Cake And Coffee

The brain is a really weird thing. Well, perhaps not yours…but mine definitely is. For instance, I’ll be going about my day and all of a sudden I’ll start thinking about something that happened last week, last month, hell, even something from decades ago. And the kicker is, it will totally be unrelated to my current activity and I won’t be able to clear it from my head.

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Click. Internal troll-mode activated

I should clarify that when many people have this happen, like my wife, they contemplate important matters such as an upcoming school registration, a bill that is due (or past-due), a house repair that is looming, etc.

Me? Not so much. That is to say I do have those thoughts pop up sometimes, however, for some God-forsaken reason, the things that typically decide to grace me with their unwelcome presence are ones that are embarrassing, regretful, or otherwise ignominious that I can do nothing about. They’re ones that, if I had my druthers, I’d just as soon never remember again.

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Spice It Up

The unstoppable march of time continues and brings us all along for the ride. Well, except for maybe Halle Berry,¬† Elijah Wood, Reese Witherspoon, Will Smith, or Jennifer Lopez…they never seem to get any older. For the rest of us wrinkling mortals, we’re pulled along, being dragged through the street behind time’s careening, out of control Corvette with cut brakes. Why cut brakes? Why not? It totally adds to the drama of the situation.

Sorry, I got a little sidetracked with action movie cliches. Where was I?

Oh right, the fall season brings some fun and interesting activities. Apple picking, Halloween, tick-or-treating. You know, generally, fun, autumn things.

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Though seeing candy corn in your trick-or-treat bag is almost as big of a letdown as getting a ziploc bag of pennies from that old lady down the street. Biting into each one of these things is like tasting sadness.

There is one thing that I can’t wrap my head around this time of year. Pumpkin-spiced whatevers. Many people like these items, and I hold no ill will against you if you fall into that group. But I know I’m not alone in my aversion to this relatively recent trend because there are plenty of memes bemoaning the annual return of pumpkin-spiced things. I mean, as a society, we’ve just gone bonkers over it.

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Why? Just Why?

I’ve mentioned previously that my office is located within a professional building and that we’re on the same floor as several dentists. In and of itself, that’s fine, since I don’t really have anything against dentists. Well, almost nothing. I mean it’s not like I’m an anti-dentite or anything.

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I mean, who doesn’t enjoy having sharp objects jammed into their mouth?

But I guess I do take issue with the fact that the dental hygienist works on cleaning my teeth for 20 minutes and then the dentist arrives at the very end to take a 3 second look at my mouth and declare all is good. He’s in and out faster than a politician’s promise on election day. And also, if you’re gonna stuff your fingers in my mouth and then ask how the family is doing, you’re not really trying.

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Taking Matters Into Your Own Hands

Are you easily offended? Do you have a low tolerance for gross topics? Do you live in your own bubble, completely sheltered from the world, and you don’t want any intrusions? If so, then you might want to skip this one.

I warned you recently that I’d be back. Well, I read a news article last night that I just can’t avoid commenting on (thanks a lot Katie for showing that to me). But, before continuing with this post, I’ll put the disclaimer out there one more time. Of course I won’t always be venturing into these waters, but I’m diving right in for this one.

diving

Meh. Gonna do it anyway.

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Anyone Seen A Post Around Here?

There was one, I know it. Though I’m not sure where it’s gone.
I’ve checked the closet, the guest room, the attic; even out in the lawn.
I worry I won’t see it again. It’s such a frail thing.
Can anybody help me please? I’m hanging by a string.

 

I didn’t leave it at the bar; and was told to stop looking there.
911 said it’s no emergency, in defiance of my despair.
The police came to my house and issued me a citation,
They told me not to call again, and put me on probation.

 

The neighbors shake their heads, and the postman doesn’t have it.
It’s absent from my spam folder, and I don’t like this one bit.
It’s not at the bank, the Walgreens, the store.
I’m going mad and can take it no more.

 

So I’m resigned to sit here and weep bitterly,
The victim of some dark wizardry.
Could it be voodoo, a jinx, a malediction, a curse?
Or maybe something much, much worse?

 

Alas, the search is simply imagination,
And truly is the result of consternation.
That’s right, I saw my words up and vanish,
Making this hunt false, and merely outlandish.

 

But a few ideas have returned to me,
And I am quite pleased to see
A tiny, small glimmer of light,
As I sit and again start to write.

 

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Ok, Shel Silverstein I’m not…but I figured this would be a light-hearted way to say that I think I’ve reemerged from the rock I’ve been under lately. And to those of you who emailed me to check on me, no I haven’t been trapped in my office’s restroom. I did have a “hiatus message” all written up, but awesomely, I didn’t check to make sure I posted the message…leaving it unhelpfully in my draft pile.

