I wish I could say things have gotten so super busy for me that I couldn't even bother posting a few sentences, but that would be a lie. I have indeed been really busy but not so busy that I couldn't post a few comments. Truth be told what writing I have been doing has been more along the lines of a short story that is more pg-13 rated and I try to keep my stuff PG for the blog.
Also because sometimes my Mom gets lucky and actually figures out how to get to my blog.
I do have a few comments to make today. Last weekend Mrs Wonder Boy and I went shopping at Winco, an adventure in itself every time. One thing on the list at my request was peanut butter, I have become quite the fan of peanut butter and banana sandwiches, try one it will rock your face off.
Usually I go with the JIF Creamy, but this time I decided I wanted to step up my PB & B experience a notch; not too much, just one notch...I wanted to go crunchy. To my utter disbelief the people at JIF had the audacity to skip the natural progression of adverbs and go from Creamy to Extra Crunchy with no Crunchy representaiton what so ever! Even Skippy went from Creamy to Super Chunky! It just fires me up when people use adverbs so irresponsibly.
I feelings for JIF went from Complacent to Extra Upset. Doesn't feel so good when you're on the other side does it JIF?!
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
Saturday, August 23, 2008
What the Drop in Gas Prices Feels Like
I was driving back home with my wife from the story yesterday and I saw a gas station selling gas for $3.83 a gallon. My feelings about the lower price bothered me.
It is kinda like if one day my nemesis, the one I'm going to hire from craigslist, came up to me and punched me in the groin. Then the next day he came up to me again and punched me in the groin. He would do this everyday and everyday I would know I was going to get punched in he groin no matter what I did. He wouldn't even sneak up behind me, there would be no need for such stealth because there would be nothing I could do to stop it.
Until one day my nemesis comes up to me and punches me in the stomach. I would double over, (as I usually did when being struck) unfold and smile. My face would light up and my excitement over not being punched in the groin would boil over. I would be inspired to yell out, to no one in particular, words of pure elation. I would hug complete strangers.
What bothers me about this is that I'm still getting the crap kicked out of me. The only thing that has changed is that I'm excited about it now.
The post about my Wife and the Fair is coming soon. I'm working out publishing rights on some photos as well now. She's one tough cookie.
It is kinda like if one day my nemesis, the one I'm going to hire from craigslist, came up to me and punched me in the groin. Then the next day he came up to me again and punched me in the groin. He would do this everyday and everyday I would know I was going to get punched in he groin no matter what I did. He wouldn't even sneak up behind me, there would be no need for such stealth because there would be nothing I could do to stop it.
Until one day my nemesis comes up to me and punches me in the stomach. I would double over, (as I usually did when being struck) unfold and smile. My face would light up and my excitement over not being punched in the groin would boil over. I would be inspired to yell out, to no one in particular, words of pure elation. I would hug complete strangers.
What bothers me about this is that I'm still getting the crap kicked out of me. The only thing that has changed is that I'm excited about it now.
The post about my Wife and the Fair is coming soon. I'm working out publishing rights on some photos as well now. She's one tough cookie.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
My Imagination
This one is a little off the wall. I've been having some really weird things just popping into my head and to give people a feeling for how odd it can be to be me sometimes, and also because I've dished it out to everybody else enough on this blog that its time I make fun of myself a little bit, I've decided to share.
Last week my wife and I are driving to some friends house. It is garage sale season so there are tons of signs out of people trying to drive traffic to their yard sales. It was earlier in the morning and I wasn't really firing on all cylinders. What cylinders were firing were being used to operate the car I was driving. We passed one that my wife read aloud, "G-Sale." Obviously short hand for "Garage Sale"
The image that immediately pops into my head is a lime green ranch house with a concrete driveway with chalk drawings being interrupted by cracks in the surface. A middle aged lady sitting behind a folding table that she and her friends had played bridge on the night before with a glass of iced tea and a visor she had laying around the house that she had never worn, but could never throw away because she was sure it would come in handy some day.
From her perch in the garage doorway she keeps a close eye on all of her items for purchase. All seemed normal at this point. Then things got a little twisted. Instead of monopoly games where the thymbol, the car, and the dog pieces are missing, sweaters that have lights in them, and a collection of micro-machines that have been fished from the noses of children the items are of a more organic nature.
