Tuesday, October 31, 2006

Fit for a King

I have been married for 9 years. 9 years. For almost 7 of those years she has been lying to me. For seven years she has been deceitful, and hurtful. She has kept a secret from me for the better part of seven years, but last night, I caught her. I don’t know if I can forgive her, but I will try. I am not sure that I will ever be able to believe her again, but I am willing to give her another chance. Most people would just walk out in this situation, but I will try to keep things together. “Oh, what a tangled web we weave, if at first we try to deceive.” It goes something like that. Now, my wife has some explaining to do, and I will be listening. I will be listening to every word to try and find out when this lie started.

Last night I got home from work, and went through my normal routine. I noticed that there was something in the dryer, so I checked it out. The sheets were in there. They were all balled up, so I separated them, and continued running the dryer. A little later, after dinner, my wife was helping the kids with homework and stuff, so I decided I would go make the bed. I took the sheets from the dryer, and went up to the room. Then it happened. I caught her in the trap. “Hah”, I yelled. “YOU CAN SO MAKE A KING SIZED BED BY YOURSELF. THIS IS NOT A TWO PERSON JOB.”

For seven years my wife has asked me to help her make the bed. She claims that the bed is too big, and it is too hard to put the fitted sheet on the bed. She claims that the corners don’t stay on, and that it takes two people to do this job. Now, I don’t mind helping, but she always calls me to help while I’m in the middle of something. Or she calls me to help her make the bed, just as the Eagles are about to score, or just when I sit down. I ask her every time why, and her response is always, “John, this bed is too big, it can not be made by one person. It’s a two person job.”

Well, well, well. Her gig is up now isn’t it? I will agree that it is easier to make with two people. I will agree that when you do it yourself, it is annoying. I do not; however, believe that it is a two-man job. My wife has been leading me on for years. She has flat out lied to me, and I believed her. You know what? I bet my wife can cook. She wouldn’t? Would she?

Friday, October 27, 2006

Day Four

Yesterday was so nice. I was at the highest comfort level at work. I was smiling and joking. I was happy and fun. Nothing was bothering me, or rubbing at me. It was just smooth sailing. I felt as though I was moving through the office, without ever taking a step. I was gliding. Do you want to know why I was this way? Cause yesterday was day four of the jeans.

I wore the same pair of jeans for four straight days, and let me just tell you, they don’t get any more comfortable than day four. On day Four, they just hang perfectly. There is no snags or grabs. There is no tightness or rubbing. On day four, the jeans just hang off of you. They are so loose. The crotch hangs lower, which lowers the chances of any chafing taking place. The waist is looser. If I didn’t wear a belt, they would fall down. Day four is a great jean day; there is absolutely no restrictiveness on day four.

The only problem with day four is that it is followed by day five. On day five, there is a very big decision to make. Wearing the same pair of jeans for five straight days is not unheard of, but could lead to people talking behind your back. A thorough inspection of the jeans is performed to make sure there are no coffee stains, or yesterday’s lunch stains, or grass stains. The jeans need to look clean, even though they have been worn for 4 straight days. The jeans will talk to you while you are getting ready too. Yeah, after four straight days, they are almost walking by themselves. “One more day, one more day. Think of the comfort level we are currently attaining. Think of how the next pair is going to feel. They are going to feel like you are sliding into a cardboard box. Wear me one more day.” Day five is very tempting, but I pretty much have stayed away from day five. Day one does suck; it is rough wearing clean stiff jeans.

Is there a way to get jeans to feel like day four, but be day one? Do I have to hire a stunt double? My stunt double would wear my jeans for the first three days, and then I take them on day four. Is there a way for me to do this? I don’t believe there is, but I know that every fourth day, I am as comfortable as I can get in a pair of jeans. I should start a jean company. Day Four Jean Co. Can someone lend me some money?