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Well, That Just Happened…

It may just be a popular meme, but with the utter dependence on love of our smart phones, I doubt that’s the case. So, I feel I can say with some degree of certainty that I may be one of only 93 people in the modern world who doesn’t bring my phone with me to the bathroom. And that’s worked out nicely so far, especially since I’ve never had to resurrect my phone after it was accidentally sacrificed to the porcelain god…though I’ve heard plenty of horror stories.

phone water

Um, let’s just keep this between us.

Well, I learned an important lesson recently: it’s actually not that bad of an idea to bring a phone with you into the restroom at work.

And yes, everything you are about to read actually happened.

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The Face of Waiting

It’s Monday……for better or worse. I generally pick the latter as my view of this particular day of the week.

case of the mondays

Such a great movie…and right on point.

Getting back into the groove of work and trying to not look ahead longingly to Friday afternoon can sometimes be a tall order. A long list of voicemails and emails to respond to, staff issues to be resolved, conference calls to join, and regaining momentum for ongoing projects only helped to solidify my wish for it to be the weekend.

As I plodded through my morning, Loverboy’s “Working for the Weekend” popped into my head. It was against my will, but I guess it was appropriate nonetheless. And because my brain can be an obnoxious bully sometimes, the song kept randomly reemerging throughout the day, like some kind of torturous Jack-in-the-box.

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Serenity When?

It started off as a somewhat promising evening. Dinner was finished on time and placed on the table, our three year old Jason ate without protesting every morsel of food on his plate, and our three month old daughter, Maggie, was content to gum a fluffy owl during the meal instead of crying.

We were on a roll. But bedtime was lurking around the corner.

And sure enough, it was then that wheels came off as they usually do. Jason, like most three year olds, tries to prolong bedtime as much as he can. This is the segment of the day is where the majority of consequence threats come into play.

Jason initially starts his nightly dissent by army crawling up the stairs at the pace of a slug trudging through molasses. Upon reaching the top of the stairs, he darts off quicker than lightning into a bedroom, any room really, that isn’t his.

“Serenity now” I demand to the ceiling, ¬†only half-joking.

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As the hour of bed approaches, step back and marvel as a mild-mannered child morphs into an impish hooligan.

Finally corralling the rampaging bull of a preschooler in the bathroom, he contests the brushing of his teeth with a combination of clamping down on the brush and telling me that he needs to spit…318 times.

Concluding the Battle of Dental Hygiene, we begin the Potty Conflict. I’ll spare the details, but suffice it to say, there is a significant discrepancy between Jason’s ability (and staunch confidence) in standing up to pee and his aim.

“Serenity now” I mutter to myself. Any hint of joking has left my pleas.

We power past the PJ dispute, make it through his chosen story for the night, and conclude with the standard hugs good night. In the aftermath of all the nonsense, I hope for no more chaos and wish for a feeling of relief to wash over me like cool water on a scorching day.

Maybe the rest of the evening will go smoothly. No? Of course not.

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The Poke and the Pinkeye

He was sick. Sick as could be with that eye agony; and when the doctor finished looking at his eyes, he was allowed to sit up, and I felt my mind racing. The diagnosis, the dread diagnosis of conjunctivitis, was the last that truly registered in my ears. After that, the follow-up questions and answers seemed merged into a foggy, amorphous buzz. It conveyed to me the feeling of dejection, perhaps from its joining in union with the hum of the overhead fluorescent lights.

Ok, I may not have the style or clout like Edgar Allen Poe, and this situation was nowhere near as dramatic as the Inquisition (for those that recognized the above paragraph’s allusion), but it was one of the first references that entered my mind. At the very least, it seemed like a humorous parallel to start my story. Having children seems to be the modern bladed pendulum or even perhaps the Sword of Damocles; all hell can break loose without a moment’s notice.

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Amazing how an innocent smile can belie the destruction that has just happened…or is on its way.

It all started innocently enough this past Saturday afternoon. My three year old, Jason, was in the playroom, switching between making Play-Doh animals and trying to corral our obstinate dogs into the faux zoo he had constructed with Legos. My wife and I were in the midst of an intricate dance in the kitchen as we switched between preparing dinner for later that night and handing off our three month old Maggie. Continue reading

It’s The Most Nostalgic Time Of The Year

About halfway through an article about QB pocket presence, I figured I’d change gears and try for something slightly more fitting for the season and go finish the football post later on.

I dunno, there’s something about this time of year that brings with it a sense of nostalgia that is maybe only rivaled by thinking about Oregon Trail.

oregon trail

Ah, memories

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