Breathing Room

Well, I finished my last article at about two thirty in the morning. It would have been done by dinner time, but the Boss and I decided that we had to have some fun or we'd go Kazoo. The Boss's sister and her family are in town from New York, so we spent a few hours playing Mexican Train dominoes. I got destroyed; I never won a single round. Uncle Chris whooped all our butts.

Peff and Beckett played Mario Party on the Wii for a while, and I once again forgot to ask Beckett the secret of his NCAA prognostication prowess. If nothing else, I fully intend on giving him a serious case of knuckle-nuggies to see if I can't get some of his elfish magic to rub off.

The Boss's sister who lives in California is also in town this week, marking the first time in about three years that all the sisters are in the same place at the same time. We have scheduled a photographer to come take a family portrait on Saturday night as work schedules, arrival and departure times, and other activities mean that we'll all be together for about three hours on Saturday night. Probably a good idea to have a camera there for that one, huh?

The Boss is still loving her new employment and the feelings are mutual. She was quite flattered (and equally uninterested) when she was told by a contact from the clown's place that several of the other local owners had inquired as to her interest in returning to the clown's services under their franchises. One inquiry was regarding her interest in a promotion to a multi-store supervisory role.

I suppose that if the dump truck full of money they backed up to the door was large enough, she might at least give it some consideration, but she's definitely moved on. The work at Village Inn is so much more laid back and so much more suited to her personality that it would take some heavy duty pay increases and probably some lawyers writing up contractual stipulations (such as no phone calls between the hours of 8 and 8, if you please) for her to even give it more than a thought.

It is flattering, though. At least someone in that company appreciated her talents.

Anyway, the big girls are off at cooking camp. The Boss's mom found it and it was a cheap and fun form of summer-get-out-of-the-house entertainment. They go in the morning and are home by lunch time. Yesterday they made pizza, including crust from scratch, guacamole, salsa and homemade ice cream in a bag. They poured the homemade mix into a small Ziploc, and then put that into a gallon Ziploc full of ice chunks and rock salt and then told them to shake the heck out of it. Apparently it works pretty well.

Moe spent the better part of three hours delivering the play by play, including details about each recipe, which she recited from memory. Sometimes that kid scares me. For Haggis, it marks the third straight week she has been at one camp or another. Two weeks ago it was Oakcrest, a camp for LDS girls from all over everywhere. Last week was our local ward's young women's camp and now she's spending her days at cooking camp (even though that one isn't a sleep over camp). She came home from girls camp last week as filthy as a sinner in church. I didn't know girls could get that dirty.

When I was a kid, I once went to Yellowstone with the scouts. We called one of the younger kids "Baskin-Orson" because dude had twenty one flavors staining his shirt by the end of every day. Haggis might not have hit twenty one, but she still managed to get as grimy as I thought any girl could. That child plays hard, and no mater what I think about her attitude when it comes to helping around the house, she puts everything she has into having fun. I think this month has been good for her self esteem. She seems happier than she has been, and she has friends all over every where. Now if I could only keep her off of facebook.....

Well, better go. Squizzle has decided that an empty milk jug makes the perfect club and I get the impression that he's going on a Zoe hunt....

Write, Write, Write...Fight, Fight, Fight

Sorry about a small delay in posting again. Judging from my hit counter, only about four of you noticed anyway. It's all my fault. I was really good about hitting this every day until my eyes came back. Then I started to see how much I had to do and I got lazy about my writing.

Then this week, my part time work got suddenly nice and busy. With the end of the month approaching, they started to have some difficulty with other writers not having the time to deal with their workloads, so I got the spill-over. It was great, but I got a little brain-fried. Can you believe someone is paying me three to five cents a word for the same stuff that I used to put out just for grades? And the same stuff I dish out here for free?

I cranked out a about a dozen 350 word snaps for a sports site and a mental health blog, so it was the kind of stuff that is right up my alley. Sports and nut jobs. I might as well have just posted a link to this blog....