Thursday, October 26, 2006

Where I've Been

So I go out for a jog one morning in mid September. I was just trying to run off some steam, and get a little exercise. The morning jog turns into an all day jog. I ran clear across the county. I get to the county line, and I was not tired yet, so I kept running. The next thing you know, I am clear across the state. So, I decided to keep running. I ran for days, which turned into weeks. I grew a really long beard. I was running for so long, that people started to know me. They would run with me. Maybe you saw me go through your town. I was on the news in a couple of places. One time, one of the reporters that was running next to me stepped in a pile of dog shit, and he looked at me, and I said Shit Happens. They made a bumper sticker out of that saying I believe. Oh, you know what, I think I am confused. That wasn’t me, all of the above happened to Forest Gump. My bad. I have been busy though.

Actually, the reason I have not been blogging lately is that pirates abducted me. I was out in the ocean, rowing my boat. I was having a good old time. There I am, rowing my boat singing; “Row, Row, Row your boat, gently down the stream.” What? Why is that weird? What else would I be singing while rowing a boat? Hey, when you row your boat you sing what you want. When I am rowing my boat, I’ll sing what I want. I don’t make fun of your songs, whatever floats your boat is the way I see it.

Anyway, this pirate ship pulls up along side of my boat, and this one-eyed nut job tells me to give him all of my jewels. I’m like, “Dude, the only jewels I have are the Family Jewels, and actually you have to ask my wife for them. I am rowing a freaking dingy here. I have a Peanut Butter and Jelly sandwich, and a half a bottle of Coke. You are more than welcome to have that, but I have to get back to shore soon.” He gets all crazy on me and tells me to walk a blank and some stuff. He keeps calling me Matey, and growling at me. I start getting a little bent, and I say “Dude, do you want my freaking sandwich or not. Stop calling me Matey, my name is John. You need a freaking haircut, and your breath smells. Hey, what is that in those barrels that I see.” He then tells me that it is some kind of whiskey. So I was like, “Dude, why didn’t you say so?”

So I jumped on board and hung out for a couple of weeks. We cruised the ocean for a while, robbing other boats. It was fun. We sang songs. Mostly Row, Row, Row your boat. Then they dropped me off, and now I am back to blogging.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006


We have all heard the question, and thought about the answer. Well, recently at work the question came up again. “If you were to be stranded on a deserted island, but got to take one person with you, who would it be?” The question is something to that affect. It was funny to listen to some of the answers, but most were celebrities. Some of the guys were saying that they would want it to be the likes of Pamela Anderson, and Angelina Jolie, and whatever other famous hot chicks are out there. The women in the office were picking their idea of sexy men. They were leaning towards the Brad Pitts and Kenny Chesney types. Now, there was a clause thrown out on the Kenny Chesney pick, and it had to do with his cowboy hat. Without that hat, he loses some of his sexiness I guess, so they only want him if his hat is with him.

So, you understand the concept here. Someone asked me the question, and I answered pretty quickly, and confidently. I answered almost like I had thought this through before, but I never had. I said, “My brother Dan.” I got some funny looks, and laughter. “Yeah, make that, my brother Dan and a volleyball.” I had some explaining to do, so I did.

It goes like this, I don’t live in a fantasy world, so picking the hot celebrities is a waste of time. I would not take my wife, cause I would never want her to be stranded on a deserted island, she deserves better than that. If I am going to be stranded on an Island, I need to be with someone that can do stuff, like build huts, and make a boat. Dan’s the man. Dan is a handy son-of-a-gun. I could make a case for any one of my 7 brothers, but Dan wins, cause he can build shit. He can build shit, and he is not afraid of animals.

I can’t build anything, and the monkeys and lizards on the island would freak me out, so I need someone that can take care of all of that stuff. Dan is my choice for the one person I would be stranded on an island with. The volleyball would be there for me to talk to when Dan gets mad at me. Yeah, Dan gets mad when he is doing projects. At some point in the middle of building our bamboo hut, I would mess something up. He would call me an F-ing idiot, and tell me to get the hell away from the vines that we are using to tie the beams together. He would curse at me some more, and I would walk away. I would walk away from the building site and sit down next to Wilson, and say, “You know Wilson, Dan can be an asshole at times, but that sure is a nice hut we have there.”

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Funerals Are Funny.

Guest Post by Momo 9. Mother of the Lawnwhisperer and William (and others but they don't count).

