52 Weeks of Adventure

Talking to an editor this morning, the short one, I came the the realization that time moves by faster, the older you get.
Now I know I'm going to get virtual slapped, and possible physically slapped, by people a few years older than me when I say this:
"I'm already 26 and what do I have to show for it?"

Sure, I have had a few poems published, and I am a Master SCUBA Diver, and have a black belt in Tae Known Do and met Hulk Hogan in a bathroom at the airport.
But days and weekends tend to blur together in an obscure mess to the point I can't tell one weekend from another. I feel like my life is draining in a sea of mediocrity mediocritiness.
So I came up with a game plan to make each week more memorable.
In theory, if I can separate the different between weekends, just maybe, I can cause the forward march of time to slow to a crawl.

Here is my plan:
52 Weeks in a Year
52 Things I rarely do or have never done.

Each week I will do one of these tasks. I will then blog about it and take pictures to remember each moment, where time slowed down just a bit.
Being as I just came up with this idea for a resolution, my list is rather small.

Here are a few things I've been thinking about:

1. Hiking at Enchanted Rock
2. Camping at Lost Maples
3. Touring the San Antonio Missions
4. Renaissance Festivals
5. A weekend motorcycle trip stopping at B&Bs.
   
6. SCUBA Diving
7. Weekend at the Beach
8. Eating at my favorite place for wings in the world, Pluckers in Austin and trying the Cookie Bar up there as well.
9. Traveling to LA to see my brother
10. An all day movie marathon at a theater
    

I know that's only 10 adventures, because I can see the list numbered above, but I'm looking for ideas. Other people may have suggestions of activities I'm not even aware of.
Weigh in, let me know what you think.

Crazy People

When I am at home in my apartment, I do my best to keep to myself. Let's just say me and my apartment neighbors do NOT mix. I try to be friendly and outgoing but, it seems, no matter where I live I am plagued with people even crazier than I am!
In one apartment, the upstairs neighbor would have parties until 7am almost every night of the week, ignoring my pleas for silence, or an invite.
In another apartment the neighbor across from me was a Car Salesman. That should have been a red flag right there, but I felt bad for the guy. He had been tossed out by his wife who then moved her boyfriend into the home with her. I became a sympathetic friend, offering my assistance in any way. Long story short I gave out hundreds of dollars to help him, not to mention he stole a couple hundred dollars worth of clothing, then tried to guilt trip me that I wasn't helping him enough.
I breathed a sigh of relief when I moved to San Antonio. My neighbors are nice and quiet; despite the fact there is a family of four living next door in the same sized apartment as me. I thought I was free and clear of crazy neighbors... until Thursday.

My apartment complex backs up against another. The two are separated by a black wrought iron fence. I leave my bike under a parking canopy that sits next to the fence and park my Durango beside that.
Oh Thursday, I started taking the cover off my bike so I can go for a ride, crazy neighbor free, then I hear him speak. I look through the chipped iron fence and see a man, disheveled hair, shoeless, shirtless, standing there staring at me. Here's a bit of the conversation that followed:

Me: Excuse me?
Hippie: Hi.
Me: Hi.
Hippie: That your bike? (He points to the bike that I am removing the cover from)
Me: ...yes.
Hippie: So where's your boat?
Me: I'm sorry?
Hippie: I see you gots a trailer hitch, where's ya'lls boat?
Me: No boat, just the trailer hitch to tow things.
Hippie: How big is that bike?
Me: 1500CC (maybe goes 90mph)
Hippie: I used to ride motorcycles. Take my friends bike out for a spin. He wanted me to buy it. I didn't wear a helmet or nothing. One time I got that bike up to 200 on the freeway, even did a wheelie. But power on a bike like yours will kill you.

