The Spider

By request from my 100th post: The day I met the Biggest God-Damned Spider Ever.

I rock climbed a lot during and right after college. It was a good adrenaline buzz and it helped me overcome my fear of heights. There is a challenging route in Huntingdon (in PA) that had an outcropping. The climb up to the outcropping was easy, but then it was all finger and arm strength to get past it.

I was on belay and had climbed just about to the point where it got difficult. I reached up for a nice handhold and had to dig out some moss to get a good grip. I tossed the moss over my shoulder and yelled out, "rock," so my partner didn't get a face full. We always called out "rock;" it made sure that you didn't look up. No one looks up when there's a rock coming. Well, at least the people who don't require reconstructive surgery.

I reached back into the hole I had dug out and felt a tickle. No biggie, there are all kinds of roots and stuff that were coming through the rock. I found a foothold and pulled up to the point where the hole was.

...and there he sat.

...on my hand.

...a big spider. Quite possibly the largest ever recorded in the history of spider kind. The kind of size that would have made Beowulf say, "Shit."

Okay, it was a little over an inch long but as far as I was concerned it may as well have been a Great Dane with six eyes and fangs dripping acid.

I froze. I hate spiders. Not that "run from a room, screaming like a little girl" kinda fear, but too close to that kind of fear for my testosterone to handle comfortably.

I thought briefly of trying to blow it off my hand but visions of it jumping into my mouth (there are perils to having a pretty good imagination) when I opened it to blow filled me with a distinct unease. That and I would have had to have resumed breathing; yet another hurdle.

I wiggled my fingers as much as my death grip on the rock would allow. It raised two front legs in defense.

I considered chewing through my rope and plunging to quadriplegicy but I figured Gargantua (I had named him by now) would have merely clung to my hand to enjoy the ride and then bit me just for kicks.

Because spiders are calculatingly sadistic like that. Just ask Kelley.

The legs went back down.

On an educational note: A funny thing happens when you cling to a rock in the same position for too long no matter how good of shape you are in. Your muscles get tired. First they feel tired...evidently fear and adrenalin let this stage pass without notice. The next stage basically amounts to a slight quiver which moves into a noticeable quiver which heralds something known as 'muscle failure.'

I was at noticeable quiverosity.

I took a breath and blew gently. The dreadlocks that Gargantua was sporting blew lightly back and he again lifted up his front legs.

After a week a few seconds, his legs came back down and he sauntered off my hand. Thankfully this was not in the direction of my face. I would have had to have scrubbed my face vigorously on the rock had this happened.

I told my partner I was coming down. No actual climbing was involved in this process, I was lowered.

When I got to the base, my buddy looked at me and said, "Dude, why'd you stop?"

"Spider," I replied.

"Wuss."

"Bite me."

I haven't been scared of spiders since the incident, so at least I can thank Gargantua for that. If I ever see him again though, I'm smashing him with a hammer.

Technorati Tags: Not a recommended form of therapy.

I Never Knew...

My wife and I were driving around the other day and got caught behind a particularly slow driver. I don't know how we get into conversations like this sometimes, but here it is:

The Wife: "If that idiot wants to park, he should use the lot over there, not the turning lane."

Me: "Yeah; that and I don't like his license plate."

TW: " 'He Gene?' Maybe his name is something like Howard Edward Gene."

Me: "He should have sounded it out before ordering it. It sounds like his boyfriend's name is Gene."

TW: "He can't be gay. Gays don't drive minivans."

I briefly thought about this in an effort to refute it, but I then realized that not a single one of my gay friends has a minivan. Curious.

Me: "So you're saying that gays have too much style to drive a minivan?"

TW: "Exactly... Lesbians, however, do drive minivans. I have experience with that."

We pulled into the lot and she caught site of the guy driving and said, "He's elderly too."

Me: "So there aren't any old, gay dudes?"

I hadn't known that it wore away over the years like a fine patina gently buffed off of a favored copper pot.

TW: "...and look, he's using a handicapped spot."

Me: "Yet another fine reason for him not to be gay."

