Thrown for a Loop

Okay, I think I'm back. I've been stumbling through last week trying to pretend I didn't have a raging fever and my nose hadn't turned into a faucet with a significant leak.

(Tangent)
Can I just tell you ... I have a new extreme on the continuum of runny noses. Last week, mine kept dripping, but it wasn't the typical gooey nose. This one kept dripping water. Literally, it was like water, and it grossed me out.
(End Tangent)

I finally passed out one night after work and didn't wake up until 10:30 p.m. Then, I fell back asleep at 11:30 p.m. and was out cold until morning. That oblivion was pure heaven.

In other news, I feel like I'm losing my edge. I'm trying desperately to be funny and clever, and then I read the stuff I put down on here, and I am amazed how boring it is. If I was a color, I'd probably be beige (not that there is anything wrong with beige ... it's just dull).

So, I may need a little break to regroup. I'll try to get a little more inspired without going completely dark, but for those 3 readers who doggedly keep coming back for more (read: masochists), please cut me some slack if you don't see anything new for a little bit.

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Find Water in the Desert

Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Have any of you seen this movie? Growing up, it was part of my family's movie collection.


Dirty Rotten Scoundrels

Last night, my wife and I saw the play at the Hale Center Theater Orem. When we got there, we found out it was a musical, and I have to admit I was a little skeptical about how well it would translate over from the movie.

I was pleasantly surprised. I don't know if it was the low expectations or the fact that we never get out anymore, but my wife and I REALLY enjoyed ourselves.

All the actors played their parts well, but oddly enough there was one who stole the show for us, and she wasn't even the lead. Her name is Kelly Hennessey, and she was so much fun to watch. I don't have a clue who she is, but we laughed all the way home talking about the part she played.

(And I have no arrangement with the theater for putting this on my blog either.)

So, if you are bored and live in the Utah Valley, the play runs through April 24.

This STILL gets stuck in my head

Someday, I hope to meet the person who created this commercial. It has been ingrained so deeply into my memory, that I still get it stuck in my head. But I'm a little conflicted about what will happen when we actually meet. On the one hand, I want to shake the hand of the man or woman with the skill to get so completely inside my head and the heads of many other kids. On the other, I want to zap him or her with a taser for giving me my own personal version of "This is the song that never ends ..."



Whenever my cat (who acts like I have a pound of cat treats in my pocket) follows me around the house, this song goes through my head.

It has gotten so bad that I've started calling him "Buddy."

Priceless

Christie just wrote a great post about her grandma and a priceless letter she received from the woman who hasn't been able to write a letter for years.

It got me thinking about a priceless gift I received from one of my wife's students.

My wife used to teach special education at an elementary school, and I would occasionally visit her class. Those kids were amazing, and I'm honored to know them.

One night my wife presented me with a rather crudely-cut rectangle of construction paper. She said it was from one of the boys in her class and that he asked her to give it to me.

This particular boy has never been able to cut in a straight line. His cerebral palsy made it impossible. And yet, in my hands was proof that he did.

Yes, there were mistake cuts and other flaws, but his lines were straight.

He has probably forgotten all about the gift, and he may not even remember me anymore, but his little rectangle of construction paper is still hanging on my cubicle wall, and I will never forget him.

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Stabilize Whipped Cream

When I first read this title, I wondered if the whipped cream was suicidal or something.

That shows you how often I cook.

Kid Humor

Do you remember all those jokes people told on your elementary school playground? Looking back, most of them would have been right at home in one of those lame knock-knock joke books ... the ones where you force a laugh because your kid reading all of them is practically rolling around on the floor because they are the best things he/she has ever heard.

However, I still laugh at the little "inside" joke my friends and I liked to tell. It was hilarious to watch the confusion on their faces when we'd yell:

"Hey! Your epidermis is showing!"

They'd look all panicked and wonder what we were talking about.

Typing this all out, I'm now starting to wonder if I should be less absorbed in how funny it was and more concerned about how many psyches I damaged with my antics.

Do you have any favorite jokes you remember from your grade school days?

Donut Addiction

Why is it so exciting to eat foods that aren't good for you.

