How can you tell if a fish is drooling?

I'm sick.

I have a cold. And, as anyone who knows me can tell you, I don't often get sick, and therefore am not very good at it. I'm honestly a great big weenie. I moan and whine and am generally miserable. Also, I don't think very well. I assume that this is due to snot building up in the synapses in my brain.

Last night I walked to the dresser to grab my pill bottle and take take my night-time meds. Due to my compromised mental state, I accidentally picked up the fish food and, without noticing, unscrewed the cap and poured it into my hand, just as I would a pill. Thankfully, before I threw a handful of "mega marine" into my mouth, I realized what i had and carefully put it back into the cannister.

I related this story to S.A., who was standing nearby, as a humorous display of my sickness. She stated that it'd nbo big deal as it was just ocean veggies.

I replied that though it might not be life-threatening, it would be very disgusting, as it's made of ground up fish.

She was incredulous. "It is??"

I proceeded to read off the ingredients. Ground Salmon, halibut, sardines, etc.

She looked at me with an extremely perplexed look on her face.

"How come they don't get 'Mad Fish Disease'?" she asked.

Her delivery was deadpan enough that I thought she was serious. I laughed so hard I almost wet my pants.

I love my wife.

Laterz.

Ho Hum...

Random thoughts that will undoubtedly interest no-one but myself.

1. "My" secretary has 1 eye. Actually, she has 2 eyes, but only one works. They're removing the other one the day before Thanksgiving. For some reason, I can't help but feel like my life has been leading up to this.

2. I have a regular reader in California. I mean, I have folks check in from all over the country, but most of them don't show up very often. My regular readers are generally my friends in real life who have spread out all over the country. They read me because, well, they have to. Whoever reads this blog in California actually seems to care because his/her IP shows up quite often. It's a little strange.

3. While I was in college, I worked for 2 professional athletic teams. I worked in the Sports Information office at the college for 4 years. I coached 2 sports at 4 schools.

Since I graduated, more than 5 years ago, with a degree in Sport Management, my only sports employment was 1 season of JV softball at a local high school. However, in those 5 years I've worked as a video store manager, a secretary, and a computer instructor.

So that's $80,000+ well-spent tuition dollars.

4. I belong to a golf league during the summer and a bowling league the rest of the year.

I am (at least at times) a pretty decent golfer. Additionally, I don't pay for my league membership because I do some work for the golf course.

I'm a truly shitty bowler. And I pay $13 a week to bowl. That comes out to over $400 for the season.

I do not enjoy my golf league.

I LOVE my bowling league.

I don't get it, either.

It's game time!

Just got back from G.R. where we went to the Pissers first pre-season game. It was S.A.'s b-day yesterday, so this was part of her present. We attended to game with her sister Rachel and Rach's husband Jeff. Very enjoyable game, with one very minor exception.

Jeff and Rachel chipped in with us so that we could have very good seats at the game. The seats directly in front of us remained empty throughout the 1st half, but at halftime, a couple decided that those seats looked great and since they weren't being used... So they sat in front of us.

I have no problem with seat jumpers. I've done it myself at many sporting events and I do think that there's no reason to let the seats go to waste. However, I and also not a drunken asshole. This could not be said for the gentleman who sat down directly in front of me. He had so much alcohol in him that he was visibly shaking. This, however, did not prevent him from jumping up and down and screaming about things that didn't draw any reaction from the rest of the crowd. I realized that his behavior was not only irritating me, but making it impossible for S.A. to see any of the action. I decided that I needed to ask the gentleman to sit down.

This, however, required some amount of planning, because most drunks at sporting events are also belligerent, in my experience. The fact that he was obviously with a date made this possibility even more likely. Also, because we were sitting at the front of the upper deck, I was afraid that if he took a swing at me and I ended up punching him, there was a decent chance that, in his obviously balance-impaired state, he would fall over the railing. Regardless of how aggravating he was, I really didn't need to kill him.

