Thank you!

It’s been a long time my friends. I wasn’t even sure if I remembered how to log into my account, but as you can see, I got it. What has me writing after all of this time, you probably AREN’T asking yourself? Well, I had an experience last night that flushed out some old emotions and memories that I thought I needed to address. I had the pleasure of attending the practice night of the This is My Brave show (https://thisismybrave.org/). To say I was moved would be an understatement. If you don’t know what This is My Brave is, here is how they describe themselves.

A live presentation of touching essays, original music, and poetry will be performed by a dozen individuals living with―or loving someone with―a mental illness. The power of the human connection through the telling of personal experiences will grab hold of the audience for the show’s ninety minutes and beyond.

I was there because my Brave wife is speaking and I went for moral support and to tape her so she can give her best. The stories were amazing, sucking you in and I didn’t want them to end. If you know me well, then you know that people fascinate me. My friends tease me about my real crime books I read and I think my choice of TV shows causes my wife to sleep with one eye open. I’m fascinated with how people can do the things they do, or what causes them. But basically, I love to hear people’s stories. I listen to several Podcasts that are just that, real life stories. If you like that kind of stuff, I recommend Risk, The Mortified Podcast or Strangers. Last night, well, these were real people in our city, not on TV or one of my podcasts. These were people you might see every day. These people were us. Mental illness is everywhere and it is time we start treating it with the same vigor that we treat Cancer or Diabetes. It’s real, and people suffer, especially with the shame that society has put on it. Nobody should be ashamed of their mental illness; it’s just that, an illness. I don’t ever remember being ashamed of my mom or dad when they were fighting cancer. But there are problems with trying to treat a mental illness, and I can tell you from firsthand experience, it is frustrating and, pardon my language, fucking stupid. Insurance companies don’t cover treatment. Government officials don’t think it exists, or if they think it exists, they sure as hell don’t show it. I’m not going to get political, but the governor of our state has closed mental hospitals in our state, so much that we are short on beds for those that need them. Now our jails are filling up with people who aren’t criminals, but need supervision and jail is the only place open. OK, enough of that. So listening last night, brought back memories of when Marcy was hospitalized in Minnesota, and what life was like. It reminded me of the things that failed me/us. Insurance companies, organizations and systems failed us. But more importantly, it reminded me of what things DIDN’T fail. Friends, family, neighbors and strangers with a kind heart, did not fail us, and I wanted to thank them. Our friends provided food, support and financial support, which quite frankly saved us from bankruptcy, thank you. Our neighbors brought us food and helped drive kids around so I could be where I needed to be, thank you. Heck, even my office provided me with a laptop so I could work from home and the president of my company pulled me into his office and said to do whatever I needed to do, and he meant it and backed it up. My co-workers covered my ass when I was coming in late and leaving early so I could pick up and deliver kids, thank you. I was sent text’s, received phone calls and visits, just to be sure I was ok, thank you. It was tough for me, because I was raised to do it on my own, but I couldn’t, so thank you. There was a lot of pride swallowing done during that time, and I thank you. The one time I posted my frustration on Facebook, which I don’t normally do, I was flooded with texts and instant messages checking on me, thank you. My ex in-laws called me to check on me, which really didn’t surprise me, knowing them, but still, they read my desperation and offered help, thank you. I’ve been blessed in my life to be around people that care about people. I couldn’t ask for anything better. Then there is my family. How would I have survived without my family? I wouldn’t have. That was a dark and scary time in my life. It was lonely and difficult and every day I wondered if I would survive, both physically and mentally. I was exhausted. I was done. But my family kept asking. They kept cheering. They kept helping, so thank you. Every night, I put the boys in bed, looked at their faces and knew I could do it. I knew things would get better, and they did. And that was the main story line from last night. Keep working, keep pushing, keep talking, and don’t be ashamed.

Where do I begin? I feel like I have so many thoughts in my head that I need to share, if for nothing more than getting them down on “paper” for me to reflect on later. I use this blog for that a lot. I don’t write very often anymore, but I do go back and read some of my old stuff, to remember or to humor myself. I guess I’ll start with the freshest thing on my mind.

If you follow me on Facebook, and why wouldn’t you, it’s full of useful information and recipes, then you know a short time back I pleaded for help with a young girl that we had been made aware of. She was alone, homeless and in search of a better life. My heart breaks for those lost souls that seem to want to get back on track, whatever that means to them, and just can’t seem to find the help to get there. Some people aren’t interested in getting on track, they feel their track is just fine, and for those, that’s great. But as a human, I feel that is my duty, no, responsibility, to help someone if I can. Does that mean that all help offered will be accepted and the lost will find their way? Not even close, but that doesn’t mean we don’t try. The situation was presented to Marcy and I to help a lost soul, and we took up the challenge. It turns out, it’s not always easy to find help for those that don’t have the money to pay for it. (Trust me, I know from experience) So Marcy set out to find a program, a ministry, anything to help this girl. She was frustrated with the roadblocks and the lack of room for people like our new friend. After many phone calls, she was able to locate a ministry, that I actually had served for many years ago, and they had a bed. We just had to get the girl there for an interview to see if she qualified. Long story somewhat short, she was accepted and Marcy delivered her to their door so she could start the change in her life. A week later, Marcy and I picked her up for lunch and had a long conversation about how things were going, the steps she had taken in that short week and the steps that were next. We were all encouraged and I felt that she was in the right place at the right time. Have you ever had the feeling, in the back of your head, that things just weren’t quite what they seemed? I had it from the day I met her and we spent 3 hours together, talking about her past, her present and her future. This was before we found the program, so it was new to me and I was shocked by her stories. They made me want to help her even more, but that thing in my head said, “Be cautious.” We kept our distance, but tried to encourage her to take advantage of the help, and do what she needed to get to her goal. She was getting ready to work on her GED or diploma, they hadn’t decided which yet. That was a big goal for her. She wanted a job, where she could earn the money to have a “normal” life. I found her intelligent, spiritual and open. But this was a girl who had been on her own, was a bit more streetwise than me, so we stayed at arm’s length and waited for the program she was in, to do what it could do for her. We sent flowers and a card to try and encourage her, and let her know that there were people who cared and who were rooting for her. The other day we learned, she had left the program and was back on the streets. I was saddened, but that voice in my head kept asking, was she going through the program to make a change in her life, or to see if she could exploit the program? Did she leave the program because she couldn’t do it, or figured out she couldn’t exploit it? I guess I’ll never know. I can’t understand why, when you say where you want to be, that you aren’t able to make the decisions and choices that get you there? People are different and we each have our histories that have led us to where we are today, and I get that. But I just can’t see why you would choose, to me, what seems like the harder life. But then again, maybe she took the easy way. Life and responsibility are hard, maybe just surviving is easier.

Now that I have lightened my heavy heart, let’s talk about maybe the dumbest thing I have done in quite some time. I registered for college. To most people, signing up for college would be looked at with 100% positivity, and they should. And I should, but I still have that high school experience telling me that I will never be able to finish this. I was never what you would call “book smart” in school. Possibly because I never opened any of the school issued books. Now, since I’m paying for these books, perhaps I will give them a gander. I’m actually pretty excited to start, and prove to myself that I can do it. My first class is a required class about succeeding, I think in college, but it may be in life as well. I’m pretty sure I don’t need this class, but it’s required and worth a credit, so off I go. My other class is Psychology, which I have an interest in, so I thought I’d try it first so I would increase my chances of finishing. The added pressure I have put on myself is to get all A’s. Not just for the ego part of it, but my company will pay for 100% of the class if I get an A and less as the grade goes down. If I can get all A’s, then my degree will be paid for, minus books, and that’s a pretty good deal. There aren’t that many things in life at my age that will challenge you, so I’d like to come out on top of this. Sure, you can challenge yourself by doing crazy things, like marathons’ jumping out or off of tall things, but let’s be honest, I have a better chance of getting my PHD than you have of ever seeing me do one of those things. I hope to have good news in a few months, like how I got A’s in my first two classes, but if you don’t hear from me, it didn’t go so well.

I love people.

