The Dirt Road

Those of you who know my true identity (who am I kidding, everyone who reads this knows who I am by now) know that I live at the end of a paved street.  At the end of the street is a fairly steep drop off to a dirt road.  Look, I’m a guy, I understand the temptation…whenever there is a situation like that, we all want to go all Ferris Bueller on it.  Remember these guys?

The two people in this picture remind me perfectly of two teenagers in the neighborhood who fly down the dirt road every day, the wind blowing in their hair as they blissfully scream down the dirt road.  In this case, the driver of the car has a first name that is like “Shooter.” The passenger has a last name like “Purchases.”  Think about it….you’ll know who I’m talking about before long.

So last night I was just getting home when I looked down the dirt road to see a car fishtailing, kicking up a huge dust cloud behind it.  As customary, I put on my meanest face, puffed out my chest and walked just out into the road.  As they flew by, I yelled out, “hey, there are kids that play on this street.”  One of the boys climbed halfway out the window and yelled back something inaudible followed by “….so F&%$ you.”  By the way, it was a beat up brownish car full of teenage boys.  If any of you know who they are or whose house they came to visit, please let me know.  I have three rolls of plastic wrap, four cases of eggs, three shovels of german shorthair landmines and a mind for revenge.

I plan to spending the entire weekend in a lawn chair on my sidewalk with a bucket full of water balloons.  Warn your teenage drivers and, in some cases, yourself.  I’m talking to you Anita, hahaha.

Back Again

Wow, has it really been over 8 months since I have posted?  I definitely think I should get back into the habit but, to prevent rushing in too soon and pulling a hammy, I better take things slowly and warm up a bit with a short story.

The other day the entire family was in the car and we were talking about swearing.  We were laughing about the times the kids swore when they were really little.  Nelly then told us what she does when the thought of swearing crosses her mind to avoid cursing.  The following conversation followed:

Me:  Do you know what I do to keep from swearing?

Nelly:  Nothing.

Wally:  Swear.

I hope they enjoyed their walk home.  

Chirp Chirp

A few weeks ago I awoke in the middle of the night to "chirp, chirp."  A few minutes later, there it was again, "chirp, chirp."  This annoying sound continued throughout the night.  I'm sure you are well aware of the sound I'm referring to...a smoke detector with a low battery.  Honestly, is there a more annoying sound in the whole world?  It is literally impossible to get a decent night's sleep when this happens.  The next morning I got up, replaced the battery and went to work only to come home and find the smoke detector still chirping.  I figured the battery must have been old so I took the smoke detector off the ceiling and put it away for a while.

A couple of nights ago I woke up to the chirps again.  This time it was in the unfinished part of the basement.  Yesterday I went to the store, picked up some shiny new batteries, put them in the two bad smoke detectors, placed them back on the ceiling and went to bed.  Much to my dismay, I woke up at 3:00 in the morning to the chirping once again.  This time they double teamed me, spacing the chirps perfectly so that my sleep was interrupted with "chirp, chirp" every 15 seconds.  It felt as though someone was drilling into my frontal lobe with every chirp.  I leapt out of bed, grabbed both smoke detectors, wrapped them in a towel to silence them and went back to bed.  Finally I was able to get a bit of peaceful sleep, even if it was only for an hour.  So what happened next?  Of course, you guessed it, "chirp, chirp."  This time I stormed out of bed, grabbed the smoke detectors, threw them onto the front porch and got in the shower to get ready for work. 

When I came home from work I was greeted by the sweet chirping sounds on my front porch.  Without any premediated thought, a devious plan was hatched in my head.  The formula was so simple.

Take two possessed smoke detectors.

Add one cement porch.

Gently add a baseball(at approx 65 miles per hour).  Repeat.  Repeat.  Repeat.  Etc.

What do you get? 

That's right.....no more chirpy chirpy. 

I guess they learned not to mess with me.

Champions

Something really disturbs me.  What bothers me is somewhat related to the problem I have with 80 year old baseball managers wearing a uniform, only this issue is much worse.  Why do guys insist on wearing thigh-exposing shorts when they go jogging or head-to-toe spandex when they ride bikes?  Whenever I see grown men exercising in those clothes I am forced to ask myself why.  After much reflection (apparently I reflect on men in spandex a little too much) I have decided that it has to be for one of three reasons:

1)       They are not really in it for the exercise, but rather because they are addicted to speed.  Think about it logically…the more clothing, especially baggy clothing, the more wind resistance.  This causes you to work harder, thus getting a better workout.  These men obviously either love the thrill of the extra .0435 mph they gain on a bicycle by wearing skin tight clothes or they are hoping to be discovered by a Tour De France recruiter.

2)       They look so darn good that it would be crime to deny the world of seeing every curve of their streamlined body.

3)      They want to not only be a champion, but to look like one in everything they do.

I must admit that the more I think of this, the more inspired I am to be a champion in everything I do.  From now on, this is how you will see me dressed for these activities:

Swimming at the Community Pool

Pickup Basketball Games at the Park

Rec League Men’s Softball

Fishing at the Lake

Driving to the Store to Pick Up a Loaf of Bread

Ice Skating With The Family

So to all you spandex/short shorts guys out there I have only one thing to say…..thank you for helping me look like a champion in everything I do.

