It All Happened Thirteen Years Ago...

Well, technically, it all happened FOURTEEN years ago, and I'll tell ya why. Oh, and how...

It was March of 1998. No, admittedly I do not remember the actual day (and Amy is probably going to either roll her eyes or sock me for that one, both of which I'm sure I deserve) but I do remember the place. We -by we I mean my family and my then girlfriend, Amy- were going to Mountain Jack's for my step-dad's birthday. Previously in the evening (as I was living with my parents at the time for reasons I have no desire to discuss at this time) I told my mom that I wanted desperately to propose to Amy, but I didn't have a proper ring. Well, she did. She in fact had the wedding ring from when she was married to my dad, and really had no need to hold onto it any longer and informed me that I could use it as the Engagement ring. Well, I thought that was pretty cool. So we found a nice box and prepared for the evening to follow.

We got to Mountain Jack's (sadly, no longer there) and enjoyed our meal, all the while I sat fidgeting with the box just biding my time till dessert. Everyone knew what was coming except, obviously, Amy. Well, the time finally came. I got out of my chair, down on one knee -nervous like you read about- and opened the box in front of her as I proposed. She hid a look of puzzlement behind her look of bewilderment, said yes, and then looked at me with eyes of questioning concern. Why? Had I said it wrong? Did I fart? As it turns out neither. The box was empty!

Panic rippled across the table as everyone frantically looked around them. My sister ran to the car to make sure it hadn't fallen out there, and I fished through my pockets... all to no avail. Meanwhile, in the wings, the waiter stood poised with a bottle of Champagne like a nervous hamster. I have to hand it to him, he remained cool during the whole ordeal, unlike the rest of us. Finally, thank God, one of the two of us -Amy or I- located the ring directly under my chair. Apparently, as I was nervously opening and closing it, the ring had tumbled out. Crisis averted, we went on to dessert and the waiter swooped in with congratulatory alcohol.

And that, kids, was how it all went down.

Now I know I haven't been the best man in the world, Lord knows that's true, but I have been a better man because Amy said yes to me. My life took a huge U-Turn and headed back down the right path when I finally gave myself to her and hasn't strayed much since. Thirteen years ago I realized what it meant to love, be loved, and be in love, and I owe my life and soul to Amy. God allowed me to be with her, and because of that, I am happy.

Happy Anniversary, Amy.    

My whole head is leaking.

Aaaannd... I'm sick.

Never fails. That first month back to school and one of my kids brings me a special treat in the form of a cold. Well, I guess it's highly probable that I got this version from any number of sickly individuals at work, since I'm around them for a good portion of several days. And I do seem to remember one of the server girls all goopy and yuck. Whatever the case, I have a head-full, a chest-full, and a nose leaking like a busted spigot. Yay me.

What I don't want is for my oldest, Charlie, to get sick. When he get's sick -and he does yearly- his sick gets really, really bad. In fact, last year the poor kid got Pneumonia and he was a hot mess for almost a month. You see, since he was born premature, his immune system isn't nearly what it ought to be. Anyway, he woke this morning saying his throat was sore and I immediately went into High Alert. I do not want this kid illin'. First off he has 5th Grade Camp in a few weeks and I want him well for that, and secondly I'm not loving the potentiality of him going through Pneumonia again. So I gave him an allergy pill -hoping for the best- and backed it up with a giant dose of Vitamin C. And now we pray...

See I would gladly take me being sick every single day for a year just to avoid Charlie getting sick at all. It just kills me to watch him suffer. And last year was a suffering, let me tell you. So, I am honestly hoping the Big Man Upstairs has this well in hand. Because I'm prepared to go through with my end of the bargain.

Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom Presents: In The Lair of the Parking Lot Gull

**Please Imagine This Being Read in the Style of Richard Attenborough**

The sun slowly crests over meandering cars on the increasingly busy Westnedge Avenue. The glare indicates the bright, warm day ahead and the temperatures gradually increase toward what is designed to be a rather balmy September afternoon. And keen listeners can just make out the harsh cry of one of nature's most mysterious avian creatures: The Parking Lot Gull.

