We signed up for a Bank of America checking and savings account a couple weeks ago. I think we're gonna like 'em. I had an account at WAMU, but they weren't very customer friendly. They wouldn't make an exception just to get my wife added on my account because she didn't have two "acceptable" forms of ID. Bank of America did. They were so nice there. The lady that set up our account took forever, but at least she was being thorough. And she was super sweet, too. One reason we chose Bank of America is because I hope to be going back and forth to Michigan at least a couple times a year. I needed a bank that had branches all over the nation...or at least almost all of the nation.
We ran into a problem with Chase while were in Georgia. We had to put money in our account, but there were no Chase banks within a 500 mile radius. I called, just to be sure.
So I think we're going to be very well satisfied with Bank of America. So far, we haven't had anything but good customer service, smiling faces, and people who go out of their way to get your business. Bank of America has my business now.
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Try Blogsvertise!!
Do you want a great way to make money on the internet? Are you sick of networking until you're blue in the face for merely enough money to buy a daily newspaper? Now there's a better alternative. Go to Blogsvertise!! This is a site that actually pays you to do what you do best...BLOG!! Blogsvertise will assign you a product or service to review for one of their advertisers and you will...you guessed it...BLOG about it. So if a few cents a day isn't enough to sustain your "work at home" lifestyle, give Blogsvertise a shot. It's free to sign up...so what have you got to lose? Don't just blog anymore...Blogsvertise!!
Friday, November 24, 2006
Southern Hospitality...Straight from South Korea
Cast of Characters: (This may come in handy for future blogs, too).
My mother-in-law - she's from South Korea
Diana - my hot, lovely and half-Asian wife
Me - I'm Chad
My mother-in-law is so sweet...almost to a fault.
I got sick Tuesday night on the way home from Santa Ana. By the way..California traffic - B-R-U-T-A-L. Santa Ana is maybe 60 miles away. It took over three hours to get back from there.
Anyways, back to me. I thought it was sinuses, but it turns out that it was the flu. I don't understand how I got sick in this weather, but I did. I told Diana, but I told her not to tell her mom because I knew she would make a fuss over me. I hate when people make a fuss over me...kinda.
But last night she was talking to her mom on the phone and I hear her say, "Chad's been sick all day. He started feeling sick on the way home last night." Then I hear, "Because he didn't want you to make a fuss over him...he knows how you are." So they talk for a couple more minutes and then, in true "mother of Diana" fashion, her mom tells her, "Okay I gotta go. I love you," and then she hung up the phone.
Ten minutes later, there's a knock on the door. Diana's mom walked through the door with a bag full of chicken soup and NyQuil. She even cooked it for me!! The chicken soup...not the NyQuil. I'm not complaining. The soup was good...and the NyQuil was even better. I'm was feeling pretty darn good after a couple of doses straight from the bottle. No sissy cup for me...just give it to me straight. And none of that cherry crap either. I want the "Green Death" flavor.
Mmmmm...chicken soup and NyQuil...it doesn't get much better than that.
My mother-in-law - she's from South Korea
Diana - my hot, lovely and half-Asian wife
Me - I'm Chad
My mother-in-law is so sweet...almost to a fault.
I got sick Tuesday night on the way home from Santa Ana. By the way..California traffic - B-R-U-T-A-L. Santa Ana is maybe 60 miles away. It took over three hours to get back from there.
Anyways, back to me. I thought it was sinuses, but it turns out that it was the flu. I don't understand how I got sick in this weather, but I did. I told Diana, but I told her not to tell her mom because I knew she would make a fuss over me. I hate when people make a fuss over me...kinda.
But last night she was talking to her mom on the phone and I hear her say, "Chad's been sick all day. He started feeling sick on the way home last night." Then I hear, "Because he didn't want you to make a fuss over him...he knows how you are." So they talk for a couple more minutes and then, in true "mother of Diana" fashion, her mom tells her, "Okay I gotta go. I love you," and then she hung up the phone.
Ten minutes later, there's a knock on the door. Diana's mom walked through the door with a bag full of chicken soup and NyQuil. She even cooked it for me!! The chicken soup...not the NyQuil. I'm not complaining. The soup was good...and the NyQuil was even better. I'm was feeling pretty darn good after a couple of doses straight from the bottle. No sissy cup for me...just give it to me straight. And none of that cherry crap either. I want the "Green Death" flavor.
Mmmmm...chicken soup and NyQuil...it doesn't get much better than that.
And His Name Shall Be Thomas...Or Not.
We had a "get together" in May to celebrate the end of a decade of college. Okay..over a decade...but whatever. We had two of our "couple friends" over - Ken & Sunita and Bryan & Julie - our top two "couple friends" at the time. Julie was pregnant. Her original due date was June 6..which means her kid's birthday would be 6/6/06. So we all made fun of her and said that she's carrying Satan's spawn..like Damien. She's got a good sense of humor about it, but she told us that the doctor said her new due date was May 31. All of us always wondered if she was just telling us that so we'd stop with the Lucifer jokes.
But anyways...I could understand how that could annoy her after awhile. But that's not the awkward part. At the time, they were discussing the idea of naming their baby Thomas. It's a good Christian name. It's nothing out of the ordinary...a good, all-American boy name. You got your Thomas Edison, your St. Thomas Aquinas, your Dave Thomas - the founder of Wendy's. Mmmmmmm...Wendy's
Anyways..one thing that they really liked about Thomas is that nobody can really make fun of his name like most kids do. They said they spent a lot of time trying to find a name that nothing rhymed with and that nobody could find anything to make fun of. Such as, oh..say Dennis could be Dennis the Menace. Another friend of mine - I won't name him because he might get mad...but his last name rhymed with "rusty booty." So he went through hell.
But Bryan and Julie took great pride in the fact that nobody could make fun of the name Thomas....until me. After they talked about how great the name Thomas was, I said, "What about Tom - Ass?" Everybody looked at me, but I was the only one laughing. It was a silent moment. Then it turned into a few silent moments. So I tried to relieve the awkwardness and said, "Maybe I'll just call him Tom or Tommy..how's that?" Diana didn't try to save me this time like she usually does when I say things that aren't socially acceptable. I think she rejoiced in my squirming. Julie looked at me and said, "Well, how about we won't let you call him anything...how's that?" They left soon afterwards.
But anyways...I could understand how that could annoy her after awhile. But that's not the awkward part. At the time, they were discussing the idea of naming their baby Thomas. It's a good Christian name. It's nothing out of the ordinary...a good, all-American boy name. You got your Thomas Edison, your St. Thomas Aquinas, your Dave Thomas - the founder of Wendy's. Mmmmmmm...Wendy's
Anyways..one thing that they really liked about Thomas is that nobody can really make fun of his name like most kids do. They said they spent a lot of time trying to find a name that nothing rhymed with and that nobody could find anything to make fun of. Such as, oh..say Dennis could be Dennis the Menace. Another friend of mine - I won't name him because he might get mad...but his last name rhymed with "rusty booty." So he went through hell.
