Okay, I can't resist; I simply must write about my beloved Kansas City Chiefs.
A few people have asked why I don't try to make a profit off my blog....Well, this particular piece that you are about to read would be the reason why.
My biggest fear about blogging for profit is that I will find myself pigeon holed in a certain genre of writing. Quite simply, if I feel like I'm being forced to write within a certain set of boundaries then writing will become a job. That.....would suck.
Up to this point, my blog has been about being a stay at home dad and some of the challenges that I have encountered along the way.
But life is about a whole lot more than being a stay at home dad. Contrary to popular belief, I do occasionally leave the comforts of my home to pursue other interests. In the future, it is likely you will see other parts of my life make it's way onto this blog site ----- you have been warned.
All right, enough of that mess......Let's talk CHIEFS!!!!! :)
Marty Schottenheimer was head coach of the Kansas City Chiefs from 1989 to 1998.....Those were the happiest days of my Chiefs life.
Just to hear the phrase "Martyball" gets me foaming at the mouth. I just love smash mouth football, ramming the ol' pigskin down an opposing defense's throat and then hitting 'em deep with the play action pass.
And, oh, those awesome defenses; combined with the home crowd "12th man". The sea of red at Arrowhead on Sunday's were so loud you couldn't hardly talk to the guy in seat next to you. I can still hear the chant of 76,000 strong after every touchdown.
"We're gonna beat the hell out of you....you......you, you, you!!!!!!!"
All was right with the world in Chiefs nation........Until.......
To west there was this man......Big.....Ugly....and, unfortunately, extremely talented and in our division.
He wore this horribly ugly orange uniform, and the mere mention of his name would cause an uncontrollable slobbering, cussing, mental breakdown.
He was the horse face.......John F@%#ing Elway.
Denver was the place where good Chiefs teams went to die, as Elway would just shred us to pieces.
Oddly, Elway only beat Kansas City once in the playoffs.....But that once was a doozie. Kansas City, with a 13-3 record, had home field throughout the playoffs. And, being the Chiefs, they did what they always did in the playoffs under Marty Schottenheimer....They choked.
Kansas City went to the playoffs seven of the ten years Marty coached them.....and only managed three playoff wins.
What hurt the most about the loss to the horse face led orange donkeys from Colorado was that it would turn out to be the season that John F@%#ing Elway would win his first of two consecutive super bowls.
Former NFL head coach George Allen summed up losing the best:
"Every time you lose, you die a little bit. You die inside ... not all of your organs, maybe just your liver.".
That is what John F@$#ing Elway did to the Chiefs nation.......The day he retired should have been declared a national holiday in Kansas City......Thank God, we never have to see that jerk again.
Since Marty's departure, Kansas City football has not been the same. The Chiefs have not won a playoff game since 1993 when Joe Montana was the quarterback. ("Who's that?' Toby asks) And aside from Dick Vermeil and his high flying offense, there really hasn't been much to cheer about over the last fifteen or so years.
But this year is different. The Chiefs are 4-0 for the first time in since 1987, and the new head coach, Andy Reid, has rekindled the long dormant embers deep within my red and gold soul.
Yes, the fire within burns hot again......But..... Part of me worries that I may be seeing history repeat itself.
Marty's teams were built around a strong D and a ball control offense with a mid level QB who was simply asked to manage the game and not make mistakes.
So far....That is what I'm seeing out of Andy Reid's team.
Marty had the San Francisco connection at QB.......He had former cast-offs Joe Montana, Steve DeBerg, Elvis Grbac, and Steve "mouth breather" Bono.
Andy Reid has Alex Smith. (I actually liked the trade for Smith.....I'm keeping my fingers crossed)
And....in the west. The ugly orange donkeys of Colorado are led by yet another Hall of Fame QB...Mr. Horse Face has been replaced by.......The Forehead. Mr. Peyton Manning.
Aw, C'mon now. Tell me you can't paint a mural on that freaking cranium of his.
Yes, I know....It's not nice to speak of another person's features. But I'm sure the Forehead doesn't mind....He has a super bowl ring and I'm just some schmuck typing a bunch on crap on a blog.
Actually, I really like Peyton....I really, really, really, wanted him to come to KC when he was a free agent but, in the end, he definitely made the right decision for him........But why did it have to be in the land of the great orange ass?
I can see it happening all over again....Great Chiefs teams getting ripped to shreds by Peyton and his juggernaut offense......According to George Allen, I've already lost my liver.....Are my kidney's next?
But, then again, how much longer will Peyton play? Hopefully not long........
One orange nightmare is enough.
Monday, September 30, 2013
Thursday, September 26, 2013
The power of play......
In my household, nothing will get you put to work faster than the words, "I'm bored."
"I'm bored" is always met with the same response...."Well, I have some things you can do."
Toby and Tera learned real quick that if they didn't want to be put to work then it would behoove them to never utter that horrible phrase.
For a while the words, "I'm bored" really bothered me. How on God's green earth could you possibly be bored?
Kids today have video game consoles, internet, cable TV, ipads, ipods, on and on and on. And, God forbid, you could actually do something like read a book....Or better yet, GO OUTSIDE!!!!
When I was a kid (here I go, sounding like my dad) I didn't have any of the previously mentioned technological things. I had two options, read or go outside. I couldn't plop down and watch TV all day as that privilege was restricted for Saturday morning cartoons and the occasional after school program. (I loved monster week when it played on channel five. Everyday after school I would literally run home to watch my beloved Godzilla movies)
I can still see my Mom pointing to the door and saying those words, "Get out......I'll call you when lunch in ready." And, outside my brothers and I went.
Over the summer it was not unusual to be out of the house as soon as the sun came up. The only time we went back inside was for lunch, supper, and when it was too dark to see your hand in front of your face. Well, and the occasional bathroom break, but only if it called for the use of toilet paper.
One of our not so bright childhood ideas was to take a long piece of garden hose and feed it into a gallon milk jug. Voila!!!! An instant outdoor toilet; because you simply can't be bothered with something as time consuming as going inside the house.
We had our makeshift bathroom parked on the backside of the garage, underneath Dad's propped up aluminum v-bottom fishing boat.
Occasionally, on a hot summer day, Dad would come out of the house, wrinkle his nose, and ask, "What in the Hell is that smell?"
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Then one of the neighborhood kids let the cat out of the bag when he tried to dump the contents of the milk jug out on his sister.....You talk about getting in trouble; we all caught hell over that incident. It was a long time before Anthony came back to play.
And so, another brilliant creation dies at the hands of one not worthy of it's intended use.
When I first remembered the incident I just shook my head in disgust.....I was a real heathen as a child. It's a wonder I didn't get the hell beat out of me more often.
But, on the other hand, the incident didn't prove to be a worthless endeavor. The ill conceived outdoor bathroom came by way of creative thinking, by the use of imagination. That's a good thing.
The horrible smell it produced on a hot day and the unintended assault on someone's little sister taught a valuable life lesson.....If you don't want your ass beat, think things through. Also (many years later) a good thing.
Then, suddenly, through the power of urine, I realized why my kids were bored.......It's sounds almost funny, kinda sad to say, but they simply don't know how to play.
I realized that the bathroom I made was one of many creations brought on by playing outside. That play is more than just running around the yard screaming and acting stupid.
Play is good for the imagination. As kids, my brothers and I made bike ramps. We also shoved styrofoam cups into the frames of our bicycles so that they sounded like motorcycles when the tire rubbed against the cup.
We caught bees using seven up bottles.
A baseball bat doubled as a gun when we played war games. Rocks can be used as hand grenades, but I wouldn't advise it.
When ever we played a sport it was always in imitation of our heros who we watched play on TV. During baseball games I was Willie Wilson; football either Roger Staubach or Tony Dorsett. (If Dad ever reads this he will have a conniption.....He was a Steelers fan)
The great thing about the vivid imagination that play creates is that it comes in really handy in regards to trouble shooting.
Some of our brain storming ideas worked really well. For instance, if we didn't have enough players for a baseball game we came up with all sorts of rules in regards to ghost runners, it's a double if the ball is hit here, you can't tackle the infielder as he is trying to catch a pop fly....so on and so forth.
Other ideas were not so good. For instance, a garbage bag does not make for a good parachute. All I can say is that I am very fortunate that the garage roof was not that high off the ground.
But, not deterred, my brother and I asked ourselves; what if you use two trash bags?....Nope, same result.....THUD.
Come to think of it, Tim never did jump.......That little prick probably knew all along that Mr. Hefty would not make us paratroopers.
I look outside my living room window and see a yard devoid of children; it really saddens me. It's not just my kids who don't know how to play....It's all of them.
As a society, we have become obsessed with rules, regulations, and schedules. Kids today don't get together and play football out in the yard like they did when I was a kid. They go to football camps and practices as early as the second grade. Everything is regimented and tightly controlled by an adult.
Growing up there were kids all over the place. My Dad's yard looked horrible with all the bald spots the neighborhood kids would grind into it with our daily football games.
And there were no adults to resolve the issues that came about through rough play and hot heads. As kids we had to solve our own problems; we had to learn the art of compromise. Only when things got out of control did a parent step outside to break things up.
That right there is a big difference in parenting back then vs. today. My parents would watch, but would not get in the way. If for some reason they didn't intervene in time and one of us came home with a black eye, we came home with a black eye. There was no calling other parents and fighting their kid's battle for them. Mr. Black Eye would have another chance to get things right tomorrow.
Toby is thirteen now, and I feel like he's been cheated. He didn't grow up with a neighborhood full of kids like I did. He didn't have a "gang" to run around with. All of his play time activities have been well supervised. Situations where he should have been given the chance to deal with on his own were instead tackled by the adult supervisor no more than a few feet away. (In a lot of those cases I happened to be that adult supervisor)
Play has become too coordinated, too regulated, too thoughtless. We need to get back to kicking our kids out of the house and make them use their imagination; to letting them develop their social skills and to solve their own problems. The problem is, I can kick my kids out of the house.....but if there isn't anyone to play with....
Okay.....Now I understand. Kids today aren't really given enough opportunities to think for themselves. My kids are bored --- but I made them that way.
So, what do I do? As stated earlier, it's kind of pointless to kick them out of the house if they are going to be the only ones outside.
Actually, I do know what I can do. Then next time one of the kids wants to try to do something, for instance if Tera is wanting to paint her shelves, I will step away and let her have at it. It may cause one hell of a mess, and the shelf may look horrible, but if Tera did it all on her own using her little brain and not listening to the rants of a hovering parent, then all is good.
Yes.....That's it....We may not be able to play...But we can still find ways to create a vivid imagination, to back away and let the kids learn their own life lessons. (This is not going to be easy for me)
It's time to let these kids think for themselves, no matter how badly I want to step in. When they can think for themselves I just know that I will never have to worry about hearing that stupid phrase:
"I'm bored."
"I'm bored" is always met with the same response...."Well, I have some things you can do."
Toby and Tera learned real quick that if they didn't want to be put to work then it would behoove them to never utter that horrible phrase.
For a while the words, "I'm bored" really bothered me. How on God's green earth could you possibly be bored?
Kids today have video game consoles, internet, cable TV, ipads, ipods, on and on and on. And, God forbid, you could actually do something like read a book....Or better yet, GO OUTSIDE!!!!
When I was a kid (here I go, sounding like my dad) I didn't have any of the previously mentioned technological things. I had two options, read or go outside. I couldn't plop down and watch TV all day as that privilege was restricted for Saturday morning cartoons and the occasional after school program. (I loved monster week when it played on channel five. Everyday after school I would literally run home to watch my beloved Godzilla movies)
I can still see my Mom pointing to the door and saying those words, "Get out......I'll call you when lunch in ready." And, outside my brothers and I went.
Over the summer it was not unusual to be out of the house as soon as the sun came up. The only time we went back inside was for lunch, supper, and when it was too dark to see your hand in front of your face. Well, and the occasional bathroom break, but only if it called for the use of toilet paper.
One of our not so bright childhood ideas was to take a long piece of garden hose and feed it into a gallon milk jug. Voila!!!! An instant outdoor toilet; because you simply can't be bothered with something as time consuming as going inside the house.
We had our makeshift bathroom parked on the backside of the garage, underneath Dad's propped up aluminum v-bottom fishing boat.
Occasionally, on a hot summer day, Dad would come out of the house, wrinkle his nose, and ask, "What in the Hell is that smell?"
