Thursday, July 29, 2010

If I had become a horrible stand up comic...

Today, dear readers, I am attempting something different and a tad experimental. If it works, I am going to make it a regular feature on the Blog O' Cheese.  If it doesn't work and is lame, each of you may give me a metaphorical interweb face slap and tell me that I am the suckiest bag of suck that ever sucked.

I call this potential feature "If I had become a horrible stand up comic..."  Now, in order to pull this off, you must imagine me - a dark, grizzled and tolerably average looking doofus - standing in front of a red brick wall, firing off bad joke after bad joke like I am a one man Bob Saget/Paulie Shore joke off. 

Now, close your eyes and put the above image in your brain.  Do you see me?  Am I holding a microphone and wearing a striped vest and khaki pants with a fluffy front-butt?  Yep, there it is.  (I hope that this image hasn't made you too amorous.)  

Well then, why don't we get started?

If I had become a horrible stand up comic...

I hear that Drew Carey has lost 70 pounds because he was "sick of being fat".  Well, I just started a Drew Carey diet because I was "sick of watching lame".  

Drew Carey hosts The Price is Right now, which just proves a lifelong theory I've had: Having your pet spayed or neutered does NOT stop Drew Carey from hosting the Price is Right. 

I joined facebook the other day and for some reason some people kept asking me for vegetables and some people kept asking me to join the mafia?!  I put these people in touch with each other because I figure the mafia needs to eat better and they know how to get things.  I then immediately quit facebook, hired a body guard, moved to South America and planted a garden.

I think that whomever made up the term "what a load of crock!" could also see the future.  I mean, how else would they know about the rise in popularity of the crappy footwear?

 I went through a McDonald's drive through the other day and I thought the sign "No wide loads" was very ironic. But what made it more ironic was... the food.

I actually went to the McDoanld's website the other day and almost caught diabetes.  Fortunately, they spray the thing down with fiber and apple wedges every 6 hours to stifle the spread.

And speaking of Disney princesses, I took the kids to see Disney on Ice the other day and Ariel started trying to dig holes in the ice. 

That's all I got for today.  Thank you very much! 

This was much more difficult than I had thought.  It took me an hour and a half just to write those bad jokes.  If people like this, I'll try harder next time.

Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Three not-so-important things... but read anyway.

Today's post will be short and sweet and I hesitated to even do a post as yesterday's poop-orama took me over two hours to write.  Therefore, I admonish you to read that post first if you have not already.

Alas, the blogging addiction took over and I was drawn to the laptop like a scout with a stick to a campfire.   So, some random things.

1. A lot of people ask me what I do during the summer.  Allow me to give you just a sample of what I have done this week:

Monday: 
9:00 -Wake up 
10:00 -Went to the Natural History Museum where not a single exhibit has changed since I was my son's age.
12:00 - Went to a hole-in-the-wall pizza place for some greasy pizza.
1:00 - Home for a two hour nap.
3:00 - Jog
4:00 - 7:00 - Sitting on couch.
7:00 - Next door neighbors for weekly pool party.
9:00 - Watched a very disappointing movie.  (Except for the part where the kid shoots a dart into his mom's bra insert.) It was Gentleman Broncos.
11:00 - Bed

Today:
7:00 - Wake up. Put on Spongebob for the boys.  Back to bed.
9:00 - Wake up for real.
11:00 - Hiking in Little Cottonwood Canyon with a picnic.
2:00 - Home and jog.
3:00 - Wheeler Farm to see the animals.

And here I am at home, completely rested and relaxed.  Boy o' boy, do I love the summertime!

2. When I got home today, I got this AWESOME email:

Dear Mr. Cheeseboy,


Last year my friends and I were in 6th grade at your school. 
We thought you were the coolest, greatest teacher of all time.*
Since then, we have been co-authoring a book about people we knew and YOU take place as one of the main characters.
If you want to find out who you are in the story you have to read the book, which I have attached.
Anyway, the reason I've sent you this is for your permission to continue using your name (we have changed the spelling). 
Also, WE DO PLAN ON PUBLISHING THIS!


PLEASE write back with your reply for using your name and your thoughts on the story.  Thank you!


Sincerely, Brittany and Ashlee

* I added this sentence.

So, of course I decided to check out this story, which is actually VERY GOOD for a couple of twelve year olds.  Here are a couple of sample sentences about me:

"Welcome to your first day of your big mission, Mr. Cheeseboy said as I entered the base. He had a huge smile on his face and I could tell he wasn't joking."


"You see, my commander, Mr. Cheeseboy - "
"You mean the same Mr. Cheeseboy that teaches fourth grade** down the at the school down the street?"
"Yep, the same."

** I actually teach first grade, but we are talking simple semantics here.

I can't wait for it to be published!  I mean, IT WILL be published!  These girls are not going to take no for an answer.

3. Finally, on my way to the Utah Natural History Museum with my boys, I saw this poor BYU fan.  Being avid Ute fans, my boys had never seen an actual BYU fan in the flesh, so I had to point one out to them.

Monday, July 26, 2010

The Mystery of the Great Pooping Bandit of '07: A Devil's Tale

My dad tells me that I write too much about poop; that somehow I have managed to cross the line of the appropriate amount of poop talk into the land of juvenile absurdity.

For this post, dearest father, I apologize.  

This is the true story - true story - about seven strangers that stop being polite and start being real.

Actually, no - no it's not.  I lied.  I've just always wanted to write that sentence.

This is actually the true story of a bandit - a pooping bandit.  I shall call it The Pooping Bandit of '07, a Devil's Tale.

In the year of our Lord, 2007, I taught first grade at a school in which the bathrooms were situated in the center of four first grade classrooms.  This worked to our advantage as no other grades had access to their use and everything had been miniaturized to meet the needs of a miniaturized population base.  (Miniature due to age, not midgets.)

Now, in these trifling johns there are what are commonly referred to as "urinals".  (Women, please see figure 1A for reference to what a urinal is.)  The unfortunate reality was that these urinals looked a whole lot like actual toilets.  At the beginning of each school year, being the only male first grade teacher on the entire planet, it was my responsibility to take large groups of boys into the restroom and explain that these urinals are for "pee, not poop." 

"We don't poop in these boys.  They're not for pooping!  Pooping goes over there.  Pee goes in these."  

I mean, it's a common phrase that most 30-year-old men probably say on a daily basis at their places of work.

No matter how many times I reminded the boys that the urinals are not for pooping, there would always be a mysterious log around the second week of September.  We teachers referred to this log as "the first sign of fall" and "Trevor's Revenge".*

'07 was a different sort of year.  I'd like to say that it was the first year that we did not find poop in the urinal.  I'd like to say that it was a breakthrough year; that somehow all my motivational poop talks actually proved their worth and that we went would escape without finding any brown urinal corn dogs.  I'd like to say those things, but I can't.  '07 proved to be the year that the boy that painted the urinal brown would get the best of me.

After the third pooping in '07, I was done.  Granted, I didn't have to clean the poop or even look at, but hearing the teenage sweeper girl gag as she used a spatula device was enough for me.  I had decided that it would NOT HAPPEN AGAIN and that ENOUGH WAS ENOUGH!  Every first grade boy in all four classes would spend the next recess in my room and the recess after that and the one after that, and so on, until someone confessed to being "The Pooing Bandit".

