The Siamese Cookie

I had a rare and strange discovery in my bag of animal crackers today. I pulled out a cracker of two crackers attached to each other. This Siamese cookie was strange in its flawless transition from what I can only surmise is a donkey to what looks vaguely like a goat. What is truly disturbing about this cookie, however, is that the donkey’s head is up the goat’s butt. This is not only disturbing for its depiction of an animal impossibility, a donkey and a goat being of vastly different heights, but also for the pure shock of finding such a non-family-friendly cookie in my bag.

I can only guess that some worker in the cookie factory had grown bored with his job and had decided that the creation of such a cookie would help pass the time.

Beauty of the Rain

It was raining again this morning. Of course saying it was raining is an understatement. It was pouring. I really wouldn’t mind so much if I didn’t have to drive in the mess. Although there is a certain beauty to the rain that can only be seen from the inside of a car.

I like to turn my windshield wipers off when I stop at a stoplight and watch as the rain slides down the windshield in wavy, uneven sheets. Colors blur together. Perfect, logical shapes turn into irregular, curving masses. It’s like watching the world slowly going out of focus. And I sit mesmerized as the picture before me takes on an endless array of variations when looked at through my ever-changing lens.

Then the light will turn green, the windshield wipers will be switched back on, and the abstract will be swept away. The lines and perfect angles will be back. Clarity will be restored…at least until the next stoplight.

The Jalapeno

When M.B.’s son was three, he snuck into the kitchen while M.B. was making nachos. M.B. was cutting up some jalapenos when his son unexpectedly reached up over the edge of the counter and snagged a jalapeno slice. Before M.B. could react, his son dashed out of the kitchen, shoving the jalapeno slice into his mouth.

Within seconds, a high-pitched wail could be heard from the next room. M.B. ran into the room to find his son crying and scratching at his tongue. In between sobs, his son cried, “You poisoned me! It hurts!”

M.B. picked him up and carried him into the bathroom. He got a wash cloth, soaked it with cold water, and set about rubbing it over his son’s burning tongue.

The moral of the story is two-fold: If you’re three, don’t stick things in your mouth that you grabbed off the counter. If you’re a three-year old’s father who just grabbed a jalapeno off the counter and shoved it into his mouth, you can either make him drink the water or you can have a little fun with it and scrub his tongue with it.

It's a Boy!

When announcing a new birth, why do people always say that baby, mom, and dad are all doing fine? Dad is doing fine? Why wouldn't he be fine? Did he faint and knock himself out on the edge of the bed? Was his hand pulverized during an extremely bad contraction? Did he stupidly try to give advice to his wife and get stabbed with a wayward scalpel?

I mean what do people think he was doing in there other than standing around uselessly, panicking that he wasn't doing more?

Miles per Fry

With the continued success of bio-diesel cars to turn unwanted restaurant grease and oil into a usable fuel source, it is only a matter of time before McDonald’s capitalizes on this emerging market. Pretty soon you’ll stop at the McDonald’s Food and Fuel. You’ll drive up to the window and order a Number 1, which will now be a Big Mac, medium French fry, medium drink, and 10 gallons of bio-diesel fuel for $25 plus tax.

Of course industry standards will have to change as well. Car fuel ratings will no longer be measured by miles per gallon. The new bio-diesel cars will now have a mpf, or miles per fry, rating. How many miles can you drive on a gallon of French fry oil?

The Prom Date

S.M. was telling me yesterday that he broke up with his girlfriend days before his prom. He had no choice but to ask out a Freshman since all the other good girls were taken. He told me that from the get-go the date did not go well. I asked how bad it got, and he replied by saying that it got so bad that they didn't leave the prom together. Apparently, his date met someone else, and left with her instead.

Tastes Like Chicken

You know how everyone says that things taste like chicken. Well, thanks to my mother's insight, I have a new perspective on that theory. Who decided that chicken ought to be the top of the meat foodchain? As if everything was beneath it and should be compared to it. How do we know that snake isn't really the top meat? Maybe snake doesn't taste like chicken, maybe chicken tastes like snake. Logic would then follow that all other meats that were once compared to chicken would now be compared to snake.

"I had alligator once."
"Oh yeah, what did it taste like?"
"It tasted like snake."
"What does that taste like?"
"Like chicken."
"Ah, gotcha."

Sheep Flatulence

I was reading an article in the paper the other day about new research that is being done to help identify and combat Global Warming. Apparently, there is an entire research facility in Australia devoted to the study of how sheep flatulence affects the environment. Scientists believe that the abundance of sheep flatulence in the atmosphere is actually having a greater impact than car exhaust. So, research is being conducted to determine how to feed sheep without giving them gas.

How do you solicit funds for that? "So, you want me to give you money so you can study sheep farts?"

And more importantly, how do you test if the sheep has passed gas? "All right, Bob, you go stand behind the sheep and see if you smell anything."

D29X

I can just imagine some civilization digging up my bones in the future. Pouring over the multiple fractures in close examination, and concluding that I must have been a great and powerful warrior of my people. How else could they explain the multiple skull fractures, broken elbow, broken fingers, and hundreds of other unknown scars without determining that it must have come from war.

Soon the theories will start about how I was not only a great and powerful warrior, but a king. A king that waged so much war that I must have ruled a vast and varied land. So much land that I must have been ruler of the entire known world. Of course, this will be hundreds of thousands of years in the future, so nobody would be around to explain that I was more like a peon than a king.

Then questions about the circumstances of my death will surface. For surely a king as great as myself could never succumb to a mortal weapon in battle, so it must have been that I was betrayed. Maybe poison. Maybe a paper cut on my tongue. You know, something really dangerous and deadly.

Then they will dig up the skull of my wife next to me, and theories of the humble, submissive queen will surround her. Again nobody will be around to tell them that here lies the skull of the woman that discovered the cure for cancer…sugar momma to the lazy, clumsy skull next to her. Financial supporter of the stupid moron that once hit himself in the head with a PVC pipe after it bounced off the bumper of the RV he was beating it on. Caretaker of the hapless weakling that broke his finger while trying to catch a stuffed animal thrown by a four-year old girl. Guardian of the unfortunate wretch that was thrown off the monkey bars by a three-year old girl, shattering his elbow in multiple places. Better half of the ridiculous idget that once drove a tent stake through his finger. Superior to the dimwit that was once drop-kicked across the room by his best friend, slamming his head into a window sill while pretending to be The Ultimate Warrior…which is as close to a warrior as he ever got.

No. Nobody will be around to tell them all that. So, I shall hence forth be known as specimen D29X, ruler of the known world!

Fleece

I have a little stuffed sheep on my desk, which I affectionately named “Fleece.” In fact, he is one of the counting sheep made famous by those Serta commercials on TV. I got him as a gift when we bought our new mattress.

Today, Fleece decided to go hip-hop on me, and I found him sporting an earring. Of course, you can’t really pull the look off unless you’re sporting a rag for your head, so I made him a “ewe rag” out of a napkin to help hold back his wool.

Oil Change

M.C. and I both had to take our cars to get the oil changed. We decided to take them to the same place, but our experiences were very different. I jumped back into my car and noticed a faint but pleasant floral scent wafting from the vents when I turned my car on. It lasted about a day and then disappeared altogether. I thought it was a nice touch.

M.C. jumped back into his car and noticed a distinct fish smell wafting from the vents. At the time, he shrugged it off as the car just picking up some smell from outside, but the odor lingered all the way to his house. The next day he came to pick me up for work, and the stench had magnified overnight. My eyes were watering as we drove away, and by the time we got up to speed on the highway, the full force of dead fish had permeated throughout the car.

The moral of the story: Unless you want the smell of dead fish wafting from your vents for weeks after you leave the shop, don’t take your car in five minutes before the place closes and ask for the Premium Service.

Garden Snake

I was out in the garden the other day, and I stumbled upon a gigantic garden snake. This thing must have measured every bit of three or four inches long. I’m not a snake person, so my initial reaction was to scream at a pitch that was so high that dogs started barking…followed by an impressive feat in which I leaped vertically eight feet into the air.

About that time, my wife came barreling out of the house and asked, “What’s the matter? I heard a woman screaming out here.” I told her I saw a snake. She cocked an eyebrow, as only wives can do, and said a bit too sarcastically, “And you screamed like a little girl?” Not to be emasculated by some stupid snake, I puffed up my chest, looked her squarely in the eyes, and said, “Yes, because I saw on the Discovery Channel that snakes can’t stand high-pitched noises.”

I’m just guessing here, but I’m thinking by the way she was laughing and shaking her head as she walked back into the house that she didn’t really believe me.

Bracketless Shelves

My wife bought these cute, “bracketless” shelves for the bathroom. She asked me to hang them for her on the wall over the jetted tub. She explained exactly how she wanted them arranged, but I told her the design wasn’t artistic enough. So, after several sketches of potential designs, several fights about her calling my designs stupid, and several instances of flying shoes; I went to hang the shelves exactly how my wife had originally said she wanted them. Although I did so confidently believing that it was my idea all along.

I was born with an incredible eye for gauging when things line up, are at the same height, and are level to my relative position. So, I got to work attaching the brackets to the wall, they aren’t in fact “bracketless” after all, and eyeballed their relative levelness. When I got done, the shelves were perfect.

That is when I brought my right foot out of the tub, my left foot having stayed outside on the bathroom floor, and found out that the jetted tub is actually higher than the bathroom floor.

