The Lazy Bastard Returns

The public outcry has been more subdued than one might imagine. Three days without a new posting, and only three or four people out there concerned in any way. Perhaps, I have developed an overinflated sense of the importance of this blog to my minions out there, but I expected a little bit more. I don't mean in the "Please, write another posting for me--it's all I have to keep me going each day" vein, but rather in the "It's about freaking time you stopped--I knew that you were a deadbeat loser with nothing to write. Thank God your useless drivel has finally dried up, you hack!" public outcry. But alas, neither happened, so I shall return to my daily attempts to make sense of my life and make fun of those around me for your viewing pleasure. Please enjoy the ride.
It has been a whirlwind since last I posted. I find it extremely difficult to find the time/serenity to sit down on a computer uninterrupted when I have the inlaws in town. Mostly, in no part to them, but rather the excitement and buzz around the house when they are here. My kids, who really don't sit still all that well to begin with, never sit still when Meemaw and Poppy Joe are around. They bounce from one of them back to me or Kim, and the futility of sitting down trying to get a thought together with any varying degree of success in an exercise in futility. So thank goodness, I am back to work today and have the opportunity to sit down in a quiet office for a spell and write the thoughts that are permeating from my skull. I decided to narrow my topic today to the events of the last several days, to try to catch everybody up to the swarms of extraodinary occurences that pass for my everyday life here in suburbia. While the list was extremely lenghthy, I have included for your perusal only the top ten moments of the past 72 hours of pure holiday joy.

10. The Weight Update: When last I left you, I was going to post a daily update of my weight gain over the course of the holiday season. I don't want to disappoint any more than I already have, and I have been tracking it every day.
Saturday (Christmas Eve) Pre-Holiday Weigh In: 163.0
Sunday Morning (Christmas Day--Pre Breakfast) Weigh In: 164.5
Monday Morning (Boxing Day) Weigh In: 165.0
Tuesday Morning (Post Boxing Day) Weigh In: 166.5
Wednesday Morning Weigh In: 168.0
Let's take this one day at a time, shall we. As posted earlier, the breakfast has been the consistent, grease-riddled bagel sandwich hell every morning. Thank God, I got up early enough this morning to avoid the opportunity, but Sunday, Monday and Tuesday morning, I coated the lining of my stomach with enough cholesterol-laden pork byproducts that it is a wonder I woke up at all this morning. It isn't enough that I have four strips of bacon on my breakfast sandwich and the grease soaked fried egg and 1/2 lb of cream cheese--he also slaps a pound of sausage on the table and yesterday, he baked blueberry muffins, just in case I was trying the Atkins excuse. The only slight jump between Christmas day and Boxing day (which I fully expected to be the most dreamatic of the week going into it) was due to the fact that the turkey would have taken too long to cook because it was still slightly frozen, so we went with ham only on Christmas day and saved the turkey (and all the trimmings) for the day after Christmas.
This leads us to the pound and a half increase each of the next two days. I can't possibly count the number of cookies, candy, fudge, snacks etc. that I have helped myself to over the last couple of days. There is always something on the counter in easy reach that just makes its way to my hand and into my mouth this time of year. I can't explain it, but as I wander through the house and into the kitchen, if there is a platter of smoked beef, pepperoni, and cheese sitting on the counter, I feel that there is an obligation to grab a Ritz and slap some meat and cheese on the damn thing. If there is a container of fudge, I owe it to the person who put it there to sample a hunk or two out of outright courtesy. Thank God I don't like butter cookies because that would be two more oversized tins that I would be forced to consume. As it stands now, we are plus five pounds so far with still three good days of overindulging to go. I swear I will keep you posted.

