This weekend, I had to go do some grocery shopping. An otherwise uneventful trip to the supermarket ended oddly. I was at the check out and some elderly man walks by and asks the cashier if they have a pay phone. She says they do not. He seemed a bit flustered and concerned so I offered him use of my phone. He was thankful, said his phone’s battery had just died, and he just needed to call his wife and tell her he was running late. He made the call and left a message. He gave me the phone back and said bless you.

Then, I’m in the parking lot loading my groceries in the car when a man comes walking toward me. He seemed a bit disheveled and intent on being near me so I made sure my truck’s door was between us and had my weak side toward him. He holds his hands out toward me palms up and begins to speak. Conversation goes like this:

Him: I ain’t no bum or nothing [he shows me his calloused hands that indicate he was a laborer]. I’m a roofer. I work for [such and such].

Me: [an odd opener I thought] I believe you. Can I help you?

Him: Today’s payday and I just spent my entire check to fix my wife’s car [he motions to a car and a woman and child are sitting in the car, it's not running]. It’s just about out of gas and I need some gas to get my family home to [a few towns over].

Me: Sure. How far a drive is that? [And I hand him $10.]

Him: ’bout 50 miles. Do you have a card or a phone number? How can I get this money back to you.

Me: Don’t worry about it. Be safe and get your family home.

Him: Bless you.

Me: Thanks.*

I get in my car and start heading home. My phone rings. It’s the number the first guy called. She inquires who it is and I explain that I loaned her husband my phone so he could call. I tell her he said that he was going to be a bit late. And she thanks me and says “bless you.”

* yeah, his story could have been bogus. Who knows? But he did have a wife and kid in his car. I believed him. And I’m not gonna leave a woman and child to sit in Kroger parking lot.

From Pink AR

From Pink AR

Her birthday is in June. I can’t wait.

Not bad. So, NK, that solution already taken care of. But not the solution I’m looking for.

And more

And Music for Aardvarks:

It’s campy kids’ music but it’s good. Of course, I also expose my kids to my music. Junior currently loves She Don’t Use Jelly by Flaming Lips and sings along to every word. Which is funny:

Also, I’ve always liked They Might Be Giants. My kids like their songs too and sing a long to almost all of them. Because of my kids, I discovered there were a lot cartoons that used TMBG songs, such as Tiny Toons:

And, of course, TMBG do a lot of TeeVee themes.

Listening and singing along to music with your kids is probably one of the funnest things to do ever.

Junior: Why is the cat sneezing so much?

The Mrs.: I think she’s allergic to something. Could be something new in the house.

Junior: The Elf on the Shelf is new in the house.

The Mrs.: He is new in the house.

Junior: And he goes back to the North Pole every night.

The Mrs.: Yes, he does.

Junior: The cat is allergic to the North Pole.

how would you describe your success with concern to having children and guns in the same house?

Like this:

From Kids

I’ve told Junior that any time she ever wanted to go shooting, she just had to ask. And we’d drop whatever we were doing and go. So, there’s no need for her to handle a gun out of curiosity when I’m not around.

I’ve written about Kids and Guns quite a bit.

We, generally, have access to information at all times. Instantly. Within a few clicks of a mouse or buttons on your smart phone, you can convert gallons to M³, find a recipe for goulash, do algebra, calculate adjustments for windage, learn first aid, confirm that Johnny Galecki was actually Rusty in Christmas Vacation, and anything you want or need. You don’t have to commit a lot to memory because you can look it up. In other words, you have a hard drive.

This is interesting to me. See, as a financial guy, I’ve spent a lot of time learning and retaining lots of information. I mean, other than dick jokes and song lyrics. Information that I and anyone else can look up instantly online. That wasn’t always the case but it is now. Seems the future will belong to those who learn to quickly look stuff up.

One of these days my kids will say something like I don’t need to know that 2.2 kg equals a pound 2.2 pounds equals a kilogram* or how to solve quadratic equations. And they’ll be right. What they will need to know is how to use information.

The future is thinking not knowing.

* ETA: LOL. From memory, I got it wrong. Shoulda googled it.

