I took my Kia Rio in to BRS&I for service because it broke down just up the street from the dealership. They found 3 items that needed to be fixed. They quoted me a price and broke out the parts cost without telling me labor charges. I estimated it was about 3 hours of mechanic labor. I called at 5 pm to authorize work on 2 of the 3 items expecting my car would be there for the weekend. However, after only an hour they called back to tell me the work was complete. I was pleasantly surprised...
Upon arrival, I looked at my bill only to find that it was not itemized. I asked for an itemized bill and after some complaining, finally got a break down of parts, but still was only shown a lump sum labor charge.
I asked how many hours were in the lump sum charge of $300 and he said 3 at $100 each. I complained about paying for 3 hours of work that was done in 1 to which the service guy, Sean, replied, "That's just the way it is, it can't be changed." He didn't know who he's dealing with.
I asked to speak to the manager who finally came to see me after 20 minutes of waiting. He went on and on trying to explain away how things had been done correctly, even when I asked for proof of the time required to do the work. I wanted an itemized labor charge. After nearly an hour of discussion, he brought me the "proof". Much to his dismay, the "proof" showed that I was right, I should have been billed for only 1 hour, not 3.
To their credit, once this was out in the open they quickly made the adjustment to my bill, but it was only after I had spent and hour trying to get the information to prove them wrong. I make it a point to always get proof of billable hours at a mechanic shop before I pay, but this is the worst overcharging I have ever experienced! If they're doing this to me, they are definitely doing it to everyone!
They did good work and they were very polite in the nearly 2 hours that I was there, but if they don't do honest business then why would you go there??? I'll never go back!
Continued.....
I decided to do a bit more investigating of the issue of the diagnostic charge that was "rolled in" to my bill.
I had a friend call to get his car fixed and ask specifically about the diagnostic fee and he was told it "goes away" if you get the car fixed once they tell you what's wrong.
When I confronted them with this new information, they told me that it does go away. It goes into the other charges on the repair and there will be no line item showing that cost. So if I understand them correctly, "goes away" means "we're going to rape you, your mom, your sisters, and your dog, but in SECRET!"
Bottom line folks, ask a lot of questions before you authorize work on your car. Get an itemized cost breakdown BEFORE the work is done and you won't be sitting funny later.
Saturday, August 20, 2011
Monday, January 31, 2011
Hey Baby, can I get yo numba?!
Warning: If you read this blog, please be aware that there are two blogs for every story. I'm sure if you spent enough time searching, you might find a blog that will tell the other side of this story which may or may not portray that I had much less control in the interactions which took place than that which I am portrayed to have below. It's probably true, but not nearly as funny.
By now it's a known fact that I've been dabbling in Internet dating. It's been kind to me. Much better than the bars and clubs have been. Besides, I'm not Kip from Napoleon Dynamite, spending all day "chatting with chicks online". For me, it's a simply way to meet people who share at least some of the same interests as me. I digress, there is no need for me to justify...peoples' dating preferences are no one's business but their own.
Moving on...
It all started when I got the email from the website we'll call "hEarmony", notifying me that I had a new match. As is the case with all my new matches (yes, believe it or not, there are more than one), I went to her profile to do some reconnaissance. The first thing I noticed was that her name was a bit unusual. It was a name which is generally masculine. In order to protect the sweet, innocent young woman, I'll use the name Codi.
I spent a short time conducting "Operation Codinator", which included viewing pictures, reading facts, and identifying potential talking points (that's talking not stalking). "Operation Codinator" ended in success. I determined this young maiden was worthy of my contact.
I decided against bypassing the standard "hEarmony" process, though I knew it would require considerably more time on my part. FYI, the standard process for "hEarmony" goes like this:
1. A couple will exchange a set of multiple choice questions
2. Lists of likes/dislikes are exchanged
3. Ask/answer a few open-ended questions
4. Open communication (email)
5. Via email, the two can share other personal information such as phone numbers, etc.
To cut things a little short, let's just say we started emailing one another. My first email included a request for her phone number in order for us to have an even more open communication (IMHO, emails from a stranger can be misread or misunderstood). I would much rather misread or misunderstand a phone or face to face conversation, it's more personal.
Five days later, her response to my request came. No, she would not give me her phone number and instead, she insisted that I answer a litany of deep, personal questions fired off in rapid succession! "This is unusual," I thought...
Being the patient and humble (one may say desperate) man that I am, I answered the questions and attempted to defuse the situation by lobbing some softballs her way. This seemed to have worked since we traded only a few more emails until finally, she said she would give me her number (Please note, she did not give me her number, she only said that she WOULD give me her number). She clearly stated that I must first ask for her telephone number, because to her, "men should do the awkward stuff in life". Again I say, unusual...
Contrary to what one may now believe after reading the above, I am no dummy. I opted not to ask for her number. Instead, I decided that I was now running the show! (Lets just avoid discussing the fact that after our email discussions, I now knew that she is a pretty awesome girl and was utterly TERRIFIED of her!)
I asked as many tough questions as I could. )No more softballs honey, you're in the big leagues now!) Unfortunately, it turned out that my questions were the MLB equivalent of a beach ball being lobbed underhand by a 14 year old girl. In addition to being the furthest thing from difficult, I also neglected to fact check. I realized later that most of the questions I had asked were already answered. Maybe I am a dummy...
Graciously however, she responded positively to my 3rd grade banter. (maybe she likes 'em dumb?) I finally decided that it was time to simply cut 'em off, stick 'em in a bag, and hand 'em over...gift wrapped. Yeah, I asked for her number just like she wanted me to.
While my voice was now an octave higher, I was relieved to finally have gotten to this point. I fully expected to get the number in the usual format, 10 digits from 0-9. For her convenience, I also gave her my number (the equivalent of including my penis in the package). I should have known based on the way communication had gone to this point (unusual), that there would be nothing "usual" about the response.
Once again, rather than simply writing out the 10 digits, she required that I go on a "virtual scavenger hunt" that included pointless mathematical calculations (these were not new to me since I have taken 4 college calculus classes), scripture chases, and random google searches. I read her email and silently refused to let her be in charge! I mean, this woman already had every man-part I possessed, I will NOT give her any more!!! I was ready to pound out an email telling her exactly what I felt about her new "wild goose chase".
It took about 30 minutes, but I finally finished the wild goose chase and had the number. I back checked it so that I was sure it was right. I proudly thought to myself, "Now it's MY turn! (it wasn't) It's time to have a bit of fun at her expense (I didn't)."
My plan? To send a text that would be a bit revealing for anyone to get. Something that she couldn't show to her friends without being completely embarrassed. It went like this:
"Codi, this is the guy you hit on hard and drunk texted last night. Never had someone chew on my ear like that, especially someone I just met -JD"
After hitting send, I gave myself a mental "pat on the back" as I thought about her face as she read the message. I was sure she would find it embarrassing but also funny and come back with an equally intelligent and humorous rebuttal. "But," I thought, "nothing compares to a first strike!"
I was in the middle of gloating minutes later when the response came, "Ummm, yeah, you have the wrong number. I'm not Kyle whoever that is."
"Well played my little kitten," I thought to myself as I formulated a response. I wondered in awe at how truly witty this woman was. I had not expected an answer such as this. I was ready to send an outright "BS!" message when something from deep in the back of my mind screamed out, "WAIT!!!"
What if this really was a wrong number. What if she gave me the wrong number...intentionally? I'll admit it, there was even a millisecond in which I entertained the fact that my scavenger hunt may have resulted my obtaining the wrong number. I shewed that suggestion away in the same instant it arose, just not possible. Still, I had to be smart about this. I decided to send a text that would serve two purposes, 1. Taunting Codi if it really was her, and 2. Apologizing to a possible stranger. After stretching my wit slightly further than the stub that was now left below my belt, I sent the following:
"Uh, huh, well this is embarrassing for me then, isn't it? Too bad. Looks like I'll just have to go on to one of my other chicks. Sorry to bother you!"
Additionally, to cover all my tracks, I sent an email to Codi dictating to her that the number I had obtained gave me a negative response. I also said that I had done all that was required of me (implying that I had even gone beyond by including my penis as mentioned earlier), and so the rest (penis included) was in her hands.
It took less than an hour to discover that the number which I had sent messages to, was indeed a wrong number. Codi sent me a message using the number I had previously given her to tell me of the mistake. Of course I blame her, everyone that knows me knows that I am never wrong and if I am that I always find a way to blame someone or something else. I'm an engineer for Pete's sake!
To Codi: Well played dear sir, er...ma'am, (I'm sure that happens all the time). You are smart, funny, and unusual. I admire that in a woman. Also, please return my "unit" ASAP. I plan to need it...eventually.
To the person in San Antonio at 882-0203: My sincere apologies. But may you and your friends forever tell the story of the gay dude named JD who got played last night!
As for me, watch out world! I have a number and I know how to use it...now where the hell's my phone?
By now it's a known fact that I've been dabbling in Internet dating. It's been kind to me. Much better than the bars and clubs have been. Besides, I'm not Kip from Napoleon Dynamite, spending all day "chatting with chicks online". For me, it's a simply way to meet people who share at least some of the same interests as me. I digress, there is no need for me to justify...peoples' dating preferences are no one's business but their own.
Moving on...
It all started when I got the email from the website we'll call "hEarmony", notifying me that I had a new match. As is the case with all my new matches (yes, believe it or not, there are more than one), I went to her profile to do some reconnaissance. The first thing I noticed was that her name was a bit unusual. It was a name which is generally masculine. In order to protect the sweet, innocent young woman, I'll use the name Codi.
I spent a short time conducting "Operation Codinator", which included viewing pictures, reading facts, and identifying potential talking points (that's talking not stalking). "Operation Codinator" ended in success. I determined this young maiden was worthy of my contact.
I decided against bypassing the standard "hEarmony" process, though I knew it would require considerably more time on my part. FYI, the standard process for "hEarmony" goes like this:
1. A couple will exchange a set of multiple choice questions
2. Lists of likes/dislikes are exchanged
3. Ask/answer a few open-ended questions
4. Open communication (email)
5. Via email, the two can share other personal information such as phone numbers, etc.
To cut things a little short, let's just say we started emailing one another. My first email included a request for her phone number in order for us to have an even more open communication (IMHO, emails from a stranger can be misread or misunderstood). I would much rather misread or misunderstand a phone or face to face conversation, it's more personal.