He then proceeded to talk to me about his brother who works on motorcycles and for Jesse James, the West Coast Chopper dude. Then he started running off to grab an article about motorcycles to show me. I told him I was actually running late to meet friends, which was true.
We said our goodbyes then I ran the cover inside and grabbed my helmet. I get on the bike and he shouts at me again, I look back and he is thrusting the article through the fence pointing at his brother then at Jesse James, side by side. I told him I really had to go and said goodbye again, then he told me one more story about how he almost bought the bike made for Jesse James. I managed to escape and revved my engine peeling out of the parking lot, glad to escape the onslaught of crazy.
When I returned a few hours later he was still there, sitting on a set of stairs by the fence. He stood up and anxiously faced me, to talk more about Jesse James I imagine. I picked up my cellphone and took my helmet off. My girlfriend thankfully called, giving me a reason to talk on the phone, ignoring him standing there. So far I haven't seem him again, but I know he will pop up when I lease expect it!

Beard Update

As you person, or persons, may or may not know, I am working on a futile attempt to grow a beard. This is probably the longest amount of time I have ever gone without shaving. Now many of you may not be able to tell, but there is a different over time. I have been taking pictures, cataloging my seemingly vain attempt.

The picture below is 14 Days without shaving.

Now you can see, hair in the front and along the side. Due to my Cherokee blood, my hair grows painstakingly slow. Typically hair doesn't fill in on my cheeks, just down the sideburns and underneath the chin.

18 Days:

21 Days:

As you can see there isn't much of a different in a week, unless you look closely. But there is plenty of time to see if my facial hair doesn't suddenly sprout and give me a wooly, albiet sultry, beard.

Only time will tell. I won't shave it until I leave for Los Angeles, but that is in a month.

The Beard Issue

The idea may be laughable, improbable and, dare I say, impossible.
I have given this a lot of thought and have been persuaded by many a friend. The whole thing could end up a disaster. But like every great step in life, you never know until you try.
The decision has finally been made: I'm growing a beard.

(Preferably, not like this one)

Now stifle those giggles and don't think I didn't see you roll your eyes. It is possible for me to have facial hair. From 16 to 22 I had a goatee. From 22 to 24 I was clean shaven, then from 24 on I have had a very nice soul patch.
It occurred to me that I have never attempted a beard. I know I have some Native American in me and therefore facial hair grows extremely slow, to the point of agony. I'm itching like crazy!
A group of friends encouraged me to try growing a beard, "just see what happens."
It has been a week and a half now without shaving. Many of you probably haven't even noticed. My 10 days without shaving looks like some guys after 24 hours. Will I be able to grow a full beard or will it come across stalkerish/rapist? Not exactly the look I'm going for. I do know though, that if I just grow a mustache, I look like a white guy trying to be Hispanic.

So, let's all watch along and see how these "beard" thing works out.

Goodbye Gum, Sweet Gum

As many of you know, up until yesterday I had a pack of gum. Now, this wasn't your ordinary pack of chewy delight, it came with the name "Big e Pak" (name and grammar intentional for effective marketing) and had a total of 60 pieces of gum. I bought one before but it was so popular, I decided to get another on Sunday.

Most people might call me weird, a nerd or even (on the occasion) a jerk, but I would like to think of myself as a nice guy. For example, I generously share my wonderfully tasting gum with anyone in the newsroom who would like a piece. Mario (who prefers to be called Reuteger in blogs like these) usually saves everyone the trouble of having to ask me and simply removes the gum from my bag and casually passes it around to everyone, who in turn thank him for his generosity.

You may think it sounds a wonderful time, sharing gum and talking about life, the universe and everything but all that came to a screeching halt yesterday. Mario took the gum from my bag, as usual, and passed it around to everyone who wanted some delicious flavor.
Julie had gotten herself a piece and tossed the pack to the intern. During it's mid-air flight, the pilot of the "Big e Pak" hit some turbulence and announced they were going down and all passengers should jump from the confines of the plastic pack and take their chances free-falling to the ground. Like complient sheep all 50+ pieces of gum remaining, burst through the opening and spilled out all over the ground.
Many around the room chuckled and laughed... but they couldn't feel the pain welling up inside of me. They were so young, I didn't even get to chew on all of them and put them back for my unsuspecting coworkers.

