First Pedicure

Today my sister-in-law and my wife talked me into getting my first pedicure.  They decided to get up early and go treat themselves at the nail salon, and when my brother heard about it, he wanted to go too.  Apparently, he had been coerced into this sort of expedition before and had thoroughly enjoyed the experience.  I was not so sure.

I was not very keen on the idea of some stranger touching my feet, nor on the idea of sporting a nail color every time I wear flip-flops.  That was the limit of my knowledge of pedicures…someone touches your feet, you get your nails painted.  I was in for a big surprise.

My wife decided that my first experience should be all out, so she opted for the deluxe package for me.  They started by putting my feet in a hot, whirlpool bath to clean, soften, and massage them.  I might have enjoyed this more, if I wasn’t so apprehensive about what was possibly coming next.  Of course, my wife wouldn’t tell me, because she finds it funny to surprise me, despite the fact that I don’t enjoy things, because I have too much anxiety about the unknown.

Well, what happened next was what I like to call the “foot torture” portion of the pedicure.  The pedicurist, Hana was her name, trimmed my nails and cuticles.  Not too bad.  I could handle that.  But this was just the beginning; a way to lull me into complacency…to drop my defenses…before the real torture began.  And it began with a heel scraper.

A heel scraper, for those of you unfamiliar with this particular torture implement, is about the size of a hair brush.  But instead of being covered with soft bristles, it looks like a cheese grater instead.  It works like a cheese grater too, as she scraped it back and forth over the toughened skin of my heel, peeling off layer after layer, until I was sure I would have no foot left to stand on.

But I only had but a second to think about this, because she immediately pulled out some sort of hardened sponge-like thing, which felt like it was made out of rock and glass, and started rubbing it on the callus on the side of my big toe.  My foot was spasming from both the nerve-endings firing with every subsequent back-and-forth movement and from it actually tickling a little.

Sensing that I was about to break and spill everything to her about the contents of the NOC list (Mission Impossible reference), the truth about the Kennedy assassination, and every MI6 secret I knew; she eased off the torture a little and pulled out an only slightly-softer sponge-like thing and scoured the entire bottom of my foot.  By this point, I was grasping the armrests of the chair in a white-knuckled grip to keep from ripping my increasingly-ticklish foot out of her rubber hands.

Soon the torture was over, and she finished off stage one by putting some milky white oil on my nails and giving them a nice buff and polish.  In comparison, this was mild and highly tolerable.

Which leads us to what I like to call the “hot recovery” portion of the pedicure.  Although I wasn’t to know this yet.  At this point, I was still waiting for the other shoe (or foot in this case) to drop.

While my poor, tortured feet once again soaked in the warm, massaging basin; Hana the Tormenter went off to get some orange, gritty-looking cream substance.  She proceeded to smear this all over my calves and then give me a quite-nice leg massage.  The gritty beads made my skin feel fresh and alive as she kneaded them into my tense muscles.  I started to relax a little (only a little) for the first time.

When that was done, she wrapped hot towels around my legs, which felt heavenly on my newly-exposed skin.  The heat was in sharp contrast to the cool air that had been skimming across my skin only moments before, and the change sent my muscles into an exhilarating sensation that ended in a long sigh.

While I mummified in my hot towels, Hana the Wonderful slid my feet into baggies of hot, blue, waxy goo.  And that was it.  I leaned back, closed my eyes, and thought, “This is the life.”  The memories of the previous torture faded away as I lay there soaking up the soothing warmth.

But Hana the Goddess had one more trick up her sleeve, as she rolled up with a basket of steaming black rocks.  She unwrapped my legs and proceeded to rub these rocks up and down my legs, pressing them into my flesh for but a moment and then sliding them to the next spot.  Over and over again, across every inch.  When it ended way too quickly, I opened my eyes and looked at her in question, “Is that it?”  She smiled, pulled off the now waxy casts of my feet in baggies, and proceeded to rub more rocks along the soles.

I can definitely say that having been left to my own devices, that I would never have willingly subjected myself to this experience.  Even having gone through it once, I’m not sure that I would do it again.  But I can say that I’d be less likely to reject an invitation and would have less anxiety about the unknown.  I would instead just try to go with the flow and look forward to the end result.

And the color I decided on for my nails?  None at all, I’m afraid.  I mean why mess with perfection, right?

The Parking Note

I came out of work today to find a note under the windshield wiper of my car.  It said, "Your Nissan is NOT that important! Park like a regular human #NOTSPECIAL"

For you to properly understand, I must paint the scene for you.  The parking garage we have at work is three levels and probably holds 200-250 cars per level.  On any given day, it is probably no more than 50% full.  The third level is completely empty and the second level is only half full...at best.