But Bryan and Julie took great pride in the fact that nobody could make fun of the name Thomas....until me. After they talked about how great the name Thomas was, I said, "What about Tom - Ass?" Everybody looked at me, but I was the only one laughing. It was a silent moment. Then it turned into a few silent moments. So I tried to relieve the awkwardness and said, "Maybe I'll just call him Tom or Tommy..how's that?" Diana didn't try to save me this time like she usually does when I say things that aren't socially acceptable. I think she rejoiced in my squirming. Julie looked at me and said, "Well, how about we won't let you call him anything...how's that?" They left soon afterwards.
Hootie & the Blowfish: Not Just a Funny Name Anymore
Hootie and the Blowfish is the greatest band on the face of the earth.
Okay...if you can stop laughing long enough, please continue to read.
I'm completely obsessed with this band. I have been since they came out with Cracked Rear View. I'm not sure what it is...but I am utterly and completely enamored by them. Darius Rucker's voice is one man's voice that I could listen to all day without getting tired of it. There's a couple others, like Eddie Vedder's and Kurt Cobain's, but Darius tops the list.
I'll admit it. When I first started listening to them, it was because of their name. "Hootie and the what-fish?" I said to myself.
And then I saw their video. When their first video played on VH1, I remember liking them for their uniqueness. "Hey, a black guy in an all-white band," I remember thinking. "That's a great concept." I thought that was even more intriguing then their name. But that wasn't the only thing I liked. At the time, Darius seemed a tad bit chubby. Besides John Popper of Blues Traveler, there were not many lead singers of bands who had extra meat on their bones. I liked it...because I was chubby...but I wasn't black. And I'm still not...yet.
But then my fascination with them deepened. I began listening to their lyrics. I don't like to label them as many have - "the band that brought down grunge." There were many bands at the time that were very similar to HBF (that's short for Hootie and the Blowfish for the laymen). But the other bands just weren't as overplayed as HBF was...nor was their name as funny. Come on...Sister Hazel?? That's not very funny. Toad the Wet Sprocket was pretty funny...but it just wasn't as catchy as Hootie. HBF's lyrics were happy, save for the few obligatory ballads that every band is forced to compile on their albums. But unlike the grunge bands that fell to the feet of Hootie, the theme of their ballads didn't revolve around "angst" and being a "social outcast" or "teenage loserdom." Their songs didn't have the message of "Life sucks and I want to kill myself." They were about breakups and parental deaths and growing up. Their lyrics were more mature, focusing on dealing with heartache rather than wallowing in it. Their song, "Hold My Hand" was basically about sticking together through the troubles of life rather than running away or being intent on self-pity.
And so my love grew...exponentially. I went to a Hootie concert - my very first concert ever. My second concert, coincidently, was Lollapalooza - a festival of bands and musicians that personified self-pity. I not only had to beg my friends to go to see HBF, but I also had to buy their tickets. And what's more, we had to drive to Dayton, Ohio to see the concert because the scheduled shows in Michigan were sold out.
The next year, I had to choose a college to go to. I decided to go to the University of South Carolina. Yep, that's right. The hallowed halls of USC - Columbia...the same university that was graced by the mesmerizing voice of Darius himself. It was a religious experience for me. The entire summer prior to my leaving, the only music I listened to was Hootie. My CD player was all Hootie, all the time. Their second album, Fairweather Johnson, had just been released and now I had double the Hootie for my listening pleasures.
HBF helped me grow up. For every situation I was going through, good or bad, there was a Hootie song that helped me get through it. USC didn't work out for me, due to family problems back home. But the spirit of HBF stayed with me.
Soon after coming back, I met the gal that would be my wife...just before their third album - Musical Chairs - was released. There were songs on that album that carried me through feelings of a new love.
One of my biggest praises of HBF is that they don't go around spouting their political views. The closest they come is one line in the song "Drowning" - "Why is the rebel flag still hanging from the statehouse walls?" I hate these bands that think they can use their popularity and position to spout off their irrelevant and uninformed opinions. Very few musicians have my permission to do this. Bono is one of them because he actually gets involved. But enough about Bono...back to Hootie. Out of all the Hootie concerts I've been to (and trust me, it's MANY), I've never heard an "Impeach Bush" or anything political coming out of their mouths. I respect that. I think they're Democrats, but the fact that I don't know for sure impresses me.
And another think I like - they admit that they started playing music so they could get free beer and women. I love honesty, especially when most of the pretentious musicians are like, "Aww man, I just love what music does. I need to spread the message. I couldn't care less about the money." Yeah right. That's why you and everybody that has said that fought Napster tooth and nail. Just say you're doing it for the money..or for the ladies...or whatever. That's more respectable.
Anyway...I'm cutting this off now because I'll probably be doing more Hootie-inspired blogs in the future...the near future. Thanks for reading. Give 'em a listen if you haven't tried 'em out yet. They're amazing.
Okay...if you can stop laughing long enough, please continue to read.
I'm completely obsessed with this band. I have been since they came out with Cracked Rear View. I'm not sure what it is...but I am utterly and completely enamored by them. Darius Rucker's voice is one man's voice that I could listen to all day without getting tired of it. There's a couple others, like Eddie Vedder's and Kurt Cobain's, but Darius tops the list.
I'll admit it. When I first started listening to them, it was because of their name. "Hootie and the what-fish?" I said to myself.
And then I saw their video. When their first video played on VH1, I remember liking them for their uniqueness. "Hey, a black guy in an all-white band," I remember thinking. "That's a great concept." I thought that was even more intriguing then their name. But that wasn't the only thing I liked. At the time, Darius seemed a tad bit chubby. Besides John Popper of Blues Traveler, there were not many lead singers of bands who had extra meat on their bones. I liked it...because I was chubby...but I wasn't black. And I'm still not...yet.
But then my fascination with them deepened. I began listening to their lyrics. I don't like to label them as many have - "the band that brought down grunge." There were many bands at the time that were very similar to HBF (that's short for Hootie and the Blowfish for the laymen). But the other bands just weren't as overplayed as HBF was...nor was their name as funny. Come on...Sister Hazel?? That's not very funny. Toad the Wet Sprocket was pretty funny...but it just wasn't as catchy as Hootie. HBF's lyrics were happy, save for the few obligatory ballads that every band is forced to compile on their albums. But unlike the grunge bands that fell to the feet of Hootie, the theme of their ballads didn't revolve around "angst" and being a "social outcast" or "teenage loserdom." Their songs didn't have the message of "Life sucks and I want to kill myself." They were about breakups and parental deaths and growing up. Their lyrics were more mature, focusing on dealing with heartache rather than wallowing in it. Their song, "Hold My Hand" was basically about sticking together through the troubles of life rather than running away or being intent on self-pity.
And so my love grew...exponentially. I went to a Hootie concert - my very first concert ever. My second concert, coincidently, was Lollapalooza - a festival of bands and musicians that personified self-pity. I not only had to beg my friends to go to see HBF, but I also had to buy their tickets. And what's more, we had to drive to Dayton, Ohio to see the concert because the scheduled shows in Michigan were sold out.
The next year, I had to choose a college to go to. I decided to go to the University of South Carolina. Yep, that's right. The hallowed halls of USC - Columbia...the same university that was graced by the mesmerizing voice of Darius himself. It was a religious experience for me. The entire summer prior to my leaving, the only music I listened to was Hootie. My CD player was all Hootie, all the time. Their second album, Fairweather Johnson, had just been released and now I had double the Hootie for my listening pleasures.
