I'll Be Back

I am traveling to a series of business meetings this week (yes, in a sunny clime!), and so I probably won’t update this most important blog for a while. Instead, see one of my friends at the blogroll to the right, and I’ll be back before you know it.

You won’t even miss me.

(Hey, you’re supposed to argue with me. I say, “You won’t even miss me,” and you say, “Sure we will,” not “Good point.” Sheesh.)

Losing an Old Friend

I am wearing my pants at half-mast today. Though it is creating something of a stir in the office, my pants are hanging at mid-thigh for a good reason. Yesterday afternoon, one of my long time companions went to Slacks and Pants Heaven.

I wore one of my oldest pair of pants yesterday, something like Dockers in a flashy olive drab. The cuffs were quite worn and every few months I would get a pair of scissors to snip off the threads that trailed around my feet like spider webs.

The button was also missing. I kept telling myself I would sew it back on, but somehow, I never got around to it. What saved me is that I wear a belt, which mostly covered up the fact that I didn’t have a button, and that I almost always wore aloha shirts with those pants so I could keep the shirt untucked, hiding my secret button shame.

But yesterday, my pants died. I was in the restroom (I’ll spare you the specific details) and reached to pull up the zipper. I couldn’t find it. It turned out that the zipper had come away altogether. A man can live with no button OR no zipper, but not both.

Since I was on my way to a meeting, I rigged a paperclip to hold my pants together and cinched it all with a belt. I was wearing a longish aloha shirt, so that also kept me covered. Then, I gathered my materials, said a silent prayer to the Goddess of Pants, and went to my meeting.

When I got home, I changed, carefully folded my dead pants and handed them to my wife. I gave a short eulogy, reminiscing about all the good times I’d had with Old Greeny Pants (as I had nicknamed them). Then my wife crammed them into the garbage. I am not too proud to say I shed a tear or two.

Things Are Going to Start Happening to Me Now

The avalanche of accolades is poised to sweep over me at any moment! Granted, the current avalanche tally is only one solitary snowflake, but you’ve got to start somewhere, eh?

Yes, you guessed it. I have won a major award. And I mean MAJOR.

Tink, over at her blog Pickled Beef, displaying her excellent taste and superb intelligence, presented me the Thinking Blogger Award. Thank you, thank you. Thank you. Please, that’s enough applause. Really, that’s fine. Please...

First of all, I’d like to thank my beautiful wife, who doesn’t even know this blog exists, ‘cause if she did, she’d kick my butt from here to Nairobi and back for airing all of our dirty laundry in public. And I’d like to thank my secretary, who has given me many reasons to whine and complain, therefore giving me the opportunity to post many a scathing entry. Thank you to Al Gore for inventing the Internet and giving me--and so many other deserving bloggers--this opportunity. And finally, thank you to Tink and the Academy. I am both honored and humbled.

Now, about the loot. Tink gave this important award to five bloggers on her post "Skull Shaped Blog", so that means that of the estimated 1.8 billion bloggers in the world, I rank in the top five. That is quite an achievement, don’t you think?

Due to the impressive nature of this prize, I naturally assume there is a monetary award, as well. This has got to be as big as the Nobel Prize, so I figure I must be getting at least $1.5 million out of the deal. I am expecting Tink’s check in the next month or so. Of course, I’ll give some to charity. The rest I’ll either invest in petroleum jelly futures or spend on beer. (And I think we all know which way that’s gonna go.) Plus, then there are all the great endorsement deals. Looks like SOME blogger isn’t going to be a working stiff anymore!

And now, the best part of the deal--I get to award five more lucky bloggers. Now that I have won this thing, I know you have a lot to live up to, but I’m sure you’ll do just fine, all of you.

First up, and no surprise, is Sizzle at Sizzle Says for her excellent coverage of the 2000 Presidential election.

Next, Eileen Dover at eileendover.com for her groundbreaking piece "Ten Ways to Shag a Sheep." Great work, Dover.

The third winner is Bre at Win or Lose, We Go Shopping! She wins for her description of the health benefits of bathing in a tub of champagne.

The Retropolitan Presents: Tales to Astonish! is the fourth winner. Retro wins for his ten week series "A Short History of the Stuff Growing on My Feet."

Finally, congratulations to Love Monkey at I Guess This Is It. The Monkey wins for her photojournalism piece "Up Close and Personal with My Duodenum". The blogging world doesn’t really want to know how you got such great pictures, Monkey.

To those of you who are winners, please stop by here to pick up your award and receive further instructions.

Vote for Me Early and Often

Reasons why the world would be a better place if I were Supreme Ruler of Everything:

• Three separate handles on every faucet--hot, cold and beer.
• Every day would be Tuesday.
• My capitol city and palace would be located in Nampa, Idaho.
• Women would not be required to wear tops...or bottoms.
• All automobile air fresheners would smell like me.
• One television station would be completely devoted to reruns of Hee Haw.
• All fast food places would serve liver and onions.
• All civil court cases would be decided by a dance off.
• Flying cars for everyone!

Giving My Wife a Good Ribbing

My wife is back in town, her mother is doing better, and I have clean underwear again. All is well in the world. Except...

My wife was sitting on the floor in front of the couch doing her cross-stitch while we watched the baseball game. (Thank heavens for a woman who loves baseball!) She turned to push herself up and made a terrible shrieking noise--obvious pain.

It was still so bad the next day that she went to the doctor for help. They took x-rays and, wouldn’t you know it, she had dislocated a rib. By getting up off the floor. Who knew you could dislocate a rib? That’s like dislocating your head. Or your butt. A rib?

