Is this Blog still being done?

I know! Slap me naked and hide my clothes, I haven't updated my blog in a while. Okay, in forever and a year.

Tis the season to be up to my ears in work and chores. My job is keeping me so busy, when I finally get home from yoga or ear modeling classes, I hardly have time to blog.

I'll get better. Promise. Wanna know the "cliff-notes" of what I've been doing?

1. I got the flu. Sucked. And I still went to work. Cause I want to be able to tell little kids that I am better than their parents who went to school in the snow up-hill both ways. I go to work in the snow up-hill both ways AND sick. But I drive...which I won't tell them.

2. We decorated the outside of our house with Christmas lights. When I say we, I mean me. And I was sick. And it was cold. And I was having to walk up-hill. Don't you feel sorry for me yet?

3. I ate too much turkey at Thanksgiving. Besides making me extremely sleepy, it gave me the worst turkey-toots. Had to refrain from yoga for a couple of days to prevent killing people.

4. Went Christmas shopping. I've learned that the older I get, I have little to no patience for dumb ugly people. And the town we live in is filled with dumb ugly people who breed. And all shop at the same time that I want to.

5. I changed my hairstyle. I now part it on the right side. Yea, right! The only hair on my head long enough to part grows out of my ears. Thinking about getting highlights next.

So, will you still love me and not throw rocks at me and post ugly comments? Please?

My husband is telling me to hurry up and get off the computer. We are on our way to go shopping and surround ourselves with dumb ugly people. Maybe I'll eat some turkey before we head out to Wal-Mart and see if I can get some people to think their little babies in the shopping carts had an accident? That sounds like fun! I'll let you know how it turns out.

Moms Surprise Birthday Party

This past weekend we had a "Surprise Birthday Party" for my mom. I thought organizing a get-together wouldn't be any problem.

I got zits from all the stress.

I don't do zits. But luckily I had some old cover-up that was close to my skin color. The party turned out wonderful, even if my name should have been changed to "mayonnaise face" and I chewed every nail on my left hand.

We got a 6-foot Subway Sandwich, lots of chips, dressed up potato salad (Recipe: go to Wal-Mart, buy their potato salad, add chopped celery, and place in a bowl from your kitchen...fools even the toughest critic), and a metal tub filled with every soda imaginable...except for Diet Cherry Vanilla Chocolate Blueberry and Oregano Dr Pepper.

Everyone hid in Dad's clinic. About 25 to 30 of Mom's closest friends with their families showed up! Mom was having a very bad day and needed sugar or a stiff drink when she got to the clinic with Dad. Dad played it off that they were going out to eat, but needed to go to the clinic to do something "very important." She was going towards the front door when the lights went on, people screamed "Surprise" and Mom soiled her Depends. Just kidding! It was Wal-Mart Brand, cause Depends cost too much.



Michael TOM wasn't able to make it, so he let Mom "borrow" his queens crown and feather boa. (Before I left to go to Paris, Michael TOM let it be known that it would be a week of me sleeping on the couch if I forgot to bring home his precious crown and boa.) Look closely at this picture. I am almost positive Mom is looking up at me and is thinking about what a wonderful son I am and that she wishes she never gave me a spanking for saying curse words in church. I just know it! Oh, and you can kinda see my baby sister, Kelly looking up at the crown. She is thinking, "One day, that crown will be mine and all my people will bow before me!"

These were some cool napkins we got for the party. You know it's a good party when there is no cake leftover, very little "dressed up" potato salad to throw away, and people ask if they can take napkins home!

Kelly screamed out, "Everyone do the Hayes tilt" right before the picture was taken and we all tilted our head to one side. All of us tend to tilt our heads whenever we have pictures. There just isn't something right with us.

It wasn't easy getting this "Surprise Party" planned, but seeing how happy it made Mom feel, sure made it worth it. She never once commented on my zitty face, tried to corner me to pop one, nor asked why I was wearing coverup make-up.

Perhaps all those years of trying on Moms make-up as a kid paid off.

Happy Birthday Mommy!! I love you very much, and though I swore I would never offer to plan another birthday party, if you asked me very nicely and gave me money, I would do it. Lots of money.

Lots.

Mama Rose's Birthday Bash

Michael TOM actually lent Mama Rose his crown and feather boa's!!!

Yesterday we had a special get-together to celebrate Mama Rose's 60th birthday!

Like all get-togethers at our home, we decided to start around 1:30 in the afternoon. The first to arrive showed up at 1:45...and Michael TOM is one of those who likes punctuality and points out how he is "never" late to anyone who is not on time. My sister-in-law, Melissa, keeps beating the "All-Time Record" for tardiness. She pulled into the driveway shortly before 3:00...and she was bringing the chicken we were grilling, so there was no starting without her! We've decided to tell her that Thanksgiving is on Wednesday evening, that way we can eat the Thanksgiving feast on Thursday around noon.

Everyone had a great time eating grilled chicken, pork chops, garlic mashed potatoes, and other of Mama Rose's favorite foods. It was so good, someone (who will remain nameless) belched in total approval. (No, it wasn't me or any other male... but I was impressed.)

For dessert, I was locked in the kitchen the night before and forced to make a cake or suffer from 47 lashings with a leather-braided belt. It was a yummy "Strawberry Poke Cake" with Cool-Whip frosting. Very low in fat and calories...until eaten. Then it's somewhat fatty and somewhat packed with calories.

With a belly full of good food and the echo of the loud belch still lingering in the air, we decided to go outside for some pictures. Michael TOM was trying his darndest to get our nieces to smile and laugh for his camera, but the smiles were very forced and the faces all looked like we shocked them by opening the door while they were sitting in a bathroom stall.

That's when I decided I could get them to smile.

I went behind my sweet and forgiving partner and pulled his pants down.

After I ran out of breath, Michael TOM caught up to me and popped me one on the bald spot of my head...okay...one of the bald spots. The laughter continued throughout the remainder of the picture taking, and even if I wasn't allowed into the house the rest of the evening, we did get a couple good pictures.

Here is "Farmer Joe", "Chunky Monkey Josh", "Mama Rose", "Gonna-Make-Mama-Rose-A-Great-Grandmother-In-6-Months Stephanie", "Take-Me-Drunk-I'm-Home Kristina", and "Sleeping-While-Smiling Melynda".

Yup, you read that right! Next year, there will be a new baby in the mix! Our niece Stephanie is expecting. We are all excited and know that she will be a great mother. Michael TOM and I think the baby should be named Michael...after her favorite Uncle Michael (me).

Kristina also just turned 21 and we wished her a happy and sober birthday. At least it was a happy birthday, if not a sober one.

Oh, and Melissa, you better not be late to Thanksgiving dinner. Otherwise I will tell everyone it was you who shook the shingles off the roof with your belching.

See you promptly at noon on Thanksgiving day.

Happy Birthday Mama Rose! Love you and wish you nothing but the best in the year to come!

Life Walk 2007

Yesterday, Michael TOM and I were lucky enough to do the 5K Life Walk with some family and great friends. It was a fundraising event for AIDS and was a whole lot of fun. The weather was really nice, which I was nervous that it would be typical Texas weather...either rainy, nasty hot, or colder than a cast-iron toilet seat on the shady side of an igloo. It turned out to be in the 70's to mid-80's. Oh, and when you got there, they had free iced-coffee from Starbucks! Definitely worth it.



Here we are just after we started walking. Notice how we are all standing straight up. I wish we had one of the finish-line. People were slouching and some running to the bathroom to relieve their bladders. No potty breaks on the walk!

Big-Sister Myrna, Vicky, freshly-colored goatee Me, Linda, Sandy, and Michael TOM...and the "Popular-Blow-Up-Ball" that was a gift at registration. People were throwing it back from the top of the line and everyone tried to keep it from touching the ground. I volleyed the balls a couple of times, and one of them hit a passing Mercedes. Snobby Mercedes drivers don't like getting their cars hit with blow-up balls. One of the many lessons learned yesterday.

