Catharsis

"Catharsis or katharsis (Ancient Greek: κάθαρσις) is a Greek word meaning "cleansing" or "purging". It is derived from the verb καθαίρειν, kathairein, "to purify, purge," and it is related to the adjective καθαρός, katharos, "pure or clean.""

Base root: Cathar.

" Cathar -1570s (implied in Catharism), from M.L. Cathari "the Pure," name taken by Novatians and other Christian sects, from N.T. Gk. katharezein "to make clean," from Gk. katheros "pure.""

I know that like, none of you did, but if you had Mrs. Ringler for high school English, you would have TOTALLY heard the word "catharsis". Mostly because she made us read literature that used words like "catharsis". Because she was a hard-ass. Anyway, in recent weeks, I have come to fully understand the importance of having a personal catharsis. And I use this word in the sense that a catharsis is used as a way to cleanse your mind and purge your crazy brain of clutter and stuff that needs to be purged. I ramble and digress. Sorry.

ANYWAY, like I said. I have come to really understand the importance of having a personal catharsis. But you've read that already. I say this because I have been seriously neglecting my catharsis, and my day-to-day has suffered. Immensely. I can't focus, I can't sleep. I'm a mess. There's a lot of crap going through my head these days, and I can't get it all figured out. It's super annoying. I really just need to rifle through my head and purge. Hence catharsis. 

What is my catharsis, you ask?

Singing.

And I miss it. Terribly.

I'm joining a choir in January, I miss singing so much. 

Ridiculous? Perhaps. But I'm okay with that. 

Operation: Change

This could be a long one, folks. Settle in.

Actually, no, it's not.

Some changes need to be made, and I'm going to make them. 

I'm not entirely happy with the way things are right now, and I'm going to remedy that.

Nothing is wrong, so quit freaking out. I'm just going to be making some alterations.

Stay tuned for updates. :)

-Michael

The Disease Called Perfection

This is a post shared with me by my running buddy. I really want you all to read it, too. The original post is penned by Single Dad Laughing and was posted on September 20, 2010. The link is here. I really encourage all of you to visit this page and comment. I did.

"As a warning, the following post was written in complete desperation. I have recently learned some very sobering truths from people that I love dearly. These truths have set in motion a quest within me to do whatever I can to make a change. Today is not geared at funny. Today is geared at something greater. Read it to the very end. I promise you will be affected in a way you have always needed to be. I spent more than twelve hours writing this post because its message is that important to me.

I wonder. Am I the only one aware that there is an infectious mental disease laying siege on us right now? There is a serious pandemic of "Perfection" spreading, and it needs to stop. Hear me out because this is something for which I am passionately and constantly hurting. It's a sickness that I've been trying to put into words for years without much success. It's a sickness that I have personally struggled with. It's a sickness that at times has left me hiding in dark corners and hating myself.

And chances are it's hit you too.

What is the disease called "Perfection"? Perhaps a list of its real-life symptoms will help you better understand it. We live in communities where people feel unconquerable amounts of pressure to always appear perfectly happy, perfectly functional, and perfectly figured. "Perfection" is much different than perfectionism. The following examples of "Perfection" are all real examples that I have collected from experiences in my own life, from confidential sources, or from my circle of loved ones and friends. If you actually stop to think about some of these, you will cry as I did while writing it. If you don't, maybe you're infected with way too much of this "Perfection" infection.

"Perfection" is a wife who feels trapped in a marriage to a lazy, angry, small man, but at soccer practice tells the other wives how wonderful her husband always is. "Perfection" keeps people from telling the truth, even to themselves. My husband is adorable. He called me a whore this week because I smiled at a stranger. When I started crying, he said he had a game to go watch. I love him so much.

"Perfection" is a husband who is belittled, unappreciated, and abused by his wife, yet works endlessly to make his marriage appear incredible to those around him. "Perfection" really does keep people from being real about the truth.  You would have laughed, guys. She said that I suck at my job and will never go anywhere in life. Then she insinuated that I was a fat, rotting pile of crap. Isn't she the best?

"Perfection" is a daughter with an eating disorder that keeps it hidden for years because she doesn't want to be the first among her family and friends to be imperfect. She would give anything to confront it, but she can't because then the "Perfect" people would hate her as much as she hates herself for it.

"Perfection" is when a son has a forbidden addiction, and despises himself for it. "Perfection" makes us believe that nobody else could understand what it is like to be weak and fall prey to the pressures of the world.

"Perfection" is a man who loathes himself for feeling unwanted attraction toward other men.

"Perfection" is a couple drowning in debt, but who still agree to that cruise with their friends because the words "we don't have the money" are impossible ones to push across their lips.

"Perfection" is a mom hating herself because she only sees that every other mom around her is the perfect mother, the perfect wife, and the perfect neighbor. I'd give anything to be Mrs. Jones. Today she ran 34 miles, cooked six complete meals, participated in a two-hour activity with each of her seven children, hosted a marriage class with her husband, and still had time to show up for Bunco. What this mom doesn't know is that Mrs. Jones is also at home crying right now because the pressure to be "Perfect" never lets up.

"Perfection" is a dad hating himself because he can't give the same thing to his kids that other dads do, and then hates himself further because he takes his self-loathing out on his kids behind closed doors. You know what would have been nice? If you were never born. Do you realize how much money I'd have right now? Now come give Daddy a hug because I can force you to give me validation.

"Perfection" is a child hating herself because the boys at school call her fat, and when she goes home she tells her mom that school was fine. Her mom never stops to question why her daughter doesn't have any friends, becaue her mom doesn't want to think that anything might be less than "Perfect".

"Perfection" is a man feeling like a smaller man because his neighbor just pulled in with a new boat.

"Perfection" is a woman who is so overwhelmed that she thinks about killing herself daily. "Perfection" makes it so that she never will because of the things people will think if she does. How could I make my suicide look like an accident? If I kill myself, I don't want anybody knowing that I ever had any problems. She never stops to look at why she wants to do it, because healing means admitting imperfection.

"Perfection" is a man who everybody heralds as perfect, and inside he is screaming to be seen as the faulty human being that he always has been. Because to no longer be "the perfect one", that would be freeing.

"Perfection" is a woman having an affair because she's too afraid to confront the imperfection in her marriage.

"Perfection" is a twelve-year-old boy killing himself because he is ashamed that he can't stop masturbating.

Stop, and read that one again.

There is a twelve-year-old boy buried 20 miles from where I sit because the "Perfection" that has infected the people around him infected him to the point that he deemed his own life worthless. "Perfection" pushed him to take his own life over something most of us would consider negligible in the life of any teenage boy.

"Perfection" is my friend's cousin swallowing hundreds of pills because she just got the news that she was pregnant, out of wedlock, and the shame was too much to bear. She was only attempting to cause a miscarriage. 24 hours later, she closed her eyes and never opened them again. She is dead because of the "Perfection" infecting those around her. We'd rather you die than shame this family. Thanks for taking care of that, honey. By the way, we'll do the right thing and make ourselves out to be the victims now. We have to. We're infected with "Perfection".