(Spearmint August 17 - August 19, 2008)

Though our time together may have been brief, I will never forget the tragedy of my latest "Big e Pak." We had become close over the past two days, I even named it. Spearmint.
Goodbye dear Spearmint. We will miss you.

The Wedding

*I forgot to post this blog last Monday, so this is a week late referring to the weekend of August 8, 9. Thank you for your time*

I am back from the wedding. I took tons of pictures but apparently my camera is kind of crappy, so most didn't turn out. It was a very busy weekend, what with the wedding and Shannon's birthday and all.
The bachelor party was simple. Trey isn't the kind of guy who wants adult entertainers and drinks until you can't walk. He wanted a Christian party, so that's just what we threw.
It began at Speed Zone (imagine go-karts, but for adults) throw in a couples of beers and some video games and you got yourself a party. Which was great because that was exactly what we were trying to throw.
From there we went to Papasitos for fajitas and drinks. Then finally we went to Trey's sister's house for the rest. His sister was at the bachelorette party, so it was her husband and us in a 3,000 Sq Ft House. It was nice. They are obviously living the American dream: Having everything you could ever want in exchange for massive, massive debt. We drank beer and played poker for about 4hours. I'm not that experienced in Texas Hold 'Em but I managed to hold my own, even coming in second in our mini-tournament against guys who make a killing when they hit Vegas.
The next day was the wedding rehearsal and dinner. Not much to say here, lots of joking around. No one took it seriously. The bachelor and the rest of the guys went to Oklahoma to gamble, I however stayed because it was Shannon's birthday weekend. We went to a showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show at a movie theater in Ft. Worth. Beneath the screen, performers acted out the film. It was... unique.
Then it was the wedding day. We made some last minute adjustments to the positions of groomsmen and bridesmaids on the stage, then us men went in the back and got dressed. The Groom himself, Trey, seemed pretty calm right up until the point when we had to leave. Then it hit him, that this was really happening.
The bride was feeling the same, as the wedding was delayed until she could catch her breath. It was a pretty ceremony, they both looked incredibly happy.
The reception was just as fun. 5 course meal, dancing, wine. Then came my toast. They let me know about 5 minutes until Go Time. I had to make one at the same time as the Maid of Honor. She was way too nervous to go first, so manned up and broke the ice. Surprisingly, I managed to make the wedding guests laugh. From what I hear, it was a nice toast.
Finally the night ended with Trey and his new bride Jen hopping on a Gondola instead of a car and being rowed down the canal for a nice relaxing romantic trip as man and wife.

(Here's a picture of Shannon and I at the wedding)

Last Minute Toast

My buddy Trey is getting married. When it comes to most things in life he tends to wait until the very last minute to do anything. Thankfully, his bride is the exact opposite and has had everything set in place weeks before the big day. Trey and I have known each other since we were little nerds at the age of 12; I knew without a doubt I would be part of the wedding. Being best man or not was something that remained to be seen. The decision was made and I was not chosen, which is fine. The best man is a guy who as known Trey since he was nine, dude's got three years on me.

In any case, Trey and his best man, Aaron, are very similar in waiting until the last minute. The wedding is this Sunday, August 10th. I have been trying to call Aaron for weeks to get info on the bachelor party. It wasn't until Sunday when he finally returned my call. Come to find out, he hadn't made any plans and decided to pass the bachelor party planning over to me. Great, that means I have exactly a week to plan a party I have never planned before. Sure, I've been to the drunken adventures with many of my buds the night before they go off to the slaughter. Many forgotten memories of, driving go-karts drunk, or drunken cow-tipping, or even the occasional drunken knife fight. Still doesn't mean I know what I'm doing. Yes I drive a car, that doesn't mean I know how it works. I usually play such things off as witchcraft.

