It turns out I am originally from Texas

February of 2015 (almost 3 years ago now) I moved from Ohio to Texas. I was born, raised, and lived in Ohio for most of my life until then. I had moved away from time to time but Ohio always called me back, always felt like home, and always was where you could find me. Which sounds strange from someone who never liked cold weather, was never really fond of snow, and hated winter with a passion. The snow, snow drifts, ice storms, driving in snow, snow down your boots from walking in snow were the price that had to be paid to live in Ohio.

Younger days of building snow forts, snow men, sledding down snowy hills, warming gloves on heating vents, and shoveling driveways clear of snow certainly makes you tougher as a kid but it in no way ever guarantees you will get to the place that you just love the stuff. Snow looks nice falling down (unless its like a blizzard), on trees, rooftops, in open fields, and on Christmas morning. That sums up my very, very short list of when snow has any use at all. (Basically Christmas morning and never)

I moped, cried, complained, B****** and moaned about snow, cold, winter, snow in winter, driving in snow, shoveling snow, scraping ice and snow off cars, frozen car locks, freezing my bleep off in winter pumping gas, waiting on buses, waiting in line (outside), and well honestly any chance I got (or made up) to do so. In fact, the very last winter I spent in Ohio the temperatures were going down to a bone chilling 20 to 30 below wind chill. All of this during a time I did not have a car and had to rely on public transportation. I had to wear shorts, with thermal pajama pants, underneath Khaki cargo pants, t shirt under dress shirt, with scarf, hoodie jacket, gloves, hat, and winter coat on top of hoodie in an effort to hopefully survive and not be found in Popsicle form later.

February of 2015 that all changed. I was able to buy a car (700.00!) and found my way to Houston Texas. It did not take very long at all to figure out the people of Houston take food very seriously. I instantly felt like a missing member of a tribe or family I never had any idea I was a part of. There were more “big guys” it seemed and blending in was really not that difficult. Finding larger men’s shirts and pants did not seem as difficult as I remembered. When you live in Ohio for most of your life it seems the local TV stations like to feature stories about Big Steaks, those who eat big steaks, and that Texas is famous for big steaks. What I did not expect was sandwich shops galore, obsession with German and polish sausage, and Deli’s. They don’t advertise these German, Polish influences in Ohio and I honestly had no clue what the heck a Kolache was, and the only time I ever even remotely had hear of a Tamale was on a old Looney Tunes cartoon. I now know better. Killens has the best BBQ brisket, Alamo has the best Tamale’s, Soliz casa de tacos has the best ever, Lopez has the best Enchilada’s, Vincek’s Smokehouse has the best Kolachi’s, smoked meat, and pecan pies, and dressing is made with cornbread. (never with bread)

My mom passed away almost year later after I moved to Texas. I found out (and now have photographic evidence) that I come from a long line of family members on my mom’s side that lived in Texas. That is until a small group including my Grandmother eventually found themselves in Ohio. So.. yes.. It turns out I was a Texan after all.



“The Lake house” is only proof The Postal system is more screwed up than you thought it was.

Yes, yes, yes I fully realize that the movie “The Lake House” came out in 20016 (thanks for ruining my day GOOGLE!). When A lonely doctor (Sandra Bullock), who once lived in a beautiful lakeside home, falls in love via letters with its latest resident, a frustrated architect (Keanu Reeves). When they discover that they are living two years apart, the pair must unravel the mystery behind their incredible romance.Blah, blah, blah lets get to the time traveling shenanigans pulled off  by The United States Postal System shall we?? Hmmmm?

Any time I bring up this topic in polite conversation over dinner, lunch, coffee, or a random ice cream cone inevitably the focus goes to the Mail box at “The Lake House”. The person trying to make their point gets all dreamy eyed looking and says something like: “its a magical Mail box”. Normally at this point I want to tussle their hair and respond back sarcastically: “That’s right sport, Love conquers all and stuff”..  Its not their fault they react and respond this way because that is exactly what the movie wants you to do. It wants you to think there is something mystical, magical, possibly romantic about the process of letters traveling through time. The movie is a puff piece, a blatant piece of Hollywood propaganda. The bitter truth is (a much larger pill to swallow, and inconvenient truth that doesn’t test well with movie audiences) OUR POSTAL SYSTEM SUCKS!!

