Steppin' Out with My Baby!

In the last two weeks I've thought of probably twenty different things that I really wanted to blog about. All of them now escape me save the last... I really need to keep a pocket-note-pad handy.

I've been at home all week this week, mainly playing with my toddler, while my wife tends to baby-duty. This morning I told my wife I would be going into work today. After having my shower and getting my suit on she asked if I could help her by holding the baby while she took a quick shower. My toddler was still asleep and my wife would definitely have her hands full after he woke up, so I decided to hold Lil' Higgins while she showered (to ensured that the chaos of waking children could wait until she was fresh and ready to go).

BIG MISTAKE. No more than five minutes into Diane Sawyer's latest expose on motel criminals did Lil' Higgins piss all over my shirt, tie, and slacks. "Ding-Dong!" I cursed in my newly acquired G-rated languate that I use at home. I was irritated. But it's not his fault. He's just a baby. It's not my fault, I certainly didn't want to wear tee-tee-clothes. It's not my older son's fault... he is still asleep. That rules out everyone but the wife. It must be her fault, right? She didn't see it that way.

Long story-short... I had to add a pair of pants to the drop off at the dry-cleaners.

Did you enjoy those daily Blog-Posts? I hope you did! I hope you did very much!

...Because The Wheel will be back to weekly postings (at best). Why a shift in time spent in blog-country, you may ask? Because I am proud to announce the arrival of my second son. My closest friends have already dubbed him Lil' Higgins, so for lack of a better idea and energy to come up with one we'll go with that.

We went to the hospital early morning on March 1st with great anticipation. Eight hours later Lil' Higgins was celebrating his zero birthday! I am happy to say that he is healthy, happy, and already quite the ladies-man as he got the attention of every nurse on the floor. I must admit that we had a great experience with our doctor and the hospital. They really know how to do it up right on the second floor of Plano Medical Center. If you have to be in a hospital I highly recommend the labor and delivery/neonatal/postpartum unit. Everyone is all smiles and giggles.

"Oh what a cute baby!"

"Congratulations, he's precious!"

...et cetera et cetera, infinitum, ad nauseam...

I took Mrs. Cyber and Lil' Higgins home on Saturday. Here is a picture of me (the proud daddy) strolling around with "said-baby."

Since then I have spent the last few days at home helping around the house and mainly taking care of my highly rambunctious 2 year old son, Lil' Magnum (also affectionately named by those same close friends).

But today is my first day back in the office. I came in extra early so I could leave a little early tomorrow and get a jump-start on my sleepless weekend with the family. I'm glad I came in early too because there are bunches of email and voice-mail stacked up in my in-box. Most importantly I needed to update my blog. I do hope it's bloggity enough for you because my new bundle of joy is already kicking my ass in the sleep department and it's going to take almost everything in the tank to do my stinking job for the next few months. That means a little less time on the world-wide-web.

Anywho- please refer all interview requests to the blogment section of this post and I'll check my schedule for the next availability.

Happy Birthday, Son!

Just hold it...

Hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. That's all I keep hearing from my wife, my doctor, my mother... you name it. And it's true. Often times when I feel run-down, lethargic, or just have a simple head-ache, a few bottles of water is all it takes to get me back on the right side of feeling swell. But there is a dark side to hydration. A wicked side with a nasty sense of humor.

How many of you in blog-country have been right on time for a meeting at work, with no wiggle room for a bathroom break? You can already feel it coming on and you hope that the meeting, scheduled for an hour is only going to go thirty minutes because that may be all your bladder can handle. So you sit in the meeting. You take notes, you participate, you listen and you watch as the momentum of said meeting goes well beyond your window of opportunity. Now you're holding on for dear life. You'd prefer not to get up and leave the room, drawing attention to the fact that you are gong to pee-pee and you think that maybe the meeting could wrap up in just a few minutes. The time ticks away and you are no longer able to concentrate on the content of the meeting because the pain in your bladder is blocking out all other sensation.

A few minutes earlier you were chiming in with great ideas and interesting observations. Now every person in the room that says, "Have we discussed this option yet?" becomes your mortal enemy and you curse the day that they were born because you now know that it would one day lead to them setting in this f-ing meeting and forcing you to risk pissing your pants!