Toast?

On top of planning the party Trey calls on Monday, yesterday, and asks me to be one of the four people giving a toast at the reception. Don't get me wrong, it's an honor to give a speech about my best friend. Then I realize I also don't know how to do that. Granted, I got A's in all my speeches for all my college courses, but this is different. It's not for a grade, this will have meaning and substance. Plus everyone including Trey, his wife, my girlfriend, my parents, his parents and all our mutual friends will be judging me. If I make a mistake one by one they will disown me until I'm left with that awkward cousin no one wants to talk to but invited him anyway because you'd never hear the end of it if you didn't.

or Toast?

Two items dumped on me at the last minute that I don't really have an iota of how to do. I will do my best without hesitation because this is Trey's one and only wedding... I hope. If he can manage to find a second woman that would be willing to put up with him, I will eat this blog. Don't ask me how.

Any tips or suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

Best Beer in the World, A Tasting of

If you have read my blog, you probably saw the entry where I paid a ridiculous amount of money for a beer. I know it's been awhile but I finally got around to acquiring some editing software. The occasion of trying the beer for the very first time was actually caught on camera. I tried to add some production value and make it fun.
This is me trying the uber rare, Westveleteren 12.
Enjoy. Or, you know, try to.

What the Crap?

We have been in a little bit of a drought here in San Antonio, so the past two days of rain have been a welcome surprise. I know some people hate rain, or sunshine, or snow, or snowy rain or rainy sunshine, but not me. I love all the changes mother nature throws at us. The only time I am not jovial about these naturally occurring curve balls is when I'm driving.
Case in point, I get off of work yesterday and head home. As my trip began there was a slight sprinkle, nothing that would bring us out of the drought, but enough to be satisfied we are seeing rain. As I get on I-10 and pick up speed the rain begins to fall heavier. Traffic slows well below
the speed limit as the rain continues to pummel our horseless carriages. As I near my exit, traffic from the middle rain begins to swerve into the right or left lanes, dodging an object in the middle. Through the downpour I could see the object slowly approaching.
What was it? It was large, coming up to the hood of my Durango; it also had a pale color on one side.
"What the crap?" I said outloud. Seconds later I found out how right I was.

A porta-potty lay on its side right in the middle lane of I-10. The door had even been jarred open from the fall off the truck. I couldn't help but laugh and I wish I had a camera on me at that moment.

Phil & Ryan's Excellent Adventure

Nerd Alert:
This entry is me boasting about my nerdiness. So if nerds, geeks, dorks, dweebs, twerps or goobs make you uncomfortable, it's probably best you stop reading this, for own safety and to salvage what self-respect I have.
Generally, my weekends are pretty uneventful, save for the occasional weekend when the girlfriend comes down from Dallas. I spend my Saturdays and Sundays sleeping in, ordering fast food, watching movies, going to Sea World and perfecting laziness to an art form.
This particular weekend was a bit different. It took me and my buddy Ryan on a wonderful journey that any nerd, and other thesaurus related terms mentioned above, would appreciate.
Saturday, I casually woke up around 10AM, after a hard night of playing video games. The current games I'm addicted to: Indiana Jones Lego: The Original Adventures and Metal Gear Solid 4: Sons of the Patriots. After styling my infamous hair and dressing to the nines in my baggy shorts and wrinkled shirt, I decided to run a few errands.
Spontaneity is a rare form for me, but I suddenly got the urge to visit Sea World. I have a season pass so it's no biggie. Got myself a drink, saw the sharks, the penguins and a dolphin or two. There may have been an man dressed as a penguin... but I can't remember because I was swept up in all the excitement. During my time at Sea World, my buddy Ryan gave me a call.
His baby mama went to the river and he had nothing to do.
I drove over and we played video games for a bit then got to talking about how we would spend our day.

