Dreaming of Laundry

Two weeks ago, my spousal unit lost her most prized possession…a necklace with a diamond cross her grandmother gave her, a silver heart that I gave her on our first Christmas, and a white gold foot that I had made up of our son’s footprint after he was born. She’d taken to not wearing it in the summer, because it was irritating the heat rash on her neck. We searched all over the house for it, backtracking all the places that she’d been the day before, but it was nowhere to be found. She was devastated, crying for days and wondering why she hadn’t just put it in her jewelry box. But after it didn’t turn up, we’d kind of written it off. We knew it was still in the house, but we didn’t know where. I figured it was gone until we moved again.

Today, I was taking a nap when all of a sudden, I heard a soft voice fill my dreams. It was a voice that I’d heard like this only once before, right before we got pregnant with my son. It was the voice of God, and He said, “Look in the laundry room.” “Okay, for what?” I asked. A vivid picture of my wife’s necklace filled the void of my mind. “So, it’s in the laundry room?” I asked without needing a reply. “If You say so. I trust You. I know my spousal unit would love to have it back.” And I was suddenly awake.

So, I got up and started looking in the laundry room. I don’t know what made me check inside her clutch, especially since she hadn’t used it in months. But there at the bottom, under a layer of “stuff” was something shiny. So, I dug it out, and stared down at the missing necklace lying in my palm.

The look of shock on my spousal unit’s face when I laid it in her hands was priceless. She couldn’t hold back the torrent of tears that came pouring out of her eyes. She hugged me and thanked me profusely. All I could say was, “Thank God, not me. He’s the one that told me where to look.” I don’t know why He chose today to show me where it was. But it’s pretty amazing how He does that.

White Belt Ceremony

Troy and I both got our next belts tonight, my orange and his yellow. Master Richie called us up at the same time, so we could get our belts together, which was really cool. I’m so glad that I got to share that moment with my son. Over the last week, I’ve had several people make a comment about how special it is that my son and I are getting to do this together. I guess I hadn’t really thought about that when I decided to sign up. I was doing it to fulfill my dream, but I didn’t think about how my son might view it or even if he wanted me to do it with him. Based on how he’s reacted, I’d say he’s more than okay with it. Maybe he actually enjoys doing it with someone else and having someone interested in what he’s into.

One day, I was coming into the studio for my class after my son’s class was ending. My son hadn’t gone to class that day, but one of the other kids in his class asked his dad why he wasn’t taking taekwondo like I was. His dad made up excuses about being out of shape and preferring more moderate exercise, but I honestly think that other kid would have found it cool to have his dad doing taekwondo like he was. And it got me to thinking that maybe that’s how my son feels. Maybe he’s proud to have a dad that’s out there, putting in the reps, busting heads, and breaking boards.

I don’t know. But for now, I love hearing our names called together. I love being able to practice with him and talk martial arts with him. And I even love his trash talking about how he’s a higher rank than me…for now.

White Belt Testing

Master Richie told me that I’d be doing sparring during our testing, which was the first event of the evening. So, after gearing up, I faced off against Nico, a twelve-year old first degree black belt going for his second degree, who looks more like he’s fifteen. Nico held his own for most of the fight, relying on his experience, but his weakness, which he’d shared with me during our warmups, is my strength. His fighting style is one of a patient fighter, waiting for his opponent to make a mistake, so that he can capitalize. But that means that he’s susceptible to more aggressive fighters, who can overwhelm him with a barrage of attacks…aka, me. And since most of the people in our class are more passive and therefore also patient fighters, Nico had never fought someone like me.

With my strong right leg, I bombarded his body with side kicks and round kicks, evading his attempts to block and keeping him off balance with combinations. Searching for some answer to me, Nico tried to gain an advantage by switching to southpaw, so I switched with him. And he quickly learned that I’m equally as adept from that side, so he went back to his stronger right side. And when he finally started kicking over my kicks to make a few contacts, I surprised him by going even higher and tagging him in the head. But my strongest weapon, as I was told later by Mr. Tyson, is my side kick. I can generate so much force in my kick that I don’t just make contact, I literally can push my opponent backwards by a couple of feet. And I used that kick to keep Nico off balanced and retreating while I picked my shots.

After my win over Nico, I was paired up with Mr. Tyson, a third degree black belt and one of our instructors. Mr. Tyson is twenty-two, a lot more experienced, and has unbelievable flexibility with his vast arsenal of kicks. I didn’t really stand a chance in this fight…or so I thought. Since we had never sparred before, he made incorrect assumptions about my fighting style, and since I’m only a white belt, he underestimated me. I guess this is a good time to note that several people in the class have told me that I’m a natural sparrer. I have good instincts about fighting, great reflexes, and I’m deceptively strong. And one other weapon that I employ that very few others use effectively in our class…I’m an excellent blocker.

I went straight after Mr. Tyson, unloading combinations of side kicks and round kicks on him and causing him to retreat. Being a last-minute substitute, he wasn’t wearing gear, so I refrained from going for his head. He blocked most of my attacks, but the effort meant that he couldn’t throw any counter kicks. He dodged and rolled away to get some space between us, so that he could switch to offense instead of defense. He tried to keep me at bay with his long legs. He tried side kicks, round kicks, crescent kicks, and even hook kicks. I blocked them all. Not finding an opening on my body, he tried to go for my head, but I blocked that too. And then, I unloaded a devastating side kick that caught him square in the ribs and sent him sliding backwards two feet. And that’s how the fight ended. I’m not sure that he even managed a single point on me. Now, he might have been holding back on me, but I still believe that I surprised him.

My last fight was against Evie, an eleven-year old brown belt. She had recently broken her wrist, and I knew that she was extremely timid when it came to combat anyway, so I decided that I’d throttle it way back with her. Instead of being aggressive, I tried the patient route and waited her out. Unfortunately, all she did was retreat. She never even attempted a kick or punch. I threw a couple of weak kicks at her just to try to spur her on, but nothing. I could hear her family trying to encourage her to come at me, and she even turned her head to look at them, which made me laugh. Never take your eyes off your opponent. She finally threw a punch and caught me in the chest, and that seemed to waken her up. She attempted a few kicks after that, which floated harmlessly by me. And then, she made a rookie mistake. Instead of fighting me from a side position, she squared up in front of me, exposing her entire torso. I lashed out with a front kick and caught her square in the chest. Even though it wasn’t a particularly hard kick, it caught her off balance, and she went flying onto her back. I stopped to help her up, but she lost all fight after that, and we just danced around each other until it was over.