I tried to explain to my wife that the “left lean” of the shelves was intentional, my own little way of adding some artistic flair to her bland design. She just scowled at me and told me to fix it. I spent the next 15 min weighing the potential time and effort that it would require to un-hang and re-hang the shelves. Finally, I decided to just shave off the bottoms of her candles so they would lean to the right.

Except when one of the candles takes a swan dive off onto the bathroom floor, this solution has worked out fine.

Limbo Day

With Mother’s Day right around the corner and Father’s Day a month after that, I realized that I’m in sort of a limbo land here. I’m quite obviously not a mother if for no other reason than I’m not female. And I’m not a father yet. So, basically I don’t get a day to just lay around and be pampered. I’m sure my wife would say that that is my usual state of affairs, but barring that more true than I’d like to admit statement, I’m advocating for another holiday for guys like me. So, this year I’m celebrating the “Not a Father Yet, but Anatomically Still Could Be Day”! I really think this is going to catch on.

Compuwhore

S.M.’s computer, it has been discovered, is the office slut. She’s been passed around to various people more times than a best-selling library book. She has more profiles stored on her than any other computer in the office, and apparently the hard life has caused her to become bitter and unresponsive. Yesterday, she even refused to respond to mouse clicks, and S.M. was forced to discontinue working early. It is a sad tale of our society, but it does happen. We can’t all have monogamous computers.

Found...Dead at Work

I was reading this article about this guy that died at his desk at work, and nobody noticed there was anything wrong for five days. Apparently, the guy was always the first one in, the last one to leave, and it wasn’t unusual for him to work for days on end without talking to anyone.

I’m a little appalled by this. So, basically this guy got paid for doing nothing for five days! If it was my company, I’m sure my widow could expect a nice payroll deduction on my last paycheck. “Dead at desk…5.0 units @ 168.00…-$840.”

It’s not all bad, though, at least I could get a nice tax credit on my taxes. When I did my taxes this year, the software asked me if I had died before December 31. I was a little unsure how to answer that. I skipped the question until I saw if I was going to get money back or owe the government. I figured maybe I wouldn’t have to pay if I was dead. I came to find out later that death is not an excuse for not paying your taxes. Apparently, tax collectors can even find you in the afterlife!

Squatty Potty

S.M. came across this article yesterday about squatting toilets, or the “squatty potty,” which are apparently common in parts of Asia and the Middle East. This is essentially just a hole in the ground that you squat over to do your business. There is no flushing mechanism. If you’re lucky, you’ll find a bucket of water sitting next to the hole to help clean up after yourself! (Does this remind anyone else of a Port-o-Potty…minus the bucket of water, of course?)

The article went on to describe the proper way to use the toilets; proper squatting technique, how to clean yourself only with your left hand (and how not to eat with that hand later), how to properly dispose of your toilet paper, etc.

I realize that here at work we don’t have squatting toilets, but I figured the same technique could be applied to a normal toilet. It would just take achieving the proper balance while standing up there on the toilet seat. I discovered that is not as easy as you might think. For one thing, you are limited in the width you can spread your feet apart, since the toilet seat is only “so” wide. And for another, it is doubly hard to squat, keep your balance, and still have your hands free to play Midnight Pool on your cell phone.

I don’t think the “squatty potty” will catch on here anytime soon.

A Blessing and a Curse

You know, it really is a curse to be as good looking as I am. Well, of course you don’t know! How could you? There’s nobody as devilishly handsome as I am. It’s a blessing and a curse, though. On one hand women faint at the mere sight of me, and on the other I could never commit a crime, because I’m so easily recognizable.

My poor wife, bless her soul, doesn’t trust me at all. She’s always suspicious of where I’m going and who I’m going with. She can’t help it. I’d never cheat on her, but how could she trust this face when it melted her heart easily enough?

*Sigh* Yes, a blessing and a curse.

I would hide myself from life, to keep my beauty from everyone. But I must go on. It wouldn’t be fair to deny so many deserving people the opportunity to catch even a glimpse of me.

Oh the burden I must carry!

Errorless E-mail

Today has been a pretty good day. I wrote an entire client e-mail without the spell checker finding a single error. I was so stunned when it went right through. I had my mouse poised to click the usual ‘Skip’ or ‘Replace’ buttons. I was thrilled and strangely disappointed at the same time.

I went on to write two more e-mails that also went through without a single error. I started to get cocky. Then I sent an e-mail that contained a simple, three-word answer and got caught misspelling two of the three words. The honeymoon was over. I’m a loser again.

Corporate Quit Smoking Plan

My company decided that employees were taking too many smoke breaks, which was cutting into their productivity. They decided to take our end-of-the-year bonuses and start a new “Kick the Habit” program. Each smoker was to be given a daily dose of Nicorette to help them start curbing the habit.

A week before the program was supposed to go into effect, the financial numbers for the actual cost of the program came out. My company decided that it would cost too much to buy Nicorette for all of the smokers, so they decided to substitute packs of gum instead. Each smoker was to be given a pack of gum weekly.

The first day of the program the managers came around and handed each smoker a single stick of Extra gum. When asked what happened to the entire pack of gum, the managers responded that this gum would last an extra, extra long time and the smokers would just have to make it last the entire week.

Shortly after, we received an inter-office memo stating that upper management had found a way to cut costs and that each of the executive officers would be receiving a raise in pay. Our end-of-the-year bonuses were never reinstated.

That was five years ago.

My Baseball Cards

BANG!

“I’ve been shot,” I say, clutching my hand to my chest. I gasp and crumple to the floor. The pain is unbearable. I can hardly catch my breath as my wife sits down next to me and cradles my head in her arms.

“Just be still. Don’t try to talk too much,” she says comfortingly, gently moving a stray hair out of my eyes.

“But…gasp…but there’s something…gasp…I need to tell you. I…gasp…I want you to have…gasp, cough, cough…I want you to have my baseball cards.”

“Your baseball cards?” she asks incredulously.

“Yes. They’re my most…gasp…valuable possession. Cough, cough…you can sell them…gasp…sell them and use the money…gasp…to live…cough, cough. I don’t have much…gasp…but what I have…gasp…is cardboard,” I say sincerely.

“And how much are they worth?” she asks me suspiciously.

“I’m sure…gasp…they’ve gone up in value…cough, cough…but the last time I checked, they…gasp…were worth around $12.00.”

“You have got to be kidding me!” she exclaims, rolling me off her lap. My head hits the floor with a thunk.

I roll over to face her with some effort. I plead with her. “But, Baby, it’s…gasp…it’s not my fault that Jose Canseco ended up sucking…cough, cough…and…gasp…nobody’s heard of Don Mattingly…gasp…and Barry Bonds thought it would be a good idea…cough, cough…to do steroids. It seemed like a good idea…gasp…at the time. I spent hundreds of dollars on them…gasp…and now they’re worth about five cents apiece.”

“You’re pathetic!” she screams at me and stomps out of the room. The last image I have in this world is a sideways view of the floor and her retreating shoes.

I think to myself. “Damn you, Jose Canseco! Damn you!”

Bankruptcy Party

The show I was listening to this morning on the radio was discussing the fact that less than a week after the federal government gave AIG $85 million to bail the company out of its financial difficulties, the company sent its executives on a retreat to a posh California resort. The total tab for the retreat cost the company approximately $440,000.

The DJ on the radio show asked callers what they would do with $440,000. Most of the callers talked about paying off debt or buying a new car or house. One guy called in and asked if the DJ thought he could buy the Kansas City Chiefs for that amount. The DJ said that the guy probably could, but why would he want to, even for that amount.

I think that caller is just stupid. I mean, it’s $440,000! He could probably negotiate and get the Kansas City Chiefs and the St. Louis Rams for that price. Idiot!

Wal-Mart Greeter

I applied at Wal-Mart to be a door greeter. I wanted to be able to smile at people and welcome them to the store. Seemed like a great job. Everything seemed just fine until Wal-Mart turned me down. They said I was overqualified for the position. Imagine that, being overqualified to say “Hi” to people.

Channel My Inner Greek

With the success of the Canada trip, in that she was able to leave the country and come back again, my wife has already started making plans for a trip to Greece at the end of the summer. She wants to go for about a month, which unfortunately I can't do. I suppose I will tag along for the 2 weeks I have and then come home alone. I guess I really need to get cracking on my Greek! Although I still don't know enough to carry on a "useful" conversation. I mean, who really cares that I drank a glass of milk at school or that my cantaloupe is green?

Incognito

I had to cut my hair last night. I actually cut it pretty short. I needed to change my look completely…to become unrecognizable. You see, I’m on the run. I placed a bad bet on a bad tip during the Synchronized Swimming Championships. I put it all on China, and then they got disqualified when it was revealed that three of their team members were only seven years old.

Apparently, disqualification still counts as a loss to a bookie, and now he wants me to pay up. Where am I supposed to get that kind of cash? It’s not like I have $22.65 just sitting around somewhere! I don’t know what I’m going to do. These guys are serious!

Shouldn't Leave Me Alone

My wife is leaving for a week to attend a conference in Whistler, Canada. This means that for a week I can have everything in the house exactly the way I want them. Simply put, this means the theme for the week is “Pants are Optional!”