I must say, that first recess punishment was extraordinarily painful. We all sat and stared at each other and not a single peep from any of the boys.  Eventually a small group started crying and proclaiming their hope that someone would confess. By the end of the 15 minutes, most were angry and ready to riot on a moments notice. If only they had had a vocal leader to lead them in revolt, my corpse could have been found underneath five feet of playground pebbles.

I decided that the "smoke-em-out" method was not effective.  It was time to break out Plan B.

At our school, and other schools like it in Utah, we have a police officer that frequently visits and talks to the kids about not using drugs.  It's a semi-effective program as only 62% of kids go on to try drugs in high school instead of the usual 68%.  I thought I would put this officer to good use in our fecal/urinal investigation.

After the fifth mud bunny was found in the urinal that year, I once again gathered all the first grade boys and informed them that the police would be getting involved.  I told them that there would be a police officer in THAT VERY DAY and that he would be taking finger prints and collecting samples.

At the time, when I suggested that he would be "collecting samples" it seemed appropriate enough.  Now, it seems altogether rather foul and wrong.  I mean, it probably isn't something CSI:SLC is going to want to spend more than five minutes analyzing.  Finding Pooping Bandits isn't exactly their forte.

Anyway, I talked to my Principal and it was arranged.  The Dare Police Officer would come down to the first grade classrooms, pretend to look around and dust for fingerprints.  I then told the boys that if whomever was responsible were to come forward, he would not be prosecuted in a court of law for the "mooky stinking" that had gone down.

Still, there were no admittance to the crime.  I was mystified and discouraged.  Generally, when you mention the possibility of jail to a first grader, they are so frightened that they will confess to just about anything, including pooping in a urinal.

The Dare Officer and the Principal did, in fact, come in.  (However, I highly doubt that they took any samples, but they may have.) As they made their rounds through the classroom, I could feel the tension build and the whispers began.  There was a general unease about the situation for SOMEONE was getting in trouble and that person was going to get it BIG TIME!

Alas, the policeman left and life went back to normal.  No one confessed and the mystery and lore of the Pooing Bandit continued to build.

Two weeks later I had taken the kids to lunch and returned to my classroom to get something out of my desk.  A mom was there waiting for me.  She informed me that she had just seen a sixth grade boy bolt out of our bathroom and he had a guilty look on his face.  I rushed to the bathroom and as sure enough, there were two brown toileteers floating in the urinal.

It was then that it all made sense: The poop was always pooped during the lunch hour, when no one was around. Also, despite a threat of incarceration, no first grader ever stepped forward and admitted the crime. Finally, the poops were almost always large, preteen sized logs.**

I was overcome with guilt as I had blamed my sweet, innocent first graders of such vile and nastiness.

Now, I would like to say that this story has a happy ending, but it does not.  They (meaning myself and the Dare Officer) never did apprehend the Sixth Grade perp.

To this day, he is probably hunched over some poor, unsuspecting high school urinal with a goofy grin on his face.

Long live the Pooping Bandit.

*Trevor's Revenge refers to Trevor, a boy that purposefully pooped in the urinal because he had to stay in from recess for saying the S word.  (Stupid)

** I am not sure if log size is proportional to body size, but it made sense at the time.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

June 30, 2010: The day that the Twilight freaks unknowingly met the Utah freaks. A meeting of the lines.

The date was June 30, 2010.  Two long lines had formed in Salt Lake City, Utah: One for the premier of Twilight Eclipse, one to purchase season tickets to the University of Utah football games.  At one point, the lines intersected (not really, but go with me here), and mass confusion reigned.  At the intersecting point of the two lines, this conversation occurred:

- Well hello ladies! 

- [A group of girls, in unison] Hey guys!

- Ladies, we think it is so cool that your totally into this sort of thing.

- What are you talking about?  Aren't YOU guys embarrassed to be in this line?

- Embarrassed?  Heck no!  We live for this.  We do it every summer!

- You guys are cute.  We never see cute boys here.  You're not, you know...

- WHAT?! No, why would you even think that?  I mean Darius over there is, but we are cool with it.

- Oh, that's great!  So tell me boys, what team do you cheer for?

- Uh, duh!  Who do you THINK we cheer for?  We're all wearing red, right?

- Red?  Red? Oh, I see... the red represents the blood.  You must be for Edward?

- Oh, you mean the blood Eddie spills when he's in action?  Heck yeah we pull for him.  Have you seen how he runs people over?  He's got speed and the power!

- Yes he does!  And the grace too.  He's sparkly!

- Sparkly? [Shaking head] What?  Whatever.  Where are you girls hoping to sit then?

- We're good with anything but the front two rows!  They are the worst.

- WHAT?!  Are you girls crazy? The front row would be so sweet!

- No way!  It hurts my neck to sit up there.  Why would you guys want to sit all the way up front?

- Because you are SO CLOSE to all the action!  And the cheerleaders are like RIGHT THERE!

- Cheerleaders?  I've never noticed any cheerleaders.

- Well of course, that's because you are so focused on Eddie.

- Oh yeah, you're probably right.  I'll have to look for the cheerleaders. 

- Okay, whatever.  Hey are you girls going to sneak in any beer?

- Beer? What are you crazy?  They don't allow beer in there!  You guys sneak in beer?

- Well, we USED to. But the problem is that we have to pee the whole time and end up missing all the action.

- Tell me about it!  Girls hate when we have to go to the bathroom and miss stuff too.

- Well, get this girls: I hear they are installing flat screens above the urinals in the men's restrooms so we don't have to miss a thing! 

- Really?  That is so cool.  Men get all the perks.

- Yeah, well we're lucky we can even GET tickets this year thanks to Allen.

- Why?  What did Allen do?

- Last year, on opening night, he was so excited he got drunk and climbed down the seats and started streaking.

- No way!

- Yeah, an usher had to taze him and he was twitching and puking down there in front of everyone.

- Wow.

- I know.  But it's cool. They said we could buy tickets this year, but we had to leave Allen home.

- Well, at least he can wait for it to come out on video.

- No, he'll probably just watch it at home.

- Yeah, that's what I meant.

- Oh.  Exactly.

[Awkward silence]

- Can you boys believe what they charged for popcorn and a drink last year?

- I know!  Insane!  Five bucks for popcorn and four for a large Coke!

- How do they get off charging that much?  We girls were so ticked.

- Well, at least the money goes towards to the University of Utah and helps the athletic teams.

- IT DOES?!

- Yeah, you didn't know that?

- No, I thought the movie theaters got it.

- Movie theaters?!  Why would they... no, no.  It goes toward the Utes.

[Awkward Silence]

 - Well, it looks like the line is moving.  It was nice to meet you girls.

- Yeah, nice to meet you too.  Maybe we'll see you guys in there?

- Well, maybe, but probably not.

- Well, okay then.  AND GO TEAM EDWARD!

- Right on!  Go Eddie!  He's got to score in this one! He's got to score quickly and often.

- You guys are sick.

- That's right we are!  GO UTES!