Five days later, her response to my request came. No, she would not give me her phone number and instead, she insisted that I answer a litany of deep, personal questions fired off in rapid succession! "This is unusual," I thought...
Being the patient and humble (one may say desperate) man that I am, I answered the questions and attempted to defuse the situation by lobbing some softballs her way. This seemed to have worked since we traded only a few more emails until finally, she said she would give me her number (Please note, she did not give me her number, she only said that she WOULD give me her number). She clearly stated that I must first ask for her telephone number, because to her, "men should do the awkward stuff in life". Again I say, unusual...
Contrary to what one may now believe after reading the above, I am no dummy. I opted not to ask for her number. Instead, I decided that I was now running the show! (Lets just avoid discussing the fact that after our email discussions, I now knew that she is a pretty awesome girl and was utterly TERRIFIED of her!)
I asked as many tough questions as I could. )No more softballs honey, you're in the big leagues now!) Unfortunately, it turned out that my questions were the MLB equivalent of a beach ball being lobbed underhand by a 14 year old girl. In addition to being the furthest thing from difficult, I also neglected to fact check. I realized later that most of the questions I had asked were already answered. Maybe I am a dummy...
Graciously however, she responded positively to my 3rd grade banter. (maybe she likes 'em dumb?) I finally decided that it was time to simply cut 'em off, stick 'em in a bag, and hand 'em over...gift wrapped. Yeah, I asked for her number just like she wanted me to.
While my voice was now an octave higher, I was relieved to finally have gotten to this point. I fully expected to get the number in the usual format, 10 digits from 0-9. For her convenience, I also gave her my number (the equivalent of including my penis in the package). I should have known based on the way communication had gone to this point (unusual), that there would be nothing "usual" about the response.
Once again, rather than simply writing out the 10 digits, she required that I go on a "virtual scavenger hunt" that included pointless mathematical calculations (these were not new to me since I have taken 4 college calculus classes), scripture chases, and random google searches. I read her email and silently refused to let her be in charge! I mean, this woman already had every man-part I possessed, I will NOT give her any more!!! I was ready to pound out an email telling her exactly what I felt about her new "wild goose chase".
It took about 30 minutes, but I finally finished the wild goose chase and had the number. I back checked it so that I was sure it was right. I proudly thought to myself, "Now it's MY turn! (it wasn't) It's time to have a bit of fun at her expense (I didn't)."
My plan? To send a text that would be a bit revealing for anyone to get. Something that she couldn't show to her friends without being completely embarrassed. It went like this:
"Codi, this is the guy you hit on hard and drunk texted last night. Never had someone chew on my ear like that, especially someone I just met -JD"
After hitting send, I gave myself a mental "pat on the back" as I thought about her face as she read the message. I was sure she would find it embarrassing but also funny and come back with an equally intelligent and humorous rebuttal. "But," I thought, "nothing compares to a first strike!"
I was in the middle of gloating minutes later when the response came, "Ummm, yeah, you have the wrong number. I'm not Kyle whoever that is."
"Well played my little kitten," I thought to myself as I formulated a response. I wondered in awe at how truly witty this woman was. I had not expected an answer such as this. I was ready to send an outright "BS!" message when something from deep in the back of my mind screamed out, "WAIT!!!"
What if this really was a wrong number. What if she gave me the wrong number...intentionally? I'll admit it, there was even a millisecond in which I entertained the fact that my scavenger hunt may have resulted my obtaining the wrong number. I shewed that suggestion away in the same instant it arose, just not possible. Still, I had to be smart about this. I decided to send a text that would serve two purposes, 1. Taunting Codi if it really was her, and 2. Apologizing to a possible stranger. After stretching my wit slightly further than the stub that was now left below my belt, I sent the following:
"Uh, huh, well this is embarrassing for me then, isn't it? Too bad. Looks like I'll just have to go on to one of my other chicks. Sorry to bother you!"
Additionally, to cover all my tracks, I sent an email to Codi dictating to her that the number I had obtained gave me a negative response. I also said that I had done all that was required of me (implying that I had even gone beyond by including my penis as mentioned earlier), and so the rest (penis included) was in her hands.
It took less than an hour to discover that the number which I had sent messages to, was indeed a wrong number. Codi sent me a message using the number I had previously given her to tell me of the mistake. Of course I blame her, everyone that knows me knows that I am never wrong and if I am that I always find a way to blame someone or something else. I'm an engineer for Pete's sake!
To Codi: Well played dear sir, er...ma'am, (I'm sure that happens all the time). You are smart, funny, and unusual. I admire that in a woman. Also, please return my "unit" ASAP. I plan to need it...eventually.
To the person in San Antonio at 882-0203: My sincere apologies. But may you and your friends forever tell the story of the gay dude named JD who got played last night!
As for me, watch out world! I have a number and I know how to use it...now where the hell's my phone?
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Really, because I'm Mormon...?
I'll warn you, this entry is a venting entry. The opinions expressed therein are soley mine and not to be linked to any other person or group.
So let's just say the dating market for a 32 year old man, who has been called by many women a "nice guy", has an 8 year old, lives in a college town, and is sort of a dork, is virtually non-existant.
In order to combat all the forces working against me and my potential to share my life with someone wonderful, I have had to employ some methods to meet women which might seem…desperate. Okay, okay, so I joined eharmony.com, so sue me, geez!!! Is it terrible that I want to share my life with someone who responds to my touch with more than purring? Or who looks at me with wanting eyes for more reasons than simply because I haven’t fed her yet? I refuse to be “The Cat Man”.
Well, in joining this site, it asked many prying questions about me and my beliefs as well as questions about the person I hope to be with and her beliefs. I answered honestly: I don’t care what religion she is as long as she has a firm faith in God. Additionally, I was sure to check the box which stated that she must feel the same way.
Fast forward to last Friday…I was matched with a woman living in a small town about 40 miles from Norman. Over the weekend and through the first part of the week, we went through the eharmony.com way of beginning communication: learning bits and pieces about each other, and eventually emailing one another.
Any of you that know me, know that I’m a talker. I get it from my mother. Ask her about it and be prepared to get an earful. Well, as a talker, I would much rather participate in a phone call or face to face conversation than emails or texts. Consequently, I emailed the young woman, let’s call her Betty Baptist (BB), and gave her my number with indication that I would rather speak voice to voice. She replied that she would call later that evening…yesterday evening.
I didn’t put much stock in her reply, because I really didn’t know this woman that well, and in my experience most women just don’t follow through. (No offense to most of the women I know, it’s just how you are.) So you can imagine my surprise when my phone rang and it was her! We proceeded to have a wonderful conversation which lasted for nearly an hour, and in which I mentioned that my son’s name comes from the Book of Mormon as well as the fact that I am Mormon.
The conversation carried on for some time after this tidbit of relationship killing knowledge was dropped, and was quite good, I might add. So good, in fact, that we decided to have lunch together on Friday. I was so excited I even put the date on my calendar! Again, any of you that know me know this is sort of a big deal. Can you imagine my surprise when at 6:23 AM PST, I received the following:
“Hey:
I really enjoyed our talk last night.
Unfortunately, I can’t do lunch on Friday. After thinking and praying about it, I feel the door is being shut. Our beliefs are two totally separate things – I’m a southern Baptist and you are a mormon. God is very clear in His Word about being unequally yoked, etc. I just think it would be very hard in the future and so I don’t want to waste your or my time. I hope you understand.
You seem like a great guy so I wish you nothing but the best.
“Betty Baptist””
My first thought was, “Its 9 AM and we got off the phone at 10 PM and I’m pretty sure you didn’t lose a lot of sleep over this decision (maybe you did, if so…phew!), so how much thinking and praying could you have really done?”
My second thought was, “I have a lot of Southern Baptist (it’s a proper noun just like His and Word when referring to God and the Bible, so they should be capitalized), and we can and do go to lunch together…quite often.”
My third thought was, “I’m so glad she said that thing about unequally yoked! The last thing I want to do is carry her @$$ to the Celestial Kindom!”
I also thought, “Door being shut!? How can a door be shut that was only perceived to be open by the light coming in through the cracks around it?”
So you all don’t think I’m some big fat jerk, and in order to maintain my “nice guy” image (with all 2 of my blog readers), my reply was this:
“You know, I’m really sorry you feel that way. I have a lot of Southern Baptist friends and our beliefs are more the same than you think. But if that’s the way you feel, then I understand. It’s too bad though. I really do hope you find what you’re looking for.
JD”
Let me clarify my email for any readers who don’t know me that well, and for Betty should she stumble upon my blog. First, I should explain that this is an attempt by me to shed the “nice guy” image that has plagued me since middle school. It’s gonna be good! The translation is in brackets [].
“You know, I’m really sorry you feel that way [Woman, you suck!]. I have a lot of Southern Baptist friends [uh, we live in the Bible Belt honey, I’m not stupid. You and every other decent looking woman with values is Southern Baptist] and our beliefs are more the same [I sacrifice goats and cattle, have horns, and I’m a devil worshipper too!] than you think [duh]. But if that’s the way you feel [feeling a little ridiculous?], then I understand [I didn’t want you anyway. You are to religion what the KKK is to race]. It’s too bad though [I’m a great guy that would never take your private email, post it on my blog and publicly bash it! (more 1 reader makes it public, right?) Your loss sister.]. I really do hope you find what you’re looking for [Mr. Perfect doesn’t exist!!! Especially Mr. Perfect Southern Baptist. But then again, maybe you’re just prejudice against Mormons; any other run-of-the-mill Protestant would suffice…heck you might even take a Catholic before a Mormon!!! (not that I think Catholics are bad, but it seems to me that SB’s do)]”
Look, we live in a world that is more diverse and interconnected than ever…and it’s getting more so every day. If any of us lets race, religion, creed, citizenship or any other factor stop us from getting to know someone, then we’re really missing out. I’m not saying that anyone should marry or even cuddle up with someone if it goes against their values and beliefs. But I am saying that we should at least consider the fact just because someone doesn’t look, act, or believe just as we do, doesn’t mean they aren’t worth getting to know. We also should understand that what we “hear” about someone else’s beliefs, isn’t always what the beliefs truly are. It’s more important than ever that we all have an open mind about the people we come in contact with. An individual is still a person, and IMHO, probably a pretty good one.