I suppose that it is due to the down number of visitors, but no one has yet commented on the new look of the blog. I was giddy when I saw the flames template. Now I can watch my blog, like my life, go up in smoke and flames. If you are not a fan, bear with me, I'll get bored sooner rather than later and change it.

Again.

Couple of funny things. We used one of the last of my freebie redbox coupons last night on Percy Jackson. The books were great, and the movie was good, it was just nothing like the book. It will be interesting to see how they resolve some of the plot conflicts that the movie has with the books because as it stands now, there are some major differences. Anyway, right at the start of the movie, Zeus accuses Poseidon of having his (Poseidon's) son, Percy, steal his (Zeus's) lightning bolt. The two of them are standing toe to toe and glaring at one another as thunderclaps are menacing the cloudy sky. Then Peff stood up from where he was sitting on the floor and starts jumping up and down shouting "Fight!Fight!Fight!...Fight!Fight!Fight!"

Classic. I'm pretty sure that it is a Manly Code obligation that if you see a fight about to happen, you should gather any and all other males around the combatants while chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" Peff clearly has this in his blood.

As the Boss says, "He's a boy."

And speaking of boys, Squizzle has been a busy little chipmunk of late. He says about ten different words, from "Dog-Dog" which can mean either hot dog, or Zoe, depending on who or what happens to be around at the time (right now, Zoe is. We are watching her until Thursday) to his current favorite "Num-Num" which stands in for anything he wants to stuff in his cry-hole. He is also fond of "Ball" which is an actual ball, an onion, orange, apple, or anything else remotely globe shaped that he can get his hands on. He has also discovered how to open the dishwasher AND the freezer which brings up a whole new set of fun and amusement.

And here I was thinking that when the kids start school this Fall and take Peff with them to kindergarten, I might get some quiet time to get some work done.

Ha.

Ha ha.

Ha ha ha.

Plop...Plop

(These are the sounds of my mother and aunt collectively laughing their heads off)

Well, enough for now, it's close to the end of the month deadline and I'm thinking I might get a little more work thrown my way.

Enjoy!

The Problem of Pain

Spent most of yesterday at the employment center learning all the new tricks for resume writing. Did you know that it is now accepted practice to not list references on a resume? The theory is that if an employer wants them, they'll ask. Who'd a thunk it?

They told us that you basically get twenty to thirty words to grab the attention of an employer and if they aren't blown away...your chances are. I also learned that for the most part the old hard copy, hand-it-to-the-receptionist resume is pretty much dead. They all want electronic resumes they can stuff into a data base from LDSjobs or workforce services or Monster or whoever, and then they pull out likely candidates based on keywords that they are looking for. Words like "Self-motivated", "Team player" and "Detail oriented".

This meant that I had to revise my entire resume and remove all my best keywords like "Fat, lazy, bum" and "wife welfare".

We were also told that for every twenty resumes you submit you'll get maybe one interview, and most people need three interviews before getting hired. Toss in the fact that you are now encouraged to write "job specific" resumes for every company you apply at and that means that I can count on writing an additional hundred resumes before finding a steady job. Seems like you ought to get a six figure salary just to cover the search efforts.

Maybe I should just grab a job at some fast food hole other than the Clown's place. Of course even they now want kindergarten transcripts, blood samples, a credit report and a permission slip from your mother. What a freaking pain!

Speaking of pain, I am surrounded by it. About a month ago, my dad started limping a bit. It got worse and worse until about two weeks ago when he could hardly stand up. Then (and only then) he acquiesced to my mother's demands and went to see a doctor. I got a text from my brother T (who is still living at home) who told me that dad had blown his knee apart and would require surgery.