HBF helped me grow up. For every situation I was going through, good or bad, there was a Hootie song that helped me get through it. USC didn't work out for me, due to family problems back home. But the spirit of HBF stayed with me.
Soon after coming back, I met the gal that would be my wife...just before their third album - Musical Chairs - was released. There were songs on that album that carried me through feelings of a new love.
One of my biggest praises of HBF is that they don't go around spouting their political views. The closest they come is one line in the song "Drowning" - "Why is the rebel flag still hanging from the statehouse walls?" I hate these bands that think they can use their popularity and position to spout off their irrelevant and uninformed opinions. Very few musicians have my permission to do this. Bono is one of them because he actually gets involved. But enough about Bono...back to Hootie. Out of all the Hootie concerts I've been to (and trust me, it's MANY), I've never heard an "Impeach Bush" or anything political coming out of their mouths. I respect that. I think they're Democrats, but the fact that I don't know for sure impresses me.
And another think I like - they admit that they started playing music so they could get free beer and women. I love honesty, especially when most of the pretentious musicians are like, "Aww man, I just love what music does. I need to spread the message. I couldn't care less about the money." Yeah right. That's why you and everybody that has said that fought Napster tooth and nail. Just say you're doing it for the money..or for the ladies...or whatever. That's more respectable.
Anyway...I'm cutting this off now because I'll probably be doing more Hootie-inspired blogs in the future...the near future. Thanks for reading. Give 'em a listen if you haven't tried 'em out yet. They're amazing.
Hootie's Wand of Wonder Waves Again
Once again, Hootie and the Blowfish has come through for me. With their music, they helped me through many things in life. Many a night I drove around in my sticker-filled mini van...looking at the stars in the sky and listening to the power in Darius's voice as he sang, "Goodbye." Many a night, I listened as Darius poured his heart into "Let Her Cry" - possibly one of the most beautiful songs ever written. Mr. Rucker's voice has sent many chills up my spine and given me hundreds of cases of goose pimples. (I haven't heard that word in forever!! Are they trying to phase it out?? Is it derogatory towards geese? Just wondering).
We used to go to karaoke bars all the time - me, my wife, and some friends. In 1999, I got up and sang, "Only Wanna Be With You," by...you guessed it...Hootie & the Blowfish. At the completion of the song, to my then girlfriend's surprise, I asked her to come up. I got down on one knee and proposed to her, dedicating the song I had just sung to her. I know...I know. How romantic could it be in front of a bunch of drunken idiots, you're probably asking. Please, try not to swoon into unconsciousness. In my defense, the first time I proposed to her was earlier in the year...at the Grand Canyon...as we watched the sun was setting over the majestic wonder on the Northern Rim...with Hootie's "Only Wanna Be With You" softly playing behind us on the car stereo. That time wasn't official, though. I didn't have a ring.
But now, thanks to a blog that I wrote about them, I have a writing job. And I'm so happy. I actually wrote the blog about them thinking that maybe it would catch one of their "people's" attention and maybe I could meet the band one day. That is my ultimate dream. Then I could die a happy man. But I suppose getting a job from the blog is the next best thing.
I'm not a celebrity worshipper or some nutjob fan. I just have nothing but respect for these guys. They're the "all-American" kinda guys. They have wives, families, and emotions. To me, they're real. They're all about beer, heartache, and having a good time in life. And they don't take themselves too seriously.
Hootie and the Blowfish are not only my favorite band. As silly as it sounds, they are a part of my life. I'm sure there will be more Hootie memories to follow.
So Hootie, here's to you and your funny name. If your people read this...how's about some tickets to the New Year's Eve Las Vegas show??
We used to go to karaoke bars all the time - me, my wife, and some friends. In 1999, I got up and sang, "Only Wanna Be With You," by...you guessed it...Hootie & the Blowfish. At the completion of the song, to my then girlfriend's surprise, I asked her to come up. I got down on one knee and proposed to her, dedicating the song I had just sung to her. I know...I know. How romantic could it be in front of a bunch of drunken idiots, you're probably asking. Please, try not to swoon into unconsciousness. In my defense, the first time I proposed to her was earlier in the year...at the Grand Canyon...as we watched the sun was setting over the majestic wonder on the Northern Rim...with Hootie's "Only Wanna Be With You" softly playing behind us on the car stereo. That time wasn't official, though. I didn't have a ring.
But now, thanks to a blog that I wrote about them, I have a writing job. And I'm so happy. I actually wrote the blog about them thinking that maybe it would catch one of their "people's" attention and maybe I could meet the band one day. That is my ultimate dream. Then I could die a happy man. But I suppose getting a job from the blog is the next best thing.
I'm not a celebrity worshipper or some nutjob fan. I just have nothing but respect for these guys. They're the "all-American" kinda guys. They have wives, families, and emotions. To me, they're real. They're all about beer, heartache, and having a good time in life. And they don't take themselves too seriously.
Hootie and the Blowfish are not only my favorite band. As silly as it sounds, they are a part of my life. I'm sure there will be more Hootie memories to follow.
So Hootie, here's to you and your funny name. If your people read this...how's about some tickets to the New Year's Eve Las Vegas show??
Writing Prompt Exercise: No Dialogue
So sometimes what I like to do is take writing prompts out of my various books and see what I can do with it. Here's one. The prompt was just "write a scene using no dialogue and only body language." Give it a shot, too, if you want. It's pretty fun. I got a few more I'm working on tonight that I'm gonna try to post.
They sat at the table, gazing at the pile of bills that had accumulated for the month. Vic refused to look Liz in the eyes, but she would not even look in his direction. His hand sifted through the pile, searching for evidence of her carefree spending habits. She searched for ATM records from Déjà vu. He gloriously held up a credit card bill - $143 dollars at JC Penney. He held it in his hand and then dangled it inches from her eyes. She moved her head, but the evidence followed it. His accusing smile shone as she frantically began to look for her redemption. A smile slowly crossed her face when she reached for her own damning evidence - $180 ATM withdrawal – Déjà vu. Her wide eyes and sarcastic smile only made him search harder and faster. Alas, another discovery. He shook his head and held another statement. The look of joy on his face gave her a frown. She could only guess what he found this time.
He raised it up above his head and threw it down into her lap, chuckling triumphantly. Don Franco’s - $192. He sat back in the stiff dining room chair and crossed his arms in victory. She continued to search frantically, but found no more papers to accuse him with. Slumping down in her chair in defeat, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He continued to stare her down with menacing eyes. She winked at him and reached for his leg. He did not move. She stood up and leaned over to kiss him, but his lips remained rigid. She walked towards the bedroom, unbuttoning her pink JC Penney shirt as she slowly glided towards the bedroom door. She looked back at him before entering and motioned for him to follow her with her newly manicured finger. He smiled. He stood from his chair and quickly followed her. Their monthly ritual continued.
