The Adventures of Butt Crack Girl and Granola

The Travel Size One and I were at The Deli this past Saturday. It is one of our favorite eateries since we have been on the LGN Diet. This location of The Deli is in more of a liberal part of town right near one of the best universities in the nation. There are all kinds there: Yuppies, Hippies, Snobs, Prof's, and us. I don't know that we really fall into any of these categories, so we'll just refer to ourselves as "Watchers". We both are people watchers by nature and believe me it is hard enough being A.D.D. as it stands. People watching is always more enjoyable in a very diverse crowd. Sometimes being a "Watcher" can be to your disadvantage. This Saturday was one of the prime examples.

We go through the line at The Deli and I grab a table. I find one that is not in the middle of all the traffic, but it's not secluded. Perfect for people watching! We sit down, positioning ourselves so as to be in the prime spot. Let the watching begin! These two girls, I assume are college students based on age, attire, and demeanor, sit down at the table in front of us. They are clearly in the "Hippie" group. One (Granola) is going on and on about something and complaining. I think to myself this will be great fodder for discussion between the Travel Size Bride-to-be and I. I glance out of the side of my eye and to my astonishment, I see the other one's butt crack peering over the waistline of her jeans(Butt Crack Girl or BCG is what she will now be known as)! BCG was wearing a pair of the low cut jeans with a t-shirt that apparently had shrunk in the wash a little too much to her ignorance. Honestly, there was ABSOLUTELY nothing erotic or attractive about this sight. It was more like Ralph the plumber! I subtly point the visible vertical smile to my Travel Size Better half (future) and having seen the color withdraw from my face she asks if I want to move. We find a table that is not nearly as prime for people watching, but we will not be staring down the gun barrel of Mother Nature.

Lunch moves on. I suddenly begin to wonder, "Are other people's butt crack protruding?" I begin to scan the room. Was I missing something? It felt like that scene from Back to the Future 2 when Marty has to pull the insides of his jean pockets out because that's "the style". Am I missing out on the new fad? Should I loosen my belt a little? You know show the World what I got? My Travel Size Love sees someone whom she is vaguely acquainted with through med school sitting at a table with another med student of the opposite sex diverting my attention from my current train of thought. She tells me that she didn't even know they were dating. I thought maybe they were studying together. Back to my mental quandary. She asks me to nonchalantly peek and see if the young lady is wearing an engagement ring. I explain that I am unable to view her left 5 digits and that I will inform her as soon as I am aware. This snaps me back to reality. Here my Travel Size Bride-to-be is wondering if two people are thinking about the spending the rest of their lives together and I am wondering if bare buttocks are the new black. I then realize that this is pure insanity to even consider.

As we walk out of The Deli, I become very self conscientious. Do I have butt crack showing? I gently give a tug to the old belt loops and verify that my waist restraint is snug. Better to be safe than sorry. I will not be the third wheel in the dynamic duo of Butt Crack Girl and Granola. I think I would look silly in spandex.

I flopped the nuts

Poker has taken the nation by storm. My theory is it's genesis came from a movie made in the late 90's called Rounders. It's a story about a guy who funds his way through law school by playing poker. Now he doesn't just play in weekend games with his buddies. He plays in the underground, illegal, get your legs broke by Guido, games. He is a straight shooter and a pretty good guy, but he lets his conniving friend talk him into things that would not happen in reality. Hey, it's a movie. It has a ton of quotable lines like, "Gimmie three stacks of high society." (1 stack would be $10,000 you do the math), "No-Limit Texas Hold'Em is the caddilac of poker.", "I flopped the nut strait.". and my favorite of all time "Listen, here's the thing, if you can't spot the sucker in your first half hour at the table, then you are the sucker.". I won't give the end away, but it is definitely in my Top Ten.