One of the things I get to do for my job, is an occasional trip to exotic places, like Ware, MA or Conover, NC.  OK, maybe exotic is a stretch, but they are lovely places.  I have warehouses in those towns, so I go there and verify that the material we think is there, is in fact there and in good condition.  I enjoy this part of my job, because it gives me the opportunity to meet the people I deal with everyday via email or phone.  Now, to get to those places, involves flying there and visiting at least two airports.  Those airports are loaded with, lets say interesting, people.  My trip started with an hour and a half delay, due to non-functioning exit lights.  It seems that properly functioning exit lights are required by the FAA on all flights.  I guess I can live with that rule, even though if we crash, there will be plenty of light from the fireball that appeared immediately after we landed/crashed.  The flight was to Charlotte, NC, which for me, made it a direct flight.  For the rest of the plane, Charlotte was merely a connecting airport, and now at least half of the plane was going to miss their connecting flights.  They were not happy.  Me, I was disappointed that I got up at 4am to be at the airport on time, when in reality, I could have been one hour late and still been early.  There wasn't a lot going on in Des Moines, but there was one guy that was puzzling me.  The waiting area I was sitting in for US Air, is right across the hall for the waiting area for Delta.  I saw a guy walk up to the US Air area, stare at the flight board, which clearly stated US Air to Charlotte, NC and the time.  He then proceeded to walk across the aisle to the Delta waiting area, which clearly said New York, NY.  I think you will agree that those do not appear to be even close to the same.  I'll give you that they are both on the east coast, but that's it.  He sat down in the Delta area.  After the announcement was made that our flight was delayed, I saw him walk across the aisle and get in line for our gate attendant.  Oh, he must be on our flight, just waiting in the Delta area.  I've done that when the area for my plane is full, or the case when I was in Minneapolis and there were only 3 seats in my area, which seemed to be poor planning considering we had a whole plane waiting to board.  He stood in the line for about five minutes while the guy in front of him was being repeatedly told by the gate attendant that he had to go down to the main terminal to change his now worthless ticket, since he was going to miss his connection.  The second guy was not hearing it and kept standing there telling the lady that he WASN'T going down to the main terminal and back through security, and she needed to help him.  Well my guy got tired of waiting, so he went back to his seat at Delta.  He sat there for about five minutes, then gathered his things, and walked over to US Air and got in line right outside the boarding door, to board the plane that they weren't boarding yet.  I watched as he stood there, for what reason I don't know, for about 5 minutes, when he either realized they weren't going to board him just because he was in line, or he just got bored.  Now he comes and sits right next to me, where he proceeds to twitch and fidget for another 5 minutes.  He then walks back over to Delta, without his luggage, to talk to the Delta lady.  He then comes back to US Air and gets back in line to talk to the gate lady, who is still arguing with the guy from before.  He waits for awhile, then comes back and collects his luggage and goes back to Delta and sits down again. Now I can't wait to see what is next for Sir Walksalot, but unfortunately, the exit lights are fixed and we are boarding. The flight went well, except for the cramped bathroom which I posted on Facebook. We landed in Charlotte and I had something happen to me that has never happened to me before, and I bet it never happened to you either, or anyone you know. I had checked my bag, so I went to the baggage claim and I waited by the chute. As I waited, I realized something. I was the only person from my flight waiting for a bag. Just me. My bag came out, and only my bag. I thought that maybe the other people just hadn't made it to the claim area yet, but nope, I was the only person on the entire plane that checked a bag for Charlotte. That's a first. On my way to the baggage claim, I watched as person after person, loaded up on one of those moving sidewalks, that wasn't moving. I'm guessing they didn't see that it wasn't moving until they got right up to it and by then, it's too late so you might as well walk on it, but it has groves in it so their suitcases were making all kinds of racket all the way down the terminal. It was lunch time, so we drove the hour to the town we are staying in, and found a place to eat that had TV's so we could watch football. Did I mention it was a Hooters? Perhaps I shouldn't say it, since it isn't a place my wife wants me to visit. I see no reason to outcast the restaurant, just because there are scantly clad women working there. I'm under no illusion that any of these 20 something year old ladies is even slightly interested in a poor, 45 year old, married, father of three. Somehow, I don't feel I fall into their dream dates category. I will say that I think when two guys come in to eat and watch football, that they have no idea what to say to these two guys who aren't hitting on them one bit. Our waitress, who was more than qualified to work at Hooters, kept stopping by to talk to us, but wasn't really saying much, so she just kind of stood there. Perhaps she thought if she stood there, showing her job qualifications, that we would start the hitting on, or perhaps it was just a ploy to increase her tip. Sorry, but I know the game and I'm not playing. I did stuff my face so much that as I type this, nearly 3 hours after lunch, I still feel stuffed. I'm supposed to meet my workmate at 8pm for supper, so maybe a salad is in my future. Funny thing about the east coast, 8pm is a acceptable time for supper. I learned that from my New York travel mates years ago, when we would meet in the lobby to go to supper at 9pm. I think that's bad for you digestion, isn't it?

Let me be clear.

I want to be clear.  My comments about how I'd rather have my kids bring home the award below, than a sports trophy, by no means is a shot at sports trophies or the parents/kids that attempt to earn them. After reading my Facebook posts where I made those statements, I was concerned that my statements my be taken as a shot at trophy winning kids. I meant nothing like that. I myself have been know to put emphasis on winning trophies, as an adult, that I didn't win as a kid. In fact, as a kid, I never even played on a sports team, so my chances of winning any kind of sports award, was zero. However, when I was a kid, not everybody got a trophy, or medal or even a ribbon. With my athletic ability, the chances of me getting anything more than a participation ribbon wasn't very likely. The only ribbon I ever got as a kid was for actually building my pinewood derby car, that advanced to the finals of my heat, only to get its not existent doors blown off by my friend Doug, whose car broke the sound barrier that day. My car finished last, but I will say I was highly handicapped by my stepfather who couldn't help me, because he couldn't work a saw to save his life. As an adult, I began playing volleyball and fell in love with it. OK, to be honest, my first love was the beer we all drank after the games, but eventually, I got to be a decent player. Not good by any means, but passable. I was fortunate to play with very good players, who in turn helped me look less crappy. I was fortunate to be on these teams, that helped me earn my first trophy. Over the years, they helped me acquire several more trophies. Now, here is the pathetic part, I paid for my trophy. Oh I don't mean with my fees to the league, I mean the team I was on won a first place trophy and I was so desperate to have a trophy, that I took the one we won to a trophy making store and had them make me another one, so I could keep it. That was how badly I wanted one, and I got it. So I hope I have cleared that up. I have nothing against trophies and trying to win them, I just feel an award for academics or for volunteer work, is more valuable. Let me explain my view, and you can agree or disagree, and that's cool with me. The odds of a kid going pro in his favorite sport, are extremely low. That doesn't mean that a kid shouldn't continue to strive, or go for their dreams, but you might want to have a plan B, is all I'm saying. Mason, is not an athlete. He has played sports, and due to his asthma and his complete lack of desire to play sports, he hasn't exactly excelled. However, he is smart and has a heart of gold. So when he told me about winning the award, I was extremely proud of him and was glad to see a kid with little to no athletic ability, get recognition for doing something good. To me, an award for your character, is way better than an award for your physical ability. As I say that, I realize that I have never won an award for my character. I guess that shouldn't surprise me, but as I typed it, stung. That might be because there just aren't that many awards for character. Yeah, lets go with that.  That all being said, here is the letter we received from Mason's school.

Dear Parents/Guardians,

On behalf of the students and staff at Stilwell, we would like to thank your son for exhibiting the kind of positive behavior that helps to make Stiwell Junior High a great place to be.

Every month students from each team are nominated by staff members to be featured in the Celebrating Stiwell Students program.  Students receive a coupon for a free lunch or a la carte menu item in addition to having their photo and accomplishments posted in the display case at school.

Mason was nominated for this honor because he does an exemplary job of following Stilwell's 3 Cornerstones (do your best, do the right thing, and treat others the way you want to be treated).  He is very polite and respectful to all students and staff, turns in his work on time, tries his hardest at all times and much more.  Mason is a positive role model here at Stilwell.

We are very proud of Mason for receiving this recognition; it is greatly deserved.  We hope the experiences he has at Silwell continue to be positive ones.

Sincerely,

The E Team

Now that is a good letter to get regarding your kid.  I hope to see a bunch more like that.