You begin to squirm ever so slightly because it is all you can do to hold back the tide of urine that is now dangerously close to spilling forth! You think to yourself, I can't wait any longer! I must excuse myself from the meeting. But you're paranoid now. Worried that someone may have noticed your change in demeanor long ago and will know that for the last thirty minutes you've been thinking of nothing but unzipping your pants!

But then the meeting ends! Thank the Gods! relief at last. You stand up and prepare to file out the door of the conference room. You're home free! The toilet is just a few yards away and you can almost feel that sweet relief. It's the most precious thing in the world at this point and you would trade away your first born child just for the chance to let it fly!

You step one foot out of the conference room and in that very moment your boss stops you and says, "Say, cyberman. Have a seat for a few minutes while I go over this other project with you."

Normally you'd have the right words to explain your situation. You'd say something like, "I'm sorry, boss. I need to run to the restroom really quickly and I'll be right back." Unfortunately all sanity has left you at this point and you only manage to blurt out, "Pampers" because that's what you'll need if you're not careful.

Bed Time Guilt

My wife and I have really been putting the screws down on bed time with our two year old. He still cries (or whines) every night when we tell him it is bed-time. One small success has been that while he is crying he is (of his own accord) walking back to his bedroom on his own.

We've been playing hard ball for two reasons. 1) We are prepping for the arrival of this baby and we'd like at least one child to have a regular sleep cycle. 2) We actually enjoy the quality time together weather that is watching a TV-show, doing dishes, or just catching up with each other as a couple.

Once back in the bedroom we still have to read stories, do a few puzzles, and generally corral his but into bed. But once we say "night-night" it's lights out and that's it. He has his good days and bad days. The bad ones usually consist of 2-3 minutes of crying after we leave the room. The good ones, including the last few nights, have been him repeating the phrase "night-night" back to us.

Last night we wrapped things up and turned off the light. His response to me was "night-night, Daddy. Have fun."

I found that his innocent statement that I "have fun" struck in me a pang of guilt that still lingers this morning... because that was exactly what I was anticipating doing after I left his room. I was going to go out and "have fun"... whatever that meant. What must he think we do after he goes to bed? Break out the cake and ice-cream? Call up Curious George and Clifford the Big Red Dog so they can all come over and watch Disney movies until sun-up? What's next? When I drop him off at school in a few years will he say things like, "Don't worry about me dad. I'm sure I can dodge the school bully long enough to get my daily spanking from my evil teacher before being shuffled off to the cafeteria to eat gruel that isn't nearly as delicious as the food we eat at home." I think my next cyber-implant is going to replace my tender-heart with something that more resembles cast-iron.

What was I thinking?

In preparation for the upcoming cyber-tot, Mrs. Cyber and I were going through old photos and attempting to organize, as new babies always bring with it a flood of pictures. We got sidetracked going through some old albums. My goodness how fads change over time. Do you remember ankle rolled blue-jeans? Here's a picture of some of my favorite "looks" from the past!



My god, what was I thinking doing my hair like that. Oh well, it was the eighties! And look at those pants. How embarrassing! But I know you guys still love me, if you can't share the soft underbelly of your past with blog-country, who can you share with?

Drew is Back...

...with a special editorial. If you like the ramblings of the burger-loving gunslinger that was wrongfully jerked from his starting position, then check out one of his recent articles. He talks about the retirement of Bill Parcels.

Once more unto the breach!

There's a reason that a vast majority of children are born more than two years apart from each other in a single family. It's because it takes that long for parents to forget all the crappy parts of raising an infant. Don't get me wrong, I love my son and there isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't fill my spirit with a joy that lacks compare, but he was one difficult baby!

Spit-up, diapers, colic, and sleepless nights are just some of the things one expects as they face parenting for the first time. It's only after you've experienced the joys of caring for a baby that you become fully aware of the highest highs and the lowest lows of that physical, mental, and emotional roller-coaster.

And now upon the eve of the birth of my second son my wife and I are reminded of (not the specific challenges because time has wiped those from our memory but) the battle of bringing a new life into the world. We are steeling our resolve, marshaling our resources, tapping into our reserves, and mustering the militia. Lil' Higgins will soon be on his way.

Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war!

