjoy.

In advance of this post, I would like to apologize for the dearth of Landon-related blog activity these last 4 months. It’s not that Landon hasn’t done anything interesting, nauseating, humiliating, or otherwise blog-inducing during this time. In fact, highlights of the last few months have included:

• “The Globe Incident” – A candid tale of overconsumption, offensive (yet flattering) Halloween costumes, and a poor young woman caught in-between
• “Meeting the Parents” – An important (and long overdue) milestone in any great relationship
• “I’ll Have the Mole” – A story of mild speech impediment, inadvertent cultural insensitivity, and $5 chicken
• “Project Tracker Pandemonium” – A comprehensive evaluation of corporate project tracking capabilities, best practices in technological risk management, and the beginning of a self-destructive relationship with Taco Bell

All of these events will be subject to future blog posts in a series I’m titling: The Lost Levels – A Series of Landon-Related Events That Happened Far Enough in the Past that Fewer People Will Call me Out for Taking Creative Liberties.

Anyway. Moving on to more topical events.

Last night was the company Holiday Party, and an affirmation of a troubling trend I’ve been noticing for the past few months – namely, Landon associating with other people and friend groups.

No, this isn’t a critique on that truck-owning friendship poacher, Stephen (the subject and/or focus of future blog posts and potential restraining orders). It’s a critique of fellow company partners and their insensitivity in assuming that I have the emotional stability and mental fortitude to share my friends with others.

Some of the most egregious acts of the evening included:

• Ditching us within 10 minutes of entry to say hi to coworkers from a former team
• Leaving me to get food without notice or forewarning
• Making eye-contact with the bartender
• Wearing a checkered grey jacket, overlaying a pink shirt (while woefully neglecting to complete the ensemble with a bolo tie)

This was later followed up with a brief bar crawl, in which he ran at a safe distance ahead of me while walking between destinations, and strategically yet hurtfully managed to keep various pillars, tables, and traffic-related obstacles between us.

I barely even agreed to drive him home after.

 

 

 

 

Before Landon was rudely dismissing the social value of a mutual friend’s relative, he was in the midst of an even greater failure; a mightier testament to his lack of conscientiousness and regard towards his fellows than any party faux pas could have encapsulated – he was late for picking me up for said party.

To be exact, 32 minutes late.

Now. I am fully cognizant of and respectful towards those instances in which one cannot control their calendar; in which forces beyond one’s control diverts one from their intended path, and forces them to inconvenience those around them; in which, despite the uncontrollable delay in which they find themselves, they are likely communicating their apologies and regrets all the while to alleviate ill will on the part of those expecting their imminent arrival.

Then there’s Landon. Who, as he pulled up in a black Chevy Impala better suited for drug deals than carpooling (sincerely, this thing has absurdly tinted windows and a giant, bright red interior light), expressed no regret. Who communicated nothing about his late arrival. Who, if he was wearing sunglasses at the time, would have likely taken them off slowly and spit casually in the direction of my feet.

Landon. I understand your masculine pride prohibits you from apologizing. Either way, I expected better. Although at this point, I’m not sure why I do.

This evening, Landon, myself and our aforementioned friend Danielle (Hereafter referred to as “Blonde” Danielle or “Dani B”) went to the celebration of our friend’s daughter’s first birthday.

Yes, our other friend Danielle (Hereafter referred to as Sassy Danielle or “Sassy D”) was throwing a lavish gala, an extravagant fete, an unrivaled party to recognize her daughter Cassidy’s first year on this planet. A time set aside to celebrate the familial and amicable ties that hold our fragile bond of society together, and enable us to find love and meaning in an otherwise cold, lonely, and distant world.

From stage right enters Landon.

Going into the evening, I will not pretend as though I would have likened Landon’s social skills to anything better than a toddler with ADHD or a sexually frustrated gorilla. But, with Dani B running late and Sassy D otherwise occupied, he attempted to outdo himself.

Namely, we were having a lovely conversation with another guest (as we courageously hid from Sassy D’s family in the kitchen). During said conversation, another friend, Nick, had just arrived and walked into the kitchen. As this happened, Landon abruptly cut off conversation with this other guest, looked up at the new arrival, and declared loudly to the room at large in an offensive yet sonorous voice “Thank God”. Shockingly, this upset the guest.

I will not assume that Landon meant this to be as rude as that sounded. Nor will I assume that he is an inherently mean spirited or callously hurtful individual. I WILL, however, continue to liken his social grace to that of a depraved chimpanzee.

Once more, do better.

 

 

Tonight, our Blonde, chocolate-crazed, dog-obsessed, Kleptomaniac, psychopath of a friend, Danielle, invited us over to her home.

Unfortunately, Landon was a bit late to arrive, due to the mentally challenging, intellectually demanding, and nigh impossible task I set to him beforehand: Pick up ginger beer.

Now, I understand that ginger beer originated in the Victorian Era, and therefore his home town may not have acquired something so modern and contemporary yet.