Man Jailed for Throwing Shoe

I heard on the radio today that some guy in Iraq who was arrested for throwing a shoe at President Bush back in December got three years in prison. Apparently, in the Mideast, displaying the soles of your shoes to someone else is considered offensive, while throwing your shoes at someone else is extremely offensive.

Apparently, the Iraqi reporter could have gotten as much as fifteen years in prison for throwing his shoe. I suppose he only got three because he missed…with both shoes.

It cracks me up to hear about a society where hijacking planes and blowing up a building with a bomb strapped to your chest are taught as a higher calling, but throwing a shoe is offensive. Seriously? Throwing a shoe is worse than killing someone? “When you shot that guy, we were willing to overlook it. But you threw a shoe, and that, we cannot tolerate!”

It’s not all bad, though. The shoe company claiming to have made the shoes had to hire one hundred more people to be able to keep up with the demand for that particular model of shoe!

Church Bells

When I came in this morning, the church bells across the street were ringing happily. I like to think they are thanking God for getting us all through another night and allowing us to see another beautiful day.

I met J.C. coming in, and she commented how pretty the bells sounded. She said that was why she always came in a few minutes late each day, so she could hear the bells. I quickly agreed, thinking that it surely couldn’t be the sleeping in late, absurdly thinking that eating breakfast was important, watching TV just five minutes too long, the unexpected bowel movement that crept up on me, spending an extra few minutes admiring my potato physique in the mirror, or the traffic through the three construction zones I have to drive through. It has to be to hear the bells that brings me in late every morning. Yeah, that’s it.

Boquillas del Carmen

When I was a kid, I found myself on a family vacation in Big Bend National Park, which is in southwest Texas and runs right up to the Mexico border. This was back in the days when border crossing was more common and less restrictive. My dad decided that since we were so close to Mexico that we should visit Boquillas del Carmen, a little village just across the Rio Grande River. We hired a guy to drag us across the river in his boat…yes, he simply walked across the river. The Rio Grande River was not the deterrent and safety wall that some people thought it was.

After a twelve-second burro ride up the hill (which we also paid for), we found ourselves in the village of Boquillas del Carmen. Needless to say, it left a lot to be desired. The entire village consisted of three buildings: two saloons and a restaurant. We paid a guy to “show us the town,” and we were led on a tour of the aforementioned three buildings, the village Coke machine, the village water well, and the pig sty located right next to the village water well. (This was the main reason we opted for a Coke out of the machine rather than the offered glass of water.)

At the time, Boquillas del Carmen had one pig living in the village pig sty, and that pig only had three legs. When we asked the guide about this, he smiled his crooked, yellow smile and said, “We’re eating ‘im one leg at a time.”

Marriage Aroma

I have long believed that my inability to attract the attention of the opposite sex stemmed from the fact that I wore a wedding ring. However, recent experiments of going shopping without my wedding ring have shown that belief to be false. I still am unable to get ogled. This has led me to establish a new theory.

I must be reeking of what I like to call the “marriage aroma.” This aroma, while completely invisible to me, must be evident to every woman out there. It identifies me immediately as being married and wards off any potential attention I might get. If it isn’t something that all husbands get when they say, “I do,” then I suspect that it is something that my wife has concocted to protect her “investment.”

The “marriage aroma” is really the only plausible explanation. A few of the guys at work have suggested that maybe I’m just not attractive to the opposite sex…which is just absurd. Everyone knows I’m God’s gift to women. So, it must be the “marriage aroma.”

New On-Site Technical Support

The system has detected a problem with your request. Please, rub the side of your monitor and a genie will appear. He will determine the error and correct the problem for you. Thank you for using our new on-site technical support.

7 Habits

I’m in this training class at work, The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People. While the book has incredibly good content, it is best to read it in stages. I found this out the hard way. I tried reading some of the book during my lunch hour. I made pretty good headway, but somewhere along the way I started dozing off. I tried to fight it, but apparently I lost. I say apparently, because I don’t recall falling asleep, I only recall the brisk shaking of my co-worker as he aroused me out of my slumber.

I sat up, wiped the drool off my cheek, wiped the drool off the book, wiped the drool off the desk, wiped my foot across the drool on the floor, and stared at him in annoyance. “I’m trying to read here. What do you need?”

“Class is about to start back up, and I didn’t want you to sleep through it.”

“Oh,” I said a little chagrined. “Thanks.”

Perhaps it was because of the way I had talked to him. Perhaps it was for some past offense that I’m unaware of. Perhaps it is just in his nature. But while this co-worker made sure to wake me for class, he didn’t find the time to mention that I had an embossed “7” on my cheek from sleeping on the cover of the book! Luckily, the teacher just thought I was really gung-ho about the class.

Strange Ideas

As strange as my mind may seem at times, my brother has equally come up with some strange ideas. One day he came up with the bright idea to weigh himself before and after he went to the bathroom to see how much weight he had lost while he was in there. I honestly have never thought of anything that strange. But it can definitely get worse than that.

When I related this funny anecdote to S.M. today, he said that he actually weighed himself WHILE he was going to the bathroom, so he could watch the weight ticking off point one pounds at a time.

So, Bro, there is someone out there as strange as you.

Reeling Economy Hurts in More Ways than Previously Imagined

In yet another pitiful example of how the poor state of the economy has affected our lives, my company recently changed toilet paper manufacturers to try to cut some costs. Their new choice leaves no doubt as to its cheapness, being that if you hold it up to the light it is basically see-through.

However, this half-ply wonder, as in it is so thin you wonder how it is doing any good at all, is one of the most painful experiences I’ve ever…well, experienced. I’m pretty sure that if someone handed you a roll of sand and glass shards, you would choose that before you chose this masochistic torture roll. Not only does it scrape off the outer two layers of skin with every pass, but it also must be coated in jalapeno and Tobasco sauce to make sure that you are aware that you are missing the above-mentioned two layers of skin.

For all management out there who might stumble upon this blog, don’t go with the cheap stuff. It might save money in the short run, but the Workman’s Comp payouts aren’t worth it.

Just When You Thought It Was Safe to Go Outdoors

The weather here in Missouri is finally starting to get a little warmer. Of course, according to the weather report this week, just as the temperature will be edging on “nice” it is supposed to rain and drop at least 20 degrees again. Figures!

I firmly believe that there is someone watching the weather here…someone in charge of making sure that I never have the ability to breathe again through both nostrils simultaneously.

“ALERT! ALERT! We have a code red, people. He’s on the verge of regaining the use of both nostrils. Flip the switch quickly before he figures it out! Did you hear me? We are at DefCon 5! He’s getting close to knowing what everything smells like again without the snot undertone. Drop the temperature 20 degrees; that ought to take care of it. Get moving, people! Do you understand the severity of the situation? We have an Amber Alert. Do you actually want him to have a complete 24 hours without getting a sinus pressure headache?! I didn’t think so. Now get on that switch, and mix in some rain as well.”

My New Lunch Bag

My wife bought me a new lunch bag the other day. This thing is big enough to hold the entire contents of my refrigerator! I told her it looked like luggage. The only thing it is missing is the slide-out handle and some wheels. She said that my use of plastic grocery bags to carry my lunch was henceforth unacceptable, and she watches me like a hawk in the mornings to make sure I’m using the correct bag.

So, I walked into work today with my ginormous lunch bag, and K.E. asked me what I had for lunch. I said, “I’ve got a thing of yogurt in there. It’s a little picky about who it hangs out with. I have to separate it from the rest of my food. The rest of my lunch is in this plastic grocery bag.”

Some people are just stuck in their ways, I guess.

Keep Austin Weird

A.S. said that he was sitting in this café once and saw this cheerleader standing outside the window. She had her back to him, but he noticed how good her legs looked in her short, cheer skirt. When the cheerleader turned around, A.S. was taken aback to see that the cheerleader had a full beard!

That was A.S.’s first introduction to Leslie Cochran, Austin, Texas’s own homeless cross-dresser. According to Leslie’s wikipedia page (yes, he has his own wikipedia page) his favorite outfit is his leopard-skin thong and high-heeled shoes. Apparently, he also ran for Mayor several years ago and got more than 1% of the vote.

I’m still floored that he has his own wikipedia page. I didn’t realize the requirements for fame and status could be as low as wearing a thong and showing it to people. I’m already halfway there!

Candy Connoisseur

I brought some candy to work today. S.M. apparently loves Krackel candy bars, so he spent ten minutes digging all of them out of my candy jar. He then took them to his desk, slowly unwrapped one, ran his nose just above the surface of the bar, breathed in deeply, and then place it on its little foil wrapper on his desk.

I watched all of this with wonder. When he clearly wasn’t going back to it, I asked him what he was doing. He said he was letting it breathe. I then watched as he bit off the corner of the bar and let the chocolate piece melt slowly on his tongue. When it was completely gone, he promptly scarfed down the rest of the Krackel.

A true connoisseur.

Chicken Foreclosures

I read in the paper today that due to the economic crisis, many chickens are losing their houses due to inability to pay. Apparently, they are in extreme debt with their chicken coops, and some are experiencing bankruptcy and bank foreclosures. For the first time in history, chickens are finding themselves homeless, and they don’t know what to do about it. When will this horror end!?

The Coaster

I was sitting in a conference room at work yesterday, where we have these leather coasters that we use to keep water rings from appearing on the conference tables. I slid one of the coasters across the table to another associate on the other side. But the coaster took on a life of its own and headed in a completely different direction.