***Editor's note
I should get a copy of the MRI report and post it on here. It's like a medical encyclopedia of knee problems. Partially torn MCL, displaced ligaments, sprained ligaments, bruised, torn and displaced cartilage, torn meniscus, edema...the whole thing runs for about two pages. Completely brutal.
****

I told T that I was undecided on what surprised me less, that Dad had walked around on that chewed up piece of hamburger for over a month, or that he couldn't tell the doctor when or how he tore it up in the first place. Frankly the ONLY thing that surprised me was that Dad went to a doctor at all. "Chuck Norris should fear our Dad", I sent to T via text messaging.

Dad's older brother was in town from Virginia and happened to be sitting next to T when my text arrived. He made T text me back to say that no one was a real man until they survived a fall from a two story roof (Which my Uncle did about a year ago at the spring-chicken age of seventy).

Chuck Norris, hell. Pain should fear my family. Or as T put it, "Pain should be bringing us the finest wines and cheeses and calling us 'Sir'!"

Job hunting, blasted out craters for knees, falling off of rooftops...none of it holds a candle to my grandmother, the sainted and revered Matriarch of our clan. 90 years young and as tough as she is sweet. Two days ago, she was taking out her trash when she fell. Fortunately the neighbor was outside and saw it happen. He ran over and made sure she was OK, helped her up and escorted her into the house. Grandma insisted she was fine, and the neighbor came back to check up on her later in the afternoon. Grandam said she was tip top and went to bed. When she woke up yesterday morning, she fell again getting out of bed. When she couldn't get up she punched her "I've fallen and I can't get up" button (Greatest invention in the history of the world, in my opinion) and had the service call my aunt. Not an ambulance, not a doctor.

When my aunt got there, grandma said she was fine even though she couldn't stand up. Her ankle was black and blue and starting to swell. Against Grandma's objections, she was taken to the hospital where it was discovered that at some point in the last two days, she'd broken her ankle and now required surgery.

Now, I'm thinking that if you're going to break a bone at the age of ninety, then the ankle is a solid option. Beats heck out of a busted hip, which is pretty much a deal breaker, if you know what I mean.

Grandma didn't even want to do the surgery. I suppose she figured she'd maybe tape an aspirin to it, rub some dirt on it, and limp it off. Who knew that my sweet grandmother was one of the original authors of the "Manly Manual" code?

Nails, I tell ya. Strait up, iron nails. "They're what's for dinner".

In any sense, my dad (who was supposed to be on his back with his knee elevated for the next 7 to 10 days), decided to take mom to Burley to be with grandma.

Who didn't see that one coming?

Like Dad's going to lay on a couch for seven days and not go berserk. After the surgery, I gave Mom an over-under of three days and the smart money was on the under. I think he almost made it a day and a half.

Pain?
Indeed. Go bother Chuck, would ya?

We're busy.

One Down...

Woke up this morning to find that the job bunny had left me an assignment in my email box last night. My first one. I had to write a 300-350 word article for a Canadian city's tourism blog. It was a little weird expounding the virtues of a travel destination that I have never traveled to. Then again, I suppose that I did write the occasional paper in college on books that I hadn't actually read, so it isn't THAT much of a stretch.

***Editor's Note
There is a reason that I got a Bachelor of Science in English as opposed to a Bachelor of Arts in English.
Officially it was because I couldn't clep my Mandarin. Rather than add another three semesters to my graduation date, my advisor just switched me to a B.S. instead which required no language credits.
Unofficially it is because a BS degree seemed so much more appropriate for me; personally. What I mean is...am I, or am I not the Dark Prince of Bull Shhh...tuff?
***

Anyway, I'm not yet familiar with the rules and regulations regarding what I write for them and what I can and cannot copy or link to; so for now we'll say that I wrote a lovely little piece on the fishing in a small, local lake and that pending editorial review and client acceptance, I'm now ten dollars and twenty three cents richer than I was when I woke up.

Woo Freaking Hoo! Save me a spot at the high roller table, boys; the dice are a' calling my name!!