Caught in Bermuda

In case blog-country hasn't figured it out: Dagromm, Q, and I live in and around the same metro-area and we have all been friends for many years now. Dagromm and I knew each other first but after he moved further away, the Q and I began hanging out with even more frequency. Now we all live about one hour's drive distance from each other and our friendships have become largely phone conversations with the occasional lunch get-together.

But an unsettling trend is occurring in this sacred triangle of love. The last few days I have noticed that when I place my daily call into either one of these dear friends their phones always go to voice mail. I then call the other and that phone is goes to voice mail. When I happen to be talking to one, they always have to jump off the phone to take another call and then when I call the other they aren't available to visit. It turns out that the Q and Dagromm are visiting with greater frequency and they have been each ignoring their caller IDs when my call comes through. Of course no one person in the triumvirate is more important than another but as the most important and influential member of the group, I worry for their eternal souls as their friendship drifts away from the moral compass that is me. To make matters worse I have now come to find out that they are planning a weekend tryst together! Of course they both have clumsily invited me to tag along after I unearthed their secret. Can you believe the audacity? I've had it with this love triangle! I'll not play second fiddle to anyone!

My solution: Gyuss, move to our metro-area and become my best friend! Short of that I have recently priced the cost of a stun-gun, a circle-saw, and a trash bag.

Skirting the Edge

If you're a regular reader of this blog then you already know I'm a huge game-geek. I'm not as high-tech as Q and Gyuss but I do love me a good table-top war game when I have time to play. Lately I've really gotten into the Axis and Allies Miniatures game. It's a fast paced, and fun war game with historical routes making it (perhaps) one of the least geeky of war games I have ever played. There are a few problems with the game, one being that a particular unit (namely the SS-Panzergrenadiers) is under priced and overly powerful... I digress.

In graduate school I took a class on starting a business and we were allowed to work on a project of our own design. I chose the Collectible Card Game market (or CCG for short). I had many discussions with fellow game-geek and project partner about which franchises would make good material for a CCG and we debated why certain games haven't already been made. Like why is there no CCG for the Indiana Jones property? One would think it would be a viable franchise to build a collectible card game around. One of our early theories was that perhaps the backdrop of the Nazi's as major characters in the franchise might make the game just a little too politically charged for someone to be willing to touch it.

Fast forward to today and the Axis and Allies Miniatures game. Now Axis and Allies has been around a long time as a board game but the recent development of a collectible miniatures game has brought with it all the trappings of the on-line fandom community including a forums section on the Avalon Hill AAM main page. Now everyone knows that membership in a forum requires a really cool avatar and fans of the AAM have chosen many an interesting avatar to depict their on-line persona. I was recently lurking around the forums and came across one thread that was initially started about a rules question but turned into a debate about one members avatar being a Nazi flag.

Out of the woodwork pop everyone with an opinion from mild-mannered level headed folks to the idiocy of what can only be pimply faced thirteen year olds spouting "free-speech" and "don't deny history!" Vomit! Like a car crash I was riveted and couldn't wait to see how long the moderators would allow this argument to continue. For a game that does involve Nazi Germany Avalon Hill shrewdly created a code of conduct that included no use of Nazi symbols and no political discussions allowed. Seams easy enough to respect. But there is always someone that believes the rules don't apply to them. This one guy whose member handle is "Himmler" and his avatar the swastika, actually felt like he wasn't doing anything wrong. What a jack-ass! I couldn't believe this guy actually thought he was in the right. And everyone that attempted to calmly and gently suggest he change his avatar and handle got flamed like you wouldn't believe! I was stunned. Eventually the moderator stepped in and explained to the group that the political discussion needed to cease and desist and return the thread to a gaming discussion. What followed was a series of posts resulting in quite possibly the funniest Nazi humor I have ever read.



MODERATOR: The political discussion is very definately out of place here, so please avoid that.

MEMBER X: Yikes, how did this just happen. Let's go back to complaining about the game.

MEMBER Y: Yeah! ... uhm ... SS Panzergrenadiers are underpriced!


MEMBER Z: Underpriced and big meanies. Those guys have committed many atrocities in my tackle box.



I have to say to Member Z, you may skirt the edge of socially correct humor but you are one funny son of a bitch!

Happy VD!

