The cat ate my journal!!

While I was relaxing in the motel in Chicago the other night before I went to bed, I was watching a self-help program on PBS. The guy was telling us how we can become the perfect person. How we could go through life, accomplishing everything, forgetting or postponing nothing and being hyper-successful. He listed the sixteen excuses people make and gave counter arguments to each excuse. He was trying to create a world with... (gasp)... no excuses!

Sounds Communistic to me! No excuses? That's anti-American. Our whole culture is based on excuses! "Don't blame Joey. His great-aunt was a bed-wetter!" or "Little Amanda isn't at fault. She lived next door to a hillbilly as a child!" Our Constitution promises me "Life, liberty and the pursuit of excuses!"

If I didn't have excuses, my quality of life would be seriously impaired. Clean out the garage, sorting out and pricing all the garage sale stuff? Yes, dear. Repaint the whole upstairs pink and orange? Right away, sweetheart! Get gas for the grill, check the attic for birds, redo the Star Wars room... and no excuses? Oh, my aching back. Wait, was that an excuse? If you could see the journal I'm writing in, you would see tear marks.

I realize that I'm in my pre-retirement self-improvement phase and boy-o-boy was there room for improvement. I can honestly say that I've made some serious strides towards improving myself in many ways. I am extremely happy with my life and envision that by the time I retire, all my health issues will be "healthy lifestyled" into oblivion. I am more active and less sedentary. The last time I checked my e-mail, I had messages backed up for over a week. I haven't written in my blog for almost a month and last week I didn't even have time to weigh in at Weight Watchers. Every time I went to the Y to work out, I got called by the railroad before I got home. The railroad seems to have laid off all but a couple of guys and are working us to death. I've been getting all the important things done like mowing the lawn, taking out the garbage, giving Jenny a pedicure and polishing her wine glasses with $100 bills. I know that there's obvious room for improvement but all at once? If I transform myself into the perfect man this year, what's there to accomplish next year?

Also, women like flawed men. I'm sure that Jenny would hate a world without an occasional belch or fart. I'm not talking about cranking out colon bombs that would make a buzzard barf but an occasional puffer or two. And I didn't mean I would burp the Star Spangled Banner in pig-latin but just a slip now and then. You see, having a couple character flaws can prove beneficial to one's spouse. Jenny doesn't have to ask me what I had for lunch. She just has to look on my shirt. Now I admit to being flawed. I'm not perfect. Yeah, I may be far from ideal, but I'm far from the other end of the spectrum also.

I know people who consider washing their work jacket or brushing their teeth to be spring cleaning chores. Or those who think parking an old car or dead lawn mower in the yard qualifies as landscaping. They're the ones with pet hair in their potluck dishes. They wear tight wife-beater shirts to formal parties and put out cigarettes in the ice bucket. They have an "If the truck's a rockin', don't come a knockin'" sticker on the pick-up with a window sticker of a brat kid peeing on something.

Yeah, I'm not perfect, yet. There's some room for improvement. I'm working on it. I won't have to get the "Get 'er Done" tattoo or the 4X t-shirts. I look forward to a nice long walk or a workout at the Y. My house won't make "Architectural Digest", but it won't make "New Jersey Living" either.

So, as for Dr. Wayne Dwyer, the flack on PBS the other night, who thought I should be perfect and shouldn't have any excuses, if he doesn't like what he sees, he can call my emergency complaint line and complain. The number is 1-800-EAT CRAP.

It was Clem, from Gary!

The yearly monsoon season has arrived in full force to the Fort Wayne area. Soon the flood stage of the local rivers will lead off all the newscasts. The TV stations will have cute shots of baby ducks swimming in a ditch somewhere and the newest reporters will be interviewing people who have been flooded out for the tenth straight year. The city of Fort Wayne is probably scouting out locations to dump the sand that will be used to fill the sandbags.

This year, flooding concerns me more than it usually does. Look at the horrendous weather that accompanied the Great Depression. Mother Nature is famous for kicking people when they're down. That's why tornadoes usually hit trailer parks. Dump on the people without a pot to piss in!

Also, I saw something that shook me to my core. Coming home from Chicago the other day I saw two deer standing together! Then I saw two raccoons standing along side the road when I was driving to Fort Wayne. Also, on my walk last night, I saw two pigeons who seemed to be together and everyone who walked by me in the other direction were paired up! Are you getting my point? The first time I see a geezer with a long gray beard pulling a boat behind his truck, I'll be freaking out.

If a latter day Noah shows up, what's next? Locusts? Sodom and Auburn? Wandering in the mall for sixty days and sixty nights?