After having burned all those calories, what a better way to celebrate than to eat some fattening mexican food and enjoy a margarita...or two. That is Michael TOM's sister, Tracy, in-between us. She needed "favorite-brother-in-law-Michael" to show her the right way to drink a margarita. It took me 2 margarita's to let her know the proper way of sipping one thru a straw. (If anyone out there is in need of assistance with the proper way of drinking a frozen margarita, I will make a sacrifice and teach you. You will be responsible for supplying the margaritas. Lessons are not free or cheap.)

The Aids Life Walk was such a great experience! Michael TOM and I raised over $500 for the fund-raiser, and next year we hope to double it! I am also going to practice before then to get a better and faster "spike-hit" so my blow-up beach balls will leave dents in the Mercedes. I may even try for a Jaguar.

Yoga Addiction

Okay...I guess I will admit that I am an addict. I am addicted to yoga.

It started around May when a friend of mine invited me to one of the classes at the gym we both work-out at. It was fun. Lots of weird stretching, but it was cool.

A couple of weeks later, I added another class. I was now doing yoga on Thursday and Saturday. Then my friend had to mention that there is one on Tuesday and would I be interested in going. So, I'd been doing yoga 3 times a week for quite a while when, late one night while looking on the computer, I find the schedule of classes from the chain of gyms I work-out at.

Recently, while on vacation, I went:
1. Monday at noon
2. Tuesday at 10:30
3. Tuesday again at 7:00 in the evening
4. Thursday at 6:00 (skipped Wednesday cause I was painting)
5. Saturday at 9:30

Guess it's better than smoking.

This past weekend Michael TOM and my parents went out of town. I missed yoga. I went to Barnes & Noble and bought a book about yoga while we were out of town because I was missing my "Yoga Time" from my Saturday class.

Yoga is a major stress release for me and the more I do it, the better I feel. Madonna does yoga, and she is in excellent shape! Granted, I can't bend like a pretzel and look at my own poo-hole, but that really isn't a major goal of mine.

People talk about how they do yoga for a couple of months, and then all of a sudden their bodies start doing things they never did before. No, I didn't wake up this morning and my body decided to grow boobs. But listen to what happened tonight at my recently added "Wednesday 6PM Yoga" class.

It was my 3rd time to try out this class on Wednesday night. I was running late and forgot my own yoga mat, so I got one of the "loaner" ones they have in the back closet of the classroom. Bright pink with white writing on it. What did the writing say? Okay, I'll tell you. It said, and I am not joking, "Poise Feminine Pads"...

So I took my oversized-pink tampon advertisement to the far corner of the class with hopes that no one would notice. It worked. I was a good 15 feet away from the other "yoga-ites" and closest to the mirror to check my poses. Or yoga "poises"...(sorry, couldn't resist! Stop groaning.)

I was doing really good! I was about 3 inches away from doing a full split! When the instructor had us lie on our backs and hoist our legs over our head, one of my feet actually touced the floor over my head! I was happy. My body started relaxing and I felt good.

Then the instructor had us sit in this weird "cross-legged/indian pose" while leaning over. The chime music paused for a couple of seconds. The entire room was silent. The instructor told us to "listen to our bodies and what our bodies are saying." That was when my butt decided to speak up. Yup! I ripped a "backside sneeze"..."toot"..."fart"...call it what you will.

Memories of me farting in front of "Tandra - the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader" when I was 18 flashed before me.

I opened one eye and could tell by the jiggling of the bodies in the room that most everyone was trying to stifle their giggles.

After class, I walked my red-faced self with my "Pink Poise Pad" to the closet and would not make eye-contact with anyone.

Suppose I will no longer be attending Wednesday yoga.

I know I will have a nightmare tonight about going to yoga class and my pad will have writing on it that will say, "Bean-O...for yoga with no gas."

Happy Birthday Kelly!

Today is my youngest sisters birthday! Hope she has a wild and crazy time!

This picture was taken on a recent family outing. That serpent around her neck was evil and caused her big brother to scream and run inside and soil his britches. Guess she thought she was doing the "Brittany-Spears-with-the-snake-around-her-neck" type of thing. Keep trying Kelly.

Yea, Kelly likes to smell toes. When she was a little girl, she would crawl up to people and clean between their toes. We had to keep a leash on her at church so she wouldn't crawl up to the fat lady playing the organ and try to clean the toes that the fat lady hadn't seen in years. I'm just kidding. We didn't put her on a leash...we duct-taped her to the pew.

Here is Kelly and her 3 boys...husband Travis being one of them. She can sure pop out some cute kids! Cute kids with the cleanest feet ever.

Kelly always had really long hair growing up. It was past her butt and her "hair-stylist-not-yet-gay" brother loved brushing it and styling it. I would do side ponytails, do this weird wrap thing to make it look short, and put braids all over her head...that type of thing. We decided to apply some make-up one day to complete the make-over transformation. (Notice how I say "we"...makes me not totally at fault) Well, I couldn't find Moms Estee Lauder or Clinique, so I improvised. I used markers from a marker set I had gotten for Christmas. Kelly had the prettiest shade of blue eyelids that smelled like blueberries! And I think it lasted for a couple of days. Mom didn't think the transformation was too good, and I lost my markers. Kelly didn't care, but then again, she wasn't old enough to really start talking.

So, for her birthday this year, I am considering buying a big ol' box of Sharpee markers in various colors (I don't know if she is a Fall or Spring on the color-wheel) and some toe-nail clippers. Aren't I just the best older brother a girl could be stuck with?

Happy Birthday Kelly! I love you and your shiney feet. And for old times sake, I'll braid what is left of your hair and let you wash my feet. No need to express how much I am your favorite older brother...I already know.

Shut up! I've been busy...

I've been just a little busy. So stop calling me harrassing me to update my blog. Please stop holding candle-light vigils on my front porch begging me to post something. And if I see another "Whatever happened to Michael updating his blog" bumper-sticker, I am going to scream!

I took a couple days vacation and decided to do some projects around the house. Plus, I couldn't think of any "confessions" stories from my childhood that would make my mother take a nerve pill, call a therapist and ask "now where did I go wrong?" Suppose I could tell the story of the wild party that we had at the rental home in Hurst where our elderly couple next door saw a girl streaking across their yard. No...I'll save that until after I get my Christmas present from Mom and Dad.

Remember me mentioning that Michael TOM and I had certain "feelings" about a new refrigerator. Well, I said absolutely not. No way in hell am I going to charge up a new refrigerator. I am putting my foot down! No, Michael TOM, we are not getting a new refrigerator until the other one completely dies.

Here is our new refrigerator:
I guess I can be a pushover every once in a while. But ain't it purdy? Only will cost $18 a month for the next 48 years. Great deal!!!

We have these bushes that grow along the side of our home, along the side that we never look at, so those bushes get freaky ugly when they don't get a good trim. Well, I've been wanting to cut those ugly bushes to the ground. They look like retarded dusty green butts sticking out of the ground. And the new growth on them grow out like hair plugs. Okay, now you've got the image of a retarded dusty green butt with hair plugs in your mental image. Imagine having to live with it every day on the side of your home! Michael TOM doesn't want to cut our growing butts down, but "try" to trim our butt bushes better. Little does he know I am borrowing a chainsaw from a friend of ours and the local landfill will be blessed with a heap of dusty butt bushes on my next vacation! Now, don't worry...there will be a post with pictures of the "Death of the Dusty Butt Bushes", but until then, I just want ya'll to keep that disturbing mental image you have right now.

I decided to also finish a project I started back in June. We thought that our "plain white doors" on the interior of our home just didn't have enough pizazz...pop...gayness to it, if you will. So, we went off to Home Depot and bought some trim to line the inside of the doors in. I took a picture of one of the doors to help show ya'll what exactly gay thing we did to it.

