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We pause now for a hilarious song by my daughter.   

Got a mom like this?

Today is my mom's birthday.  She's...I better let her tell you.  Ah, she doesn't care.  She's 68.  She went into the hospital to get her ticker checked out and it looks like it is John Cameron Swayze good.  Younger folks will have to ask their parents about JCS.  He was already old when I was little.  :)

Here's a little piece I got from Steph at My True Self.  Happy Birthday, Mom.  No, you aren't as bad as the mom in the video. 

Keep Away From the Guest Towels

This cracked me up!

Dave Barry

Keep away from the guest towels

By DAVE BARRY

Knight Ridder News Service

Sunday, July 29, 2001

I received a letter from a reader named Dick Demers, who related a shocking story:

It seems Dick and his wife had driven a long distance to visit his wife's sister. Wishing to refresh himself, Dick went into the guest bathroom, took a shower, then dried himself off.

That's the story. Pretty shocking, huh?

Dick's wife thought so. She was horrified.

"You used the GOOD TOWELS!" she said.

And he had. It's a mistake many guys make. A guy will be in a guest bathroom, dripping wet, and he sees a towel, and for some insane reason he thinks it was put there for guests to dry themselves off with.

The towels Dick were supposed to use were NOT in the bathroom; they were in the bedroom. The towel Dick used was intended solely as decoration.

Here's a similar bonehead error that guys often commit in guest bathrooms: They see soap on a soap dish, and they use it to WASH THEIR HANDS. This of course ruins the guest soap, which is defined as "soap that guests are not supposed to use." Its purpose is to match the guest towels.

In his letter to me, Dick compared a hypothetical situation involving guys. Suppose, he wrote, that a guy is working on his car, and he asks you to hand him a 9/16 wrench. You go over to some wrenches hanging on the wall, and you start to take one, and the guy yells, "NOT THOSE! THOSE ARE FOR DECORATION!"

Dick, when you put it that way, the concept of purely decorative towels DOES seem silly. But there's actually a very logical explanation for it: Women are insane.

No, I am of course just kidding. There really is a good reason. I just don't know what it is. What I do know is that the practice of providing guests with conveniences they cannot use is not limited to the bathroom. The guest bedroom is usually equipped with decorative candles that you must not burn, because that would ruin them. Also you must never throw any waste into the decorative wastebasket, which has never contained any waste. If, during your visit, you generate waste, you should hide it in your suitcase and take it home.

But the trickiest thing is the guest bed. Oh, it may have attractive pillows on it, and a comfy-looking quilt, but do NOT use these. Take the pillows -- which are called "shams" -- off the bed and replace them with the REAL pillows, which are hidden somewhere, generally in the closet, which is where you're supposed to put the quilt, which is on the bed only to match the shams and should NOT come into contact with your disgusting oily guest body.

If your hostess subscribes to Martha Stewart Living, the guest bed may be so massively fortified with decorative objects that it may be deconstructed for sleeping use only by a licensed interior designer. I'm talking about a bed that is surrounded by a dust ruffle and buried under a complex, towering arrangement of approximately 46 shams and other decorative pillows, which are on top of the quilt, which may be encased in a "duvet cover" and further accessorized by (these are real decorator names) a "soutache."

If you, as a guest, encounter such a bed, do NOT approach it. Back slowly out of the room, and sleep on the lawn.

Of course, you won't encounter these problems if you're a guest in a household run by a guy, because he won't have fancy guest bedding. In fact, he won't have a guest bed. You'll sleep on the sofa under a Batman beach towel with stains dating back to the Reagan administration.

Dick, you make a logical point about the towels. But this is not about logic; this is about etiquette, and too often we males forget the basic underlying principle of all etiquette, which is: We are scum. So I urge you to apologize to your wife's sister, and henceforth show proper respect for her good towels by not treating them as if they were towels

Happiness Is ...

• Roadtripping on Thanksgiving Day with the bride of my youth
• Finding a Starbucks open that day
• Raising the roof at the top of our lungs to the last verse of The Perfect Country and Western song by David Alan Coe.
• The soft ice at a place called Cervs in Hays, KS. 
• Seeing our old neighbors Bill and Sandy in Wa Keeney KS. 
• Knowing my wife appreciates my spontaneity in deciding 200 yards before the exit to pull off in Wa Keeney, KS
• Seeing Bill's excitement at his recent (like in still jet-lagged) trip to Zimbabwe to minister to and learn from those who are helping AIDS orphans there.
• The Starbucks in Colby, KS to have a cold afternoon drink. 
• Switching my phone at the time line. 
• Taking the two lane to Franktown with Pikes Peak floating in the sky to guide me.
• Arriving at Boston Market at 5:45 when they close at 6.
• Having a somewhat traditional Thanksgiving meal with my kids.
• Just being with my kids.
• The Chiefs beating the Broncos!!!!!!!
• Hopefully closing on our house in Littleton this Wednesday!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Meet Joe Buck?

The following is a mostly true story.

Through the darkness the lights on the stove shined, 2,5,4.  Almost 3am.  I climbed the 6 steps to the landing and made a right turn.  The wood on the remaining 9 stairs chilled my feet as I strode upward.  The flashing green light on the television lit my 7 paces along the soft carpet.  I climbed into bed.  She was awake too.  I had to be at work at 8.  I needed sleep.  Just 1 time I'd like to slumber through the night. 

An evil thought entered my psyche.  I'll be quick about it I told myself.

My left hand slowly slithered along the top of the covers.  I slid it across her torso and stretched it towards her neck.  My fingers settled on her throat. 

"Swing and a miss," I said.

"Swing and a miss," she echoed. 

