thursday

Someone took me to lunch yesterday, so I didn't write. Hope you didn't miss me too much.

I'm now beginning to wonder if I can afford to go on that trip at all. Even with the child tax credit, my budget is screwed. Plus I have a speeding ticket to pay for on top of my past-due bills.

Oy.

Nothing profound today. I'm too tired to write much. I may take the last 20 mins of my lunch hour to take a nap.

what about about?

Oh my God! A guy commented that he found me on about.com. That is so cool. It's in the section called "Blogs from Dads or About Dads." It says "Blog content from a divorced dad experiencing the trials of adjustment to divorce and parenthood."

Very cool.

My other site, bitchen.com, has been linked on about.com for a long time, but somehow this seems more special...

kid pic

By the way, my brother posted a picture of my kids (and his) the other day.

Mine are: Mal (Red Bandanna), The Rooster (Red Shirt) and Katie (White Visor)

(These are not their real names, BTW)

autoblogging

I've been blogging in my car lately. Thanks to a car power adapter I got from eBay, I can type on my laptop without fear of this old, free beast dying on me.

It's nice to get away. Take a snack. Sit in the shade and just type what comes to mind. I really feel like writing since I started doing this. I guess it's like all the books say: pick a time to write, have an ending time and then write every day.

I even had writer's block briefly about 10 minutes ago, but I decided to fire this blasted thing up and just start typing. Plus the fact that journaling is damned cathartic, makes it and ideal lunch activity.

That's all. Pretend you care.

the best show ever

Of course Taxi is in it's own league, but I've been watching Sports Night on DVD. It only ran two seasons, but damn! It was created and written by Aaron Sorkin (of The West Wing fame). The first season has a ridiculous laugh track that you need to ignore, but each episode is 22 minutes of the most riveting banter ever put on film.

I laugh and I cry. Literally. This is a thinking man's comedy. This is the perfect example of how networks kill shows based on ratings and not quality. It's good business, I know, but shit.

You need to go out and rent, or better yet buy, both seasons of Sports Night right now. I'll sit here and wait. Go ahead.



Okay, you got it? Let me warn you of something, You can't watch just one episode. They are like Lay's Potato Chips. Every time I sit down to watch one, I watch four. Or five. Or six. Each episode is so packed with good stuff that they only seem ten minutes long. I remember watching it on ABC and thinking "God, was that a half an hour already?"

If you buy this and don't thoroughly enjoy it, I will personally refund your money as long as you donate the discs to someone else.

Honest. If I could afford it, I'd buy each and every one of my readers the set.

barbara called

Hello?

Hello, is the, uh.... "bitchen" Ric Johnson?

Speaking.

This is agent ___________ of the Secret Service, Barbara Bush would like to speak with you.

The former first lady?

No, sir. One of the first daughters, sir. May I put her on the line?

Sure! By all means!

Ric?

Yes.

"Bitchen" [giggle] Ric?

That's me. Is this Miss Bush?

Call me "Barb."

Okay. What can I do for you?

I saw what you wrote about me on your blog. You honestly care about whether I'm sad?

Yes! I do. I care if all people are sad. You called to ask me that?

No, I called because I'm thinking about taking you up on your offer to cheer me up.

I don't think I offered, but I certainly will now!

Well, there's just something I need to ask you about first.

What's that?

Why do you write such nasty stuff about your mother-in-law?

"Mother-Out-Law" I'm not married anymore.

WhatEVER. Why do you write it?

She's a caricature. It's satire. It's parody. Have you read my disclaimer?

What disclaimer?

It's right at the bottom of every post. It's a link that says "read the disclaimer."

Oh. So what does it say?

It says I write whatever I feel like, and readers should respect the fact that it's a personal journal.

It's okay to write bad shit in your personal journal?

Don't you?

I guess I do. But I don't put it on the Internet.

I do.

Oh... So why do you want to console me?

Because you're too beautiful to be sad.

Awww. It's not because my dad is the President?

No. I never offered to console Chelsea or Amy Carter.

You didn't have a blog then did you?

Beside the point. You're better lookin' than all of them.

Don't you lust Jenna? Everyone else in the fucking country does.

No. That's small-minded men who think young blondes that drink publicly are sexy. I don't.

Really? You don't think my sisters sexy?

Nope. I prefer thinner brunettes that go to private naked parties at Yale.

WHAT! Where did you hear that?

It was on the Internet, it must be true.

I'll take The Fifth on that.

So, do you want to get together?

Maybe. I'll have my people call you... You're not still seeing that girl that was dating the accountant too, are you?

No. Why?

Because I don't need the drama.

I have to tell you: I'd drop you in a heartbeat if she asked me back.

WHAT? Forget it, jerk! Nobody will be calling you.

&%$*^(!%

I'm a bad, bad blogger. I missed posting yesterday. Forgive me.

I'm also a sad, sad blogger.
I'm sad like Barbara Bush.

