Parent Drop-Off

I passed an elementary school today that had a sign out front that said, “Parent Drop-Off / Pick-Up.” I guess this is where kids go to get rid of their parents for a few hours when they just need a break from them.

To-Go Order

We ordered breakfast this morning. But since I was already out in the car for an impromptu shopping trip, my spousal unit asked me to pick it up instead of having it delivered. When I walked into the restaurant, the hostess approached me. I told her that I had a TO-GO order, and she asked, “Did someone already pick it up?”

I was very tempted to reply, “Yeah, they did. I just wanted to drive up here and let you know that it had been picked up already.” But instead I said, “Not yet. That’s why I’m here.”

The Intimate Encounter with the Sink: Day 3

Today, the reds in my bruise have dissolved into a faint orange with the yellows becoming more pronounced. I told my mom that I had moved into the Summer collection now. I started to tell her that the Fall collection was next, but I guess I’ve already done the “fall” collection. That’s how I got into this mess to begin with!

The Intimate Encounter with the Sink: Day 2

Today, the bruising has now started moving back along my eyelid. It’s actually a pretty blend of reds, pinks, and yellows, and it almost looks as if I have eye shadow on. Of course, it’s only on the one eye, so it’s like I went to the mall and had someone at a kiosk give me a free sample, but I decided to leave before they had a chance to do both eyes! I told my mom that this was the Spring collection.

The Intimate Encounter with the Sink: Day 1

Around 2:30 this morning, I got up to use the restroom. No, that’s not the significant part of this story, but it lays the groundwork. I didn’t want to turn the light on and disturb my wife, so I went in the dark. Normally, this isn’t an issue as there is enough ambient light coming from the den to act as a night light. I’m also usually pretty steady, but for some reason this time I was a little more groggy than usual, and I ended dropping something on the floor. As I bent over to pick it up, I accidentally slammed my head into the corner of the sink, just missing my eyeball and catching it along my eyebrow instead. However, I hit it with enough force to knock myself unconscious, and then I then tipped backwards and hit the back of my head on the edge of the shower basin.

And that’s how I awoke, crumpled in the corner of the bathroom, in the dark, with no recollection of any it happening, and wondering what I was doing on the floor. I managed to gingerly lift myself up and slide along the wall to the door, so I could call to my spousal unit for help. She came running into the bathroom, switched the light in, and exclaimed, “Oh my god!” That’s when I knew it was bad. And seconds later, I felt the blood start to drip from my eye to confirm it.

My head was spinning, and I was nauseous, so I kept my eyes closed. My spousal unit was freaking out, asking me what I needed. So, I directed her to get me something to stop the bleeding. After she got me a wet rag for my eye, I asked her to look at the back of my head, since a dull throb had started to emanate from there as well. Apparently, I had a laceration there too. I asked her to get me some ice, while I held pressure to both sides of my head. My spousal unit was adamant that we go to the emergency room, but I was just as adamant that I wasn’t going. I didn’t want to wake up my son and make him sit in the emergency room all night while the hospital staff deemed us not enough of an emergency to warrant immediate attention. Been there, done that.

After the flow of blood slowed down, she wanted to at least get me off the floor, but I told her that I needed to lay there a little longer. When the room had stopped spinning, and I felt like I could move without throwing up, I crawled to the bed on my hands and knees. My spousal unit managed to help me into the bed, and then she went to get me something to drink while I continued to hold the ice on my wounds. Since there wasn’t much else to be done, I told her to try to get some rest.

The pain came on gradually and made it virtually impossible for me to get any sleep. Not to mention that I’m a side sleeper, and I would have had to choose between the cut on one side or the cut on the other side of my head. So, I stayed up for the rest of the night with my eyes closed and half listening to the TV drone on in the background, wondering why these things always happen to me. I’m going to take a sick day today. I’m too exhausted to be able to focus on work.