And I realize that his masculine pride, finely trimmed beard, and general disregard for the value that others can provide likely prohibited him from asking for help or direction from a store clerk,

And I know that to some people, having the word “Beer” in the title of an object isn’t a good enough context clue to let them know that the liquor section would be a wonderful place to start looking for said object.

That being said, the panicked phone call at 7:15 (already 45 minutes late) asking what and where the ginger was, was not what I’d consider his finest hour.

Also, he’s a God Damn engineer.

Do better.

Tonight we concluded the 12 Days of Landon by going out for a night of drinking and friendship. If you are unaware of what the 12 Days of Landon are, consider it a 12 Day testament to Landon’s birthday, my need to overdue celebrations to combat a deep-seated fear of abandonment, and the excess disposable income I’ve acquired through not grocery shopping or getting those 3 warning lights in my car checked out.

(Update: I was 3000 miles overdue for an oil change, and had a nail in my tire)

(Update #2: I have 3 eggs and some brown sugar in my apartment)

The evening started off at Bel-Air for dinner. The chips were a lovely source of carbs to fill his stomach but not his soul, and the margaritas .were an excellent way to make him forget he didn’t have a soul to fill in the first place.

To be blunt, after that it was a whirlwind of:

• Landon getting drunk within 30 minutes of arrival at the first bar
• Landon running around a lot
• Landon dancing sprawled out on his floor (more of a floor shimmy)
• Landon gently falling asleep, all tuckered out and ready to wake up the next morning to exercise his shame away at the gym

Landon, I hope you had a lovely 12 Days. Please prepare yourself mentally for the 25 Days of Landon Christmas.

 

*The below posts comes as is from the mouth of Peanut Butter*

Since this site is about me, Landon, unacknowledger (sic) of Tom, it’s time to flip the damn tables and talk about all the ways Tom does not acknowledge me. Or rather, ignores my attempts to ignore him.

First, let me give you all of the key phrases that come out of Tom’s word hole so when you meet him, you can belittle him by saying his favorite phrases before he does.

1. Landon*
2. Acknowledge*
3. Go get me some skittles*
4. Go get me a cookie*
5. What are your 3 favorite things about living and also your 3 least favorite*
6. Give me 3 pieces of critical feedback*
7. What are your thoughts on otters?*
8. Landon, you’re being more monosyllabic than usual*
9. Can we get Taco Bell*
10. All I have in my fridge is bourbon and starbursts*

*No

*No

*No

*No

*Trick question, Tom will say nothing is good about living

*Trick question again, Tom will not make any changes based on your “critical” feedback (ex: swoop your hair to the other side)

*Don’t answer that unless you want A. To never stop getting otter memes for the rest of your life, or B. To never stop getting otter memes for the rest of your life

*Stop putting our text messages through data analytics

*No

*Good, that’s 2/7 main food groups

Second, let me teach you some Landon approved ways of unacknowledging Tom.

1. Never answer any form of communication, only send a raven if you need his help
   1. The raven fits his pretend dark depressing humor, and will undoubtedly cause him to forget you as he befriends the bird
2. If he gives you the double handed wave, show him a different bird unrelated to the raven situation from 1
3. If he is overbearing in public, simply dump a hot cup of coffee on his shoes
4. If he ever calls you, take your phone gently out of your pocket, throw it on the ground, stomp on it 3 times, summon a witch, have the witch breath fire onto it, pick up the phone with your bare hands, put it in a ziplock bag, throw the bag against a concrete wall 47 times, gently take the phone out of the bag, dismiss the previously summoned witch, put the phone into a piñata, take it to a kids party and have then beat the ebelivin bejeesus out of it, take the piñata and slice it in half with a replica of Longclaw (Jon Snow’s sword in GOT), take whatever is remaining of the phone to NASA and have them ship it out on the next mission to Mars. Then, blow up the insignificant planet known as Mars.

 

The end.

 

Tom, thanks for letting me have this. You are a good friend (good, not great, do better). Also, let me die alone in peace.

 

Landon

Because I’m a good person with no underlying emotional instabilities or social inadequacies, I tend to refer to any girl Landon starts seeing by a name other than her own. He may refer to a girl as Lauren, but to me she’ll always be Thelma. Kathryn? Irene. Emma? Avril. Madison? Charlotte.

Which brings us to the topic of Nina. Or more accurately – which brings us to the topic of Sara.

I have realized that texting “How’s Sara” to someone while that person is on a date with someone technically named Nina might not be the best idea. Especially if “Technically Nina” happens to be in a position to read that text when it gets received.

I’ve also learned that attempting to explain me to another person with absolutely no context is an effort in futility. Apparently weird friends who refuse to acknowledge people by their real names, blog about another man, and attempt to replace electricity with candlelight and a series of strategically placed mirrors, do not come off as the best explanation for why you’re receiving a “How’s Sara” text when on a date with “Theoretically Nina”.

Landon, I’m sorry. You didn’t need her anyway. Or other friends. Or colleagues. And at some point, we really need to talk about your family.