So let's just say the dating market for a 32 year old man, who has been called by many women a "nice guy", has an 8 year old, lives in a college town, and is sort of a dork, is virtually non-existant.
In order to combat all the forces working against me and my potential to share my life with someone wonderful, I have had to employ some methods to meet women which might seem…desperate. Okay, okay, so I joined eharmony.com, so sue me, geez!!! Is it terrible that I want to share my life with someone who responds to my touch with more than purring? Or who looks at me with wanting eyes for more reasons than simply because I haven’t fed her yet? I refuse to be “The Cat Man”.
Well, in joining this site, it asked many prying questions about me and my beliefs as well as questions about the person I hope to be with and her beliefs. I answered honestly: I don’t care what religion she is as long as she has a firm faith in God. Additionally, I was sure to check the box which stated that she must feel the same way.
Fast forward to last Friday…I was matched with a woman living in a small town about 40 miles from Norman. Over the weekend and through the first part of the week, we went through the eharmony.com way of beginning communication: learning bits and pieces about each other, and eventually emailing one another.
Any of you that know me, know that I’m a talker. I get it from my mother. Ask her about it and be prepared to get an earful. Well, as a talker, I would much rather participate in a phone call or face to face conversation than emails or texts. Consequently, I emailed the young woman, let’s call her Betty Baptist (BB), and gave her my number with indication that I would rather speak voice to voice. She replied that she would call later that evening…yesterday evening.
I didn’t put much stock in her reply, because I really didn’t know this woman that well, and in my experience most women just don’t follow through. (No offense to most of the women I know, it’s just how you are.) So you can imagine my surprise when my phone rang and it was her! We proceeded to have a wonderful conversation which lasted for nearly an hour, and in which I mentioned that my son’s name comes from the Book of Mormon as well as the fact that I am Mormon.
The conversation carried on for some time after this tidbit of relationship killing knowledge was dropped, and was quite good, I might add. So good, in fact, that we decided to have lunch together on Friday. I was so excited I even put the date on my calendar! Again, any of you that know me know this is sort of a big deal. Can you imagine my surprise when at 6:23 AM PST, I received the following:
“Hey:
I really enjoyed our talk last night.
Unfortunately, I can’t do lunch on Friday. After thinking and praying about it, I feel the door is being shut. Our beliefs are two totally separate things – I’m a southern Baptist and you are a mormon. God is very clear in His Word about being unequally yoked, etc. I just think it would be very hard in the future and so I don’t want to waste your or my time. I hope you understand.
You seem like a great guy so I wish you nothing but the best.
“Betty Baptist””
My first thought was, “Its 9 AM and we got off the phone at 10 PM and I’m pretty sure you didn’t lose a lot of sleep over this decision (maybe you did, if so…phew!), so how much thinking and praying could you have really done?”
My second thought was, “I have a lot of Southern Baptist (it’s a proper noun just like His and Word when referring to God and the Bible, so they should be capitalized), and we can and do go to lunch together…quite often.”
My third thought was, “I’m so glad she said that thing about unequally yoked! The last thing I want to do is carry her @$$ to the Celestial Kindom!”
I also thought, “Door being shut!? How can a door be shut that was only perceived to be open by the light coming in through the cracks around it?”
So you all don’t think I’m some big fat jerk, and in order to maintain my “nice guy” image (with all 2 of my blog readers), my reply was this:
“You know, I’m really sorry you feel that way. I have a lot of Southern Baptist friends and our beliefs are more the same than you think. But if that’s the way you feel, then I understand. It’s too bad though. I really do hope you find what you’re looking for.
JD”
Let me clarify my email for any readers who don’t know me that well, and for Betty should she stumble upon my blog. First, I should explain that this is an attempt by me to shed the “nice guy” image that has plagued me since middle school. It’s gonna be good! The translation is in brackets [].
“You know, I’m really sorry you feel that way [Woman, you suck!]. I have a lot of Southern Baptist friends [uh, we live in the Bible Belt honey, I’m not stupid. You and every other decent looking woman with values is Southern Baptist] and our beliefs are more the same [I sacrifice goats and cattle, have horns, and I’m a devil worshipper too!] than you think [duh]. But if that’s the way you feel [feeling a little ridiculous?], then I understand [I didn’t want you anyway. You are to religion what the KKK is to race]. It’s too bad though [I’m a great guy that would never take your private email, post it on my blog and publicly bash it! (more 1 reader makes it public, right?) Your loss sister.]. I really do hope you find what you’re looking for [Mr. Perfect doesn’t exist!!! Especially Mr. Perfect Southern Baptist. But then again, maybe you’re just prejudice against Mormons; any other run-of-the-mill Protestant would suffice…heck you might even take a Catholic before a Mormon!!! (not that I think Catholics are bad, but it seems to me that SB’s do)]”
Look, we live in a world that is more diverse and interconnected than ever…and it’s getting more so every day. If any of us lets race, religion, creed, citizenship or any other factor stop us from getting to know someone, then we’re really missing out. I’m not saying that anyone should marry or even cuddle up with someone if it goes against their values and beliefs. But I am saying that we should at least consider the fact just because someone doesn’t look, act, or believe just as we do, doesn’t mean they aren’t worth getting to know. We also should understand that what we “hear” about someone else’s beliefs, isn’t always what the beliefs truly are. It’s more important than ever that we all have an open mind about the people we come in contact with. An individual is still a person, and IMHO, probably a pretty good one.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Me: A Journal Entry...ish
I'm pretty sure there are about 2 people reading this blog, you and me. Though I find your voyeuristic nature creepy and I also think you very odd for having an interest in me, I feel obligated to post periodic update. Today is the end of a period…you’re welcome.
I’ve reflected a bit lately about myself. I feel it's important that I know myself and am comfortable with who I am in order to be the best father, friend, eventual husband, lover, and lame a$$ that I can be. In all my reflection, and through some recent experiences, I've discovered some things about me. You’re lucky enough to have me share them with you. Feel special.
Reflection #1
I have the potential to be an incredible father! While my son lives 1500 miles away, I love him like no one else on earth! I would do anything for him. The one thing I want to do more than anything is to be the best dad I can be for him. This love translates into a general love of children and of mothers. As I once so oddly put it to a woman I’m dating, "I'm attracted to mothers." Some may say, "take your fetish to another website!" But they don't understand what I mean.
You see, when I see a mother of a child who plays and laughs and enjoys the childhood of the child; a mother who appreciates that her children will not be young forever and so they should "live it up", it's a turn on. It's a turn on, not because I'm some psychopath that fanaticizes about this or that, but because that's the kind of father I want to be. It's also the kind of person I want to have mother any children I may have, hence the attraction.
Reflection #2
I want a woman to share my life with. I want a woman who appreciates me as much as I appreciate her; a woman who will tell her friends in giddy giggles how sweet it was that I did this or that; a woman who, when I look into her eyes and tell her that I can’t believe she is in love with me, is shocked and says that SHE can’t believe I’m in love with HER; a woman who will let me serve her with foot rubs, back rubs, a night on the town etc; finally, a woman who, even though I screw up a thousand different ways, sees how hard I am trying to be the man she deserves.
Well, that’s really all the reflections I have so I hope you got your voyeuristic fix for the day…you sick, sick person!
I’ve reflected a bit lately about myself. I feel it's important that I know myself and am comfortable with who I am in order to be the best father, friend, eventual husband, lover, and lame a$$ that I can be. In all my reflection, and through some recent experiences, I've discovered some things about me. You’re lucky enough to have me share them with you. Feel special.
Reflection #1
I have the potential to be an incredible father! While my son lives 1500 miles away, I love him like no one else on earth! I would do anything for him. The one thing I want to do more than anything is to be the best dad I can be for him. This love translates into a general love of children and of mothers. As I once so oddly put it to a woman I’m dating, "I'm attracted to mothers." Some may say, "take your fetish to another website!" But they don't understand what I mean.
You see, when I see a mother of a child who plays and laughs and enjoys the childhood of the child; a mother who appreciates that her children will not be young forever and so they should "live it up", it's a turn on. It's a turn on, not because I'm some psychopath that fanaticizes about this or that, but because that's the kind of father I want to be. It's also the kind of person I want to have mother any children I may have, hence the attraction.
Reflection #2
I want a woman to share my life with. I want a woman who appreciates me as much as I appreciate her; a woman who will tell her friends in giddy giggles how sweet it was that I did this or that; a woman who, when I look into her eyes and tell her that I can’t believe she is in love with me, is shocked and says that SHE can’t believe I’m in love with HER; a woman who will let me serve her with foot rubs, back rubs, a night on the town etc; finally, a woman who, even though I screw up a thousand different ways, sees how hard I am trying to be the man she deserves.
Well, that’s really all the reflections I have so I hope you got your voyeuristic fix for the day…you sick, sick person!
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Ladies, back off!
So I’ve had a lot to think about lately with regards to me and women. In only a short time I have contacted a woman who, as it turns out, was much more interested in me (The Clinger) than I was in her, as well as having been contacted by a woman who I think I am much more interested in (The Thower) than she is me. It’s a funny situation. I’m trying very hard to take everything I thought and felt toward The Clinger and projecting it from The Thrower’s point of view. My hope is that this approach will keep me from making the same mistakes (appearing clingy, saying too much too soon, and becoming too attached, etc.) with The Thrower.
The thing is, TT is different than any woman I have ever dated. First of all, she contacted me! Okay, okay, now that you’ve had a chance to stop the giggles and wipe away the tears of laughter, it’s true! Something which I thought was only a myth of Mormondom really happened. It was like Christmas, only without the carrot jell-o, funeral potatoes, and grandma’s wet kisses which she insisted had to be on the kisser to the point she would grab your face, force a pucker and place more saliva on your lips than had been there through all 4 courses of the recent Thanksgiving meal. It was heaven!