Last night, I had one of the grandest and yet maddening dreams. I dreamed that I was playing poker (The Cadillac of Poker) in an unknown casino somewhere! I sat down at this blood-match with a million dollars (I have no idea why I had that much money, but it's my dream). So I ante in and draw my cards from the dealer. For those of you who don't know how to play Texas Hold'em, buy a book. The basic premise is you receive two cards from the dealer and there are rounds of betting. You play your two cards and five community (everyone else can play these as well) cards to make the best hand possible. I take a look at my cards (Ace, 9). Nothing spectacular but I call. Well the lady across the table is there with her husband. She is very boisterous and quite annoying. Not sure if she had been drinking or what, but again this was a dream! So the flop comes out and its a Jack and two nines. I check the bet (basically add no money and provide the other people an opportunity to check to get to another card or open the betting). So the lady starts talking smack. She talks about how I don't have a good hand or I would have bet on the flop (Little does she know). She then gets belligerent and starts telling me how she is going to teach me how to win a million dollars playing poker (insinuating she is going to take my bank roll). So she opens with a hundred thousand dollars and I call. The fourth card (fourth street, turn) comes out and its a 9. So I just made a four of a kind. For those of you not aware, there are only three hands that can beat my hand (Four of a kind with a higher card, Straight Flush, and Royal Flush). I am pretending like the 9 on fourth street didn't help me (acting weak). I start counting my chips (even though I know exactly how many I have). I want to make this obnoxious broad sweat a little!

I am getting ready to make my move.

Calculating!

Waking up???

Wait???

What happened!

I woke up. I was about to move all in and woke up! I actually laid there trying to force myself back into a slumber. I tried pressing my body down into the bed hoping this would force me back to my surreal condition. No luck. I was so frustrated. I wasn't so perturbed by the fact that I didn't get to put the old harpy in her place. It was more vexxing to not know! It will torment me to not know if I had the best hand. It will trouble me to not know what was the fifth card. Argh... So I got up and ran 8 miles (and then found $20. Not really, but that's what you're suppose to say when you realize your story isn't that great!).

They Cheered for Pork

Tonight the Travel Size Bride-to-be and I were watching "The Network" before dinner. The annoying wannabe cajun was making gumbo. He was conveying the differences in gumbo and how to make a "roux" (I am sure my friend The Accountant will correct me on that spelling). The wannabe cajun was extolling the virtues of vegetable gumbo versus I guess you'd call it non-vegetable gumbo. He then exclaimed to the crowd he was adding pork and this was not vegetable gumbo. The crowd cheered. That's right! The crowd cheered! I had no idea pork was applause-worthy.

So here is my thought. I have some Hot Pockets in the fridge. If anyone wants to come over I will throw them in the microwave exclaim "Bam" and you can all clap. The name of my show could be "2 minute 30 second meals". They cheered for pork. I am still amazed by this fact. Pork??? Really???

What the heck do they know?

I was tasked last night with picking up the Travel Size One at The Airport (that could be an entire post in itself!). We were in the car traveling from The Airport and this song by Papa Roach called Scars came on. The song for those of you who don't partake of the Papa Roach has a very driving beat and shows a very intense passion. Now, I have found that there are two types of people in this world. Those who listen to the words, and those who don't. I am on the "those who don't" side. I listen to the music. The guitar riffs. The bass lines. The drums. I experience music for the sound. I don't always pay attention to the words that the singer is singer. This in turn means I may listen to a song with "questionable" lyrics, but it has a great beat! My Travel Size Bride-to-be is of "listen to the words" persuasion. So there are times we are listening to a song and she says "How can you listen to this garbage?" I typically respond, "What do you mean? This has a great beat!" (She says..., he hears...)

So we were listening to Scars... complete side bar: At one point in the past we were listening to this song in the car and I was singing the lyrics... "The stars remind us the past is real." You'll see below that that the line is in fact, "My scars remind me that the past is real". Hey, the stars can remind of stuff? Huh? Right? Anyone? <-drowning->

I tear my heart open, I sow myself shut
My weakness is that I care too much
My scars remind me that the past is real
I tear my heart open just to feel

Back to the point... So were listening to Scars on the way to the Travel Size Better Half's (future) house and she brings up the fact that she thinks that Kidz Bop included this song on there latest album. For those of you not familiar with Kidz Bop (Please don't question why I am) it is set of CD's similar to the "NOW" CD's. They take current top 40 pop music hits and allow ankle biters to sing the songs (Why in the world anybody would want to listen to that crap is beyond me. I remember getting older and listening to the little musicals we performed in grade school and thinking my parents were the greatest in the world because they endured that assault on the auditory nerve). This conversation got me to thinking... "No way someone could make children sing this song. The lyrics are pretty intense" So I Googled. I found a website that is selling the Kidz Bop CD's. THERE ARE NINE CD'S! NINE! So I got to searching. I couldn't find any of the CD's that had Scars on the playlist, but I was amazed at some of the songs they DID include!