First, she goes to the hospital for high blood pressure. Then her mother has a stroke. Now a dislocated rib. What’s next?

Maybe I shouldn’t have asked that question.

Who Needs Teeth When You're Drinking Beer?

I’ve heard some people say that radio host Don Imus’ statements about the Rutgers women’s basketball team were blown way out of proportion.

I thought to myself, “Maybe they’re right.” I decided to run an experiment that just might show that Imus’ words weren’t all that bad after all.

When I got home from work, I said to my wife, “Hey there, nappy headed ho, what’s for dinner?”

And that’s why I am sitting here in my dentist’s office.

Just Phoning It in Today

First, some important background information: I do not own a cell phone. I hate cell phones. They are evil.

I was checking out our bill last night, and saw that the girls use their phones a lot. My wife has a cell phone, and I didn’t like that idea in the first place, but she’s an adult, so what can you do? Part of the issue was cost, since we can’t afford many luxuries, and part of the issue was that cell phones are evil.

Later, without telling me--without even consulting me--she purchased additional phones and a plan that would accommodate our two girls and my daughter’s best friend. Yes, that’s right. We are paying for the cell phone use of someone not even in our family. In theory, that young lady is supposed to be giving us money to cover the cost of her bill, but in reality, she has only given us a small portion of that cost. Did I mention that we cannot afford many luxuries? And, did I mention that cell phones are evil?

I decided I’d crunch some numbers on the bill for our middle daughter just to see how much she was on her phone. Do you want to make a guess as to how much time she is on that damn phone every single day, not including texting? Nearly two hours. Every single day. For the most recent billing period, that works out to nearly two-and-a-half full days of talking on her cell phone. That does not include time spent talking on the house phone or on My Space. No wonder she’s flunking English. Did I mention that cell phones are evil?

Since the girls aren’t mine biologically, and since my wife prefers to handle it however the hell she wants, regardless of what I think, I wash my hands of the matter. That’s also why we now have completely separate bank accounts.

Do I sound a little bitter here? Sorry, but I am bitter.

And cell phones are evil.

Home Again, Home Again

My wife and daughters are safely back at home, which is, of course, a mixed blessing. After two weeks of drinking beer, eating meals on the couch in front of the television, wearing the same pair of underwear, and singing “Magical Mystery Tour” at the top of my lungs (“we’re waiting to take you a-WAAAAAAY!”) at all hours of the day and night, I now must consider the sensibilities of others before I act. Damn sensibilities of others!

I did, however, learn a few important lessons. First, never watch Cast Away the night before your loved ones are due to get on an airplane to fly home. Second, a single bottle of beer provides a complete and nutritious meal for lunch. Third, too much time alone is not good for me.

Normally, my brain is distracted by the comforting sounds of domestic bliss, such as the screeching “you’ve been on/in the phone/computer/bathroom all day,” the soulful tunes of 50 Cent (“I'll take you to the candy shop, I'll let you lick the lollipop”), or the blaring, ear-shattering din that comes from the family room where one child is trying to watch television, talk on the phone, and listen to music on the computer all at once. When I was the sole occupant of the house, though, I had no such distractions.

Instead, I did something dangerous. I thought. Yes, that’s right. I rummaged through my brain, and what I found in there was not pretty. I discovered quite a bit of guilt--a ruined marriage, breaking up my son’s carefree life with two parents, my own failures at work, my own failures as a husband to my current wife. That guilt led to some moping and sulking and depression. Which meant, of course, that despite my freedom, I had a rather miserable time of it.

You’d think that I could get past some of my feelings, that I could learn to appreciate the simple joy of an empty house and no responsibility. Next time, I vow to do a better job of taking advantage of such a gift. Now, if only my mother-in-law could have another stroke so I can test it out.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Jesus

As you all know, I’m clean cut and look like Jesus (but without the beard and with a large sombrero). What you do not know, is that I act a lot like Jesus, too. While I have never walked on water or played outfield in the National League (oops, I was thinking of one of the Alou brothers), I have accomplished a lot of other eerily Messiah-like feats:

• While I was a single father between marriages, I once fed my son and myself for six weeks on only two pieces of boloney and 16 cases of beer.
• I was apparently born in a barn, since my father said something to that effect every time I came in the house and left the front door wide open.
• Jesus may have entered Jerusalem on a road covered by the cloaks of his adoring fans, but I walk down my hallway every day atop the clothes my children have thrown from their bedroom doors.
• I am a great teacher of wisdom, as evidenced by my daily instruction to my girls, “Blessed are the peacemakers, because if you two keep arguing about whose turn it is to use the phone, you’ll drive your father to an early grave.”
• My other gem of wisdom is, “Consider the lilies of the field. They never ask for new clothes.”
• I also tell lots of great stories, such as the one about the father who had a younger son whose terrible behavior drove him to an early grave, or the one about the ten bridesmaids/daughters who were waiting for the bridegroom to arrive, but who turned on every lamp/light in the house and ran out of oil/electricity, and so drove their father to an early grave.
• And, of course, Jesus was driven to an early grave, while I’m well on my way.

Coffee and the Sociopath: A Love Story

I have not had any coffee this morning. The result was that on my way to work, among other things, I killed and devoured two young children, I kicked a puppy, and I made a biker with a “Satan Loves You” tattoo cry when I growled, “What are you looking at, you shriveled old hag?”

I’m not exactly sure when I’ll get any coffee. Maybe not until lunch. I’d tell my secretary to go get some, but I already stuffed her into the shredder.