Spooky Meetings

Yesterday, on a whim, I bought this Halloween mask from the store. I’m not really sure what I’ll do with it, but I liked it, and it was relatively inexpensive, so it was an impulse buy. At the very least, I know that Troy will enjoy wearing it around.

For some unknown reason, I decided to wear the mask during a meeting at work today. I don’t usually use the video during meetings, but this one meeting requires us to be on camera, so I figured it was the perfect opportunity to try it out. I didn’t want it to be too scary, so I also put my glasses on outside of the mask. The reaction was priceless.

It’s funny how many people will be doing other things while they’re waiting for a meeting to start. Some are looking down at their phones, while others are distracted by something in the background or on the other monitor. So, nobody noticed me at first. But then someone glanced up from their phone and caught sight of me and jumped, saying “whoa!” It was classic…almost as good as the time that I posed a skeleton at my desk before turning the camera on.

The Talking Shoes

When I was in high school, I had a pair of talking shoes. They were a pair of black Converse All-Stars where the sole had separated from the toe. You could see my socked foot sticking through the gap, and it looked like a tongue sticking out of the "mouth." Whenever I'd walk, the shoes would separate, so it looked like they were flapping their lips in silent conversation. 

At first, I kept them because I was cheap, and I didn't want to replace perfectly good shoes just because they had a minor defect. Then, I became known for my talking shoes, so it became sort of a trademark. The problem was that they were getting worse and worse, so it was getting harder to actually walk around in them. I solved that problem, but putting duct tape around them and drawing a zipper on it in permanent marker. That way, it just looked like I was tired of hearing what they had to say all day.

I didn't really realize the impact that my talking shoes had on people around me until someone actually mentioned it when signing my yearbook. Oh well, I guess there are worse things to be remembered for in high school. The sad part is that is ALL I was remembered for in high school. My mark on the teenage world was talking shoes!

Chicken Fingers

I love chicken fingers. I really do. But I realized something today as I was driving in traffic. If I eat chicken fingers, then there's a whole bunch of chickens out there that can't check social media, pick their beaks, make play gun gestures, or express themselves with road rage. I’m depriving them of another side of life.

Sorry Gay Driver

On the way to the mall today, I passed a car with a bumper sticker on the window that said, “Sorry Gay Driver.” My first thought was, “What the heck does that mean?!” Was she apologizing for being a gay driver, apologizing for being a bad driver and blaming it on being gay, apologizing and calling me a gay driver at the same time? Or maybe she wasn't apologizing at all! Maybe she was just informing us that she was a sorry...gay...driver, so we needed to watch out. And what does being gay have to do with driving? Does being gay make you drive differently?

My second thought was that it’s interesting how the world has changed. She’s not just unashamed of being gay, but she’s proud of it. Like someone would be proud to be Black or a woman. So much so that she feels the need to advertise it on the window of her car. I don’t feel the need to advertise that I’m straight. I don’t feel proud of that either. It just is what it is. It’s disturbing that it’s become trendy to be gay.

Then again I don’t feel the need to advertise my race or gender either. And my feelings about my race or gender wouldn’t be characterized as pride either. I’d say they’re more contentment. I’m comfortable with who I am.

The Memory Hoarders

CC was trying to relate a story about his son today, and I realized that he was struggling to remember it, because he doesn’t write things down. No matter how many times I’ve suggested he do it, he won’t. He relates the stories to me and expects me to record them. Why? Because I’m a memory hoarder. And I was born from a memory hoarder.

My mother and I attach sentimental value and stories to everything. We remember, because it’s important to remember. If we forget and don’t pass it along, then it’s like it never happened. I heard someone in movie say, “If we forget someone after they die, then it’s like they died twice.”

Notes from a Madman

Sometimes when I’m driving, I’ll ask Siri to take a note for me. I’ll go back months or years later and find the notes and have no idea what they mean. They could be grocery lists, I suppose, or possibly a dream I had, or a reminder for a new blog post, or maybe Siri just screwed up what I was trying to say. At this point, I have no idea anymore.