The Wife countered with, "Just as good as you thinking he was gay due to his license plate."

Touché, mon coeur.

We ended up laughing at how goofy we sounded as we got out, but overall it was quite the educational day for me.

 

Technorati Tags: so why are we dumb enough to drive minivans?

Sunday Randomness

I'd would like to thank everyone for all the fantastic comments and general well-wishing for my 100th post. Time to move on though. I will be getting to the various requests for more information on some of the items on my list, but since it's Sunday, I'm going for simple randomness.

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The other day my son said, "Daddy, I'm cold. Can you turn up the heat?"
I looked over (unfortunately, this isn't a rare occurance) and said, "Dude, you're naked. Why don't you try putting on some clothes?"
I still cannot figure out how or why his clothes magically shed themselves at random intervals, generally between blinks.
I suspect an ongoing plot against my sanity.

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Did you know that you can only follow 200 blogs on Blogger? Seriously? That seems limiting to me. You would think that the Google/Blogger empire could figure out how to do better than that.

I'm feeling repressed.

Fascist bullyboys.

If you recently followed me and I haven't followed back it's because I'm off to correct this wrong. Perhaps I can take out a few windmills in my quest as well.

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We had an early Chinese New Year party yesterday. Her parents and my parents were over as well as her brother, wife, and their son. It was a nice party and a we all had a good time.
At one point, my son brought out his pair of play handcuffs so he could play police with his cousin.
He plopped them on the table and his grandmother (my dad's wife) said, "Do your mommy and daddy use those too?"
We laughed and then The Wife, who thought we were talking about playing police with The Boy, said, "We use them all the time."
We all pretty much lost it at that.
After the party had broken up, we were talking about how funny that was and she said, "Oh, is that what she meant?"
I said, "Yup, you just outed yourself as a perv to our immediate family. I'm okay with that."

At least I didn't have to explain to her why the Obama fisting (beware of the comments following the video... they get a little raw) comment was so funny.

Totally Ignoring the Inauguration...

Okay, maybe not totally ignoring it. I will pause to poke fun at any person who weeps over the inauguration. It's politics people. He's a just a dude we picked for office. Let's wish him well and hope his plan matches his vision.

Anyway, I have a whole bunch of stuff (memes and an award) that I let go for a long time. I'm taking the massive lull in actual work (due to the deification inauguration) to bang this stuff out.

The first is a meme from Petra.

The Rules:

1.go to your documents
2. go to your 6th file.
3.go to your 6th picture.
4. blog about it.
5. tag 6 friends to do the same.

This was actually taken by my son. This is a portion of his dinosaur collection. He can name them all and it's always a kick to hear him quiz his mom on the names since she butchers the pronunciation and then she gets corrected by him. I think at this point he was lining them up for a pep talk in an effort to take over the world. Unfortunately for him, his grasp of "inanimate object" is tenuous at best. You're all safe for now...

Tag six people? Nah, not doing it today. Take the meme if you want the blog fodder.

Technorati Tags: rawr! phear my dino minions

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I received an award from NoBS at I Meme it. It's the The Premios Dardo Award.

From NoBS's site:

This award acknowledges the values that every blogger shows in his or her effort to transmit cultural, ethical, literary, and personal values every day.

Wow, I've never been accused of most of that before, but I would like to sincerely give my thanks for the award. I would also like to advise you to find another ethical advisor if you're currently using me as a guidepost ;)

The rules:
1) Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who has granted the award and his or her blog link.
2) Pass the award to 15 other blogs that are worthy of this acknowledgment. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.

15 Blogs! Holy crap, that's a lot. *Grumble* Fine, here goes. These bloggers are well worth the read if you don't have them on your list and are a better fit than I am to this award if you ask me :)

1. Diane's Addled Ramblings
2. The Stiletto Mom
3. Clark Kent's Lunchbox
4. Okay, Fine, Dammit
5. Strange Pilgram
6. Backpacking Dad
7. justsomethoughts...
8. Moonspun Spins
9. ค קเภςђ ๏Ŧ tђเร คภ๔ ค ๔ครђ ๏Ŧ tђคt

Bah, that's close enough to 15.