Yeah. Or not. Ten bucks for an hours worth of writing isn't a bad deal,really, and I think that once I get used to the system and the style guides, I'll crank them out quicker still.

It ain't much but its a start.

I spent yesterday at LDS employment looking for a full time gig. Not looking so hot. I thought it was rough when doctors said "Wow."

Every time I explain my situation and why there's a five year gap in my employment history, people say "Gee. That's just terrible. How do you keep going? I sure wish I had some way to help, but..."

You and me both, buddy. Tomorrow I go back to rework my resume and then next week I go for two days of interview and networking skills. I've already taken classes on this stuff before I graduated, so I'm expecting it to be mostly review, but I hope that I'll get something new out of it. If nothing else, they'll keep me too busy to mope about being a shiftless bum.

Well, it's the Boss's day off today and she's just waking up after closing last night. Time to go run some errands. More tomorrow.

So Where Are They?

The Boss was up at four this morning to get to work by five. Being the loving and kind husband that I am, I rolled over and went back to sleep for her. Which was fine for about an hour or so. Then Peff woke me up.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Haggis says there are monsters under the bed."

"Well, Haggis is full of it."

"Really?"

"Really." I said, waking up a little. I have a stock in trade answer for this one that I developed when the girls were toddlers and very concerned about the presence of monsters in their rooms. It worked for them, why not Peff?

"I can personally guarantee that there are no monsters in this house, son. When your mother and I bought it, we paid extra for state of the art monster detection and repellant systems. They are imbeded in the insulation between the walls. No monster could be in this house."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. I looked and there was nothing under there."

"I'm thrilled my money was well spent, though I'm beyond curious as to why you are waking me up at the 'plumber's crack of dawn' to tell me there are no monsters in the house. Go back to sleep."

"Um, Dad?"

"WHAT?!"

"How do you turn the monster alarm off? I wanna see one."

And that, my friends... is one more example of the differences between boys and girls.

I reviewed my "Manly Manual" just now and sure as heck; Age (6), section (2), subheading (a) reads:

"Monsters are the end all-be all of cool. You gotta see one."

Guess it's time to dust off that "Gremlins" DVD, huh?

"Deagle, Deagle, Deagle...."

Good News for the Boss

Well, the Boss gets some good news today.

I found a job.

I have been contracted by an Internet company to do freelance writing/marketing. I am no longer a shiftless layabout. Well....that's not true.

Let's just say that I'm not unemployed any more. It probably won't be a whole lot of money, but it is sure as heck more than I'm making now. It's piecework that pays by the word; some of it for publication on client blogs and websites, but mostly as "keyword" writing designed to boost search engine priority for a company's website.

I think that it is a good opportunity to get some experience, develop my writing/resume skills and there are even some chances to move up the ladder into editing and the like. It would appear that my college degree will be worth more than a high school diploma after all!

Another bonus is that it can be done from home so I don't have to worry about daycare for Squizzle when Peff goes to school. Also it is the kind of work that I can do on the side of something else. I won't earn enough that the Boss should start drafting her retirement notice, but it is certainly a step up from where we currently are.

Maybe soon I'll be able to afford paying attention. In the mean time keep me in mind if you come across any other prospects.

Sinner

Backlash duly noted.

I offer my heartfelt apologies.

I didn't mean to abandon you all, but that's what happened anyway. I got some eyesight back and discovered just how many things had piled up on my need-to-do-list. I have spent the last two weeks cleaning carpets, washing walls, painting, cleaning the garage, doing yard work, sorting laundry, cooking all the meals, sending Haggis off to camp.... It's astonishing how many chores piled up.

I didn't realize how little spare time an unemployed bum can have when he hasn't been able to see for five years.

So where to start?

I guess I'll start with the Boss. She has been at her new job for a couple of weeks, and she loves it. Her supervisors think she is the "Chosen One", the customers take an immediate shine to her, and her co-workers are already in love.

