Cease To Exist Order: People Edition

I hereby order the following Cease To Exist Order for the following people:

(They may still live, you may just no longer bother me)

1. Carole Mikita - You may still exist, just not on my television.

2. Robert J. DeBry - Your commercials have to go, but we will still stop by for the $5 helmets for the kids.

3. Sarah Palin - Although, I am a little concerned that you are the only thing standing in the way of Russia from attacking. However, your goofy husband in the idiotic snowmobile jumpsuit may stay.

4. The 7-11 guy that has to mop the slurpee area at the exact time I enter the store - every time! Maybe it's just that slurpees make such a big mess that they just hire a guy that mops up the area all day, every day? I always feel like an idiot when I walk on a freshly mopped floor in a public place. I put my arms out, like I'm walking a tightrope or something. It's embarrassing!

5. The guy that wades through piles of horrible reviews to find the one or two good quotes to put on the box of a DVD. Bride Wars -"A funny, self-consciously, good natured, frothy piece of escapism." - Omaha Online. First of all, I watched the movie and, well, it sucked. Secondly, I've never heard of Omaha Online. You must really be stretching if you are quoting them.

6. The 22 year old guy that drives his piece of crap car up and down our street with the bass so loud I could swear he is being chased by a T-Rex.

You are all on notice.

*** The Blog O' Cheese will be going on hiatus for the next 5 days. I promise to return on Sunday with something I will think is hilarious, but you will probably think is, eh. So, look forward to that.

Call for help

Video Blog: Day 2 - Desperation sets in

There will be no video blog today. Cathi took the Nikon camera to girls camp. I probably should have figured she would.

[Nobody wants to see more of my double chin anyway.]

Video Blog - Day 1 - Life as we know it ends.

I love the 80's... summertime. (Not a VH1 special)

It would begin as our school would gather around the flag pole, say the Pledge of Allegiance, and count down the beginning of summer. It was an semi-official way to say, "Get your fannies out of here and have some fun!"

Summers were simple back then - play, play and then play some more. On the docket: wake up, go outside and play, come in for a grilled cheese, go outside and play, come in for dinner, outside again until it was pitch black. If you were really lucky, your mom might drop you off for a matinee, afternoon Batman.

Did televisions work in the summer?

Summer had one outing on the agenda - swimming lessons. If we were lucky, swimming lessons included an added bonus - a stop at Seven Eleven for slurpees. The last day of swimming lessons included a dream stop for a massive, adult-sized milkshake. We would stand in the parking lot, swimming suits still dripping, trying to outrace the sunshine to see who would get to the luscious, melty cream first.

Back then, summer was spelled F-R-E-E-D-O-M and freedom was spelled B-I-C-Y-C-L-E. I knew where all three dirt tracks where within 2 miles and which one had the best jumps. We would ride for hours and come home with bent rims, popped tires and sunburned ears.

I don't recall ever putting on a lick of sunscreen. Was SPF even invented back then?

The old Dirks Field was the perfect place for a young chap like I to spend five bucks on a summer evening. The five dollars went for three packs of baseball cards, which I would sort and trade for hours on our front lawn. If you have an unopened box of 1987 Topps baseball cards, I can still tell you which pack will have the Mark McGuire in it.

If you had a large piece of cardboard, your house became the designated "break dance center". Of course, the cardboard provided a slick surface for me to show off my moon walk. More importantly, the cardboard was a safety device for those that felt the need to head spin. The kid with the boom box always went first. No one ever head spun.

One of my friends owned a camcorder - it had to be the world's first. We once spent three weeks straight filming our GI Joes in the sandbox, only to have the camera eat the tape during the final scene. Somewhere, video footage of our epic dunk ball tournaments still exists.

In the 80's, you could only spend so much time playing Atari. Instead of ADD kids playing video games to calm down, video game kids would go outside to simply avoid having to play Centipede for a 86th time in a row.

Didn't have an in ground pool in your back yard? A 6 foot in diameter, plastic one worked fine. Didn't have a 6 foot plastic pool? A Slip and Slide was even better. If you had the Slip and Slide with the splash-down pool at the end of it, it was kid-world ecstasy and you were the king.

In those days, no one worried about safety. As a kid, you knew two important rules: Don't take apples for trick-or-treat (on account of the razor blades) and stay away from people with black vans (on account of the razor blades).

I owned night time in the summer. Kick the can, capture the flag, simple tag - we would play until our parents would scream at us to come home or until our Tevas made our feet bleed. Once in bed, the words "over the can on Esther" would repeat in my head like an awful Cool and the Gang song.

We really should have had that can bronzed.

Movies were always at the Trolley or the Tower and later at Movies 10. Lemonade stands were always given up on after an hour. Swimming was always enjoyed at Fairmont park, Hygeia or the water slide that is now a Wendy's.

It seemed as though summer would last until October, but alas, it always ended that last week of August. I would pack up my Pogo Ball, rollerblades and Nash skateboard and head back to school. There, I would sit restlessly, peeling my sunburned ears until the next unified, school-wide Pledge of Allegiance - my freedom restored.

Song of the Day: Chairlift - Bruises

I've had this album for quite some time, but haven't given it a listen until I saw a video for this song on MTV. (Yes, they still in fact, play videos; good ones too! You just have to set your DVR to record at 2:00 AM) Ever since I've heard this song, I've been hooked. If you like Feist or Regina Spector, I am positive you will like the band Chairlift - which I like more than both Feist and Spector.

I have been keeping my female readers in mind while trying to find songs of the day that they might enjoy. I think most of my lady cyber stalkers would like this band. I tried to find the original video that I saw on MTV, but I could not find it to embed. (If you want to see the cleaner, new video for it, click here) Otherwise, enjoy this live version, that I actually have found more entertaining anyway.

Saturday Graph: Thoughts I Have At Lagoon

Lagoon is um, okay.

Lagoon yesterday.

Lincoln rode his first "big" roller coaster and then rode 18 more.

If my kids were not so thrilled about the place, I would have zero desire to ever go there again.

At least not for 9 straight hours.

Lagoon seems to be the owner of the title "Amusement Park With Things That Spin".

Everything spins. Even all the kids rides go in circles. That big pirate ship doesn't do circles, but it still makes me sick.



The thing is, I can go on about 4 rides at Lagoon and then I am in for. I've always been that way - even as a kid. I have the equilibrium of a drunken, newborn calf - but without all that gross horse afterbirth hanging off of me.

There are about 3 rides at Lagoon that won't make me sick: the sky ride, the haunted houses and the... uh...

Okay, two rides that won't make me sick.