I have a few pet names for my lovely wife, such as sweetie and honey. I also refer to her, at least weekly, as the light nazi. My wife has this superpower to detect wasted electricity almost instantaneously. For example, if I leave a light on and exit the room, she immediately hones in on the room using her bizarre extrasensory capabilities (seriously, the Department of Homeland Security could probably use her to detect unusual electrical fluctuations). Upon her discovery that I am ‘heating the neighborhood’ or ‘letting the flies out,’ I’m in for a quick reminder to turn out lights and shut doors.

One problem I have with her ability is the fanatical zeal in which she enforces her duties as the sworn protector of home electrical efficiency. Another example: when I am in our office and have the lights on then decide I’d like a refreshing beverage, by the time I return from the kitchen the lights are off in the office. Also, in her zeal, she has turned lights off on me while I’m still in the room reading. She seems so obsessed with ‘saving that quarter’ that she occasionally fails to notice that someone is actually benefiting from the use of the electricity in question.

My wife apparently has been saving up all this electricity usage for the holidays. Every year, me and the wife also get into an argument over Christmas decorations. The argument stems from the fact she wants to put the decorations up right after Labor Day. Whereas, I prefer them to be put up about the second week of December. This past weekend, satisfied that she had saved up enough electricity to warrant decorating for the holidays, yours truly wound up doing a lot of work in preparation for the upcoming holidays. Until this past week, the wife and I were the only ones living in our subdivision. We just got a new neighbor so I suppose the new neighbor was the cause of the tackiness that is holiday decorations. Since, other than us, he’ll be the only one to see them. Unless of course people start driving down a new subdivision to look at houses in the dark.

On Saturday, the wife and I pulled all the holiday knickknacks out of the attic and started decorating the house. I argued about it less this year than ever. I basically said ‘honey, it’s not even Thanksgiving yet?’ and she replied with ‘but Thanksgiving is late this year.’ I shrugged and said ‘Oh.’ Learned helplessness has finally set in. I can just agree and do it quicker then I can disagree, argue, and wind up doing it anyway. Ah, the holiday spirit.

We put out our Frosty the Snowman salt and pepper shakers, put up our Christmas tree, put a Nativity scene on the mantle, and put out all the other stuff from the eight boxes that were in our attic labeled ‘Christmas.’ This took up half our day.

Sunday rolls around, and I find out the wife had bought about nine boxes of icicle lights. Yours truly was then taken to task to take said nine boxes of lights (at 300 lights per box) and trim the house with them. A friend came by to help. Fortunately for me, my friend had done this before. I hadn’t.

Your average SayUncle is about six feet, one inch tall and weighs about 170 pounds. Your average SayUncle is also lethargic on the weekends. And your average SayUncle’s natural habitat is some primitive, oblong, leather bedding (commonly referred to as a ‘couch’) where the SayUncle stalks its prey, the elusive Sam Adams and the only slightly less-elusive rum and Coke. Your average SayUncle is also poorly equipped for climbing steep inclines, which is a required skill when hanging 2,700 icicle lights. The reason the average SayUncle is so poorly equipped for climbing is because the largely sedentary SayUncle often catches several Sam Adams’ or rum and Cokes per day on the weekends, in between naps of course. Mind you, the only known SayUncle in existence hasn’t lived in its natural habitat since it wed the SayAuntie, who is hell bent on destroying the SayUncle’s natural habitat.

The friend shows up. We put the ladder up to the house and he climbs up. Then I climb up. I realize in about five seconds that my boots are poorly equipped for walking on the roof. You need something that allows you to bend your ankles. It was also at this point that I realized I’d never really used a ladder to climb on a roof before. And that I didn’t really know how to get from the roof to the ladder, and subsequently to the ground, safely. After my friend’s instruction, I figured the whole ladder thing out, climbed down, and put on some sneakers. Then it’s back up the ladder to discover my friend had already placed one box of lights. Then, I cut myself on the gutters. I refuse to climb down and am content to finish the job while bleeding on the hangers. We then develop a system in which I place the hangers and my friend inserts the icicle lights into the hangers. About three hours later (when it’s dark, but we’re working with lights so . . ) we’re done.

I call the wife. The friend calls his wife. And we all stand around outside looking out over our icicle lights and the lighted garland on the porch. My wife looks me lovingly in the eyes and smiles, she’s happy. I look at her and smile. The whole time thinking that we will waste more electricity on these Christmas lights this year than I will waste by leaving lights on for the rest of my life. Also, I hope our only neighbor appreciates the holiday display because I don’t think anyone else is going to be driving by our subdivision to look at our lights. I put my arm around my wife and smile again because I know that I’m bleeding on her holiday sweater.