Okay, so now that the scene is set, let's step back a bit. I had a few errands to run this morning after the kids were carted off to school, but first I was craving some McDonald's breakfast. I haven't had any in a good while, and I figured it was time. Sounded like a good enough reason to me.

I whisked through the Drive-Thru and acquired my goodies, and I realized my next stop was the children's school. I had a few things to drop off but I wasn't about to either eat while driving or eat in the parking lot of said school since the food would likely have gotten tepid by then, anyway. So I hoped over to the Harding's right down the way and parked there. Seemed pretty empty; I didn't relish the idea of some passerby glancing my way as I inhaled my breakfast. Well, it seemed almost empty, for just a few yards away, and approaching fast enough that one might assume that these creatures could sense that food was present, was a flock of Parking Lot Gulls. Now to folks here in the Great Lakes State, this is no surprise; Parking Lot Gulls really ought to be our secondary State Bird. But it's the sheer numbers and repugnance of these flying creatures that flabbergasts me.

As I sat there calmly wolfing down my food, I'd occasionally glance over at these monstrosities. They looked as if they were seconds away from pouncing on me and piercing my jugular vein with their wicked bills. One of them in particular was pacing by my car with such a look of disdain and ire in its eye that I could almost feel it sizing me up. Part of me wanted to toss out a crumb just to see what kind of bloody coup would ensue, but I resisted. I guess I was less interested in a full-on Gull melee than I thought. Every so often a few more Gulls would encroach on the main one's territory, and it would bray at them and flap its wings and they'd back off. I'd be willing to bet that if I were a child, or even outside my car, I'd be Tippi-Hedroned right there in the Harding's parking lot.

But the question remained, as I finally succumbed to the willies and drove off: where the hell do these things come from? Can they really be flying in every day from one of our many large lakes just to feed on potential scraps in store parking lots? Is this what passes for hunting for these crappy birds? What if they go home to chicks at the end of the day, do they regurgitate cigarette buts and french fries into their waiting maws? I have no idea, but something really needs to be done. Especially to the one that was giving me the stink eye.  

The Things I Learn Happen While I'm At Work

I'm finally at a job I really like. The last one I enjoyed I was at for the better part of 2 years (before the internal collapse and ultimate decision to move on), so it's very nice to feel that feeling again where I genuinely like having to go to work. I like being in a kitchen, I like the rush of a busy night, I like cooking, and I really like the people I work with. It's a win/win... however, all that being said, not being home some evenings has really taught me a few new and exciting things.

Case in point: I arrived home late (around 10:30) last night, and the house was all a-snooze so I was not made a party to all the activities that had occurred the previous afternoon/evening. Sleep was an exercise in futility, and I 'woke' with my wife at 5 (when she gets up for work) to begin hearing all the Front Page goodies from the day before. Apparently, Addison, my 6-year old, has either been adopted by, or has adopted herself into, a new family. This has been going on for a few weeks now leading up from the tail end of summer to the new school year. The family lives down the street and has a few children, but more specifically a daughter nearly Addie's age. She occasionally had been going to church outings with them, a week of Bible Camp, and a few evenings here and there. But the time spent with 'Family 2' has increased exponentially and Addie has taken to spending whole afternoons and much of Sunday with them. So as I listen to my wife, she tells me they went on a 2-hour bike ride yesterday that culminated in both a library visit (just down the street from us) and a reward at Dairy Queen (also just down the street). I was a little stunned since we hadn't given her any money, yet the family likes her company so much that she has basically been absorbed into their dynamic- which apparently translates into free frozen treats. So now I'm not sure how to handle this:

A) I tell Addie that this is very nice for her, but she can't take advantage of this situation and many nights she'll need to spend at home where she has responsibilities and a mom and dad who have nearly forgotten what she looks like.

or

B) Hey, it's one less mouth to feed.

You can plainly see our dilemma.

Who Needs Sleep? Part Dos.