I have a Sega Genesis, it's an old school gaming system from the late 80's to the early 90's. When I was in Dallas to see Shannon, I found an old game that I loved to play, NBA Jam and picked it up.
So while Ryan and I were brainstorming, I got the idea to go old school video game shopping. We decided to hit up local pawn shops. Store after store, we had no success. On our way to yet another pawn shop I decided to check the white pages on my phone and began calling all the game stores that I did not recognize.
I called one and the owner told me "We are unlike any other store in the world."
Naturally, I was intrigued. "Go on," I told him.
They are a retro gaming, arcade, card game and Role-Playing Game center. Just the night before they had received a massive shipment of old retro games. Jackpot!
When we arrived we were greeted my a man named Cliff. We were shown back to the dozen or so boxes that Cliff had not had a chance to look through since the man who sold them to him dropped them off.
Ryan and I took it upon ourselves to go through the boxes and began putting items in sections. NES with NES, SNES with SNES, Sega to Sega, Atari to Atari, the list went on and so did the hours.

(NES)

(SNES)

(Sega)

(Atari)

An undetermined amount of time later, we had gone through every box and even set aside stuff for ourselves. I got a wireless controller port for the NES controllers, Link 1 and 2 in the original gold cartridges with a few other things.
Their gaming guru, the man who fixes and cleans all the retro stuff that comes in, just happened to pop in. The man with the gut and the Aussie accent spent the next stretch of undetermined amount of time telling us about the history of video games.

Fun Fact:
Did you know that Nintendo originally was designing a CD based gaming system to compete with the Sega Saturn. Nintendo was working with Sony on developing this system when they screwed Sony over and the deal ended. Sony sat back and decided they had all this hardware, why not add a few more things and create their own system. Thus Nintendo's folly led to the birth of the Playstation.

We slowly worked our way to the door after making our purchase, and getting a few items for free, since they had free labor from us arranging all the items from the many boxes.
During the Aussie's incoherent babbling, we did hear him mention a retro gaming store in New Braunfels that was an impressive sight. It was about 10PM at this point, the D-Pad in NB was open until Midnight. We looked at each other and yelled "Road Trip!" The rest of the journey was in silence because Ryan then yelled "Jinx."
After getting lost, then having to call and find directions because they weren't were Google said they were, thanks for that, we found our way to D-Pad.
Inside, it was like a mini-mecca for those who love retro games. Walls of Sega, NES, SNES, Saturn and the like. We perused and gawked I think I loitered for a while in the corner. I decided to buy a few games, for the NES (which I don't have) and for the Sega (I do)
We drove home and I played my newly purchased Sega games. Since I have been on a retro kick. I went a bought an original Nintendo. I didn't work so I took it back and had Shannon buy me a system that plays both NES and SNES games. She's bringing it down this weekend. I'm excited.
There is the full-extent. I hope you aren't blind due to the severity. It was a fun day. Now I'm going to go home and play "Zombies Ate my Neighbors."

Awkward Scenario: Episode 1

This blog will deal with an awkward scenario I encountered a week ago. I debated about whether or not to blog about this, but I was given the OK by a certain middle party.
I was in Dallas over June 6th - 8th, visiting friends and family. This particular event happened Saturday night.
Shannon, the girlfriend, and I went out to a bar called Cape Buffalo. There we met her parents to celebrate their mutual friend, Jennifer's, birthday.
To begin with, I asked Shannon all day, What time does it start?"
She kept shrugging off the question, saying "We'll get there when we get there."
We settle down to watch Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. About an hour into the flick, we get a call from Shannon's mother Cathee asking where we were.
The party started at 8PM and it was currently, 9:45PM. Shannon's parents had already been there for over an hour. The birthday girl was turning 30, so I guess she decided her friends couldn't stay out as late and started the party 8PM instead of 11PMish.
We rush to the bar where everyone has already been drinking. Jennifer is trashed and spouts profanity at me, a person she just met.