S.A., on the other hand decided to do the more mature, if somewhat less cathartic, thing. She stood up walked over to the female usher at the top of the stairs and politely asked her to deal with the idiot in front of us. When the usher asked to see his ticket and saw that his assigned seats were ACROSS THE ARENA, she asked them to get out of her section. Fans around us applauded. The usher walked back over to S.A. and gave her arm a friendly squeeze. They were obviously sister enforcers.

Jeff, who had been pointedly ignoring the moron and concentrating on the game, leaned over and asked me what had happened. I told him that the guy had been convicted of "Drunk in front of S.A."

After that, the game went smoothly. The Pistons won and we both got a decent night's sleep at R&J's. It was a good time and, I think, a very happy birthday for S.A.

Also, just because she sometimes wishes I'd make grand-er gestures in public I offer this-

Happy Birthday S.A.
I Love You!

Laterz.

We are Turtles! Hear us roar!

I recently wrote about my bowling team. We are know far and wide as not being... well... not good. Generally speaking, we suck. However, I also said that we were improving.

I was right.

Last night the Tropic Cove Albino Turtles (so named in honor of a $250 turtle Kevin purchased this weekend at a trade show in Chicago,) won. Handily. We won all seven points. We should be the T.C. Pin Piranhas. My dad, who in this case was obviously chanelling his alter-ego Tomas, was on fire. He rolled a 490 series and basically carried us to a resounding victory.

The only down point to the evening came on what should have been a highlight for me. Starting in high school, the vast majority of the games I've bowled have been with my buddy Nate. We always made sure, however, to make sure that we had at least a couple of gals with us when we bowled. The reason for this is that we've had a long-standing rule that if either of us ever managed to roll a "turkey" (3 strikes in a row) the ladies would "flash" us. I think it almost goes without saying that the gals were never in any real danger. Over the past 10 years, both he and I had 2 consecutive strikes many, many times. However, given the pressure that we always heaped on each other when we got to that point, neither of us has ever been even close to that elusive third consective strike. It got to the point where some of our more regular bowling companions would torment us with comments about the high quality of their undergarments, because they knew it was the only way we were ever going to know anything about them.

Last night I rolled a 97 in the first game and a 120 in the second game. Both below my average, but not as far below as I'd like. The last game I spared the 9th frame and had a 122 going into the 10th. I proceeded to throw a strike. With my 2nd ball of the 10th frame, I threw another strike. Joking the whole time with my opponents, I went back to the line for my 3rd ball and, wonder of wonders, threw another strike. Even our opponents were excited and all gave my high-fives as a 10th frame turkey is rare. Especially in our league. So I finished with a 162, which is WAY above my average.

Upon returning to my team's table, I realized that somebody was supposed to flash me. I looked around but all the people around me were middle-aged men. Man boobies were NOT what I was looking for.

Aargh.

So I've been cheated. But at least we won. And now I figure somebody owes me a flash.

I hope to God my mother-in-law doesn't read this and agree with me.

Laterz

Family Photos

S.A. recently pointed out to me that I might want to put pics of the fam on my blog, since I write about them enough. So here are a few.

Princess Roxie, the day she returned home from the Hospital, sans leg. And another pic from a couple days ago. Notice she's adjusted very well to the messing leg, but she'll only allow herself to be photographed from her "good side".
This is Velma. She looks perpetually confused and has a touch of what we lovingly refer to as "runt brain", meaning that all her wires are carrying current, but some of them are definitely soldered to the wrong spot on the motherboard.
This is Elphie. She's the new baby and the only one who's not named from the musical "Chicago". (Her full name is Elphaba, from "Wicked".)

Can I go home yet?

I'm now officially at the time-killing stage of my day. I've done my 2 trainings and earned my paycheck and now I'm just killing time so I don't leave so early as to look bad. So I'm browsing other blogs and checking out the user profiles of the folks who write them.

A few notes.

There's another guy in Petoskey with a blog devoted completely to juggling.

I've read more than one profile where the author lists "weight-training" or "lifting weights" as a hobby. Not surprisingly, none of these bloggers could spell worth a damn.