Mr. Tyson later pulled me aside and asked if I had ever done martial arts before. When I answered in the negative, he was surprised. Bewildered, he asked, “Then, how did you get so good at sparring?” I tried to flatter him by telling him that he’s just a good teacher…which he is…but he was still shocked. He told me that my side kick was unreal. And since Mr. Tyson rarely gives compliments to anyone, choosing to usually critique everything to perfection, I took that as high praise.

The night wasn’t without drama for me though. After executing my form perfectly, Master Richie asked me to do it again facing the back of the room. I don’t know what happened to my head, but I got disoriented and kept turning the wrong way. He asked me to start over, but by then, I was mentally wrecked. It was kind of embarrassing, especially since I’ve done my form a hundred times without issue. What a time to have a meltdown.

After everyone had executed their forms, the black belts did their board breaks, and the testing was concluded. But Master Richie wasn’t done with the surprises. He said that there was an extra board left over, and he asked me to try to break it doing a flying side kick. It should be noted that black belts actually spend time during our classes practicing breaking boards. We have special plastic boards that snap together and “break” to simulate a real board’s toughness. It is NOT something that white belts spend time doing. I had never even attempted a board break of any kind before much less a flying side kick in front of thirty people all focused on me.

I’m not sure if Master Richie saw something that made him believe that I could actually do this, or if he just wanted to see what would happen if he introduced some chaos to the night. Maybe he just wanted me to redeem myself for screwing up my form. So, I got in my sparring stance, did a few bounces on the balls of my feet, slid forward, leaped into the air, and shot out with my right leg. I caught it almost perfectly in the middle of the board, and it split into two pieces. I kicked it so hard that I probably could have split two boards. And that was a much better way to end the evening than sulking over my botched form. And now that I think about it, maybe that’s what Master Richie intended all along.

White Stripes - Part 3

Tonight was the last class before testing, so I bit the bullet and just outright asked Master Richie if I was going to be evaluated for my last stripe. He told me that he planned to check everyone that was planning to test tomorrow. One of the other guys in my class told me that Master Richie is just swamped with trying to manage both the taekwondo and jiu jitsu classes, which I can totally respect and understand. But then, he needs to delegate the pre-testing evaluations to his other instructors.

Other than the stress of having to ask and wait until the last night, everything went fine. I figured out the secret to getting Master Richie’s attention was to practice on the windows side of the studio. He always stays on that side and watches everyone over there. I’m usually relegated to the back wall, which he never comes to. So, tonight, I wandered over to the windows, and I was able to do my form and both of my one steps for him. And I finally earned my third stripe.

Channeling Chuck

I’m not going to lie. I’m getting really frustrated and stressed by this belt testing process. I went to class tonight, expecting my teacher to finally evaluate me for my final stripe. But instead, someone else was teaching the class. When my teacher finally showed up, he spent a few minutes determining who would be testing on Thursday, even calling me out specifically for my orange belt. Then, he had us do our forms for the next ten minutes before he left to teach a jiu jitsu class. And he never actually evaluated me for my third and final stripe!

I’ve been killing myself to train and be ready early, and I feel like it’s coming down to the wire unnecessarily. It’s stress that isn’t needed. I’m there. I’m ready. And he just never takes the time to put me out of my misery. And the worst part is that I’m mostly likely not going to class tomorrow, so it means I’ll only have Wednesday to wrap this up. Since there are no classes on Thursday, it literally is going to come down to the last day! I will have gotten my first stripe before everyone else and my last stripe after everyone else.

It’s frustrating when I see them handing out stripes in my son’s class like it’s nothing. They aren’t even doing it well sometimes, and they’ll still get a stripe. And they can even get two or three stripes on the same day! There’s so much more emphasis on preparing the students for the testing during the two weeks before. For all the benefits of training with black belts, this is the one thing I hate about it. Most of them can go months or years before testing again, so there’s little to no emphasis put on it. The focus is mostly on combat and sparring and preparing for tournaments. I feel like if there were more people in the colored belts like me, then it would be important. But as it is, it doesn’t feel like it is. And now, I’m left with wondering if I will even get to test on Thursday.

FaceTiming Jesus

I was telling MR about how my son and his best friend can spend all day together at camp and still want to come home and FaceTime with each other. I said that I love that they enjoy each other so much that they never seem to get enough. MR said that’s how we should be with Jesus. That’s the kind of relationship that we should have.

I don’t know why, but at that exact moment I imagined FaceTiming with Jesus, and I started laughing. I mean wouldn’t it be awesome to be able to just call Jesus on the phone and talk to Him whenever you wanted?! I realize that He’s in Heaven, but He’s God, so He doesn’t need to be physically on this Earth to show up on my phone. And also because He’s God, He wouldn’t be limited to only FaceTiming one person at a time. Anyone could enjoy a conversation with Him, but how many people would? And how many people would avoid Him, because it’s easier to live life your own way and keep Jesus at a distance, all the while merely saying that you’re a Christian.

MR said that if we had that kind of access to Jesus, then what would we have to look forward to in the afterlife. More Jesus! I mean can you truly ever have enough of Jesus?! I mean the disciples had three years with Him, and you’re telling me that they didn’t want more?! I don’t even care that He might say things that aren’t always easy for me to hear. I’d still love to be able to FaceTime Him every day. Prayers are great, but sometimes you’d like to see His face looking back at you.

White Stripes - Part 2

Well, I’ve been busting my butt to be ready for my other two stripes, but class after class has gone by without my instructor even asking to see my one steps. So, tonight, I approached him to ask when I could do that. He agreed to test me tonight, so the entire class stopped to watch me do it. Nothing like being the star of the show to get my performance anxiety going full boar. I did fine, and I earned my second stripe, but it all was diminished by some bad news that has upset me all evening.