I park on the second level in the very last parking spot.  I have been parking here for almost a year now, and for the first six months, the closest car was probably 30 parking spots away.  The last six months, two other people have started parking right alongside me, with a sizable gap between the three of us and the next closest car.  In a phrase, I am isolated from everyone, taking the least desirable spot in the garage.

At first, I was pulling through and parking completely in the spot.  But it dawned on me one day that people like the cut the corner when turning and that my front bumper was susceptible to their turning radius.  So, I started parking half in the spot in front and half in the spot in back.  Normally, I am the first to get on a-holes that occupy two spots to protect their car.  But this is because they usually always do it in primo spots that impede other people's ability to find a spot.  I am not doing this.  Nobody is missing a place to park because I'm parked over the line.  I intentionally chose the least desirable spot, so that I wasn't impeding other people.

So, why does this note on my car bother me so much?  My first reaction was just to crumple it into a ball and throw it away.  My second reaction was more reflective.  I am actually surprised and annoyed about several things on this note:

1. I can't believe that someone took the time to go find a pad, write a note, and then walked all the way out to my car to put it under the windshield wiper.  I mean who has the time to waste doing that?!  Of course based on my current opinion of this person, I can see them being both petty and lazy enough to drive it out there...because after all, it is BFE!
2. Why is a note even necessary?  Seriously, what harm is my parking job doing?  How am I possibly affecting someone else's life?  If I pull up in the space, the space behind me will be empty...every day...guaranteed.  Nobody will park out there.  Nobody is waiting for that spot.  Why is this unknown person so concerned with it, especially when there are some 325 empty spaces to choose from, all of them closer to the building?
3. I am not the only one that parks over the line.  I can count at least four other cars that do it too, and in much more-desirable spots.  None of them had a note on their car.  So, why only pick on my car?  And the note was very specific.  Why was it necessary to mention that my Nissan is not that important?  Does this person have an issue with Nissan's?  If I had an Audi, Lexus, or BMW like the other people, would I be okay?  Why is my car not worthy because it's a Nissan?
4. I think it's a bit unfair to claim that my car is not that important or special.  It is important and special to me...obviously, or why else would I park like that?  I wouldn't make judgments about them driving a crappy Civic, because that might be important to them.  It's subjective.
5. The hashtag on a hand-written note is ridiculous.  Let's not even be that specific.  The hashtag on a note about someone's parking is ridiculous.  This generation has overused and misused the hashtag.  The very name implies that it was supposed to be a TAG.  A way for a group to be notified when a certain tag is used.  It is not and in no way becomes a descriptor simply by summarizing your blog, tweet, post, or hand-written note in a run-on sentence with a pound symbol in front of it.  If it doesn't notify anyone, then it's not a tag.  And if it serves no purpose, then stop using it.  It's just dumb.
6. And finally, I find it both comical and presumptuous to assume that a regular human parks "correctly."  What is a regular human anyway?  Who defines that?  And regular?  What an odd word choice.  I mean is it defining the difference between a human that runs on regular versus diesel?  Is it helping characterize the difference between a human that is regular versus decaf?  Maybe it's someone that has regular bowel movements versus someone that is constipated?  Let's assume they meant "normal" instead and that they are putting themselves in that category.  Why on earth would I want to be "regular," if a regular person is a moron that wastes time writing and depositing parking notes on someone's car in the middle of nowhere with nobody else around them because the parking job annoys them, despite the fact that it is not causing any harm or impeding their ability to park in any way, and who obviously takes exception to Nissans and feels better about themselves by putting down something that is special to someone else, most likely because they are jealous or envious that a Nissan is much more than they drive or possibly will ever drive, and then feels the need to fake tag the note with emphasis to a group that doesn't exist nor would probably care about the note even if they did?  That's okay, I'll take abnormal...thanks.

Wrinkles

Every year I notice that I am getting more and more wrinkles at the corners of my eyes.  It used to bother me, because it is an ever-present reminder that I am getting older.  No matter how many creams or cucumbers I try, the wrinkles are always there.  I used to hate seeing those wrinkles, hate what they represented, hate to admit that I am no longer in my twenties and soon no longer in my thirties either.  Yes, I used to hate them...until...I realized what they truly represented. 

Those wrinkles are not from age.  Maybe the reason that my skin doesn't snap back into its smoothness is, but not the wrinkles.  The wrinkles are from laughter.  The etched lines of bunched cheeks that are pressed together by my huge and mirthful smile.  Not once, but thousands of times throughout my life.

