Dealbreaker

It's incredible to see how fast time goes. January is almost over and I've yet to post a good rant in the new year. My babies are growing into such quite the luscious specimens thanks in large part to my gentle yet firm form of parenting (my babies are my two house plants). I've already got growers planting spring wheat so unfortunately it looks like winter in the 509 has vanished. I've had an adventure or two but one in particular really sticks out. If you watch the show 30 Rock you are familiar the the term Dealbreaker. For example, "ladies, if your man is 35 and still wears a name tag to work, that's a dealbreaker." I've developed some dealbreakers of my own recently. I've decided as part of the new year to broaden my horizons on the dating frontier. What a terrible mistake! I was set up with a girl a couple of weeks ago and it was hands down the worst dating experience I've ever had. This leads me to my first Dealbreaker. "If a girl hasn't seen Dumb and Dumber, regardless if she liked it or not, that's a dealbreaker." Honestly, how is it possible that a person between the ages of 10 and 40 has never seen the cinematic treasure Dumb and Dumber? I should have given her cab fare then and there and bid her adieu. The second dealbreaker "if a girl moves across the country to be closer to a guy she has met once, only to live in his parents basement for an entire year while he is dating somebody else, that's a dealbreaker." I don't think any further explanation is required. The third dealbreaker "if a girls claims to be runner up to Miss Washington even though she can't remember the year it happened, that's a dealbreaker." Yeah I googled it and no dice. The final dealbreaker of this brief date "if a girl claims to make 90 dollars an hour at a baby apparel store she doesn't own and has no discernible job title, thats a dealbreaker." A few other questionable qualities: she is also planning on camping out to see some Nicholas Sparks movie, her favorite band is Nickleback (for you old timers out there Nickleback is a Canadian band whose lead singer is a horse), and she claims to have owned 4 houses (she is 24). The amazing thing is all these things happened over dinner. It was an epic evening to say the least. The whole thing has really shaken my resolve to "broaden" my horizons. I'm feeling pretty comfortable with the view I've got right here.

To top it all off, I found out yesterday that she told my friend that she has me wrapped around her finger. That's news to me. I'm starting to get nervous that one day I'm going to come home to find a severed head on my doorstep.

Take Your Comedy Routine Outside

Last night I stumbled on a pet peeve of mine that rivals shortening the name (which happened at church a few weeks back and my testimony was pretty shaken). I was at FHE last night for the first time in a month or so. I've been kind of busy but in reality I just didn't feel like attending. It was a gingerbread house making extravaganza so I figured I would put my architectural skills to use. I was sitting around the table with some friends just shooting the breeze when the elder's quorum president wandered by. You may remember said president from an earlier post. Anyway he sits down and interrupts our conversation. Out of the blue he makes a dramatic face of shock and wants my friends to introduce him to the visitor he has never met. He obviously was referring to me since it had been a while since I attended FHE. He proceeded to ramble on about how he had never seen me at FHE and how I must be sick or lost. I was about three seconds away from shoving a pretzel stick up his left nostril. Did he really think he was the king of comedy and that I would double over in a fit of laughter because of his well timed and equally hilarious observation of my attendance record? I was a tad irritated because after that he just stood up and walked off like he was Don Quixote or Don Juan (he thinks he is a smooth criminal when it comes to the ladies). I just sat there for a little bit almost in awe of the absurdity of what had taken place. I realize to most of you it seems petty and trivial but its just another thing to add to my already grossly overloaded list of things that annoy me.

By the way I made a lovely gingerbread outhouse complete with pretzel stick siding and a peach ring in the shape of a moon over the door.

Worst Decision Of My Life

So I woke up this morning to endless possiblities. A Saturday off with nothing pressing to do. I hadn't been to Costco in a long time since the closest one is an hour away. Being the bachelor that I am, I only had one scoop of laundry soap left and was down to the last roll of toilet paper. So I decided to venture out. I chose to go west because that Costco is close to a ski shop and I needed some ski wax. I told a friend of mine that I was going and she advised me heavily against it. I guess its been so long since I've been to Costco, I've forgotten about what a zoo sample day is. I could barely find a shopping cart let alone a parking space. I finally got inside and of course I got "that" cart. Stupid wheel had so much hair and nasty jammed in it, it would jam up and I'm left bulldozing a squeeker around the bagels. I almost got into fistacuffs with a "rural" gentleman over a block of delicious Tilamook pepper jack cheese. Plus this Costco did the soap in the opposite corner of the store so I have to shove my way through traffic with a loaded cart that won't roll on all four wheels just to get some Cascade and Tide. Then I decide to use the self checkout lines to save time. Everything is going great until go to pay and realize that they don't take VISA. What's that all about? They'll take American Express but not VISA. Really? Fortunately they accepted my debit card and after twenty minutes of trying to worm my way through a bunch of obese middle-aged men and their slices of pizza, I made my way to freedom. Exhausting. Plus everybody kept giving me the stink eye because I was passing them in the aisles like I was in the Indy 500. I guess some people just like to relish the atmosphere that only a bargain club warehouse can provide. The day was saved by a trip to Wendy's and a no. 6 combo with a Dr. Pepper.