Thursday, July 22, 2010

Did I have questions for NBC regarding the Olympics? Oh, I had questions alright.

An actual email I just sent to NBC Olympics at NBColympicsfeedback@nbcuni.com.  I found the email address on this site welcoming questions about the Olympics.  Welcoming? They were practically BEGGING for questions. I promise to post any response I receive ASAP.

Hello NBC,

I noticed there was an email for Olympic questions.  I have some questions about the Olympics (as per the email on the website suggests). 

1. I understand that the Olympics are held every four years.  But what if you held them every 8 years instead and the winners could just get two medals instead of one?  For example, in the last Olympics, Michael Phelps would have won 26 medals instead of just 13!  Can you imagine the ratings?  In the years that there were supposed to be Olympics on, you could show a new A Team series or another show with Jilian yelling at more people.

2. The opening ceremonies are full of grace and extravaganza.  I love the fireworks.  What I would like to know is why can't there be fireworks shot off the roofs of every NBC affiliate nationwide?  It would really give us a better sense of the fireworks, instead of just watching them on TV.

3. In the equestrian events, why don't the horses get medals too? I don't think that this is fair.  I think they should get like a giant, horse-sized medal.  It doesn't have to be real gold or silver or anything, just something nice so the horse knows it's not one of the losers. Also, the horses should be on the podiums.

American horses should NOT be required to put their hoofs over their heart during the anthem.  That would definitely be animal cruelty as I am not even sure their hoofs can bend that way.

I'll ask my brother about that.  He's in the glue industry.

4. My high school gym teacher swore that Bob Costas was in the short lived TV show Bosom Buddies opposite Tom Hanks.  There is NO WAY that is true because Tom Hanks would never stoop so low to be in a SITCOM about cross-dressing men.  Perhaps you can clear this up for my teacher though? (If she is still alive.  She was like 63 and did a lot of hard living, meaning, she went to a lot of Lilith Fair concerts in the summertime.)

5. I'd really like to go to the 2010 winter Olympics in Canada, but I am concerned about security. By that time I am likely to have a mustache and a facial tattoo. (A small but visible sweat drop.  I was going to go with tear drop, but that seemed a little cliche.) 

Just so you know, my mustache will be well groomed.  I may or may not also be wearing an ankle bracelet, depending on how things go in the next couple weeks with my parole officer.

I am dating a lovely parole officer and to save on costs, when we get engaged we've decided to go with ankle bracelets instead of rings.  They'll be classy; mine will have a picture of her in a hidden locket.  She plans on getting one with an engraving of Edward on it.  (She's really big into Twilight right now.)

Anyway, I'd really like to see the speed skating because I hear those skaters go really fast.  It would be really fun to tie a sled behind them.  Hey, that could be a new sport? 

Well, I have to go NBC.  My girlfriend keeps telling me to, "GET OFF THE G.D. COMPUTER!"  She hates it when I spend too much time on here and not enough time putting white makeup on my face and gluing shiny scales on my chest. 

Thank you for your time and any response would be appreciated,

Abe
Raiser of Collies, Boat Repair
Murray, UT

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Here it is - Cheeseboy in a McDonald's Urine Tube!

Here it is... what you all have been waiting for: Cheeseboy in a McDonald's urine tube!

As with all of these vlog posts, I am not really sure if this is funny or not.  I guess that will be up to the viewing masses to decide.  So, without further ado, here I am in the tube:
video


As you can see, I even dressed for the occasion; dropping my normal summer rags for an actual collared shirt.

Now this video might actually be the more funny of the two.  This is my attempt to go down the slide and back into the land where adults live.  Of course, the slide was jam packed and children kept torpedoing into my lower back.

video

Lastly, I have received a lot of questions about my marathon training. That post was actually from two years ago and did complete the marathon, but that is another post for another day.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

So, you're saying that you want to read about me pooping myself?

No, you're not?  Well, if you DO want to read about me pooping myself, the story is being featured on LOL today.  You can read it here.




But if you haven't read my post about famous people and their first grade teachers from yesterday, you might want to read that as well.  I mean, if you are into reading stuff, especially stuff that I have written.

Monday, July 19, 2010

What their first grade teachers told them...

Neil Diamond's first grade teacher:
"Neil, you don't bring me apples anymore."

Robin William's first grade teacher:
"SLOW DOWN.  I don't understand a thing your saying."

Carrot Top's first grade teacher:
"You're NOT FUNNY, little girl!"

Kathie Lee Gifford:
"Why does your juice box smells a lot like wine?"

Mark McGuire:
"We DO NOT play with needles in class Mark."

Mel Gibson:
Mel, be nice to the girls.

Lindsay Lohan:
"Sniffing the glue like that is not good for you Lindsay."

The cast of Jersey Shore:
"The brown markers are for drawing, not for drawing on your skin."

Tim Burton:
"I think I am going to have a Psychologist look at these pictures."

The Biggest Loser's Jilian:
"You can't yell at him just because he's fat Jilian!"

Karl Malone:
"Okay Karl, when you talk about yourself, you say "I", not "Karl".

O.J. Simpson:
"Now WHERE is your other glove?  Did you leave it at recess again?"

Tom Cruise:
"I don't care how cute she is, there will be no more jumping on your desk!"

John Gosselin:
"What's with all the tears, John?"

Miss Piggy:
"You look an awful lot like a pig."

John Edwards:
"Keep your eyes on your own paper, John."

Glenn Beck:
"Glen, will you please just leave Ramirez alone?"

Saturday, July 17, 2010

I'm honored to be the first ever Male Saturday Supahstah.

HEY EVERYBODY!

Today YOU can read all about ME on Mother of Pearl It Is.

(You are supposed to click on the link above.)

Today only you can find out every steamy detail about my life.  Pearl has named ME her very first ever "Male Saturday Supahstah."   It's an honor I do not take lightly.

So head on over.  There is a full scale interview and photos.  It's like a regular TMZ over there, except it's all about me instead of Mel Gibson. 

Also, after you read about me there, don't forget to read my post from yesterday about public swimming pool.  I worked really hard on it and my wife even hung it on our fridge, which is strange because now we have a laptop hanging from the front of our fridge.

Friday, July 16, 2010

You don't want to stick your hand out too far in a public pool and other pool observations.

NOTHING good ever happens at a public swimming pool!

You never hear stories of a couple getting engaged or a baby being born at a public swimming pool. (Conceived, maybe, but not born.)

Quite the contrary, if someone begins a sentence like this: "You would not believe what happened at the public pool today!", you can rest assured that this story is not going to end well.  In fact, it will most likely end with one of these sentences:
  • "And then they had to call the fire department to get George unstuck."
  • "By the time it was over, there were 6 kids crying and they had to drain the entire pool."
  • "And I haven't left the restroom since."
Additionally, if you hear someone begin a sentence like this: "You would not believe what I saw at the public pool today!", you can rest assured that this story is not going to end well either. In fact, it will most likely end with one of these phrases:
  • "I can honestly say that I have never seen that much hair on one man's back."
  • "Well you would think that the gal at the store wouldn't have sold HIM that Speedo!"
  • "And it hung over so far, she really didn't even need to wear a swimsuit."
Ah yes, the public pool - America's recreational breeding ground for adenovirus, enterovirus, Hepatitus A and crypto, all of which I enjoy thoroughly. 

