I am so sorry for my missed day of blogging which reminded me for some reason of the time I worked for Ann Taylor.

First of all, I would like to apologize for actually missing a day of blogging yesterday.  My Mac computer completely shut down on me and I could not get it to even turn on.  Nevertheless, it is currently sitting in the Mac shop known as my Principal's office, waiting to be picked up by someone from the district Nerd Herd or the Geek Squad.  I am left with this lovely loaner, which I gladly accept in efforts to keep my reading audience entertained.  I do feel awful about missing a day though.  I can just imagine the tears that were shed as folks from across the state sat down at their office desktops, flipped to my blog and sat in quiet desperation, wondering if I was alright, wishing that there was a current post to read.  My sincerest apologies go out to you and your families.

That reminds me, the strangest job I ever held was answering emails for Ann Taylor.  I worked at this job for about a month, until I was hired back to answer emails for Microsoft.  I would sit at a shared computer for two hours and answer emails about V-necks to scoop necks to plunging necklines.  What troubled me the most, however, were the constant barrage of emails we would receive from animal activists that were angry about Ann Taylor's use of animal fur in her clothing line.  We had a canned email response to send these freaks explaining that the clothing lines were all faux fur and nothing was taken directly from animals.  However, we were instructed to add the following sentence to the end of the canned response if the people seemed overly insane or angry:

Please accept our sincerest apologies to you and your family for this misunderstanding.

I guess that they didn't want to be bombed or publicly ridiculed by these fanatical maniacs.  I also wondered if their family members really needed our apologies. 

I may have been the only straight man working on that call center floor.  I recall that they had a "show room" in which we were held much of the season's line.  If you had questions about a specific woman's garment, you would have to ask a "manager" to unlock the showroom and wait while you looked at an item.  He or she would then escort you out, lock the door and reset the password.  I recall more than once tearing through a rack of dresses to see what material a specific one was made of while one of the many managers waited at the door, his hands on his hips while he glanced at his watch.  He would wipe his forehead with his pink neck scarf and sigh as if I were taking him his precious time.  Ann Taylor herself would have been proud.

Conference means not shaving, long ice cream lines, and listening on the couch with your eyes closed.

Ah.  Conference weekend.  It hits you like a warm stream of water.  It's church's version of a football "bye week".  Laziness, napping and occasional listening are the call to order this weekend.  I can finally catch up on that "doing of  nothing" I have missed out since school began.  

Sylvan even called and told me that the kids I was supposed to tutor didn't show up and I don't have to go in.  I can't even go out in the yard and work today because of the weather. The ultimate day of laziness! I may not even shave. I may not even brush my teeth. Okay, I will probably brush my teeth but let the facial hair growing, lying on the couch, eating loads of sour patch kids, switching the channel occasionally to see a football score - day begin.  

Of course, I will be attending Priesthood meeting tonight.  I have every intention not to put up folding chairs for this event.  (I believe it is not our ward's turn.  At least that is what I tell myself.)  Nevertheless, I will not be going to an ice cream establishment afterward.  Call me a maverick, call me apostate, call me an anti-post-priesthood-icecream-apostate, but I just can't handle the 20 deep line of white shirts at the local arctic circle to get a twist cone, just because a Saturday night meeting has ended.

When I was a kid growing up in Sugarhouse, my dad would take me to Snellgrove after every Priesthood meeting.  We would wait over an hour, but undoubtably would see a couple General Authorities.  Often, as we would be leaving, President Monson would show up to get his usual malt.  Fond memories, but Snellgroves is gone and I now attend priesthood by myself.  

When Lincoln becomes 12 and is able to attend Priesthood meeting with me, I will have to think of a new tradition to uphold.  Perhaps we could go shopping for scrapbook supplies or get a post meeting, father-son massage.  Maybe a good cock fight or two would be appropriate or hitting the tanning salon.  Nothing brings a father and son together like laying side by side under 1,000 watt lamps to artificially darken their skin.  At least that is the way I picture this potential bonding moment in my mind.  Thirty years from now, instead of Snellgrove, Lincoln will be telling his son about the times he and his dad went tanning after priesthood meeting.  Making memories is fun.