During one of our sparring sessions today, I threw a round kick, which my partner tried to block. Unfortunately, it was a very good, strong kick, and she blocked it incorrectly. She tried to push it with her hands, and my foot bent her hand back into her wrist. After class, I found her with ice on her wrist, and I was devastated. I know it was an accident, but I don’t like to see people getting hurt, especially if I’m the one doing it. So, it’s been hard to enjoy the success of getting my stripe or actually doing really well during the sparring, because Miss Pixie got hurt.

Maybe I was being too aggressive. I mean, it is practice after all. I guess I just don’t believe in doing things halfway. You should train like you’re going to fight. Besides, I feel like I have something to prove, like I need to earn my place in this class. Why else would a white belt be allowed in a class of black belts? But maybe I have them on a pedestal. Maybe they aren’t as experienced or as good as I imagine. Maybe they just went through the motions and did enough to get here. To be honest, a lot of them probably just got their black belt two months ago. So, maybe I’m not really that far behind. I don’t feel so much like a white belt, except that I have to do white belt testing. I feel like I’m training like a black belt. I do all of the same drills, exercises, and techniques that they do. And in some cases, I do them better even. But maybe I need to lighten up a little. Not everyone is there to be a warrior like me. Some people are in it for the exercise. Some are in it for the discipline. So, they won’t go at it as hard as I do. I know there’s a couple of people who will meet me at my level. I guess I’ll reserve my best for them. And I’ll pray for Miss Pixie.

UPDATE: Miss Pixie ended up being fine. She was a little sore over the weekend, and she has a little green bruise on her wrist, but that’s the worst of it…thank God! She had decided not to text this cycle after all, so our inadvertent accident didn’t derail her in the least.

White Stripes

Tonight in class, I unexpectedly got my first stripe for my form. I just need to get two more for my two one steps and overall form to be cleared to test in August. I was ecstatic. I wasn’t even expecting my instructor to be giving out stripes this early. But I guess I did it so well already that he felt like I’d earned it. All that practicing at home is paying off. I’m riding an adrenaline high tonight!

Compliment Cards

I hate that we live in a world where a man can’t give a compliment to a woman without it being taken the wrong way. What is so wrong with noticing someone and the effort they put into their appearance? Why does that automatically have to translate into the assumption of flirting? Women put a great deal of time and effort to look and smell nice. You would think that they’d want to be noticed for it. And not for some sleazy guy to ogle them as a sex symbol, but to really be seen and appreciated without any ulterior motives. And I’m tempted to do this all the time, but I’m afraid that it will be misconstrued. Why can’t we admire beautiful things in our world just for being beautiful?

So, a few years ago, I thought up this idea for little cards that I could carry around with me. And each one would compliment a certain feature. They might say something like, “You may not hear this enough, but your eyes are absolutely beautiful. And I just wanted you to know that, without any other expectations or motives. I hope you have a lovely day.” Or they might comment on their hair, or how nice they smell, or a dozen other things. And I could hand them out to women I come across and then simply walk away without a word. Maybe in that way I could spread a little happiness in the world without making people feel uncomfortable.

Fighting Black Belts

Tonight, I was thrown into sparring in my martial arts class. I had done combat training before where you beat each other with foam bats, but this was straight up fists and feet. The only issue is that I was fighting black belts with a lot more experience. Heck, I didn’t even know the rules of engagement. I thought it was fair game as long as you don’t hit someone in the groin. That is, of course, not allowed. But neither is punching someone in the head or hitting them anywhere below the waist. Oddly enough, though, you can kick someone in the head…which I find strange. My teacher explained it as, “What’s taekwondo without kicking someone in the head?” I guess that’s the best answer I can expect.

So, I went into my first bout with zero expectations. I mean I’ve been fighting for all of three weeks. I assumed I’d be decimated. But my natural fighting instincts kicked in, and maybe a little bit of those martial arts movies that my brother and I were so fond of growing up. And I found myself blocking kicks and throwing counter punches. I still lost, but I put up a better fight than anyone gave me credit for. At one point, I even blocked a kick and then while my opponent was off-balanced, I knocked him completely to the floor. That move got a loud “Oooh!” from the onlookers. It’s not strictly legal, but at this point, I’m more of a street fighter. My opponent got his revenge though. On the next go-round, he feigned a kick and then punched me straight in the chest…hard. I took it, but I felt it. His follow-up move was to kick me in the head. I guess there was no more Mr. Nice Guy after I took him to the ground in front of everyone.

My next bout was against a much younger, skinnier opponent, but his kicks were quicker. I knew that I didn’t have the skills yet to go toe-to-toe with these guys, so my strategy was to work on blocking whatever they threw at me without backing down. And then sprinkle in some punches and kicks along the way, hoping to get lucky. It worked pretty well. He couldn’t kick up to my head, so most of his shots were at chest or waist level. I was blocking most everything he threw at me. At one point, I even caught his foot. He stood there hopping around on one leg, so I threw down his foot and immediately threw a kick of my own. But he was a one-trick pony, because he did the exact same thing again, and I caught his foot a second time. This time I flung his leg away, which threw him off balance, and he stumbled, catching himself with his hands on the floor. I felt like that round was more even.

My third bout was against my teacher, a seventh-degree black belt. He was better at giving me pointers on how to improve. I didn’t really score any points on him. I could tell that he was taking it easy on me. But I did do pretty well at blocking his kicks…at least until he went over my block and tagged me in the head…multiple times. On one occasion, he kicked me and I blocked, and without putting his foot down, he kicked me again in rapid succession, and I blocked again. And without putting his foot down, he kicked me a third time, flinging his foot up into my head.

It was maybe the best class so far. Even being pummeled, I had a blast. My son is jealous that I get to fight while he has to just do forms and exercises. But honestly, I think it has to do more with the fact that I’m in class with a bunch of black belts. One of the guys even told me, “Stick with us. We’ll make you into a really badass white belt.” I guess it’s like they say, if you want to be the best, then you have to beat the best. It would be nice to have someone else at a similar level though, even just to mix it up occasionally. If I could pick anyone to do this with, it would be my brother. It was always our childhood dream to be martial arts masters, like our movie heroes. I think he’d enjoy it as much as I do.