These diseases are prevalent, unless, of course, they load the pool with extreme amounts of chlorine; in which case you may enjoy the benefits of dry skin, stinging eyes and smelling like a public pool for 4 to 6 hours.

The most horrendous thing about a public pool is that they are never not crowded. At every public pool I have ever "swam" at, the bodies are loaded back to back. It's like the water makes everyone feel invisible.  People wear whatever the crap they want to wear and don't shave whatever the crap they don't want to shave.  You don't want to stick your hand out too far in a public pool.

Here is a breakdown of public pool swimming:
One person in a pool = They must be training for something.
Twelve people in a pool = Merriment and fun.
500 people in a pool = Unenclosed septic tank.

And what if there was no water?  What if we all stripped to our underwear, stood in an empty pit five feet apart from each other and flung our arms around?  Wouldn't we all feel awkward and a little jackassish?  I guess somehow the water makes it okay.

Whenever I visit a public pool, the absolute WORST part of my day is when I have to use the restroom.  First of all, I ALWAYS forget to wear my sandals, so I have to tiptoe across the hot concrete like a cartooned moron.  Secondly - and I am not sure what the pool restroom is like for ladies - but in the men's room there are hundreds of little puddles that you have to hurdle with your bare feet. No one knows if these puddles contain urine or water, but there is a good chance that they contain both.

Finally, when we men are actually able to maneuver around the locker room obstacle course of cesspools, there is ALWAYS one last cesspool waiting for us at the urinal.   At this point, I have to go so badly that my only option - other than stand in the cesspool - is to find the two dry spots, place my feet in them and then use a ninja style death stance while doing my business.

When I was a kid, my buddy once went off the high dive, belly flopped hard and came up looking pale.  He swam to the side and quietly proclaimed that he had thrown up underwater.  This is the type of information I feel my readers need to know.

We haven't taken the kids to a public pool in years.  Perhaps I am being a little too hard on them?  I mean, the last time we went my kids only almost drowned 5 times instead of 10, got jumped on 3 times instead of 8 and the lifeguards only had to yell at some overactive kids 67 times instead of 432.

Anything to cool off I suppose.

Wednesday, July 14, 2010

The Great B.O. Experiment has finally ended - a recap.

Q: What do my armpits and Texas both have in common?

A: They both have recently had a chupacabra found inside of them

I tried to pull one out of my armpit last night, but the nasty little bugger wouldn't let go and now has set up a nesting zone.  My chupacabra likes a place that is moist and smells like death to give birth to it's babies. (Although I am not really sure where the mating took place.)
 
Can I just say - and really, I am not asking your permission - that I am so insanely tired of writing about my body odor?!  It really isn't all that fun a topic to blog about, although I am sure that it might be an interesting topic to read about.  Or maybe not, I am not sure. 

I am just glad that it is over with.  Tomorrow, I plan on using the gel, the cream, the spray and then rolling around in baby powder.  I am going to be so fresh and crisp, if I hugged Richard Simmons, he would actually look dry.

I just hope the chupacabra doesn't attack poor Richard when we embrace.  I will have to remind him to behave himself. (Richard, not the chupacabra.)

As it now stands, if we had a greasy contest, I think that I would edge out Richard Simmons by a pint or so.  If we did actually hug, they would have to mop up the spot in which we stood.  They would then have to drain that mop into a vacuum sealed plastic bag and mark it as hazardous waste.

What was I talking about again?  Oh yes, the experiment.  I learned 5 things:

1. Deodorant may not stop sweat or even make sweat smell like flowers, but it does make you feel like you are doing something and that feeling is worth it's weight in golden sweat drops.

2. Dreams about talking sticks of deodorant are downright disturbing but make for great blogging fodder.

3. Deodorant for the butt should be invented. (Butt not by me.)

4. My wife loves me.

5. Walking around a theme park all day long after not wearing deodorant for 6 straight days, and then sitting on a train with your two boys will make them pull faces like this:

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

I will soon be hitting 300 followers, which means a trip to the McDonald's playland. Want to know what I will do when I hit 400 followers? Hint: It involves a Smooth Away

This will be a quick post as I just got back from a full day at a theme park wearing no deodorant.

The ultimate test of will.  My armpits lost.

Badly.

I will do a full recap tomorrow.

In the mean time, given that I have 295 followers and my video blog post from the inside a McDonald's tube of dried up urine is inevitable, it was time to start thinking about what I am going to do when I reach 400 followers.

Only one thing came to mind:



I am thinking of doing ONLY one arm. (I have very, very arms.) Why only one arm?  Because I think having one arm completely void of hair and one arm loaded with hair would be hilarious;  much more hilarious than having two completely bald arms.

All of this pain will be caught on video for you all to enjoy.  When... I reach 400 followers.

Just thought I'd let the masses know what is in store.  Spread the word, for Cheeseboy hath spoken it.

Monday, July 12, 2010

Life lessons learned from Smurfette (and the great BO experiment, day 5)

I made a special trip to the library the other day while my wife and son were suffering from high fevers on our special "high fever and puking couch" (batteries not included).

I hit the kids section hard, looking for anything that would keep a grumpy, sick, four year old entertained for a couple days.  I remembered that I had shown my boys a couple youtube clips of the Smurfs.  I also remembered they had seemed slightly intrigued by it.  Our conversation had gone something like this:

Abe:Wanna see something dad used to watch as a kid?

8 year old: Sure dad.

Abe: Check THIS out! (Way too excited to show a Brainy Smurf clip)

8 year old: [Staring and wincing] Uh dad.

Abe: Yes son?

8 year old: Can I go out and play now?

Abe: I guess, but next time you will SIT and STARE at this computer monitor and you will APPRECIATE really awful 80's pop culture!  Do you understand?


8 year old: [Already out the door.] Bye dad!

Abe: - sigh -

ANYWAY, while I was perusing the  kiddie isle, much to my chagrin, I came across The Smurfs, The Complete Season 1.  

I picked it up and clutched it tightly in my hands like it was a crystal skull in an overrated Indiana Jones extravaganza.

I decided that we were watching it, and there wasn't a darned thing my sick kid and his 102 degree temperature could do about it! 

When I got home, I excitedly popped it in the DVD player. (We are still too cheap to buy a Blu Ray, even though I saw one at Walmart for under 100 bucks. I am worried that if I buy a blu ray player, they will soon come out with a red ray player and then I will feel like I have been totally jipped buy the Blu Man Group.)

Here was my sons reaction:

Sons: Oh dad, this again?

Abe: Yeah guys, we are watching it and you are going to like it.

Sons: Yeah, but dad, it's stupid.  Can't we just watch Finius and Pherb again?

Abe: NO! BRING ON THE LITTLE BLUE MEN!

Sons: - sigh -

We then watched the first episode, in which I had to explain that Gargamel was evil and wanted to catch the Smurfs and that his cat, Azriel, had to do exactly what Garamel says because Gargamel is well, evil.

Sons: Why does he want to catch the Smurfs dad?

Abe: I am not sure?  To eat them maybe?

Sons: Gross!