**I now realize that I spelled Snelgrove wrong in this post, but in the spirit of day of laziness, I refuse to correct it.  I realize now, however, that in the time I have spent typing this postscript, that I could have made the necessary corrections.  Oh well, still too lazy to do it.

**UPDATE - I realize Jordan and many of the general church population are ecstatic about the Rome temple.  But I, and I'm sure my sister in law- Heather, are equally thrilled with the announced temple in Philadelphia; the first in Pennsylvania.  The people in my mission just went from a 6-8 hour drive to White Plains or Washington to a 30 min - 3 hour ride to Phili.  I was very proud when I heard the news and I like to think about the celebration all of those friends I made in PA are having right now.  

A story about the drunken Beaver fan that sat directly behind me last night.

Last night, behind my brother and I sat a man.  An intoxicated man.  Now, intoxicated men ALWAYS sit behind and around me in the north end zone.  However, this intoxicated man claimed to be a beaver fan.  What was odd though was he was not wearing any beaver apparel and never actually attended Oregon State. In fact, he said he was more of an Oregon fan, which is odd because how in the world can you be a fan of your rival's school?  He was such an idiot!

During the course of the game, he became more and more drunk and at one time spilled his beer on the ground and all over my sweatshirt.  As he became more and more drunk, his language got more and more coarse.  Now, I have a pretty high tolerance for bad language, but when the crowd started chanting "LET'S...GO...UTAH", he chimed in, "F...YOU..UTAH."  Okay, he had officially gone too far.

It was at this moment that my brother Jordan, turned around and gave him a good stare down.  Jordan, who is larger than I, and perhaps more intimidating made him feel slightly less daring and his shenanigans stopped.... for a bit.  Nevertheless, when Oregon State went up 28-20 with 2 minutes left, he once again started in with the obnoxiousness and the language.  

What happened during those final two minutes would have been absolutely thrilling, but having this guy witness it directly behind me made it even more exhilarating.  Jordan and I made extra sure that we directed our cheers precisely in his direction.  As the final kick went through the goalposts and the hugging had subsided, I turned around to see this dork standing there in stunned silence.  Sometimes life's backward karma feels so good.  IN YOUR FACE PRETEND BEAVER FAN!  

Note to the few hundred people that left the game early tonight - THE UTES CAME BACK AND WON YOU STUPID, STINKING MORONS!

Just got back from the game.  I am physically and emotionally exhausted.  What a come from behind victory!!!

I have not been to such a ruckus, crazy game for a long, long time.  The crowd was going berserk.  There are now no strangers in section N 39.  I was hugging people I didn't even know.  (My apologies to anyone that did not want to hug me.)  It was great to have the stadium jam packed and rockin'.  

Sure, the Utes have issues (especially Johnson) , but at this point, how can you complain about   6-0?!?!  Especially after I was sure they were dead in the water.  

**Warning to the cougars - On November 22, you might want to keep an eye out for this guy:

I've named my car a fitting name. What could it be???

Today is national "name your car day".  I have given this day much contemplation. Naming your car is something you want to just throw out there and hope it sticks, like you do your kids.  It is much more involved than that. This will shape your car's identity for years to come.  If you want your car to have solid self esteem, you certainly cannot just name it "Sluga D. Papenfus".  It needs a name that, if it is ever involved in a street race, will have a nice ring to it.

Now that I have built it up, I have decided to name my car "Dick Birkenstocks".  Dick - after the great Dick Van Dyke and Birkenstocks after the sandals that were so popular years ago.  These sandals helped people get around, and my car does the same.  So... I give you the great Dick Birkenstocks, the best darned car in the west!  