Here are some of my favorites:

• My feet stank and then I ran off and had soup
• Coming to stop and then running red light brother was cool
• Told GPS to avoid tolls GPS immediately took me to the toll road has contract with toll authority
• Waving at blind horses
• Father hanging from the ceiling in a harness

And then some of them read like headlines in a newspaper:

• Banana pudding and milk
• Leek soup makes me toot
• Smokers peeing on my suitcase
• Cucumber scented resumes
• The bus is coming

Just in Case

As we prepared to leave the house today for a birthday party, I found myself standing at the sink, scrubbing dishes and thinking. I realized that I tend to approach leaving the house for a day outing with the family a little differently than most people. Before I can leave, I like to tidy up. I make the beds, sweep the floor, do the dishes, straighten the pillows on the couch, make sure all the laundry is folded and put away, and clear my browser history. My thinking is that if today is the day the bus gets me, and my mother has to deal with my estate, then at least we didn’t leave a mess behind for her. I mean dealing with the remnants of someone's life is hard enough without having to worry about caked on food residue, skid marks, or searches for non-chafing man thongs!

The Cardinal: Revenge

So, I did a little tree pruning on my oak tree in the backyard last weekend, because the grass under the tree wasn't getting enough sunlight.  I decided to cut the bottom two branches off the tree to raise the overall canopy level, which seemed to immediately help.  The problem was that one of the branches was where the stupid cardinal liked to sit and peck at the mirror hanging in the tree.  So, now, he can't conveniently sit and attack his adversary.  It's a little bit of work for him to swoop down from one of the higher branches.  To show his displeasure with me, he's decided to go back to slamming himself into the windows on the back of our house again.  Every morning, without fail, at precisely 7:00 a.m. he launches himself off my fence and into the window...repeatedly...until I finally get up and go wave my arms like a half-crazed, naked lunatic at the window.  Then, he'll go out and start a beef with the mirror in the tree.  I guess I'm going to have to adjust the position of the mirrors in the tree to more align with his particular wants and desires.

The Bus is Coming

Shortly after I got married, I had this recurring dream four nights in a row. It was always the same, so I took it as an omen of my future. In the dream, I was walking across the street when a city bus came out of nowhere and ran me over. I don’t know how far into the future it might be, but I have always assumed since that day that I was destined to meet my end at the front of a bus.

I supposed there are worse ways to go…and possibly better. As far as strange deaths go, it is sort of pedestrian and middle of the road…pun intended. What I have often wondered in the days following is if it was indeed an actual bus or something more metaphorical. Like if I die of a heart attack, which feels like the pressure of a bus on my chest. Or if I die because my spousal unit or son drive me up a wall.

Day of Selfishness

Based on a recommendation from a total stranger at the Disney Store today, I decided to declare today a Day of Selfishness.  The man said that he takes one day a month to do something selfishly for himself, and I loved the concept.  So, I decided to start today.  In the spirit of the day, I decided to buy myself a gift to thank myself for being awesome.  So, I bought a Darth Maul mug.  When I showed it to my spousal unit, she sneered at it and said, "Why would you buy THAT?!"  I sneered right back and replied, "Because it's awesome just like me.  And I don't care if you don't like it, because it was for me.  So, now, you're forbidden to use it!"  This obviously didn't have quite the effect that I had intended, because she said, "I wouldn't be caught dead using that mug, so that's fine with me."

Fuel on the Fire

This morning, my spousal unit told me that she was worried about the grant she left behind at her previous job. Her new employer told her that she’d need to reach out to her old university and obtain permission to bring the grant with her. As per usual, my spousal unit immediately started hashing through all the things that could go wrong, like her old boss blocking the transfer. I told her to stop focusing on negativity and think positively. No matter how many things she could think of that could make this fail, God could overcome them all. When you have Him on your side, none of that other stuff matters. She immediately lashed out at me that I was “chewing her out.”