Can't say I blame them.

The slower pace and attention to personal service are right in the Boss's wheelhouse. Her people skills are her strength, and if she has a minute to stop and chat she'll charm the heck out of you. After a week; her employees would have killed for her. By now they'd go to the moon without space suits if she asked them to. Again, this surprises no one who knows her. At the clown company they had begun to sacrifice service in a quest for speed (they aren't the same thing) so this return to a more pleasant atmosphere is just the balm she needed.

It's not perfect, though. She is training in Orem which is an hour long commute, so the ten hour shifts that she works actually equal twelve hours away from home. It can take a toll, but it's still fewer hours than she was spending at the clown's. Plus they don't call her when she's not at work. No more text messages every two minutes. No more three A.M. phone calls. No more late night trips to re-demonstrate something to the same people for the thirtieth time (See; even the complaints turn into positives). The commute does take it's toll, and the gasoline bill is crippling our budget. The promise is that she'll get transferred to someplace here in the valley within the next month or so, and that will solve that problem.

I do miss the free food from the clown but we have gotten to try a few of the pies and they are better than cheeseburgers by a sight. In all, I'd say even this former blind man can see we made a good decision.

On to the next...

I've been fixing up the things that were neglected by my bad eyes. Last week it was scouring the upstairs rooms. There is a bedroom, an office/toyroom, and a bathroom. The toys got sorted and reduced to a couple of totes. The bookshelves got a makeover and the desk decluttered. Windows got washed and carpets cleaned. The big girls room got a fresh coat of paint. It went from yellow to purple.

When I was blind, I had picked a color that I thought was kind of a light lavender. But when I started to roll it on, it was about ten times darker than that. It looks like the "artist formerly known as Prince" did the interior decorating. If Grimace ever goes in there and shuts his eyes, we will never find him. It is VERY purple. I am not a fan, but the girls love it and so does the Boss. I'm just glad that it's going to be hard to mark it up with crayons.

I replaced the busted ceiling fan with one of the light fixtures that Beak gave us, and by the time I touched up the paint in the hallway and cleaned the bathroom, I was into the third day of that little project.

Cleaning the garage and mowing the lawn took another day, and we also went to celebrate the fourth over at the Boss's sisters. We had a BBQ and did fireworks, much to the delight of Squizzle. He thinks that the "Snap-it" pops that you throw on the ground are the coolest thing ever. I wish that I'd had a video camera because watching him wind up to throw one hard enough to get it to pop was hilarious. He'd toss them as hard as he could and then he'd growl at them if they didn't pop. If they did pop, he'd clap and giggle and run in circles. He never was able to figure out why they didn't work on grass, though.

One day, we went with the Boss to Orem for a manager meeting, and while she worked, I drove around the backstreets of town to get a little driving practice in. I am the world's most cautious driver on my most rebellious days, but driving for the first time in five years added to the caution. It didn't help that I am neither licensed or insured, so if I had been pulled over it would have been off to jail for sure. But hey, I got to practice sometime and by doing it an hour away from home most of my pedestrian friends and family were kept relatively safe.

While I am not quite ready for driving tests, I am past ready for some employment. I have been spending the vast majority of my time looking for a job. Newspaper classifieds, LDS employment, Utah department of workforce services, you name it, I've searched it. I ask for applications at every business we cross, and I've filled out a hundred of 'em. I even have two resumes, one for English degree related jobs (which is not getting very much use, I'm afraid) and one for warehouse/sales/production/anything else-I-might-be-qualified-for jobs. So far all I have to show for a months worth of applying is one rejection email. I haven't even got an interview yet. I'm getting desperate. It annoys me that I spent all that time and money on a college education and I'm going to wind up in the same joe-jobs I was in before.

If I'm lucky.

Again, any leads anyone has would be appreciated.