Down it plunged into the dark void, also known as the one-inch crack between the table and the wall. The table has a back on it, so I couldn’t just crawl under it, and there was no way my arm could fit down the crack to reach it. So, I left it there; sitting forgotten, collecting dust, and useless.

I was in the same conference room today, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the crack. I knew the coaster was sitting down there, barely visible in the half-light shining down from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. I felt a knot, tight and bunched in my stomach. I had robbed that poor coaster of its single purpose in life: to sit on a desk and hold someone’s drink. Something had to be done.

How could I sleep at night, knowing that coaster lurked at the bottom of the crack, and that I had been the one that had turned it to a life of crime, of violence, of darkness? It hadn’t asked for this fate, but life is sometimes a cruel mistress. So, it did whatever it could to survive, to make it from day to day, to eke out a sad existence in that hell that I had subjected it to.

It was driving me crazy! Who was I to determine a coaster’s fate? Am I so cruel and heartless that I could do that without feeling guilt or remorse? Alas, no! I sighed and shook my head. Like Reverend Dimmesdale from the Scarlet Letter, I may not wear the red ‘A’, but I was being persecuted by it nonetheless.

I waited until my meeting was over, and then I crawled under the table. I wedged my pen into the tiny gap under the table’s back, and inch by inch I guided the coaster to freedom. You’ll be relieved to know that the coaster is once again lying on the desk, waiting to fulfill its single purpose in life. Now, maybe I can sleep tonight.

The Low for the Day

I woke up this morning to the weather report being delivered on the radio. The meteorologist said, “…the high today will be 45 with a low of 23. The current temperature is 16.”

How is it possible that the current temperature is lower than the low for the day?

Negative Temperatures

I never even knew my car thermometer could express negative temperatures. I looked down at the dash this morning and was like, “What’s that funny little symbol to the left of the ‘2’?” It was a minus sign. That’s right, negative two degrees here in Missouri today. It was actually probably colder than that, like before the sun actually graced the world with its presence.

In the 12 seconds that it took me to walk from the car into the office building, I lost all feeling in my ears, nose, fingers, and toes, and I couldn’t blink for about two hours. That just isn’t right! My boss tried to send me home, because I was crying. I tried to explain through my Botox lips that I wasn’t upset, I just couldn’t blink and my eyes were drying out.

Ode to My Pawpaw

My grandfather passed away today around lunchtime. He was a good and honorable man. Quiet and reserved most of the time, and as stiff and unbending as an oak. He was a man from a different generation. A generation where it was accepted and encouraged to rule the house with a firm hand and occasionally a peach-tree switch! But what I remember most about my grandfather was a heart full of love.

He was a man that loved his wife of sixty-one years so much that he worked well into his seventies in order to provide her with the luxuries he felt she deserved. I never once heard my grandfather complain. He just got up every morning at 4 a.m., had himself an egg for breakfast, and headed off to drive his semi-truck.

He was a man that loved his family so much that in addition to raising four children, he also raised four grandchildren and one great-grandchild. He didn’t have to do this. Lord knows it wasn’t his job! But he never thought twice when they needed a place to live. He just moved some stuff around in the spare bedrooms, so they’d have a place to put their bags.

He was a man that loved his garden. When I went over to see him, if he wasn’t outside lovingly coaxing some cucumbers to grow, then he was filling up a paper bag for me of the latest haul. He didn’t just love to work in his garden, he loved to experiment in it. He’d try growing all sorts of different plants. I remember the time he grew some “Bird’s Eye” peppers. Those things were so hot that they had every man in our family crying uncontrollably after just one bite! The ladies were smart enough to stay well away.

And if he wasn’t growing it, then he was cooking it. My grandfather loved to cook, and by golly he was really good at it! Stove, oven, pit…it didn’t matter…he was a master of them all. His slow-cooked beef jerky, smoked in the heart of two fifty-gallon oil drums, was practically world famous. And I know his nutless, banana nut bread definitely was! That was always a special treat for me. And after I managed to “hoover” my loaf of banana bread down in a single afternoon, I would sneak into the kitchen and start in on my step-father’s loaf. It was THAT good!

I never went hungry at my grandparent’s house. I doubt if anybody ever did! I used to joke that I would no sooner put my empty plate down, then my grandfather would come shuffling in from the other end of the house to ask me if I needed some more.

He was a man that always made everyone feel welcome. It didn’t matter what you had done in your past, where you came from, or who your family was…my grandfather would shake your hand, offer you something to drink, and get you a plate. He was always thinking about someone else.

No matter what was ailing him, he always greeted me with, “Son, how’re you doing?” Followed promptly by, “And how’s your wife?” The man had a million worries and responsibilities, and he wanted to know how my wife and I were doing! Every moment that I was there, I felt like he was genuinely glad to see me. There wasn’t a single time that I left his house that he didn’t tell me, “Ya’ll come back and see us!” I expected it, and I loved that about him.

I loved my grandfather. I don’t know that I ever told him that. I know he loved me, but I don’t think he ever told me either. I suppose our relationship wasn’t defined so much by words as by gestures. But it was enough.

It was enough.

One Year Down...

Today is my 1-year anniversary at my job. My boss, undoubtedly the coolest boss I’ve ever had, made me brownies in celebration. The time has flown by so quickly that I had completely forgotten about it. I’m still wondering how she remembered. Oh well, it was just awesome that she did, so a HUGE gold star to my boss for making me feel important. And a Happy Anniversary to me!

The Real Santa Clause

I’m not sure how I figured out there was no Santa Clause, but I suspect it was my brother that ruined that joy for me. He has had a habit of dispelling life’s mysteries for me; Santa Clause, the Tooth Fairy, sex.

Even though he claimed it was our parents putting presents around the tree under the pseudonym of Santa Clause, he could never stay awake to catch it happening. Year after year, he would attempt to stay up, and then mysteriously wake up tucked snuggly in his bed the next morning. I was determined to succeed where he had failed.

One Christmas Eve I found myself huddled on the couch in the den, flashlight in hand, waiting in the dark. I almost didn’t make it, but I managed to stay up long enough to see a shadowy figure come into the den...not from the chimney, but from the kitchen. I waited until the figure was halfway across the den before I switched on my flashlight. The figure immediately dropped to the floor in a limp pile behind the coffee table. I calmly stood up and shined my light at it, only to find my stepmother crouching on the floor.

“What are you doing down there?” I asked.
“Looking for my earring,” she replied.
“In the dark?”
“What’re you doing out of bed?” (Just like a parent to try to change the subject to something you are doing wrong to cover up something they aren’t supposed to be doing.)

As I drifted off to sleep, I could vaguely hear my stepmother telling my father, “Well, we have to change all the labels on the gifts now.” Santa Clause has never come to visit our house again since that fateful night.

Driving in Missouri

This morning I got flipped off for driving one mile over the speed limit. Welcome to the state of Missouri, where it is not merely enough to break the law…you must break it with gusto! The state were it is unacceptable to drive less than ten miles over the speed limit and where you are revered as a god of the roadways if you drive faster than that.

I suppose getting the finger really shouldn’t have surprised me, since I really wasn’t making any attempt to hurry past the guy I was passing so the guy behind me could speed down the road. But I figured a guy who was driving so close to my back bumper that his radiator was heating my car needed to learn a little lesson in patience.

You're Actually Smart? Huh!

S.M. told me that his friend, J.M., is actually quite smart. He said that this fact greatly surprised him.

I don’t think I ever want someone to describe me that way, that I’m smart and that surprised them.

Vaderphobia

I realized today that my fear of heights is ridiculous. Even my modified version that it isn’t so much the heights as the fall to earth that scares me. I realized that what I really have is a fear of the sudden stop at the other end.

This is actually justified by Physics. The Law of Inertia states that an object in motion will remain in motion unless acted upon by an outside force. It is that outside force that I am actually afraid of. Or in Star Wars terms I have a Vaderphobia…fear of the force.

Holiday Decorations

I was sitting at work today, minding my own business, when a strange woman came to the wall near my cube and set up a ladder in front of it. For the next few minutes, she set about cleaning the wall. When that was done, she adhered a plastic hook to it. At which point, she promptly walked off with the ladder.

I sat there staring at that hook, wondering why anybody would just hang a plastic hook in the middle of a wall and then hang nothing on it. I turned it over and over in my head trying to determine what could possibly go on that hook. I was stumped.

About 20 minutes later an idea struck me. I immediately grabbed my coat off my desk, walked over to the hook, and hung my coat on it. With a satisfied nod, I went back to my desk and proceeded to work…the mystery having been solved.

Another 20 minutes passed when I heard someone behind me murmur, “Hmmm.” I turned around to see the same strange woman standing in front of the hook holding a large Christmas wreath and staring at my coat. She contemplated the situation for several minutes before setting the wreath on the floor and walking away. A strong urge compelled me to retrieve my coat, but a stronger urge compelled me to wonder what on earth she had gone to do.

A few minutes later, the strange woman returned with another woman, pointing at my coat in explanation. I watched both of them stand there in front of the hook staring at my coat. The second woman had an almost pained expression on her face as she stared hard at the coat, her brow scrunched in thought. She tapped her lips with the forefinger of her right hand.

Suddenly with a disgusted huff, she reached up and took my coat off the hook, threw it on the floor, and held out her hands in a “Ta-da” kind-of-way to express to the other woman that the problem was solved. She then stomped off down the hall, mumbling something under her breath.

