How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Solve Differential Equations

They lost me at "derivative."

Office Pranks

I'm kind of a punk at work. Every time my coworker is out of the office, I have a little too much fun decorating her cubicle.

Most recently, she turned 32, and she keeps complaining about how old she is getting.

So, being the sympathetic and understanding friend that I am, I made a paper chain of 396 links, strung it around her cubicle and wrote her the following note:


See that?

I'm practically bursting with empathy.

Going to the dogs

Yesterday, Christie over at Passion for Things that Don't Matter wrote a chilling post about the dangers of leaving your eyes open while in traffic on the freeway.

(Tangent)
It made me want to seriously consider hiring a chauffeur with the money that normally goes to my mortgage, even if that means living out of a cardboard box.
(End Tangent)

It reminded me of a few memories I've been repressing on the same topic.

On three separate occasions, I have been an eye witness to three different human beings using trees as their own personal toilet.

(Thank goodness I only saw them from behind, and it was "Number 1" and not "Number 2.")

(Tangent)
Okay, mock me all you want ...

"Tee Hee, Nathan still uses the potty language he learned when he was 4!"

"I wonder if he blushed in his high school health class when the anatomy section came up and the teacher used the "P" word and the "V" word."

... you're hilarious. You should take your show on the road.

Far, far away from here.
(End Tangent)

Maybe it's just my neighborhood where some fences and walls are artfully decorated with graffiti, but I thought we had achieved a higher standard of living than dogs.


I didn't realize that humans were still concerned with marking their territory (although, I am now struck by the irony of mentioning graffiti in this post and the parallels one can draw).

My snow shoveling solution

It is snowing again today.

I can't begin to describe how depressing it is to see all those little white flakes. If I didn't have a driveway and a sidewalk to shovel, I might actually enjoy the view.

As it is, I'm desperately trying to learn to teleport, so I can move my house, my family and my job to a climate that won't send me into a downward spiral of eating brownies, swearing under my breath and casting frustrated glances out the window.

But, I think I've figured out how to shovel snow and still avoid feeling like I want to gouge my eyes out.

The answer?

A flamethrower.


This could change my whole philosophy about living in a cold climate.

Now I know what is going to be at the top of my list for Santa this year.

Causing Trouble

Yesterday, I got a phone call from my wife.

She was enjoying a peaceful morning at home when she realized the house was a little too quiet. Immediately, she went in search of our daughter (who inherited her father's genes and could easily start her own Talkaholics Anonymous blog).

As a result, silence in our house could mean several things.

1. My daughter is shredding something of value.
2. My daughter is applying lotion or some other liquid all over the place, requiring several hours of clean up.
3. My daughter is using a permanent marker to decorate something that will also require several hours of clean up.
4. My daughter is taking all of her toys and relocating them to various nooks and crannies around the house.

(Notice that not one of the options includes her peacefully falling asleep on her bed or calmly sitting and watching a movie. These do not exist.)

As my wife started to look, she called my daughter's name and asked, "Are you causing any trouble?"

My daughter immediately responded, "Yes."

It was then, that my wife found her standing in our bathroom sink with a tube of lipstick. She had already coated her entire face and arms and was at that moment working on a fresh coat for the mirror.

Based on her complete willingness to admit guilt, there are (as I see it) two possibilities:

1. My daughter doesn't understand that we actually have rules in our house that she needs to follow.
2. My daughter is blatantly honest and doesn't care about the consequences of her actions.

The Manicure Gone Wrong

Over the weekend, my daughter wanted to paint her nails with the Sleeping Beauty nail polish she got at a friend's party.

My wife put down a little plastic to help protect the furniture and let her have at it.

At first, she did a pretty good job staying on the nails, but as time went on, she progressed up the fingers and even started to decorate her arms and chest.

Here's a shot of the damage before it got out of control.

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Make a Medieval Appetizer (Pottage) with Leftover Rice

Just in case anyone is having a Crusades party this month.

Why the military will never ask me to be a tactical expert

I have a swag (definition #3) chess board on my desk at work.


For the last few weeks, a coworker and I have been playing an EXTREMELY drawn out version of the game. Our average lag time between moves was a day and a half.

Technically, I know how the pieces move, but I lack any ability to look ahead to future moves. I just blunder around the board, knocking over pawns and getting my good pieces killed.

This game was no exception. He made me feel pretty good about myself when I took his queen, but then he used one knight (one pesky little knight) to knock out my entire army.

I was left with my king, a few pawns and one knight. Needless to say, the game was over pretty quickly after that.

So, if any 5 year olds want to make me feel better about myself by challenging me to a game, I'm up for it.

Just be sure to let me win ... but don't tell me that you did.

Toothbrush Modesty Fail

A few months ago, my wife and I discovered something a little disconcerting about our daughter's toothbrush.

Evidently, the quality control guy didn't realize the indecent exposure he was creating with this particular model.

I added it to Fail Blog yesterday, and I guess people need to vote for it in order for it to get anywhere on the site. So, if you have nothing better to do, click on this link to see the Toothbrush Modesty Fail and give it a 5 (it's the row of cheeseburgers near the top).

Or you can click here or here ...

or even here.

My Mom's Obsession

My mom loves her children. I think it is also safe to say she loves her grandchildren as well.

She also loves pictures.

(Tangent)
It all stems from when she and my dad were first married. In their apartment, they weren't allowed to hang pictures on the walls, and my mom continually mentions this as one of the dark moments in her life. She continually mentions the "battleship gray" walls and how stifling it was that she couldn't brighten up her home.
(End Tangent)

The result?


It looks like a a picture frame store threw up all over a couple of her hallways.