Boo

Let's talk about haunted houses. Do you like them? I do not. Why you may ask? Well, I don't like to have the crap startled out of me. I won't say that I don't like to be scared, because I don't think Haunted houses are scary, they just try to startle you. And that, they are good at. It doesn't take much to startle me. In fact, I sometimes jump, and perhaps let out a little squeal, if I turn around too fast, only to find my wife standing there. Of course, I can't prove that she didn't just appear there, which would make my heart rate increase justifiable. I didn't hear her walk in, but then again, after years of concerts, most with a close proximity to speakers the size of townhomes, I don't have the best hearing anyway. I can remember the first haunted house I ever went too. I was living in Springfield, VA, and the haunted house was set up in a building with a lot of rooms down a hallway. Each door was set up too look like a jail cell door. As I came around a corner, I saw the jail cells and thought I would be smart and hug the back wall, away from the arms reaching out through the bars. As I slid my back against the opposite wall, I felt a hand grad my back and a scream. I'd like to think that the scream was from the now visible prisoner, but we all know that scream came from my 10 year old mouth. What I soon realized was, that the jail cell and prisoner I had tried so hard to avoid, was actually a mirrored reflection of the same prisoner that now had ahold of me. That was a dirty trick, one I would never forget. That gauntlet of reaching arms from 6 or 7 jail cells, emptied into a room with an assortment of bowls that you could put your hand in so you could feel what eyeballs, intestines and brains felt like. I later learned that the "eyeballs" were peeled grapes and God knows what the other two were. That trip made an impression on me. As I got older, I no longer feared the people in the houses, but I knew their ultimate goal was to make a grown man cry. I've also realized that I don't function well in the dark. I don't like to be in pitch black, that is why I pay my electric bill on time, every time. I'll go without water, I can pee in my backyard, but I will not go into my basement at night without lights, it's not natural. The last, and I do mean last, haunted house I was in was probably 20 years ago. I went with a group of friends, who for some unknown reason liked haunted houses, at a local grocery store that was known for their yearly scary basement. The trip started pretty well, I was on the lookout for the upcoming predictable jumping from behind the curtain, or arm grabbing me from behind a wall, but there were new obstacles that I hadn't encountered before. The first was, in that pitch black room I mentioned before, a room that seemed to have no exit. After a few minutes of feeling around the walls, and suddenly realizing that my friends were now all gone, I began to panic. Where had they gone? Did someone take them? Good, those assholes are the ones that brought me here and I don't want to be here anymore. As I contemplated balling up in the fetal position and whimpering myself to sleep, I heard one of those so called friends say "Mark, crawl." I yelled back, "That's what I was going to do." Well, I didn't want her to know that I almost gave up on life itself, merely because I was left alone in the dark for about 30 seconds. Now, on my hands and knees, I began to feel the wall at knee high, until I found the next portal to hell that my friends had all ready passed through. I found it, but soon realized that the crawl space was made for someone who is 4 foot 2 inches when standing, which I am not. I am 6 foot 4 inches, and crawling with that height, still makes me taller than whoever built this thing. So now I'm half crawling, half slithering in the dark, to the next section that I want nothing to do with. I keep moving, following the laughter of my friends who are obviously drunk or mentally unstable, for what seems like a mile. I hear my friends voices getting closer, so I know it's just a matter of time until I punch one of them in the face and claim it was an accident, in the dark. I finally bump into one of them, but something weird has happened. Apparently, the crawl space was only a few feet, but I continued to slither not knowing that I could stand up. As I smash into the calves of my friend, she says, "You can stand up now." Well isn't that helpful, thanks for the info. Now on this trip, I had been leading the line, not by choice, but by default, because I was the only guy. If they knew how nervous I was, I think I would have been stripped of my guy title and banished to the end of the line, which is the second worst place to be. After all, some of the scare people wait for the line to past, jump out in the back to scare you forward faster into the next trap. I was trampled many times because of this tactic. Since I'm now at the back of the line, I have a decision to make, do I stay back there, or do I whine my way back to the front. It's a lose, lose, situation, but I opt for the leader of the death march and work my way forward. We are in a hallway that is barely wide enough for one person, but a man determined can collapse his skeleton like a rat and get into spaces 1/4 his size. Now as the leader, I plug on, praying that we will soon be in a group of people complaining at how short this haunted house was for the money we paid. I'd be right there with them, vowing to NEVER come back to this waste of money, when in reality I would pay double if they would turn on the lights and come get me. It's still dark as night, and I have all ready smashed into so many walls trying to find my way through that I can barely see through my glasses that are now bent and smudged, partly from wayward fingers from other wall gropers and partly from the sweat that is forming on my fear riddled face. I'm moving along well, when my hand goes into a wall crevasse, and I feel a face. At this point, I'm not sure what to do. Do I acknowledge that I know he/she is there and possibly beg him/her not to scream at me, or do I just move on, knowing he will jump out at the end of the line, thereby causing my friends to rush forward pushing me right into the next scare position that will cause me to squeal like a girl, again. I go with the acknowledgement that I knew they were there, in hopes that they will just let us pass and wait for the next group. Yeah, that didn't happen. As soon as I revealed their hiding place, which apparently infuriated them, they screamed, scared the shit out of me and my friends STILL rushed forward, but instead of us getting away from this new scare person, now I'm in the arms of said person. This is no time to be romantic. I wiggle my way free and head off to the next section. The next section had what I would call a low beam. The 4 foot 2 inch person who built this death trap might think that it's just a low ceiling, but to a 6 foot 4 inch person, this is a head buster. I whacked my head on the padded beam nearly knocking myself out, but most certainly knocked myself backwards into the crowd of people that had formed behind me. I regained my footing, lowered my head and plowed forward, only to step on a soft squishy part of the path that caused me to tumble forward and fall to the ground, only to have the now panicked crowd trample me on their way out the exit into the night air. I'm alone, in the dark, in the haunted house, with scary people near me, but I don't know where. To say that I got the hell out of there, would be an under statement. I burst through the door, leaving the hellions behind, probably laughing at the big doofus who was battered nearly to death by his friends, and wonder why it smells a bit like urine on the squishy park of the trail. So as the ads start popping up in the newspaper, on the TV or on the radio, tempting you to plunk down your hard earned money to wander around in a haunted house, remember this. That place is flooded with urine and tears from people like me, and you my friend, just paid to walk in it.

Yes I'm back, you can all relax now.

Back by popular demand, or perhaps just a couple people inquiring about something completely unrelated, I have decided to try and start writing again. It has also been requested of me to post on my Facebook page when I do write, so they know when to come take a gander. That being said, let me put out a disclaimer for those of you that are visiting this site for the first time, drawn by my titillating Facebook post.


Disclaimer:
1. I am not a professional writer. I am a horrible speller and thank God everyday for the person who invented spell checker. I was not an English major is college, because I didn't go to college. Well, that isn't totally true, I took a college course for about 3 days when it hit me, I don't like school and I'm borderline retarded.

2. You will find slightly less than accurate grammar, punctuation and information on this blog. Please do not use this blog for your Masters Theses, you will fail and be banned from your school campus and website.

3. This blog has "colorful" language at times and isn't recommended for anyone over the age of 2 years old. If you are older than 2 years old, and still reading this, you're on your own. The writer of this blog and the whole Blogspot family, will not be held responsible for your hurt feelings or your offended nature, from something you read on this blog. Get over it, they're just words and you should take no offense to anything I say. I'm some random dude in the middle of America with 6 readers and no political aspirations, so this should never be a "skeleton" in my closet. I sometimes say "politically incorrect" things, see the word retarded in #1, so if you are sensitive to words, then read no further.

4. I do not feel that I'm better than anyone, so if you say to yourself, "This ass thinks he better than me," then you should stop reading my blog. You have missed the point. This is purely entertainment, mainly for me, but hopefully you get a laugh or two from something I have written, even if it's about you. I WILL point out my dumbass moves, as I will point out yours as well, if I see it. I will change the name to protect you so you don't get a visit from the FBI, CIA or any other letters. If your name was, say, Kevin, and I was telling a story about you, I would change your name to Kevine. That way, you stay anonymous and your feelings don't get hurt.

I'll leave it at that, see if I get any comments on the disclaimer, update if necessary, and publish the final draft. You will all be asked to sign a release, stating that you have read the disclaimer and will abide by its rules. Then I will have my lawyer draft up a contract and certify mail it to you. You will then need to get a notary to witness you signing the form and mail it back to me. I will then compile a list of "authorized" readers and post that as well. You then will be allowed to view, read and comment on all posts. Anything you say, can and will be used against you on a future post. Just kidding. Not really.

Now lets get started. Since my last post, I have gotten two years older, and no years wiser. I still do the same stupid things I did two years ago. I still drink too much Coke, although it is less. I still have a diet that should have killed me years ago, and see no chance that will change until they either pronounce me dead or tell me that if I eat one more cupcake, my head will explode. Even that might not remove cupcakes from the menu. I hate to admit it, but I had two cupcakes for breakfast the other day, and it was neither the first nor last time that has/will happen. Not proud of it, but if I'm anything, I'm honest about my poor choices. Now if you are friends with me on Facebook, then you know I saw a guy shit in the bushes the other day. I have written about it, spoke about it and even acted it out, up until the final act, I skipped that. You might be asking yourself, "What is the fascination with a grown man, dropping his pants in clear view of a major road, backing near a bush, and making dookie?" I'm glad you asked, because there is a very good reason for that. OK, maybe not a good reason, but a explainable reason. Really, not even an explainable reason, just a reason. That reason is, people fascinate me. Pure and simple, people amaze me at what they will say or do, right in front of other people, and think nothing of it. That is one thing I really like to write about, so be prepared for that. If you are a person that likes to say and do things that amaze people around you, be prepared for your name to show up here, Kevine.


It has been suggested of me that I should write a book. My take on that is, the only people who would read a book that I had written, would be my brothers and sisters and my other two avid readers. The problem with that is, since I would give all of my brothers and sisters signed, complimentary copies, that would leave my sales potential at 2 books. I'm pretty sure the money I would have to pay someone to correct my grammar, punctuation and just incoherent sentences, would be way higher than the amount of money I would make on sales of two books. I'll stick with the blog and see if I can get my readership up to five, then we will checkout the book writing potential and I can dream of ways to spend my new fortune of $.37.

Well my lunch is over, so I'm getting back to work. Here is a teaser on my next post. Haunted houses. Love them or hate then, they are coming on line now for the Halloween season and I've been to a few. Until next time....

So you think you had a bad day....