Everything in that place spins, rotates or twists. I could just stay at home and run in circles you know. If I wanted to get really dizzy, I could run extra fast. If I wanted to hang upside down, I would buy a bar for my doorway. If I wanted to puke, I watch Lincoln bite his toe nails some more.

The best part of Lagoon is that all this spinning, dipping and nausea is done under the rays of a 1000 degree day. And finding shade in Lagoon is a little like finding a Starbucks in Provo.

I rode Wicked, Colossus, the Spider, and the Roller Coaster all within an hour. After the fourth ride, I felt as though I would pass out right on the sizzling pavement and they would have to pry my burnt and crusted body off the ground using a flat shovel and a four wheeler with a bucket on the back of it.

Alas, what made it all worth it was the faces of my two boys, who had a blast. Dizziness does not seem to bother them. Lagoon, after all, is for the kids. They must take after their mother.

Who would give alcohol to a baby colt anyway? That is just irresponsible.

Why past fashion faux pas have made me a better person.

A few months ago, I purchased a sweet-A pair of camo shorts. They are not government issued, but they might as well have been. They have become my official uniform for the summer of '09. I can't stop wearing them. I've tried, really I have - but the camo has become one with my thighs. It's become like that flubber stuff from the Disney movie; except it does not help me a lick in basketball and it's camo colored.

At any rate, I been wondering if in ten years I will look back at my camo days and say, "WHAT WAS I THINKING?!" It has happened before. Here are some of my favorite unfortunate and embarrassing fashion statements I have made in the past:

1. The leather braided belt. Okay, I know I am not the only one that made this fashion faux pas. Thousands upon millions of guys were wearing these atrocities in the early 90's. Of course, a braided belt look was not complete if you did not tuck in the extra length, creating a sort of 90's style front tail.






2. The bolo tie. I loved the bolo tie. Simply wrap around the neck and slide. I actually owned several bolo ties - each one a treasure. When I was 13, I tended to lean toward wearing my favorite bolo tie - my prized possession - the Eagle Scout bolo tie! I wore it with pride.










3. Guess Jeans. I begged my mom for some Guess Jeans. I actually wanted Girbaud jeans, with the white tag on the fly, which I did finally receive at a later date. Guess jeans were the next best thing. My mom must have found a killer deal on a pair, because she bought me the ugliest jeans in the world. They were mostly blue but had white speckles throughout them. What made them even worse was their fluffy front that made them look exactly like mom jeans - white speckled mom jeans with a fluffy, frilly front. I could have cared less - they had the Guess insignia on the back and that's all that mattered.





4. My black Magic Johnson tee shirt with neon highlights and glitter sprinkles. This one is pretty self explanatory. In 8th grade, I wore this piece of work every chance I got. I am surprised that it didn't get me a single lady. Not even a phone number. Didn't they see the sprinkles?!

5. Last, but not least, my all time favorite item I am outing from my closet are my braided suspenders. No, wearing a braided belt was not enough. The braids needed to extend beyond the belt. The braids were calling to my shoulders and my shoulders welcomed them. Wearing the braided belt WITH the braided suspenders was like a weaved, leather boy-dream come true. I am not ashamed to say that there were a few Sundays that I combined the braided belt, the braided suspenders and the Eagle Scout bolo tie, all into one outfit. It was the ultimate trio of coolness and it was not to be ignored.

I wish someone had told me earlier...

I wish someone had told me earlier...

To never use a wet hand dryer in a public restroom.
To never mix bleach and ammonia .
That women sometimes leave scolding hot things on the bathroom vanity.
That Slurpees sometimes expand in the warmth.
That "Mall Cop" sucked.
That anything involving "free" and "Disney" is going to involve a 3+ hour wait.
That people from high school are much nicer when on Facebook ten years later.
That cotton underwear lasts longer than the silky stuff.
To always drop the match and run away when lighting the gas grill.
That burnt arm hair smells like putrid urine.
Never give your grandma an opportunity to talk about sex.
That Advil actually taste good for a second or two.
Most girls don't like dirty jokes.
That the Amish don't have electricity, except for their fences around their property.
To ignore everything Austin Colly says, ever.
Always go to the bathroom before a long run.
Never trust someone that says: Trust me, the water is warm! Trust me, the needle's not that big. Or - Trust me, I don't have rabies.

Dear Jon -My pretend conversation with Jon from "Jon and Kate" based solely on information I have gathered using only what the media has reported on.

Jon - I feel for you man. Here you are - a man that has been forced into divorce by your unhinged, lunatic wife with helmet hair, a short fuse and the stone cold stare.

I'm assuming your divorce is what you really wanted? I've been so concerned about your overall state of being. How have you been doing? No, look at me... I'm serious: How are you doing?

I've been up late at nights.

I know, I know - that bimbo you were out on the town with was nothing but a mirage; a fabricated floozy to get back at your wife. Nicely played. Nicely played.

Those eight kids of yours (Or is it 9? I lost count when I never paid attention in the first place) deserve better. They deserve you and Kate to hate each other from a distance and take pot shots at each other using the media - a much better outlet than face to face. This way, you can sit them in front of the television on weekends have have Mary Hart explain to them why you think their mom is a cruel, heartless witch.

Their future is secure. Not only do they have the money from the show to fall back on, but you are a very successful... what was it that you do again? Ah yes, you drive a minivan... At least they have the money from the show.

Do you need a place to crash for a couple days? I know a couple guys that have great couches (And swine flu, but I've heard that's not very contagious, right?!).

Maybe the judge will be like King Solomon and suggest cutting all the kids in half? If he does that, you might want to say, "Sure, go ahead!" You wouldn't mean it, but at least you won't be stuck taking care of 9 kids.

By the way, you always have the coolest sunglasses. What are those, Chanel? Versace? Do you wear those so your wife won't see that you are have been crying?

It's good that it is over. Now you can get on with your life. Now we can get on with our lives. Now, Mary Hart, Pat O'Brien and Mark McGrath can talk about something else. Now, the local news will have to find some other garbage fodder to fill their last 2 minutes.

If you need a shoulder to cry on, perhaps you could rent that floozy again? Don't call me. My wife is going to girls camp and I'll be busy.

Look at the bright side - now you can grow out that killer goatee without Kate getting all ferocious on your behind.

Fun happenings and exciting summertime daytrips. (TOO MANY PICTURES!)

I have no idea how you ladies have the patience for this garbage. I haven't even started, and I know it's going to take me an eternity to get all these photos posted. I think I would rather just write, but I know there is an audience that wants this sort of stuff, so have at it.

