Tonight is prom night for my daughter. She will be attending, but I don't have those typical fatherly worries since she and a group of about five other girls will be going together. No men required, which doesn't break my heart too much. And, in typical Shelby fashion, she says she couldn't care less about the actual prom, but is only excited about dressing up and going out to dinner with friends.

I told her she'll most likely be glad years down the road that she went. Even if it's a boring time at the actual prom. How will she ever know if she doesn't go, right? I'd hate for her to look back 20 or 30 years down the road and regret not taking part.

Shelby has made life easy on her mom and dad. She acts like someone in their 30s and has always been independent, organized, and goal-driven. A 4.0 student, she also works, volunteers her time at the humane society and the local homeless shelter, as well as sponsoring a child – Sibongo – from Swaziland with her own money. She was recently voted 'Most Serious' for her high school yearbook, which made both of us laugh since she is anything but too serious. Her giggle fits are so cute and always make me laugh. Just last night the two of us were sitting in front of the computer, watching all of the Sonic commercials on Youtube together, and laughing till we cried. Yeah, I know....but we think they're hilarious.

So, on a big high school night that might make some parents a bit nervous, I have no worries. I know she and her friends will have a great time and hopefully make some good lifelong memories.

And, of course, all of this prom talk reminds me of my own and how friggin' old I am. I only went to one prom – my senior year. That was actually the only school dance I ever went to in all my high school days. I was so NOT a high school socializer. Living in the mountains where we did, I spent all of my free time hiking and exploring. I never had a girlfriend, until that fateful day in first period English class near the end of my senior year when the girl from France who sat in front of me got into a fight with her two friends who sat directly in front of her. Instead of swapping homework with them to grade, she turned around and asked if I'd like to trade papers. I shyly said yes, and before I knew it I was going to the prom with her two or three weeks later.

And not only that, but I continued to go out with her for over three years, even coming close to marriage. I'm loyal like that – you grade my English paper, I'm yours for life.
 

As our old house continues to crumble around my family's feet and sinks deeper into the earth's crust with each passing day, my wife and I figured it's probably time to start searching for a new house. You know, since the economy's so good and all right now. But each new day at home is feeling more and more like the final scene from 'Carrie', so we thought we'd better act now before the house completely sinks into the bowels of hell and loses all resale value.

We met with a realtor last night and told her that money's not going to be a problem...because we don't have any. We eliminated that problem years ago. She suggested a growing little community on the outskirts of town – one of those new developments where the houses are cute and colorful and built so close together that your refrigerator light will wake up the neighbors three doors down. The kind where you can't sit and dangle your feet off your front porch for fear of having your toes run over by passing motorists. We'd basically be living in Keebler Village.

Still, it is in our 'no problem, no money' financial bracket. However, the contractor's website for this development is vague and a little frightening. Some of the FAQs and answers from their site:

Q. Will there be playground equipment in the park?
A. The Homeowners Association might add equipment.

Q. What is the monthly Homeowners Association fee?
A. The Homeowners Association will set monthly fees.

I picture a WWII villain answering those questions. "Do not worry, my friends....the Homeowners Association will take care of everything. Vee have vays of making you stay here..." With about 900 houses per acre, you might never find your way out should you be foolish enough to enter.

Another exciting reason to buy a new home is the dishwasher. Do you know that we have never had a dishwasher in our lives? All of our homes have been so old, we never had one. And since I do such a darn good job myself, there was never a need to buy one. Thanks to emollients, my hands are really soft and pretty after all these years. But, oh the things I could clean with a real dishwasher! Golf balls, fruits and veggies, hamsters....maybe even some dishes. And don't get me started on the trash compacter possibilities and hamsters, though I actually had one of these in my college apartment years ago. No one told me you had to change the bags, though. I'd been living there a few months when I turned it on one day and the counter started separating from the cabinet. I figured something was up, and not just the countertop.

So, that's our big excitement these days. I should probably visit the contractor's office soon over at Keebler Village and ask some questions...like, do my HOA fees include cookies and will all maintenance be done by elves. If they ask what we're looking for exactly and what we'd be comfortable paying each month, I can always answer, “Do not worry, my little elfin friend. The buyer will pay a monthly mortgage.”
 

Boring Sunday entry with random thoughts.

I'm never all that thrilled when my wife comes home from shopping and has a few rented dvds that she picked up on the way home. Seeing those movies in her hand causes my metabolism to drop sharply as I know I'm in for a night of intense boredom. She has an incredible knack for choosing films that have at least two of these going for them:

a. Are at least 15 years old.
b. I've never heard of.
c. Star Diane Keaton.

I have nothing against Diane Keaton....I just can't stand Diane Keaton movies. It's not her fault. They just suck. Anyway, my wife completely surprised me by coming home with not one, but two movies where none of her usual three film-choosing factors came into play, which completely shocked me and threw off my metabolism. But I had some coffee and managed to speed up my heart rate enough to watch and enjoy both this weekend – 'Australia' and 'Eagle Eye'. Even though neither one has Kate Beckinsale or Brittany Murphy, I enjoyed them.



Tor's entry yesterday reminded me of the time my brother and I were hiking on an old grown-over trail up on the rez when we suddenly heard a camera click. We looked around and found a motion-sensor camera mounted about eight feet up in the tree to our left. Then we noticed a five gallon bucket of virgin sheep's blood suspended by a rope above the trail. I'm assuming that's what was in it, since I've heard from out-of-staters that we Montanans don't have many virgin sheep so it would be extra special. Anyway, someone was obviously trying to lure bears for some photos, but we took this golden opportunity to put on a show, so for the next ten minutes we created a series of sequence shots for the camera – kind of like when you take a notebook and draw a different pic on the corner of each page and flip through it to watch your character come to life. I'm sure they appreciated it.



Let's see, what else.... Oh, a relative of mine back in Pennsylvania recently came off of life support after suffering a serious head injury. His wife, however, apparently wants him back on life support so she can pull the plug. While he was still on support, she wanted the doctors to take him off. They said no, it was too soon given the conditions. Then, after he came off and actually started making short walks around his hospital floor, she STILL wanted him off....even though he wasn't on. I don't know, but that might be a sign that there's trouble in the marriage.


The local sports blog writer dude ripped me off! There's a website devoted to blogging about our local college Griz teams and usually one of our newspaper's sports guys will write an entry and let the public comment. Recently there was an entry about how our UofM Lady Griz basketball team was too overmatched in their NCAA tourney loss to Pitt – the tone of the entry stating that teams like Pitt are too big and fast for teams like Montana. I commented that I disagreed and pointed out how we were only down one at the half, but played right into their hands in the second half by walking the ball up the court and not being aggressive against their traps, etc., etc. The very next day, the same guy wrote a new entry saying he thought about it more and now believes the “Lady Griz just weren't aggressive enough and played right into Pitt's hands.” What the heck??? The rip off! I don't know much, but I think that's some form of polygamy and that's just wrong.


Okay, I'm done. Enjoy your Sunday.
 

I've been feeling so distracted lately! Can't focus on anything it seems, and I've been a huge ball of pent-up frustrated energy on top of that. It felt like it was going to kill me today so I went out and found the steepest trail I could find and basically ran nonstop to the top....then I ran ran ran across the trail on top...ran down a different trail back to my truck....sat in the truck and decided, nope, it didn't work. I'm still uptight.