I could go on. This is all a small sampling of the disease called "Perfection". You have brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, extended family members, neighbors, friends, and children who are ALL these things, yet none of us will ever know. "Perfection" is a hideous monster with a really beautiful face. And chances are you're infected. The good news is, there is a cure.

Be real.

Embrace that you have weakness. Because everybody does. Embrace that your body is not perfect. Because nobody's is. Embrace that you have things you can't control. We all have a list of them.

Here's your wake-up call:

You aren't the only one who feels worthless sometimes.

You aren't the only one who took your frustrations out on your children today.

You aren't the only one who isn't making enough money to support your lifestyle.

You aren't the only one who has questions and doubts about your religion.

You aren't the only one who sometimes says things that really hurt other people.

You aren't the only one who feels trapped in your marriage.

You aren't the only one who gets down and hates yourself and you can't figure out why.

You aren't the only one that questions your sexual orientation.

You aren't the only one who hates your body.

You aren't the only one that can't control yourself around food.

Your husband is not the only husband who's addiction sends him online for his sexual fulfillment instead of to you.

Your wife is not the only wife that is mean and vindictive and makes you hate yourself.

Why didn't somebody, anybody, put their arm around that 12-year old boy and let him know that they loved him and would always love him? What was he being told and taught that he would end his own life over something that almost no teenager can control? Maybe that beautiful and wonderful boy would still be alive if even one person had broken down the "Perfection" that completely controlled all those in his life from whom he desperately craved validation.

Why didn't somebody, anybody, tell a beautiful pregnant girl that there was nothing so big in life that it couldn't be made right. Maybe that incredible young woman would still be alive. Maybe her now one-year-old child would be learning to walk or say "Mommy" right now. Maybe.

Maybe.

The cure is so simple.

Be real.

Be bold about your weaknesses and you will change people's lives. Be honest about who you actually are, and others will begin to be their actual selves around you. Once you cure yourself of the disease, others will come to you, asking if they can just "talk". People are desperate to talk. Some of the most "perfect" people around you will tell you of some of the greatest struggles going on. Some of the most "perfect" people around you will break down in tears as they tell you how difficult life is for them. Turns out some of the most "perfect" people around us are human beings after all, and are dying to talk to another human being about it.

You'll love them for it. And you'll love yourself even more.

Let's not forget this quote: "I went out to find a friend and could not find one there. I went out to be a friend, and friends were everywhere." Somebody who is being a friend doesn't spread "Perfection". Somebody who is being a friend spreads "Real". Then, and only then, can we all grow together.

I am not perfect, nor do I want anybody to think of me as such. Here's my dose of real:

I once stole a box of money that was meant for a child with cancer. There was more than $150 inside. That was 12 years ago, and I still hate the person in me that did that.

I believe in God, but not religion. It took me 30 years to find the courage to say that. It took me 30 years to believe that I could be a good man and still believe that.

I once got so angry at my wife that I hit the wall. The dent is still there, haunting me every time I see it because I never thought that was something I would do.

I once sat in my bedroom crying uncontrollably because I felt like everybody thought I was fat and ugly. I was a full grown man.

There are some people I avoid bumping into in public because I feel like I'm not as good as them.

I judge people harshly who share the same features that I hate about myself.

Sometimes I'm sad. Sometimes I'm not funny. Sometimes I just want to be alone. Sometimes I stay at home on a weekend because I just don't want to see the "Perfection" going on around me. Sometimes I want to drop-kick a perfect person's head across the room.

"Perfection" infects every corner of society. It infects our schools. It infects neighborhoods. It infects our workplaces. This is not to say that there aren't a lot of genuinely, happy people. I am one of those people. Most of the time. There is nothing more beautiful than a person finding true happiness in who they are and what they believe. No, this is not me trying to diminish the happiness in others. This is merely me pathetically attempting to put a face on a problem that I see everywhere but few people ever notice.

This is me, weeping as I write, asking the good people of the world to find somebody to put their arm around and be "real". This is me, wishing that people would realize how beautiful they are, even with all of their imperfections. This is me, sad and desperate for the girls in this world to love themselves. This is me, a very imperfect man, trying to help others feel a little more perfect by asking you to act a little less perfect.

Will you help me spread "Real"? Tell us below just how perfect you aren't. You never know who might be alive tomorrow because you were real today. You never know who needs to feel like they aren't alone in their inability to be perfect. Even if you comment as an anonymous guest, please comment. Tell us what you struggle with. Tell a sad or dark secret. Get vulnerable. Get real. Let's see if we can get 10,000 people showing the world that we're not defined by perfection.

And please, share this post on Facebook, twitter, and your blog. If you want the people around you to start being real, you have to be real first. I believe in the power of numbers and that enough people reading it might actually help shake down a few of the problems we cause for each other. If it's your first time here, we'd love to have you follow us. I promise it's not always this intense (or nearly this long). I'll post something really funny tomorrow.

Dan Pearce, Single Dad Laughing Being Real

FOLLOW-UP NOTE: One week after I originally posted this article, I posted a response called The CURE for "Perfection". Click here to read it and be part of the cure."

 Stay real, folks. 

-Michael Dean

Take a Bite of My Heart

Hey hey!

What's shakin, bacon? Before I get too far into this puppy, I have to let you know about my most recent obsession.

That song has bitten hard, and won't let go. I listen to it all the time, for no good reason. I just really like it.

So it's been a couple weeks since the Mary, and my back has hurt (constantly) since then. I don't know what the deal is. It's like my vertebrae are compacted and my muscles refuse to loosen up, no matter what kinds of stretches I do.

Speaking of stretches, Half Pint (a yogi-wannabe) suggested I try Happy Baby Pose to stretch out my back. All I could do was laugh. What's Happy Baby Pose, you ask? Well, let me show you.

...my thoughts exactly. So yoga for Michael is....a work in progress. To be continued...

In other news, Modge fixed up some steak and baked potatoes tonight. Holy delicious. Unfortunately, I wasn't monitoring steak progress well enough, and instead of a nice healthy pink medium, I ended up with a slightly overdone medium-well. Oh well. Still fantastic. And let's talk about the potato. When I eat baked potatoes, I go all out. I mean, this puppy has butter, sour cream, chives, bacon AND cheese. And 54,000 times the daily recommended value of table salt. But hey, at least I won't get a goiter! (Five points if you know why that is.)

Remember how last time I said something about Food, Inc. being on my Netflix queue? Yeah, about that. Still haven't watched it. I haven't watched much of anything, actually. I've been reading a lot, lately. Like, all 7 of the HP books and re-read the Twilight saga. (I KNOW, I KNOW. SHUT UP.) I need new books. I'm so tired of re-reading everything. Well, except for the HP books. I read those puppies intentionally in preparation for November 19. HPDH, part one. Color me nerdy. And excited. And I'm wearing a costume. Shut up right now, I don't want to hear it. It was Half Pint's idea. And now she wants to back out. What a flake.

My friend Pokette  (Poke-ette) ran her second half marathon on Sunday. Her first was a few years ago. She ran it in under 2 hours. She's a bamf. And a K-State alumna, which counts for everything. I'm super super super proud of her. SUPER PROUD OF YOU, POKETTE! She invited me to run a full with her in April. I think Team Omaha has a new honorary member.

