My Wife and I Are More Attractive Than You By a Million

I know I know, you’ve seen me before. I look totally familiar to you. Where have you seen me? Oh it’s just killing you I can tell. Was I in that one movie with what’s his name? No that’s not it. Oh oh oh! You know! I was in that advertising all over the Quad Cities because I’m beautiful and better than you. That’s right. I’m proud of you for coming up with it so fast, but disappointed you didn’t remember sooner. I am a celebrity now you know. You know.

Apparently the photographer of my wedding created new business cards. Apparently those business cards feature my beautiful bride and her beautiful husband. Apparently is the wrong word to be using at the beginning of those sentences because it implies doubt, and there is no doubt:

A blurry photo of a miniature photo. Art.

So please people, know that I’m officially better than you, I would like my title changed from interim captain of awesome to the more succinct captain of awesome. Please keep my title in all lower cap letters as to appear trendier. Also please don’t talk to me again. I only converse with other models and celebrities and waiters at restaurants that bring me food and beer.

A Triumphant Return to the QC Via Running

I ran a race this past weekend. I'd never run a race before. Prior to last September, I'd never really even run at all. The race was seven miles. I finished in seventy-one minutes.

This race was called the Bix 7. The Bix is a jazz festival slash giant seven mile race that Davenport, Iowa uses as their big town festival all towns of all sizes are required to have. The jazz festival portion of the day brings in a lot of strange beatniks and mellow hepcats. The race portion of the day brings in a lot of anorexic looking fast people. The race also brings in a lot of people in strange costumes. I don't know why these people run in strange costumes, but because they do, I can officially say I've run seven miles with Mario, Luigi, Marilyn Monroe (actually three Marilyn Monroes), a person dressed like a carton of cigarettes (?), and a gorilla. Luckily for the gorilla, it was raining all day, so he did not die of heat exhaustion. I have a hard time believing the deity of his choosing would have allowed the person in the gorilla costume into his version of the afterlife had he overheated running a race in an ill-advised, poorly ventilated costume.

I'm enjoying my pre-race breakfast of dry toast, chocolate milk w/ protein powder, and water. Delicious AND satisfying.

College Degrees Are Important

If this blog will teach you anything, it will teach you that I enjoy submarine sandwiches on Thursday nights. Last week, I had the ill-fated Jimmy Johns delivery. This week, having learned from my lesson (go growth and development!), I drove to Sub City to buy Kelsey and me a sub. I walked into the sub shop and immediately saw Mr. Hartman, my old something teacher in high school during my junior year.  I nodded, but he clearly didn't recognize me. He should have recognized me. He called me a Communist once because I hadn't seen Top Gun. Top Gun is a terrible movie. People shouldn't like Top Gun. However I do believe in free enterprise. Thus I have proved that people who don't like or haven't seen Top Gun aren't necessarily Communists. These two things have nothing in common.

Since Mr. Hartman has the memory of a man who has had several students over several years and did not remember me, I turned my attention to the sandwich making man whose name I don't know but will call Matt because Matt is a good, simple name to repeat several times. Matt liked the Minnesota Twins shirt I was wearing. I know this because he said, "Great shirt man." I said, "Thanks Matt." He said, "How did you know my fictional name?" I said, "Because I gave it to you Matt." 

RETRO BLOG: Dalai Lama

Today the Dalai Lama gave two presentations at the University of Northern Iowa.  I went to the first one.  I didn't understand a lot of what he said, but the presentation was a very enjoyable experience.

In a nice bit of obliviousness, I had no idea that the Dalai Lama was coming to town.  I learned about it only three days before the speech.  I should probably get a subscription to a local newspaper or something.  I'd never read it though.  There's just too much on the TV and the Internet.  I didn't feel as bad that I didn't know he was coming when several people at work didn't even know who he was. Now, I won't pretend that I have any idea as to what DL's function was, but I'd heard of him and figured he was supposed to be important because of his monkness and heck, he's sold some books, and I like books.  So the guy in the office next to me got some tickets, and we decided to go see DL speak to the masses.

It Is Way Too Sunday To Be Drunk

I wrote this blog on Sunday, but I passed out on the couch while writing it. Maturity abounds:

Corrupting friends from college visited Kelsey and I today. The female is pregnant. The male is not pregnant. The male and I got real drunk. We should not have done this. It is Sunday. Sunday is not for drinking. Normally, Sunday is for going to church and maybe going to Arby's afterward. Today, Sunday was for deep cleaning the house after waking up in the basement (oh yeah! Kelsey and I slept in the basement because last night it was supposed to storm (it didn't), and we thought we might end up there anyway.) and then chilling.  Chilling is modern day slang for "not doing anything." Our grandfathers never partook in chilling because their generation worked harder than ours.