They sat at the table, gazing at the pile of bills that had accumulated for the month. Vic refused to look Liz in the eyes, but she would not even look in his direction. His hand sifted through the pile, searching for evidence of her carefree spending habits. She searched for ATM records from Déjà vu. He gloriously held up a credit card bill - $143 dollars at JC Penney. He held it in his hand and then dangled it inches from her eyes. She moved her head, but the evidence followed it. His accusing smile shone as she frantically began to look for her redemption. A smile slowly crossed her face when she reached for her own damning evidence - $180 ATM withdrawal – Déjà vu. Her wide eyes and sarcastic smile only made him search harder and faster. Alas, another discovery. He shook his head and held another statement. The look of joy on his face gave her a frown. She could only guess what he found this time.
He raised it up above his head and threw it down into her lap, chuckling triumphantly. Don Franco’s - $192. He sat back in the stiff dining room chair and crossed his arms in victory. She continued to search frantically, but found no more papers to accuse him with. Slumping down in her chair in defeat, she looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He continued to stare her down with menacing eyes. She winked at him and reached for his leg. He did not move. She stood up and leaned over to kiss him, but his lips remained rigid. She walked towards the bedroom, unbuttoning her pink JC Penney shirt as she slowly glided towards the bedroom door. She looked back at him before entering and motioned for him to follow her with her newly manicured finger. He smiled. He stood from his chair and quickly followed her. Their monthly ritual continued.
Joke: Logic & Flawed Reasoning
This is my all-time favorite joke ever! It was told on the Conan O'Brien show by one of the funniest men on the planet - Norm McDonald. He does a much much much better job in telling it in only the way that Norm McDonald can tell a joke, but this is the best way I can recount it. And this will be my last joke for awhile. I know it's kinda long...but I think the payoff at the end makes it worth it.
Bob had just moved in to a new neighborhood and was talking over the fence with his new neighbor for the first time. The two began discussing things that new neighbors discuss.
"So what do you do for a living?" Bob asked Richard, the new neighbor.
"I'm a professor of logic at the local University," Richard proudly responded.
"Logic? What's that?"
"Well," begins Richard, "it's probably easier if I just give you an example rather than tell you what it is."
"Okay," Bob replied inquisitively.
"Well, I see that you have a doghouse in your backyard."
"Yeah," replies Bob. "That's a doghouse."
"So I'm assuming that since you have a doghouse, you must have a dog. And since you have a dog, chances are you probably have a family."
"Okay, Richard," Bob said. "So far, you're right."
"And since you have a family," Richard continued, "that means you have a wife, and kids...am I right?"
"Yes..yes, you're right."
"And since you have a wife and kids, I deduct that you're a heterosexual. Is that correct?"
"Yes..that's correct."
"So you see," explains Richard, "just from taking the fact that you have a doghouse, I was able to deduce that you're a heterosexual."
"Wow," says Bob. "That is pretty amazing." Later that day, Bob was waiting at the bus stop with another gentleman. He strikes up a conversation with the stranger. "I was talking to my new neighbor earlier today," he begins. "Turns out, he's a logic professor at the local university."
"A logic professor?" the man says. "What's that?"
"Well," begins Bob, "let me give you an example. For instance, do you have a doghouse in your yard?"
"No," replies the stranger.
"Well, what are ya," Bob exclaims, "a homosexual??"
Bob had just moved in to a new neighborhood and was talking over the fence with his new neighbor for the first time. The two began discussing things that new neighbors discuss.
"So what do you do for a living?" Bob asked Richard, the new neighbor.
"I'm a professor of logic at the local University," Richard proudly responded.
"Logic? What's that?"
"Well," begins Richard, "it's probably easier if I just give you an example rather than tell you what it is."
"Okay," Bob replied inquisitively.
"Well, I see that you have a doghouse in your backyard."
"Yeah," replies Bob. "That's a doghouse."
"So I'm assuming that since you have a doghouse, you must have a dog. And since you have a dog, chances are you probably have a family."
"Okay, Richard," Bob said. "So far, you're right."
"And since you have a family," Richard continued, "that means you have a wife, and kids...am I right?"
"Yes..yes, you're right."
"And since you have a wife and kids, I deduct that you're a heterosexual. Is that correct?"
"Yes..that's correct."
"So you see," explains Richard, "just from taking the fact that you have a doghouse, I was able to deduce that you're a heterosexual."
"Wow," says Bob. "That is pretty amazing." Later that day, Bob was waiting at the bus stop with another gentleman. He strikes up a conversation with the stranger. "I was talking to my new neighbor earlier today," he begins. "Turns out, he's a logic professor at the local university."
"A logic professor?" the man says. "What's that?"
"Well," begins Bob, "let me give you an example. For instance, do you have a doghouse in your yard?"
"No," replies the stranger.
"Well, what are ya," Bob exclaims, "a homosexual??"
Personal Essay: Abigail, My Beloved
I used to have a van. It was an Astro van to be exact. It was perfect – bigger than a car but not as big as the typical “Uncle Chester” van that your parents always warned you about. It was a dark blue van with six stripes of varied widths that wrapped horizontally around the middle. There were a lot of good times in that van. I named it Abigail – Abigail the Astro Van. She was my baby.
I remember the day my parents drove that van into our driveway for the first time. It was new then. The year was 1986. I was so excited, though I was still 759 days away from getting my driver’s permit. I knew one day that glorious piece of machinery would be mine. It was the first new vehicle my parents bought. At last, we weren’t stuck with a piece of junk that would leave us stranded again.
My first memory inside the van was when I played football my sophomore year of high school. Along with some other proud parents, my dad followed the bus to our away games. Before this trip, two teammates and I rode in the van along with him because he brought along a few bags of Angelo’s coneys and cheeseburgers. We ended up sitting out the last three quarters of the game, soon after the lethal combination of month-old-grease and coney sauce created a war within our bellies.
Abby was passed down to me when I became a senior. That’s when the good times rolled. I did everything in that van - eating, sleeping, and other activities that teenage boys like to do. Abby and I were inseparable. For my birthday that year, I had a CD player installed inside of her. I was one of the few people at my school that had a CD player in their vehicle. We skipped school the entire next day and drove around taking advantage of our new toy. We took friends in “school skipping” shifts. Some of us skipped first hour. Then we would take them back to school and pick up a few people who wanted to skip second hour. This went on for the entire day. Abby and I secured a legacy to behold at school that day.
Abby and I went to every Flint Central High School football game during our senior year. Sometimes it was me and a van load of people. Sometimes it was just me and Abby. She never fussed. She was an inspiration to the entire team. I’d like to think that because of her loyalty, our school was inspired to make it to the state semi-finals that season.
Abby saw me through my grunge phase that year, too. When I became enamored by bands like Pearl Jam and Nirvana, Abby was less than enthusiastic about my change, but she always supported my decisions. I think there may have been pinch of jealousy in Abby’s soul. She was afraid I had a second love - one that was above her. She was still a good girl though as she was still willing to take me to my first Lollapalooza.
Abby was with me when I made the long and lonely trek to the University of South Carolina – the school where Hootie and the Blowfish was formed. She was a big fan of Hootie. Whenever a Hootie song came on the stereo, she seemed to run much better and more efficiently. She was extremely proud to take me safely to my first Hootie concert in Cleveland when their shows were sold out in Michigan. Before leaving for the Palmetto State, I parked Abby where she could watch the entire going away party that was being thrown for me. She had a cocky look because she knew she would be the only one to accompany me on my new life journey.