The door will eventually be painted all white after the wood trim gets primed. Which, knowing how fast I work, won't be done until around Thanksgiving when Michael TOM threatens to leave me if I don't finally finish the doors.

Oh, and UL wanted to see a picture of a "finished project" that Michael TOM and I did. Here is a picture of our new french door once everything got painted: We absolutely love our new door! Painting around it in the brown color of the wall was not fun. I choose to blame Michael TOM for us not keeping a little bit of the paint when we originally painted the wall. It's also going to be his fault that we didn't write down the name "Sherwin Williams" called it. (Do you know exactly how many freakin' shades of brown there are?) Long story short...we ended up having to paint the entire wall. Their "custom color matching" is a load of crap. The touch-ups stuck out like a prostitute in a sea of church ladies!

Suppose I better get this post finished. Got to go turn the hose on a couple of people outside holding a candle-light vigil and chanting "Post A Blog Update"...

Oh, and Mom if you are worried about the girl streakin' across the neighbors yard, I told my sister I would never tell on her. NEVER!

Lola and "Cute Nephew Joshua"...

I know! It has been quite some time since I updated the blog. I'm awful, horrible, and I do deserve to be sent to my room with no dessert. (hee hee...I've got some oatmeal creme pies hidden under my bed, but I'll never tell!)

Our internet connection decided to quit on us. Well, to tell the complete truth, we had some outdated cable connections and had to get new ones. But, we are back on and ready to blog some crap that'll make us all happy! So, smile dang it!

Here our daughter Lola is giving her favorite daddy kisses! Notice how I was thoughtful enough to have my goatee the same color as my daughters hair. I'm a loving daddy like that. But luckily you can't see the pretty purple bow I have in my side ponytail.

My sister-in-law Tracy and nephew Joshua both looking so cute! Josh turns "1" next month! Can't believe how fast these kids grow nowadays. He is such a happy kid, unless his "not-the-favorite-Uncle-Michael" scares him with his scary voice. Not Uncle Michael me...Uncle Michael-The-Other-Michael scares little children. Josh loves his bald-headed-purple-bow-wearing-Uncle-Michael.

Here Uncle Michael decides to teach our nephew the art of "feather boa" dancing. The poor kid better have a good therapist who won't think he is making up stories about his funny uncles when he gets older. Tracy is thinking "Hope my insurance will cover the type of therapy he will need in 10 years."

"These new french doors my Uncle Michael's got sure does look nice! I'll be sure to put lots of my fingerprints all over each window I can reach and act upset if "Mean Uncle Michael" tries to wipe my fingerprints off!"

What is it with cute little fingerprints on the window? I can't bear to wipe them off. Too cute! Michael TOM thinks it's because I am a sloppy housekeeper, but I'm nostalgic. Yea, that's a good reason...blame it on being nostalgic. And I'm saving the dust on the nightstand so our nieces and nephews have something to draw on next time they visit...

Just don't ask about the collection of "Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pie" wrappers under my bed.

Thinking of Poppy...

Poppy was my great-grandfather. He was well known for his inability to say a complete sentence without adding a curse word or two into the sentence. If you don't believe me, ask anyone in my family, and they will tell you that it is indeed fact. He never asked for a cup of coffee, he asked for a cup of #$%@ coffee. Even when Poppy was in a good mood, he would curse.

Why, you may ask, am I telling you about Poppy and his language? Cause the following picture was taken yesterday during the "installing the french door" experience. Look closely at my mouth. Poppy had taken possession of my tongue and I was in the middle of 6-7 curse words in a row when Michael TOM took this picture:


I try to watch my tongue, and I am not known for using colorful language, but that &^%$ door was ^&$(%@# pissing me off. It was only supposed to take about 2 hours start to finish. Taking out the old sliding door took up the first 1 hour and 45 minutes. So, I adjusted my schedule for it to take a little bit longer and promised myself to accept the change with a positive attitude and watch my language. (I swear! I did try!) But 3 minutes later, another "Poppy Sentence" rolled off my tongue while moving the new door to it's future location. That &^&%* was heavy! And I was already sore. It was justified.

Michael TOM and I push the new door into place, check to see that it is level, which it was, and then pushed the doors closed to see how beautiful it was. The doors would not shut. Neither of us could figure out what was wrong to make it not fit. It was like the doors were too big for the frame and we would have to shave about an inch off the side of one of the doors to get them to close. Several more "Poppy Sentences" were shared with anyone and everyone within shouting distance. This never happens on HGTV or on that show "Extreme Makeover Home Edition" when they do it.

Did it get any worse, you ask? Not just yes, but #$%@^ yes!!! Look at this next picture closely. Notice the 2-3 inch gap above the door? There isn't supposed to be any gap.

Boy, I spoke every curse word Poppy taught me and even made up some of my own. At this moment in time, I threw my hands in the air, called the store I bought it from and asked if someone could come to our house and finish installing it TODAY!!! After the friendly associate finished laughing, he said "no" but suggested I buy a smaller door. I do believe I blacked out at that moment, I am still unsure if Poppy took over my vocal cords and spoke some words of ignorance to the kid on the other end of the phone before I hung up.

Michael TOM called his father and within 5 minutes had a confirmed appointment with their handyman who would come over first thing this morning.

Ruben, the angel sent from "home-improvement" heaven, rang our doorbell at 9am. Three hours later, our door was perfectly in place with no gaps anywhere around it. Ruben never once asked what the hell I was thinking when I put in the door, and for that I gave him a little extra money.

But Ruben did say 27 "Poppy Sentences" before he was finished.

Not what you think...

Don't we all just look like 2 happy heterosexual couples? Nothing against heterosexuals...one of my closest friends is a heterosexual/breeder. I don't hold it against her. I believe she was born that way.

(Please no comments on the grey in my goatee. It's scary, I know, and it draws your eyes to it. I've decided that the grey makes my teeth look whiter.)

Please don't think that this was taken in our livingroom. If you look closely, there are fish sculptures and fish-nets hanging in the background with some scary looking Christmas lights by the window. We do not decorate in fish decor (Sorry Poppy - my great grandfather - who loved fishing and would spend hours on end telling you about how much he loved it) and never will decorate in fish decor. It's an unspoken rule in the gay world. We were at a greasy spoon restaurant out in the country. The kind of restaurant where when you pull in the parking lot, you just know that your waitress is gong to be missing more than half her teeth.

Tune in...my next post will be on the excitement we had this weekend installing french doors ourselves! Trust me, you don't want to miss it!

Been Out Of Sorts...

I know! I know! It's been like, what, almost a month since I last posted something? Please don't hate me and curse at me. I have cursed myself out and whipped myself with a cold, soggy, spaghetti noodle. After I got whipped, I decided to blame it on Michael TOM.

Michael TOM and I have been busy.

We've lived in our home for 4 years, and we decided very early on that we wouldn't do things to the house until we had the "feeling" and "knew for sure" what we were going to do. Rooms got painted one-by-one when we knew without a shadow of a doubt what gay color would look most fabulous on the wall. Our front flowerbed was dirt and sticks for almost 4 years before we decided whether we wanted a rock border, metal border, or wooden border. It was a very good plan because we didn't go into debt over our ears getting everything "just perfect" all at the same time. But that plan has bit us in the butt...in the past 2 months, we had several "feelings" and "knew for sure" ideas that did not have any shadow of doubts.

We found a stainless steel refrigerator we "knew for sure" we have to have.

We found just the right wood floors we had "feelings" for that our office and guest room just have to have.

We found a style and color of carpet for our master-bedroom and living-room that "spoke to us".

We decided on flagstone tiles for our front porch instead of plain concrete that will give us "just the right feeling".

We finally gave up on our broken down sliding door in the sitting room, and a french door at Home Depot "spoke to us".