If you ask me, anytime you get a flooding rain, its triggered by a seemingly unrelated event. Some people will probably blame me for it. Ever since I planted grass seed on a couple places where we had trees cut down, its rained and rained. I doubt that the almighty is sending all this rain because he enjoys watching grass seed wash away. My money is on some devil worshipping farmer who's trying to plant his fields. Isn't it always the farmers who are screwing us over?

As we go through Gary, Indiana, on the train, the sun is shining without a cloud in the sky. I can put away the rain gear that kept me dry during the deluge at Garrett. If getting puked on by Mother Nature is dependent on how just the local people are then Gary ought to be experiencing a plague of rabid saber-tooth tigers or such! Of course, with my mental acuity, I've figured out why Gary is being spared. The only thing they grow up here is pot and all those "farmers" are in jail. You'll have to wait until the next batch graduates from Purdue before fire, brimstone and rain will fall on Gary.

Personally, I think this bad weather for bad behavior is all a load of crap. The wife gets just as affected by the tornado as the wife-beater. Whenever you see people interviewed after a major disaster, the women seem tragically sweet and vulnerable. They don't have horns and breathe fire. All of those women taught me in elementary school!!

Now, I don't want anyone (Shannon) to think that I'm complaining about the weather. I see rainstorms as God's way of getting that slob next door a second bath this week. My only plea is "Enough already! He's clean!"

Halvey Birthday Jen!!!

Yesterday was Jenny's birthday. For those who are unaware, Jenny is my lovely wife. You may know her as Gramma J or Shannon and Shane's mom or Mrs. Bisque-It. She celebrated her 21st birthday, again, for the umpteenth time. Anyone who knows her or me knows that she is, absolutely and unequivocally the best thing that ever happened to me. So, once again, with sincerity and love I say "Happy Birthday, Sweetie!!"

The only bummer about Jen's birthday is its close proximity to Mother's Day. People have a tendency to give one gift for both occasions and the birthday celebrant gets shorted. The only fair thing to do, and Jenny is the definition of fairness, would be to celebrate her 1/2 birthdays, complete with cake and ice cream, party hats and maybe a clown. Then November 13th would be an official Teders holiday. If I remember (Highly Unlikely) then we'll do it up right in November. I'm sure that Grandma Pat is more willing to share her birthday month than Shane is.

"It's beginning to look alot like..."

In a previous entry, I talked about taking the snow shovels and ice chipper out to the garage. Of course, when someone does such a brave thing, he opens himself up to a snow storm. As you can see, I'm done the tough work. Now this may seem a little ridiculous but as soon as I took these back to the garage, the temperature dropped 15 degrees! If it snows, I'll blog the snowman I make.

Also, on the same entry, I talk about how much nicer the lawn looked when I mowed with a Lawn Boy push mower. Being a hard charger, I started mowing the yard with the Lawn Boy today and on the second pass over the yard the handle broke in two. I must have put too much stress on it with my no-holds-barred mowing style. Luckily I have a back-up push mower.

Little Jaden is staying at our house tonight. Shannon and Mike don't necessarily have any special plans for tonight. They are just thoughtful enough to realize that Gramma and Grampa sometimes need a little more Jaden in our lives. Here she is, trying to put on a pretty necklace she found in her kitchen cupboard.

... and here she is after she got it on. What a cutie!

Her and Gramma J always have a lot of fun when they're together. Here Jaden is having fun jumping on Gramma.

Yeah, Miss J is such a blast to have around. Makes me anxious as all get out for when Little Taylor arrives. Having two little girls in the house? Simply heaven.

"Hail of a nice hotel!"

I'm sitting here at the motel in Chicago, waiting for them to call me for a train back to Garrett. Luckily, I got my walk in earlier, because now its raining like a cow pissin' on a flat rock. Since the motel's TV is hooked up to a dish, all the cable channels went off. Now I'm relegated to watching the Antique Roadshow on PBS. Jenny probably wonders how I can watch it since no one is dancing, singing, fighting for immunity or running for an airport! You see, as the television watching options shrink, my blogging creativity increases. Exciting TV and I have writer's block. Crappy TV and suddenly I'm Mark Twain!

Earlier tonight, I survived a tornado warning IN MY MOTEL ROOM! It was while I was showering. I had all this cold air coming from the air conditioner (I had it set on "large cubes") and the steam was streaming from my long and luxurious shower. As you all know, tornadoes are formed when cold fronts (AC) collide with warm fronts (shower steam). These two fronts met over the bed. I put up with it hoping for hail because I needed ice for my cooler. Needless to say, my calculations were a bit off and I didn't get any hail or tornadoes. Maybe that's for the best.