9. Current Health Concerns: Now I am not convinced that there is not a direct correlation between #10 and #9, but there exist a few ongoing health concerns that I may as well introduce now. There are three main reoccuring things that I should probably get checked out at some point and all three have reared their ugly heads over the past 72 hours:
The first of which is my right eye. For the past three or four months, it has been twitchy. You know when you don't get enough rest, your eyes may flicker in an annoying fashion. This sometimes can persist for three to five days (I looked it up on WebMD, so you know it has to be true). Well, my twitching lasted for a solid three months, where every day, there was an uninterrupted twitching. You want to talk about annoying. This stopped about three or four weeks ago, but over the past week, it has come back to remind me how aggravating this condition can be. I will continue to chalk it up to sleep depravation (though I swear I am getting in at least 7 hours a night), but there may be some sort of severe neurological issue that I have no desire to find out. It may just be the cholesterol jammed under my eyelid keeping them from staying open properly or utilizing a normal blink pattern.
The second health concern is an ongoing pain on my back just to the left of my right shoulder below my neck. Sometimes it feels like it is a deep muscle or tissue pain, and other times it feels like a bee sting just below the surface, and yet still other times it feels peculiarly itchy, but this has also been going on for several months. It flares up and shows no outward signs, but it is constantly there. I have no idea what might be causing it, perhaps it is nothing, just random pain in the same spot for several months might be considered a normal part of the aging process or it could be skin cancer--who knows, but ignorance as they say is bliss.
The last health concern that I will bore you with is the small hiatal hernia that clogs my digestion and makes for a dining adventure every time I sit down to a table. Generally this, like all of my other ailments, flares up with some consistency. Unlike the other issues, I did go to see my doctor about this one. There is nothing like regularly choking on your dinner and having to excuse yourself like some bulemic who doesn't have the courtesy to wait until they are finished with their meal. After discovering the problem with my GI tract, my doctor prescribed that Prilosec OTC, which clearly states on the box not to take if you are having problems swallowing your food (which was the whole damn problem to begin with), so needless to say, I am no longer going to that quack for medical advice. Heartburn ain't the problem.

8. What I got for Christmas: Not that anybody out there gives a rat's ass what comprised my bounty Christmas morning, I will tell you anyway. I was loaded down with goodies from Meemaw and Poppy Joe--six ties, two shirts, a new printer for the computer, a sweater, a variety of nicknacks (no pattywacks), two toolboxes, ratchet set and a new grill brush. Not bad from the in-laws by the way. From Kim, I got a new GPS for the Opamobile, Cinderalla Man on DVD (0utstanding movie, we watched it last night--well actually, Poppy Joe and I watched it, Meemaw and Kim watched the parts that did not involve somebody getting their face bashed in. Poppy Joe made about 50 comments through the course of the movie like "This is a Rocky rip-off." and "I missed something, how did they get so poor?" and "Oh, I guess it is a true story." after they show the what happened to Braddock in the later years at the very end of the movie. You gotta love that Poppy Joe.) From Shari, we got a new DVD player, and from my brother-in-law, Jason, I was loaded down with Bucs regalia--new hat, new Cadillac Williams Jersey, and T-shirt. All in all, pretty awesome take--Thank you all who contributed.

7. James Dungy's Funeral: Look, I don't want to put a negative thought into this posting, but I just wanted to mention how troubling I found the news that Tony Dungy's son took his life. When I was working in Tampa many years ago, the Dungys used to come into my restaurant with some degree of frequency and there was never a classier guy or a better family man. I know that you have read all of this in the newspapers and every sports journalist has chimed in, so this is probably repetitive, but Tony Dungy is just one of those people who just oozes a genuine nature that is impossible to ignore. I met James when he was probably 10 years old, and if my growth through my teenage years is any indication, I am certain that he changed a great deal over that time, but the whole Dungy clan just seemed to be extremely grounded. I hope that they are able to see their way to the other side of this tragedy.