One of the finest, most alluring benefits of teaching is that I have lots of time in the summer. As a result, our family has been taking outings to keep ourselves busy. Here are some staycations that we have gone on recently:

In attempt to do something cool and free, we took my mom, Lincoln's cousin Ryan, my Sister-In-Law and her kids to the Disney Christmas Carol traveling train in Ogden. One look at the line, and it was clear it was not going to be the fun little jaunt we had planned. (3 hours) We let the boys climb on the other trains and then left.



Since we don't spend too much time in Ogden (Sorry my Ogden bank lady groupies), we decided to head on over to the Treehouse museum. This "museum" turned out to be very much like the Children's Museum in SLC where the kids just roamed and played. It turned out to be an okay time though and our visit to Ogden was not completely wasted. (Unlike most of the people that were wandering the downtown streets in Ogden)

Calder was very disappointed that we didn't get to take a ride on the train, so on Friday, we took Trax (a "train" by a 3 year old standards) into the Gateway. There, we had pizza at the California Pizza Kitchen (which is strange since we were in Utah), played in the swine flu fountain and then got us a little Ben and Jerry's. (Still not sure if I got the Ben or the Jerry. I'll get back to you)






























Yesterday, we decided to take a quick trip up the canyon for a hike. The boys had never seen Doughnut Falls. It was not a strenuous hike, but Calder ALWAYS ends up on my shoulders for the majority of these things. He will walk 3 steps and then stand in my way until I put him up there for a ride.




























Ah, the summer is going by way too fast...



This is WAY too many pictures for me. I need a nap.

Song of the Day: Say Hi - Northwestern Girls

My sincerest thanks to Spencer for introducing me to this band. These guys have some great stuff, including this whiny but thumpingly grand song. I'd also like to take this opportunity to apologize to my friend Spencer for missing their concert - which would have cost me all of 7 bucks.

This song is off their album '07 album - The Wishes and the Glitches - which I think is their best.

2 kids - Enough for me!

Today is my day. Father's Day. It's one of the few days I can expect a few extra perks and fringe benefits for being a father. I was treated very nicely and beside a few squeals and screams between the boys while I was trying to sleep in, I was treated pretty well today. It was a good day.

Because it is Father's Day and because of some confusion caused by a recent post, today is the perfect day to explain why I love being the father of two awesome boys and only two awesome boys.

Two kids is perfect. It's an ideal his and hers adorable, jocular, carry-on luggage pack. One for her, one for him - just hold their handles and off you go. Two hand-holding, delightful, pint sized human beings, eager to please. You can take them anywhere: church, the zoo, a restaurant - if something goes wrong, there are two of you to take care of the problem.

Two kids fit comfortably in the back seat of a car. No minivan needed. (Which didn't stop us from getting one anyway) It takes me 20 minutes to buckle one booster seat belt, and when I finally get the danged thing on, Calder is stifled and grasping for air.

As an aside, I would just like to say that one of Cathi's goals in life is to have the boy's seat belts so tight that they cut off their circulation. She does this because, of course, she wants them safe. When I'm required to buckle, I swear I'm in some sort of Survivor game. First, I have to piece together the buckle itself like it's an Indiana Jones rubix cube. When I finally get the darned buckle put together, the real work begins. I must exhort every ounce of upper arm strength to stretch the belt down the length of my son's chest. Park near us and you may one day hear the shrill sound of Cheeseboy screaming his lungs out at the stinking, ultra-tight seat belt that just won't fit around the torso of his son. For extra entertainment, park near us when Calder is wearing a thick, winter coat. You may actually hear a curse word or two. And not the fake, Mormon curse words either. We're talking the biggies.

Anyway, what was I talking about? Ah yes, two kids. I love going places with two kids. Not overwhelming at all. We don't even need a single stroller anymore. I can keep an eye on one, Cathi on the other. One more kid and they outnumber us! That's exactly what they want - to outnumber the grown ups. Then the sinister plans for a secret overthrow can begin. We can't let that happen, can we?

It seems that our two kids have bonded like bossom buddies - and not the Tom Hanks, cross dressing kind either. (Well, at least not yet... fingers crossed) Sure, they have their quarelsome moments, but they genuinely like each other. Lincoln will take Calder anywhere he goes, and that includes to a friend's house. When we tell Lincoln that Calder can't go, sometimes Lincoln will be the one that gets upset. When Lincoln is gone, Calder is always asking, "Where's my Linky? Where's my Linky?" Ahhhhh - yes, it is as cute as it sounds. (Noting that my poll states that most of my readers are women, I am really trying to kiss up here. Hope it's working While I am kissing up, let me mention a few more things that might get you ladies excited: Cheesecake, Ty Pennington, trips to the bathroom, potpouri, a good talk with a hot beverage, Oprah. I aim to please)

Yes, I have become very content with my two boys. I am pretty sure they are content as well. They have never really asked for another brother or sister; they pretty much just like being together - and who can blame them? They make a pretty cool pair.



I should probably ask Cathi if she is content...

Saturday Graph: Calder's Likability of Sitting Spots

Is there a change a coming? I hope so.

Does anyone really like change? Well, I do... sort of. Actually, I like it quite a bit. No, in fact, I like change more than quite a bit - I like it a lot a bit. I thrive on it like a rabid dog thrives on getting shot at the end of 60's movies about dogs that turn rabid.

I am not sure why this is. Perhaps I am a sucker for watching things transition before my eyes? Perhaps it is the excitement of the unknown future? Or, perhaps it is simply change for change sake?

Now, everyone has a comfort zone. In fact, I have nicknamed my couch "My Comfort Zone" because if I could, that is where I would spend every waking minute of every day for the rest of my life. I've been thinking of changing couches...

When I do somehow pry myself away from the cushy, friendly cushions, I delight in seeing things change. My favorite part of church is when they announce the new callings. I love it when new people move in on our block. I relish watching old buildings get torn down and fresh, new ones take their place.

My favorite season is spring - that's when change really earns it's paycheck.

So, why do I revere change like it's my third child? In the final analysis, it is because of my distress toward the future. If you know me well, you know that I have a tendency to internally dwell upon a pessimistic future. I constantly worry about negative outcomes and those outcomes then become potential realities in my mind. Change, when I actually witness it, removes all doubt about an unknown future. As I witness change, I am witnessing the future, and it is never, ever as horrible as I had imagined it would be.

I am not sure what change lies ahead for me in the next few months. For once, I am optimistic. I am in a rare, yet superb predicament in which I will be content with whatever change brings... or doesn't bring.

Answering questions I know will arise from this post:

1. I apologize for lack of humor in this post. I was waxing philosophical. Hey, if you wax your legs while waxing philosophical, while watching The Karate Kid, how much wax would you need exactly? (Mr. Miaggi made Danielson wax, if you recall)

2. No Cathi is not pregnant.

3. My waxing will not become a common blog o' cheese passion.

4. We are not moving.

5. I am not becoming the new Stake President... or am I?

6. Yes, it was really late when I wrote this.

7. Again, Cathi is not pregant.

Why does stuff like this always seem to happen to me?