Hello My Name Is...

A shocking revelation has recently been brought to my attention. It is the personal introduction followed my church calling IE "Hi my name is Chet Chippewa; elder's quorum pianist." These people exist. One particular example can be found in the glorious Moses Lake singles ward. The elder's quorum president. Every person he introduces himself to he follows it up with is status on the religious hierarchical ladder. Can you imagine if everybody did this. "Hi I'm Steve Gravy, and I have webbed feet." "Hi I'm Molly Juniperberry and I'm a convicted felon." I suppose it would make life easier. I'm not sure what is more sad, the person doing the introducing or the person being impressed by such magical feats. Apparently it must do something because the dude has had like 4 girlfriends in the last 3 months so who am I to judge. But I make an impassioned plea to society as a whole; Unless ordered by a judge or your probation officer, spare us the grandiose title. Nobody cares. Not even your grandma (seriously she called me and we had a whole conversation about it).

Land Of The Lost

I enjoy grocery shopping. I should say I USED to enjoy grocery shopping. I suppose my love for it stems from my childhood when I would go with my mom to Albetson's and on occasion she would let us kids open the wheat thins and eat them while we were shopping. Recently however, my joy has been tainted by the very thing I used to love. I loved the environment. Each aisle was a new adventure. One side of the store was the jungle of produce while the other side was a industrial setting of meat and seafood. A surprise awaited around every corner. Now those surprises usually consist of an overweight gentleman scratching himself in front of the frozen pizzas. I'm sure all of you have experience Wal-Mart fever. No matter when you go, there seems to be an overcrowding of characters that can best be described as former carnival ride workers. Where do these people come from and why are they all congregating at Wal-Mart. I suppose I don't do myself any favors by always shopping on Saturday but these people appear at all hours of the day. Today I was deciding on which brand of peanut butter best represented my extreme attitude toward life, when I witnessed something rarer than a unicorn's bar mitzvah. There was an EXTREMELY overweight lady on a store provided motorized scooter. Well I'm not sure if she broke it, the battery went dead, or the entire machine just couldn't take its miserable existence anymore, but there she was in the middle of the aisle yelling across the store at what I can only assume was her husband for help. I guess her husband was too eager to get to the libations aisle and left her in the dust. I would have offered help, but she wouldn't stop muttering long enough for me to get a word in. It was just another example of the litany of surprises that can only be afforded at Wal-Mart. When will I learn my lesson and start shopping somewhere else? Probably never because I feel so much better at the state of my affairs after a brief hiatus into the land that dignity forgot.

Follow My Lead

I haven't had much to rant about lately but something recently has gotten under my skin. This will probably be pretty foreign to those of you who have names that can't be shortened but for those of us with names that are easily changed, there is a major epidemic out there. I always introduce myself as Clinton. For my entire life I've referred to myself as Clinton. My parents have always called me Clinton. My siblings have always called me Clinton. So why is it that the second after I introduce myself to someone new, they immediately ask if I go by Clint? If I went by Clint, don't you think I would introduce myself as Clint? Are those last two letters that big of a tongue twister? At least those people ask. Some people just automatically start calling me Clint. I mean if somebody introduced herself to me as Victoria, I would start referring to them as Vicky or Tori. Maybe Ictor but I would at least ask. Usually being called Clint isn't that bad but there are certain people out there that when they say Clint, it sounds super trashy and redneck. I don't know if it is their accent or my general feelings of disdain toward them for changing my name, but sometimes it just comes out wrong. I think the whole name thing could be an underlying reason for growing the beard. People think twice about sabotaging a person's name if that person has a beard. Probably because a beard makes people think you are smarter than you really are (at least that's the case with me).

It just doesn't make sense. If you feel like changing my name, whey not switch it up to something extreme like Bojangles, Vanilla Mischief, or Kevin? I'll bet Eastwood never had to deal with this.

Beard Busy

As you have noticed, I've been MIA for a while. Well that is due to the fact that all my energies have been devoted to facial hair establishment and maintenance. As you can see, it is coming along quite nicely. That glorious jungle on my face is about 4 weeks worth of complete devotion. Actually, I started the beard at the beginning of buckwheat harvest and I can't shave it until we are all finished. We've got about 600 acres left but it rains here every three days so I could end up looking like ZZ Top by the time its all said and done.

And yes ladies, I am single.