It was the best explanation I could think of at the time.  I mean, I suppose I could look Gargamel up on that sex offenders website, but I wasn't sure of his zip code or the age of those Smurfs.

ANYWAY, episode 2 introduced Smurfette into the Smurf world. This is where the true life lessons would be taught to my sons.

As we watch, we learn that Smurfette is created by Gargamel in his evil lair and that his ultimate plan is to have her SEDUCE the Smurfs into his vile arms. 

Smurfette, Life Lesson #1: Use attractive women to get what you want in life.

After Smurfette is immaculately conception-ated by Gargamel, she is off to find the Smurf home. She happens upon them and because she is actually so UNattractive and bizarre looking, the Smurfs cruelly ostracize her from the group and force her into the woods.

Smurfette, Life Lesson #2: Do not accept anyone different.  And girls that are unattractive should live alone in the forest. 

Smurfette wanders the forest alone and afraid.  She begins to get very upset that the Smurfs have rejected her, so she does what any self-serving, angry blue girl would do: She beats up Brainy Smurf and breaks the damn Smurf dam.

Smurfette, Life Lesson #3: If you can't get what you want, throw a tizzy fit and do major damage to other people's property.

The dam breaks and begins to flood the entire Smurf village. Smurfette is swept away in the current and she starts screaming.  The other Smurfs, seeing that she is in dire straights, form a human, I mean a Smurf chain and pull her to safety.

She was THAT close to being totally SMURFED!

Smurfette, Life Lesson #4: If you do something wrong, like break a dam and flood a village, the villagers won't care and will actually bail you out.

The dam is fixed by the quick thinking of Brainy Smurf (They don't call him brainy for nothing) and life goes back to normal in Smurfington. Smurfette is now accepted by the group and she is joins the Smurfs in full fellowship. 

Nevertheless, Smurfette becomes uneasy about her appearance and then asks Papa Smurf to cast a spell to make her beautiful.

Smurfette, Life Lesson #5: If you are unhappy with your appearance, it's nothing that a little nip/tuck can't fix.  

Smurfette then emerges from Papa Smurf's mushroom lair of breast implants and tummy tucks and she is now busty, blond and wearing a slutty, short-cut skirt.  SCORE!!!

All of the male Smurfs are immediately taken by her and I am fairly sure that Papa Smurf even takes the very first Smurf Viagra ever created.  The Smurfs shower her with gifts and begin showing off for her.  She blushes and is overcome with attention.

Smurfette, Life Lesson #6: Men will totally give you stuff if you wear a slinky dress and are blond.

And that was it.  That was the end of the episode!  There was no learning moment, no NBC "The More You Know" enlightenment, no explanation to any of it.  It was a total waste of 40 minutes of our lives.

I turned off the DVD player, walked away with my head hung in shame and told my sons, "You can go ahead and watch your Phineus and Pherb now."

-------------------- AN UPDATE ON MY B.O. ------------------------------------------------

I longingly looked at my can of body spray today and wondered if that would be considered cheating.  I mean, nowhere on the bottle does it say that it stops sweat or it's embarrassing odor.  Alas, I decided not to partake as I would feel guilty about smelling nice on a technicality.

For the first time during this experiment, I can actually smell myself.  It could be because I just got back from a 5 mile run... in 100 degree weather, but it could also be that I am not wearing deodorant.  It's probably the run.  My wife would probably argue that it is the lack of deodorant.

My wife, by the way, thinks I am INSANE to run in the absolute heat of the day.  I tell her that the heat of the day is when you burn the most calories, which might be true, but that only a guess on my part.

Only 2 more days of this dreadful experiment.  Right now, I am leaning towards putting the blasted stuff back on my armpits.  I only say that because my armpits and I had a long conversation last night and they informed me that they felt all "icky inside".

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Saturday Graph: Our Tupperwear Drawer Over Time & Day 3 of Project "Smelly Pits"

Day 3: Smelly Pits

I had a dream last night about my deodorant.

I opened my bathroom cabinet and it started speaking to me. The cap was flapping up and down as it spoke and it started pleading for me to start applying it on my pits again.  Another important note is that the deodorant's voice was that of Pauly Shore's and it clearly had had breast implants. (There was no way that they could have been real; they were clearly well beyond the size of what normal deodorant breasts would be.)

When I woke up, my sheets were soaked with sweat - ironic on several levels - and I was trembling in fear.  I panicked and performed a 3:00 AM sprint into my bathroom to find my deodorant stick sitting right where I had left it, voiceless and breastless.

But I digress...

One of my beloved commenters made an astute point yesterday: If I depend on strangers to tell me that I stink, they will not tell me I stink. I refer to this phenomenon as the "Abe-Stank Paradigm".

Therefore, I call upon you - real life people that I actually see on a daily basis - to inform me on a daily basis as to my stank factor.  I urge you not be nervous or ashamed to approach me on this topic, this is something I want and need to know.  The results of this experiment must be valid and only you can validate me.

I'll raise my arms for you, all you need to do is ask. 

In the meantime, no one said a word about my supposed stench today, but here is the thing: There is a mysterious, funk odor running through our house today and I am the only one that can smell it.  It's a foul scent, much like a dog's breath or rotten milk, or rotten milk mixed with dog breath.  I don't think this rancidity is my doing, but there is really no way to be sure.

Until I can figure this mystery out, I will happily sit on my couch, soaked in my own filth and watch something called "Karate Dog" with my 102 degree'd 4 year old son.  A son that, by the way,  just looked up at me and said, "Dad, Karate Dog is AWESOME!"

Friday, July 9, 2010

The Great NON-Deodorant Experiment, Day 2

I am not sure what was the more popular topic in my comments yesterday: Matthew McConaughey's armpits or the fact that I mistakenly, and idiotically thought that deodorant actually stopped sweat.

At any rate, I thank you all for your comments and setting me straight.

Day 2 began with my showering and scrubbing my armpits with extra emphasis.  I washed and soaked and repeated.  My armpits have never been so spoiled, unless of course, you count the time that I paid to have my armpits massaged by a professional armpit masseuse. (It's an extra fee.)

I opened my medicine cabinet this morning and without thinking, grabbed my bar of Speed Stick and twisted out just enough of the goo to coat my underarms.  I was just about to apply when I remembered you, my beloved readers and the promise that I had made you.

Many of you have been asking about my wife and her reaction to all of this.  Well, if there was ever a time for her to have a nasty cold, it would be this week.

She has a nasty cold this week and can not smell a thing.

Thus, day 2 came and went and no one said a word to me about my smelly armpits.  Of course, I spent most of the day sitting on our back porch, reading and watching the kids swim in one of those urine-infested blow-up pools.

The life of a teacher in the summertime can be pretty  harsh.

Thursday, July 8, 2010

The Great NON-Deodorant Test (AKA: My wife thinks I'm crazy) Day 1

Morgan Spurlock wanted to change the world (and make a lot of money in the process), so he did what any good-natured, soon to be portly,  pre-diabetic American would do and ate at McDonald's every day for a month.  Bless him.