It seems that every time I go get paper for our church library at the Office Depot, something strange or embarrassing happens. Last January, I was cornered by an unhinged pyromaniac. Today, I would have killed for that pyromaniac.

I picked up six boxes of paper and loaded it the best I could in one of those plastic shopping carts. The paper was stacked three feet above the rim and I gingerly balanced the load and headed out to my car.

While walking to my automobile, I noticed an oncoming speed bump. Because I was traveling at 1.4 miles per hour, I did not anticipate that there would be a problem. Boy was I wrong!

As soon as I hit the bump, the entire cart flipped over on it's side. A couple of boxes did not have those plastic ties around them and they flopped open, reams of paper skirting across the pavement. One of the reams ripped open and 500 sheets of paper flew in every direction.

If you have ever been to the Ft. Union Office Depot parking lot, it is a very busy place. I held up dozens of cars as I frantically pulled in every paper I could and restored the lids to the boxes. A kind women actually jumped out of her car to lend a hand. My luck just kept getting better as it happened to be a windy day.

After what seemed to be an eternity and hundreds of cars driving around and through my mess, I finally wheeled what was left of the paper to my car. I thanked the woman profusely and peeled out of the parking lot. I have had a lot of embarrassing moments in my life, but this ranks up there with the best of them.

DARNED SPEED BUMPS ALWAYS GET ME!

Song of the Day: Minus The Bear - Knights

Minus The Bear - one of my all time favorites. They describe themselves as, "Classic rock with a new sound." They don't really sound like classic rock, but they do have some amazingly unique guitar riffs. A very different sound. I really love these guys (but only as BFFs).

Lets let Bill try it, shall we?

What would we do without Bill Gephart? The man has single handily saved hundreds of people's driveways. And what thanks does he get? Nothing. Not even a honorary ribbon from the Driveway Savers of America Club. You'd think they could send something.

Not only does Bill save the lives of Utahns everywhere, he also tries out new products. He does this at his own expense - simply to please the masses. It is a segment that Fresh Air likes to very creatively call "Let Bill Try It".

The idea of "Let Bill Try It" is to have Bill buy stupid items, try them and then give us feedback on them. I am tired of his useless junk. I want to buy cool, killer junk. I want to see Bill try one of these items:

1. The clip on high chair. Wouldn't it be great to see Bill try and fit his giant butt in one of these and then watch the table fall over on him? I really would like to see how much weight one of these could hold.


















2. Urine Cleanser. Have a big drug test coming up and you don't feel comfortable passing? Lets watch Bill smoke a doobie, chug a gallon of this garbage and see if it really works.



















3. The new Sanjaya album. I know you are all interested. But what I am more interested in is how interested Bill Gephart is.


















4. Ultra Absorbent Underarm Shields. Bill should try this cause he gets get so much and having people get you all the time can create embarrassing underarm odor.

















5. Fonzie "Finishing Up At The Urinal" Life Sized Wax Figure. Sure, Conan O'Brien has one. But should I go out and get one too? I think Bill should try it first.

Mormon Youth Treks are STILL LAME and they ARE NOT created equal!

Over a year ago, I posted a very controversial opinion post on why Mormon Youth Treks are ridiculously lame. This post was made before I realized my blog was on all the major search engines and as a result, I had pimple faced twerps from all across the beehive state commenting on how I am going to hell for my blasphemy. (Well, maybe not "hell", but surely I am going to "heck", which, I have been told, is similar to being sent to Moroni, UT.) Sure, I agree with them that I am going to hell, but it won't be for the blasphemy.

Well, I am back for another round.

As you may recall, Cathi participated in a trek last year. You may read about her experience here.

My nephew just returned from "trek" in which he participated in all of the obligatory activities such as walking, having to stop to listen to old men wearing dorky hats talk every few miles and of course... burying dolls.

Here's the kicker: My nephew, who is a great kid by the way, ate like a king - while Cathi suffered with mush and water and at one point was forced to eat a cold piece of Spam. (**Spam, the official canned meat of the Pioneer trek experience)
I quote from his blog:
Q: What did you eat?
A: Actually, they gave us really good food. Sorry you had it so bad Cath. I had hamburgers, french toast, a different cobbler every night, subs for lunch, teriyaki chicken. We were spoiled with food. I think I actually gained weight there, hahaha.

[He's simply is mocking her with his staggeringly amazing meals]

On top of the buffet of good eating, my nephew was able to sleep in tents. TENTS!?! Cathi, on the other hand, was forced to lie down a large tarp with her family, put her sleeping bag under it and then put a tarp on top of that. Heaven help them if it rained.

Again, from my nephew's blog:
Q: Where did you sleep?
A: In a tent, obviously. haha. But, I had a sleeping bag. The one thing they wouldn't let us bring were pillows but my clothes that I wore the whole day worked as a pretty good cushion. :)

[Now, a clear sneer at Cathi and her tarp of death]

This was no trek that he was on - this was a joyous, bedazzling gallivant through the meadows with a picnic basket full of Dove chocolate eggs and honey-dipped Slim Jims. Clearly, my nephew was reenacting the east side pioneers and Cathi was stuck with the west-siders that park their extra covered wagons on their lawns.

At least both Cathi and my nephew have one thing in common:
Q: What was the worst part of Trek?
A: Worst part of trek was probably the fact that we took so many breaks. We'd have a good pace going and then they would make us take a 10-15 minute break like every mile or so and it really made you feel lazy and sore. I'd rather just charge through it and get it finished.

Exactly.

Trek is still lame.

Cheeseboy's Seven Life Changing Moments #7 - Live like you were dying! (Of a heart attack)

I clinically died on my honeymoon.

Is that the right phrase? "clinically died"? Sounds like I died in a clinic, which I almost did. I'm not sure that is the phrase I am looking for. Maybe "legally died"? "Officially died"? I don't know... I died; I saw the light and God told me that my work here was not done.

Ah, maybe it is "clinically depressed" that I am thinking of? If that is the case, I died - so that is worse than being depressed. It was like being depressed and then dying, without being depressed.

San Fransisco is a lovely place for a honeymoon. We paid visits to museums, rode the trolley and enjoyed a romantic evening on the wharf. (I think they call it the "wharf" because that is what I do to the food I buy there. I love me some good seafood)

The next day, we paid a visit to Chinatown and walked to Broadway to watch a matinee performance of "Phantom". While sitting in the the air conditioned concert hall, I felt a strange, painful sensation in my chest, right around my heart. My heart was in pain, and it had nothing to do with Christine. As the show continued, the pain seemed to worsen and soon I was clutching my chest, praying that I would not die in a theater like unto my namesake and hero, Mr. Abe Lincoln.