I know it has been a long time since I have posted, but to be honest, I didn't feel that my sleeping, eating, working and housework were interesting topics for you to read about. I just returned from a work related trip to Akron, Ohio, and as usual, shit happened to me that I thought I would share. First up, my flight from Des Moines to Chicago. The plane had two seats on each side of the aisle, unlike my normal plane which has one seat on one side and two seats on the other. I love these planes, if I can get on the single side, so I don't have to deal with a seat mate. Why you may ask? I'm sure when you travel, you end up with a super model, GQ stud or just a fascinating person sitting next to you, so you can chat the time away and arrive at your destination before you even knew you took off. That isn't my luck. I am constantly being seated to the oddest people that happen to inhabit this earth. Don't take this as "I'm better than they are" kind of attitude. I've never felt I was ever better than anyone. Perhaps it's a low self esteem or perhaps it was my upbringing of accepting everyone for who they are, regardless of their quirks. That being said, we board the plane and a lady who appeared to be in her 50's sat next to me. Now my goal when I fly is to get my headphones on as soon as I can, get my book out and get into my own relaxing zone. As soon as the flight attendant said you may resume using electronic devices, I stuffed the ear buds in and cranked some Skillet. The lady next to me decided it was time to break out the snack buffet she had packed in her carry-on. The variety of her selection was amazing. There were all sorts of bags to be opened, and un-fortunately, all kids of smells for me to inhale. I tried to take a peek to see just what exactly would be the item/smell that would cause me to vomit, but I neither recognized the food or was able to read any of the labels. Some of the items appeared to be some sort of nut, and others appeared to be dead sea creatures. I'm guessing that was what was making the smell. She actually offered me a chocolate, which I declined. Now I'm getting into my music and book, but realize that my leg is being peppered with nut/sea creature escapee's from her mouth and hand. Most were hitting my leg and bouncing to the floor, but several were just sitting on my leg. Now I'm not interested in her getting the food off my leg, but I don't want it on there either. I decided to "shift" in my seat and send the offending droppings onto the floor. So I did. Out of the corner of my eye, I see this woman is kind of, twitching. Not in a being electrocuted way, but enough that I was beginning to be concerned. I could hear through my ear buds that she was making some noises as well. I kept an eye on her, in case she decided to pass out or start really freaking out, but after a few minutes, everything calmed down and I wasn't forced to rear naked choke her out of my misery. You know I watch MMA and have wanted to try a few moves I've seen without the possibility of getting my ass kicked, and I think I could take her. I'm pretty sure I could. But alas, I was still unable to break out the moves and she quietly got her book, something about how to freak strangers out, but I could have read that wrong. The rest of the trip was uneventful, except that my bag decided to stay in Chicago for awhile as I continued on to Akron. It is a lonely feeling when everyone gets their bag and walks away and there you stand with nothing. I filed my missing bag claim and headed to my hotel. Now I love staying in hotels, but like everyone, I'm always concerned if my room is actually clean or not. As I looked around for a power outlet for my computer, my search lead me to behind the couch. Now I know what is behind my couch when I pull it out, but I assumed a hotel couch would be a bit better. I was wrong. Some if the things I saw back there were coffee creamer lids, a straw, and this sweet number.

I know I didn't need to put it on for you, but who could resist. I'm not sure if this vest belonged to a hotel worker who decided to take a little break with a maid and my room was the love nest, or if this was a honeymoon room and the clothes went a flying. There was a pair of socks back there as well, but I decided that the vest was as far as I was willing to go. I can not explain the dumbass grin on my face in the picture, or completely explain my awkward gaze straight ahead, instead of at the camera. You may have seen it posted on Facebook, but the view from my room is well worth a second look.

My week in Akron was one of the most exhausting visits I have made while working for my company. I know I'm getting old, but the amount of walking and climbing was a bit more than normal. I'm lucky that I work with fantastic people and everyone works hard to get the job done, so you never feel like you are pulling more of the load than everyone else. Gee, I hope they feel the same way about me:) My trip was over, so it was time to head home, again through Chicago. On my layover in Chicago, I found a gate in the far corner of the airport where I could again, put in my headphones and maybe get a short nap before I had to get to my gate for the final leg of my trip home. As I sat there and started to drift off, I heard a muffled sound that I wasn't sure what it was. I tried to ignore it, but it was consistent and getting louder, so I pulled an ear bud out to see if I could figure out what it was. As soon as I pulled the bud out, I knew it was someone crying. I listened as the woman continued to sob. I was trying to figure out what the issue was, was she apprehensive about the flight? She was about 2 feet away from me and talking on her cell phone. It has now been several minutes and it has become clear to me that she is alone and very upset about something that was just relayed on the phone. She kept saying "No, no no" and now my curiosity was peaked. She got off the phone, but her breathing had me concerned that she was going to pass out. Have you ever seen something going on, and you want to help or offer assistance, but not sure how or if you should? That was where I was at this point. As I debated as to whether I should approach her, two women saw her crying and did it for me. I heard them ask if she was ok, and I heard the four words no parent ever wants to say. "My daughter just died." Oh my God, I just heard a woman I don't know, utter her worst nightmare. I was stunned. My first reaction was to yell out "No" right along with her, but I certainly didn't want to draw anymore attention to this poor woman than she all ready had. I heard the ladies ask her what happened and she said, "I don't know, my mom just called and said she was dead." My first thought was, why would you call someone who was on their way home and give them this horrible news while they are among strangers and far from home. But the more I thought about it, I realized that maybe the mom was in shock as well, and never thought that the news could or should wait until she landed at home. Then one of my co-workers pointed out, that since Facebook and Twitter have become such a "I want to be the first to break the news" kind of thing, that someone who knew might have posted the news and this poor lady would have to read it on a "Friends" wall. I guess we can all say how we would have done things, but there is no good way. There isn't a way that will make it any less painful. As I sat there in that terminal, so far away from my three boys and longing to give them a big hug, I felt helpless. I couldn't help this lady and I couldn't squelch my own sadness by holding on to the three things that mean the most to me in this whole world. I felt like my plane would never get there for me to get on and get home. I choked back tears, for her and for my fear that I might get that call some day as well. We've all been in those near accidents where you know if something just a bit different happened, you might not be reading this. Or you might be without one that you love. That all came crashing down on me that afternoon and I couldn't get home fast enough. We can't keep our kids safe all of the time. And we can't keep an eye on them 100% of the time they are awake. So what do we do? Well, we teach them to stay out of the street and not to talk to strangers. We tell them not to eat stuff they find in the street and to choose their friends carefully. We tell them to do well in school and say no to drugs, We tell them to wear their seat belts and to not throw rocks or sharp objects at their brothers. But the most important thing we tell them is that we love them and the things we make them do or won't allow them to do, isn't because we are trying to be mean. No, quite the opposite. I do the things I do because I love you so much, that my heart breaks just thinking about you not being in my life. And if that makes me over protective, or paranoid, then so be it. I'm not willing to take that chance, that I will receive a phone call, in an airport, that my life has just changed for the worse, and there is nothing you can do to change that. If you have kids, give them a hug, tell them you love them, and turn off your phone.

I need a sleep numer bike seat.

So if you are friends with me on Facebook, then you know the basic part of this first story. Lets rehash and add some details. The big fourth grade bike ride is fast approaching. I was unable to go last year, but promised Makiah that this year, I would go with him. Now I use to be a big bike rider. Not fat, that is the kind of big rider I am now, but back in the day, I rode all of the the time. So as the 20 mile ride approaches, I decided that we needed to get some miles under our belts, or more to the point, under my ass. You see, the miles on the bike are little concern for my legs, but a huge concern for my ass. We decided to take the whole family to a local lake and ride around. Its a 3.2 mile trail around the lake, a great ride with lots of animals to see and places to stop and hike. At one such place, we usually stop and have a drink of water. The boys wanted to hike up a trail that runs away from the lake, so we let them head out. After a few minutes, I couldn't see them anymore, so I started to whistle for them. My kids know, you hear dad's whistle, its time to come home. After I whistled, and then didn't see them, I whistled again. And again. And again. After realizing that this was not working, I headed down the trail to find them. This trail runs for several miles along a river and the kids LOVE to play along this river. After hiking about a quarter of a mile and still not seeing them, and they weren't responding to my whistles, I started to get a little concerned. I decided that I need to get my bike, a quarter of a mile back, and go looking for them. I sprinted, okay, sprinted is a stretch, but I ran back sort of quickly, to where my bike was. I told Marcy to stay there in case they circled back. I got my cell phone and headed out down the trail in search of three soon to be in trouble boys. Now this trail is about 4 inches wide and goes through the woods in a most dangerous way. That "way", is down gulleys, over fallen trees, under leaning trees and along the river. At one point, the trail runs right up to a 20 foot drop off, right to the river. I was a bit concerned at this point, and searched the river to be sure we didn't have three swimmers. Feeling confident that they hadn't taken the plunge, I continued down the trail. Now there are forks in the trail, and I'm not 100% sure I'm on the right trail. My thought was to continue on the "biggest" trail, which means the 4 inch wide trail and not the 3 inch wide trails that broke off every so often. Now I'm flying down this trail as fast as I can, ducking under leaning tress that I pray won't scrape my back as I slide under. I go from full speed to a complete stop so I can lift my bike over the fallen trees. As you can imagine, I'm getting a little worried that my boys might be a bit more lost than I had originally thought. As I squeeze between two trees, the handle bars of my bike hit one of the trees and toss me into the tree. I wasn't hurt too bad, but my $75 bike from Target was not built for such rude treatment. As I gather myself so I can continue my search, I realize that my handle bars are no longer in their helpful position, and have now been relocated to my knees. This turn of events is not welcome, when you are trying to race through the woods. I prop them up as best I can and head off. In the distance, I see movement. Is it another deer, like the one I whizzed past a half mile back? No, it is three soon to be grounded boys, still running down the trail. At this point, we are a good mile and a half to two miles from the trail head, and I'm pissed, and completely out of breath. Now I have to whistle. My first attempt is weak and not nearly loud enough for them to hear me. In my head, I think, "You better whistle loud, or you are going to have to continue this death race down this trail." I let out a whopper, and they hear me. They start heading back towards me, so I take this time to try and catch my breath. After all, it will be really hard to yell at them if I'm passed out on the ground. They make it to me, show me the toad they caught, and seem totally oblivious to the fact that they are nearly in another state, with their mother extremely worried a few miles back. I call her, let her know I found them, but that all three might not make it back. They described the fun they had on their little trip, and I couldn't even be mad. I was so happy I found them without having to call in a search party, that my only question to them was, "Do you know how far down this trail you are?" They did not. Now I have to push my busted bike back to the main trail and ride back to the truck with my handle bars resting on my knees. I can't describe the relief I felt when I finally got them back into my sight. The boys actually were upset that I made them turn around, and ended their "adventure." Sue me.