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Then one of the neighborhood kids let the cat out of the bag when he tried to dump the contents of the milk jug out on his sister.....You talk about getting in trouble; we all caught hell over that incident. It was a long time before Anthony came back to play.
And so, another brilliant creation dies at the hands of one not worthy of it's intended use.
When I first remembered the incident I just shook my head in disgust.....I was a real heathen as a child. It's a wonder I didn't get the hell beat out of me more often.
But, on the other hand, the incident didn't prove to be a worthless endeavor. The ill conceived outdoor bathroom came by way of creative thinking, by the use of imagination. That's a good thing.
The horrible smell it produced on a hot day and the unintended assault on someone's little sister taught a valuable life lesson.....If you don't want your ass beat, think things through. Also (many years later) a good thing.
Then, suddenly, through the power of urine, I realized why my kids were bored.......It's sounds almost funny, kinda sad to say, but they simply don't know how to play.
I realized that the bathroom I made was one of many creations brought on by playing outside. That play is more than just running around the yard screaming and acting stupid.
Play is good for the imagination. As kids, my brothers and I made bike ramps. We also shoved styrofoam cups into the frames of our bicycles so that they sounded like motorcycles when the tire rubbed against the cup.
We caught bees using seven up bottles.
A baseball bat doubled as a gun when we played war games. Rocks can be used as hand grenades, but I wouldn't advise it.
When ever we played a sport it was always in imitation of our heros who we watched play on TV. During baseball games I was Willie Wilson; football either Roger Staubach or Tony Dorsett. (If Dad ever reads this he will have a conniption.....He was a Steelers fan)
The great thing about the vivid imagination that play creates is that it comes in really handy in regards to trouble shooting.
Some of our brain storming ideas worked really well. For instance, if we didn't have enough players for a baseball game we came up with all sorts of rules in regards to ghost runners, it's a double if the ball is hit here, you can't tackle the infielder as he is trying to catch a pop fly....so on and so forth.
Other ideas were not so good. For instance, a garbage bag does not make for a good parachute. All I can say is that I am very fortunate that the garage roof was not that high off the ground.
But, not deterred, my brother and I asked ourselves; what if you use two trash bags?....Nope, same result.....THUD.
Come to think of it, Tim never did jump.......That little prick probably knew all along that Mr. Hefty would not make us paratroopers.
I look outside my living room window and see a yard devoid of children; it really saddens me. It's not just my kids who don't know how to play....It's all of them.
As a society, we have become obsessed with rules, regulations, and schedules. Kids today don't get together and play football out in the yard like they did when I was a kid. They go to football camps and practices as early as the second grade. Everything is regimented and tightly controlled by an adult.
Growing up there were kids all over the place. My Dad's yard looked horrible with all the bald spots the neighborhood kids would grind into it with our daily football games.
And there were no adults to resolve the issues that came about through rough play and hot heads. As kids we had to solve our own problems; we had to learn the art of compromise. Only when things got out of control did a parent step outside to break things up.
That right there is a big difference in parenting back then vs. today. My parents would watch, but would not get in the way. If for some reason they didn't intervene in time and one of us came home with a black eye, we came home with a black eye. There was no calling other parents and fighting their kid's battle for them. Mr. Black Eye would have another chance to get things right tomorrow.
Toby is thirteen now, and I feel like he's been cheated. He didn't grow up with a neighborhood full of kids like I did. He didn't have a "gang" to run around with. All of his play time activities have been well supervised. Situations where he should have been given the chance to deal with on his own were instead tackled by the adult supervisor no more than a few feet away. (In a lot of those cases I happened to be that adult supervisor)
Play has become too coordinated, too regulated, too thoughtless. We need to get back to kicking our kids out of the house and make them use their imagination; to letting them develop their social skills and to solve their own problems. The problem is, I can kick my kids out of the house.....but if there isn't anyone to play with....
Okay.....Now I understand. Kids today aren't really given enough opportunities to think for themselves. My kids are bored --- but I made them that way.
So, what do I do? As stated earlier, it's kind of pointless to kick them out of the house if they are going to be the only ones outside.
Actually, I do know what I can do. Then next time one of the kids wants to try to do something, for instance if Tera is wanting to paint her shelves, I will step away and let her have at it. It may cause one hell of a mess, and the shelf may look horrible, but if Tera did it all on her own using her little brain and not listening to the rants of a hovering parent, then all is good.
Yes.....That's it....We may not be able to play...But we can still find ways to create a vivid imagination, to back away and let the kids learn their own life lessons. (This is not going to be easy for me)
It's time to let these kids think for themselves, no matter how badly I want to step in. When they can think for themselves I just know that I will never have to worry about hearing that stupid phrase:
"I'm bored."
Monday, September 23, 2013
The mystery that is exercise.....
Well, that settles it; it appears that the knee brace on my left leg is going to have to stay. I have no idea if the brace is actually helping; it could be that my body is beginning to get over the shock of my new running routine. Or simply wearing the brace could be providing some sort of placebo effect. I don't really know. What I do know is that my knee feels better today than it has with all my previous runs; so the knee brace stays.
As far as the tightness in my shin (same leg) I will have to play around and see what I come up with. It could be I need to stretch more, or perhaps I need insoles or a new pair of shoes altogether.
Whatever the solution may be I hope I find it soon because my last few runs have not been pleasant.
I will figure it out -- I have to. In only her second week of Girls on the Run, Tera has already worked herself up to the two and half mile mark. I must say, I'm impressed.
If I sound upset with my little set back, well, I'm not. Bumps, bruises, strains, scrapes, soreness and, God forbid, injuries are just part of the exercise gig. This is nothing that I haven't been through before.
I also need to make my occasional trip to the chiropractor. I can't explain why, but an adjustment to the spinal cord always takes care of my right arm whenever it starts to fall asleep on me. Like I said, for me anyway, physical setbacks are just part of the gig.
The mental benefits I receive from exercise makes all the aches and pains worth it. I'm not an expert and have no idea why, but I feel like I think so much clearer when I'm in shape. I'm a lot more confident and, generally, happier.
At no time are the benefits of exercise more evident than in the winter. I don't know if it's because it's darker longer or that I'm cooped up inside the house or what, but if I don't stay on an exercise routine through out the winter I really struggle emotionally.
Every winter I have to fight off the temptation to hole myself up in my room and sleep the day away. The less I exercise, the more tired I become. The more tired I become, the grumpier I get.
Over the winter, if I don't exercise, I will walk around the house all day like I just got up. Just saying good morning to me could likely result in getting your head bitten off.
So, as the days start to get darker, I make sure I drag my ass out of bed before anyone wakes up and I go for a long walk. It could be ten degrees outside and it wouldn't matter -- I need to walk. When my walk is over I roll right into pushups and planks. After wards I get in the shower and, by the time everyone is up, I'm doing ok....I'm ready to face the day.
Of course, now that my scheduled has changed, the wife and kids won't have to worry about dealing with the grumpy bear. By the time they get up I'm already at my part time job and they are long gone before I get home.
But just because I come home to an empty house doesn't mean that I can ditch my workouts.....They have to come home some time. Exercise becomes a necessity during the winter months.
From this point on I was going to give my thoughts and opinions on exercise but, you know what, everyone has an opinion and I simply don't need to add to the pile. Instead I will keep things light and just give you some general thoughts and share some of my more light hearted exercise moments.
1. Be yourself, do your thing, and don't worry about what anyone thinks.
When you become either self conscious or a show off you lose focus on why you are exercising. You are doing this for you and no one else.
bad move # 1 -- There are opportunities to show off in front of the opposite sex.....The treadmill is not that place. I tried to be smooth and rip off my sweatshirt while simultaneously attempting to keep a good clip. I didn't even get the sweatshirt over my head before I wiped out; the treadmill unceremoniously depositing me onto the gym floor......I scored big with the babes that day.
2. If you don't know what your doing, don't be afraid to ask.
Don't be stubborn. Admit that you don't have a clue and nine times out of ten someone will be more than willing to help you.
bad move #2 -- The hip adductor, abductor machine is the work of a sadistic freak. I watched a girl using it to work her inner thighs and thought I would give it a go.
Picture sitting in a chair and a padded bar place at about the knee on the inside of each of your legs. To work your inner thighs you simply press your legs together. You can adjust how much weight you want to use by locking the machine in place to hold the bars while you figure out the weight you want to use.
The girl pressed her legs together, locked the machine in place, got out and walk away. I took over from there. Figuring that my legs were stronger I added more weight on before sitting in the chair.
Having never used this machine, there were two things that I didn't take into account. 1. You don't need that much weight to work your inner thighs and 2. Women are MUCH more flexible than men.
As soon as I unlocked the machine the excess weight I set upon it caused the bars on the inside of my legs swing out with great force, turning me into a living wishbone. I don't know that I've ever experience a pain so swift and terrible, and I'm fairly certain I let out a squeal. I've never been drawn and quartered, but I now have a fairly good idea of how painful it must be. I have not gotten back on that machine since......I don't think my groin will ever be the same.
3. Quality over quantity. Form is everything when lifting weights. For instance, when bench pressing it is much better to do five reps using good form as opposed to doing ten reps bouncing the bar off of your chest.....Not that I've ever seen anyone do that. :)
bad move #3 -- This bad move was not my fault and it has nothing to do with form. But it is a story about the bench press, so I'm going to use it.
I usually work out by myself. I put my headphones on, tune out the rest of the world, and go about getting things done.
On this particular day I had left my headphones at home. It didn't take long for a stranger to come up to me and strike up a conversation....Awkward.
The guy seemed nice enough, although I found his attire ill fitting. I believe he had a pair of runner's shorts on, but even by those standards, they seemed a little, well, short.
"Dude," said Mr. Shorty-Shorts, "You want me to spot you on the bench?"
I really didn't....I just wanted to be left alone. But he seemed like a good guy and I didn't want to come off as prick.
"Um, sure...Ok."
I don't remember the weight I started out at, but that information is irrelevant in regards to this story.
Anyway....Usually when someone spots you on the bench they stand behind and over the top of you. This guy kicked his leg over the side bench and was standing more over and beside me. I thought it was an odd way to spot but when I considered that, should I lose control of the bar, it would hit his leg and not my throat, I let it slide.
Still, his way of spotting didn't make any sense to me. If I lost the bar, he would have a hard time getting the weight under control due to the fact that he wasn't centered on the bar. But, I was comfortable with the weight I was using, and again let the matter slide.
As I slowly lowered the bar I noticed that Mr. Shorty-Shorts slowly squatted down with it. When I got the bar close to my chest I glanced over to the leg beside me and made a horrifying discovery.
Mr. Shorty-Shorts was going commando and there, not more than a foot away from my face, was the biggest, ugliest, purplest prune that I had ever had the misfortune of seeing.
The dangling bag gave me super human strength. I practically threw the bar into the rack and came off the bench as if I had been shot out of a cannon.
Captain Commando was duly impressed. "Dude, that was too easy. We could easily put another forty five on there. Whaddya say?"
"Um...I better not. I felt something pop in my shoulder."
"Dude, that's too bad. Probably ought to get some ice on that."
"Yeah, I...um....I..I think I'll go do some crunches and call it a day."
"Alright, man....Let me know when that shoulder feels better and we'll try again."
No.....No.....I don't think we will "DUDE".........
Yes.....I much prefer to work out alone.
Well, that was a memory I wish I wouldn't have dredged up......I think I'm done here.....Perhaps I'll burn that memory away with a couple shots of whiskey.....
As far as the tightness in my shin (same leg) I will have to play around and see what I come up with. It could be I need to stretch more, or perhaps I need insoles or a new pair of shoes altogether.
Whatever the solution may be I hope I find it soon because my last few runs have not been pleasant.
I will figure it out -- I have to. In only her second week of Girls on the Run, Tera has already worked herself up to the two and half mile mark. I must say, I'm impressed.
If I sound upset with my little set back, well, I'm not. Bumps, bruises, strains, scrapes, soreness and, God forbid, injuries are just part of the exercise gig. This is nothing that I haven't been through before.
I also need to make my occasional trip to the chiropractor. I can't explain why, but an adjustment to the spinal cord always takes care of my right arm whenever it starts to fall asleep on me. Like I said, for me anyway, physical setbacks are just part of the gig.
The mental benefits I receive from exercise makes all the aches and pains worth it. I'm not an expert and have no idea why, but I feel like I think so much clearer when I'm in shape. I'm a lot more confident and, generally, happier.