And there's not a darn drop of alcohol anywhere in this house, except for the wine I made back in October of 2007 out of grapes that grow on my Dad's property. I'm not quite that desperate yet. Let's just say 2007 was not a good year for my wine production, but at least it was the only year.

Maybe I just need some potatoes...

Anyway, this is about a week overdue, but as you can see....

...the Annual Good Friday Hike and Moose Poop Gathering Festival was a surprising success last week! I say surprising because there was still a ton of snow up there, and in past Good Friday hikes with lots of snow, I never see any trace of moose or their poop. Nobody likes to squat in the snow, not even a moose. They usually just hold it till the snow melts. But it was a bountiful harvest, though it's too soon to tell how good the product is. A quart-sized bag of poop is currently emptied and curing on the bbq grill....covered and hidden from my wife who probably would not approve of having moose business drying on the rack where burgers and steaks will soon be cooked. Grilling season is fast approaching so I hope the poop dries fast before my wife lifts that bbq lid with a plateful of raw burgers one day soon.

For those who don't already know, dried moose poop makes a great incense.

I've been doing this Good Friday hike for many years, but it's not like the good ol' early years when the trail was mostly clear and dry the entire way until maybe the last mile or so. The past 7 or 8 years have seen quite a change. Now that global warming has firmly set in, I'm almost always greeted with two to three feet of snow on this hike every year. Despite all the snow up there, the day of the hike was actually pretty warm. And my daughter joined me this year for the very first time! I worried about her being able to make the 16 miles, but I needn't have. She's got loads of teenage energy and has always been an active runner and hiker, even if she's never gone this far before. Strange to think she wasn't even born when I first made this annual hike. She's a chip off the ol' blockhead!

She managed to melt one of her shoes trying to dry it in the fire and was upset, but I assured her that she is now a true member of the club as I have melted countless pairs of boots, socks, pants, gloves, etc. in campfires over the years. She also got a few burns from the drifting embers landing on and burning through her fleece pants, and once again I assured her that you are never a true mountain girl until you have at least two or three third degree campfire burn scars to surprise your husband with on your wedding night.

A few more pics...

Artsy black & white pic of me, featuring tin cup filled with campfire coffee.

Shelby hates having her pic taken as much as me, but she was actually shielding herself from the smoke and heat here and I was patiently waiting for her to put down her hand and look my way. She wouldn't and I eventually got hungry and gave up.

Nope...blogging didn't work either. I'm still uptight.

Day Three of the flu. I think I'm slowly coming out of it, though. Managed to crawl out of bed and visit Blogville for a while last night. The best part of getting the flu on the first full weekend of March Madness is I was able to sack out on the couch and watch 149 college basketball games...guilt free! The worst part is I miss my wife. Since I'm trying my best to limit contact to keep her from catching it, I'm missing all her little kisses and hugs and sweetness. So sad for me.

Anyway, since 4 out of 5 dentists agree blogging is the best way to fight the flu, I thought I'd give it a try. But first I must mention how I was reminded this week that there is no greater feeling of helplessness and total panic as watching the water in the toilet bowl rise higher and higher toward the lip as you stand there helpless, pleading and praying for the tide to turn in your favor.

It's either, “Please, God...Please, God....Please, God............Thank you, God.....Thank you, God....Thank you, God...” or “Please, God....Please, God....PLEASE, GOD!!!......Dammit!!!”

The porcelain tide was not in my favor that day, but I survived.


My son is anxious to get his driver's license. Problem is, he only wants to practice the fun part – driving – and is pretty much ignoring studying for the written part of the exam. We picked up a Driver's Manual over at the DMV anyway so he could look it over. Thumbing through it and the sample questions, I see driver's exams are just as strange as they ever were.

The questions always come in two completely different varieties: Insanely easy and insanely confusing. First you get the easy question with the really cool multiple question answers that no one could possibly get wrong unless they're a teenager.

You approach a train crossing. The lights are flashing and the barrier is down and you see a train approaching the crossing. You should:

A. Drive around the barrier and onto the tracks, then accelerate as fast as you can in the direction of the train.
B. Turn around and go home, then try again tomorrow.
C.Honk your horn and flash your lights repeatedly in hopes of getting the train to stop so you can cross.
D. Stop and wait until the train safely passes.

Then comes the confusing questions.

You want to change lanes to pass a vehicle ahead. You should:

A. Make sure your vehicle is in the lane but not before you leave the previous lane and try to pass.
B. Keep your vehicle in the lane you want to pass but be certain to check if you're in it.
C. Pass the vehicle in the lane that is required for passing vehicles that are not in your lane.
D. Leave the lane you're in but only if it's the one you don't want to be in to safely pass the vehicle ahead.


I've also noticed that Americans no longer are included in American quizzes, whether they be school textbook problems or driver's exams. Back in the day, you would have math questions like “Jim had nine apples. He wanted to share with Mary and Bob. How should Jim divide the apples?” Now it's “Bandar has 12 organically grown green figs. How should he redistribute them so that Vesma, Juan and Puleng each have a fair share?”

And, I'm sorry, but the driver's manual is incredibly outdated. There are new rules for today's teens and new questions needed to be added to the exam. I'm here to help.

Akmed is driving his Dad's Lexus and approaches an intersection where the light has just turned yellow. He is on the phone with his girlfriend, Estefani, and while he accelerates to get through the intersection, he receives text messages simultaneously from Jazeel and Ghalib. He should:

A. Ignore the text messages so as not to anger Estefani.
B. Ignore Estefani and try to return condoms he will no longer need.
C. Answer Jazeel while using intermittent one-word answers to keep Estefani fooled.
D. Immediately ask Estefani a question to keep her occupied, then text both Jazeel and Ghalib, but only if his left knee has a firm grip on the steering wheel.



Mitsuko pulls out of the Burger King Drive-Thru and onto the busy expressway. He has just started eating his Triple Whopper with Cheese when his King-Sized Dr. Pepper starts to tip over in the center cupholder. He should:

A. Drop the King-Sized Onion Rings in his left hand and reach awkwardly for the drink before it spills.
B. Hold the Whopper in his mouth and use the free hand to grab the drink, creating a possibly dangerous choking hazard.
C. Accelerate and turn his vehicle sharply in the same direction as the tipping drink cup in hopes of straightening it.
D. Let the drink fall, then put his car in reverse and back up all the way into the BK Drive-Thru for a replacement.



Anatoly is driving 67 mph through a 25 mph school zone when he notices two hot girls walking down the sidewalk. Suddenly, a small boy runs off the playground and chases a ball into the street. He should:

A. Continue visual contact with the girls and circle the block again if necessary.
B. Accelerate rapidly to get past the boy before he makes it to the street, risking the possibility of losing visual contact with the girls and needing to circle two blocks.
C.Try to decide which of the two girls is hotter so he can plan his next move.
D. Maintain current speed and visual contact, but immediately send a strongly-worded text message to the school board regarding his safety concerns of keeping their kids off the streets.



I know I'm supposed to have five, but I'm sick so cut me some slack. This blogging is tiring when you have the flu.






 

Two months in a row with a Friday the 13th. I'll bet this means we'll have another Saturday the 14th, too. That's, like...whoa, dude....way too much to comprehend.

According to Wikipedia, the most reliable source of information in the history of the world, “There is no written evidence for a Friday the 13th superstition before the 19th century....however, some folklore is passed on through oral traditions.”