That night was horrible. Laying down seemed to increase the pain, as did sitting straight up. The only thing that seemed to help was sitting folded over, with my chest touching my knees.

I wanted to live! I had just gotten married two days earlier. This was too soon. I knew that dying on your mission gave you a free pass straight to heaven, but I wasn't so sure about dying on your honeymoon. I was not optimistic.

I told Cathi it would be okay if she remarried.

The next morning, I felt much better, almost 100%. We had tickets on the ferry to go to Artichoke Island - the place with the ancient prison and the headphoned tour. Feeling as though my heart attack had passed, I energetically headed for the door.

If you have been to Antelope Island, you know that you are required to make a short hike up to the actual prison. Normally, this is a piece of cake and I would be able to bound up the trail like a gazelle on speed. Not on this day. This day, I may have made it 50 yards. I remember laying on a park bench, moaning in agony while the elderly and handicapped passed me. I specifically recall a man that had to be in his seventies stop and ask if we needed any help.

This was it for me, I just knew it. At least I would die somewhere really cool and Cathi would have a story to share. "He died on the banks of Anarchy Island that day. It was overcast and cool, but it was the bay that took his soul... the bay. In the waning minutes of his life, he looked up at me and mumbled, 'Twas... the best three days... of my life.' He passed before the Ranger could even start the golf cart."

Fortunately, my heart kept beating. We returned directly to the hotel, where we spent the rest of the day in the solitude of our hotel room, praying for a miracle.

I spoke to Cathi about getting my will in order. I would be leaving her all the worldly possessions I had aquired up to that day: my baseball card collection and my Pinewood Derby trophies.

The night started out okay, but at approximately 2:00 in the morning, the pain radiated through my entire chest. It felt as though Big Buddha was doing a stair master workout on my breastbone. I told Cathi to call an ambulance. Being the practical budgeteer that she is, she called a cab.

We told the cab drive to take us to the nearest hospital. Apparently, he had to go around the same block 6 times to get there. He then drove us into what had to be the poorest slum in all of San Fransisco. This place was so poor, young boys from India were dropping through the bottom of outhouses just to catch a glimps of us. The driver dropped us off at the front doors of an all night clinic... not a hospital... not an ER... a clinic.

It would have to do. By this time, my heart was sure to explode into fragments so tiny they would not be able to sew it back together for my viewing. We went through the doors, filled out some papers and waited. (By the way, when I say "my viewing" I mean when people come look at your dead boy. I did not mean to imply that I wanted to actually see my sewn up heart. That would be just gross... and impractical)

It was during this time that I think I died. I say that I think I died because I don't remember anything about our waiting in that waiting room. I must have passed out and then died! I would have had some recollection otherwise. When you pass on and you are on heaven's doorstep, your brain shuts down and your memory is erased. I don't exactly remember God telling me that my work is done or the actual white light for that matter. Nevertheless, I MUST still be here for a reason... I would think. God knew it just wasn't my time.

After getting a few chest X-rays and some other tests done, I was ready for the news. How much time did I have? Days? Hours? Minutes? The Doctor emerged from behind the curtain to tell us the news. (The Doctor apparently was also the wonderful Wizard of Oz)

The verdict... pleurisy. No idea what that was.

I soon learned that pleurisy is an infection of the lining of your lungs. Essentially, a bunch of gunky gunk gets caught up in the lining of your lungs because of an infection. The pain is so severe, that it has developed the nickname "The Devils Grip" - I am not kidding. It's awful. (Tammy, I am sure you can vouch for this) In other words:

Pleurisy, also called pleuritis, is an inflammation of the pleura, which is the moist, double-layered membrane that surrounds the lungs and lines the rib cage. The condition can make breathing extremely painful.

The doc gave me some medication and I went home - grateful to still be alive.

Cathi, in the meantime, already knew me too well and understood the entire time that I was blowing it all way out of proportion.

I learned that night to never take life for granted. I had been to the other side and the other side had vomited me back up. I was Jonah and God was my whale. Well, more appropriately: I was more like that lying jerk, Pinocchio and God was my Monstro. I promised myself from that moment on that I would live like I was dying, unless dying involved massive, incredible chest pain that cripples stifles every ounce of energy and paralyzes your will to live.

(I will also not "live like I am dying" if it involves listing to that awful Tim McGraw song.)

Cheeseboy's Life Lessons for a Happy Life
Life Lesson #1 - The art of the dance. Lesson #2 - Run like the wind. Lesson #3 - Say or do anything for a laugh. Lesson #4 - Listen to a lot of REO Speedwagon and frequent the Little Caesars lobby to find true love. #5 - Eat cheese fries. #6 - Stay off treadmills and marry someone smarter than yourself. #7 - Live like you were dying (Of a fake heart attack)

PS A year later I developed the same crippling pain. This time, my doctor stuck an elephant needle in my back and sucked out every ounce of lung gunk. It hurt like heck, but as soon as they were done, it was like I was as good as new. My doctor thought I must have an underlying condition causing the lung infects and did countless tests. They all came back negative (that is good) and I was free and clear of any problems. I have not had pleurisy since, but is it any wonder I am a hypochondriac?

PPS Now that I have my life lessons, I really should write a book now entitled, "Cheeseboy's Seven Habbits of Highly Semi-Sucessful People Making $30,000 a Year." I'm sure it would be #1 on Amazon in days.

Saturday Graph: People that work in any H.R. Department as per my experience calling them.

I have to call my HR department on Monday for something very simple: My date of hire. Even though it should be a relatively easy phone call, I am completely dreading it. It inspired me to create this graph:

Cheeseboy's Seven Life Changing Moments #6 - Stay off treadmills

Have you ever been thrown off a treadmill in a fit of rage? Not your own rage mind you, but the rage of the treadmill?

It happened to me once. It was frightening. It was shameful. And it was painfully ungraceful.

Perhaps I should start at the beginning...

Our treadmill and I were once extremely close. We spent a lot of time together. Quality time. It was a bedazzling affair. It was... until the treadmill became loose.

That last paragraph sounded so much better while I wrote it.

Every time I ran on the treadmill, the mat would slip from underneath me. I became increasingly irritated with each jaunt and I decided to take out my frustrations using my good friend Allen T. Wrench.

Before each jog, I would tighten the mat until I felt it was sufficient to hold my weight without lurching me to the left. I had no idea what I was really doing...