Congrats on World Series victory number 10 St. Louis Cardinals.  Even though I saw too many commercials through it all.  :-)

More COFFEE for the house!

Scarfed this from Grumpy Teacher who got it from the Dilbert website.  I'm not sure it's a good plan for grieving but it cracked me up. 

The Tax Tornado

I woke early yesterday morn and yawned into the living room/dining area.  I saw CHAOS! A tax tornado had invaded my home. 

There were receipts and statements and 1099s strewn about, hanging like vines.  There were calculations and tabulations here and there and there and there. 

The table was not visible.  The computer hutch was not visible.  The floor was barely visible.  There were papers and papers and papers, wall to wall papers a new style of carpeting. 

The mileage log was hung by the chimney with care while the bank statements reclined in a dining room chair.  There were duplicates too, sitting comfortably there. 

Debits and credits, pluses and minuses.  Confusion, confusion the room did spin.  I fell to the floor and only saw black.  My eyes did open and what did I see, tacked to the ceiling was my schedule C. 

The hutch contained the guts of the matter.  W2's and 1099's, interest and charitable deductions.  Oh MTI and eMi we deem you worthy of blessing the world.  We humbly support our local church.  In Lupus we remember my wife's grandfather.  And Desert Hope may you bring Living Water to a parched and sexually broken world.

Oh Divine Holy Lord we thank thee for hope.  The Hope Tax Credit allows us humble servant parents of two college children to brrrrr-eathe in your Holy Spirit casting the demons of foreclosure away for another trip around the sun. 

DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING.  I KNOW RIGHT WHERE EVERYTHING IS.  AND YES MY FILING SYSTEM IS SOMEWHAT DIFFERENT FROM YOURS.

Shout it to the east.  Shout it to the west.  Shout it to the north.  Shout it to the south.  Shout it from the depths of your lungs bouncing off the roof of your mouth.  Arefundiscomingarefundiscomingarefundiscoming!  A blessed echeck.  We probably should save it, but what the heck. 

Let's Party!!!!!

Mercy

My friend Mopsy is sickly funny.  Or is that sick and funny?  Is there a funnily sick?  Truth be told she's a loving mom who ventures daily where few men dare to go.  With little kids all of ones pretentiousness seems to fly out the window and back onto the sleeve in an instant.  Check out her post (and one of my favorites) about Mercy and da di-rah-REEEE-rah! 

Happy Birthday To Me

The borderline personality birthday party.  Won't you please come to my party--Who the hell invited you. 

I don't have much to say today.  Send money.  PayPal button is in the left column.  It hasn't been touched yet.  I still haven't decided whether we should be an LLC or non-profit so we are still sole proprietor.  Anybody have any pro's and con's on such a thing?

I'm 44.  I like the way that looks.  44.  Wasn't that Hank Aaron's number?  That's 753 home runs.  Tom House caught his 714th in the bullpen.  I lived in Richmond, VA when I was little and saw Tom House pitch AAA.  Ralph Garr played there as well as Dusty Baker.  Dusty Baker manages the Cubs.  How come they have managers in baseball instead of head coaches?  If they're managers why do they wear uniforms?  Shouldn't they be dressed more like Bear Bryant in a coat and tie and hat?  Maybe it's because sunflower seeds and tobacco juice don't look good on a suit.  My favorite tobacco juice scene in cinema?  Glad you asked.  Outlaw Josie Wales.  A 'snake oil' type salesmen selling Clint Eastwood some miracle juice while they ferry across the river.  Says it will do everything. Clint hawks some brown tobacco juice on the man's white suit and snarls, "How is it on stains?" 

44.  That's halfway to 88.  My wife says I'll be dead at 61.  Her grandpa died at 61.  Her dad died at 61.  So even though they weren't blood related my wife jokes that's when I'll kick the bucket too.  That gives me 17 years.  16 years if you give me a year to be sick.  And I'm wasting precious minutes on this lame excuse for a blog post?! 

I guess this post is off topic.  Well, duh?

It's good to take a short break from infidelity recovery.  Occasionally it gets a little heavy ministering from the most painful day of your life but that does seem to be where the most honest ministry is birthed.  I feel much lighter having typed that.

My wife is sleeping and doesn't know what I'm doing.  Can't you tell?  There's a framed painting or picture under the couch for my birthday.  It's right at eye level when you turn the corner on the stairs.  She's not the best hider of presents sometimes.  I still haven't looked at it but that is getting tougher now that you mentioned it.  She got me a book too.  That one is either Walker Percy, Anne LaMott, or Sue Monk Kidd.  This post would be a little like Anne LaMott if I put more F-words in it.  I am hoping for a Walker Percy book, but I am guessing it is Sue Monk Kidd so it's probably Plan B by LaMott.  Or would that make it Plan C in this paragraph? 

I'm having to think of what to type next so I believe that is a good sign to bring this to an end.  My wife says she'll fix me whatever I want for breakfast this morning.  Biscuits and gravy sounds good, but she's sleeping so I am going to head to Lamar's Donuts and get some of those.  Can you say sugar buzz?  Right next door is Peaberry Coffee.  Sooo much less bitter tasting than Starbucks.  I mean smooooooth.  I usually get the dark and intense flavor.  My dad will be here tomorrow and we'll play golf which means we'll smoke cigars.  Donuts, coffee, cigars.  61 may be a bit optimistic. 

http://marriages.typepad.com/PDF/RTGconfbrochure.pdf

Excerpt from "Laundry Law of Mama"

I think this must have been buried deep in some lost pages from Leviticus.  Cindy at Quotidian Light 'found' it buried somewhere near the Arkansas/Missouri border.  Mothers and Fathers enjoy Excerpt from "Laundry Law of Mama"