At no time are the benefits of exercise more evident than in the winter. I don't know if it's because it's darker longer or that I'm cooped up inside the house or what, but if I don't stay on an exercise routine through out the winter I really struggle emotionally.
Every winter I have to fight off the temptation to hole myself up in my room and sleep the day away. The less I exercise, the more tired I become. The more tired I become, the grumpier I get.
Over the winter, if I don't exercise, I will walk around the house all day like I just got up. Just saying good morning to me could likely result in getting your head bitten off.
So, as the days start to get darker, I make sure I drag my ass out of bed before anyone wakes up and I go for a long walk. It could be ten degrees outside and it wouldn't matter -- I need to walk. When my walk is over I roll right into pushups and planks. After wards I get in the shower and, by the time everyone is up, I'm doing ok....I'm ready to face the day.
Of course, now that my scheduled has changed, the wife and kids won't have to worry about dealing with the grumpy bear. By the time they get up I'm already at my part time job and they are long gone before I get home.
But just because I come home to an empty house doesn't mean that I can ditch my workouts.....They have to come home some time. Exercise becomes a necessity during the winter months.
From this point on I was going to give my thoughts and opinions on exercise but, you know what, everyone has an opinion and I simply don't need to add to the pile. Instead I will keep things light and just give you some general thoughts and share some of my more light hearted exercise moments.
1. Be yourself, do your thing, and don't worry about what anyone thinks.
When you become either self conscious or a show off you lose focus on why you are exercising. You are doing this for you and no one else.
bad move # 1 -- There are opportunities to show off in front of the opposite sex.....The treadmill is not that place. I tried to be smooth and rip off my sweatshirt while simultaneously attempting to keep a good clip. I didn't even get the sweatshirt over my head before I wiped out; the treadmill unceremoniously depositing me onto the gym floor......I scored big with the babes that day.
2. If you don't know what your doing, don't be afraid to ask.
Don't be stubborn. Admit that you don't have a clue and nine times out of ten someone will be more than willing to help you.
bad move #2 -- The hip adductor, abductor machine is the work of a sadistic freak. I watched a girl using it to work her inner thighs and thought I would give it a go.
Picture sitting in a chair and a padded bar place at about the knee on the inside of each of your legs. To work your inner thighs you simply press your legs together. You can adjust how much weight you want to use by locking the machine in place to hold the bars while you figure out the weight you want to use.
The girl pressed her legs together, locked the machine in place, got out and walk away. I took over from there. Figuring that my legs were stronger I added more weight on before sitting in the chair.
Having never used this machine, there were two things that I didn't take into account. 1. You don't need that much weight to work your inner thighs and 2. Women are MUCH more flexible than men.
As soon as I unlocked the machine the excess weight I set upon it caused the bars on the inside of my legs swing out with great force, turning me into a living wishbone. I don't know that I've ever experience a pain so swift and terrible, and I'm fairly certain I let out a squeal. I've never been drawn and quartered, but I now have a fairly good idea of how painful it must be. I have not gotten back on that machine since......I don't think my groin will ever be the same.
3. Quality over quantity. Form is everything when lifting weights. For instance, when bench pressing it is much better to do five reps using good form as opposed to doing ten reps bouncing the bar off of your chest.....Not that I've ever seen anyone do that. :)
bad move #3 -- This bad move was not my fault and it has nothing to do with form. But it is a story about the bench press, so I'm going to use it.
I usually work out by myself. I put my headphones on, tune out the rest of the world, and go about getting things done.
On this particular day I had left my headphones at home. It didn't take long for a stranger to come up to me and strike up a conversation....Awkward.
The guy seemed nice enough, although I found his attire ill fitting. I believe he had a pair of runner's shorts on, but even by those standards, they seemed a little, well, short.
"Dude," said Mr. Shorty-Shorts, "You want me to spot you on the bench?"
I really didn't....I just wanted to be left alone. But he seemed like a good guy and I didn't want to come off as prick.
"Um, sure...Ok."
I don't remember the weight I started out at, but that information is irrelevant in regards to this story.
Anyway....Usually when someone spots you on the bench they stand behind and over the top of you. This guy kicked his leg over the side bench and was standing more over and beside me. I thought it was an odd way to spot but when I considered that, should I lose control of the bar, it would hit his leg and not my throat, I let it slide.
Still, his way of spotting didn't make any sense to me. If I lost the bar, he would have a hard time getting the weight under control due to the fact that he wasn't centered on the bar. But, I was comfortable with the weight I was using, and again let the matter slide.
As I slowly lowered the bar I noticed that Mr. Shorty-Shorts slowly squatted down with it. When I got the bar close to my chest I glanced over to the leg beside me and made a horrifying discovery.
Mr. Shorty-Shorts was going commando and there, not more than a foot away from my face, was the biggest, ugliest, purplest prune that I had ever had the misfortune of seeing.
The dangling bag gave me super human strength. I practically threw the bar into the rack and came off the bench as if I had been shot out of a cannon.
Captain Commando was duly impressed. "Dude, that was too easy. We could easily put another forty five on there. Whaddya say?"
"Um...I better not. I felt something pop in my shoulder."
"Dude, that's too bad. Probably ought to get some ice on that."
"Yeah, I...um....I..I think I'll go do some crunches and call it a day."
"Alright, man....Let me know when that shoulder feels better and we'll try again."
No.....No.....I don't think we will "DUDE".........
Yes.....I much prefer to work out alone.
Well, that was a memory I wish I wouldn't have dredged up......I think I'm done here.....Perhaps I'll burn that memory away with a couple shots of whiskey.....
Friday, September 20, 2013
Man....I got it good.
A ten minute tidy, for those not in the know, is when the entire family spends ten minutes picking up the house. It doesn't sound like a big deal but, if you haven't tried it, you may want to consider giving it a go. It's amazing how much clutter disappears when a family of four knuckles down and works together for just ten minutes; and you come away with a little brighter outlook on your day.
During one particular ten minute tidy, Tera had picked up a pair of my shoes and put them away in my closet. When she came back she said, "Dad, you have sixteen pairs of shoes in your closet."
"What?" I ask, "No way....Are you sure you didn't count some of your Mom's shoes by mistake?"
"Nope." said Tera with an air of confidence, "They are all yours."
I stopped what I was doing and went to have a look for myself and, wouldn't you know it, I did have sixteen pairs of shoes.
Back in 1986, revolution had hit the Philippines, leading to the exile of Ferdinand Marcos and his wife Imelda. When the revolting masses stormed the Marcos palace they found a room holding over 1, 220 pairs of Imelda's shoes.
Either Karla had a real strong grasp of current events at thirteen years of age or my Mom had told her stories about the revolution after we started dating. Whatever the case may be, every time I talk about getting a new pair of shoes Karla smirks and says, "It must be a Filipino thing."
She knows all too well that the Philippines is a poor country; she just loves to give me shit about my love for shoes.
I stared at my collection...Damn, I don't even wear most of these shoes.
Then I went over to Karla's side of the closet and counted how many pairs of shoes she had. She had fifteen.....Fifteen? What in the hell is she giving me shit about? We will have to discuss this when she gets home. (And discuss we did......Apparently being a woman is all the excuse you need to own several pair of shoes. Whatever)
Anyway, as I stood there staring at my shoes I began to realize just how spoiled I am. I have had a good job since I was nineteen years old and never once struggled to make ends meet. I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and never once had to worry about the repercussions.
Now, as I stated in an earlier post, Karla and I went through the excruciating process known as Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. (It's worth it).....But, by most American standards, we didn't have to. We were doing just fine. Granted, with the birth of our first child, things got tight. But we were never in any danger of losing our house or going bankrupt, Karla was only working part time, and I was moving up the seniority ladder at work; it was just a matter of time before I got a higher paying job.
But I had it in my mind that I was going to retire at fifty; and that wasn't going to happen living the way we were. So that's how financial peace came to be.
After ten years of Dave Ramsey we finally broke through. We made our last payment on the house and we were FREE!!! Things got better......A whole lot better.
Some of the excess we have enjoyed post-Ramsey:
1. Not every guy can say that he has a three hundred dollar a month gear budget.....And I spent it as soon as I got it. If you need proof, all you have to do is come over to my house and look at all the gear I have packed away in our spare bedroom. I used to give equipment away just so I could make room for the new gear I was preparing to buy...
Someone would always ask me, "How much do you want for it?"
And my response was always the same, "It's free; I just want to see a kid get some good use out of it."
2. I had an eighty dollar a month clothing allowance. As a result I have a pair of jeans, shorts, and shoes for every day of the week....And don't even get me started on t-shirts.
3. Every Tuesday, without fail, was pizza night. The local pizza joint would have their specials that we would order and enjoy to the tune of about one hundred and twenty dollars a month
Now, picture going to sporting events year round --- and going out to eat at almost all of them. Buying tournament paraphernalia --- and eating out some more.
I kid you not, in the month of June this family spent eight hundred dollars, in cash, on sports and eating out.
You know that old saying, "You can't see the forest through the trees"? Well, that was Karla and I. For months we would run from place to place, complaining about how tired we were, complaining that the house was a wreck, complaining that it feels like all we ever do is run.
Then we sat down and looked at our expenses and how insanely frivolous they were. Exhausted and with bags under our eyes with finally asked ourselves, "Why are we doing this?"
I set aside five pairs of shoes to either be thrown away or donated. I then set about tackling the mountain of clothes that I own. I pulled each shirt out of the closet one by one and made a pile of the shirts I wear and the shirts I don't wear. I'm surprised to discover how many shirts I found that I would have worn had I known they were there. I do the same with my sweatshirts.
When I finish rummaging through the closet I find that I have twenty t-shirts, five sweatshirts, and a pair of shorts ready to go out the door. Some are ratty, but a lot of them are still wearable. What's funny is my closet is still full.....and I haven't even gone through my ball caps yet.
Man, I've been out of control.
The scary part about spending money is, whether you have money or not, you get so used to going out and just buying whatever you want that you lose focus on what is a necessity and what is a splurge. It all becomes a necessity after a while.
In a previous blog I complained about how Mr. Ramsey gave me a guilt complex about purchasing anything for my self.....and that is very true. I agonize over every thing I buy......But, staring at the mountain of clothes before me, I have realized that as long as it's "on sale" or I have Karla's blessing' then I don't have as much of a problem spending money as I thought.
I stare, in some degree of disbelief, at the clothes I'm about to get rid of as proof of that.
The decision for me to give up my full time job was made with great trepidation on my part. I really, really, REALLY, didn't want to give up all that discretionary cash. I thought about all the big vacations that we would have to actually save for as opposed to spending on a whim. Likewise with all that beautiful ball gear that I had yet to purchase.
But then a thought occurred to me.....When was the last time you did something with your kids that wasn't sports related?
Another thought -- When was the last time you had a Saturday afternoon to go for a walk with your wife or sit down to a cup of coffee on the patio, as opposed to taking those few hours running around trying to get the house picked back up?
When was the last time you had a few hours to just kick back and relax because you wanted to, not because exhaustion forced you to?
I gaze at my now clean and rearranged closet and wonder how I could have been so blind.....How could the discussion of choosing between family and money be anything but a no brainer? Family always trumps money.
I leave my bedroom, grab a cup of coffee, and reflect. The money I gave up was money that I never needed in the first place.
A friend of mine once told me. "You know, Tom....I got a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food on the table, and a family that loves me......What more does a guy really need?"
I take a sip of my coffee and look around the house.; it's the cleanest it's been in months. The fridge and freezer are stocked full of food, no one in the house is wanting for material things, the bills are paid.
My friend is absolutely right. What more does a guy really need?
Life is good.
During one particular ten minute tidy, Tera had picked up a pair of my shoes and put them away in my closet. When she came back she said, "Dad, you have sixteen pairs of shoes in your closet."
"What?" I ask, "No way....Are you sure you didn't count some of your Mom's shoes by mistake?"
"Nope." said Tera with an air of confidence, "They are all yours."
I stopped what I was doing and went to have a look for myself and, wouldn't you know it, I did have sixteen pairs of shoes.
Back in 1986, revolution had hit the Philippines, leading to the exile of Ferdinand Marcos and his wife Imelda. When the revolting masses stormed the Marcos palace they found a room holding over 1, 220 pairs of Imelda's shoes.
Either Karla had a real strong grasp of current events at thirteen years of age or my Mom had told her stories about the revolution after we started dating. Whatever the case may be, every time I talk about getting a new pair of shoes Karla smirks and says, "It must be a Filipino thing."