Standard disclaimer for the awardees: Follow the rules or don't. This is a no pressure blog. I award people because I appreciate their blogs and I like to acknowledge them. If you don't want to pass it on, that's cool, just enjoy it.

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Lastly for the day, a challenge to my nerdiness from Kirsten at The Soccer Mom Files. I have accepted her challenge.

Evidently I need more time in the sun. Take the test if you want to. I know there's got to be a bigger nerd than me out there.

Technorati Tags: Seriously? Am I this big of a nerd?

Spin Cycle: What if?

The Spin Cycle topic for the week was "What if?" It was a hard one for me. I like where I am in life and where it seems to be heading. I have a wonderful wife and a great son -- well, most of the time at least. I like my job and I rarely want for anything. As a result, I rarely play the "what if?" game with my life. So I was about to pass on this week's Spin Cycle (please forgive me for even thinking it Jen) and then the one thing that I play "what if?" with came to mind. It's not my usual light fare...

What if... my mother had not refused to go to the GYN for her regular checkups for no other reason than she didn't feel like it?

What if... They had caught the the cancer earlier, before it moved from her ovaries to the rest of her body?

What if... she never had to go through all the pain of surgery and chemo?

What if... She never had to be an inspiration for others by supporting them in the chemo ward and walking in benefits?

What if... I never had to watch the light fade from my mother's eyes?

What if... With the help of some wonderful hospice workers, we didn't have to take care of her broken shell of a body after that light had faded?

What if... I didn't have to go through that dark period of loss?

What if... I never had to see my Grandfather, tough as nails, raised in Hell's Kitchen, who fought in the Battle of the Bulge, set aside a book on "Dealing with the loss of a child" when I would go visit?

What if... I never had to realize that not only did I lose a mother, but my grandparents also lost a daughter, and my father lost a wife?

What if... My mother lived past the age of 42?

What if... She had been able to see me get married, dance at my reception, and cry tears of happiness mixed with a wistful nostalgia of when her son was little?

What if... She had gotten to meet her grandchild and spoil him and do wonderful (and stupid) things that her son would then later blog about?

What if... I didn't feel compelled to be on the local board for the American Cancer Society just so I could do something.. anything?

What if... One day there was a cure and no one ever had to write a "what if" about a parent, or a child, or a friend, or a loved one?

The Ride

Recently, I had the pleasure of taking a drive with my in-laws, my son, and my wife. We were off to do some family thing, but that's not what's important here. The ride is what I want to talk about.

The drive we were taking was a 45 minute ride. Not bad as far as rides go. We stopped for lunch along the way (I had one of the best paninis ever, thanks for asking) and then continued on to our destination. We were about 10 minutes out from arriving and for some reason my mother-in-law was possessed to say, "We should stop at the toy store."

Hello? There's a six year old in the car and we're almost there and will actually be on time and you bring up a toy store? I looked for a suitably heavy object to stun her with but the damage was done.

The Boy piped up, "What toy store?"

Luckily, I'm quick in a crisis and came up with, "Your grandmother is thinking of another city entirely. There is no toy store in this town." I punctuated it with a Dirty Look.

Grammy got the hint and backed me up with, "My mistake, there is no toy store in this town. Score one for my Jedi mojo.

Seriously though, I know they had kids; I'm sleeping with one of them. Do they lose that kind of common sense over the years? The kind of common sense that declares you don't fill a six year old's head with visions of toys on an outing?

Weens.

So we arrived and did the family thing. Blah, blah, blah. We had a great time. Yada, yada, yada.

...and we're back in the car. We're pulling out and my father-in-law looks to the left, announces that the store he's looking at sells ice cream, and zooms off for home. I remembered (too late, luckily for grammy) that they keep the tire iron under the seat but he was driving and I figured it was best not to whack him one.

The Boy: "I want ice cream."

Yeah, because you knew that was coming. God forbid pappy could have figured that out beforehand though.