The first woman stood there for a few minutes looking after the retreating woman. Then, she looked down at the coat on the floor and then back up to the hook. Then, back down to the coat and finally once again at the hook. Finally, she shrugged her shoulders, picked up the wreath, and hung it on the hook, turning and shifting to get it just right. Then with one more confused glance at my coat, she too retreated down the hall.

The Stupid Murder

There was a guy up here at work that was trying to kill his wife for insurance purposes. So, he invited her to lunch one day and then went up on the roof with a high-powered rifle.

When she got here to pick him up, she called him. He said, “Yeah, I see you. I’ll be down in a minute.” BANG! The bullet whizzed by her and embedded itself in the concrete. “Um, honey, can you move a little to the left. That’s it, right there where you see that hole in the concrete.” BANG!

As I've Gotten Older

I’ve noticed that as I’ve gotten older, things that I never noticed before are now blatantly obvious. For instance, have you ever noticed how the “ball pit” at Chuck E. Cheese’s smells like feet?

Our Finances

I sat down last weekend to work out our finances to show my wife how much she was spending. I mapped out the increased spending versus the dwindling savings account balance, and I put it all in a pretty pie chart to emphasize my point.

I brought her in and explained what the fat and barely noticeable sections on the chart meant. With a smirk of triumph, because how could she argue with that, I looked over at her and asked her, “What do you have to say to that?”

She paused a moment and then pointed at the barely noticeable section that represented the bank account. She asked, “So, you’re saying that we have money left in the bank account to go shopping with?”

On Shaving...

One slip of the razor and suddenly you’re sporting a whole new facial do! That is why after several years of having a mustache, I suddenly find my lip naked and exposed. I nipped one side of it trying to shape it a little. I nipped the other side, trying to even it out. I took a little bit too much off, so I went back to the original side to once again even it out. Alas, the razor struck again!

When I finally got them even, I stood there looking in the mirror at a reflection of Adolph Hitler with a stylish goatee. I promptly shaved the rest off, and wisely decided that my goatee looked just fine. I mean who cares if half of it winds its way all the way up to your nostril while the other half doesn’t quite make it past the dimple in your chin?

Hooter's Embargo

I refuse to eat at Hooter’s anymore. Apparently, they have this un-written policy that if you are there with your parents or your wife that you aren’t worth getting the signature over-the-top service. I suppose that they feel awkward flirting with you for tips in front of your wife, but still! Why else would I go to Hooter’s? The food?

It got so bad that the last time I went with my wife, I actually got a male waiter! A man? Are you kidding me? What’s worse is that he was wearing the belly-showing shirt and bottom-of-your-butt-cheeks-hanging-out shorts!

I’m sorry, but that’s the last straw!

New Rule

I have a new rule. Never piss off someone who can look at the top of your head while standing next to you. You might be able to take them in a fight, but the odds are not in your favor.

The New Mattress

We bought a new mattress last week. We finally broke down and ventured into the world of memory foam. The salesman assured us that due to the nature of the bed that not only would we not feel movement transfer through the bed, but that since we would be so perfectly supported that we probably wouldn’t move at all during the night. He told us that the bed actually has cooling vents that transfer heat out the sides of the bed while you sleep. And that since the mattress conforms to your body that it doesn’t matter if you and your partner like varying levels of firmness.

Now, a few things the salesman forgot to mention that could NOT be solved by this wonder of technology! This bed will NOT keep your partner from continuing to hog more than her side of the bed. (The use of the word “her” here is for example purposes only and in no way reflects this particular problem as a shortcoming of my wife. Now that she has left the room, I will continue.)

This bed will NOT keep your partner from stealing the covers off of you and rolling herself up in them like a burrito, leaving you cold and shivering, your exposed skin pelted by the frigid air as your stiff and convulsing body hangs precariously off the side of the bed. (See above for why convulsing body is hanging off the side of the bed.) However, it WILL suck the few remaining drops of heat from your body and transfer them out the cooling vents on the sides of the bed. (My wife adamantly is opposed to my insinuation that she rolls up in the covers like a burrito. She was not pacified by my analogies to an enchilada or an egg roll either. I then had to assure her that the use of the female here was once again for example purposes only and in no way reflects this particular problem as a shortcoming of my wife.)

This bed will NOT keep your partner from snoring loudly and unrhythmically in your ear. But it WILL keep her from flipping over to snore the other way, since she is so perfectly supported that she won’t move at all during the night. It WILL also keep you from being able to wake her up by bouncing a few times on the bed, since the nature of the bed won’t transfer motion across it. (Again the indication of the female personage is for example purposes only and in no way reflects this particular problem as a shortcoming of my wife. Geez! I wish she’d stop coming in here. She acts as if I’d spin this situation in my favor or something, instead of telling the facts exactly like they are.)

In short, no matter how wonderful your mattress is, it can’t solve all the problems you are likely to encounter throughout the night.

Barbeque by Octopus

Last night we had some friends over for a barbeque. Since it is later in the year, the days have been growing darker now at earlier hours. So, I end up cooking in the dark, which can make it quite difficult to tell when the meat is actually ready. To compensate, my wife invented a new style of cooking called “barbequing by octopus.”

I should explain further about the octopus. We have this lamp that has these long, bendable tubes protruding from the main base. At the end of each tube is a light bulb. Since you can bend the tubes around at any angle you want, the lamp sort of resembles an octopus. Although it only has five arms, so technically it’s a pentapus. But that’s just semantics.

So, now when I barbeque, she plugs the octopus up outside so I can see. Wha-la! Barbequing by octopus has been invented!

Tie Your Recyclables

Tonight I was taking the trash and recyclables out, since tomorrow is pick-up day. As I was tying the bright blue recycling bag, I noticed some writing on the side of it. It reads, “Please double knot bag to protect recyclables.”

Protect recyclables? From what exactly? The big, bad nasty non-recyclables that will try to sneak in?

Evasive Maneuvers

The neighbors behind us just got a new puppy. She is a playful, active little ball of white fluff. Lexi, that’s her name, has made a new friend in the slightly older puppy next door. When I say older, I also mean much, much bigger.

As is typical with little puppies, they tend to pick on larger dogs in an attempt to get them to play with them. Coby, the much, much bigger puppy, happily complies and begins to chase Lexi across the yard. Coby has longer legs and within an instant can easily catch Lexi before she gets too far. However, Lexi has learned a move to avoid Coby, which I have termed an “evasive maneuver.” Just at the last minute before Coby is upon her, she does a rolling move that not only moves her to the side of the impending attack, but also somehow causes her to flip completely around and end up back on her feet. While Coby is still trying to process what happened, Lexi is already speeding back across the yard in the opposite direction.

It is a thing of beauty to watch, and confounds Coby every time. It gives new meaning to evasive maneuvers while “dog fighting.”

I Can Take You...

My wife and I have this playful, ongoing battle for dominance in our house. For instance, whenever I act insubordinate, she’ll tell me, “You better watch it. I may be a woman, but I can still take you, little man.”

I have started to reply in a like manner whenever she is acting unruly. I will puff up my chest, throw my shoulders back, look her straight in the eyes, and say, “Well I can take you with both of your arms tied behind your back!”

The Irish Coffee

When I was in college, I was dating this girl who by no means was an alcoholic, but who did like to imbibe an occasional Irish coffee now and then. One evening we had gone out to dinner with a few of my friends, and she decided to have one of these Irish coffees. Upon learning that it contained alcohol, I refused to let her drive herself home. I explained that even a drop of alcohol was enough to begin impairing her senses, and she would become both a danger to herself and others on the road. After a few rounds of heated debating, she finally consented.

I got in her car to drive her home with one of my friends following in my car, so I could get back. I threw the car in reverse and let the car start rolling out of the parking space, backing over a motorcycle parked on the other side of the lot. I looked over at my girlfriend, face rapidly turning red, and waited for the comment I knew was coming. She didn’t let me down responding, “And I’m the drunk one?!”

Working the Remote for Dummies

My wife and I got this new TV cable system put into our home. It has all the latest toys…HDTV, DVR, the works! However, my wife has had a bit of difficulty working all the options and features, esp. recording and later watching shows on the DVR.

So, as a joke I got her a book called, “Working the Remote for Dummies.” Needless to say it went over like a screen door on a submarine. But in good humor, she read the book anyway.

Today, I discovered the fatal flaw to my plan. Somehow she managed to block all of the stations that I normally watch, primarily my football-all-the-time channels. She also somehow upgraded the remote with some genometrics, so that it only recognizes her DNA pattern. The worst part is that I can’t figure out how to undo what she’s done. I was forced to have to walk across the room to change the channel this evening, which every self-respecting guy out there knows is out of the question. This can’t go on like this!

So, here I sit reading “Working the Remote for Dummies.” Where IS that chapter on removing genometrics from the remote?

Dangerous Household Projects

I sprained my wrist this weekend. I know on the surface that isn’t so extraordinary, but if I throw in that I sprained my wrist cooking, then it becomes interesting.

I wonder how many cooking-related injuries are reported every year. I’m not talking about major things like suffering severe burns or chopping a finger off, but the more minor ones. Injuries like singing your eyebrows off, or getting popped while you’re cooking your bacon naked, or perhaps spraining your wrist while dumping your macaroni into a colander.