She knows all too well that the Philippines is a poor country; she just loves to give me shit about my love for shoes.
I stared at my collection...Damn, I don't even wear most of these shoes.
Then I went over to Karla's side of the closet and counted how many pairs of shoes she had. She had fifteen.....Fifteen? What in the hell is she giving me shit about? We will have to discuss this when she gets home. (And discuss we did......Apparently being a woman is all the excuse you need to own several pair of shoes. Whatever)
Anyway, as I stood there staring at my shoes I began to realize just how spoiled I am. I have had a good job since I was nineteen years old and never once struggled to make ends meet. I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted, and never once had to worry about the repercussions.
Now, as I stated in an earlier post, Karla and I went through the excruciating process known as Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. (It's worth it).....But, by most American standards, we didn't have to. We were doing just fine. Granted, with the birth of our first child, things got tight. But we were never in any danger of losing our house or going bankrupt, Karla was only working part time, and I was moving up the seniority ladder at work; it was just a matter of time before I got a higher paying job.
But I had it in my mind that I was going to retire at fifty; and that wasn't going to happen living the way we were. So that's how financial peace came to be.
After ten years of Dave Ramsey we finally broke through. We made our last payment on the house and we were FREE!!! Things got better......A whole lot better.
Some of the excess we have enjoyed post-Ramsey:
1. Not every guy can say that he has a three hundred dollar a month gear budget.....And I spent it as soon as I got it. If you need proof, all you have to do is come over to my house and look at all the gear I have packed away in our spare bedroom. I used to give equipment away just so I could make room for the new gear I was preparing to buy...
Someone would always ask me, "How much do you want for it?"
And my response was always the same, "It's free; I just want to see a kid get some good use out of it."
2. I had an eighty dollar a month clothing allowance. As a result I have a pair of jeans, shorts, and shoes for every day of the week....And don't even get me started on t-shirts.
3. Every Tuesday, without fail, was pizza night. The local pizza joint would have their specials that we would order and enjoy to the tune of about one hundred and twenty dollars a month
Now, picture going to sporting events year round --- and going out to eat at almost all of them. Buying tournament paraphernalia --- and eating out some more.
I kid you not, in the month of June this family spent eight hundred dollars, in cash, on sports and eating out.
You know that old saying, "You can't see the forest through the trees"? Well, that was Karla and I. For months we would run from place to place, complaining about how tired we were, complaining that the house was a wreck, complaining that it feels like all we ever do is run.
Then we sat down and looked at our expenses and how insanely frivolous they were. Exhausted and with bags under our eyes with finally asked ourselves, "Why are we doing this?"
I set aside five pairs of shoes to either be thrown away or donated. I then set about tackling the mountain of clothes that I own. I pulled each shirt out of the closet one by one and made a pile of the shirts I wear and the shirts I don't wear. I'm surprised to discover how many shirts I found that I would have worn had I known they were there. I do the same with my sweatshirts.
When I finish rummaging through the closet I find that I have twenty t-shirts, five sweatshirts, and a pair of shorts ready to go out the door. Some are ratty, but a lot of them are still wearable. What's funny is my closet is still full.....and I haven't even gone through my ball caps yet.
Man, I've been out of control.
The scary part about spending money is, whether you have money or not, you get so used to going out and just buying whatever you want that you lose focus on what is a necessity and what is a splurge. It all becomes a necessity after a while.
In a previous blog I complained about how Mr. Ramsey gave me a guilt complex about purchasing anything for my self.....and that is very true. I agonize over every thing I buy......But, staring at the mountain of clothes before me, I have realized that as long as it's "on sale" or I have Karla's blessing' then I don't have as much of a problem spending money as I thought.
I stare, in some degree of disbelief, at the clothes I'm about to get rid of as proof of that.
The decision for me to give up my full time job was made with great trepidation on my part. I really, really, REALLY, didn't want to give up all that discretionary cash. I thought about all the big vacations that we would have to actually save for as opposed to spending on a whim. Likewise with all that beautiful ball gear that I had yet to purchase.
But then a thought occurred to me.....When was the last time you did something with your kids that wasn't sports related?
Another thought -- When was the last time you had a Saturday afternoon to go for a walk with your wife or sit down to a cup of coffee on the patio, as opposed to taking those few hours running around trying to get the house picked back up?
When was the last time you had a few hours to just kick back and relax because you wanted to, not because exhaustion forced you to?
I gaze at my now clean and rearranged closet and wonder how I could have been so blind.....How could the discussion of choosing between family and money be anything but a no brainer? Family always trumps money.
I leave my bedroom, grab a cup of coffee, and reflect. The money I gave up was money that I never needed in the first place.
A friend of mine once told me. "You know, Tom....I got a roof over my head, clothes on my back, food on the table, and a family that loves me......What more does a guy really need?"
I take a sip of my coffee and look around the house.; it's the cleanest it's been in months. The fridge and freezer are stocked full of food, no one in the house is wanting for material things, the bills are paid.
My friend is absolutely right. What more does a guy really need?
Life is good.
Monday, September 16, 2013
Boredom....Not the best thing for a warped mind.
I guess I should have paid a little more attention in regards to the details of Toby's orthodontist appointment. I had assumed it was going to be a short consultation, some paperwork, and outta there. You know, twenty minutes, tops....
Wrong. I found out when we got there that the ol' tooth doc was going to go ahead and make a mold and put the braces for Toby's upper teeth in place. This process was going to take at least an hour if not more.....Shit. I should have brought a book.
Whenever I'm bored my mind starts to wander off into some really strange and far out places. Timothy Leary can keep his psychedelic drugs, for my mind is busy enough in it's present, unenlightened, form.
So here are the thoughts that I jotted down on my iPhone while sitting and waiting for Toby to get done.
I'm sitting and watching all the clown fish swimming around in the waiting room fish tank. Can a fish really be considered a pet? I mean, yes, you care for it but you don't really play with it. You can't play fetch or make it swim through a hoop.....It just keeps swimming.
And swimming in it's own pee, no less. I understand that there is a filter for the fish tank but what if the fish peed in the far opposite corner? That means some other unsuspecting Nemo is going to get a gill full of urine. Disgusting.
If a fish had half a brain he would pee right by the filter and let the suction take it away before his friends get a chance to swim into his waste....Gotta be thoughtful man. Gotta be thoughtful.
(Before I go any further --- I guess I should have warned you that a lot of my thoughts either don't make sense or are just plain stupid. Now that I have that out of the way, we can move on)
Someone should hang a small trough just above the water line for the fish to pee in. They could just float on their back and cut loose; then swim away comforted by the knowledge that they no longer have to worry about swimming in someone else's waste.
If the fish hit's the mark, then chances are it's female. If the stream is all over the damn place and hitting everything but it's intended target, then it is most definitely male.
If the stream is strong and steady it is a young fish. If the fish is going to the bathroom constantly, has a weak stream and dribbles, then he is an older fish that probably needs to get his prostate checked.
I look at the clock....It has only been ten minutes...Crap.
I wonder if salt water fish get high blood pressure?
You know, being a pet fish would suck. I think their short life expectancy can be directly linked to boredom...Just looking at the pet fish to do list is enough to convince me of that.....
1. Wake up
2. Eat crappy food
3. Swim
4. Pee
5. Poop
6. Swim some more
7. Go to sleep
Yeah, if there is such a thing as reincarnation and I come back as a pet fish....I'm jumping out of the tank.
The ol' Doc seems to be a big fan of all thing's seventies. He has seventies music piping though the speakers and a pac man game in the kids game room. The only things missing are lava lamps and bell bottoms......Play that funky music, white boy.
Man, somebody call or text. I'd even talk to a telemarketer at this point; and that's saying something.
A woman walks in with tattoos on both of her arms. I have always found tattoos fascinating; which is odd considering I don't have any myself. But there is one thing about her tattoos that really bothers me. She has four tattoos on one arm, but only one on the other.
Now, I know.....It's not like ink weighs that much, but I feel as if her uneven tattoo placement is throwing off her equilibrium. Not that I ever would walk up to a stranger --- but if I did I would want take a magic marker with me and ask her, "Can I draw a couple of pictures on your left arm.....It would make me feel better."
Tattoos are a like a car wreck for me.....I have to look. So, ladies, if you are wearing a low cut shirt and there is a tattoo showing above one of your breasts.....I'm going to look..I can't help it -- I'm just stupid like that. I simply must know what it is.
Who thought it was a good idea to make men's underwear white? Did the creator of whitey tightey's not have an accurate sample size of the average male?
Man, my ass fell asleep. I need to get up and get a drink.
I've always been paranoid at the dentist/orthodontist. Not only will I brush and floss several times, but I will also blow my nose repeatedly until I get there. The thought of some pretty young dental assistant counting how many crusties I have in my nose just bothers me to the point of near insanity.
Do you think the employees at the dentist's office have a board in a back room somewhere where they can place bets on how many boogers they see on that particular day.
"Good morning, Sally....What's the over/under today?"
Man, I'm dying over here.
Do you think that aliens abduct some of their unsuspecting humans by way of fishing? A cheeseburger would make good bait.
If the Aliens hook a human wearing braces will it scare the shit out of them?
"Christ, Bill, cut the damn line!!!!"
"What in the hell are you talkin' 'bout, Fred. It's a keeper."
"Look at that mouth, Bill. That thing will tear you to shreds. You gonna stick yer hand in that?"
"Um....."
"Exactly....Cut the damn line. That thing is not getting in my boat."
"Ah, C'mon Fred."
"Dammit, Bill, I'll give you a case of beer if you cut the line."
"Throw in a can o' chew and you got yerself a deal."
"Fine....Just cut the damn line."
Even in deep space, there are rednecks, I suppose.
"Sir?"
Snort....."Wha?"
"We are done," says the assistant, um, whatever she's called, "You just need to schedule another appointment for eight weeks from now. Ok?"
"No problem." I say as I vault myself out of my chair......Hallelujah, I'm free
I am so glad this torture is done....and you can bet your ass I'm brining a book to the next appointment.
Wrong. I found out when we got there that the ol' tooth doc was going to go ahead and make a mold and put the braces for Toby's upper teeth in place. This process was going to take at least an hour if not more.....Shit. I should have brought a book.
Whenever I'm bored my mind starts to wander off into some really strange and far out places. Timothy Leary can keep his psychedelic drugs, for my mind is busy enough in it's present, unenlightened, form.
So here are the thoughts that I jotted down on my iPhone while sitting and waiting for Toby to get done.
I'm sitting and watching all the clown fish swimming around in the waiting room fish tank. Can a fish really be considered a pet? I mean, yes, you care for it but you don't really play with it. You can't play fetch or make it swim through a hoop.....It just keeps swimming.
And swimming in it's own pee, no less. I understand that there is a filter for the fish tank but what if the fish peed in the far opposite corner? That means some other unsuspecting Nemo is going to get a gill full of urine. Disgusting.
If a fish had half a brain he would pee right by the filter and let the suction take it away before his friends get a chance to swim into his waste....Gotta be thoughtful man. Gotta be thoughtful.
(Before I go any further --- I guess I should have warned you that a lot of my thoughts either don't make sense or are just plain stupid. Now that I have that out of the way, we can move on)
Someone should hang a small trough just above the water line for the fish to pee in. They could just float on their back and cut loose; then swim away comforted by the knowledge that they no longer have to worry about swimming in someone else's waste.
If the fish hit's the mark, then chances are it's female. If the stream is all over the damn place and hitting everything but it's intended target, then it is most definitely male.
If the stream is strong and steady it is a young fish. If the fish is going to the bathroom constantly, has a weak stream and dribbles, then he is an older fish that probably needs to get his prostate checked.
I look at the clock....It has only been ten minutes...Crap.
I wonder if salt water fish get high blood pressure?
You know, being a pet fish would suck. I think their short life expectancy can be directly linked to boredom...Just looking at the pet fish to do list is enough to convince me of that.....
1. Wake up
2. Eat crappy food
3. Swim
4. Pee
5. Poop
6. Swim some more
7. Go to sleep
Yeah, if there is such a thing as reincarnation and I come back as a pet fish....I'm jumping out of the tank.
The ol' Doc seems to be a big fan of all thing's seventies. He has seventies music piping though the speakers and a pac man game in the kids game room. The only things missing are lava lamps and bell bottoms......Play that funky music, white boy.
Man, somebody call or text. I'd even talk to a telemarketer at this point; and that's saying something.