So, now when I see those wrinkles at the corners of my eyes, I am okay with them.  Because those wrinkles mean that I was laughing too much.  They represent all of the times that someone made me laugh.  They represent all of the times that I made myself laugh.  They represent all of the times that I made someone else laugh and couldn't help but laugh along with them.  And that must mean that I have enjoyed my life.

Burning Money

A wealthy man, who was dying, told his wife that he wanted to go on to the next life surrounded by his wealth.  He asked her to put all of their money into the coffin with him before he was cremated, so he could enjoy every last penny to the bitter end.  A few weeks later, he passed away, and his wife, wanting to honor his wishes, wrote a check and put it into the coffin with him.

What?  She wasn’t stupid.  She found a loophole!

Black Market Milk

When I was in elementary school, I took my lunch almost every day.  The only thing I bought at school was chocolate milk to go with my food.  I had a pre-paid milk card that was good for one dinky carton of milk a day.  There was no way that that one carton was going to satiate my thirst, so I used to make trades and craft deals for other people’s milk.  Then the problem became that I was hungry all the time, because I didn’t have enough food.

I solved this problem by betting people that I would eat disgusting combinations of food on my peanut butter and jelly sandwich, if they gave me their milk.  And I did.  Chips, green beans, macaroni and cheese, meat loaf, peppers…whatever their limited minds would suggest.  I look back now, and I’m thankful that nobody suggested the dead roach in the corner with the dust hanging off its legs.

Garden Vegetable Jack

The other day my wife brought home these Sargento cheese snack bites.  They’re like little rectangles of cheesy goodness.  She got cheddar for me and garden vegetable jack for herself.  I’m very visual when it comes to food, so if it doesn’t look appealing, then I will usually pass.  The cheddar was okay…a little sharp for my taste.  The garden vegetable jack was whitish and covered in herbs and spices.  I immediately was suspicious of it and decided that it was better to err on the side of caution and avoid it.

However, the day I ate my last cheddar bite, I found myself still craving cheese.  And the only thing left in the refrigerator was several unopened bags of garden vegetable jack.  I decided to try them…how bad could it be…it was cheese, right?

Oh…my…god!  It was like heaven in your mouth.  I have never tasted something so scrumptious, something so absolutely bursting with flavors.  The spices and cheese blended so perfectly that my eyelids fluttered close and I audibly moaned.  I lost track of time…of existence…of everything.  That is until my hand hit the bottom of the empty bag.  I had eaten the entire thing!

My first thought was panic and how to hide the evidence.  My second thought was about the remaining bags in the refrigerator.  Thirty-two servings later, spices all over my chin, my spousal unit found me an hour later laying on the floor, empty bags scattered around me, in a cheese coma.  I didn’t even care.

Brain Heart Disconnect

DH once told me that sometimes he learns something, and he has to get his heart to believe and feel it.  Logically he knows it's true, but something refuses to allow him to accept it.

Other times he feels something with his heart, but the logical side of his brain doesn't accept it.  It's like the facts don't support his belief.

I think this is the struggle of being a Christian.  Sometimes you can read things in the Bible that make perfect sense, but since you don't have any personal experience with them, they don't affect you.  Other times, you know something is true through faith, even if you have no actual evidence to support them.  You struggle with this disconnect.  Enlightenment, if you will, is bringing your brain and heart together.

I’ll Be Okay

I was talking to my friend CC one day, relating to him my latest trials and struggles.  At the end, I said, “But enough about that.  I’ll be okay.”  His reply was so profound and unexpected.  He said, “I know.  Out of all of my friends, you’re the only one I don’t worry about.  I know you’ll be okay.”  I was immediately touched by his faith in me. 

And then it got me to thinking.  All of my life, I have felt like my parents favored my brother more.  My general feeling was that he was their favorite, but suddenly, I was looking at it a whole other way.  Just maybe they tried harder with him and helped him more, because they were worried about him.  Just maybe they weren’t worried about me.  Maybe, like CC, they knew that I would be okay, so they focused on my brother who needed them more.  They could have been showing me the highest form of respect and faith, and I was missing it.

Happy St. Paddy’s Day!

Did you know that wearing green shirts on St. Patrick’s Day started in the 17th century and was popularized by Irish immigrants in the United States?  They believed that wearing green made them invisible to leprechauns; fairy creatures who would pinch anyone they could see.  You might have been pinched for NOT wearing green before.  Well, this was to remind you that leprechauns could sneak up on you at any time!