Alright, friends and readers, this is getting just a little bit out of hand.
I'm not sure if it's because I'm drinking coffee at work around 4:30 to snap out of the fog I'm in that, as a vicious circle, is keeping me awake longer when I get home, or what. But it's definitely weaseled its way into annoying territory.

I got into work, a little cob-webby, but nothing too serious, and poured myself some coffee. I have to say, for a well-known restaurant, their coffee is garbage. Anyway, I finished the cup around 5:30 and felt pretty energized for the evening. Work was meh (Monday and a Holiday, after all), and I was done by quarter-after 10. So I left, came home, and went to bed. No dice.

I knew right way I wasn't especially tired just for the simple fact that I wasn't tired. It's not that hard of a feeling to decipher, kids. I figured I was likely still wired from work, and yes, that the coffee was still in my system. So I settled in to one of Nicolas Cage's finest cinematic schtick called Drive Angry. Turned out to be not entirely ridiculous; I like my super natural action with as much bizarre nonsense as anyone. It was done at 12:15. Guess what? Not even tired.

So, after rummaging through our plethora of channels, I landed on a Behind The Music Remastery of Genesis. There when another hour. Now at this point, I knew I'd be getting up with my wife at 5, so I was down to less than 4 hours of sleep. Well, I decided to force myself to nod off, even though I know this is even worse than slowly working into it naturally. It eventually worked probably 40 minutes later. And then 5 arrived. Blah...

I got up, separated the new school detritus into the kids' bags, wrote their names on various locations, and wasted a few minutes on the soul-sucking FaceBook. And then 7 rolled around and I had to rouse the sleeping beasts. Breakfast was had, clothes were changed into, and the trio was herded out the door. By this time -because I decided to eschew coffee this morning since I knew a nap was definitely needed- I was absolutely exhausted. Time for re-sleep mark 2.0.

I laid down from 8:30 till 11:30. And, despite a few lurid and arbitrary dreams, I feel okay. But I just know I'll need coffee tonight. Sigh...

Who Needs Sleep? No, You're Never Gonna Get It...

(With title apologies to Bare Naked Ladies)

For a few months now I've fallen into a bizarre sleeping pattern. It all stems from the fact that the bed mattress is old (we're talking 17 years or so), and it's the same mattress I had when I lived with my grandparents a few years before I met my wife and we got married. So, this thing might even be pushing 20 years. I guess I don't know how old it was when I moved there... Anyway, therein is the big issue. So why not get a new mattress, you might be asking yourselves? Because, nosy, they're expensive and I can count on 2 hands the number of things that are more important. Like beer. And probably things for the kids. But mostly beer.

So here's what's been happening: My wife rises from the sleepy pits of Snooze Town right around 5 to go to work, and I get up with her because at that point my back is in such agonizing ruin that I can barely even roll over. So I get up and head to the family room. We have one big couch and one that's about 3/4th's of a couch. The big couch is fine to sit on, but it's not my favorite. The smaller couch, however, is a little slice of Heaven. Typically, within a half hour after I sit upon it in the morning I am out light a light. And the sleep is not only good and refreshing (and yes, it's while I sit, not lie down) but its deep and really good. So this has become my doze haven and I typically do it every morning until the kids get up. This way at least I'm refreshed before I work my late shift at the restaurant. No problem, right?

Well, that's not entirely so. You see, while the sleep might be epic, the dreams I have are sometimes so hyper-realistic that I spend the rest of the day trying to remember them and decipher what went on. It's like I'm living a double life only deep in my subconscious. I have written a few down, and I really ought to be recording more of them because if I ever go completely mad it's gonna take a team of scientists to decode my nightmares to figure out while I'm now strapped in a padded room attempting to eat my feet.

So they say that the enemy of my enemy is my friend... So sleep is my enemy and my dreams are my enemy, so my friend is... I don't know where I'm going with this.

I'm too tired.

Some Cluttering Cruft.

I was rifling through some of my old file folders on the old computer this morning and I came across a comic that I tried to get running a year or so ago. It never really caught on, which is sad, because it's pretty cute. Horrific, but cute. Anyway, here's a look at the only two that made it out of my head and onto paper. Lemme know if they might be worth another try.