Speaking of half marathons, Karen is running in a halfie in the city this weekend. I can't wait to see that chick again. Super proud of her, too. SUPER PROUD OF YOU, KAREN!

I've run out of things to say again. See you soon!

-Michael Dean

Multiple and Varied

Howdy! Multiple and varied are tonight's blog topics.

I ran a marathon on Sunday. A mothereffing marathon. 26.22 miles, to be exact. I did it in 5 hours, 13 minutes and 7 seconds. That's an average pace of 11:58 per mile. That's slow. But I don't care. I RAN A FRICKIN MARATHON. 

See? I have the medal and the bib and the beer can to prove it.

 

Trophy Wife bought me a beer as soon as I crossed the finish line and got my medal from a Marine. What kind of beer, you ask? Why, a Tallgrass IPA brewed in Manhattan, Kansas, of course!

I ran the Omaha Marathon with two AMAZING ladies, Grace and Keg. I love them, and I couldn't have done this without them. 

Me, Keg and Grace. Yeah, I grabbed my running bag and put on my stunnas as soon as I could. What of it? It was bright, okay?

So yeah. We did it. We're planning another one. And you bet your buns that two days after I ran a marathon, I went running again. Not only did I go running, I threw in some hills! 

Speaking of hills, we ran up one tough mother of a hill in the O. It was insane. 

Look really closely. We not only ran down this hill, but then we ran UP the hill in the distance, then ran around the Rosenblatt, then ran back UP this hill. It hurt. Like a bitch. We were pissed. BUT, this was the first time we got to see our AMAAAAZING support group, one member of which decided to run up the aforementioned and offending hill with us for about 100 yards...in flip flops. That chick is legit.

Anyway, I don't have a whole lot to say about the marathon. It was extremely humbling, and easily the most rewarding thing I have ever done in my life. When I woke up on Sunday, I was trying to think of when I was going to drop out of the run, because I knew it was going to happen. When I went to sleep (drunk, of course. You bet your ass we celebrated our faces off) on Sunday night, I was a marathon finisher. Crazy how we surprise ourselves, isn't it? :)

In sort of other news, Karen and Will came up to Omaha to surprise us runners, more specifically, Grace. Boy, was she ever surprised. But in the best way. FYI, Karen and Grace are cousins and Will and Grace are...well you figure it out. ANYWAY, we were all totally surprised, ESPECIALLY since Karen and Will were already planning on coming to Gleebo from the big city on Tuesday. They still came to Gleebo. Karen is all about B Spears. ANYWAY, Karen and Will made supper. Holy delicious. It was practically a dinner party. Couscous-stuffed acorn squash and a tomato-basil bisque with garlic and herb baguette croutons. If you'll excuse me, I just died a foodie-gasmic death. Speaking of the dinner party, we were all matchy-matchy and totally didn't plan it....sort of.

Will, Grace, Lo, Karen and Jimmy-Jack. Jimmy-Jack's the neon-orange one. Holy sweater, Batman...But seriously. Grey, orange, and grey-and-orange. We're that badass...

In other news, Food, Inc. is in my netflix queue. More to come on that at a later date. 

Jumping back to Gleebo*, Britney Spears, no matter how crazy she is or isn't, is still smokin' hot.

In future news, I'm going to Ren Fest in KC this weekend with SFM, Half-Pint and Bitty. Look out, Ren Fest. You don't know what 3 former theater students and their former teacher and a little booze can do, but you're about to find out.

Um...my brain seems to have stalled. Give me a sec....

The Chiefs are 3-0, the Colts are 2-1, and the Motherbleepin' Cats are 4-0. The Hawks are not. What's even better about this is that the Hawks can't even say "Wait until basketball season", because, well...*coughfirstroundcoughcough*...they just can't. Mwahaha. Also, I just went to the K-State sports website, and heard the growl (you know which growl I mean) and it gave me goosebumps. I think it always will.

So Half-Pint brought to my attention that I haven't talked about my new job yet. I picked up a 2nd job a while back. I'm a delivery boy for a shop in Emporia. Basically, I get paid to drive their pickup to and from KC Metro delivering motors and picking up pumps, etc etc, and I get to jam out to the radio. How bad can that be? Not bad at all, I say.

I made supper tonight. New recipe. Pork chops in an apple and onion sauce with cream cheese and chive mashed potatoes, biscuits and green beans. It was quite delicious. The recipe has been bookmarked. 

My brain is buzzing with all sorts of things to say, but I can't seem to pick out what they are and say them. Interesting.

I think I'll just curb the wordspit for now. I've said enough. Have a good one! :)

Michael Dean

Holy Wow!

I haven't updated this puppy in WAY too long.

 Let's recap my life, okay? Okay!

Went to Colorado about a month ago. Ran in this little thing called Warrior Dash. It was freaking fantastic. Want a picture? Okay!

From left to right, Warrior Co-Worker of Warrior Drew, Warrior Drew, Warrior Shirtless, Warrior Olga, Warrior Katia, and Warrior Sven. Warrior Sven and Warrior Katia are the Smiling Warriors...because we're cool like that.

I'm also still training for the Omaha Marathon, which is in like 4 days and a few hours. I'm freaking the eff out about it, so we're just not going to say anything more on that subject.

Running has pretty much dominated my life in the past month. That, and drinking to excess. But that's okay. That's what my 20s are for. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

I actually had a huge list of stuff to talk about, but now I can't remember any of it. Like, any of it. Damn, I've been outta practice with this blogging thing. Sorry, guys.

On a bright side, a friend of mine has recently started a blog that is practically a soundtrack to his life. Seriously, there are at least 2 embedded youtube videos in each post, it seems. But that's okay, because it totally works. And he is WAY up on his music, and pretty much dictates the playlist for his and all of his friends' lives, my own included. Dude is legit. One of the more...shall we say "interesting" songs he posted is way not getting re-posted over here, but it was a) freaking hilarious and 2) makes me look at Arizona Iced Tea in a completely different way. Holy Buttcheek.

Oh, that reminds me. He turned the Wolfpack** on to this next band, one member of which (Hi, Fren!) subsequently turned ME onto. They're fantastic. Maybe you've heard of them? Mumford & Sons? Let me just say that Marcus Mumford is one of my new favorite people.

This is probably my favorite song on that album, which I'm not going to tell you to download, but you should totally download. Or buy. I meant buy. Or download legally. Because that's TOTALLY what I do... ANYWAY, check out Mumford. I should probably give the music guru a shout-out, shouldn't I. Hmm. Thanks for the music, friend. I'm a downloading fool, thanks to you! 

Speaking of beer, I'm ready to be back off the semi-wagon I've been on. I realize earlier I said I've been drinking to excess, but in truth, I haven't. I mean I did when I was in CO, but eeeeveryone did then. With this whole marathon business, I'm definitely taking in way less beer than I used to. I mean, that's cool for my body and all, but there are so many fall seasonals I'm missing out on right now! Working at the Booze Depot doesn't help, either. 