I couldn't tell if she was an angry drunk or just plain drunk. I talked with one man who works for Texas schools. He travels from district to district checking up on them. He was really boring.
I talked to Greg, Shannon's step-father, about Horse Racing, because Big Brown just had a disappointing loss.
To be honest, I don't know a thing about horse racing. Here's what I do know:
Horses race each other around a track. The small people that ride them around this track are called Jockies. They wear brightly colored outfits so people can tell them apart from all the other little people. Spectators bet money on this sport. One of the horses is named Big Brown.
That is the extent of my horse racing knowledge, but Greg had a few drinks before I got there and I was able to fool him about what I did not know.
From there Shannon's parents, Shannon and I all drove to a place where everyone knows their name, The Apple...

It's a small dive tucked away in between a restaurant and a gas station.
Now all this is leading up to the awkward scenario.
After a few drinks at the Apple, Greg settles into his chair with an unknown liquored drink. He leans forward staring at me from across the table and in his low guttural voice asked a question that completely blindsided me, "When are you going to make an honest woman out of my daughter?"
Considering Shannon is not caring child nor will she, unless we decide to make that life long commitment called marriage, this question came as quite a shock.
He continued, "You two have been dating almost seven months, don't you think it's about time you settle down?"
Now, seven month to me, is almost like a grace period. I get to know you, you get to know me. That is nowhere near my safe zone, of the "marriage talk." For me that's a minimum of two years.
"When we are both ready," was my reply.
"Because I have eight shotguns." He said taking a swig of his drink.


How on earth do you respond to that? Is he serious? Or is this his attempt at a joke? So, I responded with the only words that came to mind, "I have nine bulletproof vests."

This made him smile and the two ladies laugh nervously. The whole time, they are looking as red as the fruit in the bar's title.

He pressed again and this time I decided to answer truthfully.
"We both have goals we would like to accomplish before settling down. The final decision will be mine and Shannon's. Neither of us are ready just yet. When and if we are, we will go from there, but ultimately the decision should be hers and mine. There is no reason to rush into anything."
About that time, Cathee decided that was enough probing of their daughter's boyfriend. Luckily my name was called for karaoke a short time later, and I was able to escape from such an awkward scenario. Honestly, I didn't know how to respond, so I flew by the seat of my pants. Wrong or right, can't change it now.

The Itch of the Ear

My right ear itches. It's clean. I know because I clean it at the beginning of every month. So it can't be that. I scratch it again and it still itches.

(This is not my ear)
I cough because maybe it is my throat itching going up into my ear canal; it still doesn't help.
Am I going to die? Reason I ask because I've been doing this "Living" thing for the past 25 years and I kind of like it. I would like to keep doing it on account of liking it.

A Pricy Beverage

I have a query for my faithful readers: How much do you spend on a bottle of beer? On average I'm sure it's probably anywhere from $2 to $5 depending on what bar or grocery store you purchased said alcohol. I used to be a Budweiser or Miller Lite kind of guy, so my 6-pack price was relatively cheap. Recently I have been upgrading my taste in beer. As usual, this story must first be setup with a second story that I begin after starting the first story.

When my buddy Marcus moved to San Antonio around a month ago, he and I fell back into our old college ways of hitting up a bar a few times a week. Normally I have a beer at night right after a shower but before I cry myself to sleep in a fetal position. The benefit of having an old college drinking buddy back in town is we can relive the old days and drink like old times back in the old days, though our alcohol tolerance isn't what it used to be… not by a long shot. We were, like, the beer kings. Well, more I was the Beer Prince and Marcus was the Beer King. That boy could drink.

So we began to look for a good watering hole, settling on Flying Saucer. Because:

1: It is real close to my apartment. Worst case scenario I could walk home.

2: Their UFO Card.