Later today, I heard her on the phone with her friend, discussing the same situation. Her friend was throwing fuel on my spousal unit’s already blazing fire, not only justifying her concerns, but adding to them. She was basically saying exactly what my spousal unit wanted to hear. Misery loves company, I guess. This is a huge concern of mine about my spousal unit. She has weak faith, and she surrounds herself with other people who are not believers, or who are not practicing believers. They focus on the limitations of the world rather than the power of God. So, instead of building her faith, her friend helped tear it down.

I believe my spousal unit revels in drama and anxiety. She doesn’t believe she deserves more. She doesn’t believe that God cares about her “petty” problems, and she refuses to let God take over. It doesn’t matter how many times that God surprises and amazes her when she feels no hope. The moment the next obstacle comes, she’s back to freaking out again and running through the doomsday list. I get frustrated at how easily she forgets what God literally did for her not two weeks ago. But it frustrates me more that she lashes out at me and latches onto what her unbelieving friends think. The same friends that gave up on every other situation as hopeless and were proven wrong when God did one of His patented miracles.

The saddest part is that my spousal unit has all the qualities to be a great leader and an influencer. People would follow her, and she could make a difference, if she’d just believe…if she’d just let God guide her life. Maybe she could encourage her friends to put their faith in God when their own storms arise instead of encouraging their paths of self-deprecation and destruction.

Meeting Art

I had an unusual amount of meetings today, which I find boring and generally unproductive, especially since most of them only require my presence, but not my actual voice.  It's very easy for me to zone out if I'm not speaking or doing something active, so I entertained myself by arranging my throat lozenges into Picasso-like faces.  Even my art seemed to be questioning the usefulness of these meetings.

The Weeper

I cry a lot nowadays. Nobody knows I do it. It’s always after everyone is gone, and it hits me at the strangest moments. A movie. A song. A memory. Anything can trigger it. I’ll just be sitting there and all of a sudden, I feel a heaviness welling up inside me like a tidal wave. It pours out and washes over me, and I can’t stop it. So, I just let it go. It usually stops after a couple of minutes anyway. But this might happen several times in a day.

The weird thing is that I can’t really remember the last time I cried. It’s been a while, so this feels like I’m catching up for lost time. But I know it’s more than that. Maybe it’s chemical or hormonal. Maybe I’m out of balance so to speak. Nothing else about me has really changed. I’m tired, but not really sad. I’m actually more at peace than I’ve been in a long time. As I’ve drawn closer to God, I’m learning to let more things go.

Honestly, I don’t always feel sad when I’m crying either. Sometimes, it’s completely unexplainable. I suppose crying is a better response than flying off the handle and yelling like my father does. So far, it’s personal and private. But I don’t really think anyone around here would notice or care if it wasn’t. I guess that’s the saddest part. Nobody would care that I’m sad.

Free Shot

A former police officer in my men’s Bible study was telling us a story about how they used to practice potential scenarios, such as an active shooter, hostage negotiation, etc. He said that some of the officers would be the “good guys,” while others had to be the “bad guys.” His squad usually got picked to be the bad guys, and they got so good at working together that the other team couldn’t shoot them. Eventually, they had to let the other team shoot them just to complete the exercise.

Later on, we were discussing that sometimes bad things have to happen in your life to fulfill a purpose. The example given was that Jesus still picked Judas to be one of his disciples despite knowing that he would later betray him. I said that was the Jesus equivalent of letting the other team shoot him to complete the exercise, and the former officer started cracking up laughing. They wouldn’t have “won” unless He allowed it.

The Cardinal: Slow

Well, the cardinal finally found the mirrors hanging in the tree. Maybe he really is a “slow” bird. He’d been standing next to them for weeks, but he didn’t see them until today. He saw his reflection, and he slammed his beak into the mirror, sending it twirling. He got a cocky confident look on his face like he’d just defeated a giant, but that look quickly faded as soon as the mirror spun back around. As soon as his reflection came back, he reared up and slammed into again…as if to say, “Didn’t have enough, eh?! You want some more of this?!” Over and over, he attacked the mirror until he was satisfied that the bird in the mirror was red from his wounds sustained and not his feathers anymore. And then he flew off, probably to the pub to exaggerate his latest accomplishments.