A woman walks in with tattoos on both of her arms. I have always found tattoos fascinating; which is odd considering I don't have any myself. But there is one thing about her tattoos that really bothers me. She has four tattoos on one arm, but only one on the other.
Now, I know.....It's not like ink weighs that much, but I feel as if her uneven tattoo placement is throwing off her equilibrium. Not that I ever would walk up to a stranger --- but if I did I would want take a magic marker with me and ask her, "Can I draw a couple of pictures on your left arm.....It would make me feel better."
Tattoos are a like a car wreck for me.....I have to look. So, ladies, if you are wearing a low cut shirt and there is a tattoo showing above one of your breasts.....I'm going to look..I can't help it -- I'm just stupid like that. I simply must know what it is.
Who thought it was a good idea to make men's underwear white? Did the creator of whitey tightey's not have an accurate sample size of the average male?
Man, my ass fell asleep. I need to get up and get a drink.
I've always been paranoid at the dentist/orthodontist. Not only will I brush and floss several times, but I will also blow my nose repeatedly until I get there. The thought of some pretty young dental assistant counting how many crusties I have in my nose just bothers me to the point of near insanity.
Do you think the employees at the dentist's office have a board in a back room somewhere where they can place bets on how many boogers they see on that particular day.
"Good morning, Sally....What's the over/under today?"
Man, I'm dying over here.
Do you think that aliens abduct some of their unsuspecting humans by way of fishing? A cheeseburger would make good bait.
If the Aliens hook a human wearing braces will it scare the shit out of them?
"Christ, Bill, cut the damn line!!!!"
"What in the hell are you talkin' 'bout, Fred. It's a keeper."
"Look at that mouth, Bill. That thing will tear you to shreds. You gonna stick yer hand in that?"
"Um....."
"Exactly....Cut the damn line. That thing is not getting in my boat."
"Ah, C'mon Fred."
"Dammit, Bill, I'll give you a case of beer if you cut the line."
"Throw in a can o' chew and you got yerself a deal."
"Fine....Just cut the damn line."
Even in deep space, there are rednecks, I suppose.
"Sir?"
Snort....."Wha?"
"We are done," says the assistant, um, whatever she's called, "You just need to schedule another appointment for eight weeks from now. Ok?"
"No problem." I say as I vault myself out of my chair......Hallelujah, I'm free
I am so glad this torture is done....and you can bet your ass I'm brining a book to the next appointment.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Motivation.....
I visited Tera's elementary school for a meeting after my daughter's first day of Girls on the Run. As soon as I walked into the classroom I realized that I was the only male participant there and immediately felt out of place. The mom's were gathered at a table getting to know each other and talking as if they had known each other their entire lives. I, myself, chose to sit in a corner. Maybe I'll introduce myself some other time.
Anyway, after the meeting I asked Tera how her first run went.
"I thought I was going to die."
Well, that's a good start.
But once I told her that I would have a blog about her 5K race she perked right up. I don't see this little girl backing down for an instant.
Now, however, I suddenly find myself limbering up and getting ready for my first post full time employment run. In the meeting one of the coaches said that, while by no means mandatory, it would be nice to have a family member run the 5K with their daughter, sister, niece, whatever.
I knew as soon as I heard that that there was no way Karla was going to run a 5K. She'll gladly walk it, but that's probably as far as it will go.
Then again, Tera is stubborn, she may talk Karla into it yet.
Yeah, I doubt it...So I am leaving nothing to chance. If Tera asks me to run then, by God, I'm going to run. What better way to support and encourage my daughter than to be there with her every step of the way......and, eh hem, while she is still young enough to want me there.
In the back of the Girls on the Run grown-up guide I found five different 5K training programs designed to fit each individuals current activity level.
The first level was just a simple walk. I skipped over that one since I've been putting in an hour walk 5-6 times a week.
I settled on a run-walk training program to get me started. Being optimistic I felt that I should be able to handle it. After all, as I previously mentioned, I've been walking an hour, plus I've been doing workouts for chest, back, legs, etc. etc. All in all about two hours a day, four days a week, and an hour the other two days. This shouldn't be a problem.
After a five minute walk I began the first of five sets of runs. A set includes a three minute run followed by a two minute walk. Piece of cake, right?
SET 1
So far, so good. Having pulled a hamstring once, I'm always worried about tweaking it when ever I do run. But, Mr. Hammy had nothing to report. I guess I stretched out well enough.
When I was a kid I didn't mind cross country running. The main reason for that was because I had no idea how far I ran and how far I had to go.
Tell me to run a mile on a track, however, and I'll tell you to go straight to Hell. There is something about having that visual aid, that knowing just exactly how far you've got to go, that just doesn't work for me. I'm tired, dude....I don't need to know that I've still got three laps left to go.
I stop for my two minute walk and assess the damage done to my body. Aside from my lungs burning slightly I don't feel bad at all. In fact, at one minute into the walk phase, I was ready to run again. But I went ahead and finished the two minute walk. Having four sets to go I knew this good feeling wasn't going to last long.
SET 2
I start to feel some discomfort in my left shin, but nothing too terrible. I think about Tera and I running together, finishing together......and then having a bowl of ice cream together as a reward for working hard.
It's hard to believe that not two months ago Tera, aside from softball, was a couch potato with horrible eating habits. She has come a long way in regards to eating right, which I honestly believe has given her a jolt of energy and ambition. It's great to think that perhaps after Girls on the Run is over Tera will continue to run and stay in shape. That maybe, just maybe, Tera has acquired a life long habit.
Yeah, I know....She's only eight. But a guy can dream, right?
Another two minute walk has arrived and I still don't feel too bad. At about one minute into my walk the song "Scatta" by Skrillex hits my ears, and I'm amped up and ready to go. But, once again, I make myself finish the two minute walk.
SET 3
Perhaps dub-step music was not the best idea for running. "Scatta" had me so jacked up that I ran at a quicker pace than I should have. At about a minute and a half into the run I could feel my legs starting to go dead on me, the discomfort in my left shin was a lot more pronounce and the lungs were getting a good burn.
When ever my workouts get tough I reach inside and find ways to motivate myself. This time my motivation is my son, Toby.
I've always pushed Toby to attack everything with the mindset of being the best at what he does. More than once he has heard me say, "Let's take it to the next level."
And while my encouraging wasn't always met with enthusiasm, the end result is that Toby has managed to do very well in regards to becoming self motivated. Mentally, he is a very sharp kid.....I seriously don't know if he has ever finished a single school year with anything below an A -- something he takes great pride in.
Physically, at thirteen, Toby stands at 5'3" and weighs 110 lbs. That doesn't sound like a big deal -- until he takes his shirt off. The little shit is chiseled from his summer weight lifting program, and he is already talking about getting back into the gym as soon as football season is over.
The kid is confident, bordering on cocky...Which is just fine with me. I'll take cocky over timid any day.
What motivates me about Toby is that after all those years of pushing, the young man is starting to push back. Now I'm the one being encouraged to keep moving. I'm the one being told that I'm not doing something right.
Trust me, there are times when he tells me something that I don't want to hear, but, turnabout is fair play, and I've told him plenty of things that he didn't want to hear. So when it's my time, I will need to buck up and take my medicine.
Toby and I are getting to the point where we can feed off each other......It's a good thing, as Martha Stewart likes to say.
So, despite the self inflicted pain by way of being an over zealous chowder head, I push on. Toby would accept no less.
Thank God, the two minute walk is here.....This is starting to suck.
SET 4
I hit my first hill.....and felt that first small blade stuck into my ribs.
To the outsider, Kansas is nothing more than a long stretch of flat plains with the occasional tree to dot the landscape.
Folks, that is western Kansas. Eastern Kansas is full of trees and hills.....and at this point and time I felt like every single hill in Kansas was on my running route. That's what happens when you buy a house in a town built on a hill.
I finished my upward descent, my throat dry and scratchy, and anticipated, hoped, that the road would get easier now that I've reached flat ground. I was wrong.
My right quad, just above my knee, checked in to let me know that I was abusing it. Duly noted, now please go away.
I run by Marsha's house hoping, even though I shouldn't, that she would be outside. In my weakened state of mind I would have been sorely tempted to stop and shoot the bull with her until every muscle in my body ceased in letting me know it existed.
Dammit, she's not outside......Gotta keep running.
The two minute walk didn't last long enough. My hands are on my head as I struggle to get more air into my lungs. My two hour workouts didn't do shit for preparing me for a run. This thought serves as a good reminder that there are many different kinds of "in shape". Being in shape in one activity doesn't necessarily translate to being in shape in another.
SET 5
My run for this set began at a much notably slower pace than all my previous. I hit another small hill and thought to myself that, next time, I will plan a different route to avoid all these damn hills....Then I remembered that it doesn't matter what route I take -- damn it all, there will be hills.
My throat is killing me and I can feel just about every muscle below my waist. I am really struggling.
Then I remember that 10K I ran in Leavenworth.....
When I was a teenager I participated in a 10K. It turned out being the one and only 10K race I ever ran in, and it ended with severe disappointment. For those of you that don't know, a 10K is approximately 6.2 miles -- a run long enough for you to go through several peaks and valleys in regards to pain.
Towards then end of the race it felt as if I had several knives buried into my rib cage. It hurt like hell and I prayed for a runner's high.
What is a runner's high? I'm not sure I know how to accurately describe it. Let's just say that when it happens you feel absolutely no pain --- it's almost as if you're floating and not running. Your mind goes into a zone and you just run and run and run......It's the greatest feeling the world. It's getting high without the use of drugs.
But there would be no runners high on this day.....Every step was a shockwave of pain and I started to doubt that I could finish the race.
At the top of a hill (yeah, another damn hill) I broke down and began to walk. Two kids in my age division passed me. When the first one passed I didn't care, I just assumed that I wasn't doing that well to begin with, so who cares.
When the second kid passed me, it knocked me out of me funk. "No, I can't quit now."
I began to run despite my body's insistence that I stop.
I don't recall the exact distance, but just a short way ahead of me I see other runners rounding a corner and disappearing behind a building. Just get to the building I tell myself.
When I reached the building I turned the corner and what do I see not twenty yards ahead of me? The damn finish line. I was beside myself as soon as I realized that I quit running less than a quarter of a mile away from the end.
I picked up the pace and finished the race. I wasn't happy knowing that I gave up so close to the end.
To make matters worse my coach came up and congratulated me on getting fourth place in my age division.
Fourth? I thought about the two kids that passed me. I was crestfallen when I realized that if I had kept going I would have medaled in my very first race.....A second place medal at that.
To make matters even worse. I found out that a friend of mine whose ass I'd been kicking in practice decided to run the Maur Hill race instead of Leavenworth......and won the damn race.
I don't remember that last time I had been that upset with myself.
So, I handled it just like any ill-tempered adolescent would handle it......I quit.
By my junior year in high school I had quit sports all together.........Something I will always regret. All those cans of Budweiser strewn across a many a dirt road did nothing in the way of preparing me for life as an adult. I chose to escape as opposed to standing up and fighting.
You may think it's just sports, but it isn't. Sports, when coached right, can teach a young person a lot of valuable life lessons......I could have used those lessons.
But, better late than never. I take the pain and keep running. I'm not quitting. Push --- Push ---- Push.....and when I finished, it felt as if I had won that race that I should have won all those many years ago.
To a lot of people, finishing a run may not be a big deal.....But to me, it was a real sense of accomplishment. This humble beginning will build and lead to greater things. It will lead to a finish line with my daughter. It will lead to the creation of a great memory.
And who knows, maybe Tera and I will just keep on running far beyond that first finish line.
Anyway, after the meeting I asked Tera how her first run went.
"I thought I was going to die."
Well, that's a good start.
But once I told her that I would have a blog about her 5K race she perked right up. I don't see this little girl backing down for an instant.
Now, however, I suddenly find myself limbering up and getting ready for my first post full time employment run. In the meeting one of the coaches said that, while by no means mandatory, it would be nice to have a family member run the 5K with their daughter, sister, niece, whatever.
I knew as soon as I heard that that there was no way Karla was going to run a 5K. She'll gladly walk it, but that's probably as far as it will go.
Then again, Tera is stubborn, she may talk Karla into it yet.
Yeah, I doubt it...So I am leaving nothing to chance. If Tera asks me to run then, by God, I'm going to run. What better way to support and encourage my daughter than to be there with her every step of the way......and, eh hem, while she is still young enough to want me there.