FUTURE BLOG: I Sure Do Not Miss the Meteorologists

I remember back during the week of July 18th-24th in the year (remember years? hahaha) of 2010 when the weathermen and the weatherwomen and the sexually androgynous meteorologists said it was going to rain all week and then it didn't rain at all. That was funny. No one watered their lawns because of all the rain they were supposed to get, but then all their lawns died because there was no rain. There was never any rain. Weathermen sure were stupid.

That's why I'm so glad that our president decided to get rid of all the people who predicted stuff. He gave everyone three chances. "Once you make your third wrong prediction, you will no longer be able to be called an expert, and you will have to get a new job, not experting things." At first people were so mad because who was the president to try to hold others accountable and interfere in our lives? He was a nobody I guess. But then all the predicting started. And all the predictions from the experts were way too wrong for anyone to stay employed. That was bad for them but it was good for everyone else, obviously. No one had ever actually followed up to make sure their guesses were correct.

The last weather reporter made it to his ninth consecutive broadcast before predicting a snow that spat out more as an icy rain.  He was a legend at weather bars everywhere.

Now when I leave the house in September I make sure to bring a light jacket in case it gets cold, no matter what. I don't base this behavior on the actions of a guy on my hologram-projectile-entertainment-dimensional-cubing-machine who got his education from a nothing. 

I Made Two Terrible Mistakes Tonight Involving Jimmy Johns

I ordered Jimmy Johns tonight because it is so good. I ordered the Bootlegger Club with no mayo because mayo adds unnecessary calories and is GROSS. I then waited for the sandwich to be delivered freaky fast. And how! It took about six minutes for the sandwich to arrive. This probably meant I should have just went and picked up Jimmy Johns myself, but that would have required me to leave my house and there are strangers everywhere outside.

For some reason I tipped the delivery driver three dollars. Three dollars is too many dollars to tip a delivery driver for a sandwich. That was my first mistake. Then, I opened my sandwich and there was mayo everywhere. It was dripping off the big red tomatoes and making the meat all sticky. I tried to scrape the mayo off, but then I realized: I ordered a sandwich with no mayo--I should have received a sandwich with no mayo.

I then called Jimmy Johns back to let them know about their mistake. They seemed mad at me for wanting another sandwich, so I lied and told them I was allergic to mayo and couldn't merely wipe the mayo off the sandwich. I implied that eating a sandwich that used to have a lot of mayo on it but now doesn't have much mayo on it could kill me. They promised to bring another sandwich to me freaky fast.

They delivered on their promise. They had the sandwich here so quickly I almost think they knew I was going to call. I've solved how Jimmy Johns delivers sandwiches so fast: precognitive ordering. When the new delivery driver handed me my new, hopefully correct sandwich, I thanked him, and I handed him another dollar. Why did I do this? I already tipped too many dollars the last time, now I've tipped a few too many dollars. I could have bought another sandwich for the price of my tips.

Will someone please give me four dollars? Or at least three? I feel someone should reimburse me for my financial mistakes I made on my own with my own human brain. That only seems to make sense.

Hispanic Doorbell Repairmen Keep Weird Hours

I wanted to be in bed about one point five hours ago, but I accidentally turned on the ESPYs, and the ESPYs started being awesome, so I couldn't turn them off.  The UNI Panthers (from the town I live in) won an award for being better than everyone else and Ed Thomas' family won an award for basically being the coolest family ever.  For those who don't know, Ed Thomas was a high school coach from Parkersburg, IA who was shot dead last summer by one of his former players.  It's too early to find any sort of Youtube video of the ESPY presentation, but do yourself a favor and try to find it. ESPN aired an incredible tribute video which was followed by an even more incredible speech by Ed Thomas' son. Good, powerful stuff.

So, after crying my eyes out and getting adrenalized, I started doing chores. The dishes are now done. That's good. The laundry is almost done, but it's not put away. That's half good. I even put some stuff in the fridge. Good job me. At about 10:05, I decided to lay on the floor. I don't know why I didn't decide to lay on the couch. The couch is much more comfortable. In fact, I'm still on the floor. I could rectify this situation before I finish typing this sentence.