• Don't Lie (Black Eyed Peas)

Sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry
Hey, baby my nose is getting big
I noticed it be growing when I been telling them fibs
Now you say your trust's getting weaker
Probably coz my lies just started getting deeper
And the reason for my confession is that I learn my lesson
And I really think you ought to know the truth
Because I lied and I cheated and I lied a little more
But after I did it I don't know what I did it for
I admit that I have been a little immature
F...ing with your heart like I was the predator I assume this was edited out of the Kidz bop Version but still!
In my book of lies I was the editor
And the author
I forged my signature
And now I apologise for what I did to you
Cos what you did to me I did to you

Not nearly as good of a song when the kiddies are singing it huh? Kids shouldn't be telling lies anyway! There are more...

• We Belong Together (Mariah Carey)

Who them and their parents?

• Boulevard Of Broken Dreams (Green Day)

Shouldn't they be trying to figure out how to get to Sesame Street?

• Incomplete (BackStreet Boys)

What is? Their baseball card collection?

• Wake Me Up When September Ends (Green Day)

Most of them have only had 6 Septembers, how can they know a bad one (Thank you sweetie)

• 1985 (Bowling For Soup)

Most of them weren't alive in 1985

• Toxic

Are you kidding me????

• Feel Good, Inc (Gorillaz)

I am not even going there!

It's humorous to me when I think of some of the people who write these songs and the "tragedies" they must suffer when their assistants don't get them the right Latte first thing in the morning (and by first thing I mean when they roll out of bed around noon). But come on! These kids are singing some of these songs and all I can think is "What the heck do they know?". They shouldn't be thinking about being "Toxic" or traveling down any Boulevard much less the one of broken dreams.

M.O.T.P.

This last Friday The Travel Size Better Half (future) and I decided to have dinner at her house. That afternoon, she asked if I wanted to stop and pick up a movie and maybe a bottle of wine before I came over. We could have a Date Night! I thought why not. So I got off a little early, but had to get on a call for the client. No biggie. After the call I went up stairs and did my pampering (Which consists of showering, shaving, and styling my hair with product). She called me as I was in the shower and not able to answer my phone (for obvious reasons). So I returned her call and she asked me to give her a call when I got to The Video Store. At first I was offended. My taste in movies is exceptional! As I am writing this I thought about including spraying on a couple squirts of Sex Panther as part of my pampering (for all you Anchorman fans. See I have good taste in movies!) before our romantic encounter. Then the reality hit me (and by that I mean she expressed it to me) that my sometimes taste for "Romantic" movies would undoubtedly be sour and could cause some friction. Never good!

So I decided I would be prepared. I got on the The Video Store's Website and clicked on the Romance section (Which is four links below the "Gay/Lesbian" section and just above the Sci-fi section). Listen to what they give me to work with. The Notebook (Somebody please stick a fork in my eye and twist it slowly while poring salt on an open paper cut). Life or Something like it (I would rather be circumsized at the age of 27 with a dull, rusty razor). Titanic (Give me cancer now! Actually Titanic wouldn't be so bad without the whole love story. I love history and that whole scenario is fascinating to me.). Cold Mountain (Hey, Hey, Hey, here something I can work with. Civil War. A love story. Intertwined. How bad could it be.) So I am pumped. I now have a backup. I take off on my adventure to find an appropriate movie for our romantic night together. I get to The Movie Store and start my search (all the while my back up Cold Mountain is waiting patiently). Of course, I call the Better Half (future) to negate any possibility of conflict. I start through the New Release Section. Dukes of Hazard??? Negatory good buddy! Hustle and Flow??? Nah. Lord of War??? Negative. March of the Penguins. I hear a sharp shrill of excitement in my phone that could turn bats away from the city. That is my clue that we will be watching March of the Penguins (M.O.T.P.) tonight. So I grab M.O.T.P. and head to the counter. As I get there I see Cold Mountain. Hey why not. So I pick it up and call The Travel Size Bride-to-be back and inform her I will be renting Cold Mountain as well to which she replies "Maybe we can watch that if we feel like it". Rough Translation: "You'll be watching that by yourself while I am in Denver this week. (I will get to this in a bit)"

