humor?


On the day of this being published, the US will play its first (and possibly last) game of the knockout round of the World Cup. Sara was the captain of her soccer team in college, but I know about as much about soccer as I do about soap operas. In fact, they seem kind of similar – over dramatic with very poor actors. At the onset of the US/Portugal game Sara told me that soccer players were tougher than football players becuase they don’t wear pads. After about two dozen flops, dives, and players rolling on the ground crying – yes, crying – she recanted that statement.

Regardless of the level of toughness of the players, I have to admit that, like most of the country, I am keeping up with the World Cup. During the World Cup we always hear about how soccer is gaining popularity and will make a breakthrough in the US.

Don’t hold your breath. Yes – I am watching and even recording the games while I am at work, but that does not make me a soccer fan. I mean come on – I watch bobsledding and luge once every four years but that doesn’t mean I’ll be traveling to Sweeden anytime soon to go sledding.

Don’t get me wrong. Soccer is a great sport. The barrier to entry is low, it has international appeal, it is safer than football, and the uniforms are quite spiffy; but a 1-0 win after two hours of viewing is just not satisfying enough for most Americans. Here are my suggestions for making soccer more exciting:

  • Play with three balls at once… more action = more scoring = more exciting
  • Every time a player flops and does a poor job faking an injury, the opposing team’s striker gets to kick him in the shin as hard as he can
  • One person on each team is allowed to tackle anyone, anywhere, anytime without a penalty
  • Stop the clock when not in play and actually play a specified amount of time like every other friggin sport in the world.  Then you will actually know when the game will be over and clock will mean something!
  • Ban all players who wax their eyebrows – yes, I’m talking about you, Cristiano Ronaldo

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A lot of people get into financial trouble this time of year, so here is this year’s Christmas Carol… to the tune of The Twelve Days of Christmas. 

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me

A part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

 

On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Six bills for paying

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Seven trees for trimming

Six bills for paying

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Eight creditors for bilking

Seven trees for trimming

Six bills for paying

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Nine months of financing

Eight creditors for bilking

Seven trees for trimming

Six bills for paying

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Ten hours of weeping

Nine months of financing

Eight creditors for bilking

Seven trees for trimming

Six bills for paying

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

 

On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Eleven months of griping

Ten hours of weeping

Nine months of financing

Eight creditors for bilking

Seven trees for trimming

Six bills for paying

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me

Twelve repairs of plumbing

Eleven months of griping

Ten hours of weeping

Nine months of financing

Eight creditors for bilking

Seven trees for trimming

Six bills for paying

Five new car dings

Four kids to herd

Three dinners with friends

Two holes in my gloves

And a part to repair on the SUV.

 

Dumb

Sara and the girls weren’t home, so I was on my own for dinner Saturday night.  I’m not one of those guys who is completely incompetent in the kitchen, but I had been working all day and didn’t want to spend a lot of time making dinner.  I went out to check the freezer to see if anything piqued my interest and came across some ground beef.  Perfect – I could thaw this out and make a patty melt.  Quick, easy, meaty… ideal for a man meal.

I noticed that the expiration date on the meat was in the year 2011.  Normally, this would cause me to take pause, but since I was only cooking for myself, I charged ahead.  The first thing I noticed was that the raw meat was brown.  Unfazed, I thawed the meat.  It was just over a pound and I thought I would make two giant half-pound patties.  Taking half of the meat out, I tried to form a patty.  It was extremely watery and just fell apart.

Men are nothing if not resourceful.  I saw the remaining half of the meat sitting on it’s little meat diaper in the styrofoam tray and realized that it was still compacted together and the perfect square shape for my bread.  I simply seasoned that and threw it straight into the skillet.  What happened next was kind of odd… nothing cooked out of the meat.  Nothing.

I’ve browned my share of ground beef in the past and know that the fat is supposed to cook out; which you then pour into a jar and leave by the kitchen sink for some unknown reason.  But not this time.  I pressed down on my patty (which was actually more of a loaf) and still no fat came out.  Instead, this gray jelly-like substance oozed out, which I actually found to be quite tasty after it crisped up in the skillet.

Since the raw meat was already brown, there was no discernible difference between the cooked and uncooked meat.  Just to be safe, I cooked it about an extra 5 minutes beyond what I thought was well done.  Good thing I’m being safe, right?