Not everything passed on orally is bad , but in this case it is. And the info is way too vague – I found many different theories for the possible origins of the Friday the 13th superstition. Apparently '12' is a good and complete number, whereas '13' upsets that goodness, unless there are donuts involved. During my search, I did find a bunch of other superstitions - some I knew of, some I didn't.

Ambulance: Seeing an ambulance is very unlucky unless you pinch your nose or hold your breath until you see a black or a brown dog.
'Touch your toes
Touch your nose
Never go in one of those
Until you see a dog.'

I'd never heard this one, but if you hold your breath till you see a black dog, the ambulance will be coming for you, then you'll have real trouble. It's a long ride to the hospital while holding your breath, and there likely will be no dogs there. As for the accompanying poem, that's the kind of whiplash plot twist mine have.
'I love to lie
under the sky
it's up so high
my car is green.'

Baby: To predict the sex of a baby, suspend a wedding band held by a piece of thread over the palm of the pregnant girl. If the ring swings in an oval or circular motion the baby will be a girl. If the ring swings in a straight line the baby will be a boy.

And if there's a wedding band at all, consider yourself lucky!

Knife: A knife as a gift from a lover means that the love will soon end.

Ya' think?

Bed: Placing a bed facing north and south brings misfortune.

Uh oh. I always suspected my problems started in the bedroom.

Bird: If a robin flies into a room through a window, death will shortly follow.

Yeah....for the robin! But, I think that's why they invented screens – to protect us from robin death.

Cough: To cure a cough, take a hair from the coughing person's head, put it between two slices of buttered bread, feed it to a dog, and say, "Eat well you hound, may you be sick and I be sound."

Somebody was smoking some serious yard clippings when they came up with this one, and I'm sure the Humane Society might have something to say about it.

Fishing: It's bad luck to say the word "pig" while fishing at sea.

Nobody would ever think of saying the word 'pig' while fishing...unless they knew about this. Then just TRY not saying it!

Baseball Bat: Spit on a new bat before using it for the first time to make it lucky.

Or the umpire, one or the other.

Foot: If the bottom of your right foot itches, you are going to take a trip.

Straight to the podiatrist.

Apple: Twist the stem of an apple as you recite the alphabet for each twist. The letter the stem breaks off on is the first letter of the girl you will marry.

I do this one all the time and I try to cheat to get the 'D' for my wife. First, I thank her for not being named Zelda, then I try to manipulate my twists, but I almost always wind up with 'E' and have to tell my wife that I'm leaving her for my niece, Erin, who is the only female I know whose name starts with 'E'.

Ladybug: If a young girl catches a ladybug and then releases it, the direction in which it flies away will be the direction from which her future husband will come. It is bad luck to kill a ladybug.

Or your future husband.

Sleep: You sleep best with your head to the north and your feet to the south.

What the heck??? That's going to be a little difficult with my bed in the East/West good luck position. I'm so confused...

Cow: Cows lifting their tails is a sure sign that rain is coming.

It's a sure sign something is coming, but I don't think it's rain.

Swan: A swan's feather, sewed into the husband's pillow, will ensure fidelity.

And a husband's head, sewn into the headboard will ensure it as well.


Okay, that's enough superstitions for one day. As you can see, there is much to worry about so be careful out there.



 

We had yet another round of heartache in the family this past weekend. Just six weeks after my youngest son was relieved of his boyfriend duties from his girlfriend of one year, my oldest came in the bedroom in tears on Saturday telling us his girlfriend had just said bye bye, too! This one was the bigger shock because those two had been going out since, like, before I was born. He seems to be taking it well so far. Sheesh...two in a row! Hope I'm not the next one to get the boot!


Those of you who actually knew me when I started blogging 40 or 50 years ago might remember my entry about the miniature golf course my brother and I set up in the woods every year. We created it in an area near where we fish a lot up the mountain canyon where we grew up and still spend a lot of time. Traditionally, opening day of the Jocko Country Club at Cow Crap Creek is the first Monday evening after Daylight Saving starts, so last Monday was the day. There's no snow on the ground here in our valley, but we didn't expect to see any green 25 miles away up the canyon. Sure enough, there was about five inches of snow up there AND it was really really cold. So, opening day had to be postponed.

But, it's still fun to hang out and, fortunately, I dressed for the occasion – insulated snow pants on top of insulated shell pants on top of expedition weight thermal pants on top of thin long underwear. Columbia winter parka on top of Mountain Hardwear Windstopper Fleece jacket on top of Montana Grizzlies hooded sweatshirt on top of thick fleece sweatshirt on top of t-shirt. Wool cap, gloves, only one pair of socks (my feet stay warmer when toes are free to wiggle), and Sorel boots rated to 40 below zero (liars!). Movement was minimal, as were potty breaks.

By the way, those temperature ratings for boots and sleeping bags are a total crock. I learned early on in my mountaineering life that a sleeping bag rated to 20 below won't actually keep you warm at 20 below, but will simply preserve your life in a cryogenic state until you can be brought back to life at a later date.

So, yeah, my feet got a little cold even though it was nowhere near 40 below, but when the moon came out we stepped out of the shadows to soak up the warmth of the sun's rays reflecting off the lunar surface. Moonlight warms, you know. Sure, it's only a psychological warmth, and only about 0.00000017 of a degree at that, but every little billionth of a degree helps.




I am proud to say that I am one of only four living earthlings who do not have a Facebook page. It's down to me, an Eskimo with limited wireless access, and two rebel members of the Amazonian Yanomami tribe. I will try to hold on as long as I can.




I was reading about the new food pyramid the other day. I guess the old standard 'four basic food group' pyramid is gone and has been replaced by 'My Pyramid', because apparently one pyramid size does not fit all anymore. It must now be built to individual specifications. However, it was interesting to learn that the very first pyramid was created way back in 1894, and included milk, meat, veggies, fruits, and cereals. Cereals? They had cereal back in 1894? I wonder who was on the very first box of Wheaties. Maybe Jesse James or General Custer. And I'll bet it was a HUGE victory for civil rights the day Sitting Bull made the box.

And speaking of foods, this is the year I'm finally going to grow that BIG pumpkin. I've been wanting to do that for years, but never remember until Halloween when pumpkins suddenly appear and I'm reminded that I forgot. And I don't just mean a big pumpkin, but a BIG pumpkin! Anything less than 500 lbs just won't do. I noticed that the record Montana pumpkin weighed 666 lbs! Someone obviously made a deal with the devil there, so I must wipe that one off the books in the name of all that is good and orange and holy. I'm shooting for 40,000 lbs just to be safe.

Though, pumpkins do bring sadness to my heart because they remind me of the time we tortured a mouse by accident. It was a typical October day several years ago when we found a wounded mouse on our front deck. A cat got it, I think, but it was still alive. To protect it and give it a chance to heal, we put it inside the carved pumpkin on our deck, figuring no cats, skunks, or hippies would find it. The next morning, it was dead – frozen solid from spending the night in an extremely damp, cold and orange torture chamber. Hey, it seemed like a good idea at the time. But the tragedy rocked the mouse kingdom and it was in all the mouse papers, as I'm sure you remember. We were unfairly labeled as sick, rodent-abusing fiends, when all we wanted to do was help.

Anyway, if I am able to successfully grow a huge pumpkin, think of all the additional creatures I could torture!