Things I've learned, or figured out.

A few things I have learned recently.

1. I suck at NCAA pools. I've tried for years to win a pool, but have never been successful. I don't get to watch much NCAA basketball anymore, but it doesn't matter. Even when I was watching a ton a games, I sucked. I tried again this year and titled my entry "Guessing." Because that is what I do, guess. I'm glad I'm not a gambler, because we would be broke, or should I say brokER.

2. I learned that your kids do model what you do, and whether that is good or bad, is up to you. I figured this out the other day, when a family from the kids school, lost their house in a fire. The school was having a fundraiser at school and then a group that Mason is in was going to go shopping to buy items for the family. I told Mason the story, but before I could ask him if he wanted to be part of the shopping trip, he had jumped over the couch and grabbed his wallet. I asked him what he was doing and he said he wanted to help. Couldn't have been prouder. I was shocked at his exuberance, but not surprised in his heart.

3. I'm old, my body hurts, period.

4. I rule the street in basketball. If you saw my Facebook post, you all ready know. Yes, the next tallest opponent is 3 feet shorter than me. Yes, my arms are as long as they are tall. Yes, the oldest competitor, besides me, is seven. All that said, I dominate them. The first game was four of them against me, still won. Don't mess with the kid, I'll knock the Snoopy off your shirt and dunk over you like Michael Jordan over Spud Webb. That reference probably means nothing to most of you, lets say like Big Bird over Ernie. You got the picture.

5. I recently got my first smart phone. I knew I would like it, but had no idea just how much. I use mine when I'm working in the yard to listen to my favorite radio station, or Pandora radio for my favorite music or comedians. I can check Facebook anytime I want and even take pictures and post them right away. I know this isn't news to you that you can do these things, but now I can actually do them. I'm now trying to learn just how much usage 5G is. I used the online calculator to try to figure what my usage would be, before I switched from Verizon to US Cellular, but it was way off and I'm actually using less than I figured. If only Verizon would have had a desire to keep me as a customer, I would still be with them, but they seemed to not care that I was leaving. That's ok, I'm loving US Cellular so far.

6. I still hate snakes. My yard is over run with garter snakes. Maybe "over run" is a bit over stated, but I found 3 in one day and I think 1 is waaaaay too many. I know they are harmless, but the way they move and how they can disappear into a small hole like a rat, just makes me queasy. My kids and the neighbor kids are catching them so I'm thinking about paying a bounty for them. They catch them and not kill them, then haul them down the street to the creek, and I'll pay $5 a snake. I'd pay twice that, but these are kids, so my low ball offer will be snatched up in a heartbeat.

That's my lost for now, I'll update when I figure out something new.

Hello? Anybody out there?

Has it really been that long since I posted last? Wow, I'm either really busy or I had absolutely nothing to say. Truth is, a little bit of both. My life is a constant train of waking, working, washing and sleep. All of my free time is spent doing homework, cooking meals and cleaning a house that could be compared to a frat house in the cleanliness category. The best part is when I have a moment to myself, to do what I want to do. I last got to do that in 1997 and I long for that experience again, some day. With Marcy working odd hours and working on her Masters, there is little time for me to go off on my own, or spend time with her. I hope to teach the boys to get their degrees before they start a family, it seems that would be much easier. I'm not sure how she is able to write all the papers, work her jobs and travel out of state every week. Hopefully some things will get easier for her soon.

Since my last posting, not much has happened in my life. I don't get out of the house, so I haven't had the opportunity to observe the people that amusing me the most. I did have an interesting sighting at the library the other day. It seems one fellow decided to hop out of bed, and head to the library for a new read. Why bother to change out of your jammies? Why comb your hair? Shoes? Who needs them. This may sound like a tall tale, but it is all true. Dude was wearing what I would describe as pj bottoms, his hair was smashed and sticking up and he was shoeless. I first thought that he must have kicked them off when he arrived,, to keep the carpet nice I would guess, and spent the rest of the morning spreading his toe jam around for everyone to enjoy. But I saw him sit down with his pile of "stuff" that was sitting on the floor, including his computer, backpack and a pile of books, and there were no shoes to be found. Perhaps they were in the backpack, but my vote would be to just put them on and save us all the wondering.

My work travel starts up again next month, so hopefully I will again have a life worth writing about. Then again, you all may have given up on me ever writting again, and this is falling on deaf ears. I don't blame you, I about gave up on me ever writing again as well.

I know, I know.

First, let me start out by saying, I'm pathetic. I'm a simple, boring, childish man. I know this for one simple reason, and that is because I'm going to write about White Castle, again. I am now in Chicago, staying at a hotel I stayed at 2 years ago. This year, there is one important difference. That difference is, I did a search to find the closest White Castle to this hotel, and was happy to learn there is one .8 miles away. I all ready ate there and had only been in town for one hour. I think that because 5 of the past 10 posts have mentioned the WC, I have a problem. There would be no issue if I planned all trips around a disc golf course, which I love to play, but that I work everything around a fast food restaurant, is both sad and probably dangerous. I'm all ready not skinny, so these frequent trips to a place that is not only unhealthy, but also reeks havoc on my gastrointestinal track, is a sad state of my life. Will I change anything regarding this scary obsession? Not likely.

I decided to drive here, about 5 hours, instead of flying so I could avoid 2 airports, security and being trapped in a tube with sick people. It never fails that I end up sitting next to Carol Cough on every flight. My last trip from Akron, was finished off with a 45 minute flight next to a lady that sneezed and coughed the whole flight. I was kind of hoping those little masks would drop out of the bulkhead so I could breath some fresh air, but no luck. I'm not a nosey person, but I watched as this lady took breaks from her germathon to circle and highlight damn near an entire book. She kept underlining and circling and writing all over the book she was reading. At some point, don't you just give up on highlighting the entire book, and just say "The whole book is important." I hope it was her book or the next person to try and read it, will be confused and distracted.

While traveling by plane, I really like to people watch. It's one of the reasons I don't mind getting to the airport a little early. If you keep your eyes open, you can see alot. Here are a few things I remember from my travels over the past two months.

I heard a dad in the Houston airport, tell his kid that jet lag would go away in a few minutes. I'm not sure if he has no idea what jet lag is, or if he was just trying to calm his son.

I heard the same kid that was being duped by his father on the jet lag thing, call his brother a "Fucker" on two occasions. The kid was maybe 12 years old.

I listened to two ladies, probably in their 40's, try to figure out Angry Birds on their phone. It was funny to hear them discuss the strategy in flinging the birds, but they were way off. It was hard to listen to them, and not run over and take the phone away and show them how you REALLY do it.

A guy got on the plane in Houston and was so drunk, they tossed him from the plane. I knew he was in trouble when the medical staff came on board and asked him where he was, and he said Des Moines. Oooops. That is your destination, not your current location.

As I sat in one of my planes, waiting to taxi, it began to snow inside the plane. No lie, there were flakes of snow blowing out of the air conditioner and started to accumulate on my leg. Maybe it never got measurable, but still, it shouldn't be snowing inside.

One flight had the flight attendant slamming the overhead door 10 to 12 times, because it wouldn't latch. That's fun when it is right by your head and she decides she is determined to get this thing to close, but this method only. Not move things that might be blocking or check to see if the latching mechanism is stuck, no, lets just whack-a-mole this thing until it stays shut or falls off the hinges. It finally shut.

Question. When did flight attendants stop being friendly? I remember as a kid, flight attendants were nice, helpful and always had a smile. Today's flight attendants don't smile, seem to all hate their jobs and act like everyone on the plane is 2 seconds away from snapping and tossing their complimentary Coke right in their face. Can we crack a smile, or say something that is sincere and not the canned "Bubbye, bubbye, bubbye"? (I'm not sure how to punctuate that sentence, since the last bubbye isn't a question, so I put the question mark on the outside of the quotes, but that doesn't look right. Please pray for my kids, dad will surely get them an F in English class.)