Oh, “Sure,” you say, “I’ve had a Mormon girl volunteer her number to me.” Listen here Mr. “I haven’t stopped handshaking every single person I see in or around the church building since my mission 15 years ago,” this woman ain’t your sweet spirit, kind hearted, Mormon housewife; she’s HOT! Indeed, she is WAY out of my league. Don’t get me wrong, by saying this I by no means want to seem insecure about myself. I am very comfortable with who I am. I’m a decent looking, middle-aged, average height, average weight, mixed blood American male. I’m unique! I’m a good guy, I know how to treat a woman, and after 4 years on and then being abruptly taken off of the marriage cafeteria plan, I can now take care of myself to a level that doesn’t smell like old garbage or look like John Daly. But I also have to be real and accept that there is a certain class of woman who is simply not interested in what I have to offer. TT, by all appearances, in that class.
Whenever I’ve spent any substantial time, asking why and how, I’ve ended up in a slobbering, drool laden, slurred speech daze that looks very similar to the look of your average massive stroke survivor. It is a mystery that even the Harty Boys couldn’t solve (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EA0ziLh7y78). Contrary to logic, I even went out on a limb and asked her what she sees in me. She dictated almost exactly what I am and said, “I’m good for her right now.”
This sentence, though short, is both euphoric and tragic. The first part, “I’m good for her,” I couldn’t agree with more! I’m good for ANY woman who has the patience and desire to care for me. I take care of the women in my life. I’ve found that I am happier when this is the case, so I just do it, no questions asked! Call me selfish…
The second part is devastatingly problematic; “right now”. The suppressed paranoia within me bubbles to the surface and screams, “SHE’S GOING TO END IT!!!” But, once I am able to distract this beast with some information I picked up outside the JFK Memorial in Dallas, TX, I have to acknowledge, it may have a valid point. I’m forced, then, to make a decision. Continue on, knowing that one day after “right now” has ended, I will be popping Lexipro like Rush Limbaugh eats Lortab and spending thousands of dollars in counseling trying to answer the question of why I’m so average, or to pretend the comment was never made and press forward, possibly walking blindly to a fiery pit of hell! FML!
The thing is, TT is different than any woman I have ever dated. First of all, she contacted me! Okay, okay, now that you’ve had a chance to stop the giggles and wipe away the tears of laughter, it’s true! Something which I thought was only a myth of Mormondom really happened. It was like Christmas, only without the carrot jell-o, funeral potatoes, and grandma’s wet kisses which she insisted had to be on the kisser to the point she would grab your face, force a pucker and place more saliva on your lips than had been there through all 4 courses of the recent Thanksgiving meal. It was heaven!
Oh, “Sure,” you say, “I’ve had a Mormon girl volunteer her number to me.” Listen here Mr. “I haven’t stopped handshaking every single person I see in or around the church building since my mission 15 years ago,” this woman ain’t your sweet spirit, kind hearted, Mormon housewife; she’s HOT! Indeed, she is WAY out of my league. Don’t get me wrong, by saying this I by no means want to seem insecure about myself. I am very comfortable with who I am. I’m a decent looking, middle-aged, average height, average weight, mixed blood American male. I’m unique! I’m a good guy, I know how to treat a woman, and after 4 years on and then being abruptly taken off of the marriage cafeteria plan, I can now take care of myself to a level that doesn’t smell like old garbage or look like John Daly. But I also have to be real and accept that there is a certain class of woman who is simply not interested in what I have to offer. TT, by all appearances, in that class.
Whenever I’ve spent any substantial time, asking why and how, I’ve ended up in a slobbering, drool laden, slurred speech daze that looks very similar to the look of your average massive stroke survivor. It is a mystery that even the Harty Boys couldn’t solve (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EA0ziLh7y78). Contrary to logic, I even went out on a limb and asked her what she sees in me. She dictated almost exactly what I am and said, “I’m good for her right now.”
This sentence, though short, is both euphoric and tragic. The first part, “I’m good for her,” I couldn’t agree with more! I’m good for ANY woman who has the patience and desire to care for me. I take care of the women in my life. I’ve found that I am happier when this is the case, so I just do it, no questions asked! Call me selfish…
The second part is devastatingly problematic; “right now”. The suppressed paranoia within me bubbles to the surface and screams, “SHE’S GOING TO END IT!!!” But, once I am able to distract this beast with some information I picked up outside the JFK Memorial in Dallas, TX, I have to acknowledge, it may have a valid point. I’m forced, then, to make a decision. Continue on, knowing that one day after “right now” has ended, I will be popping Lexipro like Rush Limbaugh eats Lortab and spending thousands of dollars in counseling trying to answer the question of why I’m so average, or to pretend the comment was never made and press forward, possibly walking blindly to a fiery pit of hell! FML!
Monday, September 13, 2010
Most Embarrassing Moment
It all started when work had an assignment for me in Austin, TX, our largest office in the midwest. I've been to the Austin office before, but I only went to one conference room and it was only for a day. The office is a 5 story building with floors that are 60,000+ sq ft, full of only PBS&J employees. The arrangement of the floors is basically a scaled up version of a maze which a sociology or psychology PhD student would use in conjunction with rats to test various rat reactions.
Well, upon arrival I was met at the doors by my would-be coworkers whom I followed to a cubicle on the 3rd floor. I was given my assignment and left alone. Throughout the day I managed to find various needed locations; the exit when I went to lunch, my coworker's area when I had questions, and the break room when I needed a snack or drink of water. However, I never once chanced upon the bathroom.
While at work, I tend to be very focused, and as such, usually realize that I need to use the restroom about an hour after I should have noticed. So, at about an hour too late and in a bit of a rush, I scrambled my way through the maze of cubicles, peeking and sniffing around corners to find dead ends filled with copiers, printers, other rats…er uh, people, and stacks of papers until finally, I found it! It was identified by a sign which I glanced at as I entered. I navigated the room and found a stall.
Several minutes later, I heard the door open and someone entered. But I noticed women's voices outside in very close proximity, which made me a little uncomfortable. But the two who entered did so silently, as it should be done in a men's restroom. It was a second or two later that I had 4 thoughts enter my mind in very quick succession. They are listed below in the order in which they appeared:
1. Those footsteps sounded much like women's shoes.
2. I don't recall seeing any urinals when I came in.
3. HOLY CRAP!! Those ARE women's shoes…on the LADY in the stall next to me!!!
4. I…AM…IN…THE…WOMEN'S…BATHROOM!!!!!
The series of thoughts which followed are still somewhat of a blur to me. But generally, they had to do with various escape scenarios which I would employ to leave the hostile territory. They included everything from silent assassin to "Shock and Awe!" But none seemed any more appropriate or any less embarrassing than the others, so I sat and waited like a scared fawn in the grass surrounded by hungry, stalking wolves.
After a few moments, the wolves gave up on their prey and left the room. I was now able to make my move. My first move was to laugh so hysterically, I cried. Once composed, I quickly washed up and approached the door. At this moment, I had the thought of what could be just beyond this door; The wolves could be luring me out to catch a glimpse of the fawn in all its nakedness (figurative); A chance lone wolf could simply be coming to do her duty and stumble upon this poor, lost, and lonely prey; Or worse, a bull could be trudging his way to pay homage to the porcelain god and discover me, having entered the forbidden temple, and then subject me to the only thing worse than the wolves, the taunting of the bulls!
I decided I had to act quickly and face whatever was just beyond this door now. It was too much of a risk to stay inside. I rushed out of the door and down the hall toward where I knew the men’s room had to be. Thankfully upon exiting, no one was there and my escape was unseen! Once close to the correct washroom, I felt it necessary to offer a gesture of forgiveness to the porcelain god by entering the men’s room and washing my hands (I’m sure there’s some symbology here).
One might think the story ends there, but one doesn’t know the paranoia in my brain!
Immediately after sitting down, I began hearing the cackles of laughter from various parts of the building, and I knew what the subject matter had to be. I pictured the women phoning one another, their husbands, their mothers, their grandmothers, and sharing what had surely by now become known as “The Man-cident”.
Out of fear of being identified by my shoes or the cuffs of my pants, I resolved not to leave my cubicle for 3.5 more hours, a full 2 hours longer than anyone else could possibly be expected to stay. In fact, I took the appropriate cautionary measures of removing my shoes and tucking them far under the desk so as not to be seen by patrolling hunters. I also kept my feet out of the site of a “casual” passersby who I knew would be nothing more than a spy.
Once the day was over…okay, once MY day was over, I glided to my car and then to the hotel and scrubbed the evidence. Those shoes were placed in my suitcase and were not nor will ever be worn in that office again! It’s extreme, I know, but necessary!
Well, upon arrival I was met at the doors by my would-be coworkers whom I followed to a cubicle on the 3rd floor. I was given my assignment and left alone. Throughout the day I managed to find various needed locations; the exit when I went to lunch, my coworker's area when I had questions, and the break room when I needed a snack or drink of water. However, I never once chanced upon the bathroom.
While at work, I tend to be very focused, and as such, usually realize that I need to use the restroom about an hour after I should have noticed. So, at about an hour too late and in a bit of a rush, I scrambled my way through the maze of cubicles, peeking and sniffing around corners to find dead ends filled with copiers, printers, other rats…er uh, people, and stacks of papers until finally, I found it! It was identified by a sign which I glanced at as I entered. I navigated the room and found a stall.
Several minutes later, I heard the door open and someone entered. But I noticed women's voices outside in very close proximity, which made me a little uncomfortable. But the two who entered did so silently, as it should be done in a men's restroom. It was a second or two later that I had 4 thoughts enter my mind in very quick succession. They are listed below in the order in which they appeared:
1. Those footsteps sounded much like women's shoes.
2. I don't recall seeing any urinals when I came in.
3. HOLY CRAP!! Those ARE women's shoes…on the LADY in the stall next to me!!!
4. I…AM…IN…THE…WOMEN'S…BATHROOM!!!!!
The series of thoughts which followed are still somewhat of a blur to me. But generally, they had to do with various escape scenarios which I would employ to leave the hostile territory. They included everything from silent assassin to "Shock and Awe!" But none seemed any more appropriate or any less embarrassing than the others, so I sat and waited like a scared fawn in the grass surrounded by hungry, stalking wolves.