Essentially their UFO card is a rewards program for drinking beer at their establishment. It is card that encourages you to drink, and the more you drink, the better the rewards. The goal is to try 200 different kinds of beer. When the 200 mark is reached you get your name printed on a Saucer. So Marcus and I decided it would be a fun goal to try for. Since I simplycouldn't drink 200 Budweiser, it forced me to expand my horizons.

Now when I go to the grocery store to buy beer, my 6-pack costs significantly more than before. There are so many other good beers I have discovered that put the generic stuff to shame. That began research into other facets of beer. Such as which beer is generally liked and which beer is generally spit out at the bartender who is then beaten for serving such a bitter brew?

After a little research, this led to the ultimate question:



What is the best beer in the world?





At first thought, I assumed this would be a relative question. After all, everybody loves something different and hates what his neighbor loves. So finding the world's best beer would be next to impossible to determine, right? I agree… or did.

Upon my quest to discover the world's best brew, I found that it wasn't that difficult to find what was widely accepted to be the best.

That title goes to Westvleteren 12.

(This is what the beer would look like if I took a picture)


Haven't heard of it? That's not surprising; it is brewed in a Belgium monastery. The monks do not export the beers. Literally the only way you can get a bottle is to travel there yourself and buy them from the monks. Or if you are lucky, find some one who did travel there and is willing to part with one. Now it may be the curiosity of the best beer ever or it may be that I simply cannot go up to HEB and pick one up… but I wanted to try it, bad.

As luck would smile down on me, I managed to find a single unopened bottle on sale on eBay. The guy recently returned from his trip to Belgium with his girlfriend and had one he wanted to part with.

I put in the bid, which was a bit high for my taste, and won!

The guy had a solid eBay rating, so it is legit… I think.

My bottle of Westvleteren 12 should arrive by Friday and I can give the ultimate beer, a taste. I just hope with the shipping costs, it will arrive in one piece. I can't tell you how excited I am to try what is called the "Best Beer in the World." This may be the and only time I get to try this. Hopefully it lives up to the expensive hype!

So how much did I spend on a single bottle of beer? I guarantee it's more than you have spent on a single bottle. Are you ready? For a single bottle of Westvleteren 12, dubbed the "Best Beer in the World" I paid $40.00.

And now you know.

Not So Safe

This is a blog I wrote for MySpace but I'm bringing it over to add to my blog postings. Gotta get those numbers up!

