Can't seem to get it together...
Ever have one of those days where you just can't seem to get it together? Today was one of those days for me. We had a BBQ to attend at noon today. Matthew had a birthday party to attend at 11:00, so Shelly was going to take him to his friend's party and then join me at the BBQ when they were finished. Basically, another weekend crammed full of things to do. For this BBQ, I was the guy bringing the drinks, and a phone call last night informed me I was also the guy manning the grill. Now that you know what's going on, here's what it took for me to get there.
I was running a little late, but not too bad. When I got finished showering, etc and was ready to get dressed, I realized that my clothes were upstairs in my bedroom with me, but all of my undershirts were downstairs. So, head downstairs with shirt in hand, grab the undershirt out of the dryer and put the shirt on.
Oops, forgot belt upstairs. Head upstairs and get belt.
Grab ice chests, rinse the off, and put them in the truck, back out and head down street.
Dang, forgot my hat. Nearly bald head requires a hat when outside. back up the street and go back in the house for the hat (unlock door, turn off alarm, grab hat, re-set alarm, lock door). Back out of driveway again.
Forgot lawn chairs, drive back into driveway, get lawn chairs out of the garage and load them in the truck, head out again. Pull out of neighborhood and I'm on my way
CRAP. Remember deer sausage is still on the counter. At this point, I'm on a 1-way road, and have to go around the world to get back home. Go back in the house to retrieve sausage (alarm drill again). I KNOW I have everything this time. Now to the store to get all of the drinks.
And so the day went...
The BBQ turned out well. Everyone liked the deer sausage, and there were plenty of drinks. Thankfully, once I arrived at the party, everything else was fine.
Now for a little rant. Ever notice that when you have a party with a bunch of friends,it never fails that one or two people end up bringing all of the expensive items (drinks, meat, etc), while the rest of the people come in with 1 bag of chips or a pack of paper plates? AND, these same people are the first ones to leave, without helping pick up in any way, shape, or form? Doesn't it always seem that the people that spent the most are the only ones left cleaning up after the party?
Next party, I'm bringing napkins and parking my car on the street in the "ready go" position.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Friday, June 29, 2007
You can't make this stuff up...
*** DISCLAIMER *** Lots of friends new and old are reading the blog these days since I have made it public and linking through Facebook. I'm not proud of the happenings outlined below, but they are real events that happened to me, so I'm leaving it posed unedited. I hope you guys don't think any less of me. Also, you don't have to lock up your clocks when I come to visit...
Now, on to the post...
The other night I joked about getting some liquor and whooping it up. Of course, Shelly wasn't worried. Getting liquored up isn't something I do. There is a little background on why that is the case.
I guess the number one reason is my upbringing. I grew up in a Christian home, Southern Baptist to be exact. Drinking was something that wasn't done. Of course, my generation has slightly different beliefs than past generations. Many of us do have the occasional "beverage", but I've never viewed it as the center of an event or anything that was really important.
Well, at one point around 1997 and 1998, I was just starting my career, was unattached, and hung out with the guys probably more than I should have. My "moment of truth" came one night in the fall of 1997. This is a story that only a few of those closest to me have ever heard. Heck, I finally told Shelly about it only in the last few months.
I was living in Lake Charles, LA. The most prominent feature, besides the petrochemical plants is the lake. The lake (and all of the riverboat casinos on it) are just next to Interstate 10 as it runs through town. One of my friends in those days had a boat. One night, this friend invited a few of us out onto his boat to hang out for the evening. Of course, some liquor was involved. Now, because we were responsible adults (sort of), the guy driving the boat was the "designated driver", and was responsible for getting us home safely in case anyone had too much to drink. Well, I started the night with a cheap bottle of bourbon and a bottle of diet coke. By the end of the night, the liquor was gone, and so was I.
I remember at one point standing on the back of this guys boat in the middle of the lake, happily whizzing in the water, while waving at the casino boat as it sailed by. When it was time to head home, thankfully this guy wouldn't let me drive home. I wanted him to take me home, but I lived across town and he preferred to just have me crash at his house. That's where the story turns interesting.
Those with weak constitutions or no sense of humor can stop reading here. Continue at your own risk...
I remember pretty clearly heading to his house, and I remember going to bed in his guest room. From that point, there is a pretty big question mark. I woke up a couple of hours later. I was SICK. BAD. From both ends. Thankfully I had found the toilet and the trash can, and I was sitting on the correct one. I have no idea how I ended up in the bathroom, I certainly don't remember that part, but thank the Lord I made it in there in time.
After a little while, I was much better. I cleaned myself up and headed back to bed. That's when I saw it. On the floor, next to the wall, near the foot of the bed. It was a clock. The kind of clock that hangs on the wall. The kind with a round face about 10 inches across, with a glass cover over the face. On the face of the clock... was a pile of CRAP. Ok, here's where it hits me. There was evidently a block of time unaccounted for, as I went to sleep in the bed and woke up on the john. What the hell happened, and why is there a pile of crap on the face of this clock?
Keep in mind, it's still the middle of the night, and I'm not really sober. I'm at that point where you are trying to rationalize things and can make up a good argument for almost any scenario. Here's what makes this so funny. I'm looking at this thing, and I'm thinking I'm stuck. Did I do that, or was it there already. Yep, I was still pretty far gone. I actually debated what to do. Do I clean it up, or do I leave it there - because it might be supposed to be there. Of course, only a drunk person would actually try to rationalize that someone might actually have a pile of crap on the face of a clock laying on the floor of their guestroom. That's as good an argument as any about what happens when you drink too much.
Well, I'm happy to say, I cleaned it up. Hindsight tells me I made the right decision. Either that, or I completely messed up a science experiment of some sort... Not exactly a high point, but definitely a learning experience.
That, my friends was the last time I ever had more than 2 drinks at any occasion.
Well, there it is, my most embarrassing moment, and no one was really around to see it.
I should point out that I reserve the right to delete this post if I lose my nerve in leaving it up...
*** DISCLAIMER *** Lots of friends new and old are reading the blog these days since I have made it public and linking through Facebook. I'm not proud of the happenings outlined below, but they are real events that happened to me, so I'm leaving it posed unedited. I hope you guys don't think any less of me. Also, you don't have to lock up your clocks when I come to visit...
Now, on to the post...
The other night I joked about getting some liquor and whooping it up. Of course, Shelly wasn't worried. Getting liquored up isn't something I do. There is a little background on why that is the case.
I guess the number one reason is my upbringing. I grew up in a Christian home, Southern Baptist to be exact. Drinking was something that wasn't done. Of course, my generation has slightly different beliefs than past generations. Many of us do have the occasional "beverage", but I've never viewed it as the center of an event or anything that was really important.
Well, at one point around 1997 and 1998, I was just starting my career, was unattached, and hung out with the guys probably more than I should have. My "moment of truth" came one night in the fall of 1997. This is a story that only a few of those closest to me have ever heard. Heck, I finally told Shelly about it only in the last few months.
I was living in Lake Charles, LA. The most prominent feature, besides the petrochemical plants is the lake. The lake (and all of the riverboat casinos on it) are just next to Interstate 10 as it runs through town. One of my friends in those days had a boat. One night, this friend invited a few of us out onto his boat to hang out for the evening. Of course, some liquor was involved. Now, because we were responsible adults (sort of), the guy driving the boat was the "designated driver", and was responsible for getting us home safely in case anyone had too much to drink. Well, I started the night with a cheap bottle of bourbon and a bottle of diet coke. By the end of the night, the liquor was gone, and so was I.
I remember at one point standing on the back of this guys boat in the middle of the lake, happily whizzing in the water, while waving at the casino boat as it sailed by. When it was time to head home, thankfully this guy wouldn't let me drive home. I wanted him to take me home, but I lived across town and he preferred to just have me crash at his house. That's where the story turns interesting.
Those with weak constitutions or no sense of humor can stop reading here. Continue at your own risk...