Solomon's Wish

2 Chronicles 1:7-12 relates the story of God telling King Solomon to ask for anything, and God would grant it.  Solomon goes on to ask for wisdom and knowledge, so that he could lead his people and be a good king to them.  It’s such a pure and unselfish choice that God goes on to grant him all the things he didn’t ask for as well; such as wealth, possessions, and honor.

When I was about thirteen years old, I read this story, and I wondered what I would ask for had I been in Solomon’s place.  Essentially, it’s like God granting you one wish.  Of all the things you could ask for, you have to narrow it down to just one.  I agonized over this, struggling with many different ideas, because it had to be perfect.  It had to be a wise choice that could be used to help other people.  It couldn’t be frivolous and petty.  It would be permanent, so it had to be something to transcend my current trials or situation. 

But what did I know at my age?  How could I possibly know what I would go through or endure?  What tool or ability, what gift of the Spirit, would be most useful to my journey and future life?  What did I want most from God?  So, I prayed.  I asked God for the ability to understand people; what they were going through, who they truly were, what they were saying without saying.  I wanted to be able to read someone’s heart. 

And I believe that God granted my prayer that day.  I noticed a change in my interactions with people.  My listening grew better, and as I listened, I started to pick up on subtle hints and clues.  Little things that most people miss.  I became more observant and mindful.  As I grew older, the ability grew stronger and came easier.  I honed the gift through practice.  I found people seeking me out, like they knew that I would be able to understand them.  It was so strange and yet so natural at the same time.

Somewhere along the path of life, I stopped listening.  I let my mind and emotions make decisions over my heart.  The gift doesn’t come so easily to me anymore.  It’s still there, but I think I get in my own way.  I want desperately to have it again; to feel like I used to and connect with people like I used to.  I felt more caring and in touch back then.

I wonder...if you had Solomon’s wish, what would you choose?

Mysterious Trail

While walking down the hall today at work, I noticed an unusual splotch of brown liquid dried on the floor.  I didn’t think much of it, and I continued on my way.  But as I walked, I started to notice that there was a wavy line of dried brown drip spots radiating away from the original splotch and following me down the hall.  I peered at the floor ahead of me and noticed that they traversed the entire length of the hall and disappeared around the corner.  Completely intrigued by this point, I followed them to see where they would lead.  I made the turn and noticed that they almost immediately turned again and took up along a parallel hall still heading in the same direction.  On and on they went; down the hall, through the security doors, and clear to the other side of the building.  I finally lost them when they headed out the loading dock door and off into the parking lot.  I have no idea what it was or why someone was dripping from one end of the building to the other.  I also don’t know why someone would enter just to to leave without stopping in between.

Happy Pi Day

Today is “Pi Day,” which is an annual celebration of the mathematical constant p (pi) and represents the first three significant digits of pi (3.14).  It also happens to be Albert Einstein’s birthday.  So today, we eat delicious desserts with flaky crusts and fruit centers while having nerdy conversations about mathematics and physics.  I can’t think of a better way to spend a day.

Crazy Hug

MR often asks about my spousal unit at the end of our conversations.  Usually he ends with, “Tell her to take her right hand and put it on her left shoulder.  Take her left hand and put it on her right shoulder...”  The usual direction after that is for her to squeeze and give herself a hug from MR.  This time I jumped in before he could complete it, and I said, “And tell her to wait while we tighten the straight jacket?”  It was so unexpected that MR started laughing raucously.

Ambassador for Inclusion

In 2014, Billy Bean was appointed as Major League Baseball’s first Ambassador for Inclusion.  His role is to “provide guidance and training related to efforts to support those in the lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) community throughout Major League Baseball.”  In other words, he will help gay baseball players transition and be accepted by fans, teammates, and executives.  He will be a liaison on how to come out and how to deal with any possible backlash.

Why Billy Bean?  He was the second MLB player to come out as gay, and the and first to do so while still actively playing.

But I have to say that I was honestly shocked to find out this information.  We actually need a full-time person whose entire role is to help people come out of the closet?  And who is paying for this?  The fans.  I’m so glad that I stopped supporting MLB about 15 years ago…

Dusting on the Day of Rest

My wife asked me to clean up the house today.  Most specifically, she asked me to dust.  I hate to dust, so I told her that I couldn’t do it because Sunday is my day of rest.  She said that I had rested on Saturday, so I could dust today.  I tried to tell her that that is not how it works.  One does not imply the other, but she handed me a duster anyway.

I begrudgingly started to dust, and as I made it into the bedroom, I caught my foot on the edge of the bed.  It started to bleed all over the place, and I had to patch it up.  When I showed her my new wound, I said that it was God’s punishment for me being disobedient.  He said to rest on Sunday, and I had not done it, so now I was bleeding.  I blame this outcome squarely on my wife for forcing me to dust on my day of rest.  She blames it on me for being a klutz.