Devil Looks Real Bad

Did you see the new movie trailer for the new movie, "Devil" that came out today? You should watch it. It says it's from the mind of M. Night Shymalan which is really too bad. It looks bad, but it looks bad in a way that it might be good if it came from the right mind. Unfortunately M. Night is a really bad mind and should stop making movies. What marketing guy in Hollywood still thinks M. Night's name is marketable? Someone in LA needs to find this marketing man and pass on the following note from the Midwest:

Dear Marketing Guy,

No one likes M. Night Shymalan. Have you seen The Happening? He has his characters run from the WIND for chrissakes. The wind! And some of them successfully do this! Do you know how fast wind is? It's really fast. I think it's the fastest. I know it's faster than my car, and my car is really really fast too. His other movies are bad too. He's been going straight downhill ever since he cast Mel Gibson to shout obscenities and racial slurs at thirsty aliens to scare them off the Earth. Can you imagine what's going to happen at the "Celebrating 10 Years After Signs" party on the Larry King's Replacement show? In one corner you'll have the mentally ill Joaquin Phoenix still doing his performance art rap crap routine because he's a celebrity, and he's so funny that he can do that, and in one corner you'll have Macauley Culkin's brother trying hard to not be Macauley to no avail because by then they'll have become one, and in one corner you'll have the girl in that movie doing normal girl things like riding a pony or brushing her hair, and in one corner you'll have Larry King's Replacement being British, and in one corner you'll have Mel Gibson telling his ex model girlfriends that they can't use any of his money to pay for the nanny for their child born out of wedlock and bloodily slashing Christ and shouting Freedom! and threatening to burn the place down right after receiving a blowjob. It will be really confusing is what I'm saying, and I'd rather it not happen. But in order for this not to happen you absolutely have to make M. Night go away. You are the last hope marketing guy. There is no one left, but we'll always have the memories.

Thanks.

The Entire Midwest and Everyone Else Too

My Trip to Texas: Part 1: I’m a Stupid No Good Yankee Liberal

A couple (a few?—time no longer goes in a straight line for me) weeks ago my wife and I went to Texas to visit some friends. Hopefully you’re lucky and don’t have friends that live in Texas, so that you’ll never have to visit them. Just kidding Texas friends! I love that you choose to live somewhere unbearably hot. It’s great! (It’s not great. It’s too hot. Why do they do that to themselves? )

(Also: People from and who live in Texas can’t read words located inside of parenthesis. They be dumb muchachos.)

Okay: Kelsey and I arrived in Texas at some time. At that particular time, it was hot. I was hungry. I could not eat the heat because that’s impossible, so we went to a restaurant. I ate food. I was no longer hungry. BUT I WAS STILL TOO DAMN HOT! Sheesh. Then I went and sat in a pool. God got angry at this. He said, “No one shall avoid the hellish heats of Texas!” and he shook his fist triumphantly, and Jesus was all, “Dad, cool it man. Let the people relax,” and God said, “No son of mine will tell me what to do!” and Jesus was like, “Quit shaking your fist man. I’m totally out of here,” and then Jesus stormed out of the room, slammed the cloud door behind him, and left to get a Frosty at Wendy’s while God continued to punish Texans for pretending they are closer to him than any other state (but are really so much farther away). What that story means is the pool was awesome, but then it started to rain a hot hot rain, and it’s not decent to swim in the rain, so we went inside, and the air conditioner only half worked, and there were cats in the apartment we went inside, and cats are not dogs, and I like dogs more than cats!

The Bell Tolls for Thee

I FINALLY finished For Whom the Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway yesterday. It is exactly 130 pages too long. It would have made a great 341 page book. Instead, it made a too long 471 page book. Also, he kept using, “thee” and “thou” when people spoke. This came across as “stupid” and “fake.” I may be no cultural expert, but I do know that in 1901 the hill people of Spain did not use “thee” and “thou” to describe people whilst drinking their moonshine.

Also, the lady character in the book was pretty much a submissive sex fiend. According to Hemingway, sex cures rape. I don’t think that’s true, but then I’m not a boorish ass of a man either, so what do I know? Lots. Lots more than Hemingway is what I know.

On the Wikipedia page dedicated to this book, I learned that this book is one of the three books that inspired President Obama the most. If I had known that before the election, I don’t think I would have voted for him. I’ve not voted for people for stupider reasons (see: Edwards, John and the promise of meatballs).