My mom decided that she wanted to be able to see her family as much as possible, so she filled the walls with frames.

Oddly enough, as much as I tease her for all the sensory overload, whenever I go to visit, I find myself in this hallway looking at all the pictures over and over again.

Someday, I might just need a hallway like this of my own.

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Crochet a Yip Yip Alien

Talk about your specialized interests. I'm dying to know how many page views this How-To has.

Three, maybe four tops?

Merry Happy

I don't know what it is about this song by Kate Nash, but I've really been enjoying it (particularly the chorus).

Maybe I'm reading into this too much ...

My daughter usually calls me Daddy, and sometimes she reverts to the slightly less cute version, Dad.

However, every once in a while, she refuses to say either and calls me Nathan.

You know those kids who purposefully shred sections of their clothes, pierce every available part of skin, paint their fingernails black, wear black lipstick and refuse to come home at curfew?



Those kids call their parents by their first names.

But I suppose it's a little early to start searching my two year old for a switchblade.

I'd be the first one booted on Dancing with the Stars

Growing up, there seemed to be a school or church dance every weekend. In truth, there was probably one of each per year, but those few dances were enough to scar me into feeling like high school was my own personal dancing version of Groundhog Day.

*shudder*

Aside from feeling like a complete moron every time I had to move to a rhythm, I was already lurpy enough to stand out in any crowd.

To this day, whenever I hear dance music, each of the vertebrae in my back temporarily fuse together. It's like having a broomstick for a spine. You can imagine the cool moves I can do when that happens.

(Tangent)
Does anyone want to help me name this newly discovered medical condition?

There might just be a plate of cookies in it for you.
(End Tangent)

Thankfully, now I know I'm not alone. Here is another Matt Koval video to illustrate.

Sunday: Day of rest?

***Disclaimer: This is a Mormon-themed post. If anything sounds unfamiliar, just smile and nod.***

If I remember correctly from my Primary class, Sunday is supposed to be a day of rest.

Will someone tell that to all the supplemental meetings I have?

Yesterday, I was literally running from place to place starting at 7:30 a.m., and it didn't stop until 3:30 p.m.

(Now is the part when you all say you're going to call the Wha-mbulance for me or ask me if I want some cheese with that whine.)

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Clean Pennies

Just in case you have nothing better to do.

My Creative Brothers

As I have mentioned previously, my brothers found some pretty creative ways to tease me.

Had they used that energy to accomplish something productive, we might have a colony on the moon by now, be driving hover cars or have a cure for cancer.

Instead, I just have a bunch of emotional scars (which I overly dramatize every chance I get).

One of the classics was when they had a puzzle for me. They told me to repeat the following phrase over and over again, going faster and faster.

"O-vat ah-jier kiam."

Since I have a PhD in being gullible, I decided this would be fun.

I'll let you figure out what I ended up calling myself.

Go ahead, I'll wait.

...

Another time, they decided to show me this cool new game. They took a piece of paper, a quarter and a felt marker and traced an outline of the quarter on the paper. Then they told me I had to roll the quarter's edge all the way down my face, from the center of my forehead, down to the middle of my chin. Then while holding it against my chin, I had to try to drop the quarter so it would fit within the circle on the paper.

I'll let you guess how long it took me to get the resulting marker line off my face.

Someone cool noticed me

I still remember high school. I was a nerd, and happily bucked the popularity system. However, that didn't mean I was completely immune to being shunned.

It isn't fun for anyone to feel isolated. Fortunately, I had a great group of friends, so I hardly ever noticed.

But it still felt good when one of the "cool" kids was nice to me for once.

Well, I just had the biggest flashback.

This popular blogger actually recommended people click over to this page. Had I known, I would have cleaned up a little. Maybe put a funny post up front and center. Instead, I had some lame "How To" article up about making elephant toothpaste for about 4 days.

Brilliant.

At the risk of losing everyone who ever glances at my blog (i.e. my mom and my wife and maybe my sister), I'm going to recommend you check out Carrot Jello in all her glory.

She has a witty ramble that cracks me up every time. She's on my sidebar, but you can also go here or here or even here (just in case one link wasn't good enough).

You won't be sorry.

Just don't forget who sent you.

You can never be too prepared ...

My mom has a 50 lbs. purse, and it is the perfect object lesson for one of her more intriguing qualities.

She has this driving need to be prepared for any eventuality. Does anyone remember Michelle Pfeiffer in that movie with George Clooney?

The main thing I remember about that movie was her purse. It was like the modern version of the carpet bag in Mary Poppins. She had everything in that thing. And better yet, she could still find all of it.

Well, my mom is the same way. And not just with her purse.

When I was in high school, she saw a program about car accidents in lakes and rivers. She learned all about the difficulties in getting out of a car when it is filling up with water.

And because her super power is being prepared, she wanted all of us to be ready, just in case we found ourselves in the same situation.

... but we lived in a desert.

(Tangent)
I grew up in Southern California, and the only river nearby was the L.A. River. If you've ever seen one of the chase scenes from the Terminator or the Italian Job, that huge concrete causeway with the little trickle of water down the center is the L.A. River.



And since there is about a mile of sand for the car to get stuck in between the road and the ocean, we were probably pretty safe there too.
(End Tangent)

But that didn't stop my mom. She bought a tool made to shatter windshields for each of our cars and Velcro-ed each of them to the driver's side visor.

She also made sure we knew how to use them. While I've never driven into a lake, I have forgotten any number of things throughout my childhood that would have been a problem had it not been for her 50 lbs. purse.

I love her for being prepared.

Potty Training

The day has arrived.

We've already had a couple accidents.

Pray for a miracle.