We stayed in South Carolina for awhile before she brought me back home. She didn’t want to leave, though. The warm weather we enjoyed down there did wonders for her engine. Just hours before our departure, she got a flat tire. I fixed her up and explained our reason for leaving. She brought me back with nary a problem.
Abby’s life was not without trouble. We were together when we got into our first major accident when coming home late one night. We were rear-ended as we slowed down to follow the flow of traffic. She was bad that night. I could not even get her to start until the next day. A few months later, she was violated when someone opened her doors and got inside. They ripped out CD player and pillaged all of the CDs, except for the “Twister” soundtrack which was left unharmed lying on the passenger seat.
Abby really wasn’t the same after that night. She still did her job, as any loyal friend would. She acted like it did not bother her, but I knew it did deep down. I tried to fix her up, hoping it would make her feel better. I got her a new stereo. I put stickers all over her on the inside. I burned honeysuckle incense – her favorite scent. On the outside, I painted cartoon pictures on her side windows. She was adorned in Scooby Doo, Yosemite Sam, and the Pink Panther. But the decorations only delayed the inevitable.
Despite the compliments that she received after her makeover, deep in her soul she was still troubled. Her carpet began to wear and fall out, exposing only rusted floorboard. The seats began to tear, exposing the dilapidated cushion inside. The doors creaked when they opened and needed constant lubrication.
She began to stall at red lights. I knew the end was near.
When I decided to let Abby go, I notified all of my friends who had been involved with Abby. The ones who did not call me "crazy" gathered to say good-bye. We took lots of pictures with Abby. group pictures in front of her, on top of her, sitting in the driver’s seat, and so on. Each person got a turn in the driver’s seat – something that Abby had not allowed before. We were saying goodbye to a piece of our history.
In the end, I could only get $100 for her - a trivial amount for something that was priceless to me. The night before she left me, I sat in the familiar driver’s seat and wrote “An Ode to Abby.” A tear rolled down my cheek as I said goodbye to the old broad.
I remember the day my parents drove that van into our driveway for the first time. It was new then. The year was 1986. I was so excited, though I was still 759 days away from getting my driver’s permit. I knew one day that glorious piece of machinery would be mine. It was the first new vehicle my parents bought. At last, we weren’t stuck with a piece of junk that would leave us stranded again.
My first memory inside the van was when I played football my sophomore year of high school. Along with some other proud parents, my dad followed the bus to our away games. Before this trip, two teammates and I rode in the van along with him because he brought along a few bags of Angelo’s coneys and cheeseburgers. We ended up sitting out the last three quarters of the game, soon after the lethal combination of month-old-grease and coney sauce created a war within our bellies.
Abby was passed down to me when I became a senior. That’s when the good times rolled. I did everything in that van - eating, sleeping, and other activities that teenage boys like to do. Abby and I were inseparable. For my birthday that year, I had a CD player installed inside of her. I was one of the few people at my school that had a CD player in their vehicle. We skipped school the entire next day and drove around taking advantage of our new toy. We took friends in “school skipping” shifts. Some of us skipped first hour. Then we would take them back to school and pick up a few people who wanted to skip second hour. This went on for the entire day. Abby and I secured a legacy to behold at school that day.
Abby and I went to every Flint Central High School football game during our senior year. Sometimes it was me and a van load of people. Sometimes it was just me and Abby. She never fussed. She was an inspiration to the entire team. I’d like to think that because of her loyalty, our school was inspired to make it to the state semi-finals that season.
Abby saw me through my grunge phase that year, too. When I became enamored by bands like Pearl Jam and Nirvana, Abby was less than enthusiastic about my change, but she always supported my decisions. I think there may have been pinch of jealousy in Abby’s soul. She was afraid I had a second love - one that was above her. She was still a good girl though as she was still willing to take me to my first Lollapalooza.
Abby was with me when I made the long and lonely trek to the University of South Carolina – the school where Hootie and the Blowfish was formed. She was a big fan of Hootie. Whenever a Hootie song came on the stereo, she seemed to run much better and more efficiently. She was extremely proud to take me safely to my first Hootie concert in Cleveland when their shows were sold out in Michigan. Before leaving for the Palmetto State, I parked Abby where she could watch the entire going away party that was being thrown for me. She had a cocky look because she knew she would be the only one to accompany me on my new life journey.
We stayed in South Carolina for awhile before she brought me back home. She didn’t want to leave, though. The warm weather we enjoyed down there did wonders for her engine. Just hours before our departure, she got a flat tire. I fixed her up and explained our reason for leaving. She brought me back with nary a problem.
Abby’s life was not without trouble. We were together when we got into our first major accident when coming home late one night. We were rear-ended as we slowed down to follow the flow of traffic. She was bad that night. I could not even get her to start until the next day. A few months later, she was violated when someone opened her doors and got inside. They ripped out CD player and pillaged all of the CDs, except for the “Twister” soundtrack which was left unharmed lying on the passenger seat.
Abby really wasn’t the same after that night. She still did her job, as any loyal friend would. She acted like it did not bother her, but I knew it did deep down. I tried to fix her up, hoping it would make her feel better. I got her a new stereo. I put stickers all over her on the inside. I burned honeysuckle incense – her favorite scent. On the outside, I painted cartoon pictures on her side windows. She was adorned in Scooby Doo, Yosemite Sam, and the Pink Panther. But the decorations only delayed the inevitable.
Despite the compliments that she received after her makeover, deep in her soul she was still troubled. Her carpet began to wear and fall out, exposing only rusted floorboard. The seats began to tear, exposing the dilapidated cushion inside. The doors creaked when they opened and needed constant lubrication.
She began to stall at red lights. I knew the end was near.
When I decided to let Abby go, I notified all of my friends who had been involved with Abby. The ones who did not call me "crazy" gathered to say good-bye. We took lots of pictures with Abby. group pictures in front of her, on top of her, sitting in the driver’s seat, and so on. Each person got a turn in the driver’s seat – something that Abby had not allowed before. We were saying goodbye to a piece of our history.
In the end, I could only get $100 for her - a trivial amount for something that was priceless to me. The night before she left me, I sat in the familiar driver’s seat and wrote “An Ode to Abby.” A tear rolled down my cheek as I said goodbye to the old broad.
Personal Essay: My Fifteen Minutes of Fame
My “fifteen minutes of fame” occurred when I was in the 5th grade. That’s when I became the 5th grade Spelling Bee champion of Washington Elementary School - 1987. Yes, I was first place in my school and I went on for several rounds before finally getting knocked out in the district Semi-Finals. But for a few short weeks, I was the talk of the school. I had gone farther than anybody in the school’s history. The principal proudly announced my name on the speaker each morning before a big round. Everybody wished me “good luck,” with my goofy glasses and all. My parents went to every round of competition. My mom wrote down every word in a notebook so I could practice them later. She put a little star next to all of my words.