Dishwasher Art

Doing the dishes for me is like an art form. Maybe it’s my OCD, but I take great pride in loading the dishwasher in a way that not only utilizes the space but groups items by their function. I try to leave adequate gaps between each one to allow the water and soap to cover every surface to ensure optimal cleaning. I even spread the silverware out across all of the slots, so spoons and forks don’t stick together. It actually makes unloading it easier too, because each section goes to the same place in the kitchen.

My wife on the other hand has a completely different philosophy when it comes to dishes. Her philosophy is more of “shove that crap in there.” She loads it as she goes, so things are randomly placed in whatever hole she sees first. This includes stacking things on top of things and possibly stacking things on top of those. She believes in using vertical space as well as horizontal space. So, if the rack slides back in, then it’s okay! I know it’s not wrong, per se, it’s just different. But it still feels like a chaotic mess to me. Almost like a tornado went through the dishwasher.

The Cardinal: Mate

I was premature on the cardinal situation. The stupid bird came back today and once again slammed into the window. He then proceeded to sit on the window sill and bang his head repeatedly into the glass. When I approached the window, he flew out to the fence, and that’s when I saw the female cardinal sitting on the bird feeder.

So, the reason I hadn’t seen the stupid bird for a while was that he had somehow managed to find a girl. Based on what I know of the male, either he was the last available option or the other choices seemed less desirable…which is somehow hard to imagine. Maybe she likes males who brain themselves senseless, because then she can take advantage of them to get what she wants. Either way, he was back and fighting his imaginary enemy to impress her. I can’t imagine she’d be too impressed by this display of stupidity. Perhaps, she was already starting to regret her choices. I mean, are you sure THESE are the genes you want to be passing on to your offspring?! When you realize that cardinals mate for life, it makes it even more perplexing.

The mirrors in the tree obviously are having zero effect on this stupid bird. When I brought this up to my son, he said that it’s because they are spinning…which is probably true. At one point, I saw the cardinal sitting on the ground, watching the lights dance around him. He seemed less scared of them and more just intrigued. I’m so glad I could give him another reason to enjoy coming to my yard…sarcasm implied.

Dead Air

There was a commercial on the radio this morning that said, “Have you ever thought, ‘I could do your job’? Well, prove it! Every Thursday, you get to influence the playlist.” I thought to myself, “I could probably be a DJ. Now, would I want to do that? No. But I probably could.”

As I pondered this question, I realized that I have the gift of gab. For all of my claims and even penchant for introversion, I am still able to talk with the best of them. And I’m really good at filling the silence. I don’t have to have something specific to talk about, but I can usually come up with something to say if nobody else is speaking. I have lots of great stories, and I have a wickedly strange view of things around me. I mean I will often call my mom on my 40-minute drive to my son’s daycare, and I’ll probably talk for 35 minutes of the drive. I’d like to think that my mom is enjoying the conversation and being wildly entertained, but maybe she just puts the phone down and walks away!

Really my biggest issue with public speaking is standing up in front of people and seeing their reactions or getting their feedback. But that’s not a problem with radio, because you’re just talking to “dead air.” You’re sending your words off into the ether without any clue who is listening or if they’re listening. You’re talking to fill the silence.

And then it hit me. Being a DJ is a lot like talking to my mom on the phone. Your audience is unusually quiet, so you just have to fill the dead air on your own. In fact, you’re not even sure if they’re still tuned in. But you speak with the hope that they’re enjoying your words and being wildly entertained.

Homeless Cell Phone

Near the university where my son has his daycare, there is a constant presence of homeless people begging on the corners. There is one man that I see quite often, shuffling slowly along the side of the highway feeder road, a drugged out blankness on his face, adorned in grungy clothes, and smoking a cigarette. Today, when he turned around to shuffle back to his corner, I noticed a large black cell phone in his back pocket. I could tell it was one of the newer model iPhones, and so many questions popped into my head.