I suppose it is customary to wish everyone you know a happy (insert-holiday). I know I always make it a point to wish practicing Christians a Merry Christmas, and Happy Easter. It's always a safe bet with wishing any American a Happy Thanksgiving, and you can't go wrong wishing all mother's a Happy Mother's Day. Speaking of Mother's Day, this brings up an issue for me and I'll lump Valentine's Day in there as well.

What's the point, other than to sell cards, candy, and flowers? I realize that complaining about the consumerism conspiracy behind such holidays isn't a brand-new hot-sports-opinion but I feel the need to bring it up. Aren't these holidays of appreciation just a business model for Hallmark and Godiva to boost profits? As husbands, fathers, sons, and boy-friends, shouldn't we be appreciating our spouses every day of the year? I know I try to express appreciation to my wife as often as possible. Does one really need mother's day to tell your mom you love her?

I'd say my wife falls in the middle when it comes to the broad spectrum of how women feel about Valentine's Day. She's fairly traditional and sentimental so she always likes to see that I've put out a little thought and effort. Of course every man knows this is the most difficult part. I'm lucky in that she doesn't need, expect, or even want me to demonstrate grand financial gestures, and she is almost always willing to postpone the actual celebration of a special day until later in the month if life gets in the way (that even includes birthdays). Nevertheless, there is something about flowers that always makes her happy.

What is it about spending money on something that one will have nothing to show for in three days? I don't get it. I don't suppose I'm genetically designed to understand why it is important. I guess I just need to know that it IS important.

Rock and Roll All Night

What a year of the football. My favorite team recently announced an exciting new minority head coach, my favorite quarterback made it to the Super Bowl and single-handidly won the game and then deservedly was anointed the mantel of MVP, placing him amongst the greats of football-all-time. Move over Uncle Rico, there's a new sheriff in town!

It was happy-fun-time a the cyber-home last night. I had a few family members over for a laid back get-together. Little did we know we would rock the house down! We sent the kid to bed early with no dinner so we could get down to the importance of football ASAP (that stands for As Soon As Possible in case you didn't know).

When the game kicked-off things looked bleak, as the football freak of nature ran one back for a TD (that stands for Touchdown in case you didn't know) in the first 14 seconds of the game. Luckily Manning rifled a TD pass to Reggie Wayne before I had a chance to kick the chair out from under my feet. My wife untied the rope from the rafters and I got down in time to watch D.Rhodes rumble, bumble, and stumble for massive yardage. Luckily Peyton taught him everything he knows.

That's when the party really started to hop! We decided to listen to the game through the surround system so we could take the party to the streets without missing a minute of the action. My neighbor only called the cops once but that wasn't for the noise. I guess some people don't appreciate roman candles rocketing off of their dining room windows.

The dog got painted all red by the end of the game but the party wouldn't stop for another hour. It would have gone all night but we ran out of rubbing alcohol and we were only able to set fire to my front lawn. I had hoped it would start a chain reaction of grass-fires as a tribute to the greatness of Peyton Manning but the local fire-department was such a buzz-kill.

Anyway, I think we can all agree that the most deserving team won the game. Feel free to blogment with your own Super Bowl celebration story!

Love to football!

For the people, by the people...

Don't let it be said that I don't listen to the masses. For your convenience, NOT mine... I have disabled word verification. I expect a hefty amount of blogmenting from the vocal majority!

It's like it's my first time all over again.

What a momentous occasion. I got my first blogment SPAM yesterday. I didn't know what it would be like but now that I've had it, it's clear to me what it is. Getting my first bit of spam brings back some of that rookie excitment associated with me starting my blog.

But now I must appologize to all my faithful followers because I'm enabling word verification to prevent any more of this crap from cluttering my site. Love to all you non-spamers!

Big Dirty is a Pro!

It's not every day that you run into the most over-the-top personality in the Metroplex and I've managed to do so twice in one month. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and my son and I were getting cabin-fever from being in the house all day. I decided that we needed an outing and the brand spakin' new Bass Pro Shop had just opened up on the other side of the lake from where I live. When we arrived at the sprawling Mecca for all things "outdoor-sie" I noticed a familiar figure standing in the middle of the entry-way. It was none other than Big Dirty! He was staring up at a giant wall covered in dear antlers. He saw me out of the corner of his eye and greeted me in typical Big Dirty fashion.