Females are much more likely to write about their daily lives. Guys are more likely to rant. I don't stay long on a rant-infested blog. I don't watch Survivor, Big Brother, or any of the other popular "reality" shows. Reading blogs is my own personal form of voyeurism. I enjoy getting to feel like I know the blogger a little bit. Therefore, the only blog I read that's written by a guy is actually written by the best man from my wedding.

If you don't have a decent sense of humor, don't blog. I mean, I know there are all types of blogs and the original intent of blogging was to impart and share information, not to entertain, but still, there's nothing worse than a really DRY blog.

Alright, that's all I've got for now. I'm outta here.

Laterz.

And the shut-out is officially over!

For those of you who may not know, (which is probably most of you, because i don't really talk about it that much) I'm in a bowling league. My team consists of myself, my dad, my buddy Kev, his dad, and a 2-headed bowling monster of Mark, who teaches with my dad, and Daryl, Kev's Dad's golf partner. (They bowl on alternating weeks.) We make up the Tropic Cove... Somethings. We don't actually have a team name yet. We have a sponsor, though. Tropic Cove. We could have used Joe's, my golf shop, but there's a $40 sponsorship fee and I didn't feel like forking it over. This week, we were the Tropic Cove Rabid Canarys. Last week it was the Tropic Cove Betta Bowlers. I'm proposing the Angry Ferrets for next week. Truth be known, we should be called the Tropic Cove Spastic Invalids, because you'll seldom see an uglier display of bowling acumen.

It's a good time. I love to bowl; always have. However, I don't generally broadcast my league membership. It's not that I'm not proud of my team, it's just that, well... we suck.

Seriously, we're awful. My dad hadn't bowled more than a handful of times in the past 25 years before he joined the team. Daryl bowled last night for the 1st time in 35 years. Phil's dad hadn't bowled in over 20 years. It'd been 15 years for Mark. And Kevin and I... Well, we've bowled more recently, but we still really suck. We both fall into the "please let my score be in triple-digits" category.

Last night, however, we actually won a game! Not the match, mind you. We still got our asses handed to us for the evening. But we won a game. Officially, we have now won 2 out of a possible 28 points this season. Things are definitely looking up. My new bowling shoes will be here tomorrow. I've already picked out my new bowling ball and now just need to convince someone to buy it for me.

I feel a hot streak coming on. Also, if you know Dave the techie at C.O.P., you should probably express your condolences. It's his team we beat.

Laterz

Puh-leeeeze forgive me...

Alright, I know I'm a truly shitty blogger.

It's been so long since I wrote anything that I've started receiving nasty email from my mother-in-law berating me for my lack of diligence. The thing is, I've got an excuse! Honestly, I do.

I'm a lazy bastard.

Hey, I didn't say it was a good excuse. Basically, I havent' written in quite a while because I generally (read: ALWAYS) blog when I don't really have anything better to do at work. I don't let it get in the way of doing my job, but I've always had at least a little bit of time to kill during the day, so I blog. Unfortunately, I've recently been much busier than normal at work. Hence, no blogging. But I promise I'll do better, starting today. In fact, depending on how much time I have the next few days, I may even go back and write entries for previous days when stuff happened but I didn't bother to write about it, because that's the type of diligent, hard-working blogger I intend to be from now on. (Also, I will try not to end any more sentances with prepositions.)

Today is a big day. Sarah has officially been pregnant for more than 12 weeks now, which means we are now into the 2nd trimester. Over the course of the past 3 months, I've learned something very important about myself. The biggest reason I have cared so much about things that don't directly impact me, such as national politics, is that there really hasn't been all that much going on that DID impact me. Since we found out that Sarah was pregnant, I've almost stopped listening to NPR or Air America Radio and instead spend a great deal of time reading about pregnancy and worrying about things like debt consolidation. Today I have the unenviable task of requesting a raise from my bosses. Now, they did tell me when I hired on that I could expect a raise after 90 days, but I'm still not comfortable pressing these things. So now I have heartburn. Narf.

Anyway, wish me luck.

Laterz.