So we were treated to the extended remix of "I Want Ice Cream," for the next twenty minutes. It's sort of like the song, "I Want Candy," except that there's no tune, you can't groove to it, and it inspires madness and despair.

At some point my FIL told The Boy that he would find him a place to get ice cream. Whatever. I was thinking of walking home by that point.

Finally, we find a McDonald's. Close enough, they have sundaes. We pulled in, gave our order (The Boy opted for chicken nuggets because they're so much like ice cream), and waited. For a long time. Because I've evidently offended the gods and deserve this ride.

We get to the window and get part of our order. Not all of it mind you since counting to two is a life skill that the chick that worked the window never mastered. The skill she did master? Apathy. Truthfully, she could have turned pro. If apathy could be spent as currency, she could have retired then and there.

She literally stared at us when we said we ordered two sundaes and only received one. She didn't turn to correct the situation or ask anyone else to. She stared. Eventually we taught her the concept of this "two" through a combination of speaking slowly and complex gestures involving our index and middle fingers held in a sort of "V" shape.

Welcome to central Pennsylvania!

We finally pulled out. I was more than ready for drinks by this point when more FIL says, "Why don't we go see the deer?"

There's a guy who has some land fenced off. He keeps deer on the land. They look like...um...deer. My son has seen the deer before but in an effort to magically transform the interminable into the intolerable, my FIL offers to make our trip even longer.

Just. Freaking. Awesome.

We drove a bit out of our way. We stared at the deer, they stared at us. Some had antlers, some didn't. They were trees as well. Yippee.

Finally we arrived home. I'm not sure the vehicle came to a full stop before I got out, but I was out.

I'm still plotting to get my in-laws back for that ride.

 

Technorati Tags: I'll walk next time

The Other Church

Last week we decided to go to the other Catholic church in town. I'm not entirely sure why, but I just go with the flow when it comes to things churchly.

We got there and the one nice thing was that the priest doesn't have a thick, gooey accent straight out of the Eastern Bloc. I could actually understand what he was saying. I didn't listen, but that's completely beside the point... I could have listened. He also had nice hair. It was a little long, so from a distance it looked decidedly like a fuzzy helmet, but it looked fine up close.

Of course, being church, those were about the only positives to me.

The first thing I noticed is that this priest (do I have to capitalize "priest?" I guess since I never bother capitalizing "god," that's sort of a moot point. Like they're going to add another year on to my life sentence in hell for disobeying the style guide.) sings every damn verse of the hymns. Every. Verse. Come on dammit, the other church does one and three. It's a time saver, let's get with the program here.

There was another thing that bothered the crap out of me about the church music. They did those songs. The ones where they pick a psalm, throw some organ in the background, and slap some arbitrary notes to the words. Seriously? It sounds like someone is reading the newspaper to song. It's stupid. Stop butchering the last movement of Beethoven's 9th like that. It's criminal. God should make you weep nothing but grapefruit juice for perpetrating that on us.

Behind me was what I like to call a "rusher." One of those people that is at least two words ahead whenever there's a group prayer or singing going on. I don't know the words to this stuff really well and that dude was not helping. Recite and sing at the correct tempo, jerkoff. No one is proud of you because you finished first.

Also at this church was "Farting Guy." I call him that because once, in church, this guy was sitting next to us and letting them rip. This only happened once, ten years ago, but you don't forget stuff like that. Yet another reason to stick with the old church.

Overall mass lasted only marginally longer than the other church, but if we could move to the verse one and three system we could get out of there earlier and I would consider that church instead, regardless of the perils of "Farting Guy."

After mass, they had a thing for the kids which included an "epiphany cake." This is where you take a cake and put something inside like a bean and whoever gets the bean gets to wear a crown. I've always had issues with the epiphany cake and its potential to cause dental damage to an overzealous eater. This time, however, they put a little (but large enough to be an awesome choking hazard), plastic baby Jesus inside.

Really?

It's lucky parents were they to dig through their child's slice before they dug in. I'm sure "asphyxiation by baby jeebus" would be a real hoot down at the coroner's office.

I'm not sure which church to go to now. Maybe I should come up with a third offering for town. I'll have to work on the plans for that. I'll let you know when they're done.