Want to hear about my latest revelation? You do?! AWESOME. I miss K-State. Like, an inordinate amount. (Bonus points for using 'inordinate' correctly in a sentence.) So...I'm pulling a few financial strings...and THE TENTATIVE PLAN is that I'll be back in the Hat in August 2011. I sorta came to the conclusion (all on my own, which is a HUGE deal for me) that I would actually be pretty disappointed in myself if I didn't finish out at K-State. I love that school way too much to walk away and be content with that decision. I know that goes COMPLETELY against what I talked about with some friends a while back, but I've done a lot of thinking about it, and it's what I want to do. What I need to do. It's going to be tough, and I have a huge hole to crawl out of, and I'm going to start back about 100 steps behind, but that's okay. I'm going in with a positive attitude and season football tickets. Like Incubus said, "Whatever tomorrow brings, I'll be there with open arms and open eyes."

Granted, they probably weren't talking about going back to school, but who cares? Not me. Also, blogfriend, I swear I'm not trying to copy you. It's just.......okay so I am MINORLY copying you. This time. But only because providing a soundtrack to the blog is a wonderful idea and now I'm going to try and do it better than you. Because I'm competitive like that. Just ask Karen the Chuglympics loser. :)

Um...crap. Colbie Caillat came on my Pandora station and made me lose my train of thought. I hate Colbie Caillat. She really irks me, and I can't even tell you why. Drat. 

In other news, my Colts are starting the season at .500, which isn't bad, but it's not what I'd hoped. Although Peyton totally walloped Eli on Sunday, which made me chuckle. The Chiefs (who are not link-worthy, in my opinion) are 2-0, which is AWESOME for them. And since they're the closest thing Kansas has to a hometown NFL team, I suppose I'm happy for them. In FANTASTICALLY PERFECT NEWS, the Wildcats are 3-0. I could not be happier. Seriously. Could not be happier. I don't even have to elaborate, as nearly all of you readers are K-State fans. Save my friend J, who is a KU Student. To her, I say, "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" 

I think that's enough ramble for now. I have the day off tomorrow, so I'll probably post something again. Ni night!

** The Wolfpack: an elite group of badasses that I pal around with. I'm not TECHNICALLY a member of the Pack, but that's fine. I'm a one-man Wolfpack, baby.

Bulleted Lists

...are some of my favorite things in the world. Let's make one, shall we?

This list's theme is "Things I Need To Do"

Buckle up.

• Sing more.
• Doubt less.
• Love harder.
• Forgive easier.
• Trust myself.
• Trust others.
• Love myself.
• Help others.
• Let them help me back.
• Learn a new dance.
• ....or six.
• Find contentment.
• Live for today.
• Live for myself.
• Do what makes me happy....no matter what. :)
• Be honest.
• Clean my room.

See you soon. :)

Smell Bank

Uh...hi. I've missed you all. Sorry about my absence. I've been rather...um....I've been reading the Twilight saga. I know, I know, I KNOW. Please don't say anything. I know how awful that is to most of you. those of you it's not awful to are probably going, "YAYYY HE CAVED". I know at least two of you are. You know who you are...

Anyway, today's post is about smells. And how smells affect me. Are you intrigued yet? Keep reading, it gets weirder. 

I know everyone has a Smell Bank that they hold near and dear to his or her heart. You may call it by a different name, but it's all the same thing. It's that collection of various smells that instantly triggers a memory, a thought, or a particular feeling. Or all of the above. You know what I'm talking about, right? Well today, because it's Monday, and because it's hot outside, and because I'm eating cashews and drinking a beer on the Old Lady Couch, I'm going to share some of my Smell Bank with you.

The smell of diesel exhaust in the summertime. Not just a diesel pickup, either. I'm talking heavy machinery. Back hoe, loader, tractor, FARM EQUIPMENT, MAN! It reminds me of my summers at the farm, which I miss. Horribly. I seriously considered foregoing college and just going back to the farm to work. It's a secure job, it's something I LOVE doing, and my uncles need help. Like, seriously. My cousins are all grown and have their own lives, and as anyone who grew up on a farm knows, when the kids don't work there anymore, the work force is severely impacted. It's just my uncles and my Uncle R's two sons. And Grandpa, but he's 86, and he sorta does what he wants. And we don't argue with that. It USED to be my two uncles, Grandpa, my Uncle R's 3 kids, my Uncle D's 4 kids, me, my cousin Big Fella, Big Fella's little brother, Little Big Fella, and my sister. During the summers, anyway. But yeah. I miss the farm.

The smell of asphalt in the sun. This is another summertime smell. Dad used to work road construction, and he would come home smelling like asphalt in the sun. During the most impressionable time of my childhood, that was just how Dad smelled. To this day, I can't drive down the Kansas highway during the summer without thinking of my Dad. Every time. :)

The smell of IBP in the winter. I know that this one is weird, but just go with me on this. Mom worked at IBP/Tyson for 20-something years. When I was really little, she worked in an office on the slaughter side of the plant. Slaughter side has a very distinct smell. It doesn't smell like death or anything like that, but the rendering and the slaughter processes just have a very distinct smell. Anyway, a very very vivid memory of mine is Mom coming to pick me up from the sitter's, and I would run and give her a hug, of course. She had a green IBP jacket that she wore in the winter time, and my little self just loved that jacket. I have no clue why, other than it smelled like Mom. I just remember burying my face in her jacket, and smelling her perfume, the distinct smell of IBP, and the cold air outside, and it was the best smell in the world. My sister has this particular smell in her Smell Bank, too. Mom hates that we identify the smell of IBP with her, but we can't help it. Any mother's child will tell you that their Momma never smells bad. She just smells like Momma.

Spearmint in the rain. Grandma Smith always had fresh spearmint in her garden. I would always go walk through her garden when it was misty and foggy outside, down at the farm. During the spring, usually. April-ish. You all know those misty/foggy April-ish days, right? I know you do. Anyway, this smell sticks with me because of one particular day. I was walking through Grandma's garden in the mistyfog, thinking, because I did that a LOT when I was younger, and I looked over and saw a rabbit in the spearmint patch. Weird, right? I know. But anyway, I went over to get a closer look, and realized that walking on the spearmint bruised it just enough to cause the air to EXPLODE with the smell of spearmint. It was such a good smell to me, then. I could smell the rain and I could smell the dirt of the garden and I relished in the smell of the spearmint. To this day, I still catch whiffs of spearmint in the rain, and it always makes me smile. :)

I think I will leave my little dive into the Smell Bank here, for tonight. Who knows, I may share more some other time. I've definitely got loads of smells to share. Do any of you have any smells that just make your life complete? Go ahead and share, if you want. :)

Hasta luego!

Jimmy Dean Buffett McHoulihan

My Body and I

...have a very interesting relationship.

Namely, 99 days out of 100, my body says "rest" and I say "when I'm dead."

Today is apparently day 100, and I have not only flaked out on a run, which I feel insanely bad for, but I am stretched out on the living room floor doing yoga....reading Twilight.

...My body wants Twilight, okay?

This round is yours, body, but come Wednesday? You're mine.