Our side yard has been speaking to us asking for a nice winding flagstone pathway. I am trying not to listen to it. Wish some of the expensive projects would "speak to us" in Russian or German, so at least we wouldn't understand it and save some money.

We can't do it all at the same time, so we are taking little steps, all the while I am thinking about how much it'll cost and how long it will take to pay off the new items that "spoke to us" and gave us "feelings".

After being okay with the long list of projects and knowing that after the list is done, we will be so happy and able to pay it all off before another "feeling" befalls upon us...or so I thought.

Last night Michael TOM decided we need a pool. Damn "feelings" can just go to hell.

What did ya'll do on the Fourth Of July?

We had a wonderful 4th of July! We actually started celebrating it on the 3rd, carried it over to the 4th, and paid for it with a major headache on the 5th.

On Tuesday the 3rd, we went to Big Sissy Myrna's for an awesome lasagna dinner. After eating, we were visiting and heard lots of bangs outside like we were in Harlem. Like giddy little kids, we ran outside to see the fireworks...Myrna, Vicky, Michael TOM, Myrna's parents, and me. I do believe we were more entertaining than the fireworks, because we had our own sound effects and were doing the "Swatting-The-50-Billion-Mosquito's" dance. We sure looked cool.

On Wednesday the 4th, we went to a barbeque at our good friends Linda and Sandy's house in Dallas.

We met the coolest male couple while there, named Stacy and Rob. Stacy is a school teacher and Rob is a make-up artist for Trish McEvoy. Michael TOM used to be a make-up artist also for Trish McEvoy, so the two of them talked endlessly about moisturizer, exfoliation, tinted lip-gloss, and other things that make my eyes glaze over and my mind wander to thoughts of decomposing cats and petrified wood.

Stacy and I talked about teaching (I went to college as far as student-teaching, than decided to change my major because child abuse is illegal in this state...go figure!) and also about cooking. We both love to cook and threw out different ideas on dessert recipe's. About the time we got to talking about chicken marinades, Michael TOM's eyes were glazed and his mind wandered to thoughts about how life would change if they outlawed doorknobs.

After Linda and Sandy made a delicious barbeque lunch, we played a mean game of croquet. I would have won, but since I was a guest, I decided to let myself lag behind the others. Didn't want to show off my wonderful croquet skills I mastered while skipping classes in college...

We suckered one of the neighbors into taking a picture of us all:

Sandy, Linda, Michael TOM, Shiny-Greasy-Headed Me

Stacy, Rob

Yea, it's about time for me to touch-up my gray goatee roots...such is life. After I let some of them win, we went inside for my dessert. I made Baked Bananas with Vanilla Ice Cream! So good, it'll make you slap your momma! May even cause you to curse at your momma, so try not to eat it at family functions. I'll close this post with the recipe, but consider yourself warned. If your mom calls me from the emergency room, you are in so much trouble.

It was so great hanging out with friends, family, and meeting new friends! Even though I had to pretend to be a sucky croquet player...hope none of them realized I was playing bad on purpose


M.S.B.B.M.E.C.C. (Momma Slapping Baked Bananas, May Even Cause Cursing)

4 Bananas (firm, not black and all nasty)

2 Lemons

1/4 cup Brown Sugar, firmly packed (as opposed to sloppily packed)

1/4 cup Butter melted (sure, you can use the low-fat crap, but it won't taste good)

Cinnamon

Nutmeg

Cut bananas in half lengthwise; place cut side down in a buttered baking dish. Sprinkle with grated lemon rind (remove the skin from thumb and index finger that you accidentally scraped off while grating the lemon) and squeeze lemon juice over bananass (you are allowed to say 3 curse words when the lemon juice gets into the fresh wound on your fingers from grating) Add brown sugar, sprinkle some cinnamon and nutmeg over bananas. (Don't ask how much cinnamon or nutmeg...sprinkle until you are happy) Drizzle with melted butter.

Bake at 350 degrees for 15 to 20 minutes. Serve warm with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. Moan loudly, hit a pillow, and refrain from talking to your mother until finished with your second helping. Smile big and forget that today was the day you were going to start your new diet.

Our Big Sissy (Sister) Myrna

Michael TOM and I both grew up without an older sister. We didn't have an older sister to sneak into her room and read her diary while she was on her first date with someone who looked like David Cassidy or one of the guys from "Dukes of Hazzard"...
But that all changed when we met Myrna. It's pronounced murn-uh, but me and my country boy voice quickly changed it to mear-nuh. And since she loves us, she doesn't make me try to say it the right way.
Shortly after meeting Myrna, we felt a bond between us that was not like any other friends we had. We'd cry on each others shoulders, and seemed to always send "just the right e-mail" at "just the right time" to one another. Finally, I just started calling her "My Sissy", not because of a fear of hand soap, but like "My Sister" but remember I am a country boy and can't talk right. Michael TOM and I soon became her "kid brothers" and it didn't require signing one adoption paper or reading the others diary.
The above picture does kinda look as though I may be constipated, but I was actually just jet-lagged and was happy to see my sissy. And "Yes!", maybe just a tad sun-burned.

We both absolutely love this picture! Why? Cause we both look so thin! (Note: the goatee was colored prior to the picture being taken) The pretty lady with just one eye and white hair in the lower right-hand corner is Momi...Myrna's mom. We love her...she gives great hugs and didn't bat an eye when I demanded 35 years of back allowance. She did say a few choice words unsuitable for print, but did not bat an eye.

Sure wish I had Photoshop! It may only look like white teeth, but the white teeth on the left are mine, center belongs to Myrna, and on the right belong to my sweetie. Just had a disturbing thought...if Michael TOM and I are her kid brothers, and Michael and I just had our 1 year wedding anniversary, does that make us from Arkansas? I might be a country boy, but that's just so many levels of wrong!


Big Sissy Myrna and Lus. The picture doesn't show it, but Lus has angel wings. Lus knows just the right thing to say to make you feel better. And she also doesn't sugar-coat what she wants you to know. Love her! It was Lus who had me in stitches at Myrna's house not too long ago and turned my nose into a margarita dispenser during a particular laughing fit. But that's all gross, so I won't tell you about it.

Anyways, we love you Myrna...no matter how you pronounce it! We may not be brothers and sister by biology, but by God we are!

Now lets go take some more pictures where we look all skinny. And unconstipated.

Blue Lake Camp

Every summer, from the time I was eight years old until I was fourteen years old, I would beg my parents to send me to Blue Lake Camp. This was a church camp, but not a preachy church camp. It was non-denominational, and besides the 30 minutes of a bible story, and some odd "prayer songs" at meals (God come down in sort of a twist and give me french toast the size of my fist...that seriously was one of the prayers!), and being told whenever I did something really bad that I would burn in hell, it was not all that churchy.

There were no parents. There were no major rules...until some of us were so bad, they started enforcing some.

The bathrooms were scary. The walls were made of knotty pine, which was not good since the girls bathroom was on the other side of the wall. Us boys would have slivers in our noses from peeking thru the knot holes. Saw my first booby and lost a lot of sleep that night. Scarier than all those ghost stories by the camp fire!

I was dared to run to one of the other cabins, hit it and run back. This was during "quiet" time when everyone could take a nap or go on a nature walk with a buddy. Not to be called a chicken, I did it. And on the way back to the cabin, some girls came around the corner and they scared me. Oh, and did I forget to mention I was dared to do this nude? Almost got sent home that year early.

One of the kids, Fred, was always so much smarter that all of us other troublemakers. Fred was convinced that the girl camp counselor was having sex with the boy camp counselor named Patrick. Since Fred was so smart, he felt Patricks sleeping bag and it was wet. The bed is wet because the girls pee their panties when they have sex. Scarred me for life. But the story continues...