UPDATE: WH, the retired police officer in my men’s group that used to teach tactical training to police officers, told me tonight that he agreed with my approach to knocking people down and incapacitating the threat, even if they didn’t consider it legal from a taekwondo perspective. I took that as a ringing endorsement!

UPDATE UPDATE: One of the guys in my martial arts class asked me tonight if I was a boxer. He said that they were talking about me after my sparring session on Monday, and I guess my style indicated boxer over martial artist. I presume that was because of my penchant for blocking and counter punching over straight up kicking. They don’t realize that the formerly pulled muscle in my thigh is still really tender, and I don’t trust it yet. So, I’m reluctant to throw a bunch of kicks. Plus, I’m trying to mix it up. My style next time might be completely different. I might throw only kicks. I might switch between right-handed and left-handed. I don’t want them to figure out how to fight me. But the funniest part is that they were talking about me. I’m not sure if it was good or bad, but at least they’re talking!

Little Hugh

I remember this one time in college when the fire alarm went off at two o’clock in the morning. I was living in the dorms at the time with my roommate, and before I even had a chance to grab a shirt and flip flops, the hall monitor was banging on the door. My roommate, who was notorious for never leaving the dorm without socks or a hat, took his time to get properly attired. So, we found ourselves in relatively good shape as we made our way outside. Not everyone was so lucky. There were lots of guys in their underwear. One guy was in only a towel, still wet from a shower. But the best had to be the guy who came downstairs with not one, but two smoking hot girls wearing nothing but his t-shirts. Despite breaking several dorm rules by having girls in his room after hours, he stood there completely unashamed, arms wrapped around them as they snoozed on his shoulders. But honestly, what man is going to deny that guy his ménage à trois when almost every man was looking at him with envy?!

They Call Me Bruce

Well, I finally did it. I pulled the trigger and signed up for martial arts today. After having watched my son do it for the last three months, I decided that I wanted to finally fulfill one of my lifelong dreams. I grew up watching martial arts movies, and I always dreamed of being the star who could block anything and beat an entire group of bad guys with nothing but his fists and feet. I got my first taste of it in college when I took a class as a PE elective at the University of Houston. That one was mainly focused on disabling your opponent and throwing them. I still remember a lot of what I learned back then, and that was 25 years ago! So now, I’m beginning the taekwondo era.

I’m not going to lie. This first class was brutal. Unlike the kids, there’s no breakdown of the lower level belts and the upper level belts. So, I was thrown right in with a class consisting of mostly black-belted teenagers. Not only am I the only white belt, but the next lower belt is brown, which is only two away from black. I was doing lunges and squats, jumping jacks and sit-ups, pushups and bear crawls, lunge kicks and stretch kicks…and that was just the warmup! The only thing I was excused from was sparring, and that was only until I get my sparring gear. Which means that I’ll be doing that pretty soon too.

For the partner drills, I was paired up with a second degree black belt named Hudson. I was actually at his testing ceremony a month ago when he got his second degree. But the way he kept going easy on me made me I feel like he was underestimating me, thinking that an old man in his first class must be soft and weak. But I’d like to think that I surprised him, especially when I kicked him three feet backwards across the floor. For the drill, one person was holding a blocking mat across his torso, and the other person was supposed to side kick the mat whenever the first person got too close. If he happened to get too close for a kick, then the second person was supposed to switch to punches. What Hudson didn’t know is that I’ve been practicing for several months now with my son. So, this wasn’t exactly my first lesson. I’ve also been putting my new punching bag through the wringer for the last two weeks, both punching and kicking, so this wasn’t my first mat contact either. And so when my right leg made contact with the mat in an absolutely perfect side kick, the force of it pushed him backwards three feet…much like my punching bag and its weighted stand!

You could tell that Hudson was a little more wary after that, bracing himself for the impact. Almost like the other bad guys after the hero knocked the first bad guy stupid enough to approach him out in those movies I watched as a kid. But Hudson didn’t fare much better with my subsequent kicks either. I even switched legs several times keeping him at bay with my left leg too when he’d slide to that side. And he fared even worse with my punches. And I used both to absolute perfection to keep him guessing and pivoting backwards.

After that, I was taken aside to work on my form while the rest of the group geared up to spar. I already knew all of the basic steps since I’d been helping my son with it for the last two months. So, the instructor focused on making minor adjustments to tweak my movements. I was then left alone to practice, and I focused on trying to get everything perfect…each placement of my foot, each hand movement, each pivoting of my body. After all, the next testing cycle is in one month, so I don’t have much time to get ready.

When it was finally over, I could already feel my muscles crying out in agony, especially my legs. But the thing that hurt the most was my groin. I think I pulled a muscle when the instructor tried to force my feet farther apart when we were doing the splits. I’m sure the sidekicks didn’t help it either, because it targets that muscle on your plant foot. I’ll have to find a way to push through, because I’m not letting this keep me from going back. My goal is to get my black belt before I turn 50.

Face Pillows

I'm not quite sure what I've been looking at on YouTube that caused an advertisement for a pillow for face sleepers, but it flashed up in the corner of my screen today.  I never knew that I needed this pillow, but now that I've seen it, I can't imagine life without it!  I was a little miffed to find out that the model is not included with the pillow, but I'm still interested in checking it out.  For some reason, so is my spousal unit.

Toasted Man

I had a dream last night that I put a guy in a toaster, because he needed a tan. I’m not really sure why I put butter on him when he popped out again, but that seems like the least weird part of that dream. If that dream is any indication, I might be under a decent amount of stress right now.

R.I.P. Chauncey

In Memory of Chauncey “Sometimes” Green, the most chill lizard that I’ve ever seen. On Saturday, Chauncey succumbed to injuries sustained after being eaten by a roadrunner near his home in Lantana. Chauncey will be remembered for his unending devotion to keeping the bug population in control on and around the blackberry bush. He is survived by his best friend, Derek, who asks for privacy as he mourns the loss of his friend. Rest in Peace, Chauncey.