But I digress…

In fact, I was injured several times this weekend, and no not all due to cooking. I hurt my back unloading a shelving unit from the car. I pulled a muscle in my leg and jammed my finger while hanging a curtain rod. I sliced my finger open on a tape dispenser razor. And I got hit in the head by a falling microwave!

The moral of this story is that those little household projects are dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

Misconceptions About Texans

When I first got to Missouri, having migrated from Texas, there were two things that everyone said to me. The first was an observation that I didn’t have a Texas accent. I responded by asking them what exactly a Texas accent sounded like. The answer was always the same. I would get an impression of some Southern hick-sounding person. As if all the people in Texas are backwoods and unedumacated. I assured everyone that lots of Texans talk like “normal” people. While there are those people that have the typical Southern accent, we refuse to acknowledge that such people exist and definitely do not claim such people as relatives should we be so unfortunate to have them in the family.

The second remark was always the same question. “Did you ride a horse everywhere you went?” At this point I was thoroughly insulted by such insinuations, so I would normally look them straight in the eyes and say, “Of course, everyone does. There is a hitching post located outside every store and restaurant. Whereas you probably had bicycle racks at school, we just had hitching posts.”

“Really?” they’d ask, amazed at the primitiveness of my past life.

“Absolutely. Of course only the nicest, more up-scale places had watering troughs, though. The rest of the time your horse just drank out of a puddle.”

“How’d you keep them from getting stolen?”

“Well, if you came out and your horse was gone, then you just took someone else’s. Everyone knows that’s how it’s done, so it’s not alarming to see it happen.”

“That’s amazing! I was just kidding when I asked. I had no idea.”

“A truer statement was never uttered.”

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

The Travel Arrangements

I had to travel to Kansas City, MO for training last week. I was traveling with another associate who needed the same training. Before we left, I asked the lady at my office that makes the travel arrangements to reserve us a hotel room.

When we arrived in Kansas City, we were greeted by a very unwelcome surprise. In hindsight, I suppose I should have been more specific that we needed separate rooms, because she booked us in a single room! There wasn’t much we could do about it at that point, and the hotel was booked for some political conference anyway, so we decided to make the best of a bad situation.

We rode the elevator up to our room, and I opened the door. I didn’t make it but a few steps into the room before I stopped aghast at what can only be par for the rain pouring down seconds after someone utters, “This situation couldn’t possibly get any worse.” There was only a single, queen-size bed in our room! I looked over at my travel companion, thinking that this room would never do, and I said to him, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He looked at the bed, then at me, then at the bed again, and finally back at me. He said, “I’m sure I am. I get the side closest to the window.”

Hungry on a Call

Here at work we have a speakerphone, conference call system. It works by picking up noise in the room and transferring the microphone to the side of the call that is making noise; either you or the client that is on the other end of the phone.

The other day we were on a call with a client, and my stomach started growling unexpectedly. It got so loud at one point that the microphone started picking it up and transferring the call to our side in the middle of the client’s sentence. The client thought we had something to add, so he got silent. When we didn’t say anything, he continued. That’s when my stomach struck again.

I was asked to leave the call until I had eaten something.

Strange Combinations

I was driving to training in Kansas City last week, and I passed this little gas station slash depot. The sign on the front of the depot said, “Army Surplus, Pizza, Deli, and Bait.” I must admit that that was the strangest combination of things I have ever seen. Who thinks of putting these kinds of things together? I thought putting chicken, tacos, and pizza was bad enough, but this…this is ridiculous!

“Yeah, I’d like the personal pan pepperoni pizza, a medium soft drink, a bucket of carp…and let’s see…a side of ammo, please.”

The Closet Creep

We recently bought a new house, and one of the main selling points was the ginormous closet in the master bedroom. The instant my wife saw it, she fell in love with it. To its credit, the closet was adequately large and came with built-in shelves and racks for our clothes. To my wife’s credit, she divvied up the space equally, giving me half of the shelves and racks for my stuff.

It was soon after I finished putting up the last of my folded sweaters onto my shelves that my wife realized that I was only using two of the seven shelves I was allotted. She also noticed that my clothes were spaced quite far apart on the racks, and that I was essentially wasting valuable space. I assured her that I was not wasting the space, but was merely leaving room for expansion. Little did I know that I was soon to become aware of a strange phenomenon called “The Closet Creep.” This is a slow process that can take weeks to fully manifest itself. I think the slowness is really its greatest strength, because you hardly realize it’s happening until it’s too late.

Basically, one day I came home from work to a single pair of my wife’s pants hanging on my rack and a single pair of her shoes on one of my vacant shelves. I thought nothing of it, believing that they were merely in a transition pattern before being redeposited in their correct location. A few days later, the single pair of pants and shoes had multiplied into four or five pairs. A week after that, the clothes on my rack were being compacted to make room for the “creeping” of additional pants, and my once-vacant shelves were completely full of shoes and overflow clothes. A few weeks later, my wife brought me an armful of my clothes and asked me which of them I wanted to get rid of, because we needed to “clean” our closet.

I had become a victim of “The Closet Creep.” The five hanging racks and seven shelves I had originally been allotted as a sign of equality and good faith had been reduced to a single rack and a single shelf in the guest bedroom on the other side of the house!

Lunch Tieve

I think there is a great food-stealing conspiracy going on at work. Several days now my lunch has gone missing. I smelled odors emanating from the kitchen that smelled suspiciously like what I had brought for lunch, but I reasoned that nobody would steal another man’s lunch. I was wrong!

I walked into the kitchen later to find my Tupperware sitting on the counter completely cleaned out. I let it go the first couple of times, figuring that maybe somebody just made a mistake and grabbed a similar looking container. But after nine times, I’m getting suspicious. I think somebody is going in the refrigerator and looking for the best-looking lunch and just helping himself. Kind of a first come, first serve mentality.

I can only surmise that it isn’t a direct assault on me alone, because the times it has happened to me have been sporadic. I think I’m going to have to leave a note on it tomorrow, written in really strong language!

The Great Turtle Migration

The Great Turtle Migration has begun here in Missouri. For the next few weeks hundreds, if not thousands, of turtles will attempt to migrate from one side of the highway to the other. Why would these creatures of slow grace risk their lives on a perilous road of death? Is it to find a wetter environment? Is it to find love? Or is it just to prove their courage and daring to the other turtles hiding in the tall grasses on the highway edge? Maybe it is some form of turtle punishment; imposed on those who have broken the Sacred Turtle Law.

“Turt Elle the 12th, for traveling at speeds in excess of the Sacred Turtle Law you have been banished to the other side of the highway. Sentence to be carried out during morning rush-hour traffic. May your speed finally prove useful.”

Buffering

Sometimes I will pause in the middle of a sentence, because I’m searching for the right word. Lately, the people I’ve been talking to have started asking why I stopped, assuming something is wrong or that I thought of something else mid-stream. You can tell I've been hanging around computers too much, because the first thing that came to mind to tell them was, "Please be patient, I am buffering and there is a lot of traffic on the network."

The Corporate Food Chain

Most of the people at the company I work at have been here for more than a decade. This attracted me when I first looked at the company, thinking that people like it enough to want to stay for a long time. Besides, the company must be loyal to its employees to keep them around that long. However, I have since seen the drawback to this phenomenon. If nobody ever leaves, then there are never any openings for promotion available.

The situation has gotten so bad lately that people have started making personal attacks on people higher up on the chain. For example, they wait for them in the parking lot and try to run them down when they are walking out to their cars. Who knew that competition for a job would get so intense?! The only good thing for me is that I’m at the bottom of the chain, so nobody has it out for me. And I’m pretty sure nobody has yet suspected that I’m the parking lot hit-and-run bandit.

A Rocking Meeting

We had a team meeting yesterday for our project right after lunch. Everyone was sort of sluggish and the meeting seemed to be dragging a bit. Then one of the guys at the end of the table started rocking in his chair, most likely in an attempt to stay awake. A moment later the guy next to him started to rock too. All of a sudden, the next guy, and then the next started to rock until everyone around the table was rocking in their chairs. The project leader looked up from writing on her pad to see all of her workers rocking in their chairs and smiling goofily. She gave us a strange look, part “You people are out of your minds” and part “Why are these people all rocking at the table.” After an uncertain pause in which we all were keeping our eyes on the project leader to see what she’d do, not stopping our incessant rocking, of course, she started to rock too. A big grin broke over her face as she realized how fun it was.

It’s nice to have these innocent, childlike moments at work sometimes to break up the monotony.

The Low Sodium Kick

My wife went on this “no salt” kick for a while, because she said I was consuming too much sodium in my food. She started buying no-salt V-8 juice, no-salt soup, no-salt green beans, etc. I tried the things she bought, but soon decided that there is a reason that things have salt in them.

One night, she came into the kitchen and caught me shaking salt from the saltshaker into the V-8 bottle. I made up some lame excuse about the salt releasing the vitamins out of the vegetable juice. She didn’t buy it. However, I think the real low point came when I had to start hiding “salted” green bean cans in a “secret stash” in the back of the pantry behind foods we rarely ate. Who has ever heard of someone having to hide a stash of vegetables, so his wife wouldn’t find them?!

The Wig Shop

J.D.’s daughter C. is four years old. She has a very advanced mind for one so young, yet still holds that completely innocent and simple way of looking at things that is so common in children. The other day she was walking along the sidewalk with her mother, and they passed a wig shop. There displayed in the front window were a variety of mannequin heads with wigs of every color and shape to attract the passer-bys on the street. C.D. looked up at the window and asked her mom, “Mommy, can you go into that shop and just trade your head out for a new one?”