Since the girl counselor was now pregnant, we kept looking at her stomach the rest of the week at camp. We knew that we could see her belly getting bigger by the hour. I told Fred and my other cohorts in crime that I saw the baby kick. Didn't take long for the pregnancy story to get back to Patrick and the unfortunate bloated girl counselor. One of the rules that you don't cuss was thrown out the cabin window when Patrick started yelling at us. We cried and hid under our bunkbeds until Patrick left for a cigarette. Fred told us that Patrick was upset because it was really true, but to keep our mouths shut. And like true boys, we kept the story going.

Fred always got me into trouble. That butt-head. Nice to hear that when you grew up, Fred, you and your wife became manager and cook of a greasy spoon restaurant that serves cold burgers and limp salads. Loser. Hope that you can upgrade to a double-wide trailer once you pay off that 1975 Pinto.

And I hope your wife pee's in ya'lls bed.

Why I dislike this picture...

Ever have one of those pictures that you thought, "Oh, let's try this pose. It'll be so cool."


And then you see the picture after it is taken, and think, "Now I see why Tyra Banks isn't requesting my presence on her "America's Next Top Model"...


I nearly screamed at the size of my belly. And love handles. And this "Thinking Man" pose looks more like "Bored Man Taking A Poop On A Rock" or something equally as gross. Now, I know I'm not chunky or whatever, but look at how this pose just makes everything look so...I don't know...out there. Thank God I was never brave enough to pursue nude modeling. (shudder, shudder)


Back when I was in college I was approached by a girl we will call Sharon (not to protect the innocent, but I just don't remember what the hell her name is) who was a photography student and wanted to take some pictures of me. In exchange, Sharon would let me have all the pictures I wanted of the "photo session."

We went to the Las Colinas Riverwalk and I struck all these insane poses she asked me to do. I decided to try my hand at directing and told Sharon some poses I wanted to do. I would be in this old-timey photo booth and be talking on the phone. Since I was modeling for free, she went ahead and let me have my moment of glory.


A couple of days later we met at a Denny's restaurant to go over the pictures. Waiting patiently for Sharon, I sipped my coffee and by the time she showed up with the pictures, the waitress placed the cherry cheesecake in front of me. We looked at the poses of me on the stone bridge, the pier with my back to the camera and hand in the back pocket of my Silver Tab Jeans, me laughing at some old lady who slipped on the slick pavement...stuff like that. And then came the pictures that I chose the poses for.


First one, my eyes were shut. Next, it looked like I was sticking the quarter up my nose. The others looked as though I was held down and stink bait was rubbed under my nose. But the most horrible Sharon saved for last.

I saw the bald spot on the top of my head. I was in the phone booth and had bent down to pick up the quarter that I dropped. My white shirt was wet with sweat. And I looked like I had a killer wedgie.

But I saw the bald spot.

I didn't eat the cherry cheesecake. I asked Sharon to burn the negative. I also swore off directing my posing. I called Dad for some Rogaine. I also started collecting hats.

Think I would have learned not to try to model...

To relax after May...

We had such a crammed month of May! I wrote a "short" list of just some of the things we had going on during the month of May. Thought I'd share it with you. Quit complaining and keep reading! Gosh!

In no particular order, mainly due to the fact that so much happened, don't know what happened first, here is just a few things:

1. Michael TOM had his birthday
2. Michael TOM and I had our 1st Anniversary
3. Michael TOM and I had our 6th Day-We-Met-Anniversary (#2 and #3 both required gifts)
4. Mothers Day Brunch
5. My Grandparents came into town and we visited with them
6. Our niece Stephanie graduated from high school
7. Our niece Stephanie had a graduation dinner (not on the same night as the graduation)
8. Michael TOM's aunts came into town and we visited with them all day on a Saturday
9. We got a new roof. Got a bid, got the insurance check, and had it installed all within 1 week.
10. Two of my coworkers were on vacation and I got to cover their desks. I know, petty complaining, but no one said I had to always be happy!
11. Sister Chrissy had her birthday
12. Brother Jason had his birthday
13. We had our family weekend at Turner Falls, Oklahoma with my side of the family
14. I had my 1 year and 6 months without a cigarette. Yes...another petty thing, but still a valid excuse to spend more money on myself. I bought me a shirt.

So, after all this, we were excited to pack our bags and spend a couple days with some of our girl friends from church and social gatherings at beautiful Lake Palestine in East Texas! Our friends, Diane and Doris were both having birthdays this weekend! It was Michael TOM, me, and a bus load of girls headed to the hills for a good time! We were ready to give each other manicures, ugly green facials, and I was going to learn how to french braid! It was going to be a regular "Marsha Brady Slumber Party" with chardonney instead of Kool-Aid!

There were no manicures or ugly green facials. I'll learn how to french braid some other weekend. But I do remember there being chardonney!

Some people went to the marina and fished. Since I won't touch fish, worms, or stink bait, I got to be the official "untangle-the-fishing-line-from-the-bushes-and-rocks" guy. Yea, cause I'm butch and a manly man.

I was a master and untangling the toughest tangles. I'd jump down there on those rocks, lean way over the bushes growing out of the lake, never fearing I'd fall in the water. For 2 days there wasn't a tangle I was afraid of.

After one particular male-grunting act of butchness on my part, I was resting with some of the other non-fishers, bragging to them about the tangle I just got done untangling. One of the girls decided to point something out to us from a rock I was standing on moments earlier:
If you can't see it, double click on the picture and it'll make it bigger. That's a friggin snake! Long, ugly, leg-eating, choke you to death snake. Every ounce of lingering butchness in my body left me at the moment of eye contact with the snake. My voice suddenly became the same pitch of nails on a chaulkboard. I did a pee-pee dance and tried to jump on any higher object. It is safe to say that any tangled line after that point was a lost cause. I was ready to leave!
Here we all are at happier times...before that snake came to crash the party.

It was a very relaxing weekend and we look forward to spending another weekend with our friends down there. Away from the rocks where snakes hide and want nothing more than to eat my leg off.

Oh, and next time I will learn how to french braid.

6 Years Ago...

Well, six years ago, Memorial Day Weekend, Michael TOM and I met. Do ya'll wanna hear how we met? Well, tough. No matter how much you beg to not hear it and that you'd rather me write about how much water I consume in a day, or the longest toe-nail I've ever grown, todays post is about how we met. Get in a comfortable seated position and prepare to be enthralled. So, let me get started...

I was looking for a cheap hooker and...oh wait...wrong story.

Six years ago, I had had enough and decided to give up for awhile.

I decided to give up trying to meet "the perfect person." There were 3-4 guys I was dating at that time, but they all seemed to have issues that I just was not willing to deal with. So, I gave up on them.

I knew almost everybody at the bar I hung out at on the weekends, and most of them were just my friend because I was there. No true friends, just hang out friends. None of them knew my favorite TV show, what type of car I wanted when I grew up, or my favorite fast-food restaurant. So, I gave up on them.

What I needed was "me" time. At the time, I had a second job on the weekends being the stage manager for a comedy improv group. After I finished working at the improv, I was going to go home, watch my favorite TV show, and go to bed. By myself. And I was going to like it!

So, on this particular Saturday night, I was closing down the comedy show and was about to go home to watch "Will & Grace", eat me a Jumbo Jack with Cheese from "Jack-In-The-Box" and eat 2 Snickers Bars, when my best friend Cynthia and her boyfriend came in to say "hi". We talked for awhile and Cynthia really wanted to go somewhere where we could all talk and hang out for a little while. "Will & Grace" would just have to wait. Since I'd given up on my regular bar, I told her that the only place I could think of was this lesbian bar. So, the 3 of us headed there, while I secretly wanted nothing more than to get me my Jumbo Jack with cheese. Luckily I was dressed nicely. Snug fitting white polo shirt, jeans (much smaller size than I wear today), and sandals.