With the light nazi appeased, the SayUncle was allowed briefly to return to his natural habitat before bedtime.

Happy holidays!

Last night, at bath time I was rinsing the kids, when Junior looks at me, points to her chest and says This is my booty. On by booty is a knuckle.

This year, my kids are going to be a dalmatian and a dragon.

From Gun Porn

It even has the original bayonet, though it has some surface rust:

From Gun Porn

Also, it has the original leather sling with it:

From Gun Porn

A bit of surface rust on the top too:

From Gun Porn

It just wasn’t tacticool enough for me, so I put an EOTech on it:

From Gun Porn

I kid. I just set that on there for a funny picture.

Anyway, I need to get it cleaned up real nice. Any advice on the best means to remove the rust that is also safe for the rifle’s finish? Any recommendations appreciated.

Also, he’s into Peaches by POTUSA, which is the greatest rock video ever because everything is better with ninja fights:

From Kids

This is why we practice our Todd Jarrett Kung Fu Grip. And, I know, you gun nuts are gonna get all where’s the eye protection on me. And, while I probably should have, didn’t think it was necessary with the 22.

From Pets

Then, a minute later, I saw this:

From Pets

under a law Congress passed last year aimed at regulating hazards in children’s products, the federal government has now advised that children’s books published before 1985 should not be considered safe and may in many cases be unlawful to sell or distribute. Merchants, thrift stores, and booksellers may be at risk if they sell older volumes, or even give them away, without first subjecting them to testing—at prohibitive expense.

The Mrs. collects children’s books. She has for years. It appears she’ll soon need a black market book dealer. HT to SIH who notes you need an interest group for everything.

Also, one of the documents was a computer usage agreement. In this agreement, Junior agrees not to look at porn and bomb making instructions on Al Gore’s Internets. And she has to sign it as though it’s a contract. For a five year old. I guess we gotta introduce them to legal contracts at some point.

Next issue I had was the ridiculousness of paying for stuff. We had to pay a supply fee, buy a tote bag, and get a prepaid meal card. Now, one would think that the school would be set up to handle common transactions in a convenient manner. You’d be wrong. I have to write one check to the school. One check to the cafeteria. And one check to the PTA. I guess they don’t have an accountant or bookkeeper to sort that out. I wrote three checks today, which is more checks than I’ve written in the last five years.

Speaking of the supply fee, that really annoyed me. In addition to paying a $40 supply fee, we also had to go buy supplies like markers, pencils, hand sanitizer, and tissues. So, we buy supplies. Pay a supply fee. And, of course, I’ve paid property taxes in The City (My The City) for a while that I thought were there to partially fund the schools. But then, it gets better. You see, those supplies we bought? Yeah, they’re community supplies. They’re not Junior’s supplies. They’re for everyone. I figure it’s a good way to teach Junior about taxes. Or communism.

The tote bag seems like a scam to me. Sure, it’s only $5 but it looks like it cost $1.25 for Chinese kids to sew it together. All the kids have the same bag. Between that and the community supplies, I’m not getting a big individualist groove from the school. I think that will be a problem for Junior, who tends to take after me. Also, we were sternly warned that the bag is for school supplies only. Sorry, Sparky, I paid for it. It’s mine. I’ll use it for whatever I choose.

It also makes me wonder. I’m guessing that not all parents can readily afford these expenditures. And it might be a particularly undue burden on some of them. I guess that’s why we all pick up the tab on supplies. But what about the fees and such?

Complaints aside, her teacher and assistant seemed to be nice folks. And the school’s renovations were nice. And they have a lot of interesting items and activities in store. This is going to be fun. But I’ll still complain about it.

Well, it turns out a potty mouth does more than earn your conversations an R rating: it actually relieves pain, according to a new study by Richard Stephens, John Atkins, and Andrew Kingston of Keele University in the UK. But that’s not all: you’d never know it from what your mom told you, but there are many positive, beneficial aspects of swearing, including harmless venting and social bonding (not to mention reams of adult comedy). Bad language does a lot of good.

Fuck yeah!

From Home Life

Noms commence in a week or so.