I remember pretty clearly heading to his house, and I remember going to bed in his guest room. From that point, there is a pretty big question mark. I woke up a couple of hours later. I was SICK. BAD. From both ends. Thankfully I had found the toilet and the trash can, and I was sitting on the correct one. I have no idea how I ended up in the bathroom, I certainly don't remember that part, but thank the Lord I made it in there in time.
After a little while, I was much better. I cleaned myself up and headed back to bed. That's when I saw it. On the floor, next to the wall, near the foot of the bed. It was a clock. The kind of clock that hangs on the wall. The kind with a round face about 10 inches across, with a glass cover over the face. On the face of the clock... was a pile of CRAP. Ok, here's where it hits me. There was evidently a block of time unaccounted for, as I went to sleep in the bed and woke up on the john. What the hell happened, and why is there a pile of crap on the face of this clock?
Keep in mind, it's still the middle of the night, and I'm not really sober. I'm at that point where you are trying to rationalize things and can make up a good argument for almost any scenario. Here's what makes this so funny. I'm looking at this thing, and I'm thinking I'm stuck. Did I do that, or was it there already. Yep, I was still pretty far gone. I actually debated what to do. Do I clean it up, or do I leave it there - because it might be supposed to be there. Of course, only a drunk person would actually try to rationalize that someone might actually have a pile of crap on the face of a clock laying on the floor of their guestroom. That's as good an argument as any about what happens when you drink too much.
Well, I'm happy to say, I cleaned it up. Hindsight tells me I made the right decision. Either that, or I completely messed up a science experiment of some sort... Not exactly a high point, but definitely a learning experience.
That, my friends was the last time I ever had more than 2 drinks at any occasion.
Well, there it is, my most embarrassing moment, and no one was really around to see it.
I should point out that I reserve the right to delete this post if I lose my nerve in leaving it up...
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Choo Choooo....
Shelly and Matthew are back at home. Man, that kid loves those trains. He's lucky to have 2 sets of grandparents that are willing and able to spend time with him doing fun stuff. He wore his Thomas the Tank Engine overalls and hat, They are the dark blue striped kind that looks like a train engineer. He was so proud of his clothes, and Shelly said he had a great time "riding the choo-choo". A called them on the cell a few minutes after the scheduled departure. Matthew was almost too excited to talk to me. He was too busy looking out the window. I haven't looked at the pics on the camera yet, but I think there are likely some good ones I can post later.
Shelly and Matthew are back at home. Man, that kid loves those trains. He's lucky to have 2 sets of grandparents that are willing and able to spend time with him doing fun stuff. He wore his Thomas the Tank Engine overalls and hat, They are the dark blue striped kind that looks like a train engineer. He was so proud of his clothes, and Shelly said he had a great time "riding the choo-choo". A called them on the cell a few minutes after the scheduled departure. Matthew was almost too excited to talk to me. He was too busy looking out the window. I haven't looked at the pics on the camera yet, but I think there are likely some good ones I can post later.
Batchin' it...
Shelly and Matthew left last night to head up to Palestine (TX). Her parents wanted to take Matthew to ride the Texas State Railroad, and since her Dad's normal day off is Thursday, they were riding the train today. I didn't go with the for 2 reasons. #1 is that we're really busy at work and I didn't need to take the day off, and number 2 is that the train runs from Palestine to Rusk and back. I didn't want to take the chance that they would leave me in Rusk For those readers not from Texas, Rusk is where the Loony Bin is located.
Anyway, that means I had a whole night to myself. What to do? Night out with the guys? Couple a beers and watch the game? Nope. This is where you figure out how boring you really are. I think being a parent in a dual worker family sort of messes up your idea of a free night. To me it meant that I didn't have to cook dinner, help with laundry, or put the little turkey to bed. I ran errands...
First, I got a haircut. Ok, I'm sort of balding, but last night I decided it was time to stop hanging on to the hair and trying to make it cover as much as possible. Sort of a "Come to Jesus meeting" with the baldness. How short? Well, my Dad is bald except a ring around the outside edge. I make him look like one of those long haired hippies. The longest portion on the top is less than 1/2 inch, probably closer to 1/4. I like it.
Next, returned a couple of movies rented over the weekend (Happy Feet and Chicken Run - both for Matthew), then went to the car wash to get Shelly's truck washed for her. After that, shopping. I'm not a shopper, but I like buying clothes on the cheap. A few weeks ago while buying the Guayabera, I also bought one of those Haggar Cool 18 shirts. Nothing fancy, just sort of nice casual, short-sleeve button-up. The bottom hem is straight, so it looks good untucked. I liked it so much, I bought 3 more last night. On sale 60% off, not bad, eh?
I capped off the night with a slice of pizza from the local pizza joint and a little time in front of the boob-toob. A little "Pinks" on Speed TV, some History Channel, and a show on TLC about a guy in Mexico that weighed 1,200 lbs. Yep, I'm officially boring.
I told Shelly I was going to get some liquor and invite over a few old girlfriends. She wasn't worried.
Shelly and Matthew left last night to head up to Palestine (TX). Her parents wanted to take Matthew to ride the Texas State Railroad, and since her Dad's normal day off is Thursday, they were riding the train today. I didn't go with the for 2 reasons. #1 is that we're really busy at work and I didn't need to take the day off, and number 2 is that the train runs from Palestine to Rusk and back. I didn't want to take the chance that they would leave me in Rusk For those readers not from Texas, Rusk is where the Loony Bin is located.
Anyway, that means I had a whole night to myself. What to do? Night out with the guys? Couple a beers and watch the game? Nope. This is where you figure out how boring you really are. I think being a parent in a dual worker family sort of messes up your idea of a free night. To me it meant that I didn't have to cook dinner, help with laundry, or put the little turkey to bed. I ran errands...
First, I got a haircut. Ok, I'm sort of balding, but last night I decided it was time to stop hanging on to the hair and trying to make it cover as much as possible. Sort of a "Come to Jesus meeting" with the baldness. How short? Well, my Dad is bald except a ring around the outside edge. I make him look like one of those long haired hippies. The longest portion on the top is less than 1/2 inch, probably closer to 1/4. I like it.
Next, returned a couple of movies rented over the weekend (Happy Feet and Chicken Run - both for Matthew), then went to the car wash to get Shelly's truck washed for her. After that, shopping. I'm not a shopper, but I like buying clothes on the cheap. A few weeks ago while buying the Guayabera, I also bought one of those Haggar Cool 18 shirts. Nothing fancy, just sort of nice casual, short-sleeve button-up. The bottom hem is straight, so it looks good untucked. I liked it so much, I bought 3 more last night. On sale 60% off, not bad, eh?
I capped off the night with a slice of pizza from the local pizza joint and a little time in front of the boob-toob. A little "Pinks" on Speed TV, some History Channel, and a show on TLC about a guy in Mexico that weighed 1,200 lbs. Yep, I'm officially boring.
I told Shelly I was going to get some liquor and invite over a few old girlfriends. She wasn't worried.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Not that there's anything wrong with that... (Seinfeld reference)
Everyone keeps telling me there is nothing to worry about, but some things are just really disturbing, even if there is nothing to worry about.
A week or so ago, Matthew was watching a video in our bedroom. At one point, he was standing on our bed, spinning around and saying "I'm a ballerina". I kept correcting him that he was NOT any such thing, but he kept insisting that he was a ballerina, all the while twirling himself around. In the words of Leon Phelps, things like that disturb the Ladies Man. What in the world are they teaching him at daycare? Especially the daycare at a Southern Baptist church. He sure didn't pick that up at home.
Well, the next day, Shelly mentioned it to the teacher at the daycare. Apparently all of the little girls are going through the ballerina phase, where they twirl around and say that they are ballerinas. They grab onto the little boys and twirl them around while talking about being ballerinas. Well, this is starting to make sense. At least it's not something that he came up with on his own.