In the back of the Girls on the Run grown-up guide I found five different 5K training programs designed to fit each individuals current activity level.
The first level was just a simple walk. I skipped over that one since I've been putting in an hour walk 5-6 times a week.
I settled on a run-walk training program to get me started. Being optimistic I felt that I should be able to handle it. After all, as I previously mentioned, I've been walking an hour, plus I've been doing workouts for chest, back, legs, etc. etc. All in all about two hours a day, four days a week, and an hour the other two days. This shouldn't be a problem.
After a five minute walk I began the first of five sets of runs. A set includes a three minute run followed by a two minute walk. Piece of cake, right?
SET 1
So far, so good. Having pulled a hamstring once, I'm always worried about tweaking it when ever I do run. But, Mr. Hammy had nothing to report. I guess I stretched out well enough.
When I was a kid I didn't mind cross country running. The main reason for that was because I had no idea how far I ran and how far I had to go.
Tell me to run a mile on a track, however, and I'll tell you to go straight to Hell. There is something about having that visual aid, that knowing just exactly how far you've got to go, that just doesn't work for me. I'm tired, dude....I don't need to know that I've still got three laps left to go.
I stop for my two minute walk and assess the damage done to my body. Aside from my lungs burning slightly I don't feel bad at all. In fact, at one minute into the walk phase, I was ready to run again. But I went ahead and finished the two minute walk. Having four sets to go I knew this good feeling wasn't going to last long.
SET 2
I start to feel some discomfort in my left shin, but nothing too terrible. I think about Tera and I running together, finishing together......and then having a bowl of ice cream together as a reward for working hard.
It's hard to believe that not two months ago Tera, aside from softball, was a couch potato with horrible eating habits. She has come a long way in regards to eating right, which I honestly believe has given her a jolt of energy and ambition. It's great to think that perhaps after Girls on the Run is over Tera will continue to run and stay in shape. That maybe, just maybe, Tera has acquired a life long habit.
Yeah, I know....She's only eight. But a guy can dream, right?
Another two minute walk has arrived and I still don't feel too bad. At about one minute into my walk the song "Scatta" by Skrillex hits my ears, and I'm amped up and ready to go. But, once again, I make myself finish the two minute walk.
SET 3
Perhaps dub-step music was not the best idea for running. "Scatta" had me so jacked up that I ran at a quicker pace than I should have. At about a minute and a half into the run I could feel my legs starting to go dead on me, the discomfort in my left shin was a lot more pronounce and the lungs were getting a good burn.
When ever my workouts get tough I reach inside and find ways to motivate myself. This time my motivation is my son, Toby.
I've always pushed Toby to attack everything with the mindset of being the best at what he does. More than once he has heard me say, "Let's take it to the next level."
And while my encouraging wasn't always met with enthusiasm, the end result is that Toby has managed to do very well in regards to becoming self motivated. Mentally, he is a very sharp kid.....I seriously don't know if he has ever finished a single school year with anything below an A -- something he takes great pride in.
Physically, at thirteen, Toby stands at 5'3" and weighs 110 lbs. That doesn't sound like a big deal -- until he takes his shirt off. The little shit is chiseled from his summer weight lifting program, and he is already talking about getting back into the gym as soon as football season is over.
The kid is confident, bordering on cocky...Which is just fine with me. I'll take cocky over timid any day.
What motivates me about Toby is that after all those years of pushing, the young man is starting to push back. Now I'm the one being encouraged to keep moving. I'm the one being told that I'm not doing something right.
Trust me, there are times when he tells me something that I don't want to hear, but, turnabout is fair play, and I've told him plenty of things that he didn't want to hear. So when it's my time, I will need to buck up and take my medicine.
Toby and I are getting to the point where we can feed off each other......It's a good thing, as Martha Stewart likes to say.
So, despite the self inflicted pain by way of being an over zealous chowder head, I push on. Toby would accept no less.
Thank God, the two minute walk is here.....This is starting to suck.
SET 4
I hit my first hill.....and felt that first small blade stuck into my ribs.
To the outsider, Kansas is nothing more than a long stretch of flat plains with the occasional tree to dot the landscape.
Folks, that is western Kansas. Eastern Kansas is full of trees and hills.....and at this point and time I felt like every single hill in Kansas was on my running route. That's what happens when you buy a house in a town built on a hill.
I finished my upward descent, my throat dry and scratchy, and anticipated, hoped, that the road would get easier now that I've reached flat ground. I was wrong.
My right quad, just above my knee, checked in to let me know that I was abusing it. Duly noted, now please go away.
I run by Marsha's house hoping, even though I shouldn't, that she would be outside. In my weakened state of mind I would have been sorely tempted to stop and shoot the bull with her until every muscle in my body ceased in letting me know it existed.
Dammit, she's not outside......Gotta keep running.
The two minute walk didn't last long enough. My hands are on my head as I struggle to get more air into my lungs. My two hour workouts didn't do shit for preparing me for a run. This thought serves as a good reminder that there are many different kinds of "in shape". Being in shape in one activity doesn't necessarily translate to being in shape in another.
SET 5
My run for this set began at a much notably slower pace than all my previous. I hit another small hill and thought to myself that, next time, I will plan a different route to avoid all these damn hills....Then I remembered that it doesn't matter what route I take -- damn it all, there will be hills.
My throat is killing me and I can feel just about every muscle below my waist. I am really struggling.
Then I remember that 10K I ran in Leavenworth.....
When I was a teenager I participated in a 10K. It turned out being the one and only 10K race I ever ran in, and it ended with severe disappointment. For those of you that don't know, a 10K is approximately 6.2 miles -- a run long enough for you to go through several peaks and valleys in regards to pain.
Towards then end of the race it felt as if I had several knives buried into my rib cage. It hurt like hell and I prayed for a runner's high.
What is a runner's high? I'm not sure I know how to accurately describe it. Let's just say that when it happens you feel absolutely no pain --- it's almost as if you're floating and not running. Your mind goes into a zone and you just run and run and run......It's the greatest feeling the world. It's getting high without the use of drugs.
But there would be no runners high on this day.....Every step was a shockwave of pain and I started to doubt that I could finish the race.
At the top of a hill (yeah, another damn hill) I broke down and began to walk. Two kids in my age division passed me. When the first one passed I didn't care, I just assumed that I wasn't doing that well to begin with, so who cares.
When the second kid passed me, it knocked me out of me funk. "No, I can't quit now."
I began to run despite my body's insistence that I stop.
I don't recall the exact distance, but just a short way ahead of me I see other runners rounding a corner and disappearing behind a building. Just get to the building I tell myself.
When I reached the building I turned the corner and what do I see not twenty yards ahead of me? The damn finish line. I was beside myself as soon as I realized that I quit running less than a quarter of a mile away from the end.
I picked up the pace and finished the race. I wasn't happy knowing that I gave up so close to the end.
To make matters worse my coach came up and congratulated me on getting fourth place in my age division.
Fourth? I thought about the two kids that passed me. I was crestfallen when I realized that if I had kept going I would have medaled in my very first race.....A second place medal at that.
To make matters even worse. I found out that a friend of mine whose ass I'd been kicking in practice decided to run the Maur Hill race instead of Leavenworth......and won the damn race.
I don't remember that last time I had been that upset with myself.
So, I handled it just like any ill-tempered adolescent would handle it......I quit.
By my junior year in high school I had quit sports all together.........Something I will always regret. All those cans of Budweiser strewn across a many a dirt road did nothing in the way of preparing me for life as an adult. I chose to escape as opposed to standing up and fighting.
You may think it's just sports, but it isn't. Sports, when coached right, can teach a young person a lot of valuable life lessons......I could have used those lessons.
But, better late than never. I take the pain and keep running. I'm not quitting. Push --- Push ---- Push.....and when I finished, it felt as if I had won that race that I should have won all those many years ago.
To a lot of people, finishing a run may not be a big deal.....But to me, it was a real sense of accomplishment. This humble beginning will build and lead to greater things. It will lead to a finish line with my daughter. It will lead to the creation of a great memory.
And who knows, maybe Tera and I will just keep on running far beyond that first finish line.
Monday, September 9, 2013
Social Atrophy
I haven't quite reached Rocketman stage yet......But I may someday. :)
My communication skills, from a social interaction standpoint, have never been that strong. It takes me a very long time to get comfortable around people who aren't my family or who I haven't grown up with. So never in my wildest dreams did I think I would find myself occasionally sitting at home and craving a good conversation. Very odd, considering my best conversations are usually with myself. :)
I only work for two hours at my part time job and, most of the time, my conversation with the tech's are little more than, "Hey, how's it going?" as they are hurrying to load their trucks in the last half hour of my shift. I'm ok with that.
After work I head straight home, work out, and then get on to cleaning the house, writing my blog, or whatever other assorted duties I have planned out for that particular day. Nowhere on my list is there a note that says "attempt to be sociable".
I am just not capable of going out of my way and starting up a conversation with people I don't know.....My brain just isn't wired for small talk. Even with people that I do know, if I don't talk to them on a regular basis, I find myself shying away from a possible conversation.
Makes you wonder how I got married, doesn't it? Well, it went something like this; Karla and I are sitting in a restaurant when she asks, "So, do you want to get married?"
Cue Butt-head voice now: "Um, Okay."
So there you have it.......By the way, that was probably the most romantic thing I've ever written. Nicholas Sparks doesn't have shit on me.
When employed, I absolutely loathed company parties and did everything I could to avoid them. There is no more uncomfortable place for me to be than at a dinner table or bar with people I don't really know. I only speak when spoken to and, usually, my answers are no more than a few words in length.
I know exactly how I'm coming off to these people who are failing miserably in their attempts to get to know me -- stuck up prick. And, don't get me wrong, I feel horrible about it. But at that point and time all I can think about is getting the hell out of there. I just want to hide in my hotel room or go home and get out of those horribly ill fitting dress clothes. Get settled in to where I feel at ease.
At one of my jobs I never once went to any kind of work related social gatherings; even if it was just the department going out for a few beers after work. I wanted no part of it.
I did manage to loosen up a little bit and go to a couple of luncheons at my most recent full time job. But I went knowing it was only for a short period of time.....I could get through that.
As far as Karla goes, for years I got dragged to all of her company dinners.....and I mean dragged. For about a month before the dreaded gathering I would start complaining that I didn't want to go. Karla, a social butterfly of the highest degree, just couldn't fathom why I acted the way I did. After all, there was an open bar and free food; what more could a person ask for?
Silence.....That's what a person could ask for. A table for two, no speech from company big wigs, and most of all, no ----- absolutely NO -- having to talk with people that I don't know.
As soon as Karla walks in the door she's shaking hands and getting to know the people from other facilities that she only gets to talk with on the phone. Almost instantaneously I feel isolated and lost amongst the crowd......Only a few more hours to go.
Now other social events aren't too bad. Weddings are just fine because there is always someone there that I know....A few drinks in the system and I'm ok.
Concerts are okay because everyone is there to see the show, not mingle and hobnob.
Any sporting event is usually fine. Most of the people there are talking about the game, not struggling to find a common ground with which to converse.
Well, unless your wife's co-worker has a suite at the stadium. The one time I went to a game with suite passes I thought it was the coolest thing in the world --- until I realized that hardly anyone in the suite was even watching the game, let alone talking about it. I grabbed a beer and found a seat outside the suite so I could actually WATCH the game. For God sake, it was Chiefs vs. Raiders......How could anyone not watch that? (They didn't suck back then, by the way.)
I am proud to say that, while still not great, I've gotten a lot better about talking in public. A friend of mine at my former place of employment talked me into putting in for a data assurance manager position. Initially, I was scared shitless and wondered why in the world was I leaving the comforts of my warehouse position and crashing head long into the very thing I feared most......Communicating.
At the time I took the position I couldn't stand phones. Whenever it rang at home I would never answer it for fear it would be someone I didn't know. I practically begged Karla for caller ID, but she wouldn't bite......I'm not so sure she didn't make reference to me as being a part of a woman's anatomy...I don't know, maybe she did. I don't remember.
Then there was the part where I actually had to be responsible for the people on the work crews I set up, getting with case managers, supervisors, nurses and the off site personnel of the companies we would be working for. That is a whole helluva lot of social interaction.
But, one year later, I settled in nicely and was proud of some of the fears that I conquered. It seems silly to be giddy about being able to pick up a phone but, hey, at one point it was a real problem for me. Now I can talk to anyone that calls me; no more letting the call go to voice mail where I may, or may not, respond in kind.