I go to the bar to get us all a drink before meeting them outside on the patio. There were some scary looking women out that night. Please bartender...hurry with my drinks before Liz-The-Lezzie beats me up! I look across the room, and there is this cutie looking at me. Me being used to "the pick up game" raise an eyebrow, and appear more interested in getting extra limes before going outside. Dang it! He's standing by the one and only door to the outside! I walk past him, not daring to make eye contact with him. Success! I made it outside to the safety of my friends.

Cynthia, her boyfriend Dan, and I are talking when "the perfect dance song" comes on. Cynthia and I make a bee-line for the crammed dance floor and, knowing that there was someone watching me, I broke out my "secret" dance moves. I lean over to Cynthia and ask if the good looking guy by the door is watching. While doing her famous "head roll while spinning around" she scopes the scene. Reporting back to me that "yes, he is...along with 6 of the girls around him" I start to get nervous. The song wasn't over, and all the good dance moves were done. I'd already used the secret "chest out, hands over head, swaying back and forth while showing just a hint of my bare then-flat stomach" and didn't have any more moves. We made it thru the rest of the song making up different dance moves.

We decide to stand near the good-looking guy and his group of tough girls. I lean against the wall, propping one leg up against the wall and ask Cynthia if I look better holding my beer waist high, or across my chest like I'm pledging my allegiance to Miller-Lite. We decide waist high. It worked! But it wasn't the good-looking guy coming over, it was a girl with a mullet holding a pool stick. Perhaps my posing was too good? No, she wanted to introduce me to "the whole group" of friends, one of them happened to be the cutie. His name was Michael also. We talked for a couple of minutes, then parted ways.

Cynthia and Dan decided to leave, leaving me there all by myself. Dang it! Who is going to help me decide what pose to use to get him to come back to talk to me? Before I had time to decide the best pose on leaning against a bar stool, "Michael-The-Cutie" came by and we talked a little while longer. Before long, they announced that the bar was closing and we needed to get out of there.

"You wanna grab a bite to eat?" Michael-The-Cutie asks.

"Sure, where do you want to go eat?" Please say Jack-In-The-Box...please say Jack-In-The-Box.

"Denny's?" He asks.

"Great! My favorite place."

I knew I found someone special. I was willing to give up my Jumbo Jack for this guy and knew the road ahead was going to be wonderful!

And it has been.

Neither of us was supposed to be there that particular night, but circumstances made it happen.

God bless circumstances...and good posing.

Younger brother Jason

This is a picture of my younger brother Jason. And no, it isn’t me tying him up. I was able to talk my friend into doing it for me.

Happy Birthday Jason!

I promised not to tell anyone how old you are, so I won’t. Hard to believe that this is your last year in your twenties!

Can’t believe that my younger brother is so grown up now…well, kinda. I remember him as this little punk kid who had a cute smile, charming personality, and was such a good kid who loved Superman, He-Man, and The Smurfs.

Jason was the perfect younger brother. He was an older brothers dream come true. I was able to pick on him and tell him anything and he would believe me…until he got smarter and learned to talk.

One of my favorite memories that involved Jason was during church. I was a punk of about seventeen, which would of made Jason around eleven. To pass the time in church, we would pass notes to each other. Figuring that my brother would fall for this joke, I wrote on a piece of paper:

Say: Can I
And then spell out the word “cup” out loud.

So, in a whisper, he said “Can I C-U-P?”…then a little louder once he didn’t get it…"Can I C-U-P?”…

I was about to wet my Z. Cavarichi pants. Still not getting it, he decides to ask Dad, but in a louder voice that several rows heard: “Hey Dad! Can I C-U-P?”

By this time, I do not believe I still had any control over my bladder and when Dad looked at me he gave me “the look” that no one liked. His head was lowered, his glasses pushed down his nose so his eyes could look at you without the glasses being in the way, and every wrinkle in his forehead showing. All it took was one word. “Michael!”

It dawned on Jason what he was saying and he covered his mouth trying to stifle the laugh. I rushed out of the chapel and tackled anyone congregating in the hallway that obstructed my way to the bathroom.

About 2 weeks ago, we were at the same church for our nephews baptism. I passed him the same note. This time he got it.

Have a wonderful birthday Jason! Love you! Now, say: “Owa ta boo by em”

May 21st...

...was a very special day. This was the day, a year ago, I was lucky to have married my best friend and gain a second family that I am so eternally blessed to have.

We had a wonderful committment ceremony, with lots of funny stories, that you know I will have to post soon. Like how I totally forgot to eat anything because I was wanting to say "hello", "thank you for coming", "it's so good to see you! Now, where's my gift?" Stuff like that kept me away from the food table, but not away from the open bar. I think I flirted with some of the waitresses... don't remember. But I do remember that my Michael never looked so handsome. And the "Picture God" was watching over me that day. I looked thin. But someone forgot to tell me to color the goatee. A couple pictures looked like Michael Tom married Grandpa.

I look forward to posting more pictures from the ceremony. Michael Tom has kept them hidden from me for the past year.

Well, we are off to our Anniversary Dinner. Michael Tom made reservations at the local IHOP. We got a coupon for a free "Rooty-Tooty-Fresh-And-Fruitie."

Celebrity Siting?

Did Myrna, Michael TOM, and I go to Rodeo Drive in Beverly Hills and run into some hot ladies and crash their lunch? No, but I can see how you might think that. These cuties are our moms! For Mothers Day, we decided to introduce all our mothers to each other and had such a blast!


Michael TOMs Mom, Big Sister Myrna's Mom and Mom. Aren't they all cute? They had fun comparing notes on their gay kids. Who had the gayest kid? Well, Michael TOMs mother won that hands down. Who had the most feminine? That was a threeway tie. It was such a wonderful time, we decided to do it again next year! Perhaps next year we will all make breakfast in bed for our mothers? I'll make the "Cottage Cheese Pancake Grossness" from the last post! Michael TOM will make "Pepto Bismal Smoothies" and Big Sister Myrna can drive us all to the emergency room.

Perhaps just a nice brunch every year will be safest.

Mommie Dearest...

I love my mommy.

All week long, the radio station I listen to is having callers call in talking about how wonderful their Mom is. I’m refraining from calling, because once I tell them how special/wonderful/fabulous my mother is, no one else would call because you can’t top the best there is. The rest of the week, if anyone actually did call, the DJ’s would tell the caller, “Yea, nice mom you have there, but Michael’s mom is better.” And you all should know I am not one to have people go around with hurt feelings.

How she raised 5 kids, worked at home while Dad went to medical school, moved several hundreds of miles from her own parents and brother is beyond me. But she did it…and she did it very well! And didn’t slap us kids once! Well…

How she didn’t drop my butt off at an orphanage with a note saying “Here, he’s yours now” is also surprising. I know most everyone believes I was a perfect angel who kept his room clean and did his chores without asking, but here is a surprise:

I was no angel.

Close your mouths, I know it is a bit of a shock. I set a little fire to a church that burned the porch when I was about eight years old. I cussed in church. I ripped tags off of mattresses…even under penalty of law! My younger brother would somehow get stranded in a field of stickers without his shoes on and scream for Mom…and she knew I did it. I even tried running away, until I realized that I would miss Moms good cooking and came home before they realized I actually did run away. But that’s it. I did nothing else bad as a child. Unless you count the time I gave Mom yogurt for Christmas, but later got mad at her and ate it. Okay, that’s it. Perfect child after that. Yup!

During a phase of me being nice (it was known to happen) I made Mom breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day when I was fourteen. “Family Circle” gave a delicious recipe for a Mother’s Day breakfast, so I tore out the page and went with Dad the next time he went to pick up groceries. No one, not even Dad, was to know I was doing this for Mom, because I wanted all the glory. I snuck some of the ingredients (after having to make substitutions to particular items) into the shopping cart and “helped” unpack the groceries.