 

I drove over to the University last night to watch the Montana Lady Griz b-ball team in action. By myself. It was sad, really. Being there...alone....among nearly 4,000 other screaming fans. But, I've gotten used to going to games alone, since a family member usually only joins me about half of the time. It was a fun and nasty game with lots of fouls and pushing and shoving and scowling, but we came out on top which sets up the HUGE season finale tomorrow afternoon against Portland State. We're both tied for first place...winner takes all. I will be there. Probably 'alone'.

Being the final game of the season, tomorrow will also be 'Senior Day'. All of the Seniors will be honored with a short tribute before the game. I have to say, Senior Day is emotional, even for me. I love living in a college town, and this particular town really supports their Griz. The Lady Griz have a long winning tradition and have routinely been in the top 25 in the nation in attendance figures, regularly beating out schools from much larger communities. The Griz teams are the only game in town and there is tremendous pride here.

Living in a relatively small college community, we get to know these players very well. They truly do feel like family, so when it comes time to say goodbye to them, as we will to four more Seniors tomorrow, it's a little sad. Montana recruits mainly from within the state, so there is an extra dose of pride watching these men and women come here full of promise from stellar high school careers, but still green and unpolished for Division 1 college ball. We get to watch them grow up, so to speak, in their four years in a Montana uniform. They truly do become family.

I've been going to these games for many years, and I've seen many Senior Nights. It'll bring a tear to my eye tomorrow watching thousands of other 'family' members in attendance say goodbye to another wonderful group of our Montana girls with a rousing send-off, remembering how well they represented our team and our community for the past four years. All of our hearts will be swelling with pride. It's tough to say goodbye to your kids.

That's my sappy entry for the month. It won't happen again, I promise.

Go Griz!!!


 

Okay, I had this poll years ago in my previous life as a blogger, but times change and bloggers come and go, so maybe the results will be different. Brown won last time, which was hardly a surprise, but I do remember being at least a little surprised at the number of people with green eyes like me. So....IF I can figure out how to set up a poll, I'll try again.

This website is pretty cool, too: http://museum.thetech.org/ugenetics/eyeCalc/eyecalculator.html

You can calculate what eye color your kids will have, but since I already have kids, I had to check to see if they got it right. They did for the most part, though apparently I was supposed to have six alien babies, four of whom should have brown eyes! Tell me those kids' eyes on that site don't look like something that came off the mother ship in Close Encounters! Anyway, two-thirds of my kids DO have brown eyes, so I guess they got the percentage right. Or, is it two-thirds of their eyes were brown? They ARE aliens, apparently. Interesting that my twins don't make up that two-third. Well, one of them makes up one-half of that two-thirds while the other makes up three-thirds of the one-third though I'm not sure which half is one-third alien and which third is two-thirds of one-half human.


Take my poll, please! Pretty please?

Oh, and don't forget to say 'Hi' and tell me what you chose and how that makes you feel.

As I just started to type this, I looked out the kitchen window and noticed Creepy Stalker Woman drive by out front. She was speeding and had music blaring very loud, so obviously was not in stalking mode. I found her house the other day, by the way. She actually does live in the neighborhood. Yay. But, since she still doesn't know that I know that she doesn't know that I know....uh....that I was followed, I figured if it ever happened again during one of my walks around the neighborhood, that I would do everything exactly the same and not let on that I know, but instead of walking to my home, I would calmly walk to hers where I would take a seat on her front steps and call 9-1-1.


I was driving across town the other day and happened to come up behind my brother in the car just in front of me. He didn't see me, so I sent this text: “Never text while driving.” He found me.


The Tagalongs and Thin Mints arrived yesterday. More temptation. I will be strong, I will be strong, I will be strong. Friggin' Girl Scouts.....as bad as Dr. Seuss.


I own a Zune and not an iPod. I love my Zune. My daughter also owns one and she let me in on a little feature last night I didn't even know they had. Maybe iPods have this, too, but I can go to the Zune website and sign in to my personal profile and it will tell me how many songs I've played since I've owned the player and how many times I've played each song. Shelby and I had fun comparing last night. I learned that I've listened to 4881 songs since I bought it last May (not different songs...some are repeats, obviously. 4881 'plays' I guess I should say). My most-played song is Ashton Shepherd's “Sounds So Good”, coming in at 497 times, followed by Keith Urban's “Stupid Boy” at 211 plays, and sitting in third is my current favorite song, Kelly Clarkson's “My Life Would Suck Without You” at 157 plays, which kind of surprised me since I only put that song on my Zune less than a week ago. I must really like it.


A question for all you couples out there. This topic came up in my own house last weekend. Shouldn't a 'date night' be mutually appealing to both involved? Meaning, if a couple is planning a real night out together, wouldn't it make sense to do something each person might actually be interested in? Yeah, yeah....I know what some people are going to say – just being together should be enough. Whatever. Date nights are rare enough, so it is my firm belief that both people should be in agreement of the night's festivities, otherwise it just becomes a hostage situation.



And speaking of death , I came up with a whole bunch of better options for my future lifeless body while making a smoothie this morning. I mean, it's not like we have a whole lot of choices, right? Bury or burn, burn or bury, etc., etc. I personally chose to be char-broiled, crispified, and carcinogenated into a fine and fragrant ashy powder (How could I not be fragrant, even after death? Years of shower gel usage WILL pay off!).

The reasons for this choice are, 1) my small savings account conflicts with the high cost of dying, and 2) I never wanted a depressing cold, gray headstone for survivors to visit. One where they'll feel obligated to waste money to have some meaningful and eternally fitting slogan chiseled into its face.

My personal headstone choice:


David's Here
His Phone Was Orange
Thx 4 Visitin' (small savings account, remember? Those letters cost $$$!)


But, looking at my blender this morning, I saw a huge set of additional options: chop, grate, grind, stir, puree, whip, mix, blend, frappe, or liquefy. I'm leaning toward frappe or liquefy. Both sound fun. But I do know that once I get officially frapped into a human smoothie, I want to be poured out over unsuspecting hippies which would probably cause them to melt like The Wicked Witch of the West. She was green. (I have now used the word 'green' in every March entry so far. It's lana bardot 's fault, but now it's a quest for the remainder of the month. Much easier than a blue month. )

 

This is in honor of Special Kay and the final entry of her blog. A Dr. Seuss birthday-inspired final entry. And since I completely forgot I was supposed to write something Seuss-inspired myself until I saw her entry this morning, this was scratched out in a hurry. But the events, memories, and thoughts presented within are very real and sincere.

I have fond memories of the Dr. Seuss books. When I was about 7-years-old, my parents subscribed to some sort of book club that sent us a new Seuss book every month. I always new the approximate date they would arrive and would make the long walk out our dirt lane to the mailbox each day until it came. Though I thought some of the characters were a little strange, the books always left me with a happy feeling after reading them. They were without a doubt my favorite books at the time.

Until the day Green Eggs and Ham showed up in the mailbox.

After only a few pages, I knew something was different. I felt disturbed. Something strange was digging into my 7-year-old brain, and I wasn't familiar with it. Years later, after reaching adulthood and reading the bible, I decided it was the same feeling Eve must have had after she bit into the apple. My innocence was lost.