Fast forward to Saturday afternoon. Shelly was putting Matthew down for his nap. Even though we are potty training now, he still wears a pull-up or diaper for naps and overnight. Well, when Shelly was putting the pull-up on him, he was trying to put his underwear on his head. Typical guy thing, right? So, like a good mother, she helped him put the drawers on his head. And then the party was over. With the drawers on his head, he said "I'm Cinderella". Shelly got it on video.
Yep, I'm definitely going to have to have a LONG chat with my boy.
Oh, and Seinfeld... I'm afraid I tend to disagree.
Everyone keeps telling me there is nothing to worry about, but some things are just really disturbing, even if there is nothing to worry about.
A week or so ago, Matthew was watching a video in our bedroom. At one point, he was standing on our bed, spinning around and saying "I'm a ballerina". I kept correcting him that he was NOT any such thing, but he kept insisting that he was a ballerina, all the while twirling himself around. In the words of Leon Phelps, things like that disturb the Ladies Man. What in the world are they teaching him at daycare? Especially the daycare at a Southern Baptist church. He sure didn't pick that up at home.
Well, the next day, Shelly mentioned it to the teacher at the daycare. Apparently all of the little girls are going through the ballerina phase, where they twirl around and say that they are ballerinas. They grab onto the little boys and twirl them around while talking about being ballerinas. Well, this is starting to make sense. At least it's not something that he came up with on his own.
Fast forward to Saturday afternoon. Shelly was putting Matthew down for his nap. Even though we are potty training now, he still wears a pull-up or diaper for naps and overnight. Well, when Shelly was putting the pull-up on him, he was trying to put his underwear on his head. Typical guy thing, right? So, like a good mother, she helped him put the drawers on his head. And then the party was over. With the drawers on his head, he said "I'm Cinderella". Shelly got it on video.
Yep, I'm definitely going to have to have a LONG chat with my boy.
Oh, and Seinfeld... I'm afraid I tend to disagree.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Time's Up...
As the weekend ends, I can't help but feel like a student again. You know what I'm talking about. Rushing to finish the tasks, and the feeling when "time" is called and you must stop working, even though not all of the tasks have been completed.
I feel like I worked my butt off all weekend, but didn't quite get finished with the "to do" list.
The grass is cut, the toilet replaced, car seat installed, and the oil changed. I diagnosed . confirmed the problem with Shelly's truck (which involved removing the left front wheel, brake caliper, and hub assembly). Once diagnosed, I headed to the local Ford dealer to buy the replacement sensor and wiring, only to be told they have to order it. Crap. I had to re-assemble the whole dang thing and will have do the drill again next weekend once the part arrives. Man this sucks, that kills a couple of hours.
I didn't even attempt the work on the Tahoe. The wiper blade is simple enough that I'll do it one day this week. Replacing the wiper fluid tubing will mean removing the battery and battery tray to get to the washer fluid bottle, so that will wait until next weekend. One design flaw on Chevrolet trucks is that the washer fluid bottle is below the battery. The factory battery had a cracked case after 3 years, which allowed acid to leak down onto the washer bottle. The bottle was fine, but the 2 pumps (front & rear) were killed by the acid. I replaced both only to figure out that some of the tubing was also killed. It's been over a year, and I finally broke down and paid about $40 each at the dealer for these oddly shaped molded plastic tubes. The Chevy dealer had both in stock.
I will point out that for my Tahoe, even the most obscure parts always seem to be in stock, but for the Ford... I also found that one of the 4 hub bolts on the Expedition was missing. I'm certain I torqued all of them properly last time, but.... That also had to be ordered. You would think that a bolt like that would be common on several different vehicles, so one would be somewhere. Apparently the closest one is in Farmers Branch. You'd think in a town the size of Houston, there would be at least one around...
The in-laws invited us to meet them for lunch today. Free lunch at Steak & Ale is always good, but it pretty much cost me the nap. Also, since the race was in California and started pretty late, I was only able to see the first 15 laps or so.
Well, next weekend, the nap is being moved a little higher up on the list. The list will also be shorter. I might not get much done, but at least I'll finish everything on my list.
As the weekend ends, I can't help but feel like a student again. You know what I'm talking about. Rushing to finish the tasks, and the feeling when "time" is called and you must stop working, even though not all of the tasks have been completed.
I feel like I worked my butt off all weekend, but didn't quite get finished with the "to do" list.
The grass is cut, the toilet replaced, car seat installed, and the oil changed. I diagnosed . confirmed the problem with Shelly's truck (which involved removing the left front wheel, brake caliper, and hub assembly). Once diagnosed, I headed to the local Ford dealer to buy the replacement sensor and wiring, only to be told they have to order it. Crap. I had to re-assemble the whole dang thing and will have do the drill again next weekend once the part arrives. Man this sucks, that kills a couple of hours.
I didn't even attempt the work on the Tahoe. The wiper blade is simple enough that I'll do it one day this week. Replacing the wiper fluid tubing will mean removing the battery and battery tray to get to the washer fluid bottle, so that will wait until next weekend. One design flaw on Chevrolet trucks is that the washer fluid bottle is below the battery. The factory battery had a cracked case after 3 years, which allowed acid to leak down onto the washer bottle. The bottle was fine, but the 2 pumps (front & rear) were killed by the acid. I replaced both only to figure out that some of the tubing was also killed. It's been over a year, and I finally broke down and paid about $40 each at the dealer for these oddly shaped molded plastic tubes. The Chevy dealer had both in stock.
I will point out that for my Tahoe, even the most obscure parts always seem to be in stock, but for the Ford... I also found that one of the 4 hub bolts on the Expedition was missing. I'm certain I torqued all of them properly last time, but.... That also had to be ordered. You would think that a bolt like that would be common on several different vehicles, so one would be somewhere. Apparently the closest one is in Farmers Branch. You'd think in a town the size of Houston, there would be at least one around...
The in-laws invited us to meet them for lunch today. Free lunch at Steak & Ale is always good, but it pretty much cost me the nap. Also, since the race was in California and started pretty late, I was only able to see the first 15 laps or so.
Well, next weekend, the nap is being moved a little higher up on the list. The list will also be shorter. I might not get much done, but at least I'll finish everything on my list.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Where does the weekend go?
It's Friday night, and I'm thinking about what's on the agenda for the weekend. Seems to be pretty full...
Saturday:
change the oil in Shelly's truck,
repair / replace possible broken ABS sensor
replace part of washer fluid tubing on my truck
replace rear windshield wiper on my truck
shop for new toilet at Home Depot, install said toilet at Shelly's grandmother's house
replace carseat in mother-in-laws car, put old carseat in my truck
Sunday:
mow, edge, trim yard
watch race / take nap
go to church (we go on Sunday evenings)
So, basically the weekend hasn't really started and it's already over.
Yippee...
It's Friday night, and I'm thinking about what's on the agenda for the weekend. Seems to be pretty full...
Saturday:
change the oil in Shelly's truck,
repair / replace possible broken ABS sensor
replace part of washer fluid tubing on my truck
replace rear windshield wiper on my truck
shop for new toilet at Home Depot, install said toilet at Shelly's grandmother's house
replace carseat in mother-in-laws car, put old carseat in my truck
Sunday:
mow, edge, trim yard
watch race / take nap
go to church (we go on Sunday evenings)
So, basically the weekend hasn't really started and it's already over.
Yippee...
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
The Return of Captain Obvious...
If the answer is obvious, does the question really need to be asked? Am I the only one that gets a little annoyed when the waiter or waitress at a restaurant asks a question that the answer seems to be obvious?
Your glass is empty, and your food has not even arrived. The server asks "can I get you another Diet Coke?" Uh, yes. A good server just brings a refill without asking.
My little family was sitting at a table in Logan's Roadhouse tonight for dinner. Everyone knows their bread is great. EVERYONE likes their bread. Light, fluffy goodness dripping in butter, served piping hot. They normally just bring out a basket and set them on the table while you are waiting for your food - much the same as tortilla chips at a Mexican Restaurant. The waitress comes to the table after bringing our drinks and taking our order and asks "Would you like for me to bring you some bread?"
Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course we want some bread. Oh, and yes, I would like another Diet Coke when you come back...
If the answer is obvious, does the question really need to be asked? Am I the only one that gets a little annoyed when the waiter or waitress at a restaurant asks a question that the answer seems to be obvious?
Your glass is empty, and your food has not even arrived. The server asks "can I get you another Diet Coke?" Uh, yes. A good server just brings a refill without asking.
My little family was sitting at a table in Logan's Roadhouse tonight for dinner. Everyone knows their bread is great. EVERYONE likes their bread. Light, fluffy goodness dripping in butter, served piping hot. They normally just bring out a basket and set them on the table while you are waiting for your food - much the same as tortilla chips at a Mexican Restaurant. The waitress comes to the table after bringing our drinks and taking our order and asks "Would you like for me to bring you some bread?"
Does a bear shit in the woods? Of course we want some bread. Oh, and yes, I would like another Diet Coke when you come back...
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Potty Training...
This is the week. Matthew hasn't shown much interest in taking care of his business anywhere but in his diaper. Honestly, with all of the traveling we have done in the last few weeks, we weren't really pushing the issue. Now that we are home for the next several weeks, we figured this time was as good as any. Matthew's daycare teacher said that if we would send multiple changes of clothes and would follow-up at home, she would help us get the task accomplished.
Yesterday and this morning were a little sketchy, but I think we turned the corner today. just before we headed upstairs for bath time, he came and got me so he could use the bathroom. That's worth a Larry Snack reward. Keep your fingers crossed that things will go smoothly.
I will say this, thank goodness 2/3 or more of our downstairs flooring is tile.
One other thing (this is for Katie & Tommy), Matthew now has a pair of Crocs. These things are great for potty training. With the inevitable accidents, you just rinse them off and they are ready to wear again.
This is the week. Matthew hasn't shown much interest in taking care of his business anywhere but in his diaper. Honestly, with all of the traveling we have done in the last few weeks, we weren't really pushing the issue. Now that we are home for the next several weeks, we figured this time was as good as any. Matthew's daycare teacher said that if we would send multiple changes of clothes and would follow-up at home, she would help us get the task accomplished.
Yesterday and this morning were a little sketchy, but I think we turned the corner today. just before we headed upstairs for bath time, he came and got me so he could use the bathroom. That's worth a Larry Snack reward. Keep your fingers crossed that things will go smoothly.
I will say this, thank goodness 2/3 or more of our downstairs flooring is tile.
One other thing (this is for Katie & Tommy), Matthew now has a pair of Crocs. These things are great for potty training. With the inevitable accidents, you just rinse them off and they are ready to wear again.
Warning Labels...
While working in the yard over the weekend, I must have gotten into some poison ivy, poison oak, or something along those lines. It's on the tops of both hands and just above my left eyebrow. It's not too bad, but occasionally the slight itch is annoying
I stopped yesterday to get some hydro cortisone to put on it, and that seems to help. This afternoon, I was sitting in my office putting the hydro cortisone on, and for whatever reason I took a look at the warnings on the back. "Stop use and ask a doctor if *symptoms last for more than 7 days, *the condition gets worse, *symptoms clear up and come back in a few days, *rectal bleeding occurs-consult promptly. RECT... WHAT THE HELL?!?!??? I've got a rash on the backs of my hands, what in the world would make me hemorrhage from... This stuff is Maximum Strength, but GEEZ!!!
Ok, so I read a little farther, and see that in addition to the typical use on poison ivy, etc, this stuff is also suggested "other types of itching".
Man, I was worried for a minute there.
While working in the yard over the weekend, I must have gotten into some poison ivy, poison oak, or something along those lines. It's on the tops of both hands and just above my left eyebrow. It's not too bad, but occasionally the slight itch is annoying
I stopped yesterday to get some hydro cortisone to put on it, and that seems to help. This afternoon, I was sitting in my office putting the hydro cortisone on, and for whatever reason I took a look at the warnings on the back. "Stop use and ask a doctor if *symptoms last for more than 7 days, *the condition gets worse, *symptoms clear up and come back in a few days, *rectal bleeding occurs-consult promptly. RECT... WHAT THE HELL?!?!??? I've got a rash on the backs of my hands, what in the world would make me hemorrhage from... This stuff is Maximum Strength, but GEEZ!!!
Ok, so I read a little farther, and see that in addition to the typical use on poison ivy, etc, this stuff is also suggested "other types of itching".
Man, I was worried for a minute there.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Gotta have "that" chat...
Shelly talked to one of Matthew's teachers this afternoon. This is the e-mail report I received of that call: "She also mentioned that he's got a new girlfriend. Apparently at circle time they looked over & Matthew had S's face in his hands & kissed her on the lips. Then when they were getting ready for naptime she looked over & Matthew was at S's mat with her shirt pulled up kissing her tummy. She called him 'loverboy'. " (name removed because I don't know the family).
That's my boy. Looks like we're going to have to have that little talk with Matthew about 10 years sooner than planned.
Shelly talked to one of Matthew's teachers this afternoon. This is the e-mail report I received of that call: "She also mentioned that he's got a new girlfriend. Apparently at circle time they looked over & Matthew had S's face in his hands & kissed her on the lips. Then when they were getting ready for naptime she looked over & Matthew was at S's mat with her shirt pulled up kissing her tummy. She called him 'loverboy'. " (name removed because I don't know the family).
That's my boy. Looks like we're going to have to have that little talk with Matthew about 10 years sooner than planned.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
German Chocolate Cake...
As many of you know, I'll eat just about anything. I do, however, have a few items I don't like. One of these items is coconut. Now, I like the flavor of coconut, I just can't stand grated coconut in things I'm eating. German Chocolate cake is one of those things. Some butt-head went and created a recipe that just ruins a perfectly good chocolate cake by slathering some sort of coconut slime on top of it.
One of my jobs in college was at a bank as a teller. I worked the drive-through for the 2-7 afternoon shift. Tommy also worked for this bank, but at another branch. I actually took his shift at this particular branch when he transferred to a full-time shift at another branch.
Well, on my birthday, they surprised me with a cake. You guessed it, German Chocolate. Now, what do you do in this situation? I did the only thing I knew how to do. I choked that nasty crap down and thanked them graciously for thinking of me. A little while later, the head teller tole me they weren't sure what king of cake I liked to they called Tommy to ask him. Apparently he told them I LOVED German Chocolate and would tear one up if they got it for me. Yeah, 2+2=4. Tommy had gotten me.
Well, at just after 4, when the lobby of the bank closed, and just me and another teller were there, the phone rang. "FNB, this is Mark...", on the other end I hear Tommy's voice "How was that cake, jackass..." Good one, man.
As many of you know, I'll eat just about anything. I do, however, have a few items I don't like. One of these items is coconut. Now, I like the flavor of coconut, I just can't stand grated coconut in things I'm eating. German Chocolate cake is one of those things. Some butt-head went and created a recipe that just ruins a perfectly good chocolate cake by slathering some sort of coconut slime on top of it.
One of my jobs in college was at a bank as a teller. I worked the drive-through for the 2-7 afternoon shift. Tommy also worked for this bank, but at another branch. I actually took his shift at this particular branch when he transferred to a full-time shift at another branch.
Well, on my birthday, they surprised me with a cake. You guessed it, German Chocolate. Now, what do you do in this situation? I did the only thing I knew how to do. I choked that nasty crap down and thanked them graciously for thinking of me. A little while later, the head teller tole me they weren't sure what king of cake I liked to they called Tommy to ask him. Apparently he told them I LOVED German Chocolate and would tear one up if they got it for me. Yeah, 2+2=4. Tommy had gotten me.
Well, at just after 4, when the lobby of the bank closed, and just me and another teller were there, the phone rang. "FNB, this is Mark...", on the other end I hear Tommy's voice "How was that cake, jackass..." Good one, man.