And, once again, while still not great, I can at least make attempts at striking up a conversation with people I'm not familiar with. Taking my last full time job was, socially, the best thing that ever happened to me.
But, I still found myself experiencing a real sense of relief (mixed with sorrow about leaving) when I walked out the door for last time......I smiled at the thought, "I can finally go home and be a hermit."
Yet, not even two months later, I find myself wondering if I should make some effort to try to establish some social connections. While a large part of me doesn't really care, a small part fears that I could possibly regress back into my old, almost standoffish, habits.
I have realized that I simply cannot let that happen. For one thing, Karla has worked too hard to get me out of my shell. If it wasn't for her I wouldn't have seen any of the places that we have traveled to. I would have never gotten on a plane voluntarily or made the effort to go on excursions. I would have been more than happy to spend my vacations sitting at home with the door closed, drapes pulled, coffee pot on, and a book in my hands.
Yeah, I've come a long way.....I can't go back now.
So I guess I will need to figure out where to start.
I do talk occasionally with my neighbor, Marsha , when I go on my walks. So that's a good thing. My biggest problem is I don't want to commit to anything.....I really do like my life as it is......Quiet.
Texts are just as good as talking for me.....I get excited when I get a text. It's like getting mail, just without the crappy bills.
Speaking of texts....Since I'm not socially quick on the draw, I think texting should be the way I deal with a heated discussion with someone. I'm the kind of guy that has a witty retort two hours after the conversation has died. So, the next time I get into an argument I'm going to say..."Stop.....This social format does not work for me.....I will have to text you."
Yeah.....if only. No, I can't rely on texts.
Perhaps it will take a wizard and a pack of rowdy dwarves busting into my house and dragging me along on an adventure to get me going.
No....I'm going to have to do this myself.
I used to think book clubs were ignorant, didn't care about meeting at the old coffee shop for a bull session, and, due to the grind that is known as raising children, was only mildly interested in weekend fishing trips or Friday nights out with the boys.
Now they all seem like a viable option.
I just don't know right now.....I really, REALLY, like my schedule as it is......But part of me, deep down, knows that it's important for me to start being a little more outgoing. I can't rely on sporting events as my main form of social interaction.
I'm sure I'll think of something........eventually.....
Friday, September 6, 2013
Just one of those weeks...
Let's start with me leaving my iPhone charger in a hotel room in Dyersville, Iowa. From there the week just went to shit.
I have locked myself out of the house not once, but twice, this week. The first time, I realized I had no keys in my pocket the very instant the door slammed shut. One phone call, and forty minutes later, Karla came home from work to unlock the door.
Two days later I did it again. This time I made sure I had a set of keys in my pocket before I went for my morning walk.....Unfortunately they were the keys to one of the tech vans that I supply equipment for at my part time job......Karla was not amused with the second phone call. I made sure I was still out walking when she came home to unlock the door. Once I got in, I had to drive back into town to return the keys I had mistakenly taken home.
I found out that a Brillo pad is the brain child of some sadistic freak. I was not aware that this ugly, gray piece of crap would fall apart and bury millions of little pieces of steel wool into my hands. Freaking painful.
I pulled the oven away from the wall to clean the side of the refrigerator and forgot that I had a glass jar of olive oil sitting atop it. And, wouldn't you know it, it was full when it hit the floor and shattered. It took forever to clean that sloppy, oily, mess. I believe I may had ruined a broom in the process.
The good thing about olive oil is when you mop the floor the end result is a surface with a beautiful, glossy, shine. The bad thing is that it is most definitely not a good idea to walk on said surface as it is now slicker than snot.
I caught a really nasty summer cold and took just one day off from the household chores. Can someone tell me how a house can go to complete hell in just one day?
It was almost as if the lawn knew I wasn't feeling good and decided to grow a foot over night. The laundry went from non-existent to a mountainous pile and I swear the neighbors must have come over and dropped off all their dishes for me to wash.
Speaking of dishes.....When I was growing up we never used silverware; we ate with our hands. My mom said that she grew up poor in the Philippines and silver ware was just not a common item in her household. In fact, the only time my brothers and I ever used silver ware was either at school or at grandma's.
Looking back, I don't dispute that Mom grew up poor. But I kind of wonder if she may not have been feeding us boys a line of shit about the silver ware. I wonder if she just hated washing cutlery. If she were to confess to me that that were indeed the case I wouldn't hold it against her. In fact, if I knew I wouldn't get the stink eye from Karla, I'd eat with my hands just so I would have one less piece of silver ware to worry about. But, for the love of God, I must teach the kids to eat the right way. What ever the hell that means.
Anyway, back to the house cleaning.
Part of the problem is Tera, aka, the Trail Master. She walks in the door, kicks off her shoes, and leaves them where they lay. She gets on the computer, takes off her socks, and leaves them on the floor. She gets a drink and leaves her glass by the computer. She starts an art project and leaves it on the table. It doesn't take a detective to figure out where Tera had been and what she was doing.
Then there is Karla ---- the little Baker from Hell. I still can't fathom how she can burn the hell out of food and it still tastes good. Cookie sheets, muffin pans, pots, the family pets......They all end up with some kind of charred piece of nastiness on them......And I have to scrub the hell out of all of them. That's how I ended up with all the steel wool buried into my hands.
One time Karla forgot about a batch of chocolate chip cookies and burned them way beyond the point of edible. I looked at the smoking mess I pulled out of the oven and told Toby, "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say these cookies actually look like double fudge chocolate chip."
Toby nodded his head in agreement and proceeded to chisel the cookies up and place them into a ziploc bag.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I'm gonna see if I can talk someone into trying out a double fudge chocolate chip cookie." He said with a devilish grin.
"If you come home with a black eye," I said, "Then I will know that you were successful."
The last thing I did this week was break the door off of the cabinet under the sink. All I did was lean on it a little as I went to retrieve a garbage bag. Shit.
Upon closer inspection I realized that I was not going to be able to reattached the door as the holes that I ripped the screws out of were all wallered out. (I don't really know if "wallered" is an actual word....But it's a word my family uses all the time)
Not being a handy man I did what I thought was the next best thing. I gently set the door back into place and waited for Karla to get home.
Every thing went according to my evil plan. Karla came home, needed something from under the sink, went to open the door, and.......
"AAAAHHH!"
I looked at Karla, who was holding the door in her hand.
"Whadya do?" I ask, feigning complete ignorance.
"Remind me that I have to fix the door this weekend."
"Damn," I said, "You brute."
Of course, now that I let the cat out of the bag, I'm sure to catch a rash of shit.
Oh well, maybe she'll send me to my room. After the way this week has gone, I can live with that.
I have locked myself out of the house not once, but twice, this week. The first time, I realized I had no keys in my pocket the very instant the door slammed shut. One phone call, and forty minutes later, Karla came home from work to unlock the door.
Two days later I did it again. This time I made sure I had a set of keys in my pocket before I went for my morning walk.....Unfortunately they were the keys to one of the tech vans that I supply equipment for at my part time job......Karla was not amused with the second phone call. I made sure I was still out walking when she came home to unlock the door. Once I got in, I had to drive back into town to return the keys I had mistakenly taken home.
I found out that a Brillo pad is the brain child of some sadistic freak. I was not aware that this ugly, gray piece of crap would fall apart and bury millions of little pieces of steel wool into my hands. Freaking painful.
I pulled the oven away from the wall to clean the side of the refrigerator and forgot that I had a glass jar of olive oil sitting atop it. And, wouldn't you know it, it was full when it hit the floor and shattered. It took forever to clean that sloppy, oily, mess. I believe I may had ruined a broom in the process.
The good thing about olive oil is when you mop the floor the end result is a surface with a beautiful, glossy, shine. The bad thing is that it is most definitely not a good idea to walk on said surface as it is now slicker than snot.
I caught a really nasty summer cold and took just one day off from the household chores. Can someone tell me how a house can go to complete hell in just one day?
It was almost as if the lawn knew I wasn't feeling good and decided to grow a foot over night. The laundry went from non-existent to a mountainous pile and I swear the neighbors must have come over and dropped off all their dishes for me to wash.
Speaking of dishes.....When I was growing up we never used silverware; we ate with our hands. My mom said that she grew up poor in the Philippines and silver ware was just not a common item in her household. In fact, the only time my brothers and I ever used silver ware was either at school or at grandma's.
Looking back, I don't dispute that Mom grew up poor. But I kind of wonder if she may not have been feeding us boys a line of shit about the silver ware. I wonder if she just hated washing cutlery. If she were to confess to me that that were indeed the case I wouldn't hold it against her. In fact, if I knew I wouldn't get the stink eye from Karla, I'd eat with my hands just so I would have one less piece of silver ware to worry about. But, for the love of God, I must teach the kids to eat the right way. What ever the hell that means.
Anyway, back to the house cleaning.
Part of the problem is Tera, aka, the Trail Master. She walks in the door, kicks off her shoes, and leaves them where they lay. She gets on the computer, takes off her socks, and leaves them on the floor. She gets a drink and leaves her glass by the computer. She starts an art project and leaves it on the table. It doesn't take a detective to figure out where Tera had been and what she was doing.
Then there is Karla ---- the little Baker from Hell. I still can't fathom how she can burn the hell out of food and it still tastes good. Cookie sheets, muffin pans, pots, the family pets......They all end up with some kind of charred piece of nastiness on them......And I have to scrub the hell out of all of them. That's how I ended up with all the steel wool buried into my hands.
One time Karla forgot about a batch of chocolate chip cookies and burned them way beyond the point of edible. I looked at the smoking mess I pulled out of the oven and told Toby, "You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say these cookies actually look like double fudge chocolate chip."
Toby nodded his head in agreement and proceeded to chisel the cookies up and place them into a ziploc bag.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"I'm gonna see if I can talk someone into trying out a double fudge chocolate chip cookie." He said with a devilish grin.
"If you come home with a black eye," I said, "Then I will know that you were successful."
The last thing I did this week was break the door off of the cabinet under the sink. All I did was lean on it a little as I went to retrieve a garbage bag. Shit.
Upon closer inspection I realized that I was not going to be able to reattached the door as the holes that I ripped the screws out of were all wallered out. (I don't really know if "wallered" is an actual word....But it's a word my family uses all the time)
Not being a handy man I did what I thought was the next best thing. I gently set the door back into place and waited for Karla to get home.
Every thing went according to my evil plan. Karla came home, needed something from under the sink, went to open the door, and.......
"AAAAHHH!"
I looked at Karla, who was holding the door in her hand.
"Whadya do?" I ask, feigning complete ignorance.
"Remind me that I have to fix the door this weekend."
"Damn," I said, "You brute."
Of course, now that I let the cat out of the bag, I'm sure to catch a rash of shit.
Oh well, maybe she'll send me to my room. After the way this week has gone, I can live with that.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Journey to the Field of Dreams
The days of the big family vacation, while not over, are definitely going to be less frequent. The two years before I gave up my full time job to stay home the family had taken a cruise and went to Disney world; at an estimated cost of about fourteen thousand dollars......And we paid cash for all of it.
With that incredibly large disposable income now gone, the idea of a family vacation has changed. While we would still like to go on cruises or lounge on the beach in Playa Del Carmen or in a hut in Bora Bora, we will now have to save for those vacations. In the meantime we will take care of our wanderlust by doing something Karla's family did frequently during her childhood ---- road trips.
We started by purchasing passes to every single state park so that we could spend a good deal of our vacations hiking, biking, fishing, and camping. Just to clarify, my idea of camping now involves a cabin with an air conditioner. I used to do the tent thing but never found it that amusing.
Karla has also gotten out the map and searched for things to do that are within driving distance in the states surrounding, or almost surrounding, us.
Her choice for our first road trip made my heart skip a beat.....
I am a huge baseball fan and have loved the game since I could walk. And even though I wasn't that good playing the game, it never dampened my enthusiasm for it. So when Karla said we were driving to Dyersville, Iowa to see the Field of Dreams movie set I couldn't stop grinning. The little kid in me was going crazy.
For those of you that don't know what the Field of Dreams is, check out this link:
http://www.fodmoviesite.com/
I couldn't wait to set foot on that beautiful field and play catch with the kids. To step out of the corn field and into the outfield. To sit on the bleachers where James Earl Jones sat and said, "They will come, Ray......People will most definitely come."