Speaking of unemployment, Uncle C finally ran out of time with Jordan District and they laid him off. I figure the whole public eduacation system in this state is going to implode one of these days. I still can't figure out why kids that live within blocks of one another are getting different amounts of spending. The first thing I'd do if I got put in charge would be to get per-pupil spending equal for all districts in the state. It's asinine that a kid in Sandy should get more spent on their education than a kid in Carbon county (Sorry, I'll get off my soapbox).

The real crusher here, other than Uncle C needing a new job, is that I no longer watch Reaggers and Bub, so the funny stories seem to have dried up considerably. That's another reason I've been a while without a post, the funny has deserted me in favor of quiet desperation. But then, right as my mother was informing me of my growing line of hate-mail and chastising me for not posting, something funny happened.

My brother just bought a new car. He picked us up one night for a family get-together when the Boss was at work. We were talking about buying cars when I reiterated my opinion the the dodge rotting in my driveway represented the single worst decision I had ever made. From the back seat, Puzilla's tiny voice piped up, "Don't worry daddy. You're still young. You've got plenty of time to make worse choices than that!"

Can't live with 'em; can't sell 'em on e-bay. Where's the Tylenol?

School's Out!!

Well, we got a happy little surprise when the Clown company decided to buy the Boss out of her two weeks notice. It's funny because just yesterday morning the Boss said to me, "I wish I had thought to plan a little vacation time in between the two jobs so I could recharge."

Well, then! Wish in one hand...get it granted in the other. Our incredible string of fortunate bounces continues. I know who it is that gets the credit, and I will be eternally indebted and infinitely grateful. But to be honest, it's making me a little nervous.

Because of this great news, I will be in and out of the house for a bit, so expect sporadic posting at best. I'll try to keep this updated at night as best I can.

In the meantime, Happy Father's day to all the dads, and have a great weekend!!!!

An Alternator with Fava Beans and Chianti?

If I did not know better, I would swear that my wife is the Hannibal Lechter of automobiles.

The new van wouldn't start this morning, necessitating another trip to autozone. Hopefully it's just a low battery charge, but with my luck...

On the good side, I think that I'm going to nickname the new car Clarisse.

"You might think you're a sports car, with your fancy wheels and V6 engine; but you're really just a bad oil change and a lower wheelbase away from being a poor, tan, station wagon! Phtppppphtpphtphhht!"

Laugh or cry. I'm kinda on the edge.

Yesterday's post reminded me of a couple of classic family stories that ought to be recorded for posterity. It was the trip to the buffet that triggered 'em.

The first and foremost was a trip that we took right before the Boss and I got married. My brother had just gotten home from his mission and with my grandparents in town, mom and dad took everybody out to eat. The Boss had just had her wisdom teeth pulled and was not in much condition for an all-you-can-eat, but came with us anyway.

It was a nice dinner with lots of jokes and stories, and we were all having a good time. My brother and I got up to go get ice cream. When we got to the dessert bar, there was this little, old man who looked to be about a thousand and ninety years old, holding a cane and an empty bowl. He had this frustrated look on his face and either out of plain frustration or because he mistook us for employees, he shouts at us, "You wanna tell me just where in the hell they put the damn rice pudding?!"

I fell on the floor; I was laughing so hard. My brother kept it together long enough to help the old geezer out, but by the time we got back to the table, neither one of us could control ourselves. When we told every one else, the whole table was in hysterics.

To this day, I have no idea why that old man asking for "Damn rice pudding" was so utterly hilarious, but it was. More than fifteen years have passed and we cannot have any family function involving dinner without someone asking if there will be "Damn rice pudding" on the menu. Whatever you do, don't call it rice pudding. That just wouldn't be right. Everyone knows there is no rice pudding but "Damn rice pudding".

The other story is just as good. Right after my brother got married, we had one great mass family vacation to Florida and Disney world. Haggis was maybe one or two, and we flew fourteen people to Orlando. It was one of those unforgettable trips that become eternal legend.