Ocho dólares por hora...
Ok, about the "employment agency" from yesterday. Around Houston, and likely many other places in the US, there are large populations of people (In Houston, they are generally Mexican) willing to do just about any type of labor at a reasonable cost. They congregate in certain spots waiting for someone to come along and hire them. My preferred "employment agency" is at a Shell Station a few miles away from my house.
Yesterday morning, I drove to said station and there were probably 40 or 50 guys standing around. I got out and started pumping gas, and the guy closest mentioned something about work. I asked if he spoke English. He said no, but quickly got someone who spoke some broken English. I've hired guys both ways, but with my very limited Spanish vocabulary, having someone that knows some English sure makes things easier.
By this time all 40 or so of those suckers were clamoring to get in my truck hoping to get some work. It's a little un-nerving to negotiate with 2 guys with so many onlookers, and they weren't scattering until they were sure they weren't going to get work. You have to sort of respect the willingness to work, especially hard outdoor work for relatively low pay. We negotiated $8 per hour, and I guaranteed the two of them at least $50 each for a good job.
Now, some people probably pick these guys up and work them like dogs with little regard for them as humans. These guys probably expect that sort of thing, but not at my house. I probably build high expectations for the other people that hire them. I show these guys my garage fridge and tell them they are welcome to anything that's in it (sodas, water, Gatorade, etc). It never fails, these guys are ALWAYS partial to red Gatorade. At lunch time, I got them a bucket of chicken, and they wiped it out.
After 7 hours, the job was through, and they had done a great job. Their hard work netted them a bonus making their pay about $10 per hour. Well worth it to me.
Now, why was I so tired yesterday? Well, these guys work hard, but you have to SHOW them how you want everything done. You want the bushes trimmed, you trim the first one and they take over. I had them weed all of the flower beds, trim the shrubs, trim back all of the oleanders in the backyard, build a little rock wall around the flowerbeds (out of the rock I gathered at the ranch), and spread 2 yards of mulch. I between showing them how things needed to be done, I mowed and trimmed the yard (I prefer to do that myself), made a dash to the store for several bags of ice (for the Father's day party), and made a killer salsa for the party.
The weather was bad today, so I didn't take any pictures today. I'll try to get some tomorrow to share.
Ok, about the "employment agency" from yesterday. Around Houston, and likely many other places in the US, there are large populations of people (In Houston, they are generally Mexican) willing to do just about any type of labor at a reasonable cost. They congregate in certain spots waiting for someone to come along and hire them. My preferred "employment agency" is at a Shell Station a few miles away from my house.
Yesterday morning, I drove to said station and there were probably 40 or 50 guys standing around. I got out and started pumping gas, and the guy closest mentioned something about work. I asked if he spoke English. He said no, but quickly got someone who spoke some broken English. I've hired guys both ways, but with my very limited Spanish vocabulary, having someone that knows some English sure makes things easier.
By this time all 40 or so of those suckers were clamoring to get in my truck hoping to get some work. It's a little un-nerving to negotiate with 2 guys with so many onlookers, and they weren't scattering until they were sure they weren't going to get work. You have to sort of respect the willingness to work, especially hard outdoor work for relatively low pay. We negotiated $8 per hour, and I guaranteed the two of them at least $50 each for a good job.
Now, some people probably pick these guys up and work them like dogs with little regard for them as humans. These guys probably expect that sort of thing, but not at my house. I probably build high expectations for the other people that hire them. I show these guys my garage fridge and tell them they are welcome to anything that's in it (sodas, water, Gatorade, etc). It never fails, these guys are ALWAYS partial to red Gatorade. At lunch time, I got them a bucket of chicken, and they wiped it out.
After 7 hours, the job was through, and they had done a great job. Their hard work netted them a bonus making their pay about $10 per hour. Well worth it to me.
Now, why was I so tired yesterday? Well, these guys work hard, but you have to SHOW them how you want everything done. You want the bushes trimmed, you trim the first one and they take over. I had them weed all of the flower beds, trim the shrubs, trim back all of the oleanders in the backyard, build a little rock wall around the flowerbeds (out of the rock I gathered at the ranch), and spread 2 yards of mulch. I between showing them how things needed to be done, I mowed and trimmed the yard (I prefer to do that myself), made a dash to the store for several bags of ice (for the Father's day party), and made a killer salsa for the party.
The weather was bad today, so I didn't take any pictures today. I'll try to get some tomorrow to share.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Did someone get the license number of that truck?
Man, I feel like I've been run over by a bus. Last night ended at about 2am, and this morning started at 7:30am. I went down early this morning to the local "employment agency" and negotiated the help of a few guys. I'll tell more about how this process works tomorrow
I worked alongside these guys to get things finished before my guests arrived. I'll post pictures of the results and tell some stories tomorrow. Right now, I'm too beat to think, much less type.
Man, I feel like I've been run over by a bus. Last night ended at about 2am, and this morning started at 7:30am. I went down early this morning to the local "employment agency" and negotiated the help of a few guys. I'll tell more about how this process works tomorrow
I worked alongside these guys to get things finished before my guests arrived. I'll post pictures of the results and tell some stories tomorrow. Right now, I'm too beat to think, much less type.
Friday, June 15, 2007
Father's day...
OK, so in a momentary lapse of judgement, I volunteered to host a little Father's day get-together. It's just family along with Tommy, Joanna, and their son JT, so nothing big. But, the yard looks like crap. Actually the lawn looks great, green, and neatly manicured, but the flower beds are in sad shape. I can't have people over for grilling in the backyard with the place looking like this. The problem? I don't "do" flowerbeds.
Well, problem solved. Bright and early tomorrow morning, I'm going go down to a certain intersection and "hire" myself some help. That's how you get the heavy yard work done around here. For about $8 per hour cash each, you can get as many guys as you need, and they work like freight trains. I'd say it's well worth it.
OK, so in a momentary lapse of judgement, I volunteered to host a little Father's day get-together. It's just family along with Tommy, Joanna, and their son JT, so nothing big. But, the yard looks like crap. Actually the lawn looks great, green, and neatly manicured, but the flower beds are in sad shape. I can't have people over for grilling in the backyard with the place looking like this. The problem? I don't "do" flowerbeds.
Well, problem solved. Bright and early tomorrow morning, I'm going go down to a certain intersection and "hire" myself some help. That's how you get the heavy yard work done around here. For about $8 per hour cash each, you can get as many guys as you need, and they work like freight trains. I'd say it's well worth it.
Linen Pants - update...
I went to Macy's tonight to try to return the pants / koolots I talked about earlier in the week. Much to my surprise, they agreed to refund my money. They were out of my size (hint, it's not small), but he found a pair at another store. I should be back in business in the next day or so.
Lesson learned. Even washable linen should go to the cleaners. I don't know what I was thinking in the first place. At $1.25 per item at the local dry cleaners, it's not worth washing and ironing them myself.
I went to Macy's tonight to try to return the pants / koolots I talked about earlier in the week. Much to my surprise, they agreed to refund my money. They were out of my size (hint, it's not small), but he found a pair at another store. I should be back in business in the next day or so.
Lesson learned. Even washable linen should go to the cleaners. I don't know what I was thinking in the first place. At $1.25 per item at the local dry cleaners, it's not worth washing and ironing them myself.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Hey, Baby, $20...
I've had many jobs in my life. One hardest jobs I had was the summer between my sophomore and junior years in college. I worked as a plumbers helper. While I was in high school, I cut grass, cleaned windows, did inventory, etc for the local plumbing supply company. When I transferred to the hometown college and needed a job, the guys at the supply house hooked me up with a plumbing company that needed a helper.
Now the word helper would generally imply that you might get tools for, run errands, hold the other end of the pipe, etc for one of the plumbers. That's what the job description was according to the owner. Well, that's not what the job really was. Basically, you did ALL of the work while the plumber watched, talked on the phone in the truck (this was before everyone had cell phones), took a smoke break, etc. Once I dug a trench while the guy I was "helping" took a nap.