Sleep Deprivation

Lately the kids have been driving me crazy with something.  Out of the blue they have decided that they are going to fight about where they sit in the car.  Every time we try to go somewhere they rush to the car screaming about “calling” the front seat.  Those who end up in the back intentionally maul the front row sitters as much as possible as they climb over the seat.  We don’t go anywhere without plenty of yelling, hitting, kicking and crying.  It’s almost as if they don’t think they give me enough reasons to bark at them in the first place.

So the other night we were leaving the park when the bulrush began.  Wally and Nelly ran to the car to commence the now traditional scrum.  When I unlocked the doors, Wally threw the door open hitting Nelly in the chin, causing her to stumble backwards and fall down in the ditch.  For the whole neighborhood to hear I immediately started my rant as I scampered around the car to beat the tar out of Wally.  “Why do we have to do this every d@mn time we get in the car?  I’m so sick and tired of this.  I’m telling you, if this happens again you’ll all be…..blah, blah, blah.”  I looked back into the park to see the wife doubled over laughing.  I thought she was just laughing at my loss of control but there was more to it than that.

A little boy, probably 6 or 7, was standing by her watching the whole thing with a look of complete shock on his face.  The wife turned to him and said, “wow, that guy is really mean.”  “I know,” he replied, “I don’t think he got enough sleep last night.”   

Terminal illness

Over the past few months I have been experiencing a feeling that has only become increasingly more intense in recent weeks.  I have felt as though I have a friend or family member, whom I am extremely close to, that has a terminal illness and has only been given a short time to live.  I feel as though I should be grateful for the wonderful time we have spent together and that memories will live on forever, however I can't help but feel a tremendous sadness for the imminent departure.

Before I go on, allow me to explain something from the past.  When the wife was pregnant with Buck Double she was very sick and spent a lot of time in bed.  To help pass the time we decided to try a new TV show.  We went to the store and picked up the first season of Lost.  The next several days had us glued to the TV.  After only 3 or 4 days I rushed to the store to pick up the second season.  Season after season followed.  We were sucked into the shocking plot changes and surprises.  New characters surfaced while new information about existing characters was continually presented.  When it was announced that the next season would be the last, we were thrilled to have so many complex questions answered and wondered how it could be possible to tie everything together.  The further into the last season we got, the more we realized all of the questions weren't going to be answered.  By the time the final episode finally aired, only one general solution was presented that didn't answer any of the specific questions I was dying to know about characters, situations and events.  Needless to say, I was disappointed.

Many of you you know the good friend I have who was given such a short time to live.  His name is Harry Potter.  Last night I saw Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 2, thus ending the life of the Harry Potter Series.  I have read a lot of books, but none of them compare to Harry Potter.  In every series I have read, I have found something that didn't make sense or that really bugged me (don't get me started on Twilight).  Not so with Harry Potter.  There have only been a few instances when I thought, "I don't really like this" but those instances have been rare and inconsequential to the scope of the series.  Even when the movies varied a bit from the books, it wasn't enough to bother me.

When the first Deathly Hallows movie came out, I joked about how JK Rowling must have sold her soul to the devil in order to write something so perfect.  I still stand by that accusation.  Unlike Lost, as Harry and his friends grew up, and as Voldemort became more powerful, plots and story lines always tied together.  Closure was given for every character and answers were given for every question.  We know why Harry, Dumbledore, Snape, Voldemort and so many other characters did the things that they did from the first chapter of The Sorcerers Stone to the last chapter of The Deathly Hallows.

I, like so many others, couldn't help but get sucked into the world of Harry Potter.  To us, Hogwarts is real and continues to educate young witches and wizards today.  We all wish that we'd have received a letter to study there along side Harry, Ron and Hermione.  We watched them grow up and cheered for them to defeat the most perfect face of evil. Everything was so believable that it had to be real.

For those of you who haven't read the Harry Potter series, you are missing out.  I know many of you are laughing at me right now for being such a nerd.  I too, used to be one of those people.  Give the books a try,  I promise you won't be disappointed.  If I still haven't convinced you, go mow your lawn.  As for me, I'm headed back to Number 4 Privet Drive... for the fifth time.

Another One

I don't know why kids always seem to tell me funny things.  Ok, so sometimes I do try to get them to spill the beans on their parents, but in these cases I swear to you that all information was unsolicited and voluntarily given.  Here we go with another round of kids saying the darndest things.

Dr: How old are you?
Alimatu:
The wife: She's 3.
Dr: What is your favorite color?
Alimatu:  Dogs
(This one might be my fault.  She has always had a hard time remembering how old she is so I used to tease her a little about it.  Now, when someone asks her that question she panics and gets flustered)

Neighbor:  My dad has bald hair.
Me:  Really?  Did he shave his head?
Neighbor: No, he has BALL hair (pointing with both fingers to his nether reaches).  So does my mom.  So does my sister.
Me:  Are my cookies burning?  I have to go in the house to check on them.

Neighbor:  Is your dog's name Cassie or Assie?
Me:  Assie
Neighbor:  Come here Assie, you're so cute, good dog.

Neighbor:  Do you want to hear me sing?
Me:  Not only do I want to hear you sing, I want to sing with you.  Can I?
Neighbor:  Ummmm, no.
Me (singing just like Elf): I'm siiiiiinging.  We're at the park and I'm siiiiinging.  Ooooooh how I love to siiiiiiing.
Neighbor:  Nevermind.