Taco Bed

A long time ago in a galaxy far away, CC invited me to his house for the weekend. At this point, I can’t for the life of me remember why he invited me, but I went. Maybe it was just a boy’s weekend. Anyway, he only had a twin bed in his room, and he wasn’t about to give it up to anyone. So, I was relegated to an air mattress on the floor. Which wouldn’t have been too bad if it hadn’t started to deflate halfway through the night. I woke up in the morning lying on the floor with the air mattress completely wrapped around me. I looked like I was being eaten by a giant air taco! And CC? Well, he just looked at me completely unconcerned, scratched an inappropriate body part, and headed off to breakfast. He left me struggling to get out of the locked maw of that stupid mattress. So, in retaliation, the next night I waited for him to fall asleep, and I violently beat him with my pillow. Consequently, I never stayed at his house again after that.

Screaming Goats

Awhile back, we were at a petting zoo in Fort Worth. There was a goat there that was a bit greedy with the feed. When I attempted to feed a different goat, the greedy goat started screaming at me. As long as I gave my food to him, he was fine. But any attempt to share the love was met with a loud, heart-wrenching wail.

I’m convinced that this particular goat was off his nut. However, I started to think that he would be great to watch a horror movie with. He’d also be great as a driver’s ed teacher. Or to take bungee jumping. Or to take to get his legs waxed. Or on a bicycle with no brakes going down a steep hill. At least in those situations, his reaction would make sense. Screaming because I gave some feed to the hippy-bearded goat next to him is just psycho.

Do as I Say...

Tonight, I was attempting to explain to my son the importance of stretching before doing strenuous activity, like doing martial arts. So, I stretched it out and then performed a high kick toward the wall. Followed immediately by my pulling my groin muscle. I collapsed to the floor in an extreme amount of pain before crawling downstairs. I pumped some ibuprofen and applied an Icy Hot pad to the area to help relax the muscle. About three seconds later, I realized the first of my two mistakes.

You should be very careful applying lidocaine, a numbing agent that feels like it’s burning your skin with a cold fire. The Icy Hot pad accidentally brushed against the side of my right testicle. The pain was excruciating. Infinitely worse than pulling my groin muscle. I thought I was going to die! And no amount of washing and scrubbing the area would make it stop burning. And those stupid pads last about eight hours, so needless to say I was miserable all night and barely slept.

In the morning, I realized my second mistake. My testicle was finally getting feeling again, so I decided to take a shower. I went to pull the Icy Hot pad off my inner thigh and ended up ripping off all of the hair on my leg with it. I can only imagine that this must be what a bikini wax must feel like. It was like that scene in The 40-Year Old Virgin, where he’s getting his chest waxed. The lady rips off one strip, and Steve Carrell is in so much pain that he refuses to do any more. He’s standing there with one odd rectangle of hair missing from his chest. I had a similar rectangular patch of missing hair, which was quickly turning red and irritated. I let out a silent scream of pain before running into the shower and the soothing warm water coming out of it.

So, in an attempt to teach my son about being safe while exercising, I pulled my groin muscle, set my testicle on fire, and ripped the hair out of one of the most sensitive areas of my body. And after all of that, I’m not even sure he got the message.

At Peace with the Universe

Today was a pretty chill day in the lizard world. I found a green anole just stretched out on a large blackberry leaf outside. His eyes were half closed, and he looked like he was totally at peace with the universe.  I think I'll name him Chauncey Green.

Soap on a Toothbrush

We were at my son’s soccer game today, and one of the other parents was relating that raising kids today is different than in our day. He said that he was trying to explain to his daughter how our parents would put soap in our mouths when we said something bad. Laughing, I replied that he had it easy. My mom would put the soap on our toothbrush, so it wasn’t a one-time experience, but a residual experience over three or four days! He said that either way it wouldn’t matter, because his daughter would just blow bubbles and still turn it into a game.

CDO (Compulsive Disorder Obsessive)

I was at my men’s group tonight, and they had remodeled the cafe that we regularly meet at. They had completely removed the booths and replaced them with brand new tables. While all of the tables were the same beautiful gray alternating dark and light wood grain, some of them were long rectangles and others were squares. Since our group is large enough to need multiple tables, we dragged one of the square tables next to a rectangular one. That’s when I noticed that the square tables were actually wider than the rectangular ones, so the tables didn’t line up and formed a sort of “T” shape.

I asked the group if anyone else’s OCD was going crazy with the tables, pointing out that the sizes of the tables were off. WH answered that he didn’t mind the tables, but he thought I’d be more bothered by the wood grain on one table going in the opposite direction from the other. I answered that I hadn’t noticed before, but after he pointed it out, then that bothered me too. Everyone laughed, like you do to humor a crazy person among you. But I couldn’t let it go, so I asked the group if nobody else had OCD tendencies. HB said that he did. In fact, his were so bad sometimes that he would tell people that he actually had CDO, because he had to have them in alphabetical order. While I initially found this funny, I realized that I also perfectly understood that.

After our group was over, I surveyed the cafe and realized that there was no rhyme or reason to how the tables were positioned. Some had wood grain one way and others had it in the opposite direction. But it wasn’t consistent on the rectangular tables versus the square tables. Nor was it consistent on the tables against the wall versus the ones in the middle of the floor. It was absolute chaos! Feeling the need to bring order to this, I jokingly asked the group who was going to stay behind and help me “fix” all of the tables. Everyone quickly made polite excuses for why they needed to be somewhere else before dispersing. I gave it one last shameful look before I too left, realizing that the people currently sitting at those tables probably wouldn’t share my passion for having them turned in the middle of their meals or meetings.

The Cardinal: Equally Stupid

Well, Richelieu is back, and he’s found an equally stupid mate to join him. At seven o’clock this morning, I was awoken by the sounds of a bird repeatedly flinging itself against the kitchen window. Thinking that Richelieu had once again forgotten to go attack his mirrors in the tree instead, I was surprised to find that it was a different bird altogether. It was still a cardinal, but it was a female braining herself on our window. And while she did this, Richelieu sat on the fence watching her with an adoring and approving look in his little black eyes.