If you ever eat at TGI Friday's at the mall in Lafayette, LA, think of me. I worked on the plumbing crew that did the work. In fact, one morning at 3 AM, I was knee deep in a crap filled trench connecting the sewer line from the restaurant to the one exiting the mall. I worked 83.5 hours that week. At $6 per hour, I was making money like a champ for a college student. I also learned the 4 rules of plumbing: 1. Pay Day is on Friday. 2. The boss is a jerk. 3. Shit flows down hill (so make sure the drain lines always have a slope to them), and 4. Don't bite your nails.
One of the jobs we did that summer was a program for the City of Lafayette that rehabbed houses on the "other" side of town There was grant money to help bring old houses up to current plumbing codes. These houses were in BAD shape. The plumbing pipes were more often than not made out of clay (think flower pot material). Part of being a "helper" meant that I was the guy that had to crawl under the houses to run the drain pipes from the toilets, tubs, etc. Now let me say, my biggest phobia was spiders. Guess what lives in the dark spaces under these houses. MAN, that part of the job sucked.
I vividly remember one house that was elevated off the ground, but not much. I had to take a shovel and dig a trench for myself as I belly crawled under the house about 15 feet. I was thinking the whole time that I would savor any office job I managed to get after that. I was now doing the work that most people paid someone else to do.
Ok, now to a funny story. One morning we were working on the North side of town, in a neighborhood near I-10 and University Dr. We stopped at a stop sign and this really ratty looking black woman walked up and said to me "Hey, Baby. $20 and you pay the room at the St Francis Motel." I wish I could say I thought of something really witty to say in reply, but I just told Carl to move it and we drove off.
Those guys gave me hell about my "new girlfriend" the rest of the summer.
I worked my butt off that summer, but I wouldn't change a thing. I can now fix just about any plumbing emergency that arises without having to call a plumber.
And no, I didn't have "plumbers crack". I always wore a belt.
I've had many jobs in my life. One hardest jobs I had was the summer between my sophomore and junior years in college. I worked as a plumbers helper. While I was in high school, I cut grass, cleaned windows, did inventory, etc for the local plumbing supply company. When I transferred to the hometown college and needed a job, the guys at the supply house hooked me up with a plumbing company that needed a helper.
Now the word helper would generally imply that you might get tools for, run errands, hold the other end of the pipe, etc for one of the plumbers. That's what the job description was according to the owner. Well, that's not what the job really was. Basically, you did ALL of the work while the plumber watched, talked on the phone in the truck (this was before everyone had cell phones), took a smoke break, etc. Once I dug a trench while the guy I was "helping" took a nap.
If you ever eat at TGI Friday's at the mall in Lafayette, LA, think of me. I worked on the plumbing crew that did the work. In fact, one morning at 3 AM, I was knee deep in a crap filled trench connecting the sewer line from the restaurant to the one exiting the mall. I worked 83.5 hours that week. At $6 per hour, I was making money like a champ for a college student. I also learned the 4 rules of plumbing: 1. Pay Day is on Friday. 2. The boss is a jerk. 3. Shit flows down hill (so make sure the drain lines always have a slope to them), and 4. Don't bite your nails.
One of the jobs we did that summer was a program for the City of Lafayette that rehabbed houses on the "other" side of town There was grant money to help bring old houses up to current plumbing codes. These houses were in BAD shape. The plumbing pipes were more often than not made out of clay (think flower pot material). Part of being a "helper" meant that I was the guy that had to crawl under the houses to run the drain pipes from the toilets, tubs, etc. Now let me say, my biggest phobia was spiders. Guess what lives in the dark spaces under these houses. MAN, that part of the job sucked.
I vividly remember one house that was elevated off the ground, but not much. I had to take a shovel and dig a trench for myself as I belly crawled under the house about 15 feet. I was thinking the whole time that I would savor any office job I managed to get after that. I was now doing the work that most people paid someone else to do.
Ok, now to a funny story. One morning we were working on the North side of town, in a neighborhood near I-10 and University Dr. We stopped at a stop sign and this really ratty looking black woman walked up and said to me "Hey, Baby. $20 and you pay the room at the St Francis Motel." I wish I could say I thought of something really witty to say in reply, but I just told Carl to move it and we drove off.
Those guys gave me hell about my "new girlfriend" the rest of the summer.
I worked my butt off that summer, but I wouldn't change a thing. I can now fix just about any plumbing emergency that arises without having to call a plumber.
And no, I didn't have "plumbers crack". I always wore a belt.
Monday, June 11, 2007
My new pair of Koolots...
Alright, so I put on a load of clothes to wash, carefully following the directions. All of these items are to be washed in cold water on the gentle cycle, them some are line dry and the rest are low heat in the dryer.
Well, one of the items was my new favorite pair of pants - the linen pants from yesterday's post. The tag SAYS washable linen, cold water, gentle cycle, line dry...
Well, one cold wash on gentle cycle later, I have a new pair of koolots. The dang things are 6 inches too short. I damn near could have evacuated New Orleans in these things and not gotten my pants legs wet.
Everyone keeps telling me to take the back to Macy's since I followed the directions. I guess I'll try that and see if it works. Wish me luck. I liked those pants, but I can't wear them like they are now.
Of course, the Brutha style seems to be the baggy, wide leg shorts that go just below the knee. Perhaps another washing will get me yet another new style...
Alright, so I put on a load of clothes to wash, carefully following the directions. All of these items are to be washed in cold water on the gentle cycle, them some are line dry and the rest are low heat in the dryer.
Well, one of the items was my new favorite pair of pants - the linen pants from yesterday's post. The tag SAYS washable linen, cold water, gentle cycle, line dry...
Well, one cold wash on gentle cycle later, I have a new pair of koolots. The dang things are 6 inches too short. I damn near could have evacuated New Orleans in these things and not gotten my pants legs wet.
Everyone keeps telling me to take the back to Macy's since I followed the directions. I guess I'll try that and see if it works. Wish me luck. I liked those pants, but I can't wear them like they are now.
Of course, the Brutha style seems to be the baggy, wide leg shorts that go just below the knee. Perhaps another washing will get me yet another new style...
Sunday, June 10, 2007
I smoke old stogies I have found
Short, but not to big around...
Well, let me say first that our friend Julie throws one hell of a party. This Cuban themed parts was top notch. Along with the catered Cuban food and a very complete bar, she also had a Cuban lady sitting at a table in the back yard rolling cigars. You can't do it up much nicer than that. Man, now I feel like a bumpkin. I go and have the local smoke shop put together a decent assortment of cigars for this guy, and he has people coming by and rolling them in his back yard. Ok, so you don't keep the ones they roll in front of you because they have to age, etc, but they did bring a pile of ready-to-go cigars for the party guests. Apparently the place catering the cigars is one of the owners of a tobacco plantation somewhere in Mexico that grows from Cuban seeds.
Alright, I'm not usually the cigar type, but after a couple of Mojitos, some most excellent Cuban food, and the urging of a few others, I selected one of the supposedly milder smokes and lit up. When in Rome... You have to know me to picture this. I'm getting instructions on how to properly "smoke" a cigar. The coach was one of the female guests of some sort of Latin American descent. She sounds like she knows what she's talking about. All of them are telling me to not inhale, just suck in and rotate the cigar while lighting it. Puff in, *caugh*, coach repeating the "don't inhale" instructions. Repeat, coach tells me to just think of Clinton and don't inhale. Ok, when I think of Clinton and cigars, it has nothing to do with inhaling, laugh about that joke, cigar loses what light it has, and have to start over... Dang, this cigar smoking is tough. Finally get it lit, and now we're in business. It took me a little while to get the hang of puffing in on the cigar and not inhaling.
Shelly said I looked rather relaxed lounging in a chair on the back patio with a cold beverage (club soda with lime at this point) and a glowing stogie. After the busy Spring we have had, a nice, low-key party and visiting with friends was just what the Dr ordered.