I have to admit to a fact of life that men of all walks of life hate to admit. This pains me because some guys will see me as a traitor for admitting it. My only excuse is my internal pursuit of truth and integrity. The fact is lawns that are push mowed look much better than lawns that are rider mowed. I have a Lawn Boy push mower that I got tuned up this spring. Its not even self-propelled but is a nice little mower. I felt that the Lord knows I could use the exercise, so I have been push mowing my yard. Its a pretty good sized lawn, so it takes me awhile. It also works out my arms and shoulders. While I was mowing last week, my neighbor came over, asked if my rider was busted and offered his rider if I needed it. I told him that my rider was okay, but I was just walking because I needed the exercise. He looked at me like I was yodelling nude. But as I was saying and it pains me to say so but the lawn looks nice.

The weather seems to have stabilized. I still have the snow shovels and ice chipper on the front porch in case of a snow storm. When I get home, I guess I'll throw caution to the wind and take them out to the garage. I know that as soon as I do it, a snow storm will begin forming over the Rockies an start heading this way. I believe that its finally warm enough to change to snow to rain before it gets to Garrett. If I'm wrong and we do get snow, then I'll have to carry that responsibility with me to my grave. If my actions brought snow to town then I would be on Shannon's s-list. She has proclaimed it to be warm weather and far be it for me to mess with that. So, maybe I'll wait until it breaks 80 before I put the shovels away. No reason to risk my relationship with Shannon just because little kids are pointing at my porch and laughing. Maybe I'll stake a pit bull out front to keep those little whelps out of my yard. What does a smart assed kindergartner know about snow anyway?

Back yard vigilantism!!

Being friends of nature, we put in a wireless router on our computer so the backyard animals can Wi-Fi on their computers. It seems that after reading my blog, one of them became a vigilante! Do you remember that rabbit I wrote about? Well, when I went to mow for the first time this year today, I found him DEAD under a bush. Some animal, and I think it was that dang starling, offed him! He then crawled under the bush and went to that bunny hutch in the sky. He could have read what I wrote and my tough talk scared him to death!

I didn't do an autopsy, so I didn't notice if there was a bullet hole in his hide. I figured if the bunny was dead, then he might've been sick and sick wildlife and me stay away from each other. It might have been death from natural causes. After a busy Easter, the bunny's heart could've exploded from the strain of lugging so much candy around.

Of course, there are a number of reasonable explanations for a dead bunny under my bush. One of his kids could've killed him for the insurance. Might've died of old age. He probably didn't stiff his loan shark. They would've broke his leg, not his neck. Now, I think its safe to say that he didn't commit suicide. After all, rabbits cannot say "Goodbye, cruel world." Plus, I didn't find a note. I doubt if it was a heart attack, the dang thing was a vegetarian.

The rabbit could have been a she. I didn't bother to check for boobs. That opens a whole other avenue of conjecture. It could've been PMS run amok or embarrassment over a bad haircut. She probably asked her husband if her butt looked big and blew up when she heard the answer.

Of course, when there is an unexpected and premature death, the first thing you think of is drugs. Ol' Peter Cottontail could have been a druggie and overdosed. It didn't look like a meth addict. It still had its teeth and its coat was well kept. I didn't see any tractor marks on its little arms. They might have been there but he was too furry to tell. He might have been a glue huffer and burned out his brain. I don't remember missing any glue, but my memory sucks and I don't really keep an inventory of my glue. He might have been a dope smoker but there wasn't any junk food wrappers laying around so I sorta doubt it.

He might have been a rap bunny and another rapper coulda capped his ass. Probably had a rap name like DJ Bugs or L'il Buster. I don't know if rap bunnies ride around in stretch Hummers too but I haven't seen any driving around the neighborhood lately.

Everyone knows how rabbits will eat anything that grows. It could've eaten something it shouldn't. More than likely it had a lunch of cauliflower or green peppers and they killed him. I know that if I ate that crap, I'd deserve to die too! Might have had a poison ivy salad. I remember when we were kids, me and Jerry and Richard Hyde fed a goose about ten pounds of gravel at the cemetery. He wasn't too spry afterwards! Something like that could have happened here. Some bratty kid could've fed the bunny something like grits or granola.

If you ask me, he probably was looking in our windows when he saw Karl Rove on tv blowing off about how Obama is to blame about the economy and not the previous administration. Ol' Bugs probably stroked out while he was screaming at the tv about the stupid gasbag scapegoating an innocent guy.

I'm pretty sure that PETA is looking to sue me for responsibility in the rabbit's death. Remember, if the glove don't fit, you can't convict! I don't know how this has anything to do with it but I like to say it.

Finally, you might think that I am celebrating the demise of dat wascally wabbit. Well I'm not. It sorta scares me. Something out there didn't like a cute little bunny and wasted it. Being sorta obnoxious, I probably have a lot to worry about using that rationale. To any bunny fans out there, let me tell you that I cared about that rabbit and to show you how concerned I am, I'll be taking up a collection to help pay the college costs for its 73 kids. Send your checks to me or donate to me using PayPal. Together we can make a difference in the lives of Bug's kids.