P.S. It is really hot outside. Waking up at 4:00 was a success. I got to work at 5:09, and was SUPPOSED to work an 8-hour day. Instead, I worked a 10.6 hour day, and I think I will continue to work 10-hour days the rest of the week. WHAT'S THE POINT OF GOING IN EARLY IF I DON'T GET OFF EARLY, HUH??  -sigh- If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go have a beer, followed by lots of water, followed by a beer, followed by a protein shake, followed by something massive and greasy to eat. Followed by water. Followed by sleep.

Unearthly.

That's the adjective for the time that my alarm is set for in the morning. 4:15 a.m.

It's going to be so hot this week that Uncle Bossman made the executive decision that work will start at 5:15 this week, instead of 6:30, like normal. I mean, 6:30 is plenty early, but 5:15? Almost obscene. Buh. 

So anyway, I spent today being totally unproductive. I watched Lonesome Dove. That's pretty much it. It's a 6-hour miniseries. There's not much else you can do, when you spend a day watching that movie. I love that movie. The all-star cast, the acting, the plot...it's all fantastic. It's my favorite movie of all time. Seriously.

Right now, I'm blogging. I should be sleeping, but it's still daylight outside. I can't do it. I just...I can't. Buh. This is just not conducive to the way I want my life to be going. I want to be back in school. Now more than ever. Just a few weeks to go....

In other news....I made a bet. With LJ. If she read all 7 HP books, I'd....I'd read all 4 Twilight books....and see the movies. Well, I'm not sure that she's started reading yet, but I have. I bought Twilight last week. I'm on page 22. I'm less hateful towards the story than I used to be. Now I'm officially neutral. That's about all I have to say about that.

It's 9:01 right now, and I know that I should be sleeping. But...I'm not even in bed yet. I'm watching the Cooking Channel. Go figure.

Earlier, I was planning on a relatively lengthy post about lifestuffs, but right now all I can think about is how early my alarm is going off tomorrow morning. It's pretty much consuming my entire life.

Depressed in Kansas,

M-Diddy.

Stuff and Things...

So my Internet browser of choice is Mozilla Firefox. I love this browser. Quite possibly more than I should, but it's great.

One of the awesome things about Firefox is that it has a lot of available add-ons that you can get to more or less enhance your web-browsing experience. One add-on that I love is called StumbleUpon. Basically, when you sign up for this particular add-on, you fill out an interests profile and install  a toolbar. Then, once the toolbar is installed, you click the button labeled, "Stumble", and based on your interests, Firefox finds a random web page that it thinks you will like. 94 times out of 100, SU (StumbleUpon) has served me so well that it's almost baffling. Anyway, today, because I was bored, I decided to pop in a DVD (Lonesome Dove, my favorite movie in the world), fix a milkshake of the chocolate-banana variety, and go on a Stumble Marathon.

Anyway, the first site that popped up was titled, "Sixteen Things That It Took Me 50 Years To Learn", and is actually a mini-column written by Dave Barry. If you don't know who Dave Barry is, I'm sorry. He's a humor columnist and is just one of the funniest people out there. I love his stuff. Anyway, back to the site. These 16 things were presented in list form, first of all. I'm sure you all know how happy that made me. Second of all, these 16 things are actually completely worth reading, and sharing. So...I'm gonna do that.

1. You will never find anybody who can give you a clear and compelling reason why we observe daylight saving time.
2. You should never say anything to a woman that even remotely suggests you think she's pregnant unless you can see an actual baby emerging from her at that moment. -I think that this is a particularly valuable tidbit...-
3. The most powerful force in the universe is gossip.  
4. The one thing that unites all human beings, regardless of age, gender, religion, economic status or ethnic background, is that deep down inside we ALL believe that we are above-average drivers.
5. There comes a time when you should stop expecting other people to make a big deal about your birthday. That time is age 111. -I can only hope I make it to that age. There's gonna be ONE HELL of a party.-  
6. There is a very fine line between "hobby" and "mental illenss." -e.g. Running.-
7. People who want to share their religious views with you almost never want you to share your religious views with them.
8. If you had to identify, in one word, the reason why the human race has not achieved, and will not achieve, its full potential, that word would be "meetings." 
9. The main accomplishment of almost all organized protests is to annoy the people who are not in them. -How right you are, Mr. Berry.-
10. If there really is a God who created the entire universe with all of its glories, and He decides to deliver a message to humanity, He will NOT use, as His messenger, a person on cable TV with a bad hairstyle.  
11. You should not confuse your career with your life. -I'm writing this one down on a post-it note right now and sticking it on my mirror.-
12. A person who is nice to you, but rude to the waiter, is not a nice person. -Always, but ALWAYS tip your server. Seriously.- 
13. No matter what happens, somebody will find a way to take it too seriously. -And I hate it.-
14. When trouble arises and things look bad, there is always one individual who perceives a solution and is willing to take command. Very often, that individual is crazy. -Very often, that individual is me.-  
15. Nobody cares if you can't dance well. Just get up and do it. -This is something I should take to heart.-   
16. Your friends love you, anyway. -This is something I REALLY need to remember. Seriously.-

Well, I know that this wasn't the funniest blog post I've had, but I hope that that list up there made you think a little bit, and hopefully you take something away from it. Stay tuned for a Lonesome Dove-related post tonight. I've got a fever, and the only cure is more blogging. 

Hasta pronto!

Michael

COOL LIKE FIYAH

...Or however you spell what Sean Kingston sings about.

So today....was hot. As shit. And I worked outside. All day. I think I lost a couple pounds in sweat, and if you know me, you know I cannottttt afford to do that. So the beer du jour is a Budweiser. Yeah, that's right. "Pork Chop in a Can." "Liquid bread." Bud heavy. Nectar of the friggin gods, I tell you. I love me some Colorado craft beer, but some days, especially days when the heat index is 94 when you wake up at 5:15 in the morning, nothing beats a good ol' watered-down American-style lager. Mmmmmmm.

Enough about this blasted heat. We all know how hot it is. I just hope it's not this godawful for my bloggies in other states and/or Districts. Hi Jen! Hope your running is less dreadful than mine! :)

So the Identity Crisis (that still doesn't have a name...slackers) is starting to get a little less...crisic. It's a word, look it up. 

Tonight's supper: nowhere near as glamorous as the other night's delish steak fajitas. Leftover spaghetti sauce loaded up with parm and garlic wrapped in a tortilla and microwaved. With a Budweiser. Bahahahaha I feel so ridiculous right now.

Speaking of Colorado craft beer, it's pretty much my favorite. Ever. Ft Collins, Breckenridge, Odell, Boulder Beer Co., I love them all. I think I'm going to have to give a craft beer tutorial, sometime. I'll make beer drinkers out of you beer haters, yet!

Also, I read Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree the other day. It made my lip wibble. I forgot how much I loved that story.

I also just put on a pair of shorts. I realize that that sentence is totally irrelevant to anything I've said so far, and you probably didn't care to know, anyway, but here's the thing: I put them on left leg first. That's backwards for me. I ALWAYS put on my pants right leg first. Have you ever tried putting on your pants with the opposite leg first? Your legs suddenly acquire lysdexia and don't seem to work, anymore. At least, mine did. I nearly fell over. Actually, I did fall over, I was just trying to save face. Fortunately, there was my bed nearby to catch me. 