For those wondering about the previously mentioned guayabera, here are a couple of pick of a certain smartly dressed couple...
Anyone wondering about the cigar rollers and such, here is a link to their website:
Thursday, June 07, 2007
Guayabera's - Latin America's answer to the leisure suit?
Ok, so right about now you are asking "What the hell is a Guayabera?" Google it, and you will immediately recognize the type of shirt. It's called a Mexican wedding shirt. You know the ones. The button-up shirts with the 4 pockets and embroidery that the guys in the Mariachi bands wear. I've also seen quite a few old white guys wearing them with their Sansibelt slacks.
Well, Shelly and I were invited to a Cuban themed party this weekend. The invitation said to wear your best Cuban attire, and specifically mentioned guayabera's. Ok, I've secretly wanted one of these shirts for years, but never got one. I started looking for one this week now that I finally have a legitimate opportunity to wear one. Much to my surprise, there are quite a few different types. These things are actually stylish. I picked up one that is a dark blue with a wide stripe on each side in a lighter blue shade. There is even some fancy embroidery on these 2 stripes. It's also linen /cotton instead of the normal polyester. Couple it with a pair of cream colored linen pants and some brown sandals, and I'm going to make a damn fine looking Cuban impersonator. I'm even thinking of picking up a wife-beater undershirt to make sure I'm dressed the part completely.
Of course, this get-up was more Shelly's doing. When I read the invitation about a Cuban themed party asking me to come in my best Cuban attire, my first thought was a swimsuit, some floaties, and a "Miami or Bust" sign.
The linen threads are pretty slick, but I still like my idea better.
Also, to show my host that I'm not a complete boob, I stopped at the local smoke shop and picked up a decent assortment of cigars as a gift. Goodness, decent cigars sure aren't cheap. I'm not a cigar person, but the guy running the place assured me that these were fairly good smokes. If any aficionados read this, the brands are Ashton, Cohiba, and A Fuente. I also picked one up out of the discount bin that he said was a good one for me to try. It says Camacho. Hopefully he was right about the Camacho and not just trying to make the Gringo sick. If You don't here from me after Saturday, you will know why.
Oh, and by the way, I do own an authentic Leisure Suit. It's lime green and the label in it says "Johnny Carson." It was supposedly top notch stuff back in the day. I happened to be wearing it the night I met Shelly, but that's another story for another day.
Ok, so right about now you are asking "What the hell is a Guayabera?" Google it, and you will immediately recognize the type of shirt. It's called a Mexican wedding shirt. You know the ones. The button-up shirts with the 4 pockets and embroidery that the guys in the Mariachi bands wear. I've also seen quite a few old white guys wearing them with their Sansibelt slacks.
Well, Shelly and I were invited to a Cuban themed party this weekend. The invitation said to wear your best Cuban attire, and specifically mentioned guayabera's. Ok, I've secretly wanted one of these shirts for years, but never got one. I started looking for one this week now that I finally have a legitimate opportunity to wear one. Much to my surprise, there are quite a few different types. These things are actually stylish. I picked up one that is a dark blue with a wide stripe on each side in a lighter blue shade. There is even some fancy embroidery on these 2 stripes. It's also linen /cotton instead of the normal polyester. Couple it with a pair of cream colored linen pants and some brown sandals, and I'm going to make a damn fine looking Cuban impersonator. I'm even thinking of picking up a wife-beater undershirt to make sure I'm dressed the part completely.
Of course, this get-up was more Shelly's doing. When I read the invitation about a Cuban themed party asking me to come in my best Cuban attire, my first thought was a swimsuit, some floaties, and a "Miami or Bust" sign.
The linen threads are pretty slick, but I still like my idea better.
Also, to show my host that I'm not a complete boob, I stopped at the local smoke shop and picked up a decent assortment of cigars as a gift. Goodness, decent cigars sure aren't cheap. I'm not a cigar person, but the guy running the place assured me that these were fairly good smokes. If any aficionados read this, the brands are Ashton, Cohiba, and A Fuente. I also picked one up out of the discount bin that he said was a good one for me to try. It says Camacho. Hopefully he was right about the Camacho and not just trying to make the Gringo sick. If You don't here from me after Saturday, you will know why.
Oh, and by the way, I do own an authentic Leisure Suit. It's lime green and the label in it says "Johnny Carson." It was supposedly top notch stuff back in the day. I happened to be wearing it the night I met Shelly, but that's another story for another day.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Fake Boobs and Drunk Old Ladies...
The alcohol flowed freely at the wedding reception. Very freely.
After a couple of hours, one of the attendees that had *ahem* enhancement surgery a little while back was drunker than Cooter Brown. Several of the people were, and it was actually pretty entertaining to watch them dance. Anyway, this young lady commented to Shelly, Staci (my sister), and I that her boobs seemed to be getting bigger. She clarified that by saying that it was the real portion, not the "fake" portion that was getting bigger. She then offered a feel to Staci. We had to laugh when Staci answered something to the effect of "you might be that drunk, but I'm not"
Ok, about the drunk lady falling off the toilet...
We lost my grandmother back in February of 2000. Since then, my grandfather has gotten a new girlfriend just about every year. He never gets rid of the old ones, just adds new members to his little 'harem". He has 3 or 4 spread around different parts of Texas, and another one out near Atlanta. Apparently 80 yr old men are in quite high demand these days, especially if they have the means to take a lady out every now and then.
Well, his date for the wedding is a nice lady, but she does love her wine. She had put away several glasses and was obviously a little sauced. My mother went with her when she went to the restroom to make sure she was ok. They came back a while later, and Mom had this look on her face that said "you wouldn't believe what just happened if I told you". Apparently girlfriend had lost her balance sitting on the toilet and fell off. Just fell forward onto the floor in front of the toilet... I've never laughed so hard in all my life. I was the one elected to tell Grandaddy that girlfriend was cut off from the bar the rest of the evening.
Ok, Grandaddy, the idea is to get them just drunk enough to lose their inhibitions, not sloppy drunk and falling off the toilet. Next time try only 3 glasses instead of 4...
The alcohol flowed freely at the wedding reception. Very freely.
After a couple of hours, one of the attendees that had *ahem* enhancement surgery a little while back was drunker than Cooter Brown. Several of the people were, and it was actually pretty entertaining to watch them dance. Anyway, this young lady commented to Shelly, Staci (my sister), and I that her boobs seemed to be getting bigger. She clarified that by saying that it was the real portion, not the "fake" portion that was getting bigger. She then offered a feel to Staci. We had to laugh when Staci answered something to the effect of "you might be that drunk, but I'm not"
Ok, about the drunk lady falling off the toilet...
We lost my grandmother back in February of 2000. Since then, my grandfather has gotten a new girlfriend just about every year. He never gets rid of the old ones, just adds new members to his little 'harem". He has 3 or 4 spread around different parts of Texas, and another one out near Atlanta. Apparently 80 yr old men are in quite high demand these days, especially if they have the means to take a lady out every now and then.
Well, his date for the wedding is a nice lady, but she does love her wine. She had put away several glasses and was obviously a little sauced. My mother went with her when she went to the restroom to make sure she was ok. They came back a while later, and Mom had this look on her face that said "you wouldn't believe what just happened if I told you". Apparently girlfriend had lost her balance sitting on the toilet and fell off. Just fell forward onto the floor in front of the toilet... I've never laughed so hard in all my life. I was the one elected to tell Grandaddy that girlfriend was cut off from the bar the rest of the evening.
Ok, Grandaddy, the idea is to get them just drunk enough to lose their inhibitions, not sloppy drunk and falling off the toilet. Next time try only 3 glasses instead of 4...
Getting revenge on the t-sippers...