How about "Chip off the ol' Block"?

If you look back in some of my previous blog entries, you'll see where I refer to myself as "the fat guy" or "the big guy". When you're a hefty fellow, you tend to do that (If you're not a tight ass!). God willing and the creek don't rise, by MAXMAS Day in August, I'll be looking like my father-in-law Wayne and I will have to come up with new descriptors for myself. That won't be much of a problem for others, though, because "Hey you!" and "bozo" will still apply. In my unwitting quest to convert myself from a smoldering blob into a reasonably healthy guy before I retire, I have also eliminated a lot of the adjectives that I have relied on for years. What is left for a self-deprecating guy to do?

One good thing is it gives me some ammunition to use against those who saw fit to continually remind me that I was fat and have not yet said anything about my endeavor to get rid of my spare tire. (The tire is a Dunlap as in "My belly done lap over my belt!). My two oldest brothers have called me "fat Max" for years. Its only been since he moved home that Jim now calls me "flat Max". You can't fool me. Flat Max is fat Max with a French accent. The last time I saw Gene, he was looking good. The diabetes and heart attack got him focused and trim. Jim though, is a different story. I yearn for the opportunity to call him flat Jim or fat Jim. Turn about is fair play, right? Given the opportunity, after all the years of humiliation it caused me, I'll probably pass. We liberals are better than that.

One person won't get that same consideration. A former classmate of mine named Craig has made crass comments and demeaning observations about my weight for years. Add to the fact that as I shrink out of my old clothes, he's growing into them! The first time I see Craig after I duck under 200, I'll make some well-rehearsed and juicy comment about his lard ass. I might even make a smarmy crack about his growing baldness. (He's losing his hair faster than I am.) Jim and Gene get a pass because I love them. Craig doesn't.

Now, back to my dilemma. What is a self-deprecating and slim (I hope, I hope!) guy gonna do? I can't refer to myself as "Slats". Most people have never heard that description. I can't use "Jack Sprat" because that infers that my wife is fat and believe me, Gramma J is looking buff! I'm just hoping to look, act and feel normal. Go from obese to nobese. I guess I'll have to give my body shape a rest and use my other characteristics as descriptors. I could be "pick-up boy". Oh crap, that won't do. I don't own a pick-up. This summer, I'll probably be known as "long grass guy" or "stray ray". If I lived in New Jersey, I'd probably be referred to as "Einstein"! There the state university is a private college and they graduate you from high school if you can spell linguine! You know what a 13 year-old virgin is called in New Jersey? Out of state!

Even the terms they use for normal guys are pretty sucky. "Joe Blow" has gay implications I don't even want to talk about. "Joe Six-pack" has been used by Sarah Palin so often in the last year, it lost its meaning for normal people. "Joe Six-pack abs" might be nice for some people but I can't even spell abs. To me, sit-ups are only done by show-offs and crunches are candy bars with Rice Krispies in them.

Now that I'm 2/3's of the way to my goal, I'd like to once again express how grateful I am to all the many people who have said and written so many kind things to and about me. I am completely and totally honored. For an example, after Jenny gave me props on her Facebook page, all the Davis girls made very kind comments. It has really struck an emotional chord with me. After years of being fat Max, friends, family and even strangers are saying so many nice things to me that sticking to the program has become much easier and that one thing is very apparent. Boy, I must've been really fat!

Now, I'm sorry if I dwell too much on my weight issues buy people are usually quite perceptive about issues that they have to regularly deal with. You lose weight and you notice people who need to lose weight. Am I right, Oprah?! My harrowing ordeal with a saliva stone has made me sympathetic to those with kidney stones. Reroof your house and you notice roofs.

This weekend I will again be surrounded by my family as we celebrate little Jaden's second birthday. I'm excited at the prospect of our seeing Jaden, Shannon, Mike and Shane along with the McClure clan at Shannon's on Sunday. Two is the age where kid's toys all need to be assembled and this birthday is no exception. Jaden will be happy to know that Uncle Shane put together our gift instead of Grampa so she'll rest assured, in her big girl bed, that all the parts were used and inserted in their proper place.

Talking about Shane, with his work schedule, he often has his afternoons open so he's taking up golf. The first time he swings a club will probably elevate his game way ahead of mine. I look forward to playing with him.

Last but not least, today would have been my dad's 86th birthday. Whenever anyone would mention how I was just like him, dad would say "That's the best compliment he'll ever get!" You know, I gotta agree with him. Happy Birthday, Dad!