Just to give you an idea of how great a trip this was, we flew from Salt Lake to Orlando on a red-eye, and sitting right next to my dad was none other than Bill Goldberg and Diamond Dallas Paige from professional wrestling fame. These were the days before cell phone cameras but Dad did get DDP to autograph a barf-bag. Says he was one of the nicest guys you'd ever meet.

And the trip only got better from there.

But for this post's purpose, I'll just tell about our trip to the Crystal Palace Buffet in Magic Kingdom.

Now, my grandmother started a tradition long before our trip to Florida when we went to a buffet in Jackpot, Nevada. During that meal, Grandma came back from the dessert bar (Sorry, this was pre-Damn rice pudding days) with a plate full of cookies. You have to understand that my grandmother is a woman of great presence, but small stature. So we were all kind of amazed at the quantity of dessert she was planning on putting away.

We had no idea.

A few minutes later, she excused herself from the table and we were stunned to see nothing on her plate but crumbs. When she came back with another stack of cookies, curiosity got the better of manners and someone jokingly asked her where she was putting all the cookies.

"In my purse", she said, pulling out a ziplock baggie now half full of chocolate chip deliciousness. "I bring a ziplock, and take a dozen or so home with me so grandpa can have them for late night snacks."

Well this was far too practical an idea for everyone at the table to NOT adopt, so when we went to the buffet from then on, we always had a "Bag man" for a little take home treat.

Well, the food at Disneyland is...um...pricey. Having a sugar pick-me-up in a purse was a really good idea. So when we ate at the Crystal Palace we made my sister M the "bagman".

To avoid ostentatious displays of greed everyone would get one extra cookie when making a trip to the buffet. It became a bit of a game. We'd go "secret agent" while casually slipping M the loot for storage.

The giggles were getting louder and louder, and to be honest, a dozen people each nicking a couple of extra cookies really does put a dent in a buffet line. By the time we filled the bag, we noticed our waiter was studying us suspiciously. The giggling stopped, and we all started wondering at the ethics of covert cookie capers. We finished eating and everyone was nervously teasing M that if the "heat" came, we'd run interference while she made a break for the door.

Imagine our surprise when the waiter motioned for the manager to come over and then whispered something in his ear while gesturing in our direction. Now I was actually sweating.

The manager walked over to us, cleared his throat and said, "Excuse me a moment."

Everyone froze.

"Were you the people looking for a mail drop to send postcards home? The waiter wasn't sure if it was you or another family that had asked."

Everyone busted up laughing. "Yeah, that was us."

"I'd be happy to take those for you and see that they are mailed."

"Thanks a bunch. The postcards are right here in M's purse...um...."

Needless to say, covert cookie operations were red lighted from that point on.

Now I gotta go, the Boss just pulled bananna bread from the oven and it's calling my name.

The Wrath Of Fatdaddy

"From Hell's own heart, I stab at thee!"

Wow. Am I really quoting "Khan" from Star Trek?

If "high school me" were here he'd be kicking my butt. Since when was I able to quote Star Trek? That's the kind of crap that'll bring the shades of Vince Lombardi and Jerry Sloan snooping around here looking for my Man Card.

Nevertheless, it's the thought that came to mind on Saturday night at ten when the Boss got a call from one of her piece of dirt managers, who waited until then to tell the Boss that she wasn't going to come in for her three am shift.

Guess who had to go work her sixth shift of the week at a job she should no longer give a fat rat's patoot about? Nothing like one last cheap shot from the ingrates, huh? It was a real slap in the Boss's face and I don't mind saying it made me mad enough to spit. I told her she should have called her "Idiot" supervisor up and give him a taste of what she's had to deal with.