 

Technorati Tags: death by baby jeebus,why do I even bother going?

Spin Cycle: Me? Guilty?

So I really wanted to do the Spin Cycle this week and I kept racking my brain trying to think of either what I was guilty about in the past or what I was guilty about now and I just kept coming up with nothing.

Don't get me wrong, I have done things that I've been hugely guilty about in the past. There was the first woman that I was engaged to that I broke off. There were other women too, some with names that were erased by a combination of alcohol and time. There was that persistent feeling that I should have been by my mother's side more during her chemo even though I was a three hour drive away and taking college courses. I made it home nearly every weekend, but it never seemed like enough.

I do the occasional thing now and then that I feel guilty for, but nothing big like in the past; I outgrew that hedonistic asshole phase. I might spend a little too much time on the computer or not help out around the house as much as I usually do, but the associated guilt is fleeting at best. Small stuff, small guilt.

Then I started to wonder if I had reached some glorious state of amorality. Well, not amoral, just differently moralled (bite me, I can make up words.) I say 'glorious' because wouldn't it be wonderful not to feel guilty about things sometimes?

Then I realized it wouldn't be so glorious.

Feeling guilty, for all its pitfalls, shows us what we care about. Where our humanity lies. It points us in the direction of our flaws so we can kick at them and try to overcome them. It shines the light on things we could have done better so we can actually do them better the next time. Maybe not as perfectly as we would like, but better.

It's about growth.

I realized that over the years, I've felt less guilty about things because I've done less things to be guilty about. I've gone and grown in spite of myself and learned to forgive myself for the dumb things I've done and will undoubtedly continue to do.

Wishing you the same :)

 

Technorati Tags: well that took an unexpected turn to serious...

Not here today

I'm over at Tony's place doing a guest post for his birthday. Click over to see what I'm up to and maybe wish him a happy birthday while you're at it.

The First Kiss and Other Stuff Too!

The stunning and consistently amazing Sher over at Sherendipity (go read her...if you don't, you're only hurting yourself) has provided me with an interview meme which is sort of cool as far as memes go. I even volunteered for it. One of my answers even has a story attached to it, because that never happens on my blog.

1.  Do you remember your first kiss?  C'mon, dish.

(This is the answer with a story...it would be a disservice not to tell it all.)

Ahh, my first kiss. I remember it well. I was at a camp for gifted children in eighth grade. I don't know where all those smarts went, but they were there once evidently. It lasted a week and there was the cutest girl there. We met on the first day during some sort of nerd activity and it was love at first sight. The night of the same day, when the others were singing Kumbaya or some sort of similar crap around a camp fire, we were off talking. We could hear the fire crackling and it was a nice, cool evening. We stopped talking at some point and just stared into each other's eyes. Then we leaned in for the The Kiss. It was a first kiss for both of us, but there wasn't any awkwardness, it was just sweet and tender and it felt right.

We spent the rest of the week alternately sneaking across the camp grounds and crawling into each other's respective tent to steal away whatever moments we could. The counselors only watched the front of the old army tents and left the rear of the tent unguarded. C'mon people, we were gifted. You had to do better than that.

When the week was over, we said our goodbyes. Our schools played each other in football, so once a year we would meet at the game since we were both in our respective school's band. We never kissed again, we just caught up and shared stories and went our separate ways after the game.

My freshman year of college, I got a card in the mail for my birthday that had a picture of Miss Piggy on the front of the card laying in a tent. When you opened it, Kermit was pictured entering the rear of the tent with the phrase, "You can sneak into my tent any time." It was from her.

Good times.

2.  What lesson did you learn from your parents (good, or bad) that will, or has, influenced your style of parenting?

From my mom: Stand up for for your child no matter what. That and I have her sense of humor... that plays a huge part in my parenting.

From my dad: "Because I said so" is a good enough reason. Also, give your kids enough rope to hang themselves and pull their butt out of the fire when they need it because most kids (or maybe it was just me) are too dumb to learn otherwise.