Either way, the book, as a whole, was much better than the movie I also finished this weekend: Universal Soldier 2: The Return. Now that’s a real bad movie. It was about an hour and twenty three minutes too long. It would have made for an okay one minute movie, as long as I had something else to multitask and do during that one minute. If I didn’t, it wouldn’t even be a good one minute movie. It would be a bad one minute movie. What a terrible minute.

Have there ever been two more different pieces of entertainment completed by the same person in such a short time period? No. There hasn’t been. Ever.

Calm Down Everyone, LeBron Will Still Dunk Real Cool

Everyone should probably stop talking about LeBron being a jerk now. He is not a jerk. Okay, he might be a jerk, but what he is doing is not that jerky. Besides, you wouldn't know if he was a jerk anyway. He'll never talk to you ever.

Let's create a perfectly hypothetical situation because hypotheticals are fun fun fun: you are from Idaho. You are an exceptionally great fan salesman. People say you could be the greatest fan salesman of all time. When you started with your rinky dink company in the s***hole state that is Idaho everyone assumed you'd eventually leave for New York. After all, all the biggest and best fan salesmen have to live in and work in New York for some reason. That's what all the fan trade magazine writers say anyway. People always say New York is the best. People also keep shows like Jersey Shore on TV and celebrities like Lindsay Lohan in the news. Those are pretty much my thoughts on people.

Because everyone loves to speculate about fan salesmen, people start to talk about what you will do someday when your contractual agreement with Idaho ends (did you know all people born in Idaho are contractually obligated to stay there until they are 25? True story). Oh these people make such a big deal out of this. It is all these people talk about. It starts to overshadow your sales. Your company starts to freak out because they know you are keeping them alive. They are selling a crappy product, but you make it look great. They don't want you to leave because they'll probably never come close to selling a fan again.

And They Think I'm an Idiot...

You think blogging on your phone is so quick and easy - don't you, Jay?  Well I just hacked your account, blogged this, and am off pooping in the yard in the time you wasted "blogging" from your phone. Idiot.

Love,

Dottie

P.S. And I don't even have opposable thumbs.

I Do So Much Building and Constructing

Last December, on the day after Christmas, my father-in-law and I started to finish Kelsey's and my basement. We finished the job this past Saturday. Actually, it was Sunday morning at 2:00am. Kelsey told us we needed to finish the basement before the Big American Party we had on Sunday night. I could have been finished around 9:00pm, but I procrastinated the hell out of my last task: sealing the grout in both the bathroom and the bar areas. I would not have procrastinated had I known this job only took FIVE F'IN MINUTES! Everyone told me that's how long it took to seal grout, but I thought that was crazy talk. Oh well.  In the five hours I "wasted" in the basement I got some substantial cleaning done which I suppose needed to be done? I don't know? I think I swept the same floor about six times. To anal cleaning! What a cheer.

Also causing delay that night: I went over to my parent's house, where my cousin Jenny, her husband Val, and their son Sebastian (who is ten? close to ten? somewhere thereabouts?) were visiting. Technically my brother was visiting too, but he doesn't factor into this blog at all because of his total lack of building skills. He is really bad at building. He actually asked me if he had to go to a screw store to get a screw. When I told him yes, he acted like I was the idiot. Where else would you buy a screw?

My Big American Party!

We shall now commence celebrating this country like it once deserved to be celebrated.

If you are reading this and alone and sad, come to our house for party in the USA.

Phone Blogging is Real Time Blogging

I am writing this blog from my phone. How fancy. In the past I used to never be able to give you all real time updates of my life. Now I can, and you should be so thrilled because life with me is like so fun dudes.

Anyways, you all probably want me to tell you everything I am doing RIGHT NOW. I am on break at work. I am alone in my office. I have attached a very artsy looking picture of part of my desk. I have no idea where the picture will end up because phone blogging is mysterious.

As you can tell, I was recently talking on my work phone and drinking water. I also received some intercompany mail in a manilla envelope. My water is now empty. I am thirsty. That is such good art in that picture.

Science Proves Me Wrong as Sleep Awaits

Jeff wins. Sort of. You can kind of make a 500 ended candle if it were a giant flame ball:

Obviously, the candle I envisioned looked more professional and had several crossing paths, like this:

So Science wins again by proving the impossible. Good job Jeff. I expect a five-hundred page thesis with annotated foot notes explaining your project by next Friday. 

Really though, I'm just happy to be going to bed before 10:00pm for the first time in eleven years. This is great news for us all!