Oh My Goodness

So, most of you know where I work. I can't actually say it here because somebody will freak I'm sure. But needless to say, I get to see a LOT of things waaaay before the general public sees them. Some of them good, some that need a little refinement, and some that never make it to the public.

I saw something this morning, that although I'm probably not supposed to mention, I'm sure it's already out in the marketplace or sure enough it's coming soon. It's not the product per se that's interesting to me, but rather the application of it. I was going to take a picture and post it, but then I get into all these legal ramifications etc, so I thought it best to just describe it.

This morning, I saw a child's car seat. Nothing new to the car seat at all, except the fabric. It was COMPLETELY camouflaged. I understand the desire for camo as a fashion fabric, it's cool in some circles, I get it. What astounded me is to know that IF this actually hits the market some time soon, you KNOW there is going to be some guy saying, "I know you got the kids this weekend Bubba, but I bet we can take that car seat and strap it in the deer stand since it's camouflaged and kill two birds with one stone."

That's all I'm saying .... and you didn't hear it from me.

Relax

Just chillin in the dump truck, reading my book in front of the TV.

My Favorite Lists

From time to time, some idiot will send me one of those email lists wanting to know what my favorite bar of soap is, and who I think the coolest BEEGEE was, or stuff like that. Truly, what they are saying is “HERE is MY favorite BEEGEE, and I want you to know that, but instead of being a completely self absorbed jerk, I’m going to pretend that I care what YOUR favorite BEEGEE is too.”
As you can imagine, I think these things are pretty worthless … except the ones that come from my wife which are absolutely AWESOME.
But Anyway, here is my version of my favorite things … and I pretty much don’t care what yours are.

#1 – What is your favorite color?
I like the color of my television on Saturday afternoon when the sunlight reflects off my drink and adds a hint of chartreuse from my hamburger.

#2 – What is your favorite flower?
I like the kind that gets me a smile when I give it to my wife.

#3 – What is your favorite movie?
The one where the producer is about to call me and pay me $10,000,000 for a cameo appearance.

#4 – What is your favorite song?
“Congratulations on winning the $50 million sweepstakes” sung in person by members of Publisher’s Clearing House … or YMCA

#5 – Who is your favorite movie star?
I would really like a bowl of ice cream right about now.

#6 – Who is your favorite author?
White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle would be good.

#7 – What is your favorite car?
With sprinkles.

#8 – Where is your favorite place to vacation?
And marshmallows.

#9 – Who is your favorite politician?
Shut up, I like marshmallows, I’m not sharing anyway.

#10 – Who would you like to drag behind your car for a few miles?
The person that came up with these personality quizzes.

Golf Bats

Starting Early

Christmas Breath

As a kid, there is no day more anticipated than Christmas morning. Who among us has not tossed and turned the night away Christmas Eve wondering what bounty awaited us in the next room, or if that sound we heard might be Santa, and why the heck mom and dad were up past midnight – what did they want to do, see if they could scare off the fat man? They were really toying with fate then, and I for one did NOT appreciate their flippant attitude toward the rules (Santa only comes when everyone’s asleep ya know).

One year, I specifically remember getting a Ken “Barbie Doll” for Christmas. There is no way I will actually admit to asking for a Ken doll for Christmas … even though my sister wouldn’t let me play with her because I didn’t have any Barbie Dolls, so I’m pretty sure that the error in my gift was a direct result of Santa being hurried at my house because my parents were up REALLY late, probably cooking broccoli or something.

As the years went on, and I got that inevitable question, “What do you want for Christmas?” my tastes changed. Early on of course, you can’t WAIT for someone to ask you that.

Aunt: “Honey, what do you want f…”
Me: “I want a Hot Wheels smash’em set with the super launcher sky ramp and ultra cool realistic fire simulation lights”
Aunt: “… for Breakfast?”

The younger years the answers were predicable and repetitive. “I wanna tractor and a baseball glove!” No matter who asked me, the answer was always “I wanna tractor and a baseball glove!”

Although very amusing for our parents who would use this phrase as a cue for a nightly act that they were producing in our living room. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry that happened to walk in the door was followed by “Ask him what he wants for Christmas … isn’t it cute!? ”

We as kids soon figured out there must be a better way. We got more than 2 presents every year, and most of them were clothes. If we could just figure out how to replace “clothes” (which was an OBVIOUS replacement gift) with “toys” then we could be into some serious loot.

Once elementary school rolled around, I began an ingenious list system. From Aunt Theresa I would ask for the GI Joe Jeep, from Grandma the Transfomers Car, From SANTA I would go for the gold … the Big Wheel! This was a foolproof task – spreading out the wealth, hedging my bets, making sure my bases were covered. Flawless.

