Artistically Challenged

My wife is very artistic. She can make any room a bit more homey and welcoming in 3 seconds flat. She's like Martha Stewart without the rap sheet (although I bet it's nicely pressed).

She paints. She decorates. She expresses herself artistically.

Me? Not so much.

I mean, just look at this web page. Oi.

I'm so artistically challenged I think it should be considered a disability. My standard response to any decorating choice my wife give me is "I like the blue one." Doesn't matter if we're talking about about flower vases or candle holding thingies. Doesn't matter if the choices she's giving me aren't even blue.

When I was 5 years old and in kindergarten, we were all assigned the daunting task of drawing a self-portrait.

I drew and drew. I colored. I made thoughtful frowny-faces at the page and drew some more. This was my masterpiece. It was my best artistic creation ever, and I am including everything I've ever done since then, too.

Our teacher was making the rounds, inspecting and praising our work.

I squirmed in my seat, anxious to hear her thoughts.

She paused at my desk.

"Ricky, stay on task. No drawing airplanes."




Are you artistic?




.

Manliness Scorecard

Need a way to gauge your manliness? There's an app scorecard for that.


This may or may not be based on events that transpired yesterday. I'll let you believe what you want to believe.


1.  Getting home early to start that yard work project your wife has been asking you to do. +1 point
2.  Bringing your dad so you can do a project together. +1 point
3.  Bringing your dad because you have no idea what you're doing. -1 point
4.  Cutting your hand while working on the project. +1 point
5.  Running around the yard, yelping 'Owie, owie owie'. -2 points
6.  Continuing to work nonchalantly as though you don't notice that blood is dripping off your hand. +4 points
7.  Letting your dad take over while you go find a Band-Aid. -1 point
8.  Asking your dad to kiss it to make it all better. -25 points
9.  Finishing the project and then getting dinner started so it's ready when your wife gets home from work. +3 points
10. Finishing the project and then letting your wife make dinner while you write this blog. -3 points.


Scoring Key:


Positive points - You're a real man. Your name might be Knox McCoy.
Negative points - You're a wuss. Probably related to me.


Anything to add?


Any guesses on how I scored yesterday?




.

Workin' the Drive-Thru

I wrote a guest post a few weeks ago for Knox McCoy about working the drive-thru at Taco Bell. I thought I'd share some more from that blessed year and a half.

--

You know how annoying it is when you pull up to order at Taco Bell and they ask if you'd like to try a specific item on special, but all you want them to do is shut up and let you order a #3 and get the heck out of Dodge?

The dude on the other end of that horrible speaker system is just as annoyed as you are, my friend. We were required to ask if you'd like a [fill in item costing above $2 here]. I always stuck with the Burrito Supreme. A great standby; nice and reliable.

But I knew you'd ignore me, no matter what I asked you.

Me: Welcome to Taco Bell, would you like to try a Burrito Supreme?

You: Uh, no thanks. I'll just have the Burrito Supreme.

So I started having fun.

Me: Welcome to Snickerdoodle, would you fry plate a mean canteen?

You: Uh, no thanks. I'll just have the Burrito Supreme.

-

Me: Pkksh, shhh, shh. KKsh, frish kish?

You: Uh, no thanks. I'll just have the Burrito Supreme.

-

Me: Welcome to Target, would you like to try some asbestos?

You: Uh, no thanks. I'll just have the Burrito Supreme.

Management took this up-selling opportunity very seriously. Once the district manager drove through for an inspection. The item I tried to up-sell him on wasn't above the $2 mark, so he got ticked off. He pulled around, came in and read the store manager the riot act.

The store manager, who shall remain nameless, was a huge man. I had nowhere to hide when he came for me a few minutes later. He picked me up by my shirt collar and shook me like a rag doll. I think there may have been some growling as well, but I don't remember exactly since I was whimpering with my eyes closed while my feet dangled helplessly in the air.

Although he apologized later, he actually did me a favor. To this day, whenever I have a bad day at work, I think "Well, it could be worse. At least Marshall didn't shake me up like a champagne bottle after the World Series."

What job-related shenanigans do you remember?

.

E.T.

I have a guest post up today at Matt Cannon's site. You should check it out because he's bigger than you.

---
I was watching a PBS special a while back about aliens. The scientific phrase is 'extraterrestrial life'.

A scientist was explaining why they're so desperately looking for exterrestial life:

"We'll know were not astronomically special, not biologically special, and not intellectually special."

Wow.

We spend all this time telling our kids that they're special. Then they grow up and spend their careers trying to prove they're not.

Why?

I think it's because we all know what being special implies. Being special means extra care was taken. Being special means being set apart. Being special implies intent. Intent implies a Creator.

Uh-oh. Better not be special, then.

This scientist's desire was to kill God and strip Him of the glory of His masterpiece creation.

I don't know about you, but I'm glad I'm special!


.

Random Stuff Popping Around In My Head, Part Whatever It Is

Have you ever gone snorkeling, just because it's such a fun word to say?

C'mon...say it out loud, s l o w l y. You're welcome.

I love saltwater. That's my happy face.

I think I'm under attack by sneaky ninjas who have shrunk all my belts. I can do nothing about this. I mean, they're ninjas.

I wonder what it'll be like to not matter to anyone anymore. Have you noticed this phenomenon? When one of your friends or family members has a child, don't all your visits after that revolve around the kid? I don't even notice my best friend anymore, but my nephew? I'm all about that. I need some tips from you dads on how to use this newfound power of invisibility.

Ok, your turn. What randomness is popping about in your head, and how does it relate to pancakes?




.

Confessions of a Network Administrator

I know everything...when I'm in Pretend I'm Awesome Mode.

I'm infinitely patient...because I have a soundproof server room.

I'm extremely confident...unless I'm running firmware updates on the production server after you went home for the day.

I can fix anything...given enough time with Buddy Google.

Your personal computer can't be fixed and needs to be replaced...because I'm busy.

I will enforce our company's Acceptable Use Policy...on you.

You think I know everything you do on your computer...and I like it that way.


What do you suspect about your network administrator, or geeks in general?




.

The Hurting Place

I have a confession...

I have a gym membership. I've even gone to the gym. I just don't enjoy it and don't do it often.

I might try to play it off as though I'm getting ripped and can lift a Kia, but if you know me...not so much. I'll tweet, "Off to the hurting place!", but the exclamation is entirely virtual. My wife is a nurse and is very health-minded, so she makes sure we go. But if she's not around, it's beer and pizza for me!

Another confession...

If you've been in my garage, you may have seen the bicycles. You probably imagine me soaring down the bike trail; my legs blurring your vision. I'm sorry I've misled you. The bikes in my garage don't actually imply my use of them.

Jana likes riding bikes. I like avoiding riding bikes. I dislike riding bikes so much, I punish my bikes by hanging them upside down in my garage. I also use them to attack ping-pong opponents. The end of the table where the bikes hang is known as 'your side of the table'.

I do like ping-pong.



What are you lookin' at?!?


Do you like pancakes? Leave a comment or something.


.