Here I Am, There I Am Too

As a former professional wrestling fan, that lost blog I wrote was my Wrestlemania. For those unfamiliar, Wrestlemania is the culmination of a year's worth of professional wrestling storylines all coming together for one heckuva show.  It's the Super Bowl of wrestling. Why couldn't I just call the last blog I wrote the Super Bowl of my blogs? Here's why: The Super Bowl is followed by an offseason. Everyone hypes it up knowing it will be the last game for quite some time (unless you count the Pro-Bowl which no one of course counts the Pro-Bowl). Professional wrestling has no offseason. After months and months of hype, Wrestlemania happens, a new champion is crowned, storylines are ended, yet the wrestlers have to go on TV the next night and start new feuds. It's awkward.

I don't like to brag (lies!), but that last blog I wrote was really good. I was very proud of it. But seeing as it was a little out of the ordinary for me to be so serious, I don't know how to follow that blog up. That piece sat on the top of this blog for half of a month and it would feel weird to follow it up with a, "Can you believe how good the Fighter is?" blog. That last blog was my main event and should be left alone for a bit. BUT, life goes on I suppose and I must continue to blog. If I don't, you will all perish. It will be tragic I tell thee, TRAGIC!!!

The solution? Start (join) a new (old) blog with my wife! That way I can write something here, and then I can write something there: schmitzbitz.blogspot.com. If you go there today, this Monday, this now, you'll notice I wrote a blog there linking you to come back here. You can go there from here and here from there and keep doing that over and over again and your life will be so great. Anyhow, I'll be updating that blog more often, because it's fun to do stuff with my ladywife. I'll still stop by here though too. If that blog becomes my main residence, consider this my beach house...a place I like to visit but a place that just isn't feasible to live inside of all the time.

The Calm Amidst the Storm

I did a lot of driving this weekend. On Friday night I agreed to be the designated driver for a couple of guys from work. All week long these two guys talked about how they were going to drink so hard, about how they were going to honor the twenty-year olds inside of them with a night of uncontrollable binge drinking. I prepared all week to be the babysitter. It turned out a night of college-esque heroics was not in the cards. The two men I drove around until 1:00am on Friday didn’t binge drink like college students. They did drink. They drank quite a lot, but they didn’t sit at bars and talk about women or take several shots and scream how tough they were. They talked about their kids. They talked about their families. They talked about how children (both of them have two) change the dynamics of life. This wasn’t a, “Man I wish I didn’t have kids, because man I miss being young,” conversation. This was a, “I’m proud of my family. I’m proud of the life I have,” conversation. There was a heavy sense of pride weighing over every word, every story about their children. They told me they couldn’t wait for Kelsey and me to have kids.

In truth, I can’t wait either. Kelsey and I have tried. Had I told you about that blogosphere? I don’t think so. There’s no sense in hiding it now that it’s been said. We’ve had some heartache this year. There have been some pregnancies that haven’t gone as planned. We’ve had the incredible highs of positive pregnancy tests bring on the crushing lows of miscarriages. We’ve had what are supposed to be overwhelming, positive experiences—ultrasounds, follow-up appointments with baby doctors—turned into nervous, dreaded experiences. These experiences, these baby pains, are hard. They take what is supposed to be magic and clutter it with phrases like “chromosomal defects” and “aborted.” They take a nice picnic dinner and wash it away with an unexpected storm.

RETRO BLOG: A Trip Through Reiman Gardens

I love my wife, but sometimes she makes me do things that make absolutely no sense. Today was one of those days. We went to Ames to visit an old college friend of ours--Niki. I don't know why Niki was in town. I don't know when Niki's mom moved to Ames and gave us all a convenient reason to visit Ames when Niki is back. Either way, none of these things matter to this story, on this day. We were supposed to be in Ames for a hamburger cookout at 3:00pm. We like to go to Ames, so we left home early and arrived around 12:00pm. We ate lunch at the wonderful Hickory Park. Then...well...then what?