As the 6th grade Spelling Bee approached the next year, I was a sure bet to win. I was excited. I was nervous. I was ready. The grueling match came down to me – the reigning spelling bee champion of Washington Elementary School - and Maureen, the first girl I ever had a major crush on. For Bee day, Maureen wore a soft pink button-up shirt and blue jeans - my favorite outfit on her. Back then though, I was too shy to tell her stuff like that. The best I could do was walk her halfway home everyday because we went the same way (it was a little out of my way, but she didn’t know that). I used to check out joke books from the library and memorize a few jokes each night to tell her on the walk home. That was the only way I could think of things to say to her without getting tongue-tied.
But now I was competing against her in front of the entire school. She was not only my crush, but also my nemesis. It was just me and her…her and me. Should I let her win? Would she like me if I did? Girls only like guys who are smarter then they are. If I let her win, she’s smarter and would not like me. We went back and forth for several words, spelling all of them correctly. We gave the school a dazzling exhibition of spelling greatness which is still talked about to this day – The great spelling bee of ‘88.
It was my turn again. My word – “article.” I looked at the eyes of the school staring at me with envious confidence. I felt Maureen’s beautiful blue eyes peering at me from behind. “A-R-T-I-C-A-L…artical,” I shouted with undeniable confidence. The sound of crickets filled the room. The eyes of everybody in the gymnasium turned to the moderator in synced unison. "I'm sorry, that's incorrect," I heard the woman with a bun in her hair coldly announce with a tone that indicated she had it in for me from the start. The entire 6th grade gasped in horror.
Maureen swaggered to the microphone with a smile of shy cockiness. Did my subconscious screw me? My mind wandered as she spelled “article” plus the next word that was necessary to destroy my legacy - the very same legacy I had worked so hard to maintain since the glory days of my 5th grade championship. She ended my reign as spelling bee champion of Washington Elementary School in a matter of mere seconds.
In the days following my defeat, I was teased for letting her win. Nobody believed that I forgot how to spell “article.” I wasn’t even sure how it happened. I wasn't even sure if I spelled it wrong on purpose. The only Thing I was sure of was that I was no longer the Spelling Bee Champion of Washington Elementary School. I was just the sucker that let the pretty girl win.
Maureen got knocked out in the next round of competition, hardly living up to the recognition I had received the year before. It was like she didn’t even care about the importance of the Spelling Bee or the effect it would have on her life for decades to follow. Our relationship had not changed, either. She was still just the girl whose house I rode by on my bike, hoping she wouldn’t see me, but still hoping she would notice me.
As the 6th grade Spelling Bee approached the next year, I was a sure bet to win. I was excited. I was nervous. I was ready. The grueling match came down to me – the reigning spelling bee champion of Washington Elementary School - and Maureen, the first girl I ever had a major crush on. For Bee day, Maureen wore a soft pink button-up shirt and blue jeans - my favorite outfit on her. Back then though, I was too shy to tell her stuff like that. The best I could do was walk her halfway home everyday because we went the same way (it was a little out of my way, but she didn’t know that). I used to check out joke books from the library and memorize a few jokes each night to tell her on the walk home. That was the only way I could think of things to say to her without getting tongue-tied.
But now I was competing against her in front of the entire school. She was not only my crush, but also my nemesis. It was just me and her…her and me. Should I let her win? Would she like me if I did? Girls only like guys who are smarter then they are. If I let her win, she’s smarter and would not like me. We went back and forth for several words, spelling all of them correctly. We gave the school a dazzling exhibition of spelling greatness which is still talked about to this day – The great spelling bee of ‘88.
It was my turn again. My word – “article.” I looked at the eyes of the school staring at me with envious confidence. I felt Maureen’s beautiful blue eyes peering at me from behind. “A-R-T-I-C-A-L…artical,” I shouted with undeniable confidence. The sound of crickets filled the room. The eyes of everybody in the gymnasium turned to the moderator in synced unison. "I'm sorry, that's incorrect," I heard the woman with a bun in her hair coldly announce with a tone that indicated she had it in for me from the start. The entire 6th grade gasped in horror.
Maureen swaggered to the microphone with a smile of shy cockiness. Did my subconscious screw me? My mind wandered as she spelled “article” plus the next word that was necessary to destroy my legacy - the very same legacy I had worked so hard to maintain since the glory days of my 5th grade championship. She ended my reign as spelling bee champion of Washington Elementary School in a matter of mere seconds.
In the days following my defeat, I was teased for letting her win. Nobody believed that I forgot how to spell “article.” I wasn’t even sure how it happened. I wasn't even sure if I spelled it wrong on purpose. The only Thing I was sure of was that I was no longer the Spelling Bee Champion of Washington Elementary School. I was just the sucker that let the pretty girl win.
Maureen got knocked out in the next round of competition, hardly living up to the recognition I had received the year before. It was like she didn’t even care about the importance of the Spelling Bee or the effect it would have on her life for decades to follow. Our relationship had not changed, either. She was still just the girl whose house I rode by on my bike, hoping she wouldn’t see me, but still hoping she would notice me.
Story: Adding to the List
I walked up to the cashier’s stand, checkbook in hand. I was so excited to use my new Spongebob Squarepants checks.
“Your total is $32.15,” the cashier told me. I noticed a hint of suspicion in her voice. Did she know what I was up to, I thought.
“Hold on a second, ma’am. I have my savings club card.” I searched through my wallet looking for the card for that store. “I have so many of these things, you know.” She did not look amused. “Here we go,” I said smiling as I handed her my savings card. She scanned it robotically and then dropped it on the counter in front of me.
“Your new total is $32.07. You saved a whopping eight cents, sir.”
“Oh good. Now I can take my wife out to dinner tonight,” I retorted, trying to get the robotic cashier to smile. She just rolled her eyes at me. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?” She reached for a pen out of her smock and handed it to me, refusing to look at me. “It’s Kranston’s now, right? I remember you changed from Kingston’s a couple years ago. Kranston’s sound much better.” I smiled, trying to convert her look of disgust into a smile. I ripped the check out of my checkbook and handed it to her.
“I’m gonna have to call the bank on this, sir.”
“Call the bank? Why do you have to call the bank? You’ve never done that before.”
“We’ve had a run of bad checks lately, sir,” she said begrudgingly. “It’s our new policy. Anything over $30 we have to get bank approval.” Her voice was very accusing towards me, but as she reached for the phone, I decided to let her do her job without arguing. Besides, there’s enough money in my account. I’m sure of it. Yesterday’s purchase hasn’t posted yet. It’s too quick. It usually takes a couple of days, at least. I watched her dial the numbers to the bank. I could feel the eyes of the long line behind me staring me down. They knew about my lack of funds. I could feel it. I looked at the woman behind me. She gave me an annoyed smile.
“There’s plenty of money in my account,” I told her. I don’t think she believed me. My heart raced as I heard the cashier speak to someone on the phone. What was she saying? Is she telling her that I’m a bad check writer? That I’m a deadbeat? That I don’t deserve to come into a store and purchase goods like everybody else? I’m going to put the money in the bank tomorrow. I just have to wait until I get paid. But do they care? No. Finally, the cashier hung up the phone. She looked me in the eyes, held my check up for all to see, and ripped it into many pieces. She laughed incessantly with each tear.
“We can’t accept this check, sir, or any other checks from you.” She smiled gleefully as she announced the verdict for all to hear. “You’re gonna have to pay with cash or get the hell out!” I fumbled for my wallet, knowing I had no money in there. But I pretended to search for money just the same.
