Crazy Dream #2

It's time for the second installment of "My Crazy Dreams." I just made that up, so hopefully I continue to have these weird dreams. My bet is that shouldn't be an issue. This is a short one.

I had just gotten out of the shower and gone through the normal routine of getting ready, including combing my hair--which takes all of about 20 seconds. For some reason, I switched combs halfway through, and oddly enough I wasn't looking at myself while I combed. I went to my room to put a shirt on and then returned to the bathroom to look in the mirror. To my astonishment, I had a giant green patch of paint on one section of my hair, and a second, brown patch of paint on another section of my hair. On closer examination of my combs, I noticed that the paint (???) was coming off the combs and staying on my hair.

Panicking, I decided to wash my head in hot water under the bathtub faucet. After running the water for a minute or so, I felt something coming out of my hair. Starting to feel somewhat relieved that I might be able to salvage my hair and save others from having to look at my lumpy, shaved head, I pulled my hand in front of my eyes just to verify. However, when I saw the substance on my fingertips, I found that it was neither green nor brown, but red. Blood!

The End.

Where's Willy?

I'm not really sure who came up with the idea, or who thought it would be a good idea, but several years ago I started noticing Willy Wonka look-a-likes/wannabes popping up all over the place. You know the ones I'm talking about--the girls who think it's fashionable to wear ridiculously huge, white-rimmed sunglasses.

Who designed these things? A 4-year old? Bozo? A blind man? Regardless of who designed them, I'm amazed that people buy them. Who cares about the fact that they're lacking fashion sense, I'd rather they had at least a hint of common sense. Alas, I fear that is too much to ask.

Oh, and dark rims don't make them any better.

It's That Time of Year Again

Yes, my friends, it is one of the most exciting times of year. The days are getting shorter, the air is getting cooler, and school is starting up again. That can only mean one thing--football is right around the corner. And by right around the corner I mean this coming Saturday! The long drought of good sports on television (minus the Olympics, of course) is finally at an end. What's that you say? Baseball was going on all summer long? It's still going? Thanks for proving my point.

Back to football. I grew up watching (college) football games on TV with my dad. I was taught at an early age to love all things BYU. I don't recall exactly when I started watching and enjoying football, but I know that it was at least as early as the Ty Detmer years (circa 1989), because I remember how excited I was to get his autograph at one time. Unfortunately, it was on a little scrap of paper that quickly found its way into the dark abyss of inconveniently lost items to go along with single socks, keys, and marbles. That didn't deter me, however, as I have grown to love football even more with each passing year (don't tell Michelle...she might get jealous).

Thus, even though being back in school is definitely NOT the most exciting thing to happen in the fall, football more than makes up for it. It's what gets me through each week, knowing that at least there will be more football to watch. Some might say that I obsess about it a bit too much, that I expend way too much energy on my fanaticism. They would be right. But hey, everyone needs a hobby, right? I'll leave you with this video clip and say, "Happy Football Season!"



See more videos at video.cougarboard.com.

My Long-Awaited Return

"I'm back! Thank you! Thank you! You're all so very kind. Oh please, stop. I really don't deserve all this attention. I don't know what I'd do without such devoted fans...all 3 of you. You know who you are. Actually, maybe you don't. Come to think of it, neither do I. But that's really beside the point."

So, after a lengthy hiatus, I have decided that it's finally time to put at least something up, just to let you all know that yes, I am alive. To be honest, though, there is so much that I could potentially write about, and so little actually coming to mind. So, you'll just have to make do with whatever I end up writing, won't you?

The first thing that popped into my head just now concerns driving in heavy traffic during construction. When a sign says, "LEFT LANE CLOSED AHEAD," what exactly does it signify? Does it mean, "The lane you are currently in is merging into the lane to your right. Please make an effort to merge into the other lane as soon as possible so as to avoid slowdowns and bottlenecks"? Or does it mean, "The lane you are currently in is merging into the lane to your right. Please speed past the suckers who are already in the other lane until you can physically go no farther without running over our cones. Also, be mindful that doing so may cause miles of heavy traffic because you will inevitably have to slam on your brakes, initiating a ripple effect that will infuriate those behind you. But don't worry about them, because you just saved yourself a precious 30 seconds with your last second heroics"?

Pre-Parenting Quiz

They should make people know how to correctly identify these methods of baby "operation" before being able to have children...though I really don't know who "they" are. Anyway, I totally would have gotten these wrong, and I'm pretty sure I've met actual parents that would have, too.

Though what's really sad is that the baby could probably lift more than me.

Nap Time at Work

Ever experience one of those times when you're sitting at your desk, working hard and being productive, reading over a bunch of material on a project you just got, when suddenly you hear a soft knock at your door and realize that your eyes are closed and your chin is touching your chest, and you look up to find your boss knocking on your door, looking at you with a slight smirk on his face?

Yeah, me neither...