I guess it’s true that there is someone in the world for everyone, even stupid cardinals. I sure hope this mate actually takes, because he hasn’t been successful in the past. They were all unimpressed by his territorial aggression on a reflection. But maybe he’s finally found someone that shares his passion for hating themselves.

The Blind Reading the Blind

As I was driving home today, I saw a blind guy sitting on a bench. He had his dark glasses on and his mobility cane leaning against the bench…and he was looking at a cell phone. I’m not sure what he was “looking” at, but he was staring intently at…or at least in the direction of…the screen. Maybe it was talking to him. Or at least I hope it was.

One in a Million Shot

My son and I were out playing frisbee today in the front yard. He was very concerned about throwing it in the street and hitting a car. It reminded me of a childhood memory, so I told him about it.

When I was a kid, during the summers, my brother, cousin, and I would throw a frisbee around in the street in front of the house. There were a lot of cars going up and down the street, so we constantly had to stop and step aside until they’d passed. It was annoying to say the least.

At some point, my cousin JS said, “The next car that drives by with their window down, I’m going to try to throw the frisbee through their window and out the other side.” We all thought this was a sound plan, so my brother positioned himself on one side of the street and my cousin on the other, while kept lookout for cars.

It didn’t take long for a car to come rumbling down the street with its windows down. It was summer in Texas after all, and it was hot. My cousin got ready, lined up his shot, and timed his throw perfectly. The frisbee took off, flew straight in through the driver’s side window, floated across the car, and landed on the passenger seat. It was a one in a million shot. It didn’t fly out of the other side, but still. What we didn’t plan on was that the driver didn’t stop. He just drove on down the street with our frisbee on his seat. We had no idea if he didn’t see it or if he figured that was his reward for us using him as a firing range. But we never saw that frisbee again, and the summer got a whole lot more boring after that.

Night of the Living Dead

I had to wake my mom up this morning because the cleaning lady was going to be at our house shortly after. I was expecting her to be a little groggy, but I definitely was not expecting what opened the door. My mother’s hair was a wild mess, she was squinting from the sudden sunlight, she was leaning slightly to one side with one arm hanging limply, and she was scowling! It was like witnessing the Night of the Living Dead! If I was momentarily taken a back by her appearance, I was completely thrown by her words. In a deep, gravely voice, she growled, “What do you want?!” She sounded like she was possessed. When I explained that the cleaning lady was going to be there soon, she growled back, “Okay, and?” I suggested that she might want to get up and get ready. She grunted and closed the door.

I learned some valuable lessons. Never, ever wake up mom…under any circumstances! Let her down several cups of coffee before attempting to engage her in conversation. And absolutely never look the zombie inside of her directly in the eye!

The Car Wash

There’s a car wash around the corner from my son’s school, which is packed every day. Sometimes, I see the same people going in there every week after dropping their kids off at school. Their cars are always immaculate. I mean barring someone who works as an auto detailer, who has the time to get their car washed every week?! The only time that my car even gets close to a car wash is if I use the squeegee at the gas station to get the bird poop off the roof.

The Tiny Toothbrush

Have you ever been brushing your teeth in the morning and thought to yourself, “Man, my hand looks gigantic on my toothbrush. I’m holding the entire handle in the palm of my hand.” Only to realize that you’ve mistakenly grabbed your son’s children’s toothbrush instead?

Emotional Underwear

I heard a song today that had lyrics that said, “my emotions are naked.” I guess if your emotions can be in the buff, then you can also have emotional underwear. I wonder if it comes in different colors to define what emotion you’re having.

Stew-Pid!

I love how my mother-in-law says the word ‘stupid.’ It comes out as ‘stewpid’ instead. Which honestly just seems more fitting anyway, especially since she adds more inflection to that word and sometimes even drags it out for a beat. “Nobody can drive today! Everyone is so STEW-PID!” It’s hard to argue with that!

Those Darn Squirrels!

My spousal unit forgot her glasses at the house today and texted me to ask if I’d bring them to her at work. I happened to have a gap in my schedule, so I grabbed them and headed her way. As I came to a stop on S Carroll Blvd in Denton, I heard a loud, sharp crack come from the roof of my car. A second later, it was followed by another and then another in short succession. I was under attack from some unknown enemy. I opened my window, stuck my head out, and peered upward…right into the black, beady eyes of two brown squirrels. They were sitting in an oak tree with its branches extended over the road, throwing acorns at cars as they drove by. I just happened to have been unlucky enough to stop here, so they took full advantage to bombard me with heavy artillery fire. Now, I’ve never heard a squirrel laugh, but I would imagine that it sounds exactly like the noise I heard coming out of these two imps. The light turned green, and I was off, while they turned their sights on the next unsuspecting victim.

Polyps

When I had my colonoscopy last week, the doctor had found several polyps in my colon. He removed them and sent them for testing. Thankfully, they were benign, but they were also precancerous, meaning that if they’d stayed in there much longer, then they could have turned cancerous. So, it’s a good thing that I went in and had the checkup. It also means that I’ll have to go in and get regular “tune-ups” for the rest of my life. But I guess the alternative is worse. Praise God that they found it in time!