Scattered across the driveway are a collection of men of varying sizes, shapes and colors. Each one though is wearing a long chain made of either gold or platinum ornamented with some kind of medallion. Some had bottles of malt liquor in there hands, some had cigars, and others kept grabbing at their crotch and repeatedly pulling up their pants because, even though they were wearing a belt, it was for decorative purposes only.
All of them were yelling, and blurting out phrases that would have been difficult to understand even if they weren't all talking at the same time. None of them were wearing shirts with sleeves and one even took his shirt off and began pointing out all of his scars from being shot and/or stabbed.
My age group is obviously not the demographic for such a sale but it just goes to show how things can get confused between generations. To my mother that "G" means garage. To me, in the early hours of my day, that "G" meant a person who spent their time on the streets, being "G"angsta. More commonly spelled gangster. I then couldn't help but wonder how it would look if anybody actually showed up to that "G-sale" looking to buy G's and not useless personal belongings that people no longer want.
My sister in Law uses these on her Blog. I figured I would give them a try, don't worry Jen I will return them when I'm finished.
v
Also on another note of my mind running wild, I was doing laundry this afternoon and the fabric softener smelled so good that I began to wonder what it would taste like. Obviously we are told that drinking fabric softener would be a terrible idea, but what if somehow fabric softener tasted delicious and nobody bothered to taste it and find out.
I'm curious but not stupid. I will let someone else figure that one out for me. Also if anybody has ever come across something where it is general knowledge that it would be a bad idea to taste, but you were still curious; let me know. It would be comforting to know I'm not alone.
A little tease about my next couple posts...One will be about my Wife and how if you're going to the fair why she is the best person to go with. This may get delayed because she will probably get final editing rights. Also, on the subject of tasting things we shouldn't taste I want to tell a story about my friend Wendy who sampled some goods a Wilco. (For those of you who don't know Wilco is a farm supply store) Stay tuned.
Last week my wife and I are driving to some friends house. It is garage sale season so there are tons of signs out of people trying to drive traffic to their yard sales. It was earlier in the morning and I wasn't really firing on all cylinders. What cylinders were firing were being used to operate the car I was driving. We passed one that my wife read aloud, "G-Sale." Obviously short hand for "Garage Sale"
The image that immediately pops into my head is a lime green ranch house with a concrete driveway with chalk drawings being interrupted by cracks in the surface. A middle aged lady sitting behind a folding table that she and her friends had played bridge on the night before with a glass of iced tea and a visor she had laying around the house that she had never worn, but could never throw away because she was sure it would come in handy some day.
From her perch in the garage doorway she keeps a close eye on all of her items for purchase. All seemed normal at this point. Then things got a little twisted. Instead of monopoly games where the thymbol, the car, and the dog pieces are missing, sweaters that have lights in them, and a collection of micro-machines that have been fished from the noses of children the items are of a more organic nature.
Scattered across the driveway are a collection of men of varying sizes, shapes and colors. Each one though is wearing a long chain made of either gold or platinum ornamented with some kind of medallion. Some had bottles of malt liquor in there hands, some had cigars, and others kept grabbing at their crotch and repeatedly pulling up their pants because, even though they were wearing a belt, it was for decorative purposes only.
All of them were yelling, and blurting out phrases that would have been difficult to understand even if they weren't all talking at the same time. None of them were wearing shirts with sleeves and one even took his shirt off and began pointing out all of his scars from being shot and/or stabbed.
My age group is obviously not the demographic for such a sale but it just goes to show how things can get confused between generations. To my mother that "G" means garage. To me, in the early hours of my day, that "G" meant a person who spent their time on the streets, being "G"angsta. More commonly spelled gangster. I then couldn't help but wonder how it would look if anybody actually showed up to that "G-sale" looking to buy G's and not useless personal belongings that people no longer want.
My sister in Law uses these on her Blog. I figured I would give them a try, don't worry Jen I will return them when I'm finished.
v
***
I'm curious but not stupid. I will let someone else figure that one out for me. Also if anybody has ever come across something where it is general knowledge that it would be a bad idea to taste, but you were still curious; let me know. It would be comforting to know I'm not alone.
A little tease about my next couple posts...One will be about my Wife and how if you're going to the fair why she is the best person to go with. This may get delayed because she will probably get final editing rights. Also, on the subject of tasting things we shouldn't taste I want to tell a story about my friend Wendy who sampled some goods a Wilco. (For those of you who don't know Wilco is a farm supply store) Stay tuned.
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