Little did young Morgan know that three years prior to his belly-busting, sugar overloaded plight to fame, author Chuck Klosterman had spent an entire week eating nothing but McDonald's chicken nuggets.  Not only did he survive the ordeal, but his blood pressure actually WENT DOWN!*

Me? Well, I'm no renegade.  I'm not in it for the money or the fame or the ladies or the cholesterol. My only motive is to take down the deodorant companies and watch them burn and smolder while the rubble pile emits a cool, sporty, powder-fresh scent.**

I have a good feeling about this, folks.  A really... good... feeling.

Here's the deal: for the next seven days*** I will be NOT USING DEODORANT OF ANY KIND!  That's right, not a speck of that vomit-inducing, yellow-staining, crystallizing, fraudulent-stank GOOP will be placed on, near or around my armpits or the hair that is coming out of them.

You're welcome, America.

Now get on over here, I want to give you all a big, sweaty hug.

My theory is that deodorant is something concocted by marketing geniuses and slimy fragrance peddlers in order to make a quick buck.  Further, deodorant is not something that is needed, just an expensive luxury that makes us feel like we smell like movie stars and extravagant celebrities. (Except, apparently, Brad Pitt.)

I know what many of you are thinking: Now Abe, have you VISITED the 6th graders at your school in the SPRING TIME?!

Why yes, yes I have; but I contend that that ripe, juicy 6th grade springtime stench does not stem from the lack of deodorant, rather, their absolute refusal to bathe on a regular basis.****

I'd also like to make this point: I wore deodorant last Sunday and when I came home from church, my shirt had been completely soaked through with sweat.  I then wondered what the point of actually wearing the deodorant was.  Further, I don't even wear deodorant on my butt and I sweat twice as much there as I do my armpits.  I know that is really gross, but I feel like it is the type of information people should know.


Thus, my gauntlet has just been thrown (or more appropriately tossed underhanded as my tennis elbow has been acting up lately) at Gillette, Old Spice, Dove, Secret and the like. 

In the immortal words of Torrance Shipman on "Bring It On", I'd like to say to the deodorant companies: "Oh, I'll bring it.  Don't worry!"*****

The good news for you all - my faithful readers - is that I will be giving you a day by day update of this little project.  Here is the first one:

Day 1: I decided that today would be the first day since I was 12 that I would purposefully NOT put on deodorant.  It is the evening now and my wife has not noticed.  In fact, I just told her of my little project and she said, "Oh please don't."  And, "Why would you do that?"

I can feel the love and support just radiating from her being.

I gave her all the reasons why I want to bring down the deodorant companies and she was not convinced.  I then retorted, "Well, all that AND I was really desperate for something to blog about."

I think she knew, she just wanted me to admit it.

*Chuck Klosterman is a favorite author of mine and despite his sometimes sardonic tendencies, I find him to be downright witty.  The fact that he ate nothing but chicken nuggets for an entire week underscores this very fact.  Also, if you read his books, and I recommend "IV", be aware that a curse word or two might jump out and punch you in the face and then return to it's rightful place on the page.

**However, if I do somehow obtain fame, fortune or an increase in my cholesterol level by this pathetic stunt, so be it.

*** For my Australian readers, a week is equal to 7 days when you do not use the metric system. 

**** By "regular", I mean at least every other day.  Preferably, EVERY day, but I would settle for every other.

***** I have never actually seen this movie.  I only know this quote because I knew that if I googled "Bring It On Quotes", something fitting would pop up, and it did.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

You see son, some monkeys do have lightsabers! They just aren't mentioned much in Star Wars.

While it seems I am fresh out of creative ideas for the time being, I am fortunate that there has been plenty of hilariosity surrounding me the last few days.  Here a just a few items of blithe and hystericality for your (hopeful) enjoyment.


Item 1: If you are a long time reader of the Cheese Blog, you know that tutor part time at Sylvan Learning Center.  Recently, I have been tutoring a 14 year old fella that happens to be a dwarf.  Now, I am not positive what these folks want to be called nowadays, but I am fairly sure he wouldn't mind being called a dwarf because he will often wear a tee shirt with a "Dwarf Basketball League" logo on the front.

This kid - we shall call him "Kurt" as it is the least offensive name I can think of for a dwarf - is quite energetic and entertaining most of the time.  I, on the other hand, am a moron and I feel badly for the parents that actually pay to have me tutor their kids sometimes.  Anyway, the other day, Kurt and I had the following conversation:

CB (Cheeseboy): So, are you going to do anything for the weekend?

Kurt: Well, my family is going to Lagoon (a lame, wannabe Six Flags, local amusement park with 90% throw-up rides), but I am just going to stay home.

CB: How come?

Kurt: I hate Lagoon.  I am too short for almost all the rides.

CB: [Not thinking at all] Well, give yourself a couple years, you'll get there.

Kurt: [Utter look of bewilderment and disgust on his face.  He says - and quite coyly for a 14 year old...]  Uh, Abe... Do you know something I don't?

Just that I am a moron.


Item 2: Given my life of luxury and pleasure during the summer, I took my two boys to the zoo yesterday.  We were rumbling and fumbling around something called the "Small Animal House" (a place so full of vile scents, they had to had to hang signs on the wall explaining that small animals fart and pee a lot and that is why it stinks so badly), when my four year old and I stopped at a window with small monkeys inside. 

Upon first glance, the closest male monkey to our faces was very, very, shall we say, "happy."  My four year old son and I proceed to have the following conversation:

Calder: DAD!  Look at that monkey!  His tail goes all the way through his body.

CB: Wow, you're right Calder.  That is weird.

Calder: Why is his tail like that dad?

CB: I'm not sure, but I think it is like that in case he falls head first from a really tall tree, he can helicopter down.

Calder: Oh dad.  That is cool.

CB: I KNOW!  HUH?!

Item 3: Our dentist has informed us that our younger son is going to need braces in 10-15 years, which is perfect because then we can put both my colonoscopy and the braces on our FLEX plan that year.

Item 4: I was tutoring another kid the other day at Sylvan.  This time, he was much younger (about 5) and just learning to read.  We were playing a word game to help build his decoding skills and it was not going well...

CB: Okay, say "cheeseburger" without the cheese.

Kid: "Cheeseburger without the cheese."

CB: No, no.  Say "cheeseburger", but leave off the cheese part.

Kid: "Cheeseburger, but leave off the cheese part."

CB: Ha ha!  [Trying to think of a way to rephrase] Okay, what do you get if you take the "cheese" off "cheeseburger"?

Kid: [Thinking hard as well] Um, pickles and onions and lettuce?

Item 5 Same kid - different day, different word game.

CB: Okay, if you hear the letter B in the middle of these words I am going to say, say yes.  If there is not, say no. Okay?

Kid: Got it.

CB: Okay, first word is "bubble".  Do you hear a B in the middle of "bubble"?

Kid: Yes.

CB: GOOD!  Okay, next word... "honey".  Is there a B in "honey"?

Kid: Yes.

CB: Okay, let me say it again really slowly... Hunn-NE.  Is there a B in Hunn-NE?

Kid: Yes

CB: There is?  Do you hear a B in Hunn-NE?

Kid: Well, I don't hear one, but bees are always in honey.

Final Item: A facebook "friend" of mine had this as his status the other day and I thought it was enlightening:

"So many people have told me how bad they cried during Toy Story 3 that I am a little scared.  You see, I poop when I cry."