So I conclude my purchase and head for the Wine Store. I typically like to make my wine selections at the Taj Mah Liquor in Downtown, but I was strapped for time so I decided to stop by this little neighborhood package store (Right near a Baptist Church. Nice!). I walk in to this little market to find a decent selection of wines. I am looking for a Petite Syrah and the gentleman behind the corner eagerly shows me his selection. I deduce there is an option of a Syrah and a Petite Syrah to which I inquire with my new found connoisseur of wine as to the difference in a Syrah and Petite (I meant taste-wise) to which he responds Petite Syrah grapes are smaller than Syrah grapes. Simply stunning! I realize at that point I could ask him advice about my stock portfolio and would get an equally informed decision. He shows me the Stags "Reap" (See my previous post) and I decide this will be an exceptional choice base on previous experiences with the same vintner of different varietals.

I arrive at the Travel Size One's house to find her practicing the culinary arts. It smells delectable. We have a lovely Mexican Style chicken with Mexican rice and refried beans (Mouth is watering as I reminiscing). She is quite the cook! The dinner is scrumptrulescent and the vino complements it well. After dinner and dishes we decide to commence the viewing of M.O.T.P. (this is where the acronym was birthed).

Let me give some history. At one point in our courtship I informed the Travel Sized Better Half (future) that I wanted an entourage (you know like a hip-hop artist) for pure comedic relief. We were at Moody Gardens at the time and I interjected that a penguin would be cool to have in my entourage. I mean he is already dressed for all formal occasions and chicks dig them. Penguins are just cool! I would also have a Koala Bear, a Panda, a Midget, and my buddy The Accountant (Who'd be in your entourage?).

Spoiler Warning!!!

That being said we get into the movie. You guessed it I determine Penguins are one of the coolest creatures on this planet. The basic premise of this movie is that penguins walk over 70 miles in the Arctic climate to mate and procreate. Let me qualify that. They walk and then sometimes glide on their stomachs over the ice. How freakin' cool would that be if when we were tuckered out we could just drop to our bellies and keep on truckin'! If you ever see a guy on the side of the road that looks like a sea lion floundering about, just keep driving. I'll be ok! Back to our story. So basically they head to this point (The same point every year where there are no markers, there is just some innate sense of direction that leads them there) and find another penguin of the opposite sex. They then do some sort of little mating ritual and there are actually "cat" fights over the men because there are fewer. At this point in the movie my Travel Size Bride-to-be looks at me and says "I know this is supposed to be rated G, but they look like they are getting frisky". I laugh so hard that I miss the next 4 minutes and 25 seconds of the movie. Once I gain control I get back into the movie. The birds, once selection is done, "lay" an egg and then do something that I had no idea happened in any species! The female penguin face the male penguin and they slowly and carefully pass the unhatched egg to the male. The egg is perched on the female's claws and she gently but quickly passes it to the male (if it stays exposed to the Antarctic conditions for very long the egg will not survive. Sad but true). Once the male has the egg on his claws he then basically squats on it covering it with his fur.

This is the part that gets me. The females leave! The just take off! Well they don't just take off. They go back to where the herd came from and procure food while the males stay at "The Place" and huddle together freezing their... never mind... off. This lasts for approximately 120 days. They just stand there in a huddle with little water and no food waiting on the egg to hatch and the females to return to feed the chicks. One of the most amazing parts is that the females arrive back at "The Place" within a day or so of the eggs hatching to provide nourishment. If you ask me it is a good example of God's design. Overall it was a very interesting method. Well except for the part about the dudes getting the shaft. That's never a good thing.

Date night was successful! We had a wonderful time and there is really no tie to my Travel Size Better half (future) into this entry except she is on a flight to Denver for an interview. I know she will do awesome and completely blow them away. This is just my way of realizing how much I miss her and I can't wait to see her smiling face again! Maybe we can have another fun date night!

They can't say "L" (My Traver Size Rife)

This post was inspired by The Not-So-Travel-Size Sister-in-Law (Future) latest blog "Someone's About to Get Shanked". She laments over her cognitive psychology professor who is Japanese and apparently has trouble with his Engrish (that's right). Now don't get me wrong. I am not trying to be racist or eritest (elitest) but it is a fact that when certain curtures (cultures) rearn (learn) Engrish they have a difficult if not impossible time using certain letters in our alphabet. Basically they can't say "L". This phenomenon has really puzzled me recently.