The Goose Alibi

The gander walks into his nest after a long day of honking around the lake. He is immediately slapped across the beak by a large tan wing.
"What was that for?" he innocently asks his wife.
“I can’t believe you slept with her!” she honks
“I thought she was you! She looked just like you. The whole gaggle looks just like you!"”

In the Dark

I had a girl tell me once that I looked good in the dark. I’m no genius, but I don’t think that was a compliment.

Useless Mutant Powers

J.L. and I were talking yesterday about X-Men, who knows why, and the subject of mutants with useless powers came up. I made the comment that it would be my luck to get a power that was completely useless when it came to fighting bad guys. He laughed and said, “You mean like having the power to grow furniture out of your butt?” I said, “Exactly! Or the power to hurl terrifying wads of used facial tissue at your enemies.”

My wife said that I could always have the useless power of creating flatulence. I’m not sure, but I think that was more a comment on my current abilities than a thought for mutant powers.

What would your useless mutant power be?

Pico de Gallo

Have you ever wanted to punch one of those annoying team mascots? Well, when I was sixteen I got the opportunity. S.W. and I were attending an indoor soccer match in our hometown, and while I have no idea what the name of the opposing team was, I do remember that their mascot was named Pico de Gallo. He was this giant jalapeno pepper, complete with sombrero…and he was extremely annoying.

S.W. and I were walking around the arena when we came across Pico harassing fans of the hometown team. He started taunting us, and when that didn’t get a reaction from us, he started pushing me. I turned around and told him calmly to quit. To which he flipped the hat off my head. I reached down, picked it up, and put it back on my head. He promptly flipped it off again. And that was the end of my patience.

I don’t know what came over me, because violence is usually my last resort. But that stupid pepper had pushed me too far. I hauled off and punched him right in his huge, red pepper nose. I didn’t knock him off his feet, but that huge sombrero did throw off his balance, causing him to stagger back into the wall. I must have hit him harder than I expected to because his nose was completely dented in and he wasn’t quite looking out the front of his pepper anymore.

I casually walked away, as a security guard rushed up to help Pico compose himself. I’m sure I would have been thrown out of the arena had Pico’s shouts of anger and surprise not kept the security guard occupied long enough for me to make my retreat.

Be warned, Pico! I haven’t forgotten you! You are still on my list!

River Dance Rap

I like to dance. I love to move to the music in no formed patterns, but simply as I feel led at the time. I do not, however, like to dance in public. You might say I’m a closet dancer. Or a living room dancer, since that is usually where you can find me flailing around, flying through the air, and flinging myself over the couches to land unceremoniously on the coffee table.

The other day during one of these episodes, I noticed that we actually have a nice public view onto the street out the large windows in our living room. Two college girls were standing by the street looking back at me as I danced the River Dance to a rap song. (It’s harder than you think.) They weren’t so much laughing at me as just watching in amused fascination and curiosity. I was so caught off-guard. I quickly quit dancing, put my pants back on, and went to check on my dinner.

You're Weird...

I have this strange habit of bouncing while I’m cooking. As if somehow my increased activity will help the food cook that much faster. My wife attributes it to me being hyperactive. I’m not ruling that possibility out, but I prefer to think of it as “Excessive Energy.”

What really gets her, though, is when I stand in strange poses. The pose varies depending on the food I’m cooking. Pasta might justify a pose on one leg with the other leg sticking straight out to the side like a martial artist caught in the middle of a round-house kick. Beef might justify standing like a stereotypical Spanish dancer; straight and tall, legs crossed, one hand at my waist and the other over my head, snapping. Chicken might justify forming gigantic letters of the alphabet, like I’m a living alphabet soup. You get the idea.

She has taken to ignoring these displays, like a mother might do with a child trying to get attention. When I sense this attitude, I throw in some grunts or humming…something vocal. On nights when I’ve really lost my mind, I do combinations of all three…bouncing, posing, and vocalizing. This usually elicits one cocked eyebrow from her, followed by the words, “You’re weird.”

Rude Awakening

My brother has two little girls. He loves to tell stories about his daughters. Some of his favorites are when his daughters are sleeping with him and his wife. He said that the girls are pretty mobile sleepers, and that it wasn’t unusual for him to wake up in the morning with a hand or a swatch of hair across his face. But one particular Saturday morning indeed takes the cake.

He said he was awoken by a horribly foul stench. He was still mostly asleep, so his brain couldn’t quite grasp the source of the smell, but it was definitely close. As he slowly swam back into consciousness, he became acutely aware of a pressure on his face. He opened his eyes to find his younger daughter’s foot lying on his face, perched just below his nose.

Your Name Doesn't Suit You

Have you ever thought that someone’s name doesn’t suit them; that you look at them and see them as someone else? You know like a man named William who looks like a Chuck, or a woman named Christy who looks like a Jody. I do that with models in magazines. I look at them and imagine what their name might be based solely on their looks.

I wonder why it is that we have some pre-conceived notion as to what types of names fit certain people, or maybe it is what types of people fit certain names. I wonder what people think my name is when they see me.

My Lunch is Insane

My lunch is insane. I had one of those self-contained soups today. You know the one where you pop the top and heat. Before the first minute was even up the thing started violently jumping around in the microwave. When I didn’t give it the appropriate response, it started to fling itself against the microwave door. It sounded like someone in an insane asylum trying to get out of his cell.

Unhealthy Attachments

You know how young children get attached to something, like a blanket or a pacifier, and it is really hard to get them to break the habit? Well, I recall having an attachment to diapers. I was potty-trained, so it wasn’t that I needed them as much as I just liked wearing them. Maybe I liked the support. Maybe I liked the comfort. Who really knows. The point is that I didn’t want to stop wearing them.

This wouldn’t have been such a big deal if I hadn’t been 15 years old. Do you know how hard it was to find diapers that fit a 15 year old? Well, you can’t. I had to just tape several of them together. Changing in the locker room after soccer practice was interesting, but I think when it really became a problem was when I started dating.

The Birds Have It Out for Me

The birds have it out for me. They seem to target my car and leave all the others alone. I have tried to move it to different parts of the parking lot, thinking that I was just too close to a tree or something. It didn’t help. They found me. I’m pretty sure the flying target practice even increased when I did this. It was almost as if the birds knew I was trying to avoid them and decided that they would show me what they thought about it. This last time was the worst, though. The birds went too far. Apparently, one of the birds crawled under the front of my car, flipped over on its back and pooped up! I have no other explanation as to how bird poop would get on the underside of my bumper.

No Sharks Allowed

J.D. is going to Florida with her daughter next week. Her daughter is excited about going to the beach but has already adamantly told her mother that she isn’t going into the ocean. When J.D. asked her why, she matter-of-factly replied, “Because I’m afraid of the sharks.”

J.D. suddenly remembered back to her childhood and the pond her family had behind their house. Her dad asked her one day why she didn’t like to go swimming in the pond. J.D. told him that she was afraid of the alligators in the pond. Her dad, without skipping a beat, said that there weren’t any alligators in the pond. J.D. asked him how he could be so sure. He replied, “Because I put up a sign near the pond that says, ‘No Alligators Allowed.’” That appeased J.D., and she swam without fear.

Deciding to try the same psychology on her own daughter, she told her daughter that there weren’t any sharks in the part of the ocean that they were going to. Waiting for the same answer she had so long ago given her own father, she was quickly rewarded when her daughter asked, “How can you be so sure?”

“Because, Sweetie, they put up signs on the beach that say, ‘No Sharks Allowed.’”

Her daughter was not so easily calmed, however, as she looked J.D. straight in the eye and asked, “Can the sharks read the signs?”

J.D. was speechless. She later told me that she couldn’t believe that she had been outsmarted by a four-year old.

The War of Switzerland

My wife and I have a sort of no-man’s land between us in the bed. It is the narrow strip of “land” that designates the border between her side of the bed and my side of the bed. It is considered neutral territory, so we call it “Switzerland.”

On chilly nights it is not uncommon for me to feel the presence of an invading army crossing Switzerland and heading into my territory. These savages bring terrifying weapons of war with them. They are weapons so heinous that it instantly demoralizes my troops. They are paralyzed with fear. What sort of weapons could cause such an emotion in such a land born of the strongest and fiercest of warriors, you might ask? Rolling siege weapons made entirely of ice.

But this can’t be normal ice, for it is so cold it makes the very air drop with their frigid bite. They must be forged in the depths of the earth itself, these ice blocks from hell. (Yes, I’m fully aware of the irony there.) One touch from these Ice Siegers is enough to bring the strongest of my defenses down in mere seconds. They seem to sap the warmth and life from my very bones until I am but an Ice Sieger myself. I have found no weapon to deal with these terrors of ice.

I have made attempts to build walls along the border between my land and Switzerland, but the infidels figured out how to tunnel and soon the wall was useless.

I once tried a preemptive strike, trying to invade Switzerland before the invading host. However, I was met on the field of battle by not just Ice Siegers, but an entire army of ice warriors. They surrounded us, enveloping my entire force in their icy embrace.

I devised these sacks made of sheep's hair that we were able to successfully throw over the Ice Siegers. At first we cockily thought this would work. However, we were soon to learn the error of our ways when the biting cold from within slowly seeped through the sacks and grasped us with their frozen fingers anyway.