My brain is automatically wired to bypass my reasoning center and go straight to the "Yes" button when confronted with desserts.

A couple weeks ago, my coworker asked if I wanted to go get a donut. Without missing a beat, I jumped out of my chair to go.



Somewhere deep in the back of my head, the logical part of me said, "Nathan, you think you have a cavity. Maybe you should lay off the donuts, at least until you get it fixed."

But don't worry. I smothered that part of me in a chocolate bar daydream, and felt utter contentment ... until I went to the dentist's office and found out I really did have a cavity.

Childhood Fallacies

When I was little, my elementary school playground was rife with all kinds of rumors and secret facts.

I don't know how these all started, but they were immediately accepted as infallible truths.

One of them is still ingrained so deeply that to this day I still have to remind myself that it's a complete lie.

We were all told that when we hold out one of our hands, we need to pay attention to how much it shakes. The more it shakes, the more girls we've kissed. Since I had only ever kissed my mom, I was pretty confident I wouldn't have a problem.

So, one by one, we each held up our hand for inspection by the group.

To my horror, when I held up my own hand, it looked like my fingers were desperately trying to play Flight of the Bumblebee.

Immediately, everyone started laughing at how many girls I must have gotten to pucker up. This was back when girls had cooties, so the idea of kissing was particularly disturbing.

I realized that I wasn't immune after all because I kissed my mom goodbye each morning before school. So, I had a huge choice ahead of me. Should I deny my mom a kiss on the cheek, or should I suck it up and deal with permanently shaky hands for the rest of my life?

Knowing that my mom would feel bad if I didn't give her a kiss, I made the charitable decision (one of only a small number in my largely selfish life) and kept laying one on my mom's cheek each morning.

I don't think my mom ever found out what that cost me on the playground.

Round 3

It's official. My wife and daughter are sick once again. This makes it the third time for both of them since January. I'm holding steady at two illnesses for the year, but my prospects aren't looking good.

Which makes me think ...

What if I had made a New Year's resolution to get sick at least once a month this year?

Hindsight is always 20/20 I guess.

How To Article of the Week

This week: 3 Ways to Cook in Your Fireplace

Someone get me a banjo. While you're at it, bring me a hitchin' post for my front yard.

Happy Birthday to Me

I recently had a birthday.

I'm almost 30 now, and I finally feel like an adult. I'm probably one of the few people out there who feels a little excited about turning the big 3-0 because it will mean extra double takes for anyone who finds out my age.

For those of you who don't know me in person, I look like I'm 12 years old (except for all my gray hair), and telemarketers always think I'm a woman.

But back to my birthday. My wife asked me what I want to do, and I told her I just wanted to sit. We are usually running around like crazy people every day of the week, so sitting is rare.

And do you know how good it felt?

It changed my life.

I'm sensing an encore in the near future.

If you want a stomach cramp ...

... go here. Carolina shares her latest self diagnosis, and I think I have a few newly defined ab muscles as a result.

And I have a story of my own, but you have to read hers first.

Don't worry ... I'll wait.



...



Believe me, it's worth clicking over, even if you're lazy like me.



...



When I was 6 years old, I was digging through our piles of videos looking for something new to watch.

(Tangent)
In order to fully appreciate this, you have to know that my mom must have had a secret desire to start a video rental business out of her basement. We had wall-to-wall shelves full of VHS tapes, many of which had multiple movies recorded from TV.
(End Tangent)

Finally, as I neared the end of my meticulous search, I struck gold. One of my mom's homemade labels, said, "White Christmas with Bing Crosby."

Instead, I read, "White Christmas with Bill Cosby."

I watched the entire movie waiting for a funny black guy to come on screen and start cracking jokes. Finally, I ejected the movie to re-read the label and realized what an idiot I'd been.

I'm sure White Christmas is a great movie, but when you're expecting the comedic stylings of a funky sweater wearing, Jell-O evangelizing jokester, it leaves much to be desired.

Incidentally, this was also my introduction to Bing Crosby.

I'll never catch up to my wife

I like to think I'm a pretty sensitive guy who is in tune with my wife and does things other husbands wouldn't.

I'm a little delusional that way.