And my favorite story from the airport, involved this couple:

I saw this couple in the Houston while I was waiting for my flight back to Des Moines. What caught my attention was, firstly, they looked so cute. So nicely dressed and both looked so sweet I just wanted to give them both a hug. I learned my lesson last time, unsolicited hugs in an airport gets you a visit with the TSA. I tried to explain that a hug is not the same as a bomb in your underwear, but they weren't hearing it. I watched as Dorthy pulled out a bag and began to divide the contents inside between the two of them. There were two sandwiches, a bag of apple slices and some cheese. I watched as they shared their lunch together and again, wanted to give them both a hug. I know her name was Dorthy, because it was hand written on the bag they were eating out of. As they ate, they whispered to each other and he was obviously funny, because she giggled repeatedly and he smiled, knowing he still had it. Again, my mind is screaming to run over and hug them. Finally, Dorthy noticed that I was watching them and said to me, "Stop staring at us, you fucking pervert!" So sweet. But I decided against the hug.

OK, maybe she didn't say anything to me, but I so wanted to hear a second old lady cuss that I almost coaxed it out of her. Honestly, I got a warm feeling in my heart as I watched them. I imagined that they have probably been married for years, and obviously still love each other. It made my day. I hope that when I'm there age, which doesn't seem to be that far off, that Marcy and I will look that cute, as we board a plane for destinations unknown. Mainly because my mind will be numb by then and I will have no idea where I am going. Maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

Hey granny, watch your mouth.

When I travel, I love to watch the people. I’m always fascinated to see what people will try to get through the security check. In LA a few years back, the TSA people were very interested in what a lady had in her bag, so I watched as they opened it and pulled enough electronics to open a Radio Shack, including one of those old fax machines with a phone receiver on the side. Not sure why that material couldn’t be shipped, or checked in with her other luggage, but it amused me. Almost every time I travel, I see someone get busted trying to get a bottle of water through. Even with 30 signs and recorded voice messages blaring every five minutes throughout the airport, they feel this rule doesn’t apply to them. Today, the lady in front of me INSISTED she didn’t have a bottle of water that they just saw on the x-ray. They started pulling her bag apart and showed it to her. She claims she didn’t know how it got in there. OK, is this one of the people we need to go over the “Did someone, other than you, pack your bag?” I always thought that was a stupid question, but now I want this lady pulled aside and strip searched, just to be sure she doesn’t have any explosives she “didn’t know about.”
My favorite thing from today was when the airport personnel wheeled a little old lady to the terminal and parked her just across from me. She appeared to be in her 80’s. She tried to strike up a conversation with a lady sitting near her, but the lady said she spoke very little English, just French. That didn’t stop grandma from continuing her conversation with Frenchy. Grandma said, and I quote, ”This is the first time they let me leave my shoes on at security. They usually make me take them off and they are a bitch to put back on.” Now maybe your grandma cusses, but mine didn’t, so I damn near shit myself when I heard her. My grandmas were very sweet and proper and I don’t think I ever heard either of them say anything stronger than “shoot.” This little tidbit made my whole trip.

I usually roam through the gift shop of every airport I’m in, if I have time. That includes the Des Moines airport, as I leave. I’m usually at the airport way too early, paranoid I will miss my flight, so time is rarely an issue. Today I watched as a man, probably in his 60’s, moved every black cover from the dirty magazines so he could sneak a peek. He didn’t choose one, but that would have made a good photo if I could have got him to pose with it. I always buy a Coke after the security checkpoint, since they find the bottle I’m trying to sneak in every time. The rules shouldn’t apply to my precious Coke.

The last couple of times I have flown out of DSM, I went out of the B terminal, but today I got to depart from the A terminal, which was recently redone. I think they did a pretty good job. They added a bunch of chairs that have power outlets built in. They have network USB outlets as well, but I’m not risking my work computer by trying it out. Not sure what it does, but curiosity is not going to kill this cat. I looked to see if they had free wireless, but no go. I did find a “Hotspot” that was unsecure and thought about trying to connect, but I’m too chicken.

It’s was a beautiful day in Des Moines, sunny and in the 40’s, which is fine by me. It was a little windy, so my hair was a mess by the time I got to the terminal. I forgot that the DSM airport is also in the midst of a major redo in other parts, so now they have a second floor enclosed walkway to get from the parking garage to the terminal. Now it won’t be nearly as cold getting inside during the winter. I have to say, for a small airport, it is really nice. If I had to compare to the other airports that I have been in, to this one, DSM would be in my top 5. Another nice one is the Minneapolis airport, which I was in a few years back. The other airports I was in today were Chicago and Akron/Canton. Yes, I’m in Akron Ohio, don’t be jealous. It’s rainy and cold here and the temps are supposed to be lower than at home. That sucks, would like to be home on the nice days. I’m only here for a few days, so I better soak up Ohio.

Father of the Year, and other crap.

I told this story to my sister-in-law the other day, and she felt it was worthy of a post, so here it is.

Makiah is really into playing football right now. He plays with his friends every day after school. He loves to go in the front yard and play catch, so we do it often. The neighbor kids come up and I'm throwing the ball to 5 kids, who are knocking each other out to get the ball. They play during recess at school, so one of the neighbor kids took his ball to school. I happen to be picking the kids up from school that day, all three of mine and the three neighbor kids. While I'm on the playground, waiting for all six to show up, Makiah gets the football and wants me to throw it too him. He takes off across the playground, and I do the typical guy thing, and have him go deep. I can throw it far, right? He runs about 20 yards out and I give the ball a chuck, and drill him right in the eye. Now he is trying to not cry, all the while holding his eye and walking back to me. He holds back the tears, and we load up the van and head home. He thinks he needs an ice pack, but I distract him with the promise to play catch in the front yard. We head out, the neighbor kids show up, and we start to play again. It's a lot of fun, and the game is going well, until I plunk him in the eye again. Again he holds back the tears, but if he ever goes blind in one eye, you might be able to look back on that day as the cause. My Father of the Year award has been put on hold.

Just to prove that I will point out my own dipshit moves, as well as those around me, I will share one of my biggest dumbass moves in quite awhile. I went to lunch with a few coworkers on Friday, and one of them drove. I volunteered to ride in the backseat of his truck. It is usually difficult for me to ride in backseats because of my long legs, but I seem to always end up in the front, so I figured it was my turn. When we arrived at the restaurant, I was trying to figure out how to pry myself out of the truck and knew I needed leverage. I grabbed the door jamb and started to pull myself out, when the front seat rider closed his door, which shared the same jamb I'm currently using. Yes, now my hand has been slammed in the door. I think I yelped like a beaten puppy, but I can't say for sure. I tried to pull my fingers out of the bear trap, but nothing. I have now began my "My fingers are in the door" cry, which my front seat mate hears and begins to pull frantically on the door, which is locked. The driver has begun his walk into the restaurant, keys in his pocket, when he hears the front seat guy yell to unlock the door. The driver is fumbling for his keys and not really sure why, so I reach into the front seat to free myself. I try to grab the lock to manually undo it, but it's one of the new cars that when locked, the knob is virtually inside the door. This makes it hard for a thief to use a coat hanger to unlock, but when you are an idiot with your fingers slammed in a door, it's a bit frustrating. I'm able to get enough of a grip on the lock, lift it and my front seat mate finally releases the metal death grip on my phalanges. From the get go, I didn't think anything was broken, and I still don't, but the "bad finger" is purple and sore. The other fingers had deep grooves on them on Friday, but they all seem fine now. I felt like a 5 year old, getting their fingers closed in a door, which I have seen. The difference? Their fingers are small and their bones aren't brittle. I got lucky.

Houston, we have a, well, a sight.

So here I sit in my luxury Hilton Hotel room, eating my room service pizza and watching Sunday night football. There are no kids, so it is quiet. Marcy isn't here, so the thermostat is set at 65 degrees, and I'm considering moving it down to 63 degrees. Do I like to travel? Yes and no. Yes, because of the things above, but no cause I actually miss my family. And, because I like to go into work. I keep caught up on my work and I like my co-workers. The main thing I like about my work trips is, I get to meet the people I normally work with via email and phone, in person. I get to get my hands on my inventory, so I can be certain that all is good in the world. Most people complain about the travel part, but I have been pretty lucky. I did miss a connecting flight in St. Louis once, the last flight to Des Moines for the evening, and had to drive home at 3am. That wasn't fun. I have never lost my luggage, knock on wood, and haven't been bumped and my plane has never crashed. What I have gotten, is entertainment.

My trip started off at the kiosk you now have to use to check in to your flight, since there are only 3 people working in the entire Des Moines airport, they typically focus on fueling up the planes and throwing luggage around. When I got to the kiosk, there was a couple, man and woman, who were traveling together, but were each at a different kiosk. I waited as they struggled to figure it out. I was about to push them out of the way, but the lady finally gave up and let me go, while the guy raised his hand like he was in kindergarten and the teacher was going to ask him what he needed. I checked my bag and got the heck out of there before he started looking over my shoulder to see how to work the dang thing. DON'T CHEAT! Figure it out on your own. I got up to security, which in Des Moines, is typically a 10 to 20 minute process, but usually 10. They only had one line open so we were headed for a 20 minute line, when a miracle happened, they opened a second line. Wow, that was a first. The people in front of me poured to the new line, so when it came to me, I had to decide, move to the new line or stick with the old one. I chose old one. Wrong choice. Not because the line was slow, but the lady in front of me was showing me parts of her anatomy I didn't need to see. When I got into the line, she was wearing a coat, like a suit coat. I was busy taking my shoes off when she removed the coat, so I missed the tease part of the strip tease. When I looked up, I saw that this lady, who was a bit overweight, had removed the coat and was wearing a "shirt" that didn't have a back. It had like straps that were holding it "closed" but there was a ton of skin. How do I say this? She had back boobs. I hope I'm not breaking any news to you, but if you get overweight, you can develop boobs, on your back. They aren't real boobs, so I don't think she was breaking any laws, but wow, that is a shocker to look up to. Who the hell wears a shirt with no back, let alone on a plane? People watching is my favorite thing to do at an airport. What people choose to wear, fascinates me.