Golfing With a Spatula

I had a strange dream last night that was too weird for me to not share it. The dream started at my parents' house when we were having a family gathering, and we were all sitting around the table. I was talking with my dad about how the last time we went golfing I got an 86 on an 18-hole course (which is completely fictional, because I'm an awful golfer). He was complimentary, but at the same time I could tell he didn't like how I had beaten him so badly and wanted to redeem himself.

The next thing I know, my dad, my younger brother, and I were at the golf course. I was lining up at the first tee for my first shot, when I suddenly realized that I had a spatula in my hand, rather than a driver, so I was hunching over trying to reach the ball. I turned to my dad and said, "Why did you give me a spatula to tee off with? Don't you have a driver?" He replied, "Well, the IRS decided that I was making too much money, so they started taking stuff away from me. They haven't taken my driver yet, but they're going to." (Gee...I wonder where that part came from). He then took the driver out of his bag and gave it to me, which made me happy that I didn't have to hit with the spatula.

I went back to my ball, but it wasn't a regular golf ball anymore. Instead, it was a clear, plastic ball about the size of a small orange. I asked my dad for a tee so I could tee off, and he said, "Oh, they took those too," and gave me one of those red, plastic cups that everyone always uses in made-for-TV movies for drinking beer at bonfires. "It's got a hole cut in the bottom, so you can turn it upside down and put the ball on the hole and you should be fine." I put the cup on the ground, but the ball wouldn't stay on the hole because the ground was too uneven. I tried twisting the cup into the ground so it would stay upright, but all I managed to do was crush the cup. My dad gave me another cup to use, but this one was flimsier and wouldn't hold the ball at all.

By this time, I was getting downright mad. Nothing was working, and my dad sat there with an amused look on his face--which didn't help things. I finally got the cup to the point where it would at least hold the ball up for a few seconds. I was hurrying to hit the ball before it fell off the cup, when suddenly it tipped over and the ball went rolling down into a hole in the ground. I tried to stop it with my club, but the club slipped out of my hand and fell down into the hole, too. I looked down at the hole and the dirt surrounding it was falling in, too, uncovering a sort of stretchy fabric in which the hole was cut out.

Through the hole I could see another golf course below. Just then, a golf course worker walked by and told us that we could go down to the other golf course underneath and ask them for our club back. By this time, however, I was ready to call it quits and head home. I just wasn't having any fun...and then I woke up.

So, Daniel, interpret that...

The Exclusive-But-Not-So-Secret Club

Back in high school during the summer between my junior and senior year, a group of my friends and I were goofing around in my brother's room talking about a bunch of odd topics (like usual), when we all decided that we wanted to start an exclusive club--kind of like G.R.O.S.S. (Get Rid Of Slimy girlS) from Calvin and Hobbes.

After much deliberation about what exactly our club would be named, which most likely included some spectacularly stupid suggestions, we came to the consensus that the name of our club would be...get this...the Pink Panda Club! ***crickets chirping***...***a baby crying***...***dead silence*** Yeah, I don't know how we came up with that name either, nor how something as stupid (and, to put it nicely, girly) as that stuck.

Yet the Pink Pandas we became. Our next task was to determine everybody's roles in the club, along with our secret club names. I became the club treasurer. My duties were to...um...well...I never really knew. If we had ever had club funds, I guess I would have been in charge of that. My secret name was "Little Birdie." Just like the club name, I really didn't have much say in that, either. Other names included "Robert" and "Lone Star, The Jockstrap" (that last one was my brother's).

The time and place of our club meetings slowly morphed over the next couple of weeks until we decided that we would meet weekly on Monday morning at about 12:13 a.m., or somewhere around there. We met at my friend's house on his front lawn for the first couple of weeks until his parents decided that it was too noisy and they didn't want to disturb the neighbors, so we had to take it somewhere else. Thereafter, we met in the church parking lot next to my house, even though we did have a cop come once and tell us to exit the premises because it was closed to the public after a certain hour.

From our meeting place, we would head to 7-11 to buy nasty food, which included "The Bomb" burrito for several of us, nachos for others, and The Gulpster for most. The Gulpster was so awful that I'm pretty sure they stopped making them and are now nowhere to be found. We'd then head out to the middle of nowhere where we would choke down our purchases and act like idiots. Our meetings also involved an initiation for each new member that joined, which I cannot divulge, sadly. When we got tired, we'd head home and dismiss until the next week at the same time.

The funniest part of the story for my brother and me came the week before he left on his mission. We were celebrating his last meeting before he took off. From the time we started our club and for the next 2 months or so before he left, my brother and I would sneak out of our house at the specified time because we didn't think there was any way our parents would give us permission to do what we did. We even put our car in neutral and pushed it half a block before we started it, just so our parents wouldn't wake up. We thought we were being so rebellious.

When we got back to our house after my brother's final meeting as a Pink Panda, we walked into our rooms to find a cutout of a pink panda on each of our pillows. We'd been had! It turns out that my friend's mom had been talking with my mom on day when she mentioned the Pink Pandas. Obviously, my mom had no idea what she was talking about, but by then it was too late for my friend's mom to back out of it, so she spilled the beans. For the next several weeks, my parents would stay up until we left and would hide around the corner of the hall, trying desperately not to laugh as they watched us sneaking up the stairs and out the backdoor.