I am off to the game.  But, if you would like to share your car's name in the comments, feel free.

Go Utes! Beat the Beavers!

Ugh, this day just can't go fast enough.  My mind is already in that stadium, sitting in those seats.

Woman saves pet chicken using mouth to beak!

We watched a PBS documentary that we checked out from the library last entitled, "The Natural History of the Chicken."  Emily, another teacher at my school, recommended it because she knew it would be something I would assuredly enjoy, which of course I did.  Watching it for the first time, if you didn't know any better, you would definitely think that it is more mockumentary (directed by Christopher Guest), than documentary.  It details the life of a few lunatics that are undoubtably in love with their pet chickens.  

Whoever had the idea for this awkward display and why it was actually filmed, I know not.  The only thing I can think of is that the purpose of this in-depth analysis was to simply entertain the masses with the bizarre behavior of a few chicken loving ignoramuses. 

The most insanely idiotic person on the show was a woman that actually puts panties on her chicken.  (They showed panties but not the dreaded "thong" shot, thank goodness.)  She is later shown swimming in her pool with her chicken, washing him with baby shampoo and placing him in a special bed.  But perhaps the most entertaining story of the evening was this one of a woman that saves her chicken using mouth to beak!

The reenactment was just exquisite, was it not?  If firmly believe that this chicken had more to accomplish in this life.  He had been saved for the last days.

If you get a chance, check out this video, or just watch parts 1-6 on youtube.  It's more entertaining than most the crap on TV, without a doubt.  The last story about a chicken that saves it's chicks lives from a hungry hawk reminded me of one of those corny seminary videos.  I kept waiting for the narrator to stop and ask how we could relate the story to the gospel.  Great stuff.

What every parent should know about Halloween day at their child's school.

Dear Parents,

Halloween is upon us and soon your children will be stalking the school halls in their costumed garb.  On that dreadful day, if you will remember the following rules of thumb, you will make things much easier on your teacher:

1. Do not expect your child's costume to come back in perfect shape.  Even though the costume cost at least fifty bucks at Walmart, costumes are made of a synthetic fabric that tears with the greatest of ease.  I once wore a costume purchased at Target and accidentally spilled juice down the front of it.  The front of the costume disintegrated before my eyes and I was left bear chested, my chest hairs flailing in the wind.  Now that I think of it though, it may have actually been the potency of the fruit punch as a day later, every single chest hair fell out.  

2. Your child does not need to bring extra candy to share with the class.  I know what you may be thinking, "But my child does not get enough candy at Halloween time."  Wait, no, you're not thinking that?  Hmm, I wonder why.  Could it be because on top of the treats they get trick or treating and on top of the treats they get from the room moms/teacher, many parents feel obligated to send MORE treats to class?  We don't need more treats.  You could, however, send a sugar I.V. for each child so that we could simply pump pixie sticks directly into their blood stream.  The I.V. needles should be "candy needles" made of a sharpened Lick-O-Stick sticks.  

3. Please do not stop your child during the school parade and take thousands of pictures while the entire school waits for you.  This isn't the Olson twins on the red carpet.  We don't need your kid making every kissy faced pose for you while the flash bulbs pop.  In the meantime, the entire line comes to a halt and we all stand and watch as you posterize your kid.  Take your costumed kid to Kiddy Candids and have them take all the pictures you want.  

**Note: If your child is in fact an Olson twin, this rule does not apply.  It also does not apply to the following:  Hannah Montana, the Jonas Brothers, children that have been a "Wednesday's child", children that have a real arrow through their skull and not just that lame fake bent ones and orphans that have had blood transfusions.

4.  If your child happens to have a male First Grade teacher named Abe, send a large Milky Way bar as a peace offering for dealing with your hyperactive kid during the most deliriously cuckoo day of the year.  No wait, better make it one of those super sized, double Twix bars.  Fun size or half sized are for hobos and midgets and will simply not do.  I like my candybars man sized.