But I couldn't put the book down. It felt wrong somehow, but the temptation was too great. And the more I read of the exploits of Sam I Am, the more confused I became. There was a reason the main character in the book had no name – he represented me! And all the other impressionable children out there whose innocence was rocked the day they first opened that book. Sam I Am was Satan, or at the very least a drug pusher, though I didn't recognize him at the time. He was pressuring me to sin; to take the forbidden Green Eggs and Ham and be happy, while all the other suddenly creepy-looking characters in the book started to gather around that nameless creature – me – and stare, tempting me to follow along or suffer unknown consequences.

And the nameless creature DID fall to temptation. And he WAS happy for doing so. Surely this was a sign, so upon finishing the book I stole some cigarettes from my mother's purse and took up smoking. Okay, everything but that last part is true. But I did feel different after reading the book. Like life would never be quite the same again. My life of sin had begun.

Even today, whenever I see Green Eggs and Ham somewhere, I get the urge to steal some kids lunch money or have an affair or something. Some books stay with you forever.


Sorry, Kay....I really do like Dr. Seuss, but I just had to share my confusing childhood experience.
 

My wife intentionally hurt our car the other day with an umbrella. I was giving her a ride to work and as she rounded the front of the car, she slipped on a patch of ice and dropped her coffee cup. The really cool one with the moose on it. The one that matches our toothbrush holder and honey pot. It smashed into 43 pieces (rough estimate) and my wife screamed an expletive. “Crap!” That's about as profane as she gets, so I knew she was mad. She straightened herself and took a mighty swing with her umbrella – similar to chopping a piece of wood or a teen girl from Friday the 13th – only this time the poor defenseless victim happened to be the hood of our car, and not something deserving like a chunk of firewood or a half-naked screaming teenager.

Now, my initial reaction was one mixed with anger and laughter. I wasn't thrilled she was trying to destroy our vehicle, but I so rarely see her express anger (see expletive above), I had to smile. I tried to act mad at her striking the car, but I couldn't do it. By the time I dropped her off at work, we were both laughing about the scene in 'The Four Seasons' where Alan Alda finally unleashes some of his inner rage and the moose head on the wall of the lodge winds up in the fireplace. (another moose associated with rage?) I told her it was her 'Alan Alda' moment and I was proud of her.

For me, there has never been a problem with releasing my inner rage at inanimate objects. There is absolutely nothing on this earth that can transform me into The Hulk like whacking my arm on a counter or stubbing my toe on the coffee table. People can and do suck sometimes, but there's nothing a person can say or do to me that can release that kind of rage. I just get annoyed with people, but if a lifeless object causes me pain, then that object, or some other non-living object residing nearby, must die.

I'm sure this makes me sound like a man in serious need of anger management, but I'm honestly a very calm person as long as the lifeless objects of the world mind their own business and leave me alone. I have destroyed quite a few of these objects over the years (or tried to), but they had it coming. My greatest 'hit', however, is one that still haunts me because the evidence remains not far from my side of the bed.

My wife's grandma had given her an antique sewing machine/cabinet years ago. The machine folds up into the cabinet as does a little shelf extension on hinges. It's usually in a corner of our bedroom, but one time years ago, my wife had set it up in the living room because she was working on a big project and didn't want to be cooped up away from everyone. She had taken a break, but the machine was pulled out and the shelf fully extended.

I can't remember exactly what I was doing near the machine, but as I turned away, I whacked my hand extremely hard on the corner of the extended shelf and instantly saw deep deep shades of Hulk green. Something had to pay.

Now, in these brief and intense Hulk moments, the object that caused you pain isn't necessarily the one that dies. Whatever non-living object is most accessible and can feel the full brunt of your rage before it burns out (and the hottest part burns out faster than a shooting star, so you need to act quickly), is what must die. In this case, the sewing machine shelf that caused me pain just happened to be that accessible object. Time stood still and my wife froze – familiar with the Hulk and no doubt saying a quick prayer – but it was too late. I made a fist and slammed it down as hard as I could X 10 on the end of the shelf, splitting the wood near the hinges and leaving it half-dangling from the rest of the cabinet.

Another interesting thing happens once the rage is released. Your body feels instantly free. Imagine Patrick Swayze in 'Ghost' jumping in and out of human bodies. That's what happens – the Patrick Swayze/rage jumps out of my body, and in typical cases, he just floats around out there with nowhere to go, no doubt waiting to be summoned by the next Hulk moment. But, in cases like the sewing machine, Patrick/rage jumped out of my body and into my wife's instantaneously.

“Just great! That's MY sewing machine!” she yelled as she pushed by me to survey the damage, which was substantial. I suggested she hit something non-husband like in shape to release her rage. Since there was no moose around, I suggested the sewing machine since it was already broken. Not one of my smartest moves.

She has never let me forget that one, which is probably why she put the cabinet in the corner of the bedroom on MY side of the bed. It's the first thing I see every morning when I crawl out of bed.
 

I was going to write about something else today, but I just have to share what happened to me last night because it kind of freaked me out!

I had just finished preparing a corned beef casserole (a wonderful family recipe that's been handed down for generations and is easy to make! See me for details. ) and had put it in the oven. It was about 5 p.m. and it takes about an hour to bake, so I thought I'd go for a walk. I've used a GPS and plotted out several walking routes around our neighborhood and the one adjacent – one a two-mile walk, the other three miles. I usually only do my running on the nearby mountain trails, but my wife and I like to take walks around the neighborhood, so I wanted to have some idea of how far we travel.

After putting the casserole in the oven, I put on my sweats, grabbed my Zune, and headed down our street. About three blocks from home, there is a metal mailbox just off a side street with about 30 locked boxes for all the people who live down that street. As I approached it, I noticed an SUV pull up to the boxes on its way out of that street, and two young girls got out to check their mailbox (I'd guess one was 5-years-old and the other about 8). At least I think they were checking mail, as it seemed they were standing in front of the box as I got closer, but I wasn't really paying attention.

The lady driving the car had her door open and we made eye contact as I got closer. But she kept staring intently at me, so I dropped my gaze and kept walking. I had to walk directly in front of her car, and as I did I glanced up and she was still locked on me, watching me closely as I went by. She was a very pretty woman with dark, almost-black hair, about 30-years-old I'd say, so of course I wanted to flatter myself in thinking, “Yeah, I've still got it” , but something about her stare kind of unnerved me.

I continued down the street and the lady had pulled out onto the same one and drove by me at a normal rate of speed. She had an out-of-state plate that I think was from Illinois, but it was too dirty to be certain. At the end of the street, she stopped at the stop sign and wouldn't go. There was no traffic to hold her up, but she stayed right there. I was still a block or so away, but getting closer. A truck came up behind her and had to go around because she wouldn't move. When I got up next to her car, I didn't even look at her, but turned to the right and headed down the sidewalk of a busier street. I didn't really think she was waiting at the stop sign for me, but just figured she was distracted with her kids or something.

As I walked down the busier street, I noticed her car go by me again, going in the same direction but driving at normal speeds. I figured that was that, and I was just being paranoid, but then I saw her pull a U-turn and come back my way. I looked down and kept on walking, but when I raised my head, I noticed she had stopped on the opposite side of the street from me and had her window down staring at me. I thought maybe she had said something, so I stopped, pulled out my earbuds and said “Excuse me?” She just looked calmly at me and said, “Huh?” I said, “Oh, I thought you said something to me.” Calm and cool, she replied, “No,” as she slowly pulled away, staring at me the whole time.