Everyone know's the joke

"What do you call a woman with one leg shorter than the other?" Answer: Ilene!

"What do you call a Japanese woman with one leg shorter than the other?" Answer: Irene!

Think about it if you use it in common language every day it would be maddening! There is a street in The City that is named Stella Link. Everytime I drive by it I think "Sterra Rink". Often times I will call the Travel Size Bride-to-be and say "Herro"! (Always good for a chuckle) The Title of my blog would be "My Traver Size Rife". Basically any word that the "eL" pronunciation is evident then this is applicable. Take the last word in my last sentence (applicable), I was on a call for The Company with a team in South East Asia and this lady kept referring to something as not being "appricable". I was like a 5 year old who just heard his first poopie joke! I couldn't stop laughing. I actually had to mute my phone and duck my head down in my cube. I was laughing so hard I snarfed (sneeze + barf + past tense = Snarfed) Diet Coke through my nose. The unintentional comedy was so high that it was immeasurable.

Overall, my question is this: Why? Why do certain ethnic groups have this quirk? Which groups are incruded? Is there some strand of DNA that is missing that geneticarry cause dis issue (I have also noticed that "Th" becomes "D" and plural words become singular)? Is it contagious? Would people be offended if I just started speaking as so and then claim my father's, brother's, cousin's, step-brother was Asian? These are the things I think about.

You better guard that titty...

There is a fascination today with breasts. I am not talking about chicken breast or even women's breasts (this fascination has been around as long as man). I am talking about men's breast. It seems recently that they are the hot topic of conversation. The Sister (non-Travel Size) gave The Father (also non-Travel Size) a book for Christmas titled "Why do Men have Nipples? Hundreds of Questions You'd Only Ask a Doctor After Your Third Martini" (It's actually a good book. Vessy interesting!). Complete side-bar: There is a CD Audio book available on The Books Website. How does someone read that book aloud and not convulsively laugh just after reading the title? My favorite morning syndicated sports talk show was discussing the infamous Superbowl Nipple-gate of yore (ala Justin Timberlake and Janet Jackson) and how this year with the Rolling Stones performing there would be no shocking controversy. They did guarantee that we would see Keith Richards' Nipular Region. There are also a plethora of jokes about Mitties, Moobies, Man-titties, and Breasticles. Why is this so? Why are men's' breasts such a focal point of humor? Why are they so humorous? What would we look like with out nipples? I suspect it would be like a car without headlights.

So the Travel Size Better Half (future) and I were driving to The Church the other day and I was doing something in my normal manner that could be construed as annoying or even picking when my sweet Bride-to-be finally gets fed up with my constant bombardment and exclaims "You better guard that titty"!

(Honestly, I had to look up how to spell the word "Titty". I was on the network at The Company's Office and realized (before I flippantly threw the word into Google) that oh I better use an online dictionary. I can see the conversation between the head of HR and myself: HR: So we have notice you have been searching for a certain word. Me: What are you talking about? HR: I think you know! (It hit's me) Me: OH MY GOSH! I swear is for an entry in my blog! I SWEAR! HR: Oh Ok! Well you'll have plenty of time to Blog while you are looking for a new job!)

She then reaches over and torques my areolar region giving me one of the most excruciating pains I have ever had (not saying I didn't deserve it). That's right my friends (and everyone in the free world) a Texas Titty Twister (The Triple "T" or The Three "T"). She has found her equalizer! I am notorious for my picking and badgering. She is much less likely do to so. I guess I have to be careful how far I push her. I would look ridiculous walking around with one nipple. Can't you just see the looks on the kid's face if I were running around the park without a shirt on? "Mommy, why does that man only have one boobie?"

(another random note when you run a spell check on this blog, it tries to suggest you replace titty or nearly any variation with tithe)

The Network

It seems there is a television network for everything. There are your local channels that have been around since the late 1800's. When I was a kid I remembered them as 4,5,8, and 11. They were the ONLY channels that you had when you went to your grandma's house. She had the TV with the nobs that changed the channel and you had to sit three feet away from otherwise you'd be up every 30 seconds changing the channel by hand. If the President was on you were SCREWED! You were then relegated to playing with the toys your dad had growing up or watching the obligatory