"Hell yeah," he said.

"We keep running into each other," I responded.

"That's what I'm talkin' about," he stated as he pointed over to the wall of antlers.

"What are you talking about?" I attempted to clarify.

"Hunting big game. I'm all about hunting big game." He grinned from ear to ear as he watched a young woman decked out in all flannel walk past. He pointed both hands (mimicking two six-guns) in her direction and whispered "pow-pow."

"Nice," I said sarcastically.

"I see you got your little man-child with you again."

"You mean my son?"

"Whatever, let's roll." He replied.

We walked into Bass Pro together. I had heard that this store had a giant fish tank so I was taking my son there to watch the employees feed the fish. Big Dirty happened to be going in the same direction and he just assumed we were following him.

"You know next time we roll, you gotta ditch the kid." he said

"Roll what?" I replied.

"Ya know... roll for chicks. This is the perfect place to meet hot ladies. But you gotta be free and unfettered. Hot babes don't want to think you're tied down."

"I'm married, dude."

"Whatever," he said dismissively, "just don't call me dude."

"I thought you were all about the hot moms," reminding him of our last encounter.

"Yeah, hot moms are overrated. Don't get me wrong... hot moms are awesome and all but this is where the real action is at."

"What action?" I asked as I attempted to keep one eye on my son (who at this point was completely distracted by the enormous fish floating around the tank) I was glad he was distracted because Big Dirty continued to throw down some pretty dirty language despite my insistence that he stop. I guess that's why they call him Big Dirty.

"I'm talkin' about the butch broads, man. They're all manly and stuff so you know they don't get much action. But underneath all that denim and flannel, they're just as awesome as the next lady."

"You don't say." I replied awkwardly.

"Totally. Like this one chick in my office. She throws down the mountain boots and baseball cap so you know her phone ain't ringin' off the hook. That's when Big Dirty swoops in."

"So you're now referring to yourself in the third person?" I asked.

"You gotta stay on your toes if you're gonna run in my posse. Anyway, my only real concern is her pony-tail. Does that mean she's a lesbian?"

I look out of the corner of my eye and my son is headed for the video game machine. It was lucky for me because I'd had enough with Big Dirty at that point. "Um, I gotta go."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. Like being a lesbian ever stopped Bid Dirty from making his move."

I headed over to the video-games and watched my son press on the buttons as he is still too young to actually play the game. Big Dirty must of decided that we weren't finished with our conversation.

"So you guys want to go get some pizza?" he asked.

"Pizza is awesome!" my son chimed in.

Big Dirty looked down and smiled, giving my son the thumbs-up sign. "You said it, kid!"

I suppose if my son had to pick up a catch phrase from Big Dirty, the word awesome wasn't too bad.

"Okay, let's go get some pizza," I said reluctantly.

"Great, cause you know what's best about the pizza parlor, right? The Babes!"

I rolled my eyes... Maybe that's why they call him Big Dirty.

Cha-Ching!

I'm a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. I've been one for many years. But in the last 5-7 years, I've acquired both an NFL regulation football and Manning jersey signed by the future hall of famer himself, Peyton Manning. Since that time, I have quietly (or not so quietly) wished this quarterbacking prodigy well on his road to greatness. If for no other reason than to have the value of my two sports collectibles go up! Over the course of the last several seasons Peyton has always managed to come up short and I have felt sorry for this multi-millionaire. Once again the football savant made his way to the AFC Championship game and once again it appeared that he might just choke. I found myself again cheering my heart out for the Indianapolis Colts, only this time, I realized I was cheering for the hopes of other individuals as well. Tony Dungy, Marvin Harrison... in general the entire Colts franchise. Could it be that I have unwittingly become a Colts fan? Perhaps. At the end of the game, when the Colts finally won the day, I was a happy football fan, and resigned in what might be now my second favorite team. Only the strangest thing happened at that very moment. As I was watching Peyton upon the championship podium, a thought ran through my head...

"I wonder how much my jersey is worth now."

So on the eve of Peyton's first Super Bowl appearance I say, "Go Manning and Go Colts!"

Riding High

A recent article by the illustrious Q got me thinking about a now infamous experience he and I shared over the course of a lunch hour back in the year 2000 (please read the last phrase like that dude from the Conan O'Brien Show).