The conversation could go like this:

Boss: "Yeah, I know it's ten at night and you're getting ready for bed and you probably worked today already, but I don't have anyone to cover my closing shift. I think if I were you I'd set my alarm for about 2:30"

The Idiot: "No way am I doing that for you. You can go to Blazes"

Boss: "Sorry, pal, I gave Blazes my two weeks notice. Fire me if you want. Welcome to the world you created. Enjoy."

The Idiot: "Gee. This really is a crappy thing to expect of someone. Who knew?"

This is why they are lucky it was the Boss they employed instead of me. I'd have had that conversation.

But because the Boss is the compassionate woman she is... she went to work on two hours sleep and pulled her second nine hour shift of the day.

Savor the flavor, Clowns. It'll never happen again.

In fact, I have a feeling that about a month from now there is going to be significant weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth when the Clowns above and below realize just how much the Boss was shielding them from each other. By then, she'll be too far away to hear it, and no longer paid to care. I told you I can be bitter, but Karma can be a real beast.

Just ask my Cubbies.

They keep finding new and unusual ways to break my heart. Yesterday, I watched Ted Lilly take a no-no into the bottom of the ninth inning. I don't know when the last time a Cubbie threw a no hitter was, but the TV said there hadn't been one at Wrigley since before I was born. I got really exited as Lilly mowed down the eighth and called my mother to make sure she was tuned into something good actually happening to the Cubbies.

I mean, come on. I've been on a real roll with the Boss finding a new job, my eye sight returning...Miracles have been popping up like daisies.

"Mom!", I shouted into the phone. "Are you watching the Cubs game? Lilly's dealing a no-no!"

"I'll turn it on", she said.

Two pitches into the inning, Lilly tosses a looping off-speed pitch that I could have hit with my contacts out and it gets drilled into short center.

No-no abolished. "From Hell's heart..." I know, I know. I get it.

Five little words.

Loopy pulled Lilly for "Rocket-fuel Marmol", who immediately proceeded to walk the guy representing the winning run, balk the runners to second and third, and try to throw the game away.

I turned to the Boss, who was napping on the couch, and said, "Only the Cubbies could get within three outs of a no-hitter and then proceed to lose."

I called Mom again. "They will..."

"...break your heart!" she finished.

In spite of my bitter sorrow over the lost no-no, they managed to at least squeek out the win.

I guess I was due for one more miracle last week after all.

In spite of those two sour notes, I have to say it does not suck to be me right now. We went to dinner with my parents on Saturday night between the Boss's eighteen hour shifts. We went to the Buffet to celebrate the Boss's new job and the return of my vision. It was a very good evening. The kids even minded their manners.

I gotta say, you have know idea how trippy it is to be able to see street signs and pedestrians again. I even snuck in a joy ride around the block on Friday night.

Just because I could. I kept pointing to signs and reading them. The poor Boss was subjected to me reading inane things for the whole ride home from the doctor. It reminded me of when Peff learned his letters and annoyed us for a month by reading every letter he saw. Remember "Dad has two heart attacks"?

Look at this! Did you see that? When did they put that there? When did they tear that down?

I saw mountains and clouds, and the leaves on trees. I saw the TV from the couch instead of three feet away. I saw that the Rockband game I've been playing for a few years has little gray lines that mark the beat for you. I didn't know that.

I saw that my carpet is far dirtier than I thought, and I saw that what I thought was a grass lawn is really a mowed down weed patch. I also saw that I might have done the world's worst paint job on my living room. I can't believe the Boss has put up me doing such "fractional donkey"(think about it, you'll get it) work for so long.

"What, did a blind man paint this room?" Um, funny you should ask. I think I have some work to do. Or redo.

I saw the Boss is still as good looking as she was fifteen years ago, and I saw Squizzle clearly for the first time in his life. Thank heaven he looks like his mother.

I've seen a lot this weekend. It ain't perfect. The lenses irritate my eyes after about eight hours, and I have some glare in the left eye, but it's so much better than what it was, I don't care.

Hell can stab at me all it wants.

It's good to be me.