6. Tampa Wins a Big One: Cliches and sports are one and the same, and I am pulling out a doosy of a cliche with the old "Winning ugly sure beats losing pretty." My beloved Bucs are one win away from clinching the NFC South a year after plunging to the depths of the Sam Wyche-like 5-11 last year due in no small part to a huge win this past weekend over the Atlanta Falcons. Now even though this was a huge matchup and turned out to be an elimination game for the Falcons, this game made no appearance on any televisions out here in the desert. I was left searching for scraps of highlights on ESPN later that evening. What I understand about the game is that both teams did everything in their power to lose this one, so much so that there was a blocked field goal and a missed 30 yarder in overtime, and Tampa had to rely on a 41 yarder with 14 seconds left in order to avoid a tie.
Now those of you who are not football savvy, a tie in the NFL is about as common as a Tsunami in Kansas City. They never freaking happen. Think about it. You play 60 minutes of absolutely torturous between the hashmarks, grind it out, beat the hell out of each other and your body, adrenaline draining, energy sapping, sweat-drenched good old American Football. At the end of which time, you have somehow managed to keep it deadlocked. 9 times out of 10, the team who wins the coin flip wins the game on the first drive of overtime. The one time that this doesn't happen, the team who wins the coin flip elects to kick (and the coach gets fired two weeks later--I swear to you that this has happened--somebody actually elected to kick in OT) and the team who lost the coin flip wins it on the first drive of overtime. The body is not built to sustain an extra 15 minute period, and the defense is living on fumes at this point of the game. The only way the game ends in a tie is if there is a blinding snowstorm with snow piled up to the players knees and the wind is circling at 60 mph, and the only way a team wins in that circumstance is when the losing team fumbles the snap on the ninth punt of Overtime and you are lucky enough to find it and land on it in the end zone.
But on a sunny day in Tampa, these two teams couldn't figure out a way to get it done until there were 14 scant seconds left in the game. But like I said, an ugly win is a beautiful thing when it means we are one game away from qualifying for the post-season. Thank God Steve Smith of the Carolina Panthers decided that he needed to bump a ref and utilize some of the forboden lexicon when he felt he was unnecessarily roughed falling out of bounds early in the third quarter. It saved Dallas and enabled them to beat the Panthers, thus opening the door for the Bucs win to be meaningful. God bless you, Steve Smith.

5. Poppy Joe Project Update: "I can sit still." He said that to me with a straight face. He looked me right in the eye and insisted upon it, in fact. (I can't be certain due to the twitchiness, but I am almost positive that he looked me right in the eye) and told me that he could sit still and do nothing. This frenetic malcontent could actually sit still if he chose to do so. Poppy Joe, you sad little man, there is no freaking way. In the four days that he has been here, this is the list of things that he has completed between the 19 trips to the hardware store(s) and grocery store(s):

1. Replaced the screen door to our back patio--the 32,000 flies that have invaded our home during the past 16 months will have to find a new way to meet their death.
2. Replaced the broken sink faucet in the kids' bathroom
3. Replaced the broken sink faucet in our bathroom--for the record, my faucet still works perfectly well, despite Kim's belief that I slam the water off every time I brush my teeth or shave--hers is the busted one--she is a brute of a woman (more on that later)
4. Replaced the broken shower faucet in the kids' bathroom
5. Replaced the broken shower faucet in our bathroom
6. Patched up a hole in the wall in the laundry room that I caused when I slammed the door open in a fit of rage
7. Locked both back windows in the Opamobile firmly in place so that no human can ever get them open again--sort of like the backseat of a cop car--not that I have ever had the opportunity to experience what that might be like, but I have heard.
8. Brought the Minivan in for work on the brakes
9. Fixed Shari's running toilet
10. Fixed Shari's Garage door

We still have a couple of days left and I am looking at putting in some wood flooring, but Kim seems to think that we may be pushing our luck. It's good that we have this guy on retainer.