Okay, at this point I'm figuring that's truly that...finally! She probably thought she recognized me, but after stopping and talking with me, realized she was wrong. I started to calm down and continued walking my normal route into the nearby new subdivision. Several blocks down the next street, she passed me again! It was at this point any flattering thoughts officially vanished. I was being hunted. She was driving the speed limit and went all the way to the end of the street – about four blocks away – and turned around and parked on the other side of the street facing me. Normally I walk to the end of the street, but I turned right at the next intersection, still a good three blocks from her. All the while I'm acting cool, not giving any indication I know I'm being followed.

I went all the way to the end of the street I was on, occasionally glancing to the side, hoping to catch something out of the corner of my eye. I didn't see anything and honestly thought she'd given up. I looped around and headed back toward home on a new street in the subdivision that only has houses built on one side so far. I looked to the right through the yards along the street I'd just been on and I caught sight of her car between two houses. She was still following me!

Now, the logical thing to do would be to simply stop and wait for her and ask just what the heck she wanted from me. But I'm not logical. The game was on! So, I continued down this new street, planning my escape. I could now tell she was following from a distance, so she no doubt wanted to know where I lived without being seen, for some reason. I couldn't go home the way I came. As I got to the end of the new development, I cut across a construction zone and jumped a fence where there's a small playground about two blocks from home. It's a shortcut between our neighborhood and the new development (if you're walking). She would not be able to follow me through there and would have to circle back the way she came. As I walked across the playground and out onto the street, I heard someone yell something behind me. I did not turn around. They yelled again. I ignored it (I still had my earbuds in, but my music was off). I probably should have just turned around at that point and gotten to the bottom of the whole thing, but I was kind of freaked out so I ignored the yells.

I knew she would hurry back to my neighborhood to see if she could find me, so as soon as I was out of sight of the playground, I ran home. I looked back our long street before I disappeared into our yard and did not see her coming yet. When I got inside, I had just started telling my daughter that I was being stalked, when I saw the SUV drive by our street slowly. My daughter shrieked and peeked out the curtains. “Oh my gosh, this is the creepiest thing ever!” she yelled, and for the next 45 minutes or more, the SUV cruised slowly up and down our street and every nearby side street.

Again, the smart thing to do would have been to go outside, stop the woman, and ask what the heck was going on. But for some reason, I didn't want to. I did not want her to have any idea at all of where I lived. Trying to analyze this, I'm now wondering if I look like someone from her past who caused her harm in some way. Was she trying to find out where I live from a safe distance so she could call the cops? If so, she's a lousy tracker. She drove right by me on three occasions and made herself visible. Plus, she actually stopped on the street and I had a few words with her...what was that all about? Why didn't she say something then? And out-of-state plates? How would I possibly know her? Yet, she was getting mail (I think) so she must live nearby, which makes me feel really good. Plus, she had her kids in the car the whole time! Very very confusing and more than a little creepy. I do know I won't be making my evening walks for a while. At least not without my Ruger and grizzly bear pepper spray. I'll just stay home and make casseroles.

That's my creepy story for the day. If you don't hear from me anymore, I swear I did not give up blogging for Lent – I'm either dead or in jail for a crime I did not commit!
 

Tomorrow Lent begins. I don't know if I'll give up anything this year. In my previous life as a blogger several years ago, I shared the agony of my sacrifice for Lent. That year, I had decided to give up coffee. Let me tell you, my nerves went haywire, I got massive headaches, and basically felt like crap. And that was before I even started! Once I did start, my nerves went haywire, I got headaches, and basically felt like crap X 10. It was one of the stupidest experiences of my life, but I survived. Just about the time I was starting to feel pretty good physically, Lent was over and I started drinking coffee again. I went through the whole re-caffeinating process, which is like reverse detox.

The idea is to sacrifice something that would be a great temptation. Similar to Jesus and his 40 days of temptation – what would be a great sacrifice and something I would be tempted to do during those 40 days of Lent? The obvious answer would be blogging. But giving up blogging would be wrong and just plain unbiblical, I'm sure. Maybe I could just give up a part of blogging for 40 days....like emoticons. Though, by the end of Lent, I might have no blogging friends left. Comments like “Well, aren't you just the dumb-ass today! ” look better than “Well, aren't you just the dumb-ass today!” Not much, but a little. Okay, the emoticons stay. Maybe I'll try blogging for 40 days without using the letter 'R'.

You know, as I looked through Proverbs in the bible this morning, I was struck once again by the chronological order of some of them. First there's Prov. 18:22 which says, “He who finds a wife finds what is good, and receives favor from the Lord..” Next chapter has Prov. 19:15, “Laziness brings on deep sleep, and the shiftless man goes hungry.” A bit later comes Prov. 21:9, “Better to live on the corner of a roof, than share a house with a quarrelsome wife.” If they ever find Proverbs, The Lost Episodes, I would expect there'd be, “Foolish is the man who buys his wife sharp objects, for he will bleed.”

Happy Pancake Day! I have had none yet, but there is still time.

Oh, and thanks Adriana -33k! Go purple Team! for the birthday badge. Aren't you just the proverbial 'ray' of sunshine!
 

I'm starting to get bombarded with e-mails advertising vacation packages to Yellowstone and other parts of Wyoming. They got my info from our little family trip down that way last summer, no doubt. I've never been a vacation type of person in the typical sense of the word. As a kid, our family never went to Hawaii for a week or Mexico or even Disneyland. And that was just fine with us. We had no desire for any of that, for some reason.

But, just as my little family did last summer, my parents often took us on closer vacations to places like Yellowstone and Jackson Hole. I have wonderful memories of those trips. There was something about those vacations filled with foreign mountain wilderness areas and rustic log-built restaurants and shops – the whole 'western' tourist atmosphere – that my brothers and I couldn't get enough of. Any other vacation destination would've been a step down in our opinion.

Fortunately, my kids have followed in our footsteps. I say 'fortunately', because I've never been in a position to afford a grand vacation to an exotic locale. Not saying the kids wouldn't have fun in Hawaii for a week, but that honestly would never be their first choice. And we love road trips! They prefer our little daytrips and three-day weekends around the Rockies. At least they humor me and say they do.

If I ever did a cross-country road trip, I would seek out all the bizarre and corny attractions, ala Chevy Chase. You know, that second largest ball of twine? Stuff like that. And I'd like to be in five states at once. I would hit the Four Corners Monument where I could be in Utah, Colorado, Arizona, and New Mexico at the same time, but on the way down I'd leave a body part under a rock along the interstate in Idaho somewhere. Hopefully it would be there when I come back because otherwise that would suck, especially if it was a part I might need.

I've been to the Atlantic, the Pacific, much of the Midwest, and all of the West, but one area of the country I've always wanted to visit and probably never will (see above paragraph about being financially challenged), is the deep south. My daughter and I watched 'Man in the Moon' the other night (remember the 1991 coming-of-age movie with a very young Reese Witherspoon?) and those desires to visit the south resurfaced. The movie was filmed in Louisiana and the setting is exactly what I think of when I envision the south. Watching 'Fried Green Tomatoes' gives me that same southern longing. I would love to experience a sticky, humid, southern summer night sometime before I die. I want lightning bugs, sweet tea, magnolias, pretty girls with fetching southern accents, and all those other stereotypical bits of the south that may or may not even exist anymore. Perhaps that's why I was always drawn to the writing of Carson McCullers and Eudora Welty.