Monday, July 5, 2010

The true story of Bubba and Harry and how they opened the world's first firework stand.

Bubba: Hey Harry, see all them leftover splosives over dair? Da ones we used for all dat mine-in?

Harry: Oh yeah, I see em'.  

Bubba: We should sell em'.  Call dem' "firewerks".  Dem people could light em' up on all der streets.  Dey could have all dem neighbors ova.  Set off all dem car alarms and such.

Harry: Bubba, you is a genius.  Where should we sell um?

Bubba: I got dis big ole' tent from Larry.  It's da white one, you know?

Harry: Oh yeah!  We used it to gut dem catfish when it was raining dat one time.

Bubba: Yep.

Harry: We could set it up down in dat one parking lot by the grocery.

Bubba: My thoughts exactery, Harry.  You da one datis da genius.  Dat parkin' lot has tons of people lookin' for splosions and such.

[2 days later, in the tent]

Harry: Why ain't anyone comin' round Bubba?  We ain't sold no splosions!

Bubba: My guess is we don't have any them streamers.  You know, dem red and white ones? We make it all patriotical and snazzy up round in here, on account of the ferth of Jule-I.

Harry: Hey, quiet up now.  Here comes er first custmer!

[Customer enters the tent]

Bubba: You lookin' for dem splosions?

Customer: Oh, excuse me.  I thought you were selling those delightful snow drops in here.

Bubba: DEM WHAT?! Nope.  We got splosions.  We been callin' em' "fireworks", even though some of em' don't really work.

Customer: Now why would I need some of your so called fireworks?

Harry: You know... ya set em up in front of yer house and all the neighbers all come out and here em... BANG, BANG!

Customer: And why would I want to do that?

Harry: To get your neighbers, you know, talkin' bout you and yer splosions. Evrybuddy round come look at yer splosions. 

Customer: Oh, I see. Are they legal?

Bubba: Youbetcha der legal.  Even ask dem sharrif.

Customer: [Picks one up] And what is this one called?

Bubba: Just named dat one myself, just now.  Dings called a "bottle rocket". Ya gotta tape it der and then ya stick in a bottle and it'll shoot up like one of dem astro-notter things, but without the Tang. 

Customer: How much is it?

Harry: We give ya dozen for say... five bucks.

Customer: Sounds reasonable.  [Picks up another]  And what are these?

Bubba: [Thinking hard] I'm gonna call dat one der a "black cat".  It does nuttin but BANG, BANG, BANG all da time... kinda like dat black cat dat lives hind my house der.

Harry: Oh yeah.  And try and put one of dem in dis cardberd tank I just made with dees scissors her.  You could have yerselves a little backyard war.

Customer: I see. What else you got?

Bubba: [Clearly just making stuff up now.] We got dem Roman Candles, Screaming Mimis, Lady Fingers, Fuzz Buttles, Snicker Bombs, Church Burners, Finger Blasters, Gut Busters, Zippity Do Das, Crap Flappers, Whistling Bungholes, Spleen Splitters, Whisker Biscuits, Honkey Lighters, Husker Doos, Husker Don'ts, Cherry Bombs, Nipsy Daisers (with or without the scooter stick), and a single whistling kitty chaser.*

Customer: Wow!  Very impressive.  How much for the whole lot of them?

Harry: We'd give you all dem splosions for four hundred fitty bucks.

Customer: And you say my neighbors will love me.

Harry: De eat you up.  Youda man.  Even dem housewives will come runnin'.

Customer: I'll take them.

[As customer is walking out...]

Bubba: Sucka!

Harry: Like lightin' his cash up in flames.

Bubba: Hot dang, dem are big splosions we sell to that sucker there.

Harry: Yep Bubba, he probably be setten his house on fie.

Bubba: You got somedin that we could sell him dat puts out fies?

Harry: No... just that can of old flour overder.

Bubba: And I got that big canteen with da squirty handle.

Harry: You thinkin what I thinkin?

Bubba: HEY DER CUSTOMER, COME ON BACK NOW!  YOU GONNA NEED SOMEDIN SO YOUR HOUSE DON'T BURN DOWN!

Harry: Too late man.  Hey, do you wanna get on dem streamers?

Bubba: What da colors again?

*List of fireworks actually obtained from the movie Joe Dirt.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Cheeseboy: A Brief History of my Lover and I.

I thought about writing about our Fourth of July parade today and how it winds through our town; a series of decorated advertisements for everything from Costco to senate candidates to the "Society for Teenage Girls on Floats Wearing Formal Gowns". (SFTGOFWFG)

I thought about writing about how today marks the 25th anniversary of the release of Back to the Future and how I celebrated by teasingly calling my oldest son "Biff" all day.  I even told him, "Why don't you make like a tree and get out of here?"

He has had a very confused day.

No, I decided to actually do a meme. I know, I know, I lied to you all when I said I don't do memes.  I am a lying liar that lies. My pants are on fire... 

My pants are on fire and the are hanging on a telephone wire.

No worries though, I have been watching in my underwear from my front window to make sure that the neighborhood children don't play underneath my burning pants and somehow get scorched by melting leather.  (I wear leather pants around patriotic holidays.  It's just something I do.)

However, I do worry about the neighbors seeing me in my front window, pantless, while watching the neighborhood kids play under burning leather britches hanging on a wire. I mean, who wouldn't worry about something like that?

Where was I?  Oh yes, the meme.

My friend over at Glamzon hosts a meme every Friday called the "Friday Confessional".  I have never participated, but decided to this week because the topic was "your lover" and "how you tricked her into marrying you".

I decided that many of my readers might be interested in hearing about Mrs. Cheesegirl.  (I think she would actually cringe being called that name, so readers that we actually know, please continue to refer to her by her first given name, which is "Brumhilda".)

So, off we go, into the wilds of the first ever Cheeseboy meme.  Please, keep your hands and arms in the confines of your laptop computers but hold on tight...

Question 1: How did you and your true love meet?

(FYI: From here on out, I am not going to refer to her as my "true love", although she most certainly is.  Using that term makes me feel all syrupy and shopworn inside.)

My wife and I grew up about three blocks away from each other.  We had gone to the same Elementary and High Schools, but she was a year younger than I.  We always knew each other, but did not become friends until I was 18 and had graduated and she was 17 and a senior in high school. 

The first time I remember having feelings for her was picking up a pizza at the local Little Caesars Pizza.  She walked in with her mom and I was blown away at how beautiful she had become.  I remarked to my buddy that she was the hottest girl I had ever seen.  (Although the exact phrasing at the time was probably something like, "DUDE! She is soooo hot!  Seriously, when did that happen?  She is like the hottest chick I have ever seen!)

Little Caesars had a way of bringing out the romantic in me.

Question 2: What is your favorite feature about your beloved?

(Ahem, FYI everyone... I will not be referring to her as my "beloved", although it was a great Toni Morrison novel.)

My wife is stunning.  I've said it before, but I constantly get comments from people I know and people I don't know about how attractive she is.  For the most part, it is flattering, although if I hear it from the same guy more than once, I start to get a little unnerved.