4. Christmas Morning: We're going to cut back this year--you know, stay within a budget, make sure that we don't go overboard. Maybe get one big gift for each of them and then some trinkets and cheap things, so that the tree looks good surrounded with presents. Every year, its the same mantra, and every year we fail more wholly than the previous year, but we insist upon trying to cut back. And perhaps it isn't solely our contribution to the pile that makes it appear so overwhelmingly ludicrous when they spend an hour of non-stop package opening on Christmas morning. There are others who assist us in creating this annual monster, as well. The most egregious conspirator is Meemaw. Because of her habitual nature of picking up something for our kids every time she sees anything that they might like, storing it away for 6-8 months, packing it into one of those trunks that Tom Hanks had in Joe Versus the Volcano (an underrated movie by anyone's standards), and travelling out here every holiday season. She couples this with another 3 or 4 large boxes that she ships out in the weeks leading up to Christmas, because she can't fit them into the space that Southwest Airlines has allotted for her and Poppy Joe--those swine. On their own, these toys are harmless, but taken as an entirety, we end up with probably 60-80 gifts for the kids, Kim and I each year. There is nothing I can do to deter her. In fact, by writing about it here, I will no doubt encourage her to outdo herself next year, and we will have to annex a Christmas tree room to allow enough space. The only thing that keeps her from bringing even more now, is their need to bring food out here in their luggage, because the same items out here cost them double, and they just can't imagine paying that much for bacon. I live for finding wrapped ziplock bags of frozen ground beef pressed between wrapped presents in the neverending suitcase each holiday season. My only solace is that it was even more preposterous those years that they drove out here and could really pack the car appropriately, and bring a cooler to supply us with enough meat for the entire week.

The big gifts for Hunter were a tilting art desk, several X-Box and Nintendo DS games, an MP-3 Player, and a video camera. For Lauren, she got a double sided easel, a doll house, a new bike and a fish tank. Each of them also got an absolute deluge of hundreds of other various toys, games, clothes, electronics, gizmos, gadgets, doohickeys and thingamajigs. Lauren really got into the whole opening gift thing this year. As kids progress through their first several Christmases, there is a change each year. When they are only a couple of months old, they have no idea what is happening, and in the case of my daughter, she just screamed uncontrollably for the whole weekend. When they are just over a year, your overload them with gifts and they still have no idea what is going on. When they are two, they get it, but they don't quite get it. They love getting all the stuff, but they lose their focus from one present to the next and they generally end up opening everything they can get their little mits on, whether it belongs to them or not. Ornaments are generally good fodder for their destructive ways, and getting into the presents isn't always a study in efficiency. By the time they turn three, Christmas is a much anticipated event. They grasp the whole Santa thing and there is significant expectation in the days leading up to the event. They open the gifts with much more proficiency and Lauren would open one gift, take about 20 seconds to look at it, become overwhelmed with enthusiasm, and then toss it aside and ask politely for "another one, please."

Hunter is at the point that he understands if he opens something that was given to him by somebody in the room, he had better thank them right away. When he opened his mobiBLU Cube MP-3 Player, he made sure that he thanked Shari accordingly. He also is the mystery gift getter. Sometimes, he is elated and runs around screaming with delight, and other times, he is equally subdued. We expect this bipolar thing to kick into high gear as he enters his high school years, but for now, we just chalk it up to him being 8.

3. The Fantasy is Over: Yes, sadly my friends, the Fantasy season has ended and I was run over by the most unlikely of those to ring the death knell in my honor. Willie freaking Parker. Don't know who he is? You aren't alone, but he is the third string Steeler running back who hasn't had a decent week in about two months (I should know, he was on my team for about four weeks before I jettisoned his sorry ass for lack of production). Then he goes and drops 130 yards and a touchdown on me out of nowhere. The worst thing imaginable in a fantasy league is watching CBSSportsline.com online and things are looking pretty good, and then suddenly, Willy freaking Parker goes from 5 points to 27 points in one play. Here is the rundown. He's got 50 yards after the half--not bad, but nothing to worry about (each 10 yards gets you one point). Then, he decides to rip off an 80 yard run for a touchdown. So he gets 8 points for the 80 yards, plus two points for a TD run over 50 yards, plus 6 points for the TD, plus 6 more points for going over 100 on the day. Suddenly, instead of five points and a manageable deficit, I'm looking at 27 points and desperation trying to come back when a cheeseball scrub like Willy freaking Parker suddenly outgains both of my starting running backs.