Cocaine Bubbles

I got a new computer at work, and I put the bouncing bubble screensaver on it.  Today I came back from a meeting to find the bubbles bouncing all over the screen at Mach speed.  I have no idea what got into them, but they looked like they were on cocaine, or at least that they’d had one too many espressos.

GoPro Life

I read a post where a guy said, “I should wear a GoPro when I go out drinking, so I can figure out where the night went wrong.”  This was so funny and so profound to me.  This could actually be applicable to so many parts of life.  Record it, so you can see where you screwed up.

Ditching Your Daughter

HR was talking to her father in India, telling him about the rough week she had been having, the issues she’s been struggling with, and her emotions about her impending divorce.  When all of a sudden, he tells her that he has to go, so he can use the bathroom.

She was a little shocked by this sudden turn in the conversation, but she complied, expecting him to call her back in 30 minutes or so to resume their conversation.  She said that it had been two days, and she was still waiting.  I busted out laughing.  This was a stroke of pure genius.  Not knowing how to deal with the spaghetti emotions of his daughter, the man basically got out of an emotionally-uncomfortable conversation by going to the bathroom and never coming back.  

Maybe he is hoping that if enough time goes by, then she’ll forget about it, and he can forego the uncomfortableness altogether.  I can just imagine him saying that every time one of their phone calls starts to border on emotional territory.  HR is going to start thinking that her father has bladder-control issues!

The Starfish

After high tide, an old man was walking down the beach.  Every few steps, he reached down, picked up a starfish off the sand, and tossed it back into the ocean.  A little girl, watching him do this again and again, approached the old man and said, “Excuse me, sir, but why are you doing that?  There are thousands of starfish on the beach.  You can’t possibly save them all.”  The old man reached down and picked up a starfish off the sand.  He showed it to the little girl and said, “You’re right.  I can’t save them all, but I can save this one.  In the grand scheme of things, it might not seem like it matters, but it matters to this one.”  And he tossed the starfish into the ocean.

A friend of mine told me that story, trying to convey that small actions can have big consequences to someone’s life.  It might not change the world, but it can change one person.  A few weeks later, another friend of mine was telling us about an old Marine Corps buddy he had that called him out of the blue and started asking for his advice.  When the guy asked his buddy why he was calling him of all people, the soldier said, “Because I could always tell that there was something different about you.  The way you conducted yourself.  The underlying integrity and morals that you had.  I knew that something or someone was working through your life, and I knew that it was something that I wanted too.  So, when I needed advice, you were the first person I thought of.” 

My friend was choked up with emotion.  During his entire 20-something career in the Marine Corps, he had struggled with his faith.  Let’s be honest, it’s not exactly an easy place to be a Christian.  He constantly felt like he had failed God.  And yet, all these years later, here was proof that he had been doing something right.  Without even knowing it, he had touched this fellow soldier’s life.  He had thrown one starfish back into the ocean.

It gets me how people are so focused on the news and what’s going on in different parts of the country or different parts of the world.  We are so focused on “over there” and “somebody needs to do something about that,” that we miss the things right in front of us.  God doesn’t need us to change the world.  He has put people all over to handle the issues of the world.  But what He does want is for us to handle the issues that he has put us around.  There are people struggling right here.  There are people needing right here.  There are people to love right here.  We miss them, because we are looking over them at the people over there.  And it’s even worse when someone says that they won’t do anything because it won’t matter.  Well, we should learn from the starfish.  It will matter to that one.

Ebelskiver

Today, I was treated to my first ebelskiver, which is a Danish pancake.  JT took me to a cute little café called Three Little Griddles, which is exclusively in CO.  On special was a bacon and egg ebelskiver.  I was curious, so I asked our incredibly out-going waitress what they were exactly.  She described them as a pancake, about the size of a donut hole and a half, stuffed with bacon and eggs; glazed with maple syrup; and sprinkled with powdered sugar.  I was fascinated by this, so I ordered seven of them.  They…were…a…mazing!  Apparently, you can get them with fruit or chocolate inside as well.  Something to look forward to next time!

Dominar Rygel the XVI

Rygel was a character on the TV series “Farscape.”  He was from a race known as Hynerians, which had the unusual characteristic of farting helium whenever they were nervous.  JT and I were discussing this one day and wondering what it would be like to have this issue in real life, especially if you released it through silent flatulations.  There would be no hiding it or acting like it didn’t happen, because suddenly everyone around you would be speaking in a high voice!