And that's how the Pink Pandas were born. To this day, the Pink Pandas live on through me and my friend-now-roommate--though our meetings only occur every few months, and we usually get 7-11 nachos and orange juice. The location has also changed now that we are in Provo. We're still accepting applications for new memberships, but if you're a girl, don't even think about asking us to join (though we still might allow you to tag along to a meeting or two).

IRS: Government Phunded Phishing Scam

Up until recently, I haven't been upset at all with how many federal and state taxes I pay or how I'm paying money to the Social Security fund that I will never see again. In fact, because I haven't ever really earned all that much money over the course of an entire year and have had to pay tuition and other things that count as credits toward my taxes, I have always gotten a refund come tax time.

However, the last couple of paychecks I've received, I've noticed a disturbing trend. Due to the fact that I'm working full time and making more money than I ever have before now that I'm working at a law firm, I guess the IRS decided they can start sticking it to me. I have officially become "important" enough to make them want me to be unhappy. As if that weren't bad enough, they also like to rub in the fact that I'm still single. Oh yes, that's right, even the IRS! My married friend (who works at the firm with me, and who was kind enough to help me get the job) pays a whole lot less in taxes than I do, and for no other reason than he's married and I'm not.

Anyway, that's not my real gripe. I was fully aware of the fact that once I started making more money, the IRS would tighten their grip around my wallet--which just so happens to be in my back pocket, making things quite uncomfortable. My real complaint has more to do with the W-4 and how utterly worthless it is at really explaining how things work. I guess that's so they can hose you without you really knowing why.

I had never really payed too much attention to the number of exemptions I claimed up until now because I have never made enough for it to really matter. So I was only mildly surprised to find that my pay stub showed that I had 5 exemptions claimed. I wasn't sure what to make of it, because the W-4 only seems to indicate that I might be able to claim about 3 as a single person, at the most. I was more surprised to find that they were taking such a huge % of my paycheck. I contacted HR anyway and had them put the exemptions down to 1 for this last one.

I don't know what I was thinking when I did that, though. I knew that would only increase the amount they took out, so I really shouldn't have been upset when I got the latest pay stub...but I was. To make a long (and already boring) story short, I contacted HR again to have them put my exemptions back up to 5 for the next pay period, even though I really have no idea how I am able to claim 5, or where they got that number in the first place. I mean, unless I have some kids running around somewhere that I don't know about...

I've never drunk liquor...

but this might be enough to make me want to start:

3-day weekends are fantastic

Every time I get a Monday or a Friday off, I think to myself how much I really wish all weekends were 3-day weekends, particularly when I get Mondays off. I think most people are in agreement that Monday tends to be the worst day of the week, if for no other reason than the weekend is at that point as far away as it gets. However, when you take Monday off, in some ways it's still technically the weekend. It's like magic, I know.

By not going to work or doing anything productive (which is what holidays are for), you can skip the whole general crappiness that makes Monday so awful to begin with. In addition, Sundays aren't very relaxing sometimes, especially when there are a lot of meetings and other responsibilities that fill up the day (and take away my precious nap time). Consequently, I'm never quite as relaxed as I would like to be by the time Monday rolls around, and by that time I have to start it all over again...unless it's a holiday. :)

On another note, I saw Indiana Jones on Saturday, and I have to say that because I went in with low expectations, I actually enjoyed it very much. I know a lot of people really hate it, but I guess I'm not super picky with a lot of movies. However, I also watched National Treasure 2, and I decided that I still didn't like those movies. I don't know what it is, whether it's the complete and utter predictability, the convenient coincidences, Nicolas Cage as an intellectual, or the lame canned jokes from Mr. Sidekick that made me dislike both of the National Treasure movies--or maybe all of it combined--but I really don't like them at all. It's just too much for me.

Uncle Ben x 3

I just found out I'm going to be an uncle for the third time. This will be my brother's third child in less than 5 years, so they're doing pretty well for themselves. The funny part of this story--I found out from a friend, who found out via Facebook. I mean come on! Of course, my brother never has been terribly good at communicating these types of things. Either way, I'm super excited for a new niece/nephew (one or the other, not both, unless they're twins, then I guess it's ok).

My last post was a misnomer.

In reality, there are many things that I could rant about. Most things really don't bother me all that much, but it's still fun to go off sometimes...just because. I'm sure those of you who have known me for any amount of time have witnessed this.

I am just glad that srping is finally acting like spring so I don't have to gripe about cold weather and snow anymore. :)

Pet Peeve of the month:

What's this about vampires sparkling in the sunlight in the Twilight books? I've never read them, and I never will. Might as well slap bunny slippers on Satan and stick him in a romance novel...

And away I go.

This is my first post...and that's about it.