We had nothing to do. Normally when we are in Ames we'll hit up all the various t-shirt shops and spend more money than necessary on wonderful red and yellow, excuse me, cardinal and gold ensembles. That's how we do, if you know what I'm saying. You probably don't know what I'm saying because the phrase, "that's how we do," actually makes no sense if you break it down word for consecutive word. That said, we couldn't do how we do on this day because all the Iowa State stores were closed—since today is a Sunday in July (or August? I can't remember what month it is) and there weren't a whole lot of reasons for anything to be open seeing as school is not in session and, oh yeah, it was ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN FRIGGIN DEGREES OUTSIDE. I've capitalized that last sentence to let you know it's important and will play into the story later. I’m trying to make reading easier for you novices.

Merry Christmas

Happy non-denominational gathering periods to you and your loved ones.

A Simple Suggestion To Make This World a Better Place

Here's what we need to do: we need to start a professional women's volleyball league and market the hell out of it like we do all the other sports. (NOTE: This is a proverbial "we" that takes all of society into account. Please don't get confused and think I mean that you and I are marketing all the other sports. We're not. I had to clarify as I didn't want you to get confused this early in the blog.)

Tonight, after my beautiful, vivacious wife came home from work she mentioned she'd talked with her friend (who is a high-ranking executive for our local nuclear power plant and married to the most successful lawyer in town--he will someday be mayor) and that her friend and her husband (the lawyer I mentioned in the previous parenthetical statement--you really are easily confused tonight) were going to the UNI Women's Volleyball Game/Match/Meet-up tonight. Kelsey (my wife) and I (me) thought that would be fun. We had nothing else to do, and I'd never seen good volleyball played in person before (I'd say sorry to my sister for that comment--but I'm pretty sure she doesn't read this--also, she probably knows she was bad at volleyball, and soccer, and everything else she's ever done (wow, just kidding Anne--you are really great at everything)).

Qatar is a Country I Just Heard About Today

This past summer I wrote about the World Cup. You probably need to be reminded of what the World Cup is because it's not going on right now, so no one is talking about it or the sport it features. The World Cup is an event that takes place every four years (which is every four years more than it should happen) where all the best soccer players you've never heard of from places you've never even heard of beat up and embarrass our own United States American soccer placers you've never heard of. It usually happens in the middle of the summer when nothing else fun in sports is really going on, so the sports media tries to guilt you, a hot-blooded American, into liking soccer. "The world loves it. Why don't you love it?" says the sports media.

Oh shut up sports media.

Quick Fact: Did you know soccer was invented by impoverished yokels who simply needed a way to keep score when they kicked a rock around their barren neighborhood parks? Look it up somewhere.

Googling Myself: What is Jay Schmitz Up To Today?

I am not a celebrity. Obviously I should be. We all know that. I'm not though. In the past, whenever I'd Google myself I wouldn't even be anywhere on Google...and Google is really big. It was sad really. Why wasn't anyone talking about me?

I'm happy to report I'm now the fourth Jay Schmitz listed on Google. Thank you Twitter! That means I'm the number one Jay Schmitz on Twitter and the fourth Jay Schmitz on Google. That's no small task.

But who are these other Jay Schmitzes? And how do you pluralize my last name? Schmitzs? That looks weird. I'm going with Schmitzes. That is the Official Pluralization of My Last Name for This Blog.

Today, let's look at the first Jay Schmitz Google listed. Naturally, he is an MMA fighter. For those of you with good taste and/or those of you that have never lived in Davenport, IA here is what MMA is: Mixed Martial Arts. It is so boring. Basically two people with tattoos come into an octagon (which is an octagon mat inside of a fence) and dance around for a few minutes. They might throw a few punches. If they ever get around to throwing a punch the crowd will go, "oooh," because something almost happened, but nothing actually happened. Usually the two tattooed people just try to grab each other. The first to grab their opponent wins. Or something like that. That is what always seems to happen. Look--there is no pageantry. There are no scripted storylines. There are no bright colored tights. There is no Vince McMahon. BORING.