Gecko Freak Out

Spousal Unit: “Uh…there’s a lizard on the freaking ceiling.”
Me [looking up]: “Yep, there sure is.”
Spousal Unit: “Well, aren’t you going to do something about it?”
Me: “That’s a twelve foot ceiling. What do you think I can do about it? Besides, he’s not hurting anything. He’s probably eating the spiders. Leave him alone.”
Spousal Unit: “What if he decides to fling himself off there in the middle of the night?! I’m not sleeping in here with a potential daredevil lizard hanging over me!”
Me: “Oh for crying out loud, I’ll get the fly swatter.”
Spousal Unit: “Don’t kill him!”
Me: “I’m not, but how else do you expect me to get him down? Come on, little guy. Don’t fall off of there. No, no, no! Don’t run over there! Crap, hang on, I’m going to get a chair.”
Spousal Unit: “Hurry before he gets away.”
Me: “Where did he go?”
Spousal Unit: “He ran down the wall over there.”
Me: “Why are you standing on the bed?”
Spousal Unit: “In case he comes after me.”
Me: “He’s capable of climbing up the wall and hanging upside down from the ceiling, but you don’t think he can climb up on the bed to get you if he wants to?”
Spousal Unit: “Okay, I didn’t think it through. Just get him.”
Me: “Come on, little guy. Sit still, so I can put this cup over you. I promise that I won’t hurt you. I’m trying to get you back outside. No!”
Spousal Unit: “What happened?”
Me: “He ran behind the changing table. Now, I have to move everything. Oh, come on!”
Spousal Unit: “Now what?”
Me: “He ran behind the dresser. Why couldn’t you have just left him alone?! Ugh, this thing weighs a ton. Okay, nice and easy. Stay…stay…stay. For crying out loud!”
Spousal Unit: “Did you get him?”
Me: “No, he ran behind the mirror. Okay, I’m about to go get the fly swatter you stupid lizard. Stop running away from me! Got him! He’s a little Mediterranean House Gecko. Oh my god, he was probably just trying to sell you insurance!”
Spousal Unit: “I’m not buying. Get him out of the house. And then, can you please put everything back? I’m really tired. I’m going to bed.”
Me: “Yeah, I’m sure all that standing on the bed and squealing really wore you out.”

Colonoscopy

Today, I had my first colonoscopy. It sucks to realize that I’m old now, and I have to worry about things like a colonoscopy. But since we have a history of colon cancer in the family, I bit the bullet and requested it. The procedure itself wasn’t so bad. I was unconscious for the entire thing after all. I did blackout while the nurse repeatedly poked me in the arm, painfully trying to find a vein for the IV, but that was the worst of it.

The really horrible part was the day before. And I don’t mean spending the entire day running to the bathroom after taking the “Drano for your stomach.” It was not being able to eat proper foods. Water and chicken broth are just not adequate substitutes, and I ended up having a migraine the entire day. Which didn’t go away today, since I wasn’t allowed to eat anything. And it’s not like you can take any drugs or anything for it, so I just had to suffer all day.

My mom was nice enough to come up and drive me around. As we left the clinic, she asked me what I wanted to do, and the only thing I could think of was eating food. So, she obliged by getting me a hamburger on the way home.

Goofy

Spousal Unit: “Do you know what I heard today? Apparently, they found another planet in our solar system. It’s a lot like Pluto, but a little larger. It apparently has more gas though.”
Me: “I’m sorry, but how can they tell that it farts more than Pluto?!”
Spousal Unit [laughing]: “I don’t know, but they gave it a stupid name, something with letters and numbers.”
Me: “I’m sure it’s named G00FY, since you said it’s similar to Pluto.”
Spousal Unit: “Please stop.”

Uber Black

Javan: “My mom is almost here. The Uber Black picked her up about fifteen minutes ago.”
Spousal Unit [whispering]: “Did he just say Uber Black? What’s that?”
Me: “It’s an Uber only for black people. You don’t know about it, because you’re always taking Uber White.”
Spousal Unit [suspiciously]: “Really?”
Me: “Sure. It’s like a Cadillac Escalade with chrome and 24” rims. White people can’t handle something that nice, so we end up in beat up Toyota Corollas with the bumper duct taped on and food wrappers all over the floor.”
Spousal Unit: “I think you’re taking the piss right now.”
Me: “No, I went earlier.”

Insane

Me: “I know it should be obvious, but I feel like I still need to verbalize it. Can you please make more of an effort to coordinate the clips you’re using to close the cereal bags to the color of the cereal box?”
Spousal Unit [laughing]: “Absolutely not! I will not be held accountable for that kind of craziness. If you want to be in charge of that, help yourself.”
Me: “This is a perfectly reasonable request. I’m not sure why it’s not keeping you up at night, like it is for me.”
Spousal Unit: “Because I’m not insane!”
Me: “Pfft! That’s something an insane person would say. Besides, your refusal to coordinate the clip color to the box color would suggest otherwise.”

Margaritas are Greek

My Wife: “We’re going to the place with the cheese sauce.”
Me: “AnnaMaria won’t like that place.”
AnnaMaria: “No, I will. They have margaritas.”
Me: “Did you know the Spanish word ‘margarita’ means daisy, like the flower? The one with the white petals and yellow center?”
AnnaMaria: “Yes, we have the same word in Greek.”
Me: “Margarita or daisy?”
AnnaMaria: “We call both the drink and flower ‘margarita.’”
Me: “Wait, I thought all words had their root in the Greek. So, how could that be if margarita is Spanish?”
My Wife: “We incorporate words from other languages into ours.”
Me: “Well, then of course every word has their root in the Greek, because you just steal words from other languages and call them Greek!”
AnnaMaria: “I think margarita is actually Greek.”
Me: “You can’t be serious! ‘Margarita’ is not Greek!”
AnnaMaria: “Let’s look it up. It says here that it comes from the Greek word ‘margaritari,’ which is Ancient Greek for ‘pearl.’”
Me: “Wait, are you using a Greek website to look that up, because of course they would say that it’s Greek?!”
AnnaMaria [laughing]: “I’m using Google.”
Me: “You can’t use that either, because Google is Greek! What else have you got?”
Georgios: “It says the same thing on the deep web.”
My Wife: “So, there you go!”
Me: “That doesn’t mean anything. You can’t trust what you read on the internet.”

Richelieu

After over a year Cardinal-free, the stupid red bird is back again.  I found him outside attacking the mirrors in the tree again almost as if he had never stopped.  I guess it was too much to hope that he had finally moved on and found someone new to antagonize.  Since he's going to be around year after year, I decided to adopt the little guy and give him a proper name.  After all, I can't keep calling him "stupid red bird" anymore, now can I?!  So, the only fitting name is "Richelieu" after the famed Cardinal from The Three Musketeers.  I have to admit that giving him a name has softened my stance on the determined little bird.  And though I will deny it in a court of law, I sort of missed him while he was gone.