5.  Please send your kid's costume on their body and not in a plastic bag for them to put on in the bathroom.  I am not going to help your kid zip, snap or velcro anything in the bathroom and I will hardly have time to do it in the classroom.  Even though I have extensive experience as a Hollywood  makeup artist, I will not have the time to put fake blood on your kid's face.  If your kid does not have a costume, do not send them as Adam or Eve, even though there are plenty of large leaves on the ground at this time of year.

Thank you for support during this critical time of learning for your child.

Sincerely, 

Your child's teacher.

Stand up of the day: Stephen Lynch - Halloween

If you are unfamiliar with the tunes of Stephen Lynch, then you are actually probably better off.  His whole schtick is that he makes hilarious songs and his voice is actually quite good.  He is without a doubt one of my favorites, but sometimes his songs can be very over the top and shall we say, graphic. In other words, don't go on Youtube looking for other songs by him.  These two are relatively clean and I have only seen edited versions of his show, but I know he has some very questionable songs out there.

Here's a Lynch classic and probably my favorite so far.

A Monday night cease to exist order.

I have issued another "Cease to Exist" order for the following things.  They are on warning:

1. Celebrity birthday reports.

2. Sonic drive through commercials.

3. $40.00 flashing/light up toys at the circus.

4.  People that make small talk on elevators about the buttons.

5.  TV shows about people with tons of kids.

6. That kidney billboard on the highway with Bronco and K-Whit.

7. The soccer lines on Rice-Ekkles field.

8. The term "cougar" for older women looking for younger men.

9. People that push the dunking tank button with their hand as a joke rather than actually having the skill to hit the button with the ball.  Those people think they are funny, but they drive me insane!  You're a cheater and a quitter and I don't like cheaters or quitters.

10. Dunking booths 

11. People that make obnoxious, unfunny comments after previews in the movies loud enough for the entire audience can hear, unless of course, that person is me.  Needless to say, the comment would obviously be funny.

That last one reminds me of the time that I, on a dare (It seems as though many of my stories start like this.) went to the front of a crowded theater waiting to see a movie.  The previews hadn't started yet and people were chatting and mingling.  I cleared my throat and in a loud voice I said:

Hello, my name is Abe.  I enjoy walks in the park, happy reunions and snuggling.  I am 17 years old and single.  I look forward to watching this movie with you.

I then pointed at someone in the front row and said:

Okay, now it is your turn.  Come on up here.

The girl, absolutely horrified, slumped in her seat and hid.  Mission accomplished.

Okay, things that are listed on my cease to exist order.  Be on alert.

A boy, a Bic razor and a vision: No eyebrows!

I did a lot of stupid things as a kid for no real reason other than to get a laugh.  It was on one such occasion that I shaved my eyebrows completely off.  

Much has been said of that fateful day.  The story has become more myth than truth.  In fact, over the years the story has been mytholized, trivialized, exaggeratized and legendaryized.  All that remains are three tidbits of truth: a boy, a razor and the backseat of a Suburban.  

I was all of 14 years old and the hairs on my chin had just started hitting puberty.  They had begun to show their timid heads and my mom had purchased me a couple of Bic razors to take care of business.  I found that I now owned a small collection of all of Bic's products: both pens and razors!  Armed with a can of Arm and Hammer shaving cream, I was ready to become a man.  

I know what your thinking, and of course, real men do not shave off their eyebrows.  I didn't say I was a man, I just said that I was ready to become a man.  There was just one juvinile episode of tomfoolery that needed to be completed and that was the shaving of the eyebrows.

I had planned and coordinated my moves for weeks.  We would be traveling south to Moab as a scout troop that summer and it would not take the entire trip to whittle the old chin eye straps.  We gathered, said a prayer for our safety (on the trip, not from my parents when I got home) and I hopped in the tail end of that Mormon-obile.  