Let me ask you a question: Do you know how much a locksmith costs? I don't know off the top of my head either. However, I did come precariously close to finding that answer out for myself. This incident took place last weekend. No, not as in yesterday, I mean the weekend before that. For those of you who still might be confused, let me give out date of these happenings. May 10th, 2008 (Saturday) around 7pmish. Hey, it's a word, look it up.
The girlfriend, Shannon, and I were running a few errands, doing a little shopping. She's a girl, she likes to do those things. I play the role of good boyfriend; I follow her around, huff, sigh and roll my eyes.
To move on in this story we must first go back a few hours. That Friday night we found out Stone Temple Pilots is coming to the Alamo City. Shannon was so excited we got up early the very next day and purchased the tickets the moment they went on sale. To save a couple of bucks, we opted to pick them up at a local Ticketmaster outlet, instead of mailing them or printing them for a fee.
Being the airheaded couple we are, we left to run those errands without the confirmation number that allowed the person behind the counter to find and print our STP passes.
After running around finishing our errands, we ran back by my apartment. I had the bright idea of taking the apartment key off my key ring and giving it to the girlfriend, so we wouldn't have to kill the engine (which I hear uses up 7 minutes of gas everytime)
So Shannon runs inside, grabs the confirmation number and comes back out handing me the key, or so she says.
We run to HEB, get the tickets, grab liquor from the nearby liquor store that's close to and not too far away from HEB were we grabbed the tickets.
Shannon and I get back to my apartment and I go looking for they key she gave me, only to not find it. Anywhere. We emptied the bags, searched our pockets, under the chairs, in her pockets again, even in the glove compartment. Nothing.
Trying to remain calm, we trace our steps back to the HEB to the ticket counter all over the parking lot and even to the nearby liquor store that's close to and not too far away from HEB were we grabbed the tickets. Again, Nothing.
So I call my apartment complex's answering service requesting some one to come out and open the door. Surprise, there is a $25 dollar charge to do so. Despite one of the employees lives the next building over. The 5 minutes of her time it would take for her to walk over to the office, get the back-up key, unlock my apartment, return the key and go back to her place is worth the $25 fee.
I agree to pay the fee, but they can't get ahold of the manager, so we had to wait.
After a minute or two of sitting around, Shannon's light bulb went off above her head, which let me tell you is brighter than most people's. She knows stuff. Running around my building she said "I have an idea."
i followed as she jumped my back railing and went straight to my sliding door.
"It's locked" I said in dispair. When suddenly the door slide open. She told me, all you have to do is jiggle the door and it opens. My rush of relief was followed by terror. Holy Crap, anyone could have jiggled that door and taken everything in my place! Needless to say now I have a 10,000LB security bar. It sucks I lost my key, but it was good because who knows who might have broken in.
Thanks sweetie for losing my key, I know you say it was me who lost it, but I know the truth. You lost my key to show me how vunerable my apartment was to thieves. Thank you for taking the fall.
Word to the wise, if you don't have a security bar for your sliding door, get one!

The Donation that Keeps on Giving

I wear clothes. Now I know that is a generic statement and would automatically be assumed. Let's face it though, not everyone does. There are some freaky cultures out there saying it's ok to walk around in the buff.
Being part of modern society we must invest in clothing for various occasions to be socially acceptable in public. While a three-piece suit can get you into an exclusive restaurant the same can't be said for a swimming suit.
This pointless intro brings me to my story. I was at work last week sitting with my fellow producers. It was business as usual as we prepared for our respective shows. I looked over at Mario, a co-worker, and noticed his shirt. I kept thinking to myself "Boy that shirt looks familiar. Where have I seen that shirt before?"
I finally came to the realization that I had a shirt exactly like that one. I also remembered that I hadn't seen my shirt in a few months... otherwise I would have worn it.
So I turned to Mario and jokingly asked "Are you wearing my shirt?"



(This shirt looks nothing like the shirt in this story)



He told me "No," that he bought this shirt months ago. Still I couldn't get over the fact that it looked so similar to mine own.
So I asked him where he bought the shirt and he replied "Goodwill." Then it came back to me that I dropped three bags of clothing off at a goodwill destination a few months ago. I asked which Goodwill and it was the exact store I donated mine to. Everything was matching up... except one crucial piece of evidence.
"That can't be mine," I told Mario "My shirt had a stai..."
As he turned around, I spotted the final clue that would unwrap this mystery; a stain.
It was my shirt. I gave it away simply because I couldn't get over the stain... however Mario didn't seem to mind it staring people back in the face. Kinda like that bleach pen commercial where the stain talks over the guy in the interview.
We both got a good laugh that I donated a piece of clothing and my co-worker bought it. From this point on, we decided to take out the middle man and I will give all my hand-me-downs to him.

The Beginning

So this is it; the beginning of my blogs. Don't get me wrong, I've blogged before. I'm a good blogger. People get excited when they see I've posted a new entry. This is the first time I have had a website dedicated to transcribing my thoughts into word onto a computer screen to travel through the internet, through your eyes and into your brains.
It’s quite the process and I don’t pretend to know how it works. What I do know is that I have succumbed to peer-pressure and thus begins my blog.

Testing

This is a test of the emergency broadcast system. If this were a real emergency, you would have heard something like ."SSSSSSSCCCCRRRRREEEEAAAAACCCCCCCCHHH!"