Also, the latest creation is, and I am not making this up, cucumber popsicles. Our cucumber plants are out of control and, frankly, we can’t go through them all, even giving them to our neighbors. This is a bit more work but is delicious. Put a quarter cup of lime juice and a half cup of sugar in a pan and heat it up. While the sugar is dissolving, seed and peel 3 whole cucumbers. Put them in the blender and add your sugar and lime juice mix and hit the juice setting. Freeze in popsicle trays over night. No need to strain these.

Junior has always wanted a cat. Neither the Mrs. nor I were ever cat people. But Junior was persistent. So, we now have a cat. Well, I think we still have it. I haven’t actually seen it since about 6:00 yesterday.

We’re up to three critters.

Get rid of them — they’re not safe around children.

Well, I did not get rid of mine and they are not around children. You cannot wrap the world in Nerf and your children in bubblewrap. There simply is no way to make your little darlings perfectly safe. Sure, you get rid of the guns. Then you have a home invasion. Or your child can drown in a bathtub. Or die by eating household chemicals. etc. The trick to this parenting thing is, uhm, being a parent and no amount bubblewrap can make up for using your brain.

Meanwhile, Marko ponders toy gun control:

I know there are parents out there who refuse to buy toy guns for their kids.

As a responsible gun owner, I’m of two minds on the issue. On one hand, I don’t want to encourage or even tolerate picking up the habit of unsafe gun handling. On the other hand, I don’t believe in the “pretend it doesn’t exist” prohibitionist approach to anything—guns, drugs, sex, or what-have-you—because those methods don’t work.

He continues discussing options. Now, I never really thought much about the toy gun aspect. We have toy guns. Our toy guns are even the little Nerf guns that actually shoot the little foam padded suction cups. They’re great fun. The kids and their cousins have little war with them all the time. I did the same thing when I was a kid and I handle real guns safely.

I’ve not done it with my kids yet but their older cousins (who are 9) have been shooting (airguns) with me. Their parents, who do not own guns, wanted me to teach them gun safety and I said OK under the pretense they actually go shooting too. And they did. Had a good time putting holes in cans with a Gamo. A few months later when I returned from the GSSF match and had to clean my gun. My nephews were there. They wanted to watch. I taught them how to field strip a Glock. Their mom seemed less happy about that than about the air rifle. But one thing I didn’t do was go hide the gun and act like it wasn’t there after they saw me take it out of the truck.

I bring this up because, right now, I am on the back porch continuing my silent protest of the tobacco bill by enjoying a nice Gurkha Legend. When I came out, I marveled at how quickly the mosquitoes swarmed the screened-in porch. They can’t get to me because I’m behind a screen. But I guess they sense my presence somehow (from my carbon dioxide emissions, iirc). And within a few seconds, about four bats were putting on a nice aerobatic show while sucking down the mosquitoes.

From Home Life

Then:

From Home Life

Lack of a kiddie pool aside, I thought the comparison was pretty neat.

Happy birthday, Junior.

Wow, it’s been five years. I can’t recall a time when she wasn’t here.

Timmy Turner: You mean, you’d let an unsupervised minor go on dangerous missions without worrying about his safety

Adult (handing him a gun): not without a really dangerous weapon.

Heh.

From Home Life

That’s the kids kiddie pool in the field behind the house. That pool is 4.5 X 9 for scale. Also, apparently darn good quality since it did not pop on it’s journey.

A Franklin woman will serve six months’ probation for leaving her 4-year-old daughter in a running vehicle while she went into a store.

Judith L. Rogers was charged with leaving a child unattended in a running motor vehicle, a class B misdemeanor.

My truck has one of those electronic keypads on the door so I can unlock it without a key. A few times I’ve had the kids in the car and realize that the place I stopped at for gas doesn’t have pay at the pump. So, I leave the air on, lock the door, and run inside to pay. The truck is locked and I always make certain that I can see my vehicle. It’s a lot more convenient than unstrapping two kids; taking them into a dirty gas station; then having to buy them a Slushee because once they see it, they must have one; herding them back to the truck while they’re under their initial sugary beverage rush; getting them back in their seats; and strapping them back in. I didn’t know I was breaking the law.

Also, after bath, it’s a race between Junior and the Second to see who can get dressed first. And the loser usually cries about that.