Speaking of my bed...I sorta overslept today. First time since I started my job way back in March. Bad deal. So....again, I'm cutting the blog short. Stay tuned for a lengthy post tomorrow. I've got a free Thursday!

Stay pretty, everyone. That's the only thing that matters.

-Michael Dean

Ow.

I have a headache.

I'm pretty sure it's from the sun.

And the heat.

And probably dehydration.

Turns out, today: hot.

I sweat so much, I soaked my boots. Let alone my shirts and jeans and...stuff.

Seriously, this headache is annoying.

A snake slithered across my boots today. I screamed like a girl. Then took a picture of it.

Big mothafuckin snake.

Seriously. Buh.

I really don't have a lot to say tonight, other than...ow.

Peace be with you, brah.

-Jimmy

YEEEEE-HAW!**

Short sentences.

That's what I'm gonna be speaking in tonight. 

Maybe I'll just bullet this blog post.

I'm thinking in short, random bursts, so I guess that's how this blog is going to go. Sound good? GOOD!

• Today's beer du jour. Freakin' delish. And don't judge me. I know this is 2 pale ales in 2 days, but it's summer. It's time for freakin' summer beer, ALRIGHT? Alright. :)
• Tonight's supper: steak fajitas. home-grown yellow, orange and green bell peppers and a home-grown red onion marinated in lime juice, sprinkled with salt and pepper, grilled to perfection. Topped with homemade pico de gallo and a little sour cream. I'm in heaven. Like for serious. The only thing that would make this supper better? Black bean salsa. Oh wait. I had that, too. :)
• Today: I decided that I'm going to have a great week. So far, so good. Turns out positive thinking really works. Like, for real. Seriously. (ha) Give it a shot this week, okay? It works. 
• I am toying with the idea of a foot tattoo. Is that 100% not okay because I'm a guy? I honestly want to know, because the foot would be the ideal place for me to put something smallish and meaningful. I feel like I'm way too scrawny to get a tattoo in all the other "guy" places...Please offer input. 
• I know that I will not be a graduate of Kansas State, but I feel like eventually, I will have a Powercat tattoo. K-State Alums and students, please understand that I will never ever love K-State any less than I did the day I was accepted, and a Powercat tattoo would simply be a token of my affection. Not a bragging right for being an alum or anything like that. Just sayin. 
• I guess the previous two bullets mean I'll eventually have more than one tattoo, and I'm surprisingly okay with that.
• I'm a cilantro freakazoid. Just sayin.
• I'm also pretty sure that my veins and arteries are full of pico de gallo, instead of blood. I've been eating pico and (homemade) chips like...well, like my life depends on it. IT'S JUST SO GOOD. Also, Karen, if you're reading this, and I know you're reading this, home grown tomatoes are worlds better than store bought. Next time you go to the Farmers Market, please, treat yourself and buy a tomato. Or like six. And then email me for my pico recipe. And my vegan tortilla chip recipe. Turns out it's vegan because my Momma hates lard. This is just another sign that we're meant to be bffs.
• That last bullet was not in short sentences, and was in fact, one long thought. Looks like I'm a hypocrite.
• Another shout out to Karen: I work for a landscaping company. Do you think it odd that you're drawn to men who are involved in this line of work? I mean, I'm just sayin.
• Apparently Karen is dominating my thoughts. 
• So is booze.
• Karen and booze.
• I seriously stuffed myself stupid on fajitas, black bean salsa, pico, and beer tonight. I'm actually full. Sister One is scoffing right now, because she doesn't think I'll ever be full, but it's true. I'm full.
• Jelly Belly jelly beans can make me smile. Any day. Any time. No matter what. Always.
• So can Jolly Ranchers.
• This Kansas summer weather is hell on my skin. I really need a break from it. Good thing I'm going to CO in August.
• I'm going to CO in August. More specifically, Copper Mountain.
• I'm running in the Rocky Mountain Warrior Dash.
• Shel Silverstein and Jack Prelutsky shaped my childhood. Seriously.
• It's 11:01. I think I should go to bed now.

Stay tuned for more positive thought-laced ramblings throughout the week. I think I'm FINALLY getting a handle on this daily blog thing. That's awesome, considering my blog's subtitle is "DAILY ruminations"...

Anyway, please have a wonderful night and a beautiful tomorrow. Find a reason to smile! :)

Sincerely yours,

Michael Dean Jimmy Jack McGillicuddy

**The title of this blog post is entirely unrelated to anything that is actually in the blog post. Just in case you hadn't figured that out yet...

Woo Tattoo?

So here's the skinny:

I've been honestly contemplating getting a tattoo for...about a year now.

I've come to the conclusion (this week, in fact) that I want one.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what I want, and I'm not entirely decided on where I'm gonna stick that thing. And I KNOW that's enough reason to NOT get one.

But I want one.

And I'm whiny. 

And I get what I want.

All I know is I want something that's...Me. And small (I'm kinda a smallish person).

I also know that I want to stick it somewhere I could cover it, if need be. So...considering I'm not a nudist, I guess that leaves a lot of places wide open. Oy.

Back to square one, I suppose...

Input?

Help Me, Rhonda

So here I sit.

On the couch that we just inherited from my late great grandma. 

It's an old lady couch, TO THE MAX.

I'm talkin like, sateen, floral print, tone-on-tone damask patterns, straight-up old lady couch. 

It's also a hide-a-bed.

But I digress.

So here I sit, on the old lady couch, eating my way through a half-gallon of homemade pico de gallo and drinking my way through a DELICIOUSLY floral extra pale ale, courtesy of Odell Brewing Co. in Ft. Collins, CO. I'm tellin ya, this is the life. I'm also not kidding about that half-gallon of homemade pico. Our garden kinda exploded this week, so we have tomatoes and onions and herbage coming out the wazoo. Also, I love craft beer. Remind me to blog about craft beer, sometime. I'll probably bore you all to death, but eh. That's a risk I'm willing to take.

ANYWAY, here I sit on the old lady couch, eating my way through a half-gallon of homemade pico and drinking a wonderful beer, watching the Cooking Channel.

For those of you who don't have the Cooking Channel, let me just describe it to you.

Food Network * a billion + shows about booze and world cuisine - Bobby Flay* = Cooking Channel.

Totally. Friggin. Fepic. 

I love this channel. It's...it's my drug. Seriously. I, being the foodie-in-training that I am, can NOT get enough of this channel.

Anyway, there's this show on the Cooking Channel called "Drink Up." It's hosted by some dude named Darryl Robinson. He would pretty much be my idol, if I could freakin stand to listen to him talk. Like, seriously. This guy...oh man. Just..yeah. Stay tuned about Dr. Mixologist.

The episode of Drink Up that I'm watching right now is all about vodka. I'm in heaven. It's such a wonderful and versatile spirit. It's just...yeah. You can use it to enhance so many dishes and drinks...hold on. Gimme a second. If I don't compose myself, I'm going to go off on a booze tangent, and anyone who knows me at all knows that once I get going on the booze, there is no turning me around. 