Excuse me for just a second.....I'm getting a little choked up.
Now, while I couldn't wait to get rolling, Tera had other ideas. Neither one of my kids had seen the movie, (How in the Hell did I let that happen?) but Toby has always been a low key and open minded young man. I don't recall him ever really being vehemently opposed to any new experience.
Tera, on the other hand, was invited to a birthday party and this trip to release my inner child was getting in the way of her cake and ice cream. "Why can't dad go by himself?" she muttered.
But by Saturday morning she had (for the most part) gotten over her disappointment and was (kind of) looking forward to the trip. We got everything packed and was on the road by 9:30.
Toby's low key personality is a perfect fit for road trips. Give him his iPod and control of the radio and he is good to go.
Tera, however, is high strung, fidgety, and loud. It didn't take me long to regret that I didn't bring a set of ear buds to tune her out.
Here is how the drive to Dyersville went with my loud daughter:
9:30 -- On the road. Beautiful, sunny day.....all is right with the world.
11 am -- Tera has run out of things to do. "How long have we been driving?"
11:30 am --- "How much further?"
11:50 am --- "How much longer 'til we get there?"
Karla: "Tera, it's at least six and a half hours to Dyersville. You need to be patient."
Tera, "Really? Grrr."
1pm -- Three and a half hours of dub-step music in enough. I switched over to Brudda Iz, Jack Johnson, and some Zac Brown band.
1:30 pm --- Tera: "Can't we listen to music we all know?"
Karla: "Tera, it's your Dad and I's turn to listen to our music."
Tera: "But your music sucks."
2 pm -- Tera: "My butt is numb.....I think I'm dying."
2:25 pm --- Tera: "What time is it? Are we closer?"
Karla: "Yes, only a couple of hours to go."
Tera: (Sigh)......."Grrr."
3:10 pm -- Karla had seen a crop duster before; but for the rest of us it was a first. Toby said it best when he exclaimed, "Man, I think I'd poop myself if I was flying that low, that fast."
Tera just shrugged and asked in a bitchy tone, "Are we there yet?"
Me: "My God, Tera, would you like a little cheese with your whine?"
Tera: "No, we didn't bring any cheese."
Me: "Never mind."
3:30 pm -- Tera: "I wish we had a TV in here. That way we could watch movies or Cartoon Network. It wouldn't be so boring then."
4 pm -- Tera digs a book out of her back pack. The abrupt silence is the most wonderful thing I have never heard. All is peaceful.
4:10 pm ---- Peace gone. "Are we ever going to get there?"
4:30 pm ---- Me: "Tera, WE ARE HERE!!!"
Tera, "Aw, dang it. I was reading my book." Tera slams the book shut and gets out of the car in a huff.
Thinking to myself, "If I threw her against a wall, how far would she bounce? Christ."
After checking in to the hotel we went out and got a bite to eat, then took pictures of the St. Francis Xavier basilica. By definition, I have no idea what a basilica is, but it did look cool.
We then spent the rest of the evening sacked out in our hotel room. I can't for the life of me figure out what it is about driving all day that wears you out.
The next morning my pilgrimage to the field of dreams had reached it's end. It was everything I dreamed it would be. I stood on the outfield and just looked around, grinning like an idiot, and soaked it all in.
There were no uniforms, no sponsorships, no banners flying with the names of companies attempting to sell their overpriced equipment.
There were just people there. People from New York, Michigan, Indiana, Kansas....On and on and on. They were playing catch in the infield. The crack of a wood bat echoed and a glove popped as a ball was caught.
People laughed as they ran the bases. Pictures were taken constantly. The love of the game had never shone more brightly than on this little spot, in the middle of a corn field, in a small town in Iowa.
I thought about Kevin Costner asking his dad, "Wanna have a catch?" and I almost teared up. My God, I love this game.
I smiled and went to play. I crouched behind the plate as Toby pitched to me. I heard Tera yell at her Mom, "Stay in front of the ball!!" So I saved Karla from another tongue lashing and played catch with Tera while she went to take pictures.
Tera ran the bases. We all went out to the corn field and got a picture of us walking out of it and into center field. We sat on the bleachers and watched other people play.
Everyone that was there was there for the love of the game. Here, in Iowa, the true meaning of baseball still exists. Here, in Iowa, I found my love of the game could grow even stronger, which I didn't think was possible. No, it isn't Heaven......But, it's damn close.
After the Field of Dreams, we had to indulge Karla's sick desire to color in her US map.
Karla has this map that she colors in for all the states she visits. Since we were so close to Illinois and Wisconsin we just had to make the drive to both states so Karla could say she had been there.
Toby and I both asked her, "You've been to Illinois, why are we going there?"
Karla, "The kids haven't been there."
Me "What? Yes they have. We stopped over in Chicago on our way to Miami."
Karla, "An airport doesn't count."
Toby, "What do you mean, doesn't count? So driving two minutes over the border and driving back out does?"
Karla, "Yes."
????????
Whatever, knock yourself out.
So we spent five minutes in Illinois and two minutes in Wisconsin. Karla was happy. She got to color in her map and the kids' map. Yeah, I don't know.
While on the trip there were a few moments of tense discussion about what the definition of "lost" is.
To me, if you miss a turn and have to rely on your GPS to get you turned around and on the right path ---- that is lost.
To Karla, as long as she is breathing and capable of movement she is NEVER lost.
After a while we realized that we had reached an impasse on this topic, and so, have decided to agree to disagree......Until the next time she gets lost..... :)
Now, I am sitting at home writing this blog.......By far my favorite. I hope someday to go back and stay longer. I hope that someday I will be able to take my grandkids there. It is, to me, one of the most beautiful places in the world. :)
With that incredibly large disposable income now gone, the idea of a family vacation has changed. While we would still like to go on cruises or lounge on the beach in Playa Del Carmen or in a hut in Bora Bora, we will now have to save for those vacations. In the meantime we will take care of our wanderlust by doing something Karla's family did frequently during her childhood ---- road trips.
We started by purchasing passes to every single state park so that we could spend a good deal of our vacations hiking, biking, fishing, and camping. Just to clarify, my idea of camping now involves a cabin with an air conditioner. I used to do the tent thing but never found it that amusing.
Karla has also gotten out the map and searched for things to do that are within driving distance in the states surrounding, or almost surrounding, us.
Her choice for our first road trip made my heart skip a beat.....
I am a huge baseball fan and have loved the game since I could walk. And even though I wasn't that good playing the game, it never dampened my enthusiasm for it. So when Karla said we were driving to Dyersville, Iowa to see the Field of Dreams movie set I couldn't stop grinning. The little kid in me was going crazy.
For those of you that don't know what the Field of Dreams is, check out this link:
http://www.fodmoviesite.com/
I couldn't wait to set foot on that beautiful field and play catch with the kids. To step out of the corn field and into the outfield. To sit on the bleachers where James Earl Jones sat and said, "They will come, Ray......People will most definitely come."
Excuse me for just a second.....I'm getting a little choked up.
Now, while I couldn't wait to get rolling, Tera had other ideas. Neither one of my kids had seen the movie, (How in the Hell did I let that happen?) but Toby has always been a low key and open minded young man. I don't recall him ever really being vehemently opposed to any new experience.
Tera, on the other hand, was invited to a birthday party and this trip to release my inner child was getting in the way of her cake and ice cream. "Why can't dad go by himself?" she muttered.
But by Saturday morning she had (for the most part) gotten over her disappointment and was (kind of) looking forward to the trip. We got everything packed and was on the road by 9:30.
Toby's low key personality is a perfect fit for road trips. Give him his iPod and control of the radio and he is good to go.
Tera, however, is high strung, fidgety, and loud. It didn't take me long to regret that I didn't bring a set of ear buds to tune her out.
Here is how the drive to Dyersville went with my loud daughter:
9:30 -- On the road. Beautiful, sunny day.....all is right with the world.
11 am -- Tera has run out of things to do. "How long have we been driving?"
11:30 am --- "How much further?"
11:50 am --- "How much longer 'til we get there?"
Karla: "Tera, it's at least six and a half hours to Dyersville. You need to be patient."
Tera, "Really? Grrr."
1pm -- Three and a half hours of dub-step music in enough. I switched over to Brudda Iz, Jack Johnson, and some Zac Brown band.
1:30 pm --- Tera: "Can't we listen to music we all know?"
Karla: "Tera, it's your Dad and I's turn to listen to our music."
Tera: "But your music sucks."
2 pm -- Tera: "My butt is numb.....I think I'm dying."
2:25 pm --- Tera: "What time is it? Are we closer?"
Karla: "Yes, only a couple of hours to go."
Tera: (Sigh)......."Grrr."
3:10 pm -- Karla had seen a crop duster before; but for the rest of us it was a first. Toby said it best when he exclaimed, "Man, I think I'd poop myself if I was flying that low, that fast."
Tera just shrugged and asked in a bitchy tone, "Are we there yet?"
Me: "My God, Tera, would you like a little cheese with your whine?"
Tera: "No, we didn't bring any cheese."
Me: "Never mind."
3:30 pm -- Tera: "I wish we had a TV in here. That way we could watch movies or Cartoon Network. It wouldn't be so boring then."
4 pm -- Tera digs a book out of her back pack. The abrupt silence is the most wonderful thing I have never heard. All is peaceful.
4:10 pm ---- Peace gone. "Are we ever going to get there?"
4:30 pm ---- Me: "Tera, WE ARE HERE!!!"
Tera, "Aw, dang it. I was reading my book." Tera slams the book shut and gets out of the car in a huff.
Thinking to myself, "If I threw her against a wall, how far would she bounce? Christ."
After checking in to the hotel we went out and got a bite to eat, then took pictures of the St. Francis Xavier basilica. By definition, I have no idea what a basilica is, but it did look cool.
We then spent the rest of the evening sacked out in our hotel room. I can't for the life of me figure out what it is about driving all day that wears you out.
The next morning my pilgrimage to the field of dreams had reached it's end. It was everything I dreamed it would be. I stood on the outfield and just looked around, grinning like an idiot, and soaked it all in.
There were no uniforms, no sponsorships, no banners flying with the names of companies attempting to sell their overpriced equipment.
There were just people there. People from New York, Michigan, Indiana, Kansas....On and on and on. They were playing catch in the infield. The crack of a wood bat echoed and a glove popped as a ball was caught.
People laughed as they ran the bases. Pictures were taken constantly. The love of the game had never shone more brightly than on this little spot, in the middle of a corn field, in a small town in Iowa.
I thought about Kevin Costner asking his dad, "Wanna have a catch?" and I almost teared up. My God, I love this game.
I smiled and went to play. I crouched behind the plate as Toby pitched to me. I heard Tera yell at her Mom, "Stay in front of the ball!!" So I saved Karla from another tongue lashing and played catch with Tera while she went to take pictures.
Tera ran the bases. We all went out to the corn field and got a picture of us walking out of it and into center field. We sat on the bleachers and watched other people play.
Everyone that was there was there for the love of the game. Here, in Iowa, the true meaning of baseball still exists. Here, in Iowa, I found my love of the game could grow even stronger, which I didn't think was possible. No, it isn't Heaven......But, it's damn close.
After the Field of Dreams, we had to indulge Karla's sick desire to color in her US map.
Karla has this map that she colors in for all the states she visits. Since we were so close to Illinois and Wisconsin we just had to make the drive to both states so Karla could say she had been there.
Toby and I both asked her, "You've been to Illinois, why are we going there?"
Karla, "The kids haven't been there."
Me "What? Yes they have. We stopped over in Chicago on our way to Miami."
Karla, "An airport doesn't count."
Toby, "What do you mean, doesn't count? So driving two minutes over the border and driving back out does?"
Karla, "Yes."
????????
Whatever, knock yourself out.
So we spent five minutes in Illinois and two minutes in Wisconsin. Karla was happy. She got to color in her map and the kids' map. Yeah, I don't know.
While on the trip there were a few moments of tense discussion about what the definition of "lost" is.
To me, if you miss a turn and have to rely on your GPS to get you turned around and on the right path ---- that is lost.
To Karla, as long as she is breathing and capable of movement she is NEVER lost.
After a while we realized that we had reached an impasse on this topic, and so, have decided to agree to disagree......Until the next time she gets lost..... :)
Now, I am sitting at home writing this blog.......By far my favorite. I hope someday to go back and stay longer. I hope that someday I will be able to take my grandkids there. It is, to me, one of the most beautiful places in the world. :)
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