One thing I would NOT want to experience are the many creepy crawly insect creatures of the south. We don't have that up here in Montana, and that's just fine by me. I've had dozens of encounters with bears over the years, a few with mountain lions, and even been chased by a moose, but I'd take any of those experiences over having just one unidentified large-legged, multi-colored, multi-winged, bug-eyed and fanged, rodent-sized insect drop onto my shoulder while walking under a cypress tree. I would probably die instantly. I'm sure there are frightening new species being formed deep in a southern bog somewhere as I speak. And Kay Jay's recent blog account of brain-burrowing, flying cockroaches didn't do much to curb those fears.

On second thought maybe I'll just stay up here with the grizzlies and cougars where it's safe.

So...any big vacation plans this year?



Oh yeah....thanks Janie Ruth Ryals for the birthday badge yesterday! You are ! My second lil bloggy woggy turned one-year-old. My how time flies!
 

I noticed this morning that Carl's letters seem to be fading. Carl is my laptop, in case you didn't know. He just turned three years old a week ago, which is 78 in computer/dog years. He was ill for a while, but he's been doing much better since his recent lobotomy. He almost feels like a kid again, but that'll change when he once again comes to the realization that he's 78 years old and not the hip young computer he once was. It's only a matter of time. But for now, he's performing well in his ignorance.

Anyway, I noticed that there are now six letters that have worn off Carl's keys. I, O, H, L, N, M are completely gone, and K & P are fading fast. It's a good thing I learned how to type the right way in high school or I wouldn't even know what letters Carl is missing and my blog entries might not make as much sense....like yesterday's! (I also learned shorthand in high school, thinking it might help while trying to scribble notes in college courses, but it turns out you have to actually go to class to put those skills to use.)

So, I found myself wondering why those particular letters are faded or gone. What can I spell with them? Loin? Oil? Honk? All fine words, to be sure. State abbreviations 'OH' and 'IL'? Then I noticed something else – all of these letters are on the right side of Carl's keyboard. Now, it's no secret I lean far to the right politically, but I had no idea it affected my balance and keyboard striking. This was perplexing.

Eggs bring clarity to my life, so I cooked some for breakfast and pondered this Carl mystery. Coffee brings clarity, too, so I made more. Vacuuming does not bring clarity, but the carpet was a mess so I did that, too, all the while contemplating why Carl was only fading on the right side. Did he have a stroke? No, that's the left side that's affected...right? But, then, Carl is facing me so it would be his left....right? I put on fresh underwear, both for clarity and, well, it's Thursday, and thought some more.

And then it hit me! The answer is right down there in yesterday's entry. Fingernails! I only grow them on my right hand for guitar playing, thus Carl is only suffering on his right...or is it his left?....side. Can't believe I couldn't figure that out without the aid of eggs and underwear, but at least I can sleep now and won't need eggs or fresh undies for....heck, who knows? And Carl deserves better so I'll try to give him a fresh coat of letter paint soon.


I'm sure some of you smarty-pants were screaming “It's your fingernails, stupid!” after the first line. Yeah yeah, I know....I'm slow. Hey, it took me ten years of wheat bread denial to finally figure out that peanut butter & jelly sandwiches taste better with white bread, but I figure stuff out eventually.





 

I'm going to try writing an entry with absolutely nothing in my brain. No ideas, no plan. Sort of like a word association test or a mini campfire creative. I'll just let the previous thought wander into a new thought. This could get ugly.

I have to start somewhere, however, so I'll begin with the most significant event of the past few days of my life – even more important than receiving my new bisexual orange phone yesterday.

I broke a nail. Yep, while up in the mountains last Sunday, I noticed that the beautiful fingernail on my right index finger was completely broken. I grow nails on my right hand for guitar picking, and opening the occasion stubborn box of Count Chocula. This sucks, because as you men all know, they take forever to grow to that perfect length.

I taught myself how to play the guitar when I was a senior in high school. That first guitar was a classical guitar and you need fingernails to play classical guitar. I was even a classical guitar major at Montana State University in Bozeman, Montana, for a brief time. I didn't get my music degree but I did meet my wife there. We both worked in a buffet restaurant. While traveling through Bozeman last summer, we took a pic of the two of us standing outside the same building, though it's no longer a restaurant.

We don't have any buffet restaurants in my town right now and that's a shame. I like large food, so buffets fit my style. And I admit it, I also like McDonald's. Value Meal #1, large size, extra double cheeseburger. My former girlfriend was always amazed at how fast I could eat a Big Mac. Maybe 'amazed' isn't the right word. She was from France. She was a twin . We dated for 3 ½ years before I met my wife and talked of getting married. Glad we didn't or I might have had to learn French. I did learn some phrases, though I've mostly forgotten them. She always told me she would have twins one day since her mom and grandma both had twins. Turns out I had twins and she did not. Ha! And her son was born on my birthday. Double Ha! She will be haunted by me forever.

I've only been haunted that one time I blogged about back in Pennsylvania. At least I think I was haunted. I still have family in PA. Most of my cousins live there, in fact, and I haven't seen them since I was 8-years-old. That's kind of sad, I guess. I have seen pics of them, though, and my cousin Becky is really cute. You know, in a cousinly/sisterly kind of way, though I never had a sister. Maybe that explains why I seem to get along better with women than men – I never had any girls around to hate while growing up. Ha.

And, on that subject of getting along with women, I have been falsely accused in the past of being a babe collector here on the blog pages, which is entirely absurd. I am definitely bisexual when it comes to blog reading! But I have to say, most of the men I've commented to here usually ignore me for some reason, so I stopped trying as much as I used to. And I can't help that there are more women than men here. Besides, we bloggers have no gender anyway. We are a different species that all blend together and have no reproductive organs once we log on.

Speaking of different species, remember the movie 'Species' about the sexy but deadly half-human, half-alien who was desperate to mate and reproduce to create deadly offspring to destroy mankind? I'm thinking mankind is definitely vulnerable to an alien sex attack, probably more than anything else (besides reality shows, maybe), so this ploy could work. It is a great weakness of our planet. If beautiful aliens did come calling, we'd all be toast. I like sourdough toast the best. With plum jam. But our stupid toaster either doesn't toast enough or goes to the other extreme and burns the edges. Fortunately I have long fingernails to scrape off the black stuff. But I broke a nail the other day.

Guess that means it's time to stop now. I thought this would turn out better than this so maybe it wasn't such a good idea, but it's still kind of fun to let your mind wander wherever it wants. More than usual, that is.
 

My very pretty phone has perished. There I was up in the mountains last Sunday and found a pocket of space that had cell service, so I sent a text to my son asking who won Daytona. It was the last task my pretty phone would ever make. Time of death: 5:56 p.m., mst. My phone is only survived by me, its adopted father, and the only one who truly appreciated its metallic magenta exterior. The website said 'pink', but I knew better.

Though it may have only needed a battery/heart transplant, I figured it was a good excuse to buy a new phone. I ordered one yesterday from the Verizon website and its scheduled to arrive today sometime. I actively text with a few of you here, so if you sent me anything between 5:56 p.m., mst on Sunday and now, that message is currently drifting aimlessly in cyberspace, looking for a home.