3.  Was there ever a time in your life that you passed on an opportunity that you really wanted, only to realize later that it was more of a benefit that you didn't take advantage of it?

Not really. One of my favorite things to do is jump at the chance to do just about anything, regardless of whether I've thought it out or not. It's a bumpy road sometimes, but I have some great memories and haven't yet wound up killing myself.

4.  The year is 1999.  Ten years ago, today, what were doing?  Better yet, what did you THINK that you'd be doing ten years later, and how close were you?

I was working at the university that I work at now and had been married to my wife for almost five years. We had bought our house a year or so earlier and were so excited about it. We had finally climbed out of debt, so that was pretty awesome too.

What did I THINK I'd be doing ten years later? I pretty much envisioned myself where I'm at now (it's a good job) except that I thought I would have had a book published by now. I also didn't expect that we would have had to have adopted, but I wouldn't change that for the world.

5.  If you could write a letter to the future you, reminding yourself of anything at all, how would that letter read?

Dear idiot,

Just a few things in case you managed to forget them in the interim... Remember to find the humor in everything that you possibly can. Practice patience, you know how you get if you don't. Put your mind to it (and your back if you have to) and you'll get to where you want to be. Spend as much time as you can with your wife and your child. No one ever said on the deathbed, "I wish I had worked more."

If you forgot any of that stuff, you deserved to be called an idiot. If not, you can just crumble this letter up and toss it... job well done.

 

Okay, that's that with the interview questions. I'd like to give a big thanks to Sher for coming up for such great questions and for just being Sher. You're awesome, babe. No question about it.

If anyone is interested in being interviewed, just leave an "interview me" or "do me" in a comment and I'll come up with some questions for you. All shiny new and personalized! I'll take the first two "do me's" because I'm too lazy to come up with questions for more than two people ;)

 

Technorati Tags: First kiss,parenting,letter to self,ten years past

Randomness + An Award

A new collective noun inspired by my recent usage of "murder of crows." I present "terror of toddlers" as a new collective noun.

Usage: "I invited one too many kids to my son's party and ended up with a terror."

What could possibly be more appropriate? Get the word out.

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On a car ride with The Boy, The Wife, his grandmother and grandfather...

The Boy (in reference to something completely unrelated): "I'm confused."
Me: "Just wait until you get married."

The Boy's grandfather laughed and for some reason his grandmother offered to let me walk the rest of the way. I felt The Look from my wife bounce harmlessly off.

Was I wrong? I think not.

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The Boy's grandparents wanted him to spend the night since she hadn't seen him much over the holidays. We, of course, were more than happy to unload him and go enjoy ourselves oblige.

The Wife asked, "Would you like to go to your grandparents' for the night?"
The Boy nodded and replied, "I could use some time away from you people."

I can't fault him for stating the obvious. I actually admire his wisdom at such an early age.

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An Award

This award comes from Nonna at Nonna's Nonsense. I would like to thank her sincerely for it and apologize for taking so long in getting around to acknowledge it. Stop by and check her out if you get a chance. I really do like this award because it emphasizes the community of blogging. Here it is:

“These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must may choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award.”

Okay, so I changed a word in there because I never give awards and expect people to pass them on. I only give awards out to people that I enjoy reading and that's that. If you choose to pass it on, great. If not, just as great. No pressure, just props for the reads that I like.

Also, charming? This is not a word that I generally use, but there it is, somewhat out of place on my blog...sigh. The perils of copy and paste.

Now for the victims:

Miss Grace @ Miss Grace's Disgrace.

CK @ Creative Kerfuffle.

Khadra @ Crab Goggles.

Weasel Momma @ World of Weasels.

Stacey @ Is There Any Mommy Out There?

Laura @ Living Laura.

Sarah @ Sarah's Blogtastic Adventures.

Bern @ Bernthis.com.

I'll get around to notifying everyone they got the award but I'm too lazy right now. Hopefully, they'll just figure it out all be themselves.

and that's a wrap...

 

Technorati Tags: this was supposed to be a quickie post but then an award got involved and it took up lots of time - how does this happen?