Christmas day rolled around and I discovered that Aunt Theresa must have been forgetful, Grandma couldn’t hear very well, and Santa “didn’t have room on his sleigh”. Bunch of Reindeer poop, that’s what that is.

I needed to start refining my system. I began to spend my Sunday afternoons going through the newspapers. My parents found this quite amusing, their son was interested in current events. Occasionally I would take something back to my room and put it in my drawer. How cute. But by the time Thanksgiving rolled around, or as I liked to refer to it “The Asking Season” I rolled out an elaborate, illustrated, and thoroughly mapped out decision tree for anyone I thought should be obligated to buy me a present .. which included everyone from Mom to the Mailman. I had cut, pasted, and itemized lists of everything I wanted along with handouts to the respective purchasers. There were diagrams, alternate purchases, current inventory lists of local stores, and on at least one occasion a hastily edited VHS tape of commercials dedicated solely to the Atari gaming system.

Of course times change, and so do tastes. My requests took on different looks, from toys, to video games, to sports equipment, car stereos, and eventually back to clothes.

The number of people I have requested things from has also changed, from 2039, to 82, 5 and eventually 1 or 2. The past few years though, my request has always been the same.

Mom: “What do you want for Christmas?”
Me: “An extra 2 hours of sleep.”

And yet, I still get the Christmas morning wakeup call at 5am wondering where I am. I drag myself out of bed, grab my keys, and drive over to mom’s house. Don’t bother to shower, put on anything other than PJ’s, and drive zombie like across town.

I guess Mom gets a lot of these lists each year for Christmas presents. The lists may not include “sleep” per se, but something that she can’t really purchase for us, you know, like “world peace”, a television that doesn’t play political hate ads, or “Berkshire Hathaway”. So with her limited ideas, Mom tends to make things up that she thinks we will like. Scarves (which are particularly nice since it’s about 98 degrees at Christmas in Mobile), Brazil nuts (that can’t be cracked with a vice grip and a pound of napalm), and Altoids.

I know, who doesn’t like Altoids. She gives Altoids to everyone, and eventually, don’t ask me how, everyone finds a way to hide them in the boxes that go home with me. Because no one has a need for multiple boxes of altoids at home, the wife makes sure that they go to work with me.

So here is a picture of my desk at work showing what the culmination of my Christmas present prowess has brought to me. Obviously the not showering, and probably not brushing my teeth in my half sleeping stupor has given me Christmas breath and my family is giving me the hint.

Better Uses for WD-40

Recently I was sent and email with some interesting facts/uses for WD-40. These included tips like “Removes tar from clothing” and “takes rust stains off of bathroom sinks”. Although these were really neat and practical uses for the stuff, I think over the years my team of Goombah’s have found some better ones, and here I submit them for your benefit.
1. To really tick off someone trying to open their bathroom door. (This works particularly well during “emergencies” when the hand eye coordination is not as keen)
2. Turns a slip and slide into a slip and launch
3. Removing “JERK” from the side of an automobile (or insert inappropriate phrase here)
4. Pug Bowling
5. Lighting 144 bottle rockets at once
6. Launching a potato 300 yards
7. Blowing a hole in the side of a potato gun that has been stuffed with too large of a potato.
8. Teaching a cat not to scratch
9. The best shooting range target EVER
10. Raising the opposing team’s strike out percentage
11. Playing pinball with someone in your back seat
12. Making beauty pageant fashion shows a lot more interesting
13. Un-sticking a tongue from a frozen flagpole
14. To make an interesting toilet seat “landing”
15. Gym treadmills – need I say more
16. Spray in a random line on the neighbors yard and watch stray dogs follow the smell
17. Spraying jack-o-lanterns is FUN (not as much fun with battery powered lights)
18. Great for watching cat reactions to usual landing locations (such as when fuzzy jumps down on the table from the buffet)
19. Cooking pan seared fish for people you don’t particularly like

Fell free to submit your own!