Being that she is a HAF (Highly Attractive Female.  Apparently, all the kids are saying it.), she has many great physical features to choose from:  She has superb, natural curly brown hair that also looks foxy when it is straightened. She is in great shape, but also has lavish curves.  However, I think her very best feature is her sublime dimples.

If my wife walks into a room and smiles, it is guaranteed to brighten the room at least two shades.  Fortunately, both of my sons inherited these amazing dimples from their mom.

Question 3: What is your favorite personality feature of your lover? 

My wife and I couldn't be more different.  We are opposites in almost every way imaginable:  She is an introvert, I am an extrovert. I am very right brained and creative; she is left brained and analytical.  She loves country, I love rock and roll. (Although we don't have that weird sibling sexual tension that Donny and Marie had.)  She hates attention, I crave it like pop rocks crave an open mouth.  I could go on and on...

So, the thing I think I love most about my wife is that she is so different than I.  Because we are so different, we make the perfect team.  Coupled together, we don't really have a weakness and I think that makes "us" pretty darned great.

That and she is also a Ute fan and graduate.

Question 4: When did you have your first kiss?

One of my first ever posts was one of my all time favorites, so I am not going to rehash it here.  However, you can read all about my first kiss with my wife here.

Question 5: What do they do that gets on your last nerve?

I've given this much thought as she really hardly ever gets on my nerves and we rarely, if ever argue.  Nevertheless, the question has been posed, so I shall answer.  2 things: Her shoes by the front door and.... She NEVER, and I mean NEVER loses an argument.

Like I said, we rarely, if ever argue, but when we do, she never loses.  I think her record in 12 years was 68-0.  The reason she wins all the time is that she is always right.

I said "was" 68-0.  I won my first argument the other night.  I thought it was going to be a glorious night. 68-1 started to feel real good..

And then it hit me...  I won.  Was that a good thing?  How must she be feeling?  I started to feel guilty.  The guilt began to run through my veins and out my toenails like neon lights.  I was overcome with guilt.  Winning began to feel awful.

It was a Catch-44 to be sure. (Catch-44 because I DOUBLED the 22, that is how much of a Catch-22 I was in.) 

Question 6: When did you know they were "the one"? 

In between that fateful day at Little Caesars and our first date, I was playing basketball with some older men in our church gym.  Brumhilda walked in dressed in a black skirt and white blouse.  She looked like a stinkin' movie star.  During a stoppage in play, I pointed her out and told my Bishop (who was also playing Point Guard.  Bishops run the point in our religion), "See that girl over there?  I am going to marry that girl someday!"

To this day, my wife does not believe that story.  I promise that is 100% true.  I'd like to say that this moment was the moment I knew she was "the one", but really it was only the beginning.

6 months later, I went gallivanting and frolicking for two years in Pennsylvania.  She patiently "waited" for me to return. (And by "waiting" I mean dating other guys and most likely - gasp - kissing them.  I really don't like to think about that time I was away from her.)

The real moment I knew she was "the one" was when I returned from Pennsylvania, stepped off the airplane and she stepped into my arms.  Without even talking to her, I knew the spark was still there.  I think she would say the same.

Question 7: What sets her apart from other girls I have dated in the past?

Okay, this is an easy one, because I was a total loser.  I had dated maybe 8 girls in my life and had never had a girlfriend.  I was completely awkward and nervous around girls.  For some reason, things changed with Brumhilda.  I was comfortable around her.  She laughed at my jokes.  (Other girls laughed at my jokes too, but only because I was an idiot.)

I mean, she REALLY laughed at my jokes. She laughed at me all the time and often I would bring her close to tears. (She still thinks I'm funny, but no longer laughs at me like this.  I think it is because she has me figured out now - what with her analytical brain and all.)

Perhaps THAT is the thing that was different: her laughing.  Even though she was the most beautiful girl I had ever dated or even considered dating, from the moment we met, when I was with her, I was completely at ease and felt I could be myself.

I still feel that way. 

So, there you have it.  A Cheeseboy history of love, AKA: the longest post I have ever done.  If you are still reading, I hope you are wiping the chick flick tears from your eyes, the same way you were after watching "The Notebook" or "Beverly Hills Ninja".

Thursday, July 1, 2010

An open letter from Jacob the Sexy Werewolf Boy

An open letter from Jacob the werewolf to all of his more "mature" female fans.

Dear women over the age of 21,

I am very grateful that Abe has allowed me use of his blog to reach out to you.  He is a good, handsome and incredibly smart mortal man that cares about the well being of shirtless teenage werewolves everywhere.

I am here to ask you women one simple request: ENOUGH WITH THE OGLING AND THE WHISTLES AND THE PSYCHO LOVE LETTERS... IT'S GETTING OLD AND IT'S GETTING CREEPY!

I am 17 years old.  17!!! Wherever I go, you old chicks are totally cramping my style with your staring and drooling. It's kinda disgusting actually.

You know who else is 17?  Miley Cyrus.  Yep, 17... and you KNOW you would smack your husband in the pancreas  if you ever caught him gawking at her underaged body.

I know that some of you think that I'm just ASKING for it by going shirtless and displaying my perfectly crafted boy pecks. Well, here's the thing: I've TRIED putting on a shirt.  I've even TRIED putting on metal armor.  No matter what kind of clothing I put over these luscious pubescent abs, they just MELT OFF MY BODY, on account of my overwhelming sexiness.

(Pants will actually stay on me because my legs look like Clay Aiken's, only slightly hairier.  For that, I am grateful.)

I get that it is hard not to look, but do you really have to talk about me like I am a piece of prime meat?  Whenever I overhear one of your pathetic, middle-aged cougar conversations about my dark, urban handsomeness, it makes me REALLY uncomfortable.  

Do you realize what it's even like to go through puberty as a half-boy, half-wolf? Most boys get freaked out by a few new armpit hairs.  I have armpit hair growing out of my armpit hair!

I promise you, I really am not all that alluring and mysterious.  I spend most of my time watching Dr. Oz or Teen Wolf II. (I only wish I could dunk a basketball like that... or surf on top of a custom van.)

Besides it being against the law and somewhat sickening, there are a multitude of reasons you don't want to be with me: 

1. I have to do three circles before I get into bed. 
2. I have the hardest time not eating my own vomit. 
3. I am not housebroken.
4. I could maim or kill you. (On account that I am a werewolf)
5. Do you like the smell of wet dog?
6. Did I mention that I could kill you at any second?
7. I listen to a lot of Snoop.  
8. I have the legs of Clay Aiken.

Plus, Bella needs me. I am her best friend.  I help her fix motorcycles.  I give her shirtless kisses in the rain and protect her from that pale sicko with the shiny scales.

Really, I promise, I am not interested in you older ladies.  Wolves and cougars are not a good mix anyway.  I think that I will stick to girls my age named Bella.  I helped her fix a motorcycle. 

17, motorcycles, boy-pecks, rain kisses.

I appreciate your understanding.  You may now go back to swaddling your tee shirt with the picture of me on it in your creepy, old lady bosoms.

But please, go see Eclipse!  And go Team Jacob!  

Now if you will excuse me, I need to go cliff diving with my buddies.

Regards, 

Jacob, Sexy Werewolf Boy