Here,  let me prove my point just a moment. Lets take the same exact premise of “The Lake House” and apply it to a very large settlement check both the lonely doctor and the frustrated architect are expecting from the same large Bank for very similar reasons.(public transportation bus going faster than 50 MPH, or a Boating Accident lets say) Your focus would quickly go from gushy romantic movie  to frustrating “Check is in the Time traveling mail/postal system” movie in a heart beat. Why?? because you got bills to pay and the stupid stupid postal person sure is not going to pay them.



The Force has Narcolepsy

Quick! Alert Bill Cosby! The Force has awakened and its pressing charges!. Who even knew the Force got sleepy? Tired? Needed nappy time? I have heard of the theory of relativity (for every 2 relatives you block on Facebook there are 5 more posting “The Force Awakens” spoilers), and the String Theory (the chances of a string of calls from your auto financial institution being ignored on your silenced phone and walking out to find out your car has been repossessed increase while finally getting to see “The Force Awakens”), but I for one am starting an online campaign to get The Force a well needed Sleep Study.

Sleep apnea is no picnic. Suffering from sleep apnea while at a picnic is no picnic either. Darth Vader had sleep apnea. The heavy breathing and mechanical sound was a dead giveaway. Powerful in darkside of The Force he was. Sure, he was badass and could like force choke you galaxies away, but he almost dies like literally a bazillion times every night while trying desperately to get oxygen to his Sith infused brain. Poor Bastard. 

The Force having Sleep apnea may explain a lot though. It may explain why Yoda was so freaking goofy when Luke met him for the first time. The Force was Yoda’s buddy. Yoda did not have a volley ball named Wilson to talk to, braid his hair, play Star Wars Monopoly with, or spoon with under a warm blanket. It turns out the times Yoda thought The Force was paying attention it was falling back to sleep but never really getting any rest.

Honestly though what is really in it for the Force to stay alert in the first place? Dear Force: please move this rock, Dear Force: choke this dude, Dear Force: guide this torpedo down a ventilation shaft, Dear Force: deflect this blaster energy bolt, Dear Force: please bring back McGyver, Dear Force: Help me use the Mind trick thing with this hot girl so we can Netflix and Chill. Sheesh.. bunch of winy babies.. fix your own problems I am going back to bed. Night night.

The exciting School of stenography


Picture yourself in the exciting field of stenography. Sitting upright in a comfortable chair, being allowed to legally document all conversations and having that very documentation be admisssble in court. I’m sorry, you did actually tell me you would take out the trash Friday night, would you like me to read it back to you?!

The real reasons why most of the pictures taken of BigFoot are completely awful

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True story ripped from my own life story. It was circa 1970 (ish 1976? 1978?) It was picture day at school and I actually had my sister help me feather my hair (just think dude version of the Farrah Fawcett hair style), I wore a cool looking shirt, and I was looking so fine. I sit in the chair in front of the camera, the cheeky photographer (instead of saying the customary: Say Cheese!) Said: “say peaches!”. The resulting not so complementary photo (no.. I am not posting photographic evidence or example here) was me getting caught by the camera mouthing the “chus” portion of “peaches” making it look like I am either having a stroke or trying to make out with the camera (in my best Austin Powers voice: Common baby! Make love to the camera!).

I know I am not alone when it comes to awkward family photos, insane looking selfies, yearbook picture disasters, or completely lousy photo’s even Photoshop can’t help. So it must be true for BigFoot also, it just seems the poor (guy? gal?) Just can’t catch a break when there is a photo opportunity of any kind.

Is it possible that BigFoot had a previous awkward family photo?

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Maybe his/her (tribe?, family?, cluster?, fellow BigFootians?) Liked to shave their fur and pose nude?


It would be totally badass if BigFoot was the badass with the punk haircut, goth makeup, and was fond of giving the camera the finger, and hated being a glossy photo sell out and that’s the reason why any photos taken are blurred out by censors.

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What are the chances BigFoot is one of the “people” (using the term loosely) of the people of Walmart? He got tired of pictures being snapped of him (and his back fat) in his sponge Bob pajama pants, signing autographes of DVD copies of “Harry and the Henderson’s”, and the photo’s being tweeted for all to see. Anyone can certainly understand why the experience might have had a traumatic effect rendering BigFoot camera shy.

The last and final question here is what would happen if a glossy glorious picture was finally produced of BigFoot?

Would BigFoot become the next media darling? Movies? Recording contract? Twitter feed (@BigFurry ?)?, dancing with BigFoot?, here comes BigFoot boo boo?

who’s smart now?