After a few moments, the wolves gave up on their prey and left the room. I was now able to make my move. My first move was to laugh so hysterically, I cried. Once composed, I quickly washed up and approached the door. At this moment, I had the thought of what could be just beyond this door; The wolves could be luring me out to catch a glimpse of the fawn in all its nakedness (figurative); A chance lone wolf could simply be coming to do her duty and stumble upon this poor, lost, and lonely prey; Or worse, a bull could be trudging his way to pay homage to the porcelain god and discover me, having entered the forbidden temple, and then subject me to the only thing worse than the wolves, the taunting of the bulls!
I decided I had to act quickly and face whatever was just beyond this door now. It was too much of a risk to stay inside. I rushed out of the door and down the hall toward where I knew the men’s room had to be. Thankfully upon exiting, no one was there and my escape was unseen! Once close to the correct washroom, I felt it necessary to offer a gesture of forgiveness to the porcelain god by entering the men’s room and washing my hands (I’m sure there’s some symbology here).
One might think the story ends there, but one doesn’t know the paranoia in my brain!
Immediately after sitting down, I began hearing the cackles of laughter from various parts of the building, and I knew what the subject matter had to be. I pictured the women phoning one another, their husbands, their mothers, their grandmothers, and sharing what had surely by now become known as “The Man-cident”.
Out of fear of being identified by my shoes or the cuffs of my pants, I resolved not to leave my cubicle for 3.5 more hours, a full 2 hours longer than anyone else could possibly be expected to stay. In fact, I took the appropriate cautionary measures of removing my shoes and tucking them far under the desk so as not to be seen by patrolling hunters. I also kept my feet out of the site of a “casual” passersby who I knew would be nothing more than a spy.
Once the day was over…okay, once MY day was over, I glided to my car and then to the hotel and scrubbed the evidence. Those shoes were placed in my suitcase and were not nor will ever be worn in that office again! It’s extreme, I know, but necessary!
Friday, June 5, 2009
Fishing
My buddy Andrew has called me up a lot recently to go fishing. This is awesome because he has a boat and it's much better than fishing from the shore.
Well, we went last Thursday and I caught 2-3 lb saugeye and a 1.5 lb saugeye. It was only after getting home that I realized that saugeye are supposed to be pretty good tablefare! Who knew something that ugly could taste good? I don't yet know and they've stopped biting, so I may never know.
On Saturday afternoon once the rain let up, we headed out again, this time to a different lake. Andrew loves catching bass, so he decided to mix it up and go somewhere else.
Well, it wasn't long and I snagged a tiny little large mouth, this was a good sign because the little guys always bite first, we just had to be patient. In the end, it paid off. I netted a 3.5 lb large mouth that jumped out of the water 3 times before coming into the boat. At first, I didn't even realize I had a fish. You see, I'm the snag king at any lake, and I thought I had a stick on the line. The fish was swimming with the line. That changed once he got hooked though. That's when the fight was on. I brought him home and cooked him up, but I'm just not that big of a fan of largemouth bass. It's pretty bitter tasting and nothing really kills it. From now on, it's saugeye, white bass, or striped bass only that's going on my plate! No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to get into the southern catfish craze. Maybe someday!
Monday, May 11, 2009
No Rules Pinewood Derby or "Extreme" Pinewood Derby
This is SUPER nerdy I know, but the OU LDSSA held a "No Rules Pinewood Derby" and I really got into it. Below are pics of my car and a bit about how I did it. It blew the competition away! It did the length of the track in just over a second. The only things that could have been faster are a CO2 or compressed air design, both of which I am considering for next year! Either that or a 5000-10000 RPM brushless motor that runs on a smaller, lighter LiPO battery. I'm not sure that even compressed air or CO2 could beat it. We'll see!
Obviously, this is the bottom of the car. You can see the battery connection (little red box) and the wiring to the motor and switches.
This was the first "complete" car. I replaced the crappy looking homemade wheels and stablized the motor/gear box mounting with a plate rather than brackets.
Adam at Home Depot helped me with getting the rear axle 90 degrees to the frame of the car with this plate. I had to pop 2 holes in the front through the wood to stablize the rear axle. After every race I had to tighten the nuts because they had vibrated loose; one of the wheel holes wasn't exactly on center so there was some vibration.
There are 2 switches, a toggle switch on the top of the car and a lever switch on the nose. I wired them in line so that the car had a double off position. This helped me place the car on the track without the car being in the "on" position until the starting pin dropped.
This was the first modified gearing. You can see the slight torque on the red gear. It ran smoothly enough and I estimated the ratio at around 25-30:1 although I didn't count all the teeth.
This is the second gear configuration I came up with. The ratio here is 6.6:1, much, much faster than the previous configuration. As with every modification I made, there was always some conflict. You can see the scrapes made on the motor casing from cutting it to clear a path for the tightening screw on the axle nut. I also had to drill a hole for the axle and glue a couple gears together to get everything to work together. The hole for the axle had to be in exactly the right place as well as perpendicular to the casing and body of the car. Try doing that with a handheld cordless drill. I should have used a drill press, but since I couldn't get access, I made due. It hit right on the money and the result was pure speed baby! :)
Obviously, this is the bottom of the car. You can see the battery connection (little red box) and the wiring to the motor and switches.This was the first "complete" car. I replaced the crappy looking homemade wheels and stablized the motor/gear box mounting with a plate rather than brackets.
(I'm going to get a clearer picture soon.)
This is the final-final car with alkaline batteries. I jacked the back wheels off of a toy I found at Wal-mart. They were rubber and a lot better looking than my homemade ones. I bought the toy, shredded everything to get the 4 wheels, then carefully drilled new centered holes to mount on the axle. They really are just for looks. They had a smaller diameter so they reduced the speed and didn't give much more traction either, but at least they don't look like they are from hillbilly hell. The front wheels are just the standard pinewood derby car wheels mounted on a block to keep the switch off the track.
For the first two races I used the alkaline batteries I had spent a week and a half testing with. They were half dead but everyone was amazed at the speed of the car. For the higher end of the bracket (elite 8, final 4, and championship races) I switched to brand new lithium batteries (half the weight and full of juice) and blew EVERYONE away!!! It was close to twice as fast!
Adam at Home Depot helped me with getting the rear axle 90 degrees to the frame of the car with this plate. I had to pop 2 holes in the front through the wood to stablize the rear axle. After every race I had to tighten the nuts because they had vibrated loose; one of the wheel holes wasn't exactly on center so there was some vibration. There are 2 switches, a toggle switch on the top of the car and a lever switch on the nose. I wired them in line so that the car had a double off position. This helped me place the car on the track without the car being in the "on" position until the starting pin dropped.This was the first modified gearing. You can see the slight torque on the red gear. It ran smoothly enough and I estimated the ratio at around 25-30:1 although I didn't count all the teeth.This is the second gear configuration I came up with. The ratio here is 6.6:1, much, much faster than the previous configuration. As with every modification I made, there was always some conflict. You can see the scrapes made on the motor casing from cutting it to clear a path for the tightening screw on the axle nut. I also had to drill a hole for the axle and glue a couple gears together to get everything to work together. The hole for the axle had to be in exactly the right place as well as perpendicular to the casing and body of the car. Try doing that with a handheld cordless drill. I should have used a drill press, but since I couldn't get access, I made due. It hit right on the money and the result was pure speed baby! :)All-in-all the car took about 40 hours to build. This includes all the time spent at the hobby shop, Radio Shack, and Ace Hardware asking questions to be sure I got the right parts, as well as the design (didn't do as much of this as I should have), building, and testing. It was a fun little project that looks cool too. I think I'll have my artist friend paint it though.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
It's been forever
I can't believe it's been 2 months since my last post. A ton has happened while at the same time nothing has changed. I'll try to fill you in as best I can.
Let's see, I'm still dating LaRee. We see each other 4 or 5 times a week, mostly on weekends. During the week it's not for very long because we have our stupid 10 o'clock curfew. On the weekends we usually go out for dinner. We try to make it a double but for some reason people bail. Because LaRee looks so good and smells so good I'm forced to ask myself, "do I smell bad?"
Over the weekend our ward hosted a concert called "I Believe in Christ". It was supposed to be an inter-faith thing, and it was but just not like they had hoped. You see, we called around to all of the other faiths on campus and asked them to participate. We rented one of the concert halls on campus so it was in a non-partial location. Well, all of the leaders of other faiths felt we didn't believe in the same Christ so they politely declined. I just don't get it. Do they realize that even though we don't all have the same views on things surrounding Christ (plan of salvation, immortality, life after death, grace/works) we still all believe very much in the same Christ? I just don't get it.
I invited Jim and Cathy and they came! They said they really enjoyed it. In fact, they said it several times. They are such wonderful people and they love God so much I knew they would love it.
Like I said before, a lot has happened but nothing has changed. I'm still going to school in spite of wanting to drop out several times this semester. I stayed in partly because of a certain someone giving me a kick in the pants! Thank you!
I have a calculus final Thursday of next week and a Physics final the following Thursday. Last day of class is Friday next week!!! Wooohooo! I am so sick of class and I need a break.
In case you're interested my summer schedule is Calculus 3 every day from 9:30-10:20 and technical writing from 10:30-11:20 every day. I think every day for 2 months will be much more manageable than every day for 4, although it is 2 hours instead of 1. We'll see. Someone also told me the tech writing was a breeze so I'm banking on that.
Oh yes, registration also happened for the fall. Provided I pass calc 3 I will be taking calculus 4 (believe it or not there are 4 calc classes!) and I will be taking Computer Applications for Civil Engineers (Excel, drafting and Java programming). This one should be a piece of cake considering I use excel and draft for a living. I'm pumped about the Java programming. I tried to talk the professor into letting me out of the class and he wanted to but I found out that I still have to get the 3 credit hours. Rather than spending them in another possibly harder class I opted to take his course and fly through it.
I will also finally be taking the required Civil engineering lecture course. There is no credit but it's required (hmmm?) but at least I'll be with other students in my discipline. I'm looking forward to it.