One late afternoon, I was running at breakneck speeds while watching my good friend Dr. Phil, when I heard a pop and felt a strong jolt. All at once, my body was flung across our bedroom and catapulted into the wall like a sack of wet laundry. I slid from the wall to the floor and withered in pain. As I fell, I noticed that the now unbelted belt of the treadmill had slapped me in the back of the leg as a show of disrespect for me and my family. Additionally, as I was rolling around in agony trying to regain my composure, the belt of the now dismembered treadmill continued to rotate and slap the ground; simply mocking me for my stupidity.

And that was not the worst part. Cathi, hearing the ruckus and painful yelping that had just sounded from her bedroom, rushed in. She found her husband writhing in pain, a flapping treadmill and nuts and bolts spread around the room. Assessing the situation, of course, she went to check on the treadmill first.

The entire back end of the treadmill had been destroyed. It had crunched in upon itself, succumbing to the immense pressure that I had placed on the belt with my endless tightening. I wanted nothing to do with that beastly atrocity. Cathi, on the other hand, still had feelings for the ruthless killing machine. I think it is because it had never spit her out and mocked her like a heartless jogger exterminator.

Now here's the kicker of the whole ordeal: Cathi, being the savvy consumer and the practical handy-dandy-lady that she prides herself on being, goes online and orders all the necessary parts, drives to Logan to pick them up, and then - with limited instruction, puts the entire thing back together. She did this all, while her worthless, brain dead husband sat on his butt, watching reruns of King of Queens.

I am pathetic.

So I guess what I am trying to say is that I married the right lady - someone roughly 168% smarter than I.

Cheeseboy's Life Lessons for a Happy Life
Life Lesson #1 - The art of the dance. Lesson #2 - Run like the wind. Lesson #3 - Say or do anything for a laugh. Lesson #4 - Listen to a lot of REO Speedwagon and frequent the Little Caesars lobby to find true love. #5 - Eat cheese fries. #6 - Stay off treadmills and marry someone smarter than yourself.

PS/Update: Cathi just reminded me that while she was doing all this repair work, she was also 9 months pregnant with Lincoln. Kinda a big thing I guess.

Cheeseboy's Seven Life Changing Moments #5 - Cheese Fries

I must have been all of 15 or so when I mom suggested she and I go get some lunch together. My mom was cool like that - every so often, she would up and take one or two, or all of her kids to lunch on a moments notice. She suggested a new place that she had just gone with a few friends. The place... The Training Table.

The great thing about the Training Table is that they combine take out and eat in into one marvelous entity. Here's the amazetic thing about it: You sit and order your food in a booth ON THE PHONE! So clever, so savvy, so un-ignorantly placed. What separates the burger men from the burger boys? A red phone hanging on the wall, that's what. That red phone means everything in this industry.

I was sure to order my $6.00 burger ($8.00 now due to cow inflation), but my mom grabbed the phone before I could order the fries. She calmly spoke into the receiver, "We'll have the cheese fries... with the ultimate dipping sauce."

Now, I am not sure if that is exactly how it happened, but that's the way I like to remember it.

I was frightened by the abrupt buzz the phone made when our order was ready. We retrieved our grub and sat down for food enjoyment of the highest order. While waiting, my mother informed me that these fries were special and they should not be taken lightly. Nevertheless, I was not prepared for what sat in the middle of our booth: a golden, deep fried load of sliced taters, suffocating under a cardio halting mound of perfectly placed cheddar cheese.

I am a firm believer that when you walk into a Training Table, a guardian cheese angel from on high sits firmly on your shoulder, ensuring that your drooling mouth is not left disappointed from lack of cheese fries. I call this angel, "Maverick" and he calls me "Iceman" and together we make a killer sloppy cheese-fries devouring gluttony team.

I'd like to take this opportunity to personally thank Maverick for all he has ever done for me. Besides assisting me slamming thousands of pounds of cheese fries down my gullet, he has ALSO helped me slurp away hundreds of ounces of ultimate dipping sauce. Maverick, I don't care what people say about John McCain, you are the real "Maverick". (Well, you and Tom Cruise)

As I ate my first plate of deluxe cheese fries, I was stupefied by their savory scrumptiousness. Every bite a taste sensation, every morsel a party in my mouth. The perfect combination of cheese, fry and dipping sauce. The burger became an afterthought. No, it was less than an afterthought - it was no thought at all. Sure, I still ate it, but only because Maverick told me to. But that day it was about one thing and one thing only: The irrationally delicious Training Table cheese fries. Cheese fries: I bow to your every whim.

Cheeseboy's Life Lessons for a Happy Life
Life Lesson #1 - The art of the dance. Lesson #2 - Run like the wind. Lesson #3 - Say or do anything for a laugh. Lesson #4 - Listen to a lot of REO Speedwagon and frequent the Little Caesars lobby to find true love. #5 - Eat cheese fries.

Sonofamonkey! I forgot to bedazzle this post!

Song of the Day: Plants And Animals - Feedback In The Field

This song had me hooked from the second I heard the whistled beginning. This Canadian band has mixes old with the new and has quite a grooving sound. This song is bedazzling. (I would somehow like to put the word "bedazzling" in every post for a week. It really works here)

My dad's lucky break... or is it?! (You will only understand this if you are a LOST fan)

So, my dad is all excited and facebook's the following:

I get to go up to the ksl tower Friday and help throw the switch to send out the new digital signal.

Which really got me thinking: what kind of switch is this, where they are recruiting sponsors to come help them turn it on?!

And then it dawned on me...

I hope we don't find my dad's body in the desert in Morocco somewhere!

Cheeseboy's Seven Life Changing Moments #4: Hot and Ready

And I can't fight this feeling anymore.
I'm sure most people don't have life changing moments inside the lobby of Little Caesars Pizza.

(Is it a lobby? I am not sure what to call it - the place that you actually pay for your pizza. The "Pizza Pickup Precinct"? The "Caesar Sector"?)

It must have been October. I say October because the leaves were turning, school had started and I wrote "October" in my journal. Yes, I had a journal. No it was not a diary. In reality, it was more of a planner in which I wrote the happenings of life. Kind of a 1994 prehistoric blog. Also, Hello Kitty was on the front of it. But, the good news is that I still have the key hidden and no one will find it - that means you little sister!

I've forgotten what I started fighting for.
My very good friend, Al and I were sent by our gang of goofs one Tuesday night to pick up the pizza at the cheapest price possible. When your 18, your taste buds can't tell the difference between cardboard and actual crust, as long as it is smothered in mozzarella.

We picked up our pretend pizzas and started to head out the door for a night of sitting around in my buddy's basement, playing video games and asking each other, "What should we do? We should go DO something!" As we headed for the greasy handled glass doors, we were met by Cathi and her mother. I had known Cathi most my life - she lived right around the block from me. However, I am not sure I had ever spoke to her before this day.

