Apparently, you aren't ever really done with taking tests. Because today I have to go through step two of an application process - two hours of assessments. I guess that four years and a hundred thousand dollars I paid to take tests wasn't enough.

I swore I would never take another test for a job. But this is what happens when your benefits start running out - you lower your standards. It's not that I think I'm above taking tests. It's that I've been down this road before and I know how it ends. I've taken tests, given presentations, written reports, networked, attended job fairs and met with every laundry mat owner in town. Only to have my soul crushed.

These aren't like SAT tests. They're more like special needs tests - they ask you the correct spelling of words. Which makes me now wish I tried harder at that third grade spelling bee.

I once showed up to what I thought was an interview, only to go through four hours of tests, asking me to sort words alphabetically, what my relationship with my mother is like, and what would I do if I knew a co-worker was stealing toilet paper. If these are the types of question they're asking, imagine what the job is like.

But I sucked it up because it was a pay check. I did all the testing, sat through interviews, answered more questions and actually did homework. And I heard back NOTHING! 

I called. I left messages. I wrote emails. At one point I think I resorted to smoke signals. This is a third-world state after all. I never heard back from these people. Then one day, while attending a job fair, I ran into the hiring manager.

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. You didn't get the job."

You know what, I'm done trying to find a job. I think I'm just going to let it find me.

As clean as I can get a toilet, I will never posses the same powers as a women - like the ability to be right all the time. As a matter of fact, if I weren't married I'm pretty sure I'd still be stuck at the airport. 

I walked around Coors Field in Denver for two hours before I found where I parked. At some point I think I actually broke down and cried for my wife. I can tell you that never would have happened had she been with us. I'm in awe of her ability to navigate a strange city. I have to leave two hours early for everything because I'm sure that, at some point, I'm going to get lost and I won't ask anyone for help.

Let's just get the idea of stopping and asking for help out of the way. I don't even talk to my friends, never mind complete strangers. If we want to "get together" I'll have my wife call your wife. We don't actually talk to each other on the phone. That would make us question our sexuality.

Look, I feel dumb as it is that I can't pack an entire room into the back of 1989 Honda Civic hatchback. Having to ask someone how to get to the grocery store in the town I've been living for half a decade isn't helping. Forget the grocery store, I still don't know where the large frying pan goes.

Six years we've been living in this house. I helped unpack it. I still don't know where she keeps half the dish ware. I don't even bother trying any more. Because I know where ever I put it won't be the right place.

"Where did you put that bread pan?"

"It's right there, in the cabinet next to where you're looking."

"Right where it doesn't go. I would have never found it there."

"What do you mean? It was right in the next cabinet!"

"But that isn't where it goes."

Least it was in the right room. Most of the time things end up put away where it has no business. Then we get to play a fun game of, "Where did he put my coat." It doesn't really make a difference to me. Even if I did put it where it is suppose to go, I suffer from Male Pattern Blindness.

If I weren't married everything would just be on the living room floor. Because even if it's right in front of me I still can't find it. This is a genetic condition that affects all men. Ladies, it won't matter how much you yell at us. We will NEVER find things without calling for your help. A lot of marriages would be saved if we just agreed that men suck at finding things. It should be written into wedding vows.

"And to tell him where the large frying pan goes as long as you both shall live."

Kids come out of the womb like lawyers - there is no point they won't argue.

"Anus isn't a bad word. It's the proper name of a body part."

"Yes, it is. But we don't just blurt out 'anus' at the dinner table."

"OK. Hey, Dad?"

"What?"

"I can see Uranus."

This is either God's way of punishing you, or a test to see if you can get into heaven. Because it takes everything in you not karate chop them in the throat. And if you somehow mangage not to, I'm pretty sure you're getting into heaven.

So you have to be specific in your instructions. It's not, "Go to your room." It's, "Here is a map. I want you to follow this path straight to your room. There will be none of the following - hitting of your brother on the way, tipping of that chair; yelling, screaming, shouting or anything that resembles a wookie sound."

Because if you don't cover wookie sounds, you will hear the most annoying noise of your life. It triggers this primitive urge to eat your young, which makes it all the more amazing that life has continued to reproduce on this planet. You need the will of a Shaolin Monk.

Even if you are specific in your instructions, they will find some way around them. Which makes you wonder why you try in the first place. 

"Honey, we don't play with our penis. When you're by yourself you can do whatever you want. But when you're around people it's inappropriate."

"I'll be right back, Daddy."

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to my room to play with my penis."