What else? I'm really looking forward to my class reunion. You'd think I might be embarassed that anyone who is going to graduate from college alread has except for me but I'm not. I'm super excited that I'm getting it done now and I'm a much better student than I ever would have been. I'm also very, very excited to come in May to see Jarom and everybody. I talk to the little guy 4+ times a week. He is such a conversationalist. It's always funny because we'll be having a great conversation then he says, "I love you Dad! Bye!" and that's it! Usually it's after we had spoken for a while though.
Oh man, I think that's enough for now. Please leave a comment or email me if there's more you want to know.
Let's see, I'm still dating LaRee. We see each other 4 or 5 times a week, mostly on weekends. During the week it's not for very long because we have our stupid 10 o'clock curfew. On the weekends we usually go out for dinner. We try to make it a double but for some reason people bail. Because LaRee looks so good and smells so good I'm forced to ask myself, "do I smell bad?"
Over the weekend our ward hosted a concert called "I Believe in Christ". It was supposed to be an inter-faith thing, and it was but just not like they had hoped. You see, we called around to all of the other faiths on campus and asked them to participate. We rented one of the concert halls on campus so it was in a non-partial location. Well, all of the leaders of other faiths felt we didn't believe in the same Christ so they politely declined. I just don't get it. Do they realize that even though we don't all have the same views on things surrounding Christ (plan of salvation, immortality, life after death, grace/works) we still all believe very much in the same Christ? I just don't get it.
I invited Jim and Cathy and they came! They said they really enjoyed it. In fact, they said it several times. They are such wonderful people and they love God so much I knew they would love it.
Like I said before, a lot has happened but nothing has changed. I'm still going to school in spite of wanting to drop out several times this semester. I stayed in partly because of a certain someone giving me a kick in the pants! Thank you!
I have a calculus final Thursday of next week and a Physics final the following Thursday. Last day of class is Friday next week!!! Wooohooo! I am so sick of class and I need a break.
In case you're interested my summer schedule is Calculus 3 every day from 9:30-10:20 and technical writing from 10:30-11:20 every day. I think every day for 2 months will be much more manageable than every day for 4, although it is 2 hours instead of 1. We'll see. Someone also told me the tech writing was a breeze so I'm banking on that.
Oh yes, registration also happened for the fall. Provided I pass calc 3 I will be taking calculus 4 (believe it or not there are 4 calc classes!) and I will be taking Computer Applications for Civil Engineers (Excel, drafting and Java programming). This one should be a piece of cake considering I use excel and draft for a living. I'm pumped about the Java programming. I tried to talk the professor into letting me out of the class and he wanted to but I found out that I still have to get the 3 credit hours. Rather than spending them in another possibly harder class I opted to take his course and fly through it.
I will also finally be taking the required Civil engineering lecture course. There is no credit but it's required (hmmm?) but at least I'll be with other students in my discipline. I'm looking forward to it.
What else? I'm really looking forward to my class reunion. You'd think I might be embarassed that anyone who is going to graduate from college alread has except for me but I'm not. I'm super excited that I'm getting it done now and I'm a much better student than I ever would have been. I'm also very, very excited to come in May to see Jarom and everybody. I talk to the little guy 4+ times a week. He is such a conversationalist. It's always funny because we'll be having a great conversation then he says, "I love you Dad! Bye!" and that's it! Usually it's after we had spoken for a while though.
Oh man, I think that's enough for now. Please leave a comment or email me if there's more you want to know.
Thursday, February 22, 2007
Friday, February 9, 2007
A Man's Mind
Kind of long but shortened by the laughter it causes. Enjoy!
Operation Urine
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE MOLD GROWING IN MY SHOWER-STALL:
Dear Phytophthora Mold Growing in My Shower Stall, (Actually, while the Phytophthora may technically be your correct name, may I just call you "Mold"? After all, you've seen me naked.) Mold, we have been living together now for quite some time and I think its fair to say that we have had a stable, but adversarial relationship. I kill you, you grow back. I kill you again, you grow back again. I kill you yet again, you grow back, and so on. For the most part things have proceeded along these lines quite nicely. I don't spend too much time killing you and you don't grow back too quickly. We had reached a state of equilibrium. Oh sure, my methods of getting rid of you have varied over the years, I remember the early days when the weapon of choice was Windex and paper towels, which as you know is the traditional male method for dealing with any and all cleaning jobs ranging from spilled soda to cleaning-up a major crime scene involving disembowelment and ritual sacrifice. I used to believe that if you can't clean it with Windex and paper towels then you're just not using enough Windex and paper towels. If a particular stain proved especially difficult I'd use name-brand Windex and not the store brand. That just how I was raised, God Bless America. And for the most part things progressed along these lines quite nicely, and by that I mean the shower stall got clean enough to keep Mrs. Soap Box happy and I didn't feel the need to take a shower when I was taking my shower, if you know what I mean. Now Mold, I have always understood your need and desire to grow and exist, and I'm pretty sure you're aware that I will do whatever I need to do you kill you so long as it does not require any real effort on my part whatsoever. I'm dedicated, but lazy. But lately something has changed, YOU have changed. Whereas before you would retreat in horror and disappear after one of my cleaning attacks, lately it seems you have grown stronger. You have found the strength to gain a foot-hold at the bottom left corner of the shower stall. I've scrubbed and scrubbed, but yet you remain. Perhaps my friend, you have grown weary of our battle and are putting all your efforts into one last fight for shower stall superiority. Or perhaps you sense some weakness on my part and feel the time is right to lead an all-out frontal assault and chase me to the spare bathroom where the water pressure is less than adequate. But either way, only a fool couldn't see that your strategy to seize the bottom left corner of my shower stall is working. I must also admit that you have forced me to go deeper into my arsenal of weapons - deeper that I ever feared would be necessary. Beyond what even Windex and paper towels can accomplish. First, I started off by looking at you while I showered and thinking "Got to do something about that mold at some point." This, like all peaceful means failed miserably. Next, I brought out the big boy, the big gun, the peace maker. Name-brand Windex and Brawny paper towels. I sprayed and wiped, wiped and sprayed, sprayed and wiped. This battle went on for literally seconds, yet you remained. Possessing a short attention span and strong desire to be doing something else, I declared "mission accomplished" and watched a 3 hour marathon of "Ghost Hunters" on the Sci-Fi channel. I spent the next 2 weeks listening to Mrs. Soap Box saying things like "The mold is back in the shower". Now since I already knew that the mold had returned I found her repeated statement of the obvious to be somewhat perplexing. Only later did I learn that I was supposed to interpret this as a request to return to battle. Who knew? I was always taught that questions ended with your voice going up at the end and included the word "please", as in "Would you please stop watching "Ghost Hunters" and clean the shower?" So back to the front! Seeing as how my name-brand Windex solution had proved ineffective, I was forced to improvise and decided to try Oven-Off. If it can remove old baked on macaroni and cheese which has dried to the consistency of cement, then how can it fail to get rid of YOU Mr. Mold? Well, while the tile shined like never before, it appears that Oven-Off too has failed, since you remain firmly entrenched in the grout. Now I sense that you grow stronger with each of my failed efforts. In fact, I'm pretty sure I heard you laughing at me while I showered. Not the first time I have been laughed at in the shower, but still, it hurt. And then an idea pops into my head! Windex contains ammonia, and I know that a lot of other cleaning products contain ammonia, so ammonia MUST be a great cleaner. But the stuff you get at the store is probably watered down, little-girl ammonia like the kind they use to make the "special sauce" at certain national burger places. No, I need full-strength ammonia from a reliable production source who isn't out to make a quick buck by selling the cheap stuff to an unsuspecting public. Then it hit me! Urine! Urine contains ammonia! And while I've never been tested, I'm pretty sure that my ammonia production is A-1, prime stuff - PURE! All I have to do is pee on the mold for a week or so with my home-made “super ammonia” and nature will work its magic. Good bye mold! At least that was the theory. You see, Mrs. Soap Box decided that my idea was "gross" and that peeing on the shower wall does not constitute "cleaning" and would not in fact lead to a cleaner shower. I said, "But look at the toilets. They're always clean and I pee in there all the time!" Mrs. Soap Box then gently reminded me that cleaning toilets was her job and that's why they're clean. Now while I was mentally wrestling with whether or not to inform Mrs. Soap Box that I had in fact – although unwittingly – been covertly participating in “Operation Urine” with regard to the shower floor each morning and that we would merely be changing our trajectory, Mr. Soap Box made it quite clear that "Operation Urine" was scrubbed for a more conventional strategy. This is getting like the Korean War, everyone back home wants me to win, but won't let me do what is necessary to achieve victory. Now while the “official” answer was "I don't want you pissing on the shower wall and telling me that you've done your part to clean the bathroom" I think the real answer is that she was just jealous. Jealous that if "Operation Urine" worked, she wouldn't be able to keep her things as clean as I could keep my things clean because she lacks aim. Not her fault, but unless the stain is on the floor directly beneath her and no one is looking and there is no noise and the faucet is running, and I swear to God that I’m not peeking (although I am) then she has no hope of getting her homemade ammonia to where its needed – while she has the weapon, she lacks a reliable delivery system. I also think she was afraid that my things would be home-made ammonia-clean and that her things would get grimier by the day while she pathetically peed all over herself in an attempt to clean her half of the house. I would be the hero, the guy they call in when something needs to be peed on and cleaned. I would get all the glory and she would have to live in my urine soaked shadow. So for her own selfish reasons she killed "Operation Urine", she's spiteful like that. OK since "Operation Urine" was off the table, I was down to the bottom of the barrel, I had to take desperate action. There was no doubt about it, I would have to do the one thing I have always avoided. I'm going to have to use elbow-grease. Yup, going to actually scrub. You've pissed me off now Mold, this is now requiring EFFORT! So I moved up a notch on the guy cleaning ladder and got myself an SOS pad. Hard steel wool and powdery blue stuff - this is the kind of cleaning grandma used to do! So I start scrubbing with the SOS pad but from the start its clear that the mission is doomed. Now in addition to mold, my grout is blue from the SOS pad and the tile looks sort of scratched. "Operation Urine" would never have ended in disgrace like this!! So I decide "Screw it, I'm going nuclear." I going to get ALL the cleaning fluids in the house, Windex, Oven-Off, Tile X, bleach - all of them - and hit you with everything I got all at once. I pour it all on and I scrub, and I scrub - I scrub like the wind! Of course, the doctor said that the fumes from all those chemicals mixed together is what probably caused me to pass out hit my head on the toilet and lose control of various bodily functions. Now I don't want to go into too much detail about the loss of bodily functions, but lets just say that had "Operation Urine" not been scrubbed by the brass back at headquarters, it would have been a complete success, for when those blue jeans came out of the washing machine the next day they were like new! So I stand here before you now a defeated man looking over the battle field where his hopes were dashed and I can see that you have won. Mold, you remain firmly entrenched in the lower left corner of my shower stall. I am beaten and my only viable option is to try and make the best deal possible, so in my own Neville Chamberline-like way I offer to give you the bottom left of the shower stall permanently and in exchange I won't regrout the shower in any further attempt to kill you. You may occupy the space up and including to the 4th tile from the floor and up to and including the 3rd tile in from the corner. That space is yours now, you may rest easy on your side of the border. The war is over. I’m not sure how I’ll sell this back home, how to make Mrs. Soap Box understand that appeasement is our only option. I’ll probably do what I always do, tell her I need a special tool and that I’ll get to it “tomorrow”. Side note – this can often be an effective strategy as witnessed by those rolls of wallpaper I was supposed to hang several years ago. “Need a special wallpaper tool honey, I’ll get it tomorrow!” You know Mold, now that the battle is over, I can see you and I are not so different after all. Neither of us gains energy through photosynthesis, and we both enjoy warm, dark, moist places. So live in peace my slimy friend, and in the future, if I happen to pee on you, take no offense, my aim in the morning isn't that great. Yours truly, Soap Box