ANYWAY, back to Dr. Can'tspeak. Seriously. This guy can't speak. An entire 30 minute episode about vodka, and not ONCE did he pronounce the 'd' in the word. I just learned about 43640 ways to make "vocka cocktells", and that just annoys the shit out of me. 

Um...crap. My thought train just got de-railed. I'm now watching a Drink Up episode about white wine, and am equally riveted as I was by the vocka episode and the beer episode before that. 

I've also seriously just cleaned off that pico. Holy shit where did it all go? And my homemade tortilla chips? Mere crumbs. I...I think I have a problem.

* I hate Bobby Flay.

Insomni-yak.

I am one. And I feel like that guy up there. Seriously. I'm 30 minutes into my Melatonin/Joshua Bell regimen, and my eyes aren't even CLOSE to being heavy. Wtf, brain. W.t.f.

I mean, I can totally understand that my life at this point in time isn't entirely conducive to relaxation and restful slumber, but still. I'm even medicated, and it's with something my body ALREADY makes to help induce sleep. Oy. This is ridiculous.

I've even taken to lifespeaking my brains out to my friends (see previous blog post) in an apparently vain effort to organize my thoughts and clear my head enough to sleep. No dice. It's just not fair. I wish my brain had a "bedside mode" like my crackberry, Wyatt*. Totally dims the lights and silences itself during the night. That would be AWESOME.

Bah. This is bull crap. My brain is seriously running at around 90 mph and my body is struggling to keep up. This whole identity crisis that I've got going on these days about skoolnstuf (it's a blanket term slash mash-up word. school and stuff: skoolnstuf) is going to do me in. This crisis is actually big enough that I'm going to ask all of you (my faithful readers) to name it for me. Name it anything you like. There will be a prize for the winner. Seriously. Get on it, folks.

But seriously, seriously. How many times have I said "seriously" in this post? I feel like I say it too often for it to hold any emphasis, anymore. Anyway, (I say that one a lot, too. Haha alot.) if something doesn't change, I'm not sure what I'm going to do, other than...something crazy. Something wild. Something EXTREME. Something INSAAAAAAAANE. Like taking up yoga. Or songwriting. Or crocheting. Who knows, I MAY EVEN TAKE UP CROSSWORD PUZZLES! I'M A MAN ON THE EDGE; THERE'S NO TELLING WHAT THE LIMIT TO MY CRAZY WILD EXTREME INSANE BEHAVIOR WILL BE!! What was it that Romeo said on the steps to the cathedral when confronted by the po-po after killing Tybalt? "TEMPT NOT A DESPERATE MAN!!!"? I think that was it. I dunno. All I can picture is a much younger Leo crying in an awkward manner while his shirt is being blown about, displaying his pasty torso in an equally awkward manner. Man, I love that movie. Speaking of that movie, I can play this song on the piano. It sounds kinda like this. It makes Sister One and Sister Two swoon when I play it for them. Seriously. (See, there I go again. It's totally lost all effect, now.)

Anyway, back to the yak-ness of my life. If something doesn't change soon, I think I'm just gonna explode. That sounds like a cure-all, to me. When life gets to be too much, just blow up. Problem solved! As a matter of fact, I think I'm going to invent a self-explosion kit for that very purpose. Except, I'm going to call it something dirty, just because I can, and everyone likes a seemingly harmless (sans the blood and gore and body parts flying everywhere) invention with a dirty name. What do you think of the Blowmatic? Or maybe the...I dunno. I suck at naming seemingly harmless (sans the blood and gore and flying body parts) inventions dirty names. I'm just too nice, I guess. I'll let you guys name the self-exploder, too.

Anyway, (Seriously, Michael?) I think I'm gonna wrap this puppy up and lie in bed until sheer exhaustion claims me for a couple hours. And then I get to go to work in my personal version of Hell. Doesn't that sound FUN? -Yeah, Michael, that sounds like a fuggin blasty-blast. Quit drowning your readers in sarcasm, thanks.- I guess that's all for now. Be sure to comment with any thoughts or questions, as you guys are quite the silent group of bloggies, and that just makes me feel like you don't care. And I'm all about being liked, so y'all better start caring, darn it! "I'm like Tinkerbell, Finn. I NEED APPLAUSE TO LIVE." Name that show, and I'll buy you a drink next time I see you. Seriously.

Okay, friends, I believe I'm done for the night. Until next time, don't forget to smile, and always tip your bartender.

Bonne nuit!

Michael Dean

P.S. Tave, consider yourself invited to Glebo. This Thursday. Yes, please and thanks.

M

* I name all of my electronic devices after Tombstone characters. Crackberry: Wyatt. iPod: Doc iHolliday. Old-school palm pilot: Ike. Laptop: The Lappy. I ran out of cool Tombstone names...

Word Vomit Weekend Recap

Good evening, all!

So here's the skinny: I have an IRRESISTIBLE urge to blog, but I have zero clue what I'm going to say. So let's just close our eyes, hang on tight, and see where this post takes us, eh? Sweet! Let's go!

I do remember that I promised you a weekend recap, so let me get that out of the way in the beginning.

Thursday night: Glebo* with the Golden Sisters. I love the Golden Sisters. They're sisters, and they're golden, only not in age, just in complexion and personality. Sister One and I cooked a delicious supper for Sister Two and Husband One. In case you were wondering, Husband One is married to Sister Two, and didn't show up until AFTER supper was made and devoured, but don't worry, we saved him some. What was for supper? Well we were originally planning on some stuffed chicken breasts coated in bread crumbs and pan-fried with a side of cheesy potatoes. What happened was a side of cheesy potatoes topped with seasoned (and delectably crunchy) bread crumbs, corn on the cob, (Drool. Die. Yum-o. Help me, Rhonda, I love corn on the cob.) and pan-fried/seared chicken breasts topped with a spinach cream sauce that was actually just canned Alfredo sauce, frozen baby spinach, and a little help from Dr. Spice Rack. Sounds dicey, but was in fact quite tasty. All in all, the supper was a total success, and Sister Two got to sit at the bar and booze up while Sister One and I ran around the kitchen like lunatics. Seriously, the three of us together: nuttier than squirrel poo.  Anyway, Sister Two sobered up during supper, Husband One came home, Sister One peaced out, and Sister Two, Husband One and Blogger Three (What, I can't be Blogger Three? We already have Sister One and Husband One, how repetitive and redundant would it be to have Blogger One? Actually, I guess you're right. It wouldn't be repetitive OR redundant because while there would be another "Insert Title Here One" in this blog, since the title isn't...you know what? I don't remember where I was going with this, so I'm just going to close the parentheses and continue with the weekend recap. Aaaaand SCENE.) decided to hang out and talk and then take a drive out to Husband One's parents' new house, which is in the process of being constructed. Let me tell you, it was a wonderful night. Then Blogger Three decided that it was time to go home and not fall asleep, but waste a few hours tossing and turning and killing brain cells on the Internet. Because that's what Blogger Three does. 

