The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

Archive for the ‘Du Jour of the Week’ Category

Running the Numbers

I want a piano. It’s going to happen, it’s just a matter of when.

Recently I was talking about getting a piano and the logistics of it, and my wife took my concerns in stride. This got me thinking, ‘is she just running the numbers?’

Let me explain.

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Whenever you need to run some numbers, always go with the abacus (for comedy’s sake).

When a relationship starts you may be gung ho in an effort to be fun and right there with the person. Time goes on, self-honest begins to show up, and then when someone says, ‘hey want to go <do something you don’t like but that person does>.’ Then you say, ‘ummm … here’s the thing …’ That might lead to a conversation.

At some point in a relationship you begin to figure out when you need to have a conversation. Let’s say I go to my wife and I say, ‘next month on the first Saturday we should go do this eight mile hike that I read about!’

In her head my wife likely has two courses of thought: 1, hell no. Eight miles? No. No no no. 2, ehhh … there’s like a 20% chance he’s still going to want to do that on that Saturday, and instead will likely want to sleep in.

That’s running the numbers. You begin to figure out with your partner when things they say are likely to happen, and that weighs on the decision of whether to blindly agree or not.

If you’re not running the numbers in your relationship – you’re just bonkers.

Noon Year’s Eve Party

Dear fellow new parents and otherwise sleepy individuals,

How are you? Are you excited about New Year’s Eve? Kind of an ‘eh’? Hey, me too! And guess what, I’ve got a party for you!

That’s right, it’s Noon Year’s Eve! We’ll have brunch (eggs, bacon, another helping of bacon, biscuits, hash browns, and tortillas in case a fork isn’t your thing and you want to eat your food in an edible carrying case) and then count down to 12!

Twelve noon.

When noon hits, we’ll continue to sip coffee and talk and sit around. It’s only noon, you seriously already need to go to bed? We’re a judgement free zone, so, sure, go ahead. There’s a bunch of blankets in the corner, we call it ‘blanket corner.’ Head over there and knock out. It’s fine. But I hope you can sleep over the uproarious sound of forks on plates (cinnamon roles for dessert, anyone?) and spoons stirring their coffee.

Join us, sleepyheads, and we’ll rock in Noon Year’s Eve, because midnight is too damn late.

The Story of Mr. Quackers

Before my wife and I moved from Houston to Colorado we were out with her folks one day. They had offered to buy us a dining room table, and we said, ‘yeah, ok.’ We probably said that more graciously, but who knows.

While at a furniture store I quickly took to wandering because … it was a furniture store.

I noticed none other than Mr. Quackers. A nice, wooden duck with clogs. How odd. I picked him up and did an old Bugs Bunny cartoon dance routine, having him dance around while I provided the music.

IMG_20171205_072041493~2My wife’s mom noticed this.

Fast forward … some amount of time. Weeks? A month plus? It’s Christmas Day! Huzzah!

It’s my wife’s family’s year and we are opening gifts. I’m slowly unwrapping this large gift, curious what it could be in such a large box, and whale … it’s … a duck? With shoes? What an odd, odd thing to get somebody. My wife’s mom has gone batty.

‘Hey … thanks!’

What on earth? I mean, I know her family recognizes that I’m a weirdo but what a truly strange shot in the dark for a gift.

You see, I had no memory of having Mr. Quackers get up and dance because I do dumb things every where I go, every day. If I had to remember all of the dumb things I do, my brain would be a complete waste of space.

To me, the fact that I opened up a (to me, at the moment) totally random duck with shoes for Christmas is very funny to me, and it makes me appreciate Mr. Quackers and my wife’s folks all the more.