I ate my patty melt.  It was adequate and I had no adverse effects.  Every guy in the world had probably done something similar.  Now there is no way in the world I would have served that meat to my wife and kids, but when it comes to our own welfare, men tend to take a few more risks.

The Lord God said, “It is not good for the man to be alone.  I will make a helper suitable for him.”

Genesis 2:18

What an understatement.  In his infinite wisdom (literally), God knew that men are ego driven and often overly self confident so he used this wording to get the message across gently.  I think what is actually meant by “a helper suitable for him” is someone to keep the guy from killing himself daily.  Hey us guys are great – we’re thrill-seekers who take challenges head-on and get things done.  But sometimes we need to have a little doubt and question ourselves… and women are great at making us question ourselves.

Trimmer

Yes, my “procedure” was last week and it has preoccupied my thoughts for the past few days, so there is little else I can write about.  If you don’t know what my procedure was, you can look at the old postings… or figure it out with context clues.

 

In all honesty, it wasn’t that bad.  The two injections were pretty painful (it felt like the needle was going all the way up into my abdomen), but once the local anesthetic kicked in, I really didn’t feel anything.  This is a good thing because I could hear something that sounded like a wire cutter snipping through 12 gauge wires and occasionally saw a cloud of smoke rising up from a place no fire should ever approach.

 

The procedure itself was a breeze… I’ve had worse tooth cleanings.  I laid back on the table, the doctor got to work, and fifteen minutes later I was left alone in the room with smell of cauterized flesh and the coldest icepack known to mankind.  Ten minutes later, a nurse came in to check me and then asked me to look at it so she could nonchalantly carry on a conversation about post-op care for the parts of me that we were mutually inspecting. 

 

That was weird.

 

The office was on the way to the cabin, so we decided to head on up for the weekend.  I figured that if I had to be sitting around all day Saturday, I may as well be sitting around in the mountains.  The local anesthetic began to wear off on the way to the cabin, but the pain really wasn’t that bad.  Sara took good care of me and the girls made sure to give me plenty of hugs and kisses in hopes of making me feel better.  Fortunately, we didn’t even have to field any difficult questions.

 

I was a little sore the day after surgery, but not too bad… I didn’t even need to take my pain meds.  The sun came out and the temperature rose, so I went outside to read.  The combination of bright sunshine and pollen proceeded to send me into a series of eight consecutive violent sneezes. 

 

That was quite unpleasant.

 

All things considered, the worst thing I’ve endured so far is having to sit around and do nothing on a very nice weekend.  I’ve heard some horror stories from other men and am fortunate enough to say that my procedure really couldn’t have gone any better.  That’s one thing every man dreads checked off the list, now I can look forward to my prostate exam.

 

 

tooth

We have had a difficult relationship with the Tooth Fairy.  Olivia lost yet another tooth over the weekend.  I’ve lost count, but I think that is about the 9th one that is gone.  In the time that she has lost those nine, only three have come in to replace them.  It’s quite amusing watching her trying to eat – I almost had her convinced that I was going make her a catfish smoothie for dinner.

She lost her tooth on Sunday while we were at the cabin.  She decided to store the tooth in a bloody tissue for safe keeping until she could put it next to her bed for the Tooth Fairy.  Like any seven year-old that ever puts anything down, she forgot where she put it.  While cleaning out her car, Sara found said bloody tissue.  Not recognizing the bloody tissue for the treasure that it was, she threw it away. 

This, of course, led to Sara having to dig through the garbage to find a bloody tissue.  With the bloody tissue retrieved, Olivia, removed the tooth and placed in on the counter.  Remember what I said about seven year-olds laying things down?  At bedtime, we began another search for the missing tooth.

After a while, we decided that the tooth was lost for good and I wrote a note to the Tooth Fairy explaining our situation and assuring her that Olivia had indeed lost a tooth and was deserving of her reward.  Later that night, I came to the realization that I didn’t have any one dollar bills.  The thought did cross my mind to raid Olivia’s cash reserves and remove two $1 bills only to give them right back to her, but I couldn’t do it (not because of my moral compass but because I couldn’t find her cash reserves).  So I went back downstairs to look for change.  After finding eight quarters and placing them on the note I left next to Olivia’s bed, I considered the task complete.