The other night, the race was on. Junior was hurriedly getting dressed and I was helping The Second put his jammies on. As a joke, I grabbed Junior’s pajama top and tossed it up on the bed to buy The Second some time. And she started crying. And I, in my usual fashion, state that she could sit there and cry about it or go get her top. And I say to her, for the millionth time, that crying doesn’t help. She runs up to the bed, gets dressed, and comes over to proudly display that she still won, despite dad’s attempt at a setback. She then looks at me and says See, crying did help.

From Kids

He keeps asking me to buy him the Sig P250 advertised in there.

Me: You know how I always dreamed that Politically Incorrect Dog could talk and he had a deep voice with a British accent?

The Mrs: Yeah.

Me: Well, in my dreams, Flash sounds like Samuel Jackson.

The Mrs: Why do the dogs always talk in your dreams?

Me: Guess they got shit to say. That’s what Flash would say.

Speaking of mom, I generally like to make my own salad dressing. Here’s one of my faves from Mom: Hawaiian Dressing. And, so, it seems appropriate to start this new endeavor with a new favorite of mine: Homemade Caesar Salad Dressing (quick and easy).

1 cup mayo
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon Worcestershire
1 teaspoon minced garlic
1/2 cup Parmesan cheese
Quarter cup of milk

Add salt and fresh ground pepper to taste. Whisk until smooth.

Update: For you purists, no there’s no anchovy paste. Mostly because I don’t usually have any around.

The reason he left was that, well, he was too much dog for two small kids. His attempts at getting affection and play were a bit on the reckless side. And he was clearly jealous of the amount of attention the kids received. I did not think for a minute that he’d intentionally harm my children but that he might do so inadvertently. He was corrected for the behavior yet it continued. And, well, with little ones around, there is no room for mistakes.

So, I delivered him to the nice lady who would be his new home. When I dropped him off, I cried. A lot. It’s a tough thing after you’ve had a dog for seven years. But leave it to Junior to add some levity to the situation. As I was leaving with him, she said So, can we get a kitty now? We’re undecided on the cat. She wants one but me and the Mrs. are not cat people.

Anyway, the Mrs. wanted a new dog. I was wanting to wait a bit. She was pretty insistent on getting a dog. And we know how that goes. We opted for a more docile animal. Meet Flash:

From Home Life

Only had him for a few days. Two and a half (ish) year old Bassett hound. A rescue, of sorts. Talk about extremes. I’m not used to having a dog that lounges around all the time. And in terms of obedience training, he has none.

Update: I didn’t know it was a survival garden.

Coincidentally, compost is easy to get when you share a border with a cattle farm.

Right now, the kids and the Mrs. are asleep and I’m having a Macanudo and a bourbon on the patio.

Only a little moment was enough for the following to happen.

From Stuff

From Guav.

From Kids

You’ll notice our snow man is sheriff. We should have built him a snow gun because it seems some outlaw snow men came by with a snow shotgun:

From Kids

She’s also saying fart a lot. Not real bad but there are better words for it.

And we decided to let the kids watch A Christmas Story. Trouble is, a lot of it is inappropriate for a four or a two year old. Kids cussing, violence, and the F-bomb.

The power of observation.

I guess lots of people actually like birds. They like them to the extent that there is actually a market for bird bath warmers. No kidding. I know this because that’s what the mother in law asked us to get her for Christmas.

I did ours this weekend.

Market capitalization of General Motors: $3.2 billion.

Market capitalization of Mattel, Inc.: $4.9 billion.

The greatest compliment I can imagine – and I get it frequently – is when one of my kids comes up, completely unbidden, and tells me that they love me. I eat that up for breakfast. It makes everything worthwhile, and I hope they do it until the day I die. No matter how fast they grow, or how big they get, I’ll never stop worrying about them, and I’ll never stop loving them with every fiber of my being.

I will, however, stop doing their laundry before they hit high school…

I have recently became disconnected from pop culture for a very different reason. I got TiVo. See, now I only watch what I want, when I want to watch it, and without commercials. I’m not exposed to what’s hot. Generally, I have no idea what movies are out (this week is the exception in that I know Madagascar 2 is out because the kids at Junior’s school are into that). I generally have no idea who any of the people are that are mentioned in the Yahoo! entertainment blurb that pops up on the home page. I have no idea who the people on the cover of any magazine at the supermarket are. Marko suffered a disconnect from getting disconnected. I suffered the disconnect by upgrading technology.