Operation Urine
AN OPEN LETTER TO THE MOLD GROWING IN MY SHOWER-STALL:
Dear Phytophthora Mold Growing in My Shower Stall, (Actually, while the Phytophthora may technically be your correct name, may I just call you "Mold"? After all, you've seen me naked.) Mold, we have been living together now for quite some time and I think its fair to say that we have had a stable, but adversarial relationship. I kill you, you grow back. I kill you again, you grow back again. I kill you yet again, you grow back, and so on. For the most part things have proceeded along these lines quite nicely. I don't spend too much time killing you and you don't grow back too quickly. We had reached a state of equilibrium. Oh sure, my methods of getting rid of you have varied over the years, I remember the early days when the weapon of choice was Windex and paper towels, which as you know is the traditional male method for dealing with any and all cleaning jobs ranging from spilled soda to cleaning-up a major crime scene involving disembowelment and ritual sacrifice. I used to believe that if you can't clean it with Windex and paper towels then you're just not using enough Windex and paper towels. If a particular stain proved especially difficult I'd use name-brand Windex and not the store brand. That just how I was raised, God Bless America. And for the most part things progressed along these lines quite nicely, and by that I mean the shower stall got clean enough to keep Mrs. Soap Box happy and I didn't feel the need to take a shower when I was taking my shower, if you know what I mean. Now Mold, I have always understood your need and desire to grow and exist, and I'm pretty sure you're aware that I will do whatever I need to do you kill you so long as it does not require any real effort on my part whatsoever. I'm dedicated, but lazy. But lately something has changed, YOU have changed. Whereas before you would retreat in horror and disappear after one of my cleaning attacks, lately it seems you have grown stronger. You have found the strength to gain a foot-hold at the bottom left corner of the shower stall. I've scrubbed and scrubbed, but yet you remain. Perhaps my friend, you have grown weary of our battle and are putting all your efforts into one last fight for shower stall superiority. Or perhaps you sense some weakness on my part and feel the time is right to lead an all-out frontal assault and chase me to the spare bathroom where the water pressure is less than adequate. But either way, only a fool couldn't see that your strategy to seize the bottom left corner of my shower stall is working. I must also admit that you have forced me to go deeper into my arsenal of weapons - deeper that I ever feared would be necessary. Beyond what even Windex and paper towels can accomplish. First, I started off by looking at you while I showered and thinking "Got to do something about that mold at some point." This, like all peaceful means failed miserably. Next, I brought out the big boy, the big gun, the peace maker. Name-brand Windex and Brawny paper towels. I sprayed and wiped, wiped and sprayed, sprayed and wiped. This battle went on for literally seconds, yet you remained. Possessing a short attention span and strong desire to be doing something else, I declared "mission accomplished" and watched a 3 hour marathon of "Ghost Hunters" on the Sci-Fi channel. I spent the next 2 weeks listening to Mrs. Soap Box saying things like "The mold is back in the shower". Now since I already knew that the mold had returned I found her repeated statement of the obvious to be somewhat perplexing. Only later did I learn that I was supposed to interpret this as a request to return to battle. Who knew? I was always taught that questions ended with your voice going up at the end and included the word "please", as in "Would you please stop watching "Ghost Hunters" and clean the shower?" So back to the front! Seeing as how my name-brand Windex solution had proved ineffective, I was forced to improvise and decided to try Oven-Off. If it can remove old baked on macaroni and cheese which has dried to the consistency of cement, then how can it fail to get rid of YOU Mr. Mold? Well, while the tile shined like never before, it appears that Oven-Off too has failed, since you remain firmly entrenched in the grout. Now I sense that you grow stronger with each of my failed efforts. In fact, I'm pretty sure I heard you laughing at me while I showered. Not the first time I have been laughed at in the shower, but still, it hurt. And then an idea pops into my head! Windex contains ammonia, and I know that a lot of other cleaning products contain ammonia, so ammonia MUST be a great cleaner. But the stuff you get at the store is probably watered down, little-girl ammonia like the kind they use to make the "special sauce" at certain national burger places. No, I need full-strength ammonia from a reliable production source who isn't out to make a quick buck by selling the cheap stuff to an unsuspecting public. Then it hit me! Urine! Urine contains ammonia! And while I've never been tested, I'm pretty sure that my ammonia production is A-1, prime stuff - PURE! All I have to do is pee on the mold for a week or so with my home-made “super ammonia” and nature will work its magic. Good bye mold! At least that was the theory. You see, Mrs. Soap Box decided that my idea was "gross" and that peeing on the shower wall does not constitute "cleaning" and would not in fact lead to a cleaner shower. I said, "But look at the toilets. They're always clean and I pee in there all the time!" Mrs. Soap Box then gently reminded me that cleaning toilets was her job and that's why they're clean. Now while I was mentally wrestling with whether or not to inform Mrs. Soap Box that I had in fact – although unwittingly – been covertly participating in “Operation Urine” with regard to the shower floor each morning and that we would merely be changing our trajectory, Mr. Soap Box made it quite clear that "Operation Urine" was scrubbed for a more conventional strategy. This is getting like the Korean War, everyone back home wants me to win, but won't let me do what is necessary to achieve victory. Now while the “official” answer was "I don't want you pissing on the shower wall and telling me that you've done your part to clean the bathroom" I think the real answer is that she was just jealous. Jealous that if "Operation Urine" worked, she wouldn't be able to keep her things as clean as I could keep my things clean because she lacks aim. Not her fault, but unless the stain is on the floor directly beneath her and no one is looking and there is no noise and the faucet is running, and I swear to God that I’m not peeking (although I am) then she has no hope of getting her homemade ammonia to where its needed – while she has the weapon, she lacks a reliable delivery system. I also think she was afraid that my things would be home-made ammonia-clean and that her things would get grimier by the day while she pathetically peed all over herself in an attempt to clean her half of the house. I would be the hero, the guy they call in when something needs to be peed on and cleaned. I would get all the glory and she would have to live in my urine soaked shadow. So for her own selfish reasons she killed "Operation Urine", she's spiteful like that. OK since "Operation Urine" was off the table, I was down to the bottom of the barrel, I had to take desperate action. There was no doubt about it, I would have to do the one thing I have always avoided. I'm going to have to use elbow-grease. Yup, going to actually scrub. You've pissed me off now Mold, this is now requiring EFFORT! So I moved up a notch on the guy cleaning ladder and got myself an SOS pad. Hard steel wool and powdery blue stuff - this is the kind of cleaning grandma used to do! So I start scrubbing with the SOS pad but from the start its clear that the mission is doomed. Now in addition to mold, my grout is blue from the SOS pad and the tile looks sort of scratched. "Operation Urine" would never have ended in disgrace like this!! So I decide "Screw it, I'm going nuclear." I going to get ALL the cleaning fluids in the house, Windex, Oven-Off, Tile X, bleach - all of them - and hit you with everything I got all at once. I pour it all on and I scrub, and I scrub - I scrub like the wind! Of course, the doctor said that the fumes from all those chemicals mixed together is what probably caused me to pass out hit my head on the toilet and lose control of various bodily functions. Now I don't want to go into too much detail about the loss of bodily functions, but lets just say that had "Operation Urine" not been scrubbed by the brass back at headquarters, it would have been a complete success, for when those blue jeans came out of the washing machine the next day they were like new! So I stand here before you now a defeated man looking over the battle field where his hopes were dashed and I can see that you have won. Mold, you remain firmly entrenched in the lower left corner of my shower stall. I am beaten and my only viable option is to try and make the best deal possible, so in my own Neville Chamberline-like way I offer to give you the bottom left of the shower stall permanently and in exchange I won't regrout the shower in any further attempt to kill you. You may occupy the space up and including to the 4th tile from the floor and up to and including the 3rd tile in from the corner. That space is yours now, you may rest easy on your side of the border. The war is over. I’m not sure how I’ll sell this back home, how to make Mrs. Soap Box understand that appeasement is our only option. I’ll probably do what I always do, tell her I need a special tool and that I’ll get to it “tomorrow”. Side note – this can often be an effective strategy as witnessed by those rolls of wallpaper I was supposed to hang several years ago. “Need a special wallpaper tool honey, I’ll get it tomorrow!” You know Mold, now that the battle is over, I can see you and I are not so different after all. Neither of us gains energy through photosynthesis, and we both enjoy warm, dark, moist places. So live in peace my slimy friend, and in the future, if I happen to pee on you, take no offense, my aim in the morning isn't that great. Yours truly, Soap Box
Monday, January 29, 2007
Happy Days
Just as you could deduce from the title, I'm happy. In spite of work being hectic, classes being tough and Jarom being so far away I am really happy. There are two main reasons for this. The first is that I am really living my life the way I feel like I should, close to God. I read my scriptures every day and pray many times a day. I also look at everyone as a child of God. I honestly don't have any hard feelings toward anyone. I know there are some that might scoff but that's fine. I don't and won't force it on anyone to live like me.