I love my Mom and Dad. I know they are both enjoying each other in their heavenly paradise. They both lived long happy lives. Mother outlived Daddy by 4 years. Those four years were difficult for her and for us. Most of us have families and friends to help us get through the sad times. Mom’s grief was so deep, we couldn’t help her. Her health was not the best. She was wheelchair bound for about 25 years (Arthritis, hip and knee replacements 4 times over). She was not a complainer. She was truly a happy person till Daddy died. Depression consumed a lot of her days. She struggled through it. This past August she died suddenly. It was quick for her, sad for us. When we were making funeral arrangements with the local undertaker, who was a friend of the family, one of my sisters commented that Mom was very self conscious of her rolls. Those little fat deposits that form under the bra and go all the way around the back. When my sister asked why, now at 85 years old, these bothered her, my Mom said she didn’t want Harry to see her like this. Dad’s name wasn’t Harry.

My sister of course was shocked. “Harry who?” she asked. My Mother replied with the last name of the funeral director. “Harry will see me naked. I wish I didn’t have these rolls on my body.” My sister laughed and said,”You’ll be dead, so you won’t be embarrassed”. And Harry won’t care. We did naturally share this with Harry. He did laugh!

Another funny thing happened. After we all left the hospital (when Mom had passed away). We met at her house to discuss particulars. Someone asked, “Where are her teeth?” Her teeth? She still had most of her own teeth, but there was a plate that she wore to fill in some upper blank spots. Why do we want her teeth? Well maybe the funeral person will have a tough time getting her jaw to look normal. Some of us actually started to look for her teeth. We didn’t find them. She wasn’t going to need them where she was going anyway. Then we figured, if they weren’t in the normal cup where she kept them overnight, they must be in her mouth. We actually LOOKED for her teeth!

My mother had several canes, 2 wheelchairs, and an electric scooter. At her viewing, one of her children and a son-in-law showed up with canes, Neither of them had used a cane before. My one son commented to me that Mom-Mom wasn’t even in the ground yet, and folks were taking her stuff (meaning the canes). It happened they were not my mother’s canes, but both people needed them for health reasons that day. Just looked odd to my son.

I can remember, at a funeral of a friend, a long time ago, our family was lined up in pews in back of the church. During the service someone got a fit of laughing, and we all started to laugh. It was one of those contagious things. One person to the next. We all lost control. We had to leave, it was so bad. To this day, I don’t know what we were laughing about.

Guess the funny little things, help us get through the gut –wrenching pain that we feel when losing a loved one. Thank God for humor.

Why do people always say at a viewing that the dead look good? Dead people look dead. They do not look GOOD! Why do people always say that?

Friday, October 06, 2006

Guest Post by Momo 9

Like the rest of you, I’m tired of looking up this blog and being “Shit On” everyday. The “Whisperer” has been slacking with his posting. Time to get rid of that title.

50th Reunion

I attended the reunion of my 8th grade class last weekend. It has been 50 years since we graduated. It was so fun! We didn’t know each other. Why? Most of us have not kept in touch over the years. We are strangers to each other. But we had fun!

One of the guys mentioned how tall he thought I was in eighth grade. Duh! He was one of the shortest boys in the class. I had reached my adult height in 8th grade. He was still growing. Now he is taller than me. He couldn’t figure that out. Girls mature so much sooner than boys.
One of the guys who had a full head of curly hair in eighth grade is BALD as can be now!
Some of us have added a few pounds to our bodies.(well, okay, a lot of pounds). Most of us have gray hair now (all of us, but some hide the color with Clairol).

If we didn’t have nametags, we would all have been in the dark, as to who was who.
We attended a Catholic grade school. It was fun to remember each other and think about the good times together. We all have fond memories. Some of us had a bad experience or two, but the good outweighed the bad. Some of us remember nothing (Alzheimers setting in?).

Catching up on the last 50 years was the best. Talking about kids and grandkids and work and retirement was the highlight of the day. The thick bond of elementary school brought these strangers back to friendship again! Now we have a whole new group to meet with and chat with and grow old together with. How nice is that? Awesome! I’m having lunch next week with a woman that I’m renewing a friendship with, after 40 years. We are both excited about this.

Advice: Go to all your reunions! Don’t wait 50 years! They can fun and rewarding!
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