I don’t miss it. Most TeeVee sucks. I watch very few shows. A list would include Mythbusters, Battlestar Galactica, Family Guy, The Daily Show (occasionally), My Name Is Earl, Mail Call, Southpark and The Simpsons. That’s really it, except the occasional sporting/poker event. Southpark and The Simpsons are probably coming off the list because lately they suck. Now, I also manage to watch a whole lot of Blues Clues, Spongebob, Dora, Diego, Back at the Barnyard, and Fairly Odd Parents as a function of having kids. But they’re not exactly piping pop culture into the house. Of course, I’ve mentioned before Junior’s utter shock at the discovery of commercials.

Another interesting trend is that, once again because of technology, I can’t name a Top 40 song. No idea. But, then, I’ve never been a big Top 40 guy either. I download my music and pick only what I want to listen to.

I guess you can disconnect or plug in more heavily and become disconnected from pop culture.

But you know what hurts worse? Brake cleaner in an open wound.

Also, it bled quite a bit. I needed a band-aid. And the only band-aids I could find in the house were SpongeBob SquarePants band-aids.

Me: You want to call Poppa and Honey and tell them Happy Anniversary?

Junior: No.

Me: Why not?

Junior: ‘Cause that’s hard to say.

Then on Sunday, we left the kids with the in-laws and me and the Mrs. went at watched a bunch of country singers I’d never heard of and Kenny Rogers. At 70, that man is one Hell of an entertainer. And it helped that I’d actually heard some of his songs before.

And the food was awesome. Funnel cakes and big greasy burgers. Oh, and one place had ribbon fries that were to die for.

It was a good time.

A bit later, she was out and running around. I look at the Mrs. and say Did Junior get a haircut? She tells me no. I said Hmm, looks like she did. I’m assured she did not. A few minutes later, the Mrs. says Oh my god, what did you do to your hair?

Apparently, while behind the comfy chair, she had a pair of scissors and was cutting the front of her hair. Boy, was the Mrs. pissed. She could have chewed some aluminum and crapped nails. I thought fireballs were going to come out of her eyes. I briefly felt sorry for Junior.

Lesson learned: let me know when the kids have scissors, which will now be in approximately never.

Update: And Tam: There oughtta be a law to protect inattentive morons.

Coincidentally, I had to explain to Junior what an idiot was this morning because I used that word in reference to some kid. You see, one idiot child in my subdivision was crossing the street this morning with his head buried in his cell phone or iPod or some such. My truck is much louder than a Prius and if I were as inattentive as said idiot, said idiot might be a squishy spot right now.

So, I decide to fix it. While fixing it, I look at Junior and tell her we don’t hang on things. And she asks me why. I say because if you do that, then you break my stuff and I don’t like that. How would you like it if I broke your stuff? Rest of the conversation goes like this:

Junior: Don’t break my stuff!

Me: But what if I did? Would you like that?

Junior: If you broke my stuff, I’d tell on you.

Me: Who would you tell?

Junior: Your dad.

Me: Do you know who my dad is?

Junior: Yes.

Me: Who is it?

Junior: Poppa

She did know.

The grandparents (Mommo and Daddo) and kids pull up to a red light. The light turns green. The car in front of them does not go. Daddo waits a bit then honks the horn to let the guy in front know he should pay attention. After Daddo honks the horn, The Second says Beep beep. Junior says When that happens in Daddy’s car, he says fuck and damn.

Careful what you say and when you say it.

She knows the value of a dollar and how to write her name. I was so proud.

After, we broke out the Gamo 220 Hunter, a rest, and a mat for shooting. Explained the rules of the backyard range (i.e., don’t cross the firing line; range hot and cold, etc.). I take the first shot so they know how the gun sounds.

First round of targets were at about 10 yards and I had stuck some Shoot-N-Cs to a 3/4 inch board. First nephew lines up his shot after I explain how to address the gun in the prone position; how to line up the scope; squeeze the trigger and do not snap it; etc. First round connects. Second nephew barely missed and I told him he pulled the gun. The niece missed as well. I attributed that to nervousness.