My flight is on time, so we board. I have to almost crawl to get in this tiny plane, but I find my seat and sit down, just as my window mate shows up so I have to get back up and bang my head on the roof again. Flight takes off, seat belt light goes off and my seat mate has to pee. I let him out, cram my legs back into my seat and wait for him to get back. I pry myself out of the seat to allow him back in, then squeeze back into my seat. About 10 minutes later, he decides he needs something out of the overhead, so we go through the routine again. It's a 2 hour flight dude, get the shit you need and sit down. No upsie downsie. The other problem with these tiny planes, the dude next to me was about my height, so we played footsie all the way to Houston and his hairy ass arm was hogging the arm rest. This plane has 2 seats on one side and one seat on the other. I try to get the one seat whenever I can, but couldn't on this trip. On my flight back, I have the single seat.

Before you take off, the flight attendant always gives you the safety speech. I stopped listening to it years ago. I think I know what to do. If the mask drops, scream "we are all going to die," remove your seat belt and proceed to run up and down the aisle ripping all the masks out. I might have mis-understood the directions, but that is the gist of it. I'm not listening to the lady today, but out of the corner of my ear (is that a saying?) I thought I heard her say something about asparagus. Surely she didn't, but maybe she was trying to see if ANYONE was listening. There was no reaction from the rest of the plane, so she either didn't say it, or nobody was listening.

When I travel, I try to dress to be comfortable. I watched a show years ago that said you should always wear long pants and tennis shoes on planes. The long pants protect your legs if there is an accident and the tennis shoes so you can do wind sprints on the movable sidewalk that is in so many airports now. OK, that isn't right, it's actually because a sandal exposes your toes, if there is an accident, and flip flops can come off and if you have to run over fiery wreckage once you have been de-flip flopped, it can hurt. All of this is to cover your ass on a worse case scenario, but jeans and tennis shoes is how I want to dress anyway. Since the weather in Houston is in the 90's, I wore short sleeves. I also don't get could easily, so I'm usually good. A lady who sat two rows up from me, apparently, doesn't have the same temperature tolerance that I do. She was wearing a stocking cap that looked like one of those sock monkeys. It was pulled down over her ears and it was hilarious. Looked like she was heading to Alaska in February.

When we got to Houston, I was waiting for my luggage when I watched a guy grab a suitcase and moved it a bit, so he could get the handle of his suitcase. A guy right behind him, angerly told him not to touch his suitcase, seeing as the case that guy one touched, was guy two's. It seemed a little harsh, seeing as how guy one didn't chuck the case across the airport, he barely moved it. I guess travel makes some people a bit edgy.

I had a little luck on my side as well. I was standing in line for a cab to go to the hotel, when a van pulled up with one of those scrolleing message boards on the side that listed my hotel. I knew my hotel had a shuttle, but when I tried to call from the booth, I sat on the phone for 5 minutes and nobody ever picked up. I decided to take a cab, until this little miracle pulled up. I checked with the guy, he said he did go to my hotel, so I skipped the long taxi line. I'm glad I was able to find the shuttle, my hotel was farther than I thought and it saved my company some money.

All in all, a good trip. I'm off to my warehouse in the morning and will probably sweat like crazy in the 90 degree, un-airconditioned, Texas warehouse, so wish me luck.

Random pictures, hilarious comments

I always new there was a reason I had three kids. Now don't get me wrong, I love the them, but normally, they spend most of their days at home making messes. Their idea of cleaning them up, isn't on the same scale as mine, but they try, sort of. The reason I had kids? So someday, they can do the jobs around the house that I don't really want to do. That is why my parents had me, but as a kid, I never really appreciated all that they did, so I never quite got the whole having kids thing. I thought they were lazy, turns out they were just smart. My kids aren't very old, but they are just old enough to think helping daddy around the house is fun. I'll milk this until they are fully trained, then BAM! it's their job. My plan is moving along just swell. Here is Makiah mowing the grass.

You can see that he appears to be struggling, which he was. I keep cheering him on, and pulling the mower back into line. It seems that when you push with all your might, you tend to lean to your strong side. The lines in the yard aren't exactly straight, but if you look closely, half of the grass is dormant, so whatever. I didn't take very good care of the grass this year, so it's a bit weedy and a lot dry. Hey, Iowa is the Alaskan tundra in the winter and the Arizona desert in the summer. Just so Makiah didn't feel like he was having all the fun, I had Max working as well.

This is our pool, that he is power washing the mud off the bottom so I can roll it up and put it in the garage for the winter. Then, next spring, I will roll it back out and spend several hours looking for holes that happened when we power washed it and rolled it up. WTF! Mason hasn't exactly jumped on the bandwagon yet, but I'm dreaming up some jobs for him.

I found this picture from earlier this summer.

Now this picture cracks me up. Mason is holding my BB pistol and Makiah is holding my Red Ryder, single pump, BB rifle, the same gun from A Christmas Story. I have not shot my eye out, but the kids will at some point and Marcy will give me the "I told you so" speech. Bring it. I'm working with them on gun safety, with guns that probably won't kill them if they break a rule. Since both guns are single pump, that means two things. One, they can't pump either one of them, so I have to do it, so I always know when we are live. Two, since they are both single pump, not a lot of power. We shoot cans in the backyard, with my wood privacy fence behind the cans to stop the strays. The first time we ever shot them, two summers ago, Makiah was a dead eye. He hit the cans with every pull of the trigger. The cans were about 30 feet away, so not bad for his first attempt. This year, his eye is no longer dead. We could have thrown a handful of BB's and had the same result. Oh well, they haven't shot me or each other, or an animal, so we are good.

I found this shot that I took as I passed a car on the way home.

If you see that white dot, just to the bottom left of the gas door, that is her gas cap dangling there. Not sure why I thought this was funny but I did, and do. Maybe because I have never done it. I never lost a gas cap, when they weren't attached, back in the day. Now that I've said that, this will happen to me. There appears to be something under the wheel as well, but I'm not sure what it was. I would have gotten a better look, but I hadn't looked at the road in a few minutes trying to get this shot, so I thought I might take a gander at where I was in the traffic. Safety first.

Another shot happened near my office.

This is probably hard to see, but it is burned into my brain, so let me describe. This truck is all decked out. It has the huge CB antenna. It has large wheels. It has fricking smoke stacks on both sides of the cab. It sounds like across between a Harley motorcycle and a funny car. A deep rumble. Then, to top it off, it has a Rascal Scooter strapped to the back. Hilarious. At least if his truck breaks down, he can continue his trip and a whopping 3 1/2 mph.

And finally, I took this picture on my last trip to White Castle and was going to sign off my last post about the WC with it. Well I forgot, so let me sign off this post, with a very sad shot.

That was close!

Have you ever had something that shook you, and I mean shook you to your core? Well I had that happen to me last Sunday. Marcy works with a lady who lives on an apple orchard. They have about 1000 trees on their property, but don't pick or sell the apples. I got the impression that they have a lot of family and friends that come out and pick them, but they must leave a bunch that just don't get eaten. It was Sunday morning, and we decided to head to the orchard to pick some. Now the weather outside was frightful, OK, not frightful but as I was typing the first part of that sentence, the song just jumped in. It was a cloudy day, appeared to want to rain, but we were determined to get a bunch of apples, the rain be damned. We found the orchard, about 10 minutes from our house, and hit the trees to get our bounty. It started to sprinkle, but what I've always tried to teach the boys is, a little rain won't hurt you, it's the lightning that will sting a bit. There were apples every where. I tried to convince the boys, that just because the apples were low enough on the tree that they could reach them, didn't mean they needed to be picked. The first bunch of apples picked were the size of golf balls. I reminded them, the bigger the better. (glad I said it and not Marcy) They started passing on the golf balls, and started picking reasonable apples. Then we went over the condition of the apple. "Don't put an apple that is half rotten in with the other apples," I said. All three boys had either a bag or bucket to carry their treasure, and they were starting to fill up, well, some were. After walking around for about 15 minutes, I noticed that Mason had one lonely apple in his bag. I asked him why he only had one, and he said it was perfect, and he was only picking perfect apples. I wished him luck. The friend of Marcy's said that there were bigger apples on the other side of the road, so we headed over there, and she was right. As we crossed the road, the rain picked up. We were all ready soaked, so why stop now. After just a few minutes looking for bigger apples, it happened. My memory is a little foggy, but what I remember is a flash of light. Not from a flashlight, or from a camera, but more like the sun just landed in a farm field in Iowa. It was bright. That scared me, but the BOOM that followed just about cause my bowels to release. To say I was startled, would be an understatement. Like saying Katrina was a big storm, yeah, no shit. As soon as the boom happened, I knew that lightning had just struck nearby. My first reaction? RUN!!!! I yelled to the kids, who were now all crying, RUN!!!!!! And they did, but the little bastards dropped their apples, so I yelled to get your apples. Looking back, was that wrong? Should I have nearly sacrificed one of my offspring so I could pack an apple in my lunch? Huh, maybe, but at the time, "Get your apples." They took their hands off of the ears just long enough to pick up their apple bags in their now shaking hands, and run, still crying, to the van. Now my sprint, which wouldn't exactly be one for the books, consisted of a 6 foot 4 inch, slightly over weight, 42 year old, slightly frightened man, running at full speed, bent at the waist to get under the branches and trying not to turn an ankle on all of the previously fallen apples. I was doing my best to get around the trees and not running into one of my kids and knocking him down in his terrified state, loosing any chance of father of the year. BUT, they were on their own. I can't run my 6 foot 4 inch, slightly over weight, 42 year old, slightly frightened body, running at full speed, bent at the waist to get under the branches and trying not to turn an ankle on all of the previously fallen apples AND carry a crying 5 or 9 year old. Mason was at the van, so one kid was safe. Marcy was running at my left, van to my right, so her chances of beating me to the van were next to zero. I love her, but I'm not above smashing her to the ground so I get my butt into the van before the next lightning strike. I knew I had a little time, but mother nature has no rules on the amount of time between strikes, so I wasn't going to rely on history. I'm happy to say that we all made it to the van and I didn't have to sacrifice any kid or my wife, to be safe. We drove up to the house, and were greeted by Marcy's friend and her daughters, who had been riding a four wheeler around when the strike happened. The pointed out where it had struck, since they had a front row seat to the actual landing zone. It appears the strike hit about 300 yards from where there are now 4 or 5 pee stains. A little too close for comfort. As a storm rolled in today, Makiah was in the house at the first flash of light. I think he has a new respect.