“I..I left my money in the car. I’ll be right back.” I ran out of the store, through the shoplifting detection devices. I had to pause for a second to wait for the automatic doors to open to let me out of my cell of embarrassment. I jumped in the car, where my wife was waiting for me. “Okay. We can’t come back here for awhile,” I said.
She looked at me and pulled out her small notepad and pen. “I’ll add this one to our list.”
“Your total is $32.15,” the cashier told me. I noticed a hint of suspicion in her voice. Did she know what I was up to, I thought.
“Hold on a second, ma’am. I have my savings club card.” I searched through my wallet looking for the card for that store. “I have so many of these things, you know.” She did not look amused. “Here we go,” I said smiling as I handed her my savings card. She scanned it robotically and then dropped it on the counter in front of me.
“Your new total is $32.07. You saved a whopping eight cents, sir.”
“Oh good. Now I can take my wife out to dinner tonight,” I retorted, trying to get the robotic cashier to smile. She just rolled her eyes at me. “Do you have a pen I can borrow?” She reached for a pen out of her smock and handed it to me, refusing to look at me. “It’s Kranston’s now, right? I remember you changed from Kingston’s a couple years ago. Kranston’s sound much better.” I smiled, trying to convert her look of disgust into a smile. I ripped the check out of my checkbook and handed it to her.
“I’m gonna have to call the bank on this, sir.”
“Call the bank? Why do you have to call the bank? You’ve never done that before.”
“We’ve had a run of bad checks lately, sir,” she said begrudgingly. “It’s our new policy. Anything over $30 we have to get bank approval.” Her voice was very accusing towards me, but as she reached for the phone, I decided to let her do her job without arguing. Besides, there’s enough money in my account. I’m sure of it. Yesterday’s purchase hasn’t posted yet. It’s too quick. It usually takes a couple of days, at least. I watched her dial the numbers to the bank. I could feel the eyes of the long line behind me staring me down. They knew about my lack of funds. I could feel it. I looked at the woman behind me. She gave me an annoyed smile.
“There’s plenty of money in my account,” I told her. I don’t think she believed me. My heart raced as I heard the cashier speak to someone on the phone. What was she saying? Is she telling her that I’m a bad check writer? That I’m a deadbeat? That I don’t deserve to come into a store and purchase goods like everybody else? I’m going to put the money in the bank tomorrow. I just have to wait until I get paid. But do they care? No. Finally, the cashier hung up the phone. She looked me in the eyes, held my check up for all to see, and ripped it into many pieces. She laughed incessantly with each tear.
“We can’t accept this check, sir, or any other checks from you.” She smiled gleefully as she announced the verdict for all to hear. “You’re gonna have to pay with cash or get the hell out!” I fumbled for my wallet, knowing I had no money in there. But I pretended to search for money just the same.
“I..I left my money in the car. I’ll be right back.” I ran out of the store, through the shoplifting detection devices. I had to pause for a second to wait for the automatic doors to open to let me out of my cell of embarrassment. I jumped in the car, where my wife was waiting for me. “Okay. We can’t come back here for awhile,” I said.
She looked at me and pulled out her small notepad and pen. “I’ll add this one to our list.”
Mel Gibson: "I'm Eating Crow for Thanksgiving!"
Before reading this, know that I am not spouting anti-Semitism, hatred of any kind, or intolerance of any kind. So please...don't take it like that. It's just something I don't understand and if anybody would like to chime in, I'd be glad to hear it.
A few months ago, Mel Gibson was figuratively crucified for being drunk and spouting off a bunch of anti-Semitic remarks. They were pretty abhorrent and close-minded too, if you ask me. I don't feel that any one group can take the blame or credit for starting and causing all of the wars in the world. Granted, the majority of the wars may have been fought because of the Jewish people...but they were not the cause of the wars. It was typically people who wanted an excuse, a scapegoat, or a reason to kill. Hitler's main motivation for killing the Jews was based on ignorance and prejudice.
But Mel Gibson said a lot of stuff he shouldn't have said. Fine...he can think those things if he wants to. That's his prerogative. And he was drunk, of course. He apologized...whether it was because of public demand or whether it was out of concern for his financial situation. But everybody in America demanded an apology for what he SAID.
Here's what I don't understand. Mel Gibson's greatest atrocity was just saying some bad things while he was drunk and probably thinking the same things while he was sober. The media, the people, and America wanted to hang him upside down by his toenails for the mere fact that these feelings are no more than the way he feels. But there's a contradiction in the media's and the public's Mel Gibson-bashing.
There is a dominating religion in the world today that not only says these same feelings, but they act on these feelings. They teach hatred against the Jews from a young age. They've killed literally millions of Jews in the name of their god. They want to utterly destroy the Jewish population and those who defend and side with the Jewish population. But the only things I hear in the media and from the majority of the American public are excuses for the people of this religion. The media bends over backwards to find ways that this religion is justified for feeling the way that it feels. "Oh, look how they've been treated...they deserve to be a little angry," is the prevailing message used to justify the slaughtering of innocent people. I have never once heard a call for an apology from the people who commit these atrocities. I haven't even heard so much as one of the "peace loving" officials of the religion condemning the actions. If anything, many of them encourage it and rejoice in its success.
I'm not justifying either one - Mel Gibson nor this religion. But isn't it a contradiction? That's just how I see it...I could be wrong.
A few months ago, Mel Gibson was figuratively crucified for being drunk and spouting off a bunch of anti-Semitic remarks. They were pretty abhorrent and close-minded too, if you ask me. I don't feel that any one group can take the blame or credit for starting and causing all of the wars in the world. Granted, the majority of the wars may have been fought because of the Jewish people...but they were not the cause of the wars. It was typically people who wanted an excuse, a scapegoat, or a reason to kill. Hitler's main motivation for killing the Jews was based on ignorance and prejudice.
But Mel Gibson said a lot of stuff he shouldn't have said. Fine...he can think those things if he wants to. That's his prerogative. And he was drunk, of course. He apologized...whether it was because of public demand or whether it was out of concern for his financial situation. But everybody in America demanded an apology for what he SAID.
Here's what I don't understand. Mel Gibson's greatest atrocity was just saying some bad things while he was drunk and probably thinking the same things while he was sober. The media, the people, and America wanted to hang him upside down by his toenails for the mere fact that these feelings are no more than the way he feels. But there's a contradiction in the media's and the public's Mel Gibson-bashing.
There is a dominating religion in the world today that not only says these same feelings, but they act on these feelings. They teach hatred against the Jews from a young age. They've killed literally millions of Jews in the name of their god. They want to utterly destroy the Jewish population and those who defend and side with the Jewish population. But the only things I hear in the media and from the majority of the American public are excuses for the people of this religion. The media bends over backwards to find ways that this religion is justified for feeling the way that it feels. "Oh, look how they've been treated...they deserve to be a little angry," is the prevailing message used to justify the slaughtering of innocent people. I have never once heard a call for an apology from the people who commit these atrocities. I haven't even heard so much as one of the "peace loving" officials of the religion condemning the actions. If anything, many of them encourage it and rejoice in its success.
I'm not justifying either one - Mel Gibson nor this religion. But isn't it a contradiction? That's just how I see it...I could be wrong.