After that, all three were dead on. We shot all manner of can, water bottle, box, and more Shoot-N-C targets. They all took their targets home to show their friends.

I told them they could come back any time and we’d do it again.

Junior was invited. She came and watched the first shot by her cousin and then grew bored. Hard to keep a four year-old entertained when there’s a lot of just standing around.

In addition to the giant mess of toys everywhere, it’s one o’clock and we’re still in our jammies.

Kinda interesting to me. See, I never really told anyone I knew in the real world about my website. I didn’t even tell my wife until after a year or so (and that’s only because she saw the domain hosting charge on the credit card). And, it wasn’t until about 2005 (when the blog was three) that I happened to mention it to a couple of friends. Then, one of those friends told another friend. He told my brother in law. And then, this year, my wife told my other brother in law. She even opined that she just thought everybody knew. And this year, my dad found out. He found out because I logged in at his house, did a quick post and didn’t clear history. He’s been reading ever since. In fact, he told me he went back one night and read the entire Notes to Junior Category. Other than that, I don’t really tell folks.

And in this post, some folks asked if I let the guy I mentioned know about the blog. I did not.

There’s a reason I don’t tell people. That reason is that if they read regularly, I’d eventually piss them off. It’s true. I have, for example, mentioned a few disagreements with folks on this blog. Now, imagine they hop on the internets and see me making fun of their position? And now that I know who knows, I can’t make fun of them anymore. It’s inhibiting.

Cars Cars Cars Cars Cars Cars

Anyway, he was saying that the other day. The Mrs. looks at Junior and says: I don’t think he knows any other words.

Junior looks at the Mrs. and says: He knows bubbles.

Random conversation at my house.

We got new neighbors. I met them a bit ago and they have three dogs. They were telling me about their dogs, of which they are quite proud. Seems their dogs are a cross between a Pomeranian and a Chihuahua. I was telling my wife about the dogs and what they were a cross between. But, as I told her, I couldn’t recall what they were called (other than mutt). And then I said: If I were naming them, they’d be called Pomerhuahuas because that’s just fun to say. And Chimeranian, in addition to not being fun to say, sounds like a mythical beast.

Turns out, I was wrong on both counts and they’re called Pomchis.

Mmmm. I do like butts of all kinds.

Update: BTW, all this butt talk has Junior confused. We’ve told her that butt is a bad word. So, whenever I reference a butt she reminds me we don’t say that because it’s a bad word.

The second instance and I am not making this up. Again, driving home in my subdivision. There’s a kid on a bike in the middle of the street. I’m going slow enough to not be a threat. He’s not paying attention. He finally sees me and gets over. So far so good. I look over and see that he has a bow strung over his shoulder. And, I shit you not, in his left hand he’s carrying two arrows. That’s right. A kid on a bike is carrying arrows. Holy crap.

Early intervention is key at preventing teh st00pid. I don’t know how far gone these two are but someone (like say, the parents) should step up.

Update: Note that I am neither anti-bow nor anti-arrow. I just think if you’re carrying around arrows, they should be properly sheathed. Particularly, if you’re on a bike and run the risk of impaling yourself at slightly higher speeds than, say, walking.

Yeah, I’ve been there.

Via MKS.

The Mrs.: What for?

Me (perplexed that she’s really asking what an umbrella would be used for): To fend off the lions.

It is MY EXPERIENCE that even while you men complain about the size of our purses, we are often asked to HOLD your things because we have room for them!

I’m constantly being asked by my boyfriend to put his camera, keys or something or other in my purse, because he doesn’t have room in his pockets!

I respond with:

I don’t complain about the size just the fact that she carries too much crap and can’t find any of the crap she carries. If I needed insulin, I would under no circumstance keep it in my wife’s purse.

Wallet
Keys
Watch
Wedding Band
Kel-Tec in holster
Extra mag for Kel-Tec
Phone (which has mp3 player, camera, GPS, and games!)
Knife

That’s it. You can drop me off almost anywhere in the country with those items and I’ll likely be fine. With the contents of my truck, it goes from almost anywhere to seriously anywhere.

What else do I need?

The Mrs. carries a monstrous purse. And she can never find her phone.

I don’t know why but last night I decided to count them.

Update: I mentioned it to the wife. I was wrong. We have 16.

Update: Up to 17 now if you count the one under the shredder.