Bucket

So I mentioned awhile back that I didn't have an actual bucket list, but I think they can be good ideas, as long as you don't see your life as a failure if you don't accomplish your list. Marcy and I started discussing our mental lists on the way to MN and realized that most of our list was comprised of travel, which is probably common. Although I don't actually have the list written down yet, I'm thinking I will just add a menu choice of "Bucket List" on this blog and add as I think of them. Seeing as how my memory isn't always what I want it to be, this will help me to remember my choices.

First off, I want to take a 2 week vacation, with no agenda, no destination and not even a direction. Load up the car and roll the dice. Roll a one, you go North, roll a two, you go east and so on. You say there are six sides to a dice and four directions, well then, plug something into the other numbers regarding roads that leave from your current spot. Is there a road that goes NE from where you are? That's a five on the dice. I think you get the point. Now, to figure out where to go, hit the next visitors center and start pulling brochures, or cheap hotels have the brochures as well, like the Super 4 we stayed in the other night. Ask the kids, what do you want to see? The worlds biggest ball of twine? Lets go. Can you imagine the blog posts I would have for a vacation filled with the worlds biggest this and the worlds smallest that? If you don't have an agenda, there isn't as much pressure to be "there" or see "that." Would it work? No idea, but it sounds like fun to me. My kids might not see the thrill in it, but if they are helping in the decisions, maybe they would enjoy it. "Where are you going on vacation?" Where ever the road, and dice, take us.

There are several places in the US that I want to see, the Grand Canyon from the ground, Glacier National Park, and Alaska. Those are the ones I have thought of so far, but I'm sure I will remember more that I have read about before and have just forgotten.

I've all ready cleared some off my list, and even did a few things that I would have had on my list, if I had had one. I've been to Hawaii, which definitely would have been on my list. I went to South Africa and got to ride around in an open air jeep with lions all around. I walked up to a Cape Buffalo, one of the big five African animals, and didn't shit myself. OK, maybe a little, but we were close and that was one big ass animal. That was probably something I never would have put on my list, because I would have though it was out of reach. I guess that isn't the point of the list, maybe you should shoot for the moon. Maybe not the moon, although that might not be out of the question soon. I was excited to hear what Marcy's list would look like as well. I was happy to hear we both had Grand Canyon and Alaska on our list and she had a different national park, but we are in the same category anyway. She liked my roll the dice vacation, so maybe I will start to refine that idea, so if we ever have the money to do it, we can. Now that I'm learning her list, I hope to be able to make some of those come true. I hope my surprise trip to Hawaii knocked a entry off her list. I know she would love to go to South Africa, and since I now have a connection to make that happen, the money is all that separates her from a pant load of crap after she sees what I saw.

Lesson learned.

So our hotel last night, which turned out to only be a 4 on the super scale instead of an 8, was close to the Mall of America. We decided to head over to the mall and find a place to eat. Largest mall in America, surely we can find a place to eat. We ended up at the Rainforest Cafe. If you've never been to one, they are all right. Food isn't bad, although expensive, and the atmosphere is pretty cool for kids, which we were without, so not nearly as impressive as it would have been. Their mascot is a frog, which Marcy loves, so we can at least go through the gift shop and see 100 things Marcy would like to have, but not buy. So I titled this post "Lesson Learned," so what did I learn? Well this place has large fish tanks all over the restaurant, and our table pushed up against one. Here is my dinner view:

As you can see, not bad. I like the blue fish, no idea what they are called, but they relax me with their smooth swimming and soothing blue color. OK, it's a fish, it's mesmerizing to watch them, I think I dozed off three times at dinner. So this seat just appears to be the best in the house, which is what the waiter said when he sat us there, but I'm here to tell you, not the best seat. Why you may be asking yourself? Well, because every kid in that restaurant wants to come see fricking Nemo, who is a foot from my dinner plate. The whole meal I have kids standing right behind my chair, openly praying that they might be able to find Nemo in this tank of fish. My mind wanted to comment to Marcy after we began eating "This fried Nemo is the best." Somehow I don't think my comment about eating their favorite movie character would have gone over well, so I stifled the urge. Along with these kids, came the parents, so I really felt I was in some slow, small, eating contest. I mean I had an audience, all be it not all of them were looking at me, but it sure as hell felt like it. One of the kids brought his grandma over and they were at the edge of the tank in front of me, so every bite I took, I'm looking into her eyes. I wanted to say, "Hey granny, divert your eyes and get junior out of here so I can continue my inappropriate conversation with my wife!" I can't have a conversation like that at home with my kids around, so we wait until we are in another state and someone else's kids are around. Maybe our conversation wasn't inappropriate, but if I think you are listening, I just might turn it that way. This is also one of those restaurant's that make a ruckus and sings to you on your birthday, which I hate. Not so much when they do it to someone else, but I don't want some waiter singing a birthday song to me and I don't want to be at the table if they are singing to someone else. I told Marcy if they come back out, they had all ready been out twice, that I wanted her to jump into the group of waiter/waitresses and start singing along. They can't kick you out for that, can they? That would make for a great blog story, but an embarrassing police report. They didn't come back out, so the world missed out on Marcy's public singing, but there is always next time. All in all, not a bad meal, but if you ever go to a theme restaurant, without kids, and the waiter says "This is my favorite table," ask to be moved. You are welcome.

Not again.

Oh yes, again.

I can't help it, I have an addiction. I have no idea why, as soon as I hit the Twin Cities, I start jonesing for a Slider. I made Marcy take this picture just so I could post it on Facebook to gross out one friend and sent it via my phone to my brother Brian and a co-worker. I tried to get Marcy to let me take a picture of her fake eating one, but I don't think she could get the burger near her face without gagging. She doesn't eat meat, which I'm not sure what is on a Slider could technically called meat, but it's close. Like John Capparulo says, "It's playing the fucking part." So as you can tell, I'm back in Minneapolis for a quick trip, then heading home tomorrow. We are staying in a fancy hotel tonight, I think it is a Super 8, which I think means on the super scale, its an 8. Not bad, that's how we roll. I didn't bring my tux, so I hope they don't look at me funny when I stroll through the lobby.

On our drive up, we were passed by four motorcycles that said "Patriot Guard." I see them on TV all the time, escorting our fallen soldiers with Old Glory flying high. It puts a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye every time. I wasn't sure if it was them until they were passed, or I would have made a lame attempt to show them I was proud of what they do. I'm not sure if other countries have the same kind of group, but they should. The best thing I have ever seen them do, is stand between the protesters from that church in Crazyass, OK, or where ever they are from, and the mourners of a soldiers funeral. I know they have their beliefs, and their rights, but I wish an out of control semi would take them all out the next time they protest one of our men/women in uniform. So this group passes us and all I can do is hope they are at the next stop we are at so I can take a picture of them and thank them. Next stop, no luck. As we start up again, I see a few more, then we go under an overpass and I see a firetruck covered in flags parked above. The fireman were out, so I knew the funeral procession was coming from behind us. We passed 5 or 6 more firetrucks, flags a flying, and my heart pounded. THIS is true American pride. I'm a big fan of America and this was about as good of a display as I had ever seen. I so badly wanted to stop and stand on that overpass and place my hand on my heart as our hero passed under me. Time didn't permit it, but it was on my heart and that soldiers family, who ever they were, are in my prayers. God Bless the men and women who fight for us, and God Bless America!