One of the few times my carefully crafted hallucination gets smashed with the wrecking ball of reality is when my wife gives me a gift.

I just recently had a birthday, and she told me a few days beforehand that I was banned from the garage while she worked on my gift.

I immediately had visions of her assembling bookshelves, which we could use, but aren't all that cool. Instead, when my day finally came, she opened the door to reveal the garage, completely organized.

COMPLETELY. ORGANIZED.

I suppose to get the full impact of this, you should know that we still had boxes in there from when we moved in four years ago.

I was speechless (which, when you look at my blog title and subhead, should cause you to pray for repentance because the world is probably about to end).

Now, days later, I'm still hovering around on a cloud of contentment. Not even a Monday at work can deter me from how happy I feel.

I'd love to think I'll be able to make up for it when my wife has her birthday, but I'm a pragmatist. She will continue to wow me with her gifts and expressions of love, and I will stumble along trying not to let her out distance me too much.

In case you're curious, here are some pictures (FYI: until a few days ago, we didn't have a peg board for my tools).

How To Article of the Week

This week: How to Gleek

Gross!

(I remember people doing this when I was little. I just didn't know it was still something people try to do on purpose.)

The Yappy/Happy Correlation

A friend of mine just showed me an article about a study of happy vs. unhappy people. Here's the title and lead paragraph:

Happy people have the gift of gab

Happy people tend to talk more than unhappy people, and when they do, it tends to be less small talk and more substance, a new study finds.

So, here's my question. What about people like me who can't shut up (see blog subhead and profile) but never manage to get passed all the gibberish to actually have a substantive conversation?

Are we just loopy on too much oxygen?

(Maybe I don't want you to answer that ...)

Better than the Honda cog commercial

I saw this on Word to Your Mother. It's better than the Honda cog commercial.



Wouldn't you love to be one of the people working on this project? I'd feel like a kid with my piles of Legos all over again.

Tea Parties and Donkey Tails

A few weeks ago, my daughter got to go to a princess tea party.

Put the word princess in front of any phrase, and my daughter will run around the house for at least 30 minutes screaming in excitement.

Princess weeding ...

Princess room cleaning ...

Even ... Princess nap.

During the party, they played "Pin the Tail on the Donkey." My daughter was #5, and all I can say is that she must take after her father.



She even peeked out from under her blindfold. Obviously, she isn't entirely clear on the point of the game.

The new narrator for my life

I saw this on Just Pudge.

This is the girl I need to hire to narrate all the slideshows from my future family vacations.

If I did, I think the people forced to watch them would actually pay attention.

Smacked with the Humble Stick (and the Ugly Stick for that matter)

While my wife would valiantly argue against me, I feel like I've had my fair share of beatings from the Ugly Stick.

However, that is not the subject of this post.

I here today to talk about its lesser-known cousin, the Humble Stick.

This is the stick that sneaks up on you when you're getting to comfortable in your own abilities, when you start getting feelings of superiority or when you start thinking the world owes you for being such an awesome human being.

Needless to say, this stick and I have a standing appointment every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday at 4 p.m. MST.

So, as my mom would say, "What does this have to do with the price of eggs?"

Ah, yes. The point.

I have one.

Last week, I was getting ready to go to work, when my daughter and I had the following discussion:

Daughter: (Batting her enormous eyelashes at me) "What are you doing, daddy?"

Me: "I'm getting ready to go to work."

Daughter: "I want to go to work too."

Me: (Trying not to get too excited that my daughter is finally loosening the choke hold she has on her obsession with her mother) "I would love to take you to work, but I can't."

At this point, she turned to my wife and said, "I want to go to work with Daddy."

So, my wife (the peacemaker in our home) calmly started to explain that because they had to go to the store today, that maybe they could make a stop at my work.

But, she only got out the part about the store before my daughter squealed and started jumping up and down, yelling "Yea! Yea! The store!"

I should have known that my daughter just wanted to get out of the house. She's already a brilliant manipulator (especially for a 2-year-old) because she was willing to exploit her relationship with me to get her what she wanted.

I'm a little nervous about her teenage years at this point. I'm betting she'll have most of the boys at her school wrapped around her pinky.