Giving in to the Thanksgiving Spirit
Alright, I'm giving in to the spirit of the holiday. I can't help it. I normally couldn't care less. But I feel that I have a lot to be thankful for. So allow me to list them, if you will.
Probably the biggest thing I have to be thankful for is Diana. She truly is the best thing that has ever happened to me, despite all the complaining and griping I do about her. I can't even begin to list the things that she has done for me. She puts up with me...and that's probably the biggest thing. She has stuck with me and encouraged me in everything I've ever tried - no matter how ludicrous or incredible my endeavors were. She believed in me when I didn't believe in myself...and she still does when I have my "moods." I can honestly say that I don't know where I would be without her. I never would've went back to school and stuck it out long enough to get my degree if she hadn't stuck by my side every step of the way. She sacrificed for two years while I worked long hours and then came home and did homework every night until I fell asleep on the couch. She continued to "nag" me to keep me going, despite my constant "blow ups" over her "nagging." She stuck with me through the trials of having two terminally ill parents and she was my strength when I had none. There's not a day that goes by when I'm not thankful for the treasure I married.
Because of Diana, we moved to California. I'd still be working at a dead end job at the flower shop if she had not convinced me to move out of my comfort zone. And there are many things that have happened as a result of moving out here. The main thing is that we have renewed our faith. We both grew up going to church and we haven't been to church in years before we came here. Now we go three times a week...and I must say it feels pretty darn good. I feel like I'm back where I was...where I'm supposed to be. And I feel blessed. I'm thankful that she now gets to spend holidays with her parents.
I'm thankful for the two writing jobs that I got this week for so many reasons. I love how the phone rang as I was getting ready to look "employable" so I could put my applications in at Burger King, McDonald's, and Taco Bell. And I love even more that it was the voice of an employer looking for somebody to write articles for his company. I don't even remember applying for that place...which makes it an even better sign. It motivated me again. And the fact that he read my blog on blogevolve and based his decision on what he read makes this even sweeter. And now the offers continue to roll in. I've received two more offers this week based on what the companies read on my blogs. My favorite thing about this is that, if this keeps up, I can still take trips back home to Michigan without having to worry about taking "time off" from work. I can do this stuff while I'm on the road without missing pay. I've always wanted to do that....like a workaholic. I have a 30-second commute to my job and I can work in my jam-jams if I feel like. Yay America...does it get any better than that?
I'm thankful for my friends. I have awesome friends. And I'm especially thankful for the five that I still talk to on a regular basis despite the thousands of miles between us. I was worried about being forgotten when I moved...but it seems like it's the opposite. I talk more to Ken and Sunita now than I did when we both lived in Michigan. Allow me to utilize a cliche: "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Becky is the person that lets me just vent to her about anything and everything. And here's a shout out to Kt. Without her, I never would've started a myspace...which means I never would've started blogging...which means I probably wouldn't even be writing...which means I wouldn't have gotten these writing jobs. I'm the type of person that needs an audience...and without blogs, I would've never had the audience that I desire. And then there's Dave. Dave Dave Dave. Who else has friends that just call up out of the blue and says, "Hey do you know where I can get a cheap chainsaw?? I need about five of 'em." Then, when I ask why he needs five cheap chainsaws, he says, "I can't talk about it...I'm on a cordless phone." I seriously have the five most awesome friends in my life...and for that, I feel greatly blessed.
Lastly, I'm thankful that Diana's mom is an awesome cook. A 23-pound turkey for four people, pies, homemade stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce, twice baked mashed potatoes, homemade potato salad, the list goes on and on. We have enough food for the next two weeks. I'm not sure how "turkey and eggs" for breakfast will sound in a few days, but today, the turkey was amazing!
Probably the biggest thing I have to be thankful for is Diana. She truly is the best thing that has ever happened to me, despite all the complaining and griping I do about her. I can't even begin to list the things that she has done for me. She puts up with me...and that's probably the biggest thing. She has stuck with me and encouraged me in everything I've ever tried - no matter how ludicrous or incredible my endeavors were. She believed in me when I didn't believe in myself...and she still does when I have my "moods." I can honestly say that I don't know where I would be without her. I never would've went back to school and stuck it out long enough to get my degree if she hadn't stuck by my side every step of the way. She sacrificed for two years while I worked long hours and then came home and did homework every night until I fell asleep on the couch. She continued to "nag" me to keep me going, despite my constant "blow ups" over her "nagging." She stuck with me through the trials of having two terminally ill parents and she was my strength when I had none. There's not a day that goes by when I'm not thankful for the treasure I married.
Because of Diana, we moved to California. I'd still be working at a dead end job at the flower shop if she had not convinced me to move out of my comfort zone. And there are many things that have happened as a result of moving out here. The main thing is that we have renewed our faith. We both grew up going to church and we haven't been to church in years before we came here. Now we go three times a week...and I must say it feels pretty darn good. I feel like I'm back where I was...where I'm supposed to be. And I feel blessed. I'm thankful that she now gets to spend holidays with her parents.
I'm thankful for the two writing jobs that I got this week for so many reasons. I love how the phone rang as I was getting ready to look "employable" so I could put my applications in at Burger King, McDonald's, and Taco Bell. And I love even more that it was the voice of an employer looking for somebody to write articles for his company. I don't even remember applying for that place...which makes it an even better sign. It motivated me again. And the fact that he read my blog on blogevolve and based his decision on what he read makes this even sweeter. And now the offers continue to roll in. I've received two more offers this week based on what the companies read on my blogs. My favorite thing about this is that, if this keeps up, I can still take trips back home to Michigan without having to worry about taking "time off" from work. I can do this stuff while I'm on the road without missing pay. I've always wanted to do that....like a workaholic. I have a 30-second commute to my job and I can work in my jam-jams if I feel like. Yay America...does it get any better than that?
I'm thankful for my friends. I have awesome friends. And I'm especially thankful for the five that I still talk to on a regular basis despite the thousands of miles between us. I was worried about being forgotten when I moved...but it seems like it's the opposite. I talk more to Ken and Sunita now than I did when we both lived in Michigan. Allow me to utilize a cliche: "Absence makes the heart grow fonder." Becky is the person that lets me just vent to her about anything and everything. And here's a shout out to Kt. Without her, I never would've started a myspace...which means I never would've started blogging...which means I probably wouldn't even be writing...which means I wouldn't have gotten these writing jobs. I'm the type of person that needs an audience...and without blogs, I would've never had the audience that I desire. And then there's Dave. Dave Dave Dave. Who else has friends that just call up out of the blue and says, "Hey do you know where I can get a cheap chainsaw?? I need about five of 'em." Then, when I ask why he needs five cheap chainsaws, he says, "I can't talk about it...I'm on a cordless phone." I seriously have the five most awesome friends in my life...and for that, I feel greatly blessed.
Lastly, I'm thankful that Diana's mom is an awesome cook. A 23-pound turkey for four people, pies, homemade stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce, twice baked mashed potatoes, homemade potato salad, the list goes on and on. We have enough food for the next two weeks. I'm not sure how "turkey and eggs" for breakfast will sound in a few days, but today, the turkey was amazing!
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