The next morning, I asked Olivia if the Tooth Fairy came.  She quickly replied, “No, the Tooth Fairy doesn’t work on Sundays.   I only have the quarters you left me.”

Now I’m just glad she didn’t catch me stealing her money.

Party PooperSaturday was a challenging day.  Sara had a baby shower, leaving me to take the girls to a birthday party.  The party was at place called the Sky Zone – an indoor trampoline park. 

Since the party was for one of Olivia’s friends, I turned her loose when we entered the building and paid for Amelia to jump on the trampolines.  As soon as we got to the play area, Amelia froze.  She didn’t want jump and wanted everybody in the building to know it. 

I tried to encourage her to jump, but she just wouldn’t have it.  She stood there on the trampoline refusing to jump and bouncing slightly as other kids hopped by.  They were laughing and jumping, she was scowling and crying. 

I then took her over to the smaller trampolines with younger kids… still no luck.  She finally entered full meltdown mode and made me carry her the whole time.  Nothing like paying 14 bucks to carry a 40 pound kid around for an hour.

As she was mid-tantrum, Olivia came limping up and she was crying because she twisted her ankle.  It was at this point that Amelia had to go potty.  Olivia was incapacitated and Amelia is at the age where she is too little to go the women’s bathroom by herself, but too big for me to take her to men’s bathroom.

Fortunately, there was a family restroom.  Unfortunately, it was a single-seater and one of the largest humans I have ever seen entered it right before we got there and locked the door.  We waited… and waited… and waited until the person came out – about 15 minutes later. 

Upon entering, I fully understood why the person was in there so long.  It smelled like the black death had descended upon the bathroom and the ominous plunger next to the toilet was wet from recent use.  It was at this point that I realized that Amelia was barefoot.

I held her over the toilet trying not to let her touch anything and suddenly she no longer needed to go.  By this point, I was about to lose it.

Eventually the party ended and we got home.  The girls had forgotten the challenges of the day and were telling mommy what a great time they had at the party.

What?

Was I in some parallel universe for the past two hours?  I guess kids just have a different perspective.  That’s what makes them so challenging and such a blessing at the same time.

This past Saturday was a gorgeous fall day.  The sun was shining with not a cloud in the sky, the air was a nice, warm 70 degrees, and we were in the perfect place to enjoy it – the mountains of northern Georgia.  After a nutritious breakfast of an iced cinnamon roll, my oldest daughter complained of a tummy ache.  This is a pretty typical thing, so we didn’t think much of it. 

I had some work to do at the cabin, so I went about my business until nearly lunchtime.  Olivia still complained of an upset stomach and kept her head in Sara’s lap for most of our lunch.  We were planning on going hiking after lunch, so I thought this was just Olivia’s plan to get out of it.  As we left the restaurant, Olivia could barely walk.   She does have a flair for the dramatic, so I was still unsure if this was for real.

Sara pressed around on her stomach and the only place she hurt was in the lower-right quadrant (which happens to be where your appendix is located).  Now we were starting to grow a little worried.  I decided to play my trump card by asking her if she wanted to go swimming… to which she immediately replied, “Yes.”

Busted… or so I thought. 

She went on to say that she wanted to go to the pool, but she would just put her feet in the water because she didn’t feel like swimming.  Now we knew something was badly wrong.  Since we were up in Ellijay, we decided we should probably head for home in case we were dealing with appendicitis. 

She was in even greater pain as we drove home and started to feel a little feverish, so we went straight to the ER.  Again, it was a perfect fall day outside, but we were sitting in a windowless patient room for a little over three hours.  I don’t know why you are called a “patient” when seeing a doctor, because we were anything but that.

It was now dark outside and the perfect fall day had come to close.  Olivia decided to get down off the examination bed… at which point she cut loose two of the biggest farts she had ever had.  I know… little girls don’t “fart” they “toot”… but just to be clear, these were indeed farts.  We just spent three hours in the ER, over an hour and half driving, and who knows how much on medical bills for a bout of horrendous gas!

She suddenly felt much better but our perfect fall day had come to a close.  Don’t get me wrong – I think we did the right thing, but why couldn’t this happen on a cold, rainy day?

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