Ok, a little background here. Everyone in Texas knows that the only rivalry in college football that matters is between t.u and the Fightin' Texas Aggies of Texas A&M. (Sorry, Katie, that's just how it is.) Ok, All of the aunt's and uncles (and some cousin's) on my mother's side of the family went to University of Texas, commonly referred to as t.u. They are generally referred to as longhorns or t-sippers. Shelly and many of her family members are Aggies. This makes for some serious fun at holiday get-togethers.
When Shelly and I met in the Spring of 2000, my cousin Eric (this is his wedding we just attended) was in the Longhorn Band. I was a Longhorn fan. I went to 2 games in the fall of 1999 to watch him march. I had a Longhorn sticker on the back of my car in support of him. I grew up rooting for the Longhorns. Basically, the Aggies were a bunch of nose picking boobs.
This perception of Aggies changed when I met Shelly. Shelly was good looking. She had all of her teeth. Not to mention, she looked good in a pair of Levi's. She didn't even pick her nose. It seems that all of these years, I had been fed mis-information. Well, after much ribbing from my family,Shelly and I were engaged that fall. Let me tell you, she gave as good as she got when it came to the school ribbing. When we were married in March of 2001, cousin Eric was one of the groomsmen. This is where things got interesting...
Like all good Aggies, Shelly chose the Aggie War Hymn as our Recessional (that's apparently the name for the song they play when you head out of the church). Of course, My uncles and Eric couldn't let this stand. As Eric and his appointed bridesmaid walked out, Uncle Mike passed Eric a burnt orange Longhorn cap to wear on his way out of the church. It didn't stop there either. At the reception, someone bribed the DJ to dedicate "The Eyes of Texas" (UT's song) to Shelly's family from my family. The rivalry has been quite fun from that point on.
That Fall, the entire family came to Houston for Thanksgiving. Shelly and I, headed to the the big game in College Station then to Rocksprings to hunt, while my family stayed at our house to watch the game and hang out for the rest of the weekend. Lesson here - if you are an Aggie, never leave a large group of Longhorns unattended in your house - especially around the time of the big Thanksgiving game. We returned home and found scores of little longhorn stickers all over our house. Some of them took weeks to be found.
Over Labor Day in 2003, Shelly and I drove to Alabama to spend a few days with my aunt and uncle (Eric's parents). You guessed it, we went armed with quite a few little A&M stickers. They admitted to finding one of them over last Christmas, more than 3 years later.
Of course, Eric married a Longhorn and there were definite UT themes at the wedding. The flowers the groomsmen and ushers wore had a sort of orange tint to them. There was also the grooms cake.
Here is a picture of it
.
I must say it was rather impressive, but it was noteworthy to point out that the "Jumbotron" was not playing highlights of the game from Thanksgiving 2006.
Here is a picture I took of my Uncle at the reception.
Poor guy. He walked around like that for over an hour before some meddling t-sipper took it off of him. heh, heh, heh.
When Eric and Morgan left the reception, there was a limo waiting in front of the hot to take them for a little drive. The driver was dutifully guarding the rear door of the car while we were all lined up waiting for them to come out so we could throw rose petals at them. Well, the guy was an amateur. I simply strolled around the front of the car, around the drivers side, and slipped into the LEFT side rear door of the car while Mr Driver was watching the crowd. Once inside, I got to work placing little A&M stickers to any surface in the car that they would stick to. That should have made for an interesting ride for the new bride and groom.. The funny part was when they got in the car. Morgan got in first, and completely didn't see me since she was looking at Eric as he got in the car. Once Eric was in the car, I tossed my handful of rose petals at them, then made a break for the door.
Shelly said it was a pretty funny sight from the outside. Bride and groom jump in the car and the door closes. Seconds later, the door re-opens and the jokester cousin of the groom (that would be me) tumbles out of the car just before the car screeches away.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Back Home Again...
We're back from Dallas, and boy howdy what a weekend we had. This will be sort of long, so bear with me.
Ever watch the Coyote and Roadrunner show when you were little? Remember how stupid Wiley Coyote was? It seemed he was always getting smacked. Well, on the way to Dallas, I met his cousin. We're cruising along I-45, minding our own business when we see a coyote trotting through the weeks on the right side of the freeway. Must have been a stupid one because he attempted to cross about the time I was passing him. He didn't make it... Bent the dang license plate on my truck also. I guess I need to get an Acme sign for the truck...
After arriving in Dallas, picking up the tux, and hitting the car wash to wash the Wiley remnants from the undercarriage of the truck, we headed to the hotel to check in. We went sort of upscale this time. The doors to the rooms were actually on the inside of the hotel this time instead of opening to the parking lot. The wedding reception was to be at the Fairmont, so it seemed logical to stay there.
When we headed into the lobby to check in, Shelly pointed out to me that we were in for some top notch people watching this weekend. There was some sort of a conference for black Baptist women and girls... Wow, those folks sure to dress up for church meetings. I've never seen more wigs, weaves, and hats in one place in all my life. Big hats. One of the women had what looked like a purple pom-pom on the top of her head as a hat. It was bigger than her head. I wish I had thought to take some pictures...
On Saturday morning I took a walk to a local McDonald's to pick up some breakfast. I thought about calling room service, but $50 for breakfast with a 3 yr old seemed like sort of a waste. I'm sometimes cheap like that. Besides, the weather was fine and it was only about 8 blocks or so away. Well, the McD's was in a sort of food court deal next to the Adam's Mark, which happened to be hosting a big Anime' convention. Man, what a freak show that joint was. Here is a link to that deal and a bunch of the attendees photo albums. http://www.a-kon.com/bm/News/its-the-a-kon-18-photot-gallery-page.shtml Wow, almost like a Star Trek convention, but for younger geeks.
Man, all of this good people watching, and I haven't even mentioned the wedding...
Stay tuned, Tomorrow's post will involve fake boobs, drunken old ladies falling off toilets, another installment of Aggie vs. T-Sipper rivalries, and yours truly getting thrown from a Limousine.
We're back from Dallas, and boy howdy what a weekend we had. This will be sort of long, so bear with me.
Ever watch the Coyote and Roadrunner show when you were little? Remember how stupid Wiley Coyote was? It seemed he was always getting smacked. Well, on the way to Dallas, I met his cousin. We're cruising along I-45, minding our own business when we see a coyote trotting through the weeks on the right side of the freeway. Must have been a stupid one because he attempted to cross about the time I was passing him. He didn't make it... Bent the dang license plate on my truck also. I guess I need to get an Acme sign for the truck...
After arriving in Dallas, picking up the tux, and hitting the car wash to wash the Wiley remnants from the undercarriage of the truck, we headed to the hotel to check in. We went sort of upscale this time. The doors to the rooms were actually on the inside of the hotel this time instead of opening to the parking lot. The wedding reception was to be at the Fairmont, so it seemed logical to stay there.
When we headed into the lobby to check in, Shelly pointed out to me that we were in for some top notch people watching this weekend. There was some sort of a conference for black Baptist women and girls... Wow, those folks sure to dress up for church meetings. I've never seen more wigs, weaves, and hats in one place in all my life. Big hats. One of the women had what looked like a purple pom-pom on the top of her head as a hat. It was bigger than her head. I wish I had thought to take some pictures...
On Saturday morning I took a walk to a local McDonald's to pick up some breakfast. I thought about calling room service, but $50 for breakfast with a 3 yr old seemed like sort of a waste. I'm sometimes cheap like that. Besides, the weather was fine and it was only about 8 blocks or so away. Well, the McD's was in a sort of food court deal next to the Adam's Mark, which happened to be hosting a big Anime' convention. Man, what a freak show that joint was. Here is a link to that deal and a bunch of the attendees photo albums. http://www.a-kon.com/bm/News/its-the-a-kon-18-photot-gallery-page.shtml Wow, almost like a Star Trek convention, but for younger geeks.
Man, all of this good people watching, and I haven't even mentioned the wedding...
Stay tuned, Tomorrow's post will involve fake boobs, drunken old ladies falling off toilets, another installment of Aggie vs. T-Sipper rivalries, and yours truly getting thrown from a Limousine.
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