Q and I often went to grab a bite while he was working in my office. This particular time we took my Sa-Wank company car - a powder blue Ford Taurus, Ching! There is this little burger dive in an old part of town that we enjoyed visiting, only it had us roll through a moderately sketchy neighborhood.

This particular time we were headed back to campus and I slowly pulled up to a stop-sign next to a 7-eleven. As I did this I could see a young man riding a bicycle down the intersecting street. Instead of going through the intersection (where he would have had the right of way) he chose to cut across the 7-eleven lot, and in doing so slammed into the passenger side of my car! Q screamed like a six-year-old girl and dove his head into my lap as the man's body buckled in half, with arms and torso sprawling across the hood of my car and legs flailing against Q's window. His momentum (now displaced by the powder-blue sex-machine) rolled down the right side of the vehicle along with the bicycle, leaving a long scratches and a very unattractive streak from his tennis shoes.

I did what any mild mannered driver sitting at a dead freakin' stop would do. I pulled Q's head out of my crotch, yelled "son of a bitch!" and jumped out of my car. The guy had popped up from behind my back-right tire, his long blond mass of hair swishing from side to side in a disheveled mess. He was probably in his mid thirties, wore a sleeveless Iron Maiden t-shirt and cut-off blue jeans.

FYI - Cut off blue jeans are always a bad sign!

He rubbed his three day old stubble as he groaned and looked over at me. The following conversation ensued.

Me: What the hell do you think you're doing?

Blondie: Dude, I've never been hit by a car before.

Me: You mean you've never HIT a car before. I was at a dead stop, a-hole.

Blondie: Yeah, man... I'm sorry about that. You like came out of no-where.

Me: I was sitting at the stop sign. (By this time I've walked around the car and seen that he's knocked my side mirror completely off). Look at the damage to my car.

Blondie: Yeah, man.

Q: (to me) Do you think he's okay?

Me: Oh yeah, are you okay?

Blondie: Yeah, I think I'm okay. Thanks for asking (Keep in mind, he's bleeding all over the back of my car as he turns to pick up his busted bike and begins to walk away).

Me: Hold up, Tex. This is a company car. I've got to call the police and file a report.

Blondie: What?

Me: You need to stay here while I call the police.

Blondie: The cops?

Me: Yes.

Blondie: Yeah, I gotta go home and grab my wallet. I just live down the street but I'll be right back.

Me: Listen. You do what you want, but I'm calling the police. You say you're coming back... that's on you.

Blondie: Okay... see you in just a second.

I go into the 7-eleven and the clerk says, "Man, that guy is not coming back."

Me: Don't I know it.

Two weeks and $780 later I get the Taurus back as good as new. Message to the kids: Don't do drugs.

The Quartet of Quartetness

Recently my dear friend Q was asked about how the Gyuss, Q, Dagromm, Cyberman relationship began and if there was a blog-bio on the subject. This interested blogger must have searched high and low for such a story and was saddened to realize that one could not be found. For this reason, and for others (namely to apologize to all my tender-hearted family members who dare to read the comments section of my blog and are stunned by the R-rated comments) I have decided to chronicle the story of this illustrious quartet - of which I am a humble (and most important) member.

The year was 1992 and I was just a young cyber-lad heading off to college. Like many, I was nervous about new friendships. Little did I know that 14 years later I would still be in regular contact with my freshman roommate. Gyuss and I couldn't have been more opposite when we started out. Aside from the general guy stuff like video-games, girls, and action movies, we were completely different people. Gyuss is known for his amazing chameleon like personality so he put his best foot forward when dealing with me and I was just happy to room with a guy that wasn't going to get drunk and puke on my bed every weekend. What formed from this unlikely pairing was a friendship that has stood the test of time. There have been some lean years recently with four states separating us, but that tends to happen with friendships. But when you've seen another man naked, watched him get arrested, witnessed the courtship with his future wife, witness his defection from one political party to another, and taken him to the hospital (like Gyuss and I have with each other) geographical distance is just a minor obstacle.