My new phone will be the G'zone Boulder (in unisex burnt orange....or maybe it was bisexual burnt orange, I forget) – a phone supposedly built to military specs, and one you can destroy and it won't be destroyed. I can throw it against a wall, drop it in the creek, etc., etc., and it'll keep on texting. Before ordering it, I checked out the customer reviews over on CNET and there were a surprising number who said it is indestructible, but the sound quality is not good. However, a few people said there is a software upgrade for the phone that will fix that problem, and my son happens to have a few friends who own the Boulder and they said the sound quality is just fine. So I went with it. Besides, who uses their phones to talk anymore anyway? I checked my bill for last month and I sent and received 1,074 text messages! Wow, and I used to get mad at myself for having more than 25 a month.

What can I say, I'm a texting convert. Like I mentioned in a recent entry, texting is the non-commital, one-night-stand of the communication world. If you call someone to ask a simple question like how much they paid for their iPod, the next thing you know you're making dinner plans then they'll probably ask you to help out with their garage sale that weekend, and possibly want you to help remodel their house. Why get tied up in a lengthy phone conversation when you can have all of the fun and none of that excess baggage?



My sister-in-law gave me a rather large bottle of whiskey the other day, which made me happy. She said it had been sitting around their house forever and no one was drinking it, so she asked if I wanted it. Do hippies smell??? I usually don't drink much at all, and even at that only on weekdays and weekends, but I was mourning the loss of my pretty phone so I accepted. What I don't have anymore is an acceptable whiskey-drinking glass. I used to have a good, solid, no-frills glass that was the perfect size and geometric shape, but it broke a few weeks ago while pouring Diet Coke into it, of all things. Just went and cracked on me for no good reason. And it was a good glass, too! It looked like something J.R. Ewing would have used while arguing with Sue Ellen at Southfork.

So I searched into the dark recesses of our cupboards and found an old glass mug. It's also the perfect size, extremely thick to withstand inebriated and exaggerated arm flinging during inebriated and exaggerated storytelling (the perfect match for my Boulder phone!), and in big red letters on the side it says “I HAVE TWINS”. Perfect, wouldn't you say!
 

When I got to the Y this morning, I decided I wasn't in the mood to run so I went down on the basketball court to shoot some hoops. Deadeye granny was there again. In fact, it was just she and I, but I didn't watch her this morning because I couldn't stand to see her miss another shot, so I said hello and went down to the other end to shoot around.

Back in the day, I used to shoot a lot of hoops. One game I'd play with myself (it's always fun to play with yourself) is I'd see how many free throws I could make in a row without missing. So, I tried that this morning. In the old days I could routinely make somewhere in the teens before missing – not bad, but not great. Today I could only make six in a row. But, when granny left, I decided to go down to her end of the court and try.

I swear I made my first 27 free throws on her end without missing. Granny's sharpshooting aura still lingered at that end of the court, not unlike the fumes of noxious bodily gases lingering in the air long after a slob has carelessly released them into the atmosphere before leaving the area.



Yesterday my wife brought home one of those picture puzzle things. This one was a photo of a bunch of coffee beans and supposedly hidden somewhere within them was a man. She said that no one at her workplace could find him. I'm sure you've seen those 3D type photo puzzles where there's supposed to be an image within the image, but you have to relax your eyes or cross your eyes or something strange to see it. I have never been able to get those to work for me, but this coffee bean pic had the same look as one of those 3D puzzles, so I stared at it cross-eyed for about five minutes. Nothing. I tried relaxing my eyes and focusing just beyond the photo. Nothing. I tried holding it farther away and tilting my head like a bird while squinting and this time I think I saw the Virgin Mary eating nachos with Bigfoot, but I couldn't be sure.

Finally, I gave up on the eye strain and simply started looking at each individual coffee bean, 'Where's Waldo' style. Within five seconds I found the stupid man! One of the beans was a face. Sheesh. I could've seen it if I hadn't been cross-eyed and squinting for half an hour! There's a valuable life lesson in there somewhere: Sometimes we try too hard to cross our eyes to see within the coffee beans of life, which makes everything in our world oblong and brown, when what we really should be doing is simply drinking the coffee and ignoring mankind. I'm glad I discovered this truth today.

But I was inspired to make my own picture puzzle. Squint really hard, cross your eyes, hold your breath, put your face really really close to the screen, and try to find the human heart within the candy hearts. It's not easy so don't feel bad if you can't find it at first. Just keep trying.

Shoulda gone to free....credit....report dot com (yeehaw!),
I coulda seen this comin' at me like an atom bomb..

That was the first thing in my brain when I woke up yesterday morning. And it's still there! Bastards. Though I do like that 'yeehaw' part.

She's human after all! Every morning when I run on the indoor track at the Y, down below on the basketball court is a tiny Asian woman, who I'm guessing is around 137-years-old, shooting baskets. She always shoots them underhanded – 'granny style', or in her case, 'great-great-great-great granny style'. I have never seen her miss a shot.....EVER!

Until today. She finally missed one. I was so disappointed, because there are certain things in this life that you come to depend on. Things that will never change. God, the sunrise, teenage odor, yellow backgrounds, and prehistoric granny never missing. Now, for the second time within a week, one of life's constants has been shot down. Very distressing. I got so mad I threw my water bottle down at granny and told her she totally sucked!

Kidding. But I'd better not see her miss again! And speaking of running, my wife brought home a brochure last night for this year's Missoula Marathon, thinking I might be interested. Not sure why she'd think that. Why would I want to be part of this organized mass suicide, and pay $60 for the privilege? Or maybe that's how she hopes to get rid of me without having any criminal charges?

Since I've never been accused of being a smart man, it is somewhat tempting. The farthest I've ever run before is about half of the 26-mile marathon distance, and typically only go about 7 miles on my runs now. So this means I would likely perish before the halfway point. And, since there would be no one behind me at that point, they wouldn't find my body for days. This could possibly increase my body odor. The marathon's not until July 12 (which also happens to be a very big day in the life of dreamweaver this year. Ha.), so I have some time to think about it and maybe even consult deadeye dinosaur granny, providing she doesn't miss any more between now and then and shake my confidence in her mentoring skills even further. Or, I could just work on increasing my intelligence between now and then which would increase my couch time and peanut butter cup intake and possibly get me started training for an appearance on The Biggest Loser!

My wife works in a small printing/design/copy/shipping business, and last night she also brought home a few packs of Valentine's conversation hearts, personalized for their business. You know what I'm talking about, right? Those little chalky candy hearts that taste like Tums, but have the opposite effect? Well, instead of the typical 'I LUV U' and 'KISS ME' type messages, hers said things like 'SHIP', 'COPY', 'FAX', etc. Though, I've seen their inflated prices so I'm surprised they didn't say 'RIP OFF' or 'GOUGED' or 'HA! U SHOP HERE?'.

I've seen some pretty nasty, but kinda funny, x-rated conversation hearts over the years, but had no idea you could get them personalized to a specific business or demographic. Hippies could have 'TREE HUG R', 'STONED', 'I H8 BUSH', and Democrats could have...well, the same ones. What about us WDCers? We should have our own hearts. 'BLOG HOG', 'U R 5 STAR', 'LUV GPS', 'COMMENT ME'. Okay, those are lame. I'm sure I could come up with some better ones if I took the time, but I like food and think I'll go find some now.

Oh! An update on my friend, Dan, from last entry. He finally got word that his online 'girlfriend' is alive and well and not stricken with cancer. Big surprise, huh? Where did he hear all this? From the girl's husband. Yikes! Poor Dan.