Nothing is going my way right now, I guess. Money is bad. Of course, the fact that I'm really short on sleep is depressing the hell out of me.

It doesn't help that SKB is bringing my stuff back to me tomorrow that I left at her place--an exclamation point to the finality of that situation. We're planning to meet up in a few weeks and see if there's any reason to attempt to continue. It doesn't look good. We just simply aren't that compatible. She remarked the other day that a friend finally convinced her of that. It's sad because I really like her and I have the utmost respect for her. But there are just some things you look for in a mate and sometimes you just have to come to grips that you're looking in the wrong place.

It doesn't help that I may have been looking in exactly the right place last week; and after a wonderful two dates with a woman who seemed to be a very good match, she dumped me for an accountant she was also dating. Devastating.

It doesn't help that I have tons more work to do than I can get done, but thankfully we are looking for a new person to lighten my load.

What does help is that I got a new sound card today so I can properly set up my studio and perhaps record something.

That would be nice.

I'd like to meet Barbara Bush and we could be sad together. And maybe we could cheer each other up.

That, too, would be nice.

garage sale class

I've been off Wednesday, Thursday and Today for my garage sale. I guess it's strange to a lot of people that a single guy has a garage sale. It's not odd to me. Look at it this way: Whenever The Ex had a garage sale I did all the work anyway (except pricing, and I've adopted a "mass pricing" model versus her "individual pricing" model) so I know how it works.

There are some secrets to a successful garage sale in Indiana, and I shall impart my wisdom now. Some of these rules may not apply to your part of the world.

1. Use day-glo/florescent signs. White signs get lost with other visual flotsam and jetsam on the side of the road.
2. Mark the entire path from every major thoroughfare to your garage with day-glo "bread crumb" signs with your address on every one.
3. Color of signs is more important than quality of sings, but both is best. Corrugated plastic and foam core make the best signs. You can also spray-mount florescent posterboard to heavy cardboard or masonite.
4. Start your garage sale on Thursday, that's when the die hard shoppers come out.
5. Advertise in the paper starting the night before the sale. Mention a landmark near your house as well as your hours and address.
6. Fill luggage, backpacks, etc with newspaper. They sell so much quicker.
7. Rearrange your stock placement. Wal-Mart changes the arrangement of clearance items daily. There may be a table that folks aren't even seeing. Rearrange items on tables and rearrange tables from day to day or even from morning to afternoon. Feature different items on the street side from time to time. You may be surprised.
8. Put attractive items near the street with prices on a florescent card readable from a car.
9. Mark things down that don't sell on Thursday if you think the price might be prohibitive.
10. Address all customers with a smile and light conversation. You're all in this together.
11. Offer to change any price they don't like.
12. Don't use "Make Offer" signs. Nobody will.
13. CLEARANCE: On Saturday, take a few things out that you don't want to give away and price everything else at $0.25.
14. Alternate Method: Sell everything a $1 for a grocery sack, or $0.50 for a garbage bag. Think about it.
15. On Friday night, add a small day-glo card (in a contrasting color) to all your signs "Clearance" or "Everything 25 cents"

Have fun! And remember the cardinal rule of garage sales:

The point of garage sales is to get rid of stuff, not to make money--the money is just icing--price stuff accordingly.

cancelled!

Well, abbreviated.

The bitchen.com 2003 US Tour has been cancelled due to me totally screwing up by budget. I still have a vacation scheduled, so I'm going to go see Jimmy 'Fingers' In Kansas City, but that's it. Sorry Yndy and Mag, but the money isn't there.

Jimmy will put me up and feed me (won't you, Fingers?), so all I have to worry about is gas.

I love you all, maybe next year.

disclaimer attached

Upon the wonderful recommendation of an anonymous commenter, I've decided to add a disclaimer link by the comment link at the bottom of each post.

This is a third-party diclaimer on bloggage.com, a blog host.

The author of the disclaimer says so many things that I was thinking. I'm not really sure I realized how universal my objections were to those who "don't get it" till I read it.

From now on, detractors will simply be directed to this...

some people

I was going to comment as a post to LeoKnight, but I won't.

You guys did a great job and said some things I was thinking but couldn't put into words. You even made point I hadn't really noticed. It's nice to have the solid base of friends you all are who "get it" and come back day after day.

I should not have let anyone get my goat with a few pretentious words.

You guys are lifesavers and I love you all.

Except Leo.

blog blog blog

Sorry I didn't post yesterday. I had a ton of anecdotes, but no time. Then when I did get on to post I read a comment to my Rooster post (below) that just pissed me off. Read the comments to see.

Deep breath

Weekend in Review
Thursday I was late getting the kids home do The Ex could pick them up. She never told me a time, but was pissed because they weren't there. I tried calling and leaving messages but she didn't look at her answering machine. I called her work and they said she got off at 4:00 so I left work early to get the chillins from Robin's and get them home by 4:30. She calls at 4:02 and asks where they are. I tell her they are coming (I was running late) but she told me she "couldn't fucking wait" that long as Pegleg expected her home at 4:30. ("Are you saying there's eggshells to walk on with the new husband too?" Go figure).