I even waited until the enemy was absent from her land, fighting some other horde, and moved in to take her land over. I was reveling in my victory, when I was surprised to find the Ice Siegers attacking again. But they weren't coming from the edges of her other border as I expected but from MY own land!

I have given up all attempts to fight these ice beasts. I am resigned to the fate that has befallen me. The Ice Siegers are apart of our daily lives now, and their reign of terror will continue for years to come.

Woken by Your Own Snores

Why don’t your own snores wake you up? Most people don’t think they actually snore because apparently they can’t hear themselves doing it. It doesn’t matter if it is so loud that it shakes the very foundation of the house…still they sleep through it. Yet, they can hear a barely audible squeak of the door or a wife tip-toeing across the carpet. What's up with that?!

I have to admit that I have actually woken myself up with my own snores before. But for some reason I didn't come completely out of my sleep mode, only just to the very edge of the surface. I lay there thinking how rude it was that someone would be snoring in my room while I'm trying to sleep. It is funny how my unconscious mind never registered that I was the only one in the room.

Me on the Internet

Have you ever looked yourself up on the Internet just to see how many hits will come up for you? I have and the result was disappointing. I used to have a single hit for some 10K run I did in college, but now even that’s gone. Oh, you can still find my name splashed across the Internet in reference to job-related blog sites I’ve asked questions on, but gone are the days when my name was associated with something significant. I guess I need to be more involved, so I can get some name recognition. Because as everyone knows your accomplishments in life aren't considered significant if they aren't somehow recorded on the Internet!

The Incredibly Shrinking Pants

J.D.’s husband was complaining that his pants didn’t fit anymore. He could barely get them buttoned. J.D. told him it was because he was getting fat. He replied, “I’m not getting fat. My pants must be shrinking. I think every time we do the laundry they shrink a little more. Maybe you shouldn’t wash them as often.” She was laughing too hard to come up with an intelligent response.

40 Pounds of Limp

J.D. was telling me about how her daughter has a hard time getting up in the mornings. Several days J.D. has been late because it took her so long to get her daughter moving. She finally decided that it would be easier to just dress her daughter in her clothes the night before. That way she could just pick her up and put her in the car in the morning. I commented that that sounded like a brilliant idea. She said, “Well, it isn’t as easy as it sounds. You would be amazed at how much 40 pounds of limp can weigh!”

The Library Card

Last weekend I got a library card. It was the first library card I’ve had in about 20 years. Now, I'm positively manic about reading. I am flying through books, reading an entire novel in 1 to 2 days. What is worse is that it wasn't satisfying enough to only read one book at a time, so I've got three going simultaneously! I'm reading stuff I never would have bought, but since it's free, why not. Audio, hardback, paperback. Fiction, non-fiction, young adult, mystery, romance. I read them all. This library card is a power I'm not sure I can control. It is starting to consume me. I have a thirst for knowledge that doesn't seem to get quenched. I can't get enough! I need help!

Didn't Learn a Single Thing

G.S. went to a get-out-of-debt seminar last weekend. The guru talked about the evils of having credit card debt and paying all those finance charges each month. When he was finished, the whole auditorium shuffled out to the front hall where there were several tables set up. Strewn about the tables were various pamphlets and books about the evils of debt and how to get away from them. G.S. decided to buy a book, promptly whipping out his credit card and handing it to the cashier to pay.

The Grease Stain Pattern

I reuse paper plates. I just wipe them off, put them back in the package, and use them the next time. I even use them when guests come over. I just hand them a plate, and they’re like, “What the heck is this…there’s a stain on it?”

I just reply, “That’s not a stain, it’s the pattern on the plate. It’s abstract. Art. I bought it that way. I think the actual name of the work of art depicted is called ‘Grease Stain.’”

“Well, why does this hamburger taste like lasagna?”

“Oh, that’s probably the spices we used on the burger. It’s that new Italian spice from McCormick’s.”

Underneath Your Clothes

I’m not fond of Shakira’s song, Underneath Your Clothes. I really think she used way too many lyrics. The concept is pretty plain and simple. “Underneath your clothes…you’re naked.”

What's the Point of Getting Up?

Sometimes I wonder why I even bother getting up in the morning. Then I realize it’s because the stupid alarm is going off.

A Southern Boy in the Cold - Part 2

It's official. I can’t drive in snow. I have had to drive in the snow twice now, and I’ve hit things both times. I hit some pretty deep patches of snow and went into a slide. The first time I hopped the curb and drove up into the yard right in front of my apartment. I had managed to drive all the way home down a vicious highway, avoiding morons intent on continuing to do 20 miles over the speed limit even in the treacherous conditions, without incident. Only to lose control as I’m pulling into a parking space by my building. Luckily, my wife was there to witness the disaster, which she is still laughing about to this day.

The second time I admit that I panicked when I lost control and did exactly what they always tell you NOT to do. I tried to correct the slide. It, of course, didn't work, and I ended up wiping out a series of reflectors set up along the side of the road. This wasn't a serious issue since the reflectors gave way pretty easily, having only been set up to warn you of the location of the curb. The curb on the other hand was more resistant. I hit the curb, and my car bounced backward, rolling a few feet before once more engaging in "Drive" and continuing forward. Luckily that curb was there or I might have looked stupid!

A Southern Boy in the Cold

It was so cold this morning; I thought we’d experienced another Ice Age! It was 4 degrees! I have never represented a temperature in a single digit. In fact the thermometer I brought with me to Missouri from Texas doesn’t even go that low. The Mercury kept sinking until it finally just disappeared. I don’t know where it went, but the thermometer is empty now. When I tried to start my car this morning, I swear it laughed at me. This, of course, is never encouraging when you are depending on this metal hyena for your source of warmth. I kid you not it was lunchtime before I could feel my ears again. I don’t care how much time passes, I will never get used to this!

The New Scale

I bought a new scale the other day because I was afraid my old one wasn’t accurate enough. It was pretty old, and it rounded everything to the nearest pound. I wanted something that gave me my weight in decimals, because one hundred and getting fat point five makes me feel so much better than just one hundred and already fat.

I have to say that technology is getting a bit too advanced though. The first time I stepped on my new scale it groaned. Yes, it actually groaned. Then a strained voice emanated from the square machine exclaiming, “What the heck…gasp…this scale is not rated for…gasp…this kind of abuse?!”

I took it back to the store the next day and told the lady it was defective.

People in Movies are Stupid - Part 2

Have you ever watched a movie where someone is stopped at a railroad track, waiting for the on-coming train, and someone drives up behind them and pushes them onto the tracks? Why is it that they always stomp on the brakes and throw the car into reverse? They, of course, never successfully manage to push the car behind them backwards before the train demolishes them into an unrecognizable heap. Did it ever occur to them to simply hit the gas and drive across the tracks?

People in Movies are Stupid

I was watching Superman Returns this weekend. There is scene where the island that Lex Luthor created starts to break apart. The bad guys are running for the helicopter and a gigantic pillar of rock comes crashing down toward them. The pillar is some hundred feet tall, but only a mere ten feet wide. They have about seventy-five feet to run to get out from under it before it hits them. OR they could run five feet sideways and have it miss them completely. You know, of course, that they chose the longer route and were squished into a human pancake.

Why is it that people in movies always think they can outrun the falling pillar?

A Restaurant Called Edible

I want to open up a restaurant and call it "Edible." That way people will know what they are getting when they come to it. Besides, how many times have you been talking to someone about what they want to eat and they reply, "I don't care, something edible." Well, then you would know exactly where to take them.

I might even open it up in the lobby of my hotel, "The Woods," so I can do a combined ad campaign. "Come to The Woods and get some Edible food."

The Toy Box

When I was little, I had a cool wooden toy box that my Dad had built. Originally it was my brother’s, but as with all things I inherited it from him. Consequently, he did eventually end up with it again when he had kids…but I digress.

I used to dig my toys out of the toy box and hide inside it. Who knows why I did this, but it might have something to do with that other post about getting inside things. So, being inside the toy box with the lid closed is how I found out I was claustrophobic.

The New Pants

Well, last week I finally broke down and went pants shopping again. I have a hard time spending money on myself. I always convince myself that what I have will last a bit longer. Some people (we won't mention any names, but it's my wife) think I'm cheap because of this behavior. I would just say that I don't like spending money unless it's really necessary.

Anyway, I digress. I bought a pair of black, corduroy pants, and I'm wearing them for the first time today. I have to say that I look really good in them. They suit me. I even got whistled at this morning. Of course, I suppose it doesn't really count if you are whistling at yourself. I'm claiming it, though.

Perfect Morning

Today is a perfect day to be sitting on the porch of a log cabin out in the woods somewhere; wrapped up in a big, thick blanket; and holding a steaming cup of hot chocolate with both hands about two inches below your nose.

It is about 55 degrees this morning, sunny, with a slight breeze. The sky is an endless sea of blue, and the air has a clean crispness to it.

It is one of those mornings when you reluctantly go inside to work. Leaving this perfect morning behind with longing.

Please Use Other Door

We have a little game we like to play with our clients up here at work. We put up a sign on the front door that says, “Please Use Other Door.” Then on the side door we put up the same sign. So, when they go to that door it sends them back to the front. In this way we have actually reduced the amount of clients that want to complain about something. A few will stop and knock, intending to ask whoever comes to the door where they need to go, but most just walk away confused.