Friday: Haircut Day. I love Haircut Day. Like, LOVE. A lot. Hahaha alot. Now, thanks to my blog creeping, any time I see "a lot" or "alot" or even HEAR the phrase in conversation, I, like my dear new friend-I've-never-met, The Trophy Wife, think of this. By the way, shout out to the Trophy Wife: if you think you've met your Jack, you ain't seen nothin' yet. I'm not sayin, I'm just sayin. Keep that in mind. Anyway, after my haircut, I made a Starbucks run and went to see Sister One at work. Several hours later (yeah, I was at the Touch for several hours. What of it?) I went into work at the booze depot. I got off work at 9:00. Then, it was wine night. Oh man, and was it EVER wine night. We (a bunch of friends, including 1/3 of Team Omaha and her Southern Beau, AB and The Other Michael, Sister Two and Husband One and Big D and Molly) all got together at Sister One's house and commenced boozing. Granted, they had all gotten started before I showed up, but hey, I can't begrudge them their good time. Anyway, at the end of the night, 3 girls had polished off 7 bottles of wine (that's 2.33333333333333333 bottles per girl, in case you were wondering) and us guys had finished our fair share of beer. Then, after some boozy (but still EXTREMELY awesome and meaningful) lifespeak with Sister One, I cashed out on her couch.

Saturday: Sister One refused to let me wake up with my alarm (I have a thing about setting the alarm. It's much like my list-making and other stupid AR/OCD tendencies) so we both kinda woke up at our own time, which happened to be around the same time. I feel like this is a good time to tell you that Team Omaha decided the night before that the 7-mile run on Saturday morning would wait until Sunday. Apparently 7 bottles of wine and a river of beer makes running 7 miles a little tougher. Who knew. Anyway, Sister One and I were kinda bummin' around for a bit, and then we decided to go to breakfast at Village Inn. Summary: food was to die for, waitress didn't get a tip. THEN we went and saw Sister Two at the Touch. Love me some Sister Two. THEN we went back to Sister One's so I could shower and de-grossify before I went back to the booze depot for work at 1. Then I worked for 8 hours. Woop. THEN I went BACK to Sister One's to pick up my beer from the night before. Then I went to Wal-Mart and bought new wiper blades for Junior the Tahoe. Is this getting too detailed for you? Paraphrase? Eh? Well, I ended up hanging out with Sister Two all night and having some amazingly meaningful and awesome lifespeak time with HER, while at the same time driving her new Stang and laughing hysterically at a drunk Husband One. Then I went home, took a Melatonin, went to sleep HARD CORE, and had some wicked crazy dreams. I think one of them involved a dinosaur.

Sunday: When I say that I slept HARD CORE, I mean, I don't think I even moved during the night. For like, 9 hours. I TOTALLY slept through my alarm(s) and missed that 7-miler I mentioned earlier. Fortunately for me, Sister One was just super glad I actually got some sleep. I think I may have had her worried with my elevated stress levels and decreased sleepytimes. You'd have to ask her, though. Anyway, since there was lots of rain yesterday (HAPPY BIRTHDAY AMERICA, by the way) our family plans kinda fizzled out like a wet firecracker. So I was going to go over to Sister Two's and chill with her and Husband One and Sister One and The Pack O'Friends that go along with them. What ACTUALLY happened was something different, but the same, but still different, and awesome. Sister One texted me and asked me to go to Bruff's with her for lunch. I totally accepted. So we went to lunch. We had burgers and bloody marys. My first one ever, and boy howdy was that thing pepperyyyy. Like, holy toledo. I was DRINKING the ranch dressing that came with my fries to cool that fire. Needless to say, I'm going to order a bloody mary at every bar I go to from here on out, because 1) I need to know that not all bloody marys require a Tums garnish in addition to the olives and lime, and 2) I love spicy things. Then, after our extended lunch (we were there for a good hour and a half) and some awesome convo with our waitress/friend, whom I will call Delilah, just because I can, we decided to head over to Glebo and Sister Two and Husband One's abode for some chill/booze time. Sister One also convinced me to rent Remember Me, that Robert Pattinson movie that WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE YOU HAVE TO WATCH IT OMG. So anyway, to kinda condense Sunday's happenings into something more manageable (because I am obv all about condensing things into manageable and non-brain-popping lengths of text) there was some boozing, loads of laughing, some shock and awe due to that blasted movie, and rain. Oh, and fireworks. And rain. And a crusty tattoo. Yech. Then, Sister One and I decided it was time to go home. So we went home, and then I slept. A lot.

Monday: Unproductive. As. Shit. 

So hey that's my weekend! Now I'm trying to think if there's anything ELSE I want to ramble about tonight. Right now I'm coming up blank, but that doesn't rule out some more word puke later on, tonight. The night is young, after all.

Until next time, stay smilin'!

Jimmy Dean, The Sausage King.

That's my new nickname. Deal with it.

*Glebo = Glee-watching party in Lebo. Glebo. Learn it. Love it.

lunch time

Mobile blogging for the win!

It's Thursday. It's my lunch break.

My day started off wonderfully. Well, as wonderfully as a day can start, when it starts at 5 a.m. Things were going great.

Now, because of an assuming co-worker and missing breakfast, paired with sleeplessness, today sucks.

Hanging with the Golden Sisters tonight is going to be just what the Dr. ordered. It's a shame the Trophy Wife can't be there...

It's what you say when you don't know what to say.

I have the overwhelming urge to blog, but I don't know what to say, so...

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.

 

WHOA huge font. What on earth did my c/p do?! 

 

And bold? WHO BOLDED MY FONT?!

 

Ahh...  that...WHO KEEPS DOING THAT?!

Seriously, that was the most annoying thing, ever. I copied/pasted that word up there that I don't want to try and spell and don't dare copy/paste again from Wikipedia, and my blog window apparently decided to auto-format. How annoying.

 Anyway, back to whatever it was that I'm not saying...

I KNOW! I'll give you a run-down of my upcoming weekend. In list form, of course...

1) Landscaping job Thursday. Bleh to the extreme. However, it's PAY DAY! WAHOO! After pay day, I get to race home, shower, zip to town and the bank because that's what I do, and then, zip over to the neighboring county! Why, you ask? For to hang with my friends, of course! It's gonna be a lifespeaking, food making, phenomenal kickass time, and you should all be jealous that you're not going to be there. :)

2) Coffee date with Running Buddy 1.0 on Friday morning. I love Friday morning coffee dates. They totally set the tone for the rest of the day, and 99 times out of 99, it's an awesome tone. :) Work at the liquor store (btw, I work weekends at a liquor store) that evening, and then Team Omaha+1 shall be united for some quality pre-Saturday morning boozing...I think.

3) 7 mile run with Team Omaha+1 on Saturday morning. Woop woop! then more booze-peddling Saturday afternoon/evening. Then home for some neighborly fireworks. Then more boozing? Who knows.

4) Sunday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AMERICA! I think I actually get *another* Sunday off. I don't know what I'll do with myself.

I think that's all for now. I need to go to bed. 5 a.m. alarms are never kind.

Stay tuned for a post-Thursday-lifespeak-food blog post. Until then, hasta luego!

M