If you have no money, how can you afford to buy a phone that costs several hundred dollars? How is it that you have a newer model than I have? How do you pay the monthly bill? And if you’re homeless, where do they even send the monthly bill? If you have no power, how do you charge it? And maybe the most important question is…who are you calling?!

Bum Bubbles

I poured my milk this morning and there were two large bubbles floating next to each other. They were the exact same size, and it looked like two cheeks in a bum. So, I started today being mooned by my milk. Happy Valentine’s Day to me!

The Cardinal: Kamikaze

It’s been a few days now, and there has been no sign of the cardinal. I’m not sure if he has been attacking the mirrors, and I just haven’t seen it. Or if the twirling lights actually scared him away. Either way, I’m hoping this finally resolved the issue.

UPDATE: My spousal unit informed me that the cardinal did attack the window this afternoon. Apparently, he flew into it at full speed and knocked himself unconscious. He laid on the ground for several minutes before getting up and flying away. Maybe this was his last-ditch, Kamikaze flight before he acceded defeat.

The Cardinal: Mirrors

I did it. I hung up mirrors in the tree outside to entice the stupid cardinal to take out his misplaced aggression on them instead of the window. I’m not sure if it’ll work, but if nothing else, we have a beautiful light show now when the sun reflects off the twirling mirrors.

The Cardinal: Fighting Hour

We have this stupid cardinal that keeps attacking our back window. Every day, he flies up and starts attacking his reflection in the window. Apparently, he sees the “other bird” as a rival that needs to be driven from his territory. However, unlike other territorial birds, cardinals won’t stop when they find a mate. They just keep coming back to fight!

A lot of posts online said that you can cover the window, but apparently cardinals are so aggressive, that they’ll just go pick a fight with another window! And they’ll come back every day around the same time. I’m imagining him checking the watch on his wing.

Cardinal: “It’s 1:42 pm. Time to go give that other bird a beating!”

…flies to to the window…

Cardinal: “I see you didn’t learn your lesson from yesterday. You came back for another round of thunder and lightning,” showing the reflection his wings one by one.
Reflection [mirroring the cardinal]: “…”
Cardinal: “Are you mocking me?! Put your wing down! Put it down! Stop copying me, or I’m going to give you a beating your future offspring will feel. That’s it! Reap the whirlwind!”

…Cardinal pecks at the winds several times…

Cardinal: “Take that, you swine! There’s plenty more where that came from. I suggest you don’t show up again tomorrow.”

Some of the posts suggested hanging mirrors out in the yard, so the bird would fight out there instead of attacking your windows. I liked that idea, but I’m afraid he’s so stupid that he’d leave the mirrors alone and still come to the window. Or worse yet, he’d form a gang with the “other birds” to take down his rival by the house. The next thing you know, there’s a whole flock of cardinals wearing matching leather jackets with “C-Birds” on the back, holding tiny pistols sideways at the window all thug style.

My Christmas Love

I was watching “My Christmas Love” on Hallmark today; the premise of which is that a girl has a secret admirer, and she has to figure out which one of four men it is. Three of the men are clean-shaven, and one has beard scruff. I knew right off that the three clean-shaven guys didn’t stand a chance. The funny thing is that one of the clean-shaven guys was the main love interest in another Hallmark movie, and he had beard scruff in that movie.

For some reason, Hallmark believes that the epitome of sexiness for every woman is a man with beard scruff. Even for guys that really can’t grow it, or where it looks really bad. They still force the issue. I assume this is why Hallmark has never come calling me. I can’t grow beard scruff. I can either do clean-shaven or a semblance of a full beard. There is no in between. Well, the beard thing and the fact that I’m not over six feet tall. That’s really all that’s keeping me from being a Hallmark leading man.