Dogged Determination

I’m sitting here at the park, watching this woman distractedly walking her dog. I say distractedly, because she’s yammering away on her cell phone the entire time. The woman has the leash encircling her left hand and most obviously wants the dog to walk on her left side. But for whatever reason, the dog keeps slowing down and walking behind the woman to get on her right side. As soon as the dog gets on the right, she speeds up to get ahead of the woman, wrapping the leash around the back of the woman’s legs.

The woman will step over the leash and pull the dog back over to the left or spin around to unwrap the leash, only to have the dog go behind her to the right again. I’ve been watching this go on for ten minutes now as the pair have made their way around the small pond in the park, laughing at the dog’s determination and the woman’s distracted obliviousness. And I can’t help but wonder why the woman never took a few seconds just to move the leash to her right hand.

Product of the Technological Times

Today, I was looking at pictures of my wedding in a photo album when I got to one that had quite a bit detail in it.  It was of the buffet at the reception, and I started to get curious about what kind of food we had been serving (I didn't in fact get to eat any of it, so I have no direct recollection).  I couldn't quite make out the food in the photo, so I put my thumb and index finger on the picture and tried to enlarge it.  That's when it dawned on me that this was an actual photograph in an album, not some picture on my phone.  I guess it's obvious that I'm a product of the technological times!

Jesus in a Shopping Cart

Tonight, at my men’s group, one of the guys asked the group if we ever had awareness of God’s presence during our day-to-day activities, like going to the grocery store. Another guy answered that he didn’t, and I replied, “You mean you don’t imagine Jesus sitting inside the shopping cart as you push it around the store?!” The entire group started laughing, and we got completely derailed at that point. Everyone chimed in with a funny thought about Jesus doing some miracle from inside the cart, like clearing an aisle at checkout, so that you never have to wait in line. Or parting people in the aisles like the Red Sea, so nobody is ever in your way. Or fixing the squeaking, perpetually-shaking wheel on the back of the basket. Or asking for chocolate cereal like a child, trying to convince us that it’s probably healthy. It was a really fun time, and now I can’t stop imagining Jesus riding inside my shopping cart as I fill it with groceries.

Napping Naked

Is there anything better than taking a nap in the middle of a Saturday afternoon without a stitch on? The feel of the soft sheets against your bare skin. The freedom of not being confined or restricted by clothes…to sprawl out across the bed without guilt or the necessity to share the space. Why do we spend so much time doing what is proper and socially-acceptable when we’re entirely alone?! Who cares if you’re wearing pajamas? Who’s going to see them anyway? You’re missing out in life if you don’t take at least one naked nap.

The Roadrunner

There is a roadrunner that lives in a copse of trees near the golf course. I’ve seen him at various times running around the neighborhood, looking for food. In fact, I’ve gotten so used to seeing him that I actively look for him every time I drive by that area. I've named him "Rune," a play on "Runner." I mean, I can't very well call him roadrunner all the time, now can I?

Besides burning up the concrete, he also likes to jump up onto the six-foot tall stone wall across the street from his home. He can make the leap in a single bound (I've witnessed him doing it), and then he’ll run along the top of the wall at breakneck speeds. One day, I was walking along the sidewalk near this very stone wall, when the roadrunner came flying along it from the opposite direction. He stopped when he got next to me, and we stared at each other for a full minute. He was so close that I could clearly see that he had a beard, little scruffy feathers sticking out from his chin, and a mustache (although that might have just been a snake hanging out of his beak). I’ve never been that close to a roadrunner before, and it was pretty awesome.

UPDATE: Apparently, there is not one, but two roadrunners living in that copse of trees. I saw them both today, kissing. At least, it looked like they were kissing. They were beak to beak. I suppose they could have been fighting or a having a very close conversation. I'm assuming that the second one is a girl, and I've name her "Roe," a play on "Road." Of course, I'll never know which one I'm actually seeing now.

Death of a Friend

I am sad beyond consoling. One of my oldest friends was killed tonight. She has been my constant companion, sleeping with me almost every night, for the last seventeen years. No matter what was going on in my life, she was content to curl up in my arms, stretching out against me and making me feel safe and comfortable. Her body perfectly molded to fit mine. But one misguided act of kindness stole her away from me forever. There will never be another Patricia, and my heart will yearn for her for the rest of my life.

Innovative Features

After owning my Nissan Maxima for eight years now, I finally learned why the car honks at me every time I put air in the tires. I have been annoyed by this feature for years now, but I had had enough today and texted my neighbor who is a mechanic at a Nissan dealership. He told me that it’s an innovative “feature” that Nissan added to all of their cars back in 2013 called the “Easy-Fill Tire Alert.” Apparently, the car honks to let you know that it’s detecting the air pressure during fill, honks again when it’s reached the optimal level, and honks more aggressively to let you know that you’ve overinflated it.

I personally think this is a stupid feature, but there is no way to turn it off. So, I will continue to be deafened by this loud honking every time I’m airing up my tires in my small, echoey garage. The automaker said that it saves people from having to carry around a tire gauge. But what place to air up tires doesn’t have a tire gauge nowadays?! I mean is there some guy out there blowing up his tires with his lips?!

Guy 1 [blowing on tire]: “Is that enough air?”
Guy 2: “I don’t know. It hasn’t honked yet, so keep blowing.”
Guy 1 [blowing on tire again until car honks]: “How about now?”
Guy 2: “A little more.”

…car honks aggressively several times…

Guy 2: “Oh, too much. Let some air out.”

…Guy 1 lets some air out, car honks again…

Guy 2: “You let too much air out. Put your lips back on there and blow like your life depends on it!”

Consequently, my spousal unit found out today that her Audi has massaging seats with three different settings. This is the difference between German engineering and Japanese engineering. An innovative feature to the Germans is massaging seats with three different settings for wave, kneading, and kidney punch. An innovative feature to the Japanese is a horn that honks while airing up the tires with three different honks to let you know if you’ve started, when you’ve hit optimal pressure, and when you’ve gone too far. Personally, I think the Germans are light years ahead.