I was so pissed by the time I got to Rob's that I wrote her a legal notice to remove the rest of her shit from my house in fourteen days or I'd sell it. She gave me a WEEK to get my stuff out when she kicked me out, but it's been seven months for her. Needless to say, she's pissed at me. Oh fucking well.

I ended up driving the kids out there and giving her the notice. On the way back, I dropped by my parent's house to wish them a happy anniversary, but they were out! Whodathunkit? I left a note.

So she had the kids for the long weekend. Thursday night I went to the Princess's house and drank a half-dozen double Bloody Marys with her husband (who wasn't really drinking). I actually blacked out. That's a rarity for me as 1) I don't drink and 2) I generally have full recall when I do. But they said I was a very nice and complimentary drunk.

Friday I came home and napped again. I awoke to a phone call from Mom thanking me for dropping by and letting me know they were out.

Friday night I was supposed to run sound for a 4th party/outdoor concert thrown by my old bandleader, but it got rained out so--after schlepping a schload of soggy band equipment into his garage--I went and saw SKB and went to her Aunt's party. A bunch of Good Old Boys in a horse barn, with a stranger that insisted on arguing the size of his penis with SKB. Not really my bunch of people, but it was okay.

Saturday I went home to get some stuff done without the interruption of my kids, but mostly napped.

At midnight, I heard an explosion outside. I was thinking somebody had blown up a car in my cul-de-sac with fireworks, but it was just the neighbor shooting up 3" skyrocket balls from a sturdy plastic tube sitting in the middle of the court.

I decided to watch. Then a cop came to tell us it was too late at night to be doing that, and to get that tube out of the street. As he pulled away, I yelled to the guy grabbing the tube "Hey! Wait! We can make a BONG out of that!" Luckily Mr. Cop had a sense of humor and just laughed as he pulled away.

Sunday brought a speeding ticket on my way to church. 72 in a 55. Two more weeks and I'm done. I'm just training new sound people.

I stopped by work (it's near church) and got locked into debugging a Web Server installation until 3:00 a.m. Monday morning.

When I got home I was having a smoke in the backyard and accidently beat myself at tetherball,then I went bed. Well. I set my alarm first for 8:30. And I turned it on so I wouldn't oversleep.

I woke up at 1:00 p.m. on Monday.

But I didn't know it was 1:00 p.m. as all the clocks in my house were off due to near-tornado weather and the battery in my pager was dead. Finally I located my watch and stared at it in disbelief. It's not 1:00 is it? I turned the watch over. Maybe it's only 7:30. Nope. the set handle is on the wrong side. Yep. It's 1:00.

I rushed back to work and had a rather uneventful day till I read that comment.

I'm still pissed.

anniversary retroblog



This is my parents' anniversary. Their 44th, I believe. Last year on this day I called them from Fenway Park during the first major league baseball game I ever saw. I wrote about it later, and to this day, the written account remains one of my favorite things on this blog.

It's the story of my first visit to Boston, the majesty of Fenway and how a codger from Cape Cod took me from hating baseball to loving baseball in one hot summer evening.

Enjoy.

1. Boston
   
2. Prelude to the Sox
   
3. Fenway Park
   

atkins

This week's favorite Atkins food: $0.99 Junior Bacon Cheeseburger from Wendy's, without the bun.

Last week's: diet Jell-O

annoying kid story
Originally published 22 April 2002
Photograph taken 6 June 2003

Here's two things I know: the first one is that I'm one of those annoying people that talk about what smart kids they have. Sorry. The other is that my seven-year-old, Roo, thinks in a way I'll never understand. It seems a sort of savant-symbolic-spatial sort of thing. At four, she wanted to show grandma she could write the alphabet. But grandma was laying on the couch on the other side of the coffee table from her, so she wrote it upside-down so grandma could read it. Scary.

At five, you could ask her simple addition problems that many older kids would need fingers or paper to do. "Hey, Roo, what's seven plus eight?" She'd direct her eyes toward the ceiling and you could almost see the gears turning. "Fifteen?" Wow.

Then, over the weekend, The Rooster and I were driving around. "Hey Daddy!" "Yes, Roo?" "You know what fourteen plus fourteen is?" I knew her class only did addition that resulted in sums of less than twenty. "What is it, hon?" "It's twenty-eight! Know how I know that? I knew it had to end in eight, but eighteen was too small, so it must be twenty-eight!"

"Very cool! But you know," I said, "it doesn't always work that way. Like what number should sixteen and sixteen end with?"

Eyes up, gears turn. "Thirty-two!"

"That's right! How'd you know that?" She shrugs. I offered, "did you just see the answer?"

She nodded and I smiled. Proudly.