It's time to bring this ship into the shore,
There was something unexpectedly ravishing about Cathi this evening. It seemed that time slowed down, her hair was blowing ever so subtlety in the breeze and REO Speedwagon's "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" was playing on the overhead speaker. She was sublime. As she smiled and said hello, I swear I saw her dimple sparkle and heard the sound of shimmering harps. Everything about this moment screamed "I'm trapped in an awful pre-teen Disney movie", but I didn't care. Edward Cullen can eat it! (Edward Cullen is a sparkly, scaly, albino vampire with frozen, grayish hair. He may or may not be part of a lame Disney movie. My gut tells me yes, he is)

Now Cathi doesn't even remember this moment, but I remember every minute detail. Except of course: what she was wearing, where we were standing and what she actually said to me. As our brief conversation ended, I knew one thing: this girl was something special - and I was hungry... hungry like the proverbial wolf. (Also, I was really hungry for food)

And if I have to crawl upon the floor,
Al may be able to attest to this, but as we walked to his Jeep, I could not stop talking about her. She had become permanently ingrained in my brain with her hypnotizing good looks and her bedazzling hot girl charm. My brain had butterfly tattoo holding a "Cathi" sign on the small of it's back.

And throw away the oars, forever.
The very next day, I was brawling in the ward gym, trying to play basketball with a bunch of old guys, attempting to keep their old man sweat off of me, when I heard the same gosh-awful "I Can't Fight This Feeling Anymore" come on over the ward loudspeakers. How the heck did the Speedwagon get in the chapel?! I realized my mistake when I glanced at the gym door and saw Cathi enter... once again in slow motion. I untangled myself from an old man's chest hair in which I was entangled and stood in bedazzled amazement. Now, I knew we were meant to be.

Cause I can't fight this feeling anymore!!
I walked over to my Bishop, who was firing a 3 pointer, pointed to Cathi and told him, "See that girl over there? I am going to marry that girl." I am still not sure that I had actually ever had a conversation with her.

Life Lesson #1 - The art of the dance. Lesson #2 - Run like the wind. Lesson #3 - Say or do anything for a laugh. Lesson #4 - Listen to a lot of REO Speedwagon and frequent the Little Caesars lobby to find true love.

Cheeseboy's Seven Life Changing Moments #3: My First Scout Camp Hijinx

I was an Eagle Scout by the time I was 13. This actually worked out quite nicely as my parents had this fatuous yet customary Utah rule that I must get my Eagle Scout award before I got my Driver's License. What was even more remarkable was that when it was all said and done, my Driver's License was twice as difficult to earn than my Eagle Scout. If only I could have shown up to a couple week-long Driver's Ed Camps up in the Uintahs and screwed around with my buddies - I would have had my license in no time.

Whatever records I broke as the youngest ever Eagle Scout, I owe to my Scoutmaster. He was such a cool guy. He took us to places like Lake Powell and Moab and for every award we won, he would take us to get milkshakes. Most importantly, he was not an ordinary Scout Master. I'm not sure I ever saw him wear a scout shirt and I'm sure his presence at "round tables" was pretty scarce.

My theatrics and high jinks during my scouting years are that of legend. It all began when I discovered that I would do anything for a laugh...

It was early August and the bugs were out in force. Our trip involved a five hour drive to Goblin Valley. 10 boys jammed into a Suburban and Queen's "We Will Rock You" slamming on the cassette player, it was a prime time for whippersnapper mischief planning.

I'm not sure how much money I was offered, but I know that it had to be less than $15.00. It wasn't about the money anyway. It was more about the human spirit, conquering fears and making people laugh. Well, mostly it was about making people laugh.

As we pulled into our campsite, I looked longingly out the front windshield. It was smothered in bug guts from top to bottom. There was not a square inch that was not smeared with insect entrails. With the car finally stopped, it was time for business.

I hopped out of the Burban, ran directly to the front of the windshield with reckless abandon, stuck my tongue out and pressed it to the bottom of the glass and proceeded to drag it the entire length of the windshield. The laughter was deafening; the taste revolting.

The rush of bringing so many to a belly bursting laughter would soon become an addition. I would say anything or do anything for a laugh. It was the beginning of something special.

Life Lesson #1 - The art of the dance. Lesson #2 - Run like the wind. Lesson #3 - Say or do anything for a laugh.

Cheeseboy's Seven Life Changing Moment #2: 7th Grade Beatdown

In my youth, my family was constantly moving. By the time I was 13, my mom was ready to stay in one place for a little while. That place was Fresno, California.

Being the new guy in school was real rough. When Elizabeth Shue goes to your school, suddenly you are not so important. What made the transition excruciating was a group of kids at the local karate dojo kept kicking me in the gut. In fact, one Halloween night I was dressed up as a shower - the perfect costume - when I was chased down and beaten by a group of karate snobs from a place called Cobra Ki. I could feel myself dying... when I was unexpectedly rescued by an elderly man from Okinawa.

This kindhearted fellow trained me in the ancient art of karate. He used unorthodox methods such as having me stand on a post and painting his fence using an up down method. Whatever it was he did, it worked and I was ready to face my demons and enter the "All Valley Karate Tournament". In spite of having my leg swept by Johny and almost put in a body bag, I won the tournament and Elizabeth Shue finally made out with me.

If only...

By the time I reached Hillside Junior High, I had probably watched The Karate Kid over 50 times. I had played out ever scene, every fight, every punch on the concrete slab in my backyard. My crane kick was so impeccable that a trained crane could not have out craned me.

In Junior High, I was without a doubt, a geek. I know what you are thinking: Everyone was a geek in Junior High! Yes, maybe. But I truly was a geek. I had zits growing out of my zits. I carried Oxyclean around in my front pocket. My favorite class was "Library Aide " and the person that spoke to me most at school was a boy from Vietnam that spoke very little English named "Sye". You can only imagine what breaking my both my legs at the the same time did for my social life.

Despite my social shortcomings, I felt pretty comfortable with my karate skills. After all, I was also a dancer and I knew that dancing increased my dexterity and overall bendiness. What I was not prepared for was what happened in "C" hall that ominous day.

English ended, the bell rang, and I was eager to head for my next class. I was first out the door that day and I opened it with reckless abandon. As I bulldozed the door open, I felt the pine slam and a body fall. I looked around the corner of the door and there was a giant sized Polynesian boy lying flat on his back, holding his nose.

My apologies were so profuse that they spilled out of me like the urine on my pants. I thought about running but my legs had buckled into inhuman shapes. I simply stood, waiting. I didn't have to wait long because the man sized pitbull stood up, picked me off the ground and pinned me against the wall. He then proceeded to give me three swift but powerful punches to the stomach.