My friends knew exactly what I was up to and they huddled around me like I was passing out candy cigarettes.  I pulled out my trusty Bic, fresh from the plastic wrap and stared at it's gleaming blade.  The driver, oblivious to my malarky, drove like the wind to our destination.  I, on the other hand, had not considered the need for any sort of lubricating cream to soften the scraping of the cutlass against my tender, tender skin.  Without hesitation, I went forward with my plan of attack anyway.

My grossed out, circle posse began groaning and squealing as small chunks of fur fell from my feathered brow into a plastic ziplock bag.  Unable to bring the vehicle to a stop on a busy section of I-15, our leader started screaming and begging me to stop from the front seat of the car.  He was absolutely stupefied that something so inanely outlandish could be taking place in the back seat of his burban.  There was nothing he could do, however, and the wads of brown shag continued to fall into their plastic resting place.

It did not take long to realize that without a creaming agent I would be mixing blood and brow.  Small sores began to appear above my brow and I felt that I was replaying a portion of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" to near perfection.  Within ten minutes, I was hairless, smooth and a bit bloody.  My friends were in hysterics, laughing aloud as I sat with a smile on my face, completely content and imperious with my bag of brow bristle.

I know what you are thinking - What a lavish and dazzling end to that story - no doubt.  And yep, you would be correct; if I never had to return to the loving arms of a mother and father, which were of course, mortified and embarrassed.  And of course, their mortification and embarrassment would have normally faded soon enough, most likely after I passed the sacrament that first week back.  But as luck would have it and to my horror, there was something I had not considered when I packed that new yellow Bic into my sack that day: We were getting our family pictures taken in less than two weeks!  Oops.

I had long bangs back in 1990.  They were almost long enough to cover where my eyebrows should have been, but not quite.  I recall my father just shaking his head in frustration as the photographer moved me around to conceal my chagrining forehead.  He tried everything from moving my head in different angles to moving me completely out of the picture.  Alas, the photos were flashed and our family portrait forever frozen in time.  I was very lucky as a 6 year old Jordan made the most adorable pose you have ever seen and for the majority of people that looked at the picture, that was the first thing they noticed.  If you look just a little closer, however, you will see a boy with a missing eyebrow or two.  

This story now lives on in Yospe infamy.  It is stuck on the walls of our wall(s) of shame, forever captured by a photograph.  Fortunately my eyebrows have grown back.  Unfortunately, it is true what they say: Once you shave a spot, the hair will grow back longer and thicker.  That is why you should never shave the insides of your nose.

Also, please add this to my list of things I probably should have never blogged about but did anyway.

Song of the Day: Tunng - Bullets

This is a unique band from the UK that uses some funky, folk sounds to create a very cool tunes.  This video is also quite unique and well worth watching.  Superb song.

Lincoln's weekend of hullabaloo and merrymaking.

Lincoln had quite an eventful weekend with much excitement and fanfare.  He deserved it though, he has been a near perfect citizen and a happy camper the last month or so.  We promised (bribed) him that if would be good that we would do something fun.

So, here is a rundown of his 3 activities of drollery and joy:

1. The circus.  Too long, too loud and too frenzied, but mostly too long.  The boys liked the elephants (for some reason they have both always been elephant freaks) and Lincoln enjoyed the motorcycles in the round cage thing.  Personally, I enjoyed the overweight, corny ringmaster singing the National Anthem while a girl in a red, white and blue swimsuit carried an American flag on the back of an elephant.  If my heart had tear ducts, it would have been dripping huge droplets.  The  amount of pride I had at that moment, knowing that I was an American watching an elephant carry a flag with a woman in a swimsuit on it's back is unmeasurable.  Fortunately, hearts don't have tear ducts.  I'd hate to have a sticky heart.

Thank you Grandpa Yospe for the tickets!