And on that note, what the hell happened to Warrick Dunn on Saturday? He had 59 yards at halftime, and the game goes five quarters and he ends the day at 59 yards. I mean if I had to lose, at least the Bucs won, but did he shatter a kneecap in the locker room? Did Mora forget that #28 could actually provide some yardage and give the Bucs defense something to think about? This guy had to sit Marvin Harrison and Edgerrin James and he still stomped me. Well done FUPA and congratulations. I hate you.

So the Princess league championship still eludes me. Next year, I will own those SOBs.

2. The Double Standard: I don't know how many of you read the comments that people post on this blog. Hell, I don't know how many of you actually read this blog, but there is a comment from my beloved wife after my Jonesing For a Fix posting last week:

"Did I mention that when Lauren broke her arm and I spent hours at the doctor with her unable to reach my dear husband at work...he left for work that morning in work clothes and everything...I get a call from him that evening admitting that he was golfing the whole day and didn't get my calls? Why are you upset about this dear? He wondered. Gee."

I bring this up for a couple of reasons that will hopefully become abundantly clear momentarily.

On Tuesday, we decided to pack up the minivan and head up to Sedona for a family hike. It was to be a lovely day of cool Arizona sunshine and fresh air away from the trappings of the Phoenix metropolitan area for a few hours. So we grabbed the kids, strapped the inlaws into the back seat and drove up the road to beautiful Sedona. For those of you not familiar with this area of the country, it is absolutely spectacular. There are some great hiking trails and one of our favorites takes you along Oak Creek for a couple of miles of traversing rocks and watching the kids soak their shoes, socks and lower pant regions.

On the way to our destination, I admittedly was watching the scenery a little bit too much and Kim made one of those "panicked, the kids are going to die, oh my God!" noises and I looked up to realize that I was veering too far to the right and the front right tire went off the road for about .79 seconds where there was a loud thud. There was a deafening silence in the car for the duration of the drive and there was a Kafkaesque sense of loss that I was experiencing with the understanding that as soon as she took a look at the wheel well, I would have hell to pay. I am OK with this, because it was my fault. I momentarily took my eyes off the road, and quite frankly it was dangerous, foolish and truly could have endangered the lives of my immediate family. On the way home there were the inevitable remarks from the peanut gallery in the backseat (AKA Poppy Joe), "Hey, how about staying between the lines this time," and "Maybe you can keep all four tires on the road on the way back to Phoenix." He even left me a message on my phone as he called me from the backseat that will be equally inept, but I'll listen to it at another time, as I have gotten far off topic again.

The point of this diatribe is what happened on our hike as we took turns carrying Lauren over the rocks and along the creek shore. I carried her about 65% of the time, Kim carried her about 25% of the time, Meemaw and Poppy Joe carried her about 5% of the time on our two hour hike. During one of Meemaw's opportunities to hold Lauren, we were at a point on our walk where we had to walk across some rocks. (not unlike the terrain that the rest of us had to walk with Lauren in tow). Hunter and I had found a comfortable seat up in the rocks as we waited for everybody to catch up. I could see Joe and Kim below us as they looked back to Meemaw and Lauren.

The next thing I hear is a loud splash and I see Kim and Joe running willy-nilly, pell-nell all over the place trying to get back to Lauren and Meemaw. I still couldn't see them but I could hear Kim screaming my name all of a sudden and Hunter and I made our way down to find the whole gang. Lauren was seated upright on one of the rocks crying, Meemaw was face down on another rock with half of her body submerged in the murky abyss. Both were completely soaked by the frozen water and covered with a thick layer of algae and slime.