Sunday morning came, and I woke up extra early to make the breakfast: heart shaped lumpy pancakes with peaches and cottage cheese filling, drizzled with maple syrup. Just the thought of it now makes my stomach churn. She probably thought I was trying to poison her. When I came to take the empty plate away, I just knew it would be her favorite breakfast and would want to add the recipe to the “Favorite Recipe” box.

Years later she confided in me that she tried a bite, choked it down, and dumped the rest in the toilet to avoid hurting my feelings. I’m glad she kept that secret from me, but always wondered why she never asked me to make that breakfast again.

This year, I’m just going to give Mom an Egg McMuffin from McDonalds. Cause I’m an angel like that. And she didn't dump me at an orphanage when given the chance.

Michael TOM turns another year older

Vicky, Big Sister Myrna, Dad, Me (if you do a close-up, you can tell I missed coloring my goatee), Michael Tom (aka Sister Christian, Diva Michael, Sweetie), Mom (notice...we wore the same styled shirt, cause I always liked dressing like my Mom), Doris, Lus, and Karen.

This past weekend we celebrated Michael TOM's birthday. After church we, along with our church family and my parents visiting for the weekend, went to Michael TOM's favorite restaurant...Mi Cocina. Great food and a margarita that will make you forget what number comes after 8 and has been known to be the sole reason for unplanned pregnancy. No, sorry. Michael TOM isn't pregnant, but according to him after a few sips of margarita, the number Q follows the number 8.

It was a wonderful time and we thank everyone who called or sent a card. We love you all!

Oh, and Michael TOM, I promise to not tell anyone you believed the number Q comes after number 8 or that you just turned 41. Your secret is safe with me. Love you baby!

Younger Sister Chrissy

My younger sister, Chrissy has her birthday tomorrow, May 4th.

We were born 1 year and 5 months apart, so we've always been pretty close. Sometimes we would say we were twins. In school, she was one grade under me, but with my maturity level, she was always way ahead of me. Way ahead.

I’ve decided to share a couple of our “Brother/Sister” lessons we lived thru growing up. Hope ya’ll enjoy. If you don’t, well…sucks to be you. It's not your birthday.

Chrissy had long pretty hair at the young age of three. I took her into the bathroom with Mom’s scissors to have her cut some of my hair. It just didn’t look proper, and as a four-year old, I needed to look good. She had a hard time getting it to cut my hair, so like a good older brother who wanted to teach his sister something new, I showed her on her own head. Several inches of light brown ringlets fell to the cold linolium floor. I didn’t cut a lot off, just a few sections in the back of her head. Think of it at a slightly “layered” cut. Deciding that what I just did might get me in trouble, we planned on not letting Mom find out. Hiding the cut hair on the top of the trash in the bathroom trash can (yea, like Mom would NEVER find it) and fluffing her hair to hide the short spot, we went outside like nothing was wrong. Let me just end the story by saying:
1. Mom found the cut hair
2. Mom found out it was me who cut Chrissy’s hair
3. Mom found out that no matter how hard you spank my butt, my butt-crack won’t get pushed up to my ears.
4. I deserved to have my butt-crack pushed up to my ears
5. Chrissy forgave me for her first “layered” hairstyle

When the “Booby Fairy” started blessing Chrissy with little chubbies when she was in 4th grade, I was one of the first she told. Holding her rainbow striped shirt tight across her chest, she asked me if I could see it…and only one seemed to be growing at that current moment. When I said “no” she really wanted to prove that she was getting a boob and offered to show me. Uh, no, that’s okay. When I asked her how she told Mom, she got a twinkle in her eye when she said that she told Mom, “Hey Mom, I got tits.” She lied, but it sure made us laugh.

We weren’t allowed to say the word “butt” for some reason as little kids. So, Chrissy and I instead of saying “You are a butt!” would say “You are a circle with a line down the middle of it!” We couldn’t say the word, but would find interesting ways to explain our way around the word.

We both would walk to Modoc Junior High when we lived in Alturas, CA. There was a bus that could have picked us up and taken us, but as painfully awkward pre-teens, the bus ride with the pretty popular people was hell. Don’t shower us with sympathy, we lived thru it. Pimples and greasy hair parted down the middle and all that was a good lesson on self-acceptance we learned together. But, I enjoyed our walks to school, just talking and laughing. Chrissy has a cute laugh and would belt out a belly laugh and point at stupid people. And in a small ranch community filled with cousins marrying cousins, there were a lot of times I almost wet my Sears Brand Jeans before making it to school.

In high school, I always had crushes on almost any friend of Chrissy. She could almost always sense when I was planning my future wedding and kid’s names with one of her girl friends. I would tag along whenever they would hang out. I’d run for the phone to answer it when I thought it was my future wife calling for my sister. Never once did she tell me to leave them alone. But, I never did hook up with any of her friends…wonder if she knew something about me before I would admit it? Nah…her girl friends just didn’t have any interest in a guy with a mullet hairstyle that would stalk them.

Well Chrissy, hope you have a great birthday! I’m blessed to have you as one of my sisters.

Love,
Big Brother Michael
Aka Circle-With-A-Line-Down-The-Middle-Of-It Head

Posting a Comment

I've been told by several of my family and friends that they see comments from others on this blog, but are unsure about how to post a comment. Do they need a "Google Account"? Is it hard to post a comment? Will I break anything if I do it wrong? Will doing too many comments cause anal leakage?

No, you don't need a "Google Account" or anything like that. No, it is so easy to post a comment, a blind person who has no fingers and only 3 toes to type with can do it. No, if you do break anything if you do it wrong, well, you must be blind and typing with 3 toes while loading a gun. And, ewww...if it causes anal leakage, I definitely don't care to find out. Keep that nasty stuff to yourself. But do wear Depend Undergarments just to play it safe until further research is done.

I'll walk you thru posting a comment, and hope that you find it relatively easy. Take notes, because there will be a quiz at the end. Bring a #2 pencil.

At the bottom of the post, there is a place you can click that will say something like "2 comments", just click on it once.

A window will pop up with peoples comments on the left side, and under the "Leave Your Comment" on the right side is a box where you can type in a lovely message expressing your undying love for Michael Tom and I or give your favorite recipe for ice water. Whatever you want to say, so long as it doesn't offend me. And since nothing offends me, feel free to say whatever.

Under the comments box is "Choose an Identity" that gives you 3 choices. Google/Blogger, Other, or Anonymous. Click the pretty little circle next to "Other" and it leaves you the option to leave your name and your website. If you don't have a website, don't fear, it is not a required field to fill in. Just put your name, or whatever name you want to put in the name field and leave the website field blank. If you have always wished to be called "Brownie Skid Pantie" go right ahead and use that name. If you want to be called "Shirley" but your Mom insisted your name be "Jesibel", be brave and use your new name. But if I don't know your "secret" name, I'll go around wondering who the heck is "Brownie Skid Pantie"...Grandpa, is that you?

Once you have picked your name, you can "Preview" or "Publish" your comment. If you preview it, don't forget that it won't post for others to see until you "Publish" the comment.

See, there. That's it. Did it hurt? Didn't think so. If it did, you must be typing with only 3 toes and got a cramp, so I apologize. Try stretching first.

Now, try it out. Leave me a comment. But do be careful and check for anal leakage once done.

Never can be too safe.

Yard Beautification Beginning

I woke up Saturday with a bug up my butt. Our front yard had just been blessed with a nice sprinkler system, and now it was time to add some flowerbeds before the new lawn arrives next weekend.
Here is a photo of what hard work can reward you with:

But, let's look at how it started...