I immediately folded over on the floor, unable to catch the wind that had been knocked so far out of me that it had become one with the air conditioning. The boy then left me and walked down the hall without looking back. And I was left kneeling on the floor, gasping for any inch of air.

My karate training had failed me.

I promised myself right then and there that I would never allow anything like this ever happen again.

It never did. I am proud to announce that this was the one and only time that I have been beaten up in my life. From that life changing moment on, I ran - and the crazy thing is Mr. Miaggi never once taught me this skill.

Lesson #1 - The art of the dance. Lesson #2- Run like the wind.

Cheeseboy's Seven Life Changing Moments: 6th Grade Dance Off

Summer - the perfect time for writing. During the next week or so my itinerary consists of working two hours in the morning at Sylvan and tearing apart my bathroom. It's a hard knock life, I know. And I'm not even a redheaded, curly-haired orphan. However, I did once own a pet hamster I called "Daddy Warbucks", but he was not bald nor was he rich. And here is the really ironic thing: I adopted HIM! Is that irony or is that just kindheartedness? Or... might it be BOTH?!

It is because of my new found bonus time that I am able to begin a week long special feature: "7 Life Changing Moments". I begin with my 6th grade dance.

Sixth Grade. One of the most illustrious years of my life. Slim, sexy and wildly popular with a mushroom cut that an elf could live under. I was enjoying a pre-Junior High anti-awkward phase that would quickly take a 7th grade turn for the worse. With a clear complexion and a hairless chest, I tackled and conquered the 6th grade. It was the perfect precursor year to my slimyJunior High years - Seventh grade was bungling and reclusive, but that is another story for another day.

In the Fall of 1988, at Uintah Elementary School a stranger walked through the doors. A stranger that we effectually called "PE Teacher". While I don't think she ever gave us her actual name, she was energetic and spunky and wore the cutest pink leggings a prepubescent boy could imagine. This PE teacher had a dream - a mission really: A full on dance off between every class in the school!

I am still amazed at the foresight and bravery of this PE ball of effectual thunder. Brittney Spears, In Sinc, and even the Backstreet Boys had not yet even been conceived in 1988. (Actually, they may have been conceived or even born. Nevertheless, for the sake of my story, I am sticking with the "not been conceived yet" yarn to keep things moving and interesting. Also, it makes me sound old and wise) Here was PE teacher #1, taking us under her wing, teaching us dance moves that would last a lifetime.

We voted in March. We needed a song that would capture the hearts and minds of the judges. Something unflappable yet still captivating. Something that sizzled and said, "We're Awesome", but mostly something that sizzled. It was decided. It was decided that we would be dancing to Mr. Huey Lewis and his accompanying "News" to the tune of "It's Hip To Be Square". Unfortunately, Huey was unable to make it personally, and we knew that dancing to a cassette recording would be the best we could do. Even the news was busy.

Training for a dance off is harder than it sounds. Dizzying exactness was required with every move. Bends must be bent at angles of all degrees. Stretches must be stretched until you have reached Armstrong lengths. Turns must be funneled like a cake. Beyond this, each move had to be synchronized to precise precissious precisions. Even further beyond that, it had to be "hip", it had to be "to be" and it had to be "square". An impossible task to ask of any ordinary Broadway dance troupe. Fortunately, we were no ordinary Broadway dance troupe.

The day at last arrived. With the legs of our jeans folded up our legs as if they were screaming at our hips; braided belts tied tightly around our waists, and enormous 80's sunglasses fit snug against our pale skin, we were ready for the competition. We were ready to... dance.

And dance we did. Every move was a dedicatory tribute to Mr. Lewis and his beloved News.

As I danced, I realized I had begun my dancing journey. Dancing became a part of me that day. I had never thought about my DNA, but on this day, my DNA thanked me. My DNA lifted above my body, looked down upon my flailing limbs and said, "Thank you for ingraining me into your body!" Joyous.

I don't dance as much as I used to. Sure, I'll drop the occasional boogie bomb on a wedding reception or drop kick a Cheeseboy hustle in the middle of a Costco. If you have seen me dance, you know that the moves are there - begging to be released. But alas, I am in what is referred to as the "twilight years" of a dancers career and my body is no longer willing.

I'll always look back on that day in sixth grade as a life changing moment. The moment in which dance - in all it's glory - pushed... no slammed it's way into my soul. I will be forever grateful to that PE teacher with the pink leg warmers, the contagious smile and the boyfriend that drove a Trans Am.

For me, last dance has been called. Unless of course, I get challenged to a dance off. Unless I get challenged to a dance off...

Patrick Swayze... I'm still waiting.

Saturday Graph: Why I Watch "Wipeout"

In honor of my newly purchased season ticket -

Saw this on Utefans.net today and since I'm still gloating...

Great memories.

A special shout out to my super hot friend, SUMMER! (And football tickets!)

School's out. Hallelujah! This year has gone by slower than watching a Meg Ryan movie in a hot theater with popcorn but no soda. Never have I been more ready for summer's arrival. I'd rather have my feet waxed than go through this year again. I'd say I would wax my back, but I am NEVER doing that again.

**A quick aside: If you read this blog and your kid is in my class (That means you Stacy), this has NOTHING to do with your kid - your kid is one that actually helped me live through what I now call "Death by the Naughties 08/09"... At least I think only parents of the nice kids read my blog...

Switching subjects..

I'm the proud owner of two season tickets to the University of Utah football games. Actually, I own a ticket and my buddy Brent owns a ticket. We will be sitting in the south end zone. I've never actually owned my very own season ticket, so I am a bit of a rookie. Nevertheless, I will miss that stranger that sat in front of me in the north end zone that I hugged one too many times. "Sir Utah Man Hugs-A-Lot", you shall be missed. Gees, I hope I make some new friends on the south side. Go Utes!

Back to summertime...

The other seasons have nothing on summer. Summer makes fall wish it hadn't been born. Summer takes it's kickbuttedness and beats on winter like Mike Tyson in a room full of still- attached ears. Nothing touches summertime. I want to reach out my arms and smother summertime in a wet, slobbery kiss.

Summer is where your greatest childhood memories take form. I love to watch Lincoln stay out until 10:30 playing "neighborhood games" while the framework of canines bark at their shenanigans. I love the neighborhood parties at our neighbor's pool and the subsequent 2 inch deep wounds I obtain from an insane game of water basketball. I love watching the Murray Park fireworks from the front lawn in some ugly pajama shorts and a backwards baseball cap.

Summertime kicks major culo. Summertime, will you become my first polygamist wife?