Quick! Picture someone smart in your mind after being given the following discriptions: Genius, Nobel peace prize worthy, Pulitzer prize contender (the Pulitzer prize committee has yet to return or answer my request for a prize), smart, & super smart.

If you pictured A nerd, Sheldon Cooper, Stephen Hawking, Albert Einstein, a world class chess champion, or one if those mathletes who make complicated spacetime algorythims look like child’s play then chances are you are not alone.

This is not to say these super smart people do not deserve to be pictured in our minds (or hearts) after being given such descriptions, I honestly believe though we need to expand our minds (and hearts) when considering who the really smart people are in the world and in our lives.

Personally I feel mom’s should top the list. Anyone who can multitask couponing, laundry, kitchen duty, provide snacks for soccer, and just barely escape going completely bonkers or becoming an achololic (more box wine puleeeez) is a freaking genius. There are men I personally know who may never fit the description of “book smart” but have an above genius level of know how in building, construction, brick work, plumbing, and mechanics. One man in particular has blown my mind ( but then spray cheese blows my mind also) in many levels on his mechanical abilities.

What about artists?, dancers, writers, bloggers, cool people who find cool and interesting pictures to post on their blog, painters, and other creative types? Don’t they deserve the “genius” moniker?

If you need me I will be busy submitting my 2000 page thesis on why electromagnetically charged peanut butter particles once owned by a squirrel princess warrior with emotional “new TV” season issues are prone to stick on band aide brand to a large gathering of biker moms with tattoos.

Under the influence of caffiene

Caffeine: lovely, fantastic, beautiful caffeine. I owe (blame?) most of my best barrbed comments, wittiest comebacks, and awe-inspired (at least that’s what I claimed in my submission for a pulitzer prize) work. While I am at it I can blame caffeine for the rotten, no good, truly awful open mouth insert foot stuff I allegedly may have said or posted.

Someone or something has to take the credit and heat for all of that. Taking personal accountability would be asking way too much and also gives me a very flimsy excuse or story for the kind police officer who pulled me over and suspects I may have working, walking, blogging, and thinking while under the influence of caffeine. (Nothing to see here officer, just me holding a voluptious cold energy drink can in my hand as if I was holding the ring of power from Lord Of The Rings saying in my Golum voice: “My precious… My precious”)

Caffeine comes in so many forms it may cause someone who had a problem or addiction with it (gosh I really hope those kind of people just get real and get some help) to wonder to themselves what exactly would be the best way to deliver the benefits of caffiene?

Only for the benefit of this blog I have done research (investigative work?) on the matter. Mountain Dew is a good stand by, coffee is such a gift (dear Starbucks: your coffee is way too expensive) and Monster energy drinks have always been my favorite.

Sleep depravation is a cruel joke invented by late night talk shows, QVC, golden girls marathons, and commercials about your medicare options. Life is short, stay awake for it.

The honey do list

When I got married my wife and I chose a passage from the book of Ruth, verse 16 as our wedding vows. The passage expresses Ruth’s ultra supreme sense of dedication towards her mother in law Naomi (except we used it as an expression of our dedication to each other).

It seems once the paperwork was signed and the ceremony was performed I apperntly (and unwittingly) had to agree to (at all times) adhere to, and fulfill a honey do list given to me by my lovely bride.

Pictures of me seeking the advice of one of those accident attorneys with the shiny suites and Bluetooth earpiece rushes through head occaisionally. yes I promised to go where she would go, that her people  would be my people, and that her God would be my God. I don’t however remember signing any paperwork stating that I would be held legally accountable to any and all honey do lists all the way to being held accountable to even the smallest line item (what?!?!.. You forgot the pack of gum?? It was on the list!.. I even underlined it!).

The only problem with even remotely thinking about or following the line of dislogic of forcing my spouse into a deposition, sitting across a large table from a league of Johnny Cockran attorneys grilling her over the details of the how and why’s of the iron clad honey do list is that she would first make dog food out of the attorneys then me. So I have learned to smile and nod and follow each instruction on the list as best I can.

As if that was not enough the honey do list has the right to morph, change quantity of items, change line items, and then be piled up on top of the already growing list of stuff that needs to be done. (which I call my TMSTD list. *Too Much Stuff To Do*)

All I can sugest to anyone anywhere who has the joy and privledge of fulfilling a honey do list is to make peace with it. Look at it this way: if you get everything on the list you don’t have to be a mind reader or guess what to get.