Before I get to the second reason I'll go over my weekend for anyone interested in what I did.
This weekend there was a semi-formal dance that the Engineering Club was putting on. I know, I know a bunch of engineers in a little ballroom with rap, R&B, and Pop music playing, EXCITING!
Hey, I was just happy to have an excuse to go out and buy a new shirt and tie and take LaRee to a nice restaurant. We had a great time at dinner but it turned out that we found a down side to living outside of Utah or another area with a high concentration of LDS people; women dress like skanks and people dance WAAAAAY too provocatively for me to see on a Friday night. So, we left early. But we ended up playing games at my place and watching a movie until late. It was fun.
I also picked up the guitar and jammed with James for a while. He taught me a new little riff by Collective Soul so now I know 4 songs! I'm really liking this guitar thing, I'm learning pretty quickly too.
Oh yeah, I also learned another important piece of information that totally wrecks all thoughts I had about sales in the past. This tidbit is, "If it's on sale either buy it or find out when it's going off sale!" I got bit in the butt by this one. Khols had all of their men's shirts and ties on a great sale on Wed but I decided to wait a day to buy. Upon returning the sale was off and I had to pay full price for a shirt and tie combo!!! Boy, if Kara ever got wind of that I'd get an earful, but my next wife (should there be one) will only benefit.
Okay now, on to the second reason that I am so happy. It is LaRee. (WARNING: Following will be a graphic depiction of how I feel about my girlfriend. If you have any allergies to public expression of feelings, don't care about those types of things or you are just plain tuckered out from reading, please stop reading now.) She makes me so happy. I have been myself from day one and she still likes me. I can't believe it but I'm sure happy with it. It's really nice to know that no matter what, she cares for me. True, the reason I feel this way is mostly because I have a very long, documented history of inadvertently doing really, really dumb stuff that hurts people's feelings, that and the fact that I'm just an idiot sometimes. I digress, it's nice to know that she will still care for me even if I accidentally do that stuff (let's face it, it's bound to happen). I've never felt like she feels that she's dragging me along with her or I'm just good enough to be with her. We are both just figuring life out and accept that when we are with each other we are with each other's mistakes too. We both feel lucky to have each other.
Now, I'll be honest, I'm not ready for marriage or anything and we have not been dating long enough to know each other well enough to get married, but things are very positive and we are both very happy and even in extreme like. It's exciting. It's fun. It's unexpected.
Before I get to the second reason I'll go over my weekend for anyone interested in what I did.
This weekend there was a semi-formal dance that the Engineering Club was putting on. I know, I know a bunch of engineers in a little ballroom with rap, R&B, and Pop music playing, EXCITING!
Hey, I was just happy to have an excuse to go out and buy a new shirt and tie and take LaRee to a nice restaurant. We had a great time at dinner but it turned out that we found a down side to living outside of Utah or another area with a high concentration of LDS people; women dress like skanks and people dance WAAAAAY too provocatively for me to see on a Friday night. So, we left early. But we ended up playing games at my place and watching a movie until late. It was fun.
I also picked up the guitar and jammed with James for a while. He taught me a new little riff by Collective Soul so now I know 4 songs! I'm really liking this guitar thing, I'm learning pretty quickly too.
Oh yeah, I also learned another important piece of information that totally wrecks all thoughts I had about sales in the past. This tidbit is, "If it's on sale either buy it or find out when it's going off sale!" I got bit in the butt by this one. Khols had all of their men's shirts and ties on a great sale on Wed but I decided to wait a day to buy. Upon returning the sale was off and I had to pay full price for a shirt and tie combo!!! Boy, if Kara ever got wind of that I'd get an earful, but my next wife (should there be one) will only benefit.
Okay now, on to the second reason that I am so happy. It is LaRee. (WARNING: Following will be a graphic depiction of how I feel about my girlfriend. If you have any allergies to public expression of feelings, don't care about those types of things or you are just plain tuckered out from reading, please stop reading now.) She makes me so happy. I have been myself from day one and she still likes me. I can't believe it but I'm sure happy with it. It's really nice to know that no matter what, she cares for me. True, the reason I feel this way is mostly because I have a very long, documented history of inadvertently doing really, really dumb stuff that hurts people's feelings, that and the fact that I'm just an idiot sometimes. I digress, it's nice to know that she will still care for me even if I accidentally do that stuff (let's face it, it's bound to happen). I've never felt like she feels that she's dragging me along with her or I'm just good enough to be with her. We are both just figuring life out and accept that when we are with each other we are with each other's mistakes too. We both feel lucky to have each other.
Now, I'll be honest, I'm not ready for marriage or anything and we have not been dating long enough to know each other well enough to get married, but things are very positive and we are both very happy and even in extreme like. It's exciting. It's fun. It's unexpected.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
It's been a long time, oh yeah ain't that right
You might recognize the title of this blog from a matchbox 20 song, or maybe you won't.
Okay, okay, so it has been a while since I posted anything, so sue me! I've been busy. In my business I have some venting that I must do.
I can't go on like this anymore! School is a joke. It is nothing more than a business. It is not a way to help broaden our intelligence as a society. I used to think it was just in textbooks and tuition that they got us but it seems more and more they are broadening the ways that students are asked to get screwed.
This all stems from the physics class I am taking this semester. I had anticipated spending about $100 for the book (which is paperback if you can believe it) and I was right on the money (pun intended). What I had not anticipated was the cost of a H-ITT clicker that would be used for quizzes and tests. This clicker is a couple notches down from a standard remote control but unlike a standard remote control this little baby cost $33 and that doesn't even include the battery!!! That's right folks, step right up and get some snake water while you're at it because at OU you can't have a remote without snake water, it just won't work!
This remote is a glorified SCANTRON but because our professors have gotten lazy and don't want to take all 30 minutes of their valuable research time (or rather 30 minutes of their TA's beer drinking time) to feed SCANTRON through a machine they decided students had to spend $33 to answer a question and have the answer recorded electronically immediately! More than that, there is no option to take a SCANTRON instead of purchasing the remote. If you don't get one of your own (because they are coded to match your student ID) you don't pass the class, period!
How ridiculous are we getting with our technology? Technology is great but it seems that in our drive to get immediate results we are neglecting at what cost we are getting those results not to mention personability! I guess the day is soon coming that in order to save classroom space, students will have to spend $350 for an iPod that is coded with their student number and broadcasts the professor’s voice during a scheduled time. The professor will give the lecture and homework assignments. The student then must upload the completed homework to the iPod. Automatically the answers will be given and the professors voice will tell if the answers were right and if not will explain what was done wrong. Oh yeah, Not to mention that there will be a required text that students will have to spend another $300 to buy. But instead of an actual book they will get a password to download an e-book onto the iPod. Seriously, where does it end? I'll tell you where it ends, right in the studends' collective END!
Okay, okay, so it has been a while since I posted anything, so sue me! I've been busy. In my business I have some venting that I must do.
I can't go on like this anymore! School is a joke. It is nothing more than a business. It is not a way to help broaden our intelligence as a society. I used to think it was just in textbooks and tuition that they got us but it seems more and more they are broadening the ways that students are asked to get screwed.
This all stems from the physics class I am taking this semester. I had anticipated spending about $100 for the book (which is paperback if you can believe it) and I was right on the money (pun intended). What I had not anticipated was the cost of a H-ITT clicker that would be used for quizzes and tests. This clicker is a couple notches down from a standard remote control but unlike a standard remote control this little baby cost $33 and that doesn't even include the battery!!! That's right folks, step right up and get some snake water while you're at it because at OU you can't have a remote without snake water, it just won't work!
This remote is a glorified SCANTRON but because our professors have gotten lazy and don't want to take all 30 minutes of their valuable research time (or rather 30 minutes of their TA's beer drinking time) to feed SCANTRON through a machine they decided students had to spend $33 to answer a question and have the answer recorded electronically immediately! More than that, there is no option to take a SCANTRON instead of purchasing the remote. If you don't get one of your own (because they are coded to match your student ID) you don't pass the class, period!
How ridiculous are we getting with our technology? Technology is great but it seems that in our drive to get immediate results we are neglecting at what cost we are getting those results not to mention personability! I guess the day is soon coming that in order to save classroom space, students will have to spend $350 for an iPod that is coded with their student number and broadcasts the professor’s voice during a scheduled time. The professor will give the lecture and homework assignments. The student then must upload the completed homework to the iPod. Automatically the answers will be given and the professors voice will tell if the answers were right and if not will explain what was done wrong. Oh yeah, Not to mention that there will be a required text that students will have to spend another $300 to buy. But instead of an actual book they will get a password to download an e-book onto the iPod. Seriously, where does it end? I'll tell you where it ends, right in the studends' collective END!
Friday, January 5, 2007
National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation
From the last post you all know that I was taking a trip to Utah to send Jarom off and to see my family. I'm back now and I just got some pictures from the trip.
Uncle Danegus
Jarom got me a Tabletop football game for Christmas
His new favorite shirt
Me and Mo
Mo and Uncle Cracker
Grandma Betty
Aspen
All-in-all it was a pretty good trip. There was a bit of snow but not too much. There was a lot of family and friends and it was great to get to see everyone.
Uncle Danegus
Jarom got me a Tabletop football game for Christmas
His new favorite shirt
Me and Mo
Mo and Uncle Cracker
Grandma Betty
Aspen
All-in-all it was a pretty good trip. There was a bit of snow but not too much. There was a lot of family and friends and it was great to get to see everyone.
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