No, this isn't an abandoned graveyard. It is actually our front yard. It would bring tears to the eyes of passerby and several flyers on our door from people willing to help with our landscape.
This was bought on "Trip-One-To-The-Neighborhood-Lowe's-Home-Improvement-Store." This picture is also proof to my chiropractor what caused my back to go out.
"Trip-Two-To-The-Neighborhood-Lowe's-Home-Improvement-Store" was to purchase more of the wooden borders. The expression on my face was a result of "tiredofgoingtoLowe's-itis" and learning that "Easy Installation" Instructions was false advertising, along with a mild case of "nobeerinfridge" syndrome.
No photos were taken of "Trip-Three-To-The-Neighborhood-Lowe's-Home-Improvement-Store" because I do not wish to be incriminated against. The trunkload of flowers was not enough, I was dirty, my 2-hour project was now in the 6th hour, and my Degree Antiperspirant was sweated off long ago. I walked into the Garden Center with steam literally screaming from my dirt-filled ears, the crowds of yuppy smiling amateur gardeners avoided eye contact with me and parted to make a path for me along the worn path to the discount flowers. The bubblegum-chewing Lowe's employee named Nikki (Like Nicky, but with and "i") who smiled big at me on trip #1 and #2 knew better than to smile or ask if I found everything okay. After paying, she popped her Juicy Fruit, handed me my receipt, and said, "See you later."

Funeral arrangements are pending for Nikki - with an "i".

Where were you when the hail came on Friday?

From mid-week of last week, the news was predicting some severe thunderstorms on Friday evening. Possible hail, strong winds, downpour of rain, witches flying around on brooms...typical spring Texas weather.
Friday morning, I packed my workout bag before leaving for work. I was going to workout, come hell or high water...little did I know both would be true.
On my way from work to 24-Hour Fitness, I called Michael TOM and told him I'd be home around 6:30 - 7:00 and we'd go out for dinner afterwards. An hour into working out, I sit a bit in the hot-tub and steam room. Out the foggy windows of the pool area, I could see that the storm was coming in and I'd better hurry up and shower to get home before I'd need an arc and paddle to make it to our garage.
After a quick shower, I paddle my wet self to my locker with the ratty sports club issued towel wrapped around me. There are 5 separate locker rows, and I am in the middle row, midway between the door to the pool and front entrance by the trainers desk. Happy that on Fridays almost no one is in the locker room, I get distracted by what sounded like a pre-pubescent boy in the next row. Realizing I better hurry and get dressed to avoid being seen I then hear another pre-pubescent boy say that he hasn't been in a boys locker room since some kids pushed her in one in junior high. OH MY GOD! Those are women in the locker room, not 11 year-old high-pitched voiced boys! I scramble to pull up my underwear, only to realize mid-thigh I accidently grabbed a pair of Michael TOM's tighty whitey sized small undies. No, in case you were wondering, they didn't even come close to trying to make it over my butt. After what felt like forever, I got them peeled off and threw on my jeans before 4 or 5 women walked past the row I was in.

I grabbed one of the guys as he walked past, "What in the hell kind of nightmare am I in? This is a men's room, last I checked?"

"Did you not hear? The tornado sirens are going off and since the mens locker-room is in the middle of the building, everybody has been evacuated to this area."

Lovely.

I throw on my shirt over my wet chest, and it instantly feels like I am in a wet t-shirt competition.

"Could it get any worse?" I dared to think. As I roll my eyes to God to deliver me from all this and to thank him for not letting any of the ladies see me, my eyes catch something I've never noticed before on the ceiling. A mirror, similar to the ones at stores so clerks can see who is in the next couple of aisles before they get to them.

I smile, wave at the women in the reflection, and give up.

So, please tell me I'm not the only one who had an interesting experience during the storm? Please share with me your story! And if you are one of the women in the locker room last Friday, no need to share. I'm humiliated enough already.

Weekend of 4/14-4-15

Our two "unspoiled" girls went to the beauty shop on Saturday. Michael Tom and I love it when they go to the groomers, because when they come home, they are pooped and afraid that if they act up they will have to go away again. Lola's blue bows lasted 4.5 hours after coming home. Patches pink bows have a different staying power. One fell off on Wednesday, and as of today, Friday, the other is still in her hair. Patches is trying to start a new fad. We like for them to express their individual styles...

Hey! How can you expect me to read this book? I am only 7 months old. I can't read yet! Mean grown-ups! Besides, the storyline sucks. Stupid dancing sheep! Sheesh! Whatever!

The Boys

Brownie - Lola's babies future Daddy if she's not lesbian.

Michael Tom - future crabby man in a rocking chair shooting rubber bands at kids.

Joshua - my sister's daughters (Emily) future husband...if she like younger men.

Me - future crabby man in a rocking chair with Michael Tom, squirting kids with a water hose.

Our Aunt Sally and Joshua. After Joshua's blessing at his parents church, we ended up back at our home for some homemade Snickers chocolate cake. Originally we weren't going to all be coming back to our house, but once word spread that we had the Snickers Cake, we barely made it home it time before family was ringing the doorbell with smiles and enough room in the tummy for a slice of cake. We love our family, so we just might have to start making the cake every weekend to have family over!

That gives me an idea, perhaps I'll be like "Pioneer Woman" and give recipes out on the blog whenever I can't think of anything exciting... Okay! I'll do it. Since you all are so nice and can't wait until a future blog, here you go with one of my favorites:

Ice Water: 1 glass + ice cubes + water. Mix well and enjoy. Can be doubled for large crowds.

Gosh I'm good.

Introduction to Nicholas, Carter, and Eric

Here are my older brothers three handsome young boys. Look a lot like Favorite Uncle Michael...don't they? Don't they?

Carter is on the left with the green hat on. He is four years old and quite the talker. He is the second born, a deep thinker, and takes instructions the same as most may take suggestions. Very independent minded...hmm, I was the second child and see a lot of similarities. (Message to Carter's Dad from Favorite Uncle Michael: hide the matches, don't rule him out as the bed-wetter when it is someone elses bed, and buy him Lego's.)

Nicholas is the handsome one in the middle with the blue cap on his head. Nick (as he prefers to be called by his Favorite Uncle Michael) may only be eight years old right now, but is a future NFL, NHL, NBA, Soccer, and Tae-Kwan-Do All-Star. This kid excels at everything! He's a pro at any sport he decides to partake in. I am planning on building him a 50 foot long by 8 foot high shelfing system for all his tropheys he will soon be collecting. When he got glasses, I was nervous what the kids might say in his class, but when a kid asked him why he got glasses, his response was, "So I can see...duh." Ahhh...another I've influenced well.

Eric is the young-un on the right teaching his two older brothers the ins and outs of playing the Nintendo Game. Eric is nine months old and smiles a lot! He's got the cutest smile and wins the affection of any person he comes in contact with. The meanest truck driver with tattoos of skull and crossbones all over his arms with a beard down to his man-boobs that will snarl, say a dirty word while spitting tobacco, will crumble under Eric's smile and crack a smile showing his black teeth, while saying "coochie-coo"... Trust me!

Hey babe, what'cha say we go and share a Juicy Juice and I flex my muscles for ya?

Carter and his "Not-My-Girlfriend." She's sure a cute "not-your-girlfriend." I wasn't there when this picture was taken, but I just know that he was telling her how cool Favorite Uncle Michael is. I just know it.

Can't see the sign, but it says "Not responsible for cleaning up the puke"

Caught you!!!! I heard it! You smiled and were saying stuff like "Awww!", "What a cutie!", "Coochie Coo!" Told ya.

One of our favorite pictures of Carter, Nicholas and Corgan taken this past Christmas in one of those "Pop Tents" that they all loved. Kids have it too easy today, what with a "Five-Seconds-And-It's-Ready" Playhouse. My big brother Aaron and I thought it was cool, but not near as cool as the tents we made as kids on Grandpa and Grandma Hayes's back deck with black landscape plastic, queen-sized bed sheets, lots of hand-sewn antique quilts, handful of nails and a cardtable. It only took 2 days to build, but was our "Five-Seconds-And-It's-Gone" Playhouse.