Now to be completely fair (and let's face it--that is one of my strongest attributes) I didn't see what happened. Perhaps a gale force wind came up when Meemaw tried to make the 21 inch jump from one rock to the next. Perhaps they were knocked over by a Puma who was trying to attack my small child and Meemaw saved her life by immersing her in the sludge. Perhaps some hooligan's from the other side of the creek were swinging on a rope swing, flew off at dangerous speeds and kicked my poor mother-in-law in the torso and she did all she could to keep poor Lauren from flying thirty feet, head first into the rocks. But based on the facts of the before and after I witnessed, most likely, Meemaw slipped and fell and dropped Lauren as she did so--an accident by any stretch of the imagination, but certainly no one could question that there was a strong potential for severe peril to both of them due to these circumstances. My concern, obviously was to make sure that they were both all right. Meemaw sustained a slight scrape to her chin, and Lauren appeared to be cold, miserable and uninjured in any way.

Kim, being the stellar mother that she is, had packed an extra set of clothes for both of our children in the backpack. Lauren, because deep down, I think she knew that Meemaw was very likely to drop her into the frozen water. And Hunter because we all knew that he would be walking through the water whenever humanly possible. We did not think to pack Meemaw an extra outfit, but I had on an extra layer of outerwear that I provided to her so that she could dry off (at least her top half). When all was said and done, there was no harm, no major injuries, no whiplash, no broken bones, no severe hemotoma, no swelling of the brain, no lacerated kidney, no deviated septum--really nothing to report except for a frightened, cold three year old, who decided that Meemaw probably shouldn't carry her for the rest of the day.

Here is where the inequities of husbandry vs. motherdom comes in (I believe that they teach this course in most Liberal Arts programs). If, God forbid, I dropped Lauren on a trampoline, I would be accused of child abuse and after the authorities had their way with me and I had been deloused at the very least, Kim would have already packed up the kids in a Winnebago and taken off for Okieville. If you read her unedited comments regarding Lauren breaking her arm two years ago, you can certainly see that I am not far off base with this one. I was nowhere near the incident, but I have been in trouble for two years because I wasn't where I was supposed to be when there was an unavoidable accident in our home. Meemaw drops her on a bunch of rocks and nearly drowns the child and we all have a good laugh about it. I realize this is what I am up against, and I did have a good laugh about it myself, but if you don't think that there is a double standard, then you aren't paying much attention.

1. The Ranch Episode: I am well aware that there is probably nobody reading this posting at this point. I have spent the better part of a day writing this thing and it is probably the choppiest, longest-winded blog posting that anybody has ever had to endure. To reward you for getting this far, I will try to practice some brevity on this last point of my last few days.

While we were enjoying the splendor of a McDonald's lunch on Monday (yes, we needed to eat a full lunch before indulging ourself with our second Christmas dinner in as many days), we somehow got on the topic of my smacking Kim's butt once in a while. Now believe me when I tell you that she needs a good beatin' once in a great while, but these are nothing but what I call "Love smacks" and though I am certain there are those of you out there calling the local authorities, there is probably nothing I am doing that could be even remotely considered spousal abuse (well nothing that they can prove anyway--that bag of oranges trick works, believe me).

So as we joked about this at lunch, Kim brings up the old "Meemaw says that if you ever beat me, she is taking me and the kids back to Oklahoma with her." at which time I reply with some off-handed remark like, "Yeah, go ahead--good luck with that." Now admittedly this was probably not the proper response and in retrospect I would most likely not have said anything had I thought about it for a moment.

But as I took another McNugget (man those things are tasty now that they use 100% breast meat instead of the beak and feet that used to come in those bad boys) and got ready to dip it back into the hot mustard, I felt a bizarre pelting upon my right orbital and forehead and recognized the pungent malfeasance of buttermilk. My wife, in all of her incredible self-control chucked a full packet of ranch dressing at my skull and it exploded upon impact, covering my hair, shirt wall and drapes with all of its splendor. Classic.

I don't know what it all means, but I believe that under the current rules of our marital bliss, I get to take the kids and move in with Meemaw. I'm pretty sure that Meemaw still won't be able to carry Lauren on too many hikes, even in Oklahoma.