2.  The Mayan.  Yep, the Mayan.  This was actually Lincoln's reward.  He loved it and even described it as "better than the Tikki Room".  Okay, not exactly a glowing review as the Tikki room is uh... eh.  However, it was fun enough for him to continue talking about it for the rest of the day.  Now if he would have described it as "better than Splash Mountain" then we would have really had something.  The Mayan is known as having some of the most beautiful plastic trees in the world, and it's true!  They are lovely.

Thank you Grandma and Grandpa for meeting us there for lunch!

3. The U game.  Steve invited Lincoln and I to go to the U game with him and his son.  I happily obliged as this was one of the games that I did not have reserved tickets for.  Steve brought his son, who happens to be Lincoln's age, and we sat in his company suite. 

The suite is fine, just so stinkin high, with windows that seem to separate you from the action.  Lincoln and his newfound friend had a great time with all of the free treats and soda.  It is nice to sit in the suite every so often, but I would much rather sit down with the blue collar fans like myself, whooping it up and throwing a tizzy in the North end zone.  

By the way, the game was well - anti climatic.  We'll see what happens on Thursday.  It's a huge game Thursday. I'll be back with my peeps in the Red Zone.  I have a seat all by myself, but I make friends with fellow Ute fans rather easily.  Get ready new, yet to be met Ute fan peeps in the North end zone... Get ready for the Cheeseboy!

Thanks Steve for the tickets and the ride!

Go Utes! 5-0!

After today, salad will never be the same.

The real reason why people in the HR department are such inept twits.

After dealing with various HR departments from various companies and government agencies, I have determined that HR workers have to be the most inept, unavailing, slothful folks on the planet.  My recent run in with HR involved missing money from my paycheck, several calls and much frustration.  It seems that HR reps have a very difficult time making a decision or making a call back.  The absolute worst was Convergies, a company that prides themselves on customer service.  It seemed as if the Convergies projects would send their worst employees to work in HR.  It is for this reason that I was supremely thrilled that Toby left The Office.  

Where do HR people come from?  My guess is that they all come from the same lost tribe of Israel.  Kinda like if you are from the tribe of Levi, you are automatically a Bishop or something like that.  If you are from the tribe of Naphati you are automatically a dimwitted HR worker. It was a for-ordination by God.  In the pre-existance God pulled these people aside and said, "You are just not going to cut it in the normal job market.  Sorry Joe, but you're going to have to work in HR."

The scary thing is that these same boneheads that are running our HR departments here on earth will be running Heaven HR.  I can already imagine my first phone conversation with an Heaven HR rep:

Celestialized Abe:  Hello?  Yes, I was wondering why I lost 3 vacation days on my last paycheck.  I didn't go on vacation.

Telestial HR rep:  Please hold while I ask.  [Motab playing on the headset.]  Ten minutes later... HR decided that Celestial folks don't need more vacation days.

CA: What do you mean?  Why weren't we notified of this change?

HR:  It was in the email bulletin last June.

CA:  So how many days do we get then?

HR: Please hold while I ask. [David Archuletta singing "Imagine" on the headset.]  Umm, you get infinity amount for the next infinity amount of days.

CA:  That's weird because I swear we were promised more than that.  Can I talk to your manager?

HR: Please hold.  [Osmond Family Christmas plays on the headset.] We don't have managers in heaven.  But you can talk to Frank if you want.

CA: Who's Frank?  

HR: He's my eternal companion.  

CA:  Will he be able to get my vacation days back?

HR: Please hold. [A Kurt Bestor/Thurl Bailey duet blares through the headset.]  No, he can not get those back for you.  

CA: Did you work at Convergies while you were on earth? 

HR: How did you know?

CA:  I thought I recognized your voice.  One more question, can you send me a copy of the harassment policy?  Dead Cindy Crawford will not stop bothering me.

HR:  Sure.  What kingdom are you in again? 

CA: Celestial

HR:  We can't bring it to you then.  You are going to have to come down and get it.

CA:  Forget it.