That same year we met Dagromm. I can't remember if Gyuss or I met Dagromm first but the resulting run-in provided an opportunity for Dags and I to realize we shared a common creative streak. This creative streak turned into an incredibly honest and deep friendship. During our four years in college we embarked on a two year project, during that time we laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks, we argued until one might think a punch would be thrown, and we have celebrated an undertaking that we still reminisce to this day. It is also the part of the spark for Dagromm's blog "handle" and an inside joke to me Gyuss.

Finally there was Q. One year after school I got a job back at my old college. It was good times because I had just married my wife, and gotten back in touch with Dagromm who was living in the college town. Q was just a boy when Dagromm and I first met him. Dags met him first, since Q was a regular patron in the store that Dags managed. When Dags told me about this wide-eyed-lad, and said he would have fit in greatly with our friendship circle in college, I was skeptical. Gyuss, Dags, myself, and handful of other college friends had an incredible friendship and I found it hard to believe Dagromm's claim. Much to my surprise, Q proved to be all that and more. Smart and funny with a touch of the bizarre, Q shocked and amazed us at every turn. Over time, each of us developed our own favorite Q story. Mine is not fit for blogger-country. But needless to say, he fits in just fine. Eventually Gyuss had an opportunity to meet up with the infamous Q and not surprisingly that friendship has blossomed. Now Q has turned into a twisted and depraved human being and I am very glad I got to know him when I did.

With three of us living two hours or more away from each other and Gyuss living across the continent, we have discovered blogging as a way to keep in touch in the most typical guy fashion. We talk about stupid stuff that has absolutely no importance in our lives other than to get laughs from each other! One can only surmise how this illustrious quartet will transform over the years and what greatness will come from it. Only time and historians will be able to tell.

Insurance

My wife has been seeing her doctor in preperation for the arrival of the baby for some time now. We changed insurance companies with my new job, back in October and the financial advisor for her doctor's office is just now telling us that (with the change) we now owe an extra $1,000 and that they needs it ASAP as we are supposed to be fully paid this close to the end of the pregnancy.

What a load of garbage. We told them that they knew about the insurance change in October and we could have had three months to spread out any extra payments. Now they're comming at us wanting the full amount ASAP? Forget it! They will get their money but it's going to take a couple of months.

The good news is I prepped my wife on what to say to our Doctor. Screw the doctor's accountant. I don't care what she thinks. So my wife mentioned ouf beef with the pencil-pusher to her doctor and she must have said something to her accountant because the bean-counter changed her tune.

My mother likes the saying "You get more flies with honey," but I'm begining to believe you get more flies by being a hard-ass and refusing to be pushed around.

My run in with Big Dirty...

I took my son to Toys R' Us this weekend. There are still a few more Saturdays left that my wife works so I've got to be creative with how we spend our time. I mean, I can't have him sit in front of the idiot box for ten hours straight... my wife would catch on when my son starts to only speak in catch-phrases from his favorite tv shows. Toys R' Us is great because of all the different kinds of crap kids can play with in the store.

You can imagine my surprise when I ran into Dagromm's good friend, Big Dirty. "How unexpected!" I said in a half-hearted attempt to sound interested in Big Dirty's weekend reason for being at the local Toys R' Us.

"Not as unexpected as you might think..." he responded with hands clutched in front of his belt-buckle.

"Okay..." I responded awkardly, "So... what's up?" I asked.

"Dude, did you know that TRU is the absolute best place to meet hot-moms?"

"What?" I asked in disblief.

"Like that one," said Big Dirty, ignoring my last question. He pointed his outstreatched arm to a young mother and her toddler as they made their way through the store. The young mother looked over in our direction as Big Dirty continued to stand there with pointer finger gunning her down like a sniper tracking its prey. "Ain't that right!" he called out to her. "I could totally hit that," he said to me as he ignored her fleeing from his pressence around the corner and down the Barbie aisle.

"What's your problem?" I asked dumb-founded.

"You know what the best thing is about moms, dude?" he asked, still ignoring my questions.

"I've got to go." I attempted to end the conversation.

"The've got experiance, ya know. Teenagers are over-rated." Big Dirty asserted.

"And illegal." I added.

"Yeah, that too," he responded only half listening as he stared down another mom who was pushing her cart through the store with two kids under the age of six.

Luckily my son insisted on playing with the Thomas the Train set, so I was forced to leave Big Dirty to his antics.

"Later." I said.

"You know it." he responded with emphasis on the word "know."

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