Building a better mouse trap

As some of you may know from my frequent references, or by the web address, or the pictures on the side of the screen, I’ve got a few bulldogs. 27 last time I counted.
Since our traumatic brain injury, and subsequent puppy loot last year, we’ve been coming to terms with what our house looks like and our ability to cope with the situation. For instance, when we got married and threw away all of the furniture in the house that was acquired by anyone who had a Y chromosome, we set some strict rules.
1. No dogs on the furniture
2. Floors will be cleaned weekly at minimum
3. Dogs will have the freedom of the house since they are part of the family
Now that we have been brow beaten by lack of sleep and canine coaxing, our rules have bent a little.
1. No one should sit on Samson’s recliner (unless they want a butt full of dog hair)
2. Floors will be cleaned (hopefully) by the housekeeper bi-weekly unless the wife is totally grossed out and guilt trips me into cleaning them which takes about 30 minutes of badgering, 20 minutes of arguing, a 15 minute temper tantrum by me, and about 2 minutes to actually clean them.
3. All dogs but the old blind dog will be relegated to the laundry room where I have constructed an elaborate barrier system modeled after a ingenious combination between a maximum security prison and Fort Knox.
4. Dogs can go play outside when it’s pretty.
Like I said, we’re coping.
The other day we returned from an outing to find bouncy dog running around the kitchen with a ball in his mouth as if to say, “look what I found, look what I found, look what I found”. The wife gives me a look that says “Did you forget to put someone up?” and then she says “Did you forget to put someone up?” Being the alpha male in the house, I give her a stern look and say “ahhhhh, I guess so.”
So I spend the next 10 minutes chasing him around the kitchen islander while I’m cursing under my breath and he’s thinking we’re playing “get the ball.” …. Side note, it’s right here that I realize that although Kitchen Islanders are useful pieces if equipment, I have now created doggie speedway international, and there is no way to catch that little pain the tookis.
I consider myself lucky because there is no telling what kind of damage he could have done to our kitchen cabinets, fortunately he’s the stupidest dog in the house and probably immediately saw the ball, picked it up, and spent the next three hours looking for it again while it was still in his mouth.
I put the little ball hound back in the laundry room and head to give the kid a bath for the night. We have a good routine, the wife bathes the kid, I go get the PJ’s, grab some milk, and come back to dry him off, dress him, and get him down for the night while the wife spends a relaxing 30 seconds in the bathtub before we start whining for her. After I pick up the PJ’s and head to the kitchen to get the milk, I am greeted by 60 pounds of bounciness standing beside the islander. I think to myself, “What in the world?” so I go to check the laundry room, and everything is PERFECTLY FINE. Gate is closed, barrier boards in place, 15 garbage cans piled up in front of the gate as backup are still unmoved, but somehow, this short runt is standing in my kitchen … looking for the ball that’s in his mouth.
It’s been a long day, I did something wrong, let’s deal with it later and put everybody to bed.
The next day I get up early to check the laundry room prison. Everything is in place, nothing is askew, there isn’t a hole “Houdini” can climb through, everything is fine.
I figured that if the dog’s going to get out, I kind of need to make sure I know how he does it, so I lock him in the laundry room and wait. He sits there and stares at me. I walk around the kitchen and sneak back over, he’s sitting there with his tongue wagging. I make myself breakfast, then sneak a peak. He’s laying there. I sit at the table and eat my breakfast. Quick glance, snoring dog.
I decide that whatever it was, it’s over and I head to the store. I forget my phone so I run back inside to grab it and the STUPID MUTT IS STARING AT ME IN THE FACE. I’ve been gone 30 freaking seconds, and this dog is in my kitchen! The fence is un-moved – there’s a dog staring out at me from behind it saying “I want to come out there too daddy!” I am flabbergasted. I put him BACK in the laundry room and give him a bone to keep him busy for a while until I can get back from the store.
When I return, and step on the bone now in my kitchen, I start to get worried. I decide to have a stake out. I put the dog back in the laundry room and pretend to leave the kitchen. That’s when I heard it. A scoot, or a creak, something is happening. As I lean over to try and get a peak, I notice the dog is at my feet. I quickly glance around the corner at the laundry room … and NOTHING HAS MOVED! I swear this dog has learned to open, THEN SHUT the gate behind him. I have trouble opening that gate. I HATE THIS DOG!!
So I wait a while, then try my stakeout again … and I finally catch him.
As it turns out, the fence that I have in the laundry room is like the shape of a V and a U combined. It fits nicely in the room, and I figured if it’s pushed to the doorway, it will only wedge itself in place. Well this mutt has not only figured out how to escape, but to cover his tracks. He discovered that if he pushes in exactly the right place, the fence will rotate. He can then back up and go around the fence in the hole he has now created. Finally, now this is the genius part, before going all the way through, he stops just far enough out where it encourages the other dog to try and follow him, but he’s blocking her path. So she starts pushing on the fence next to him, which in effect, seals the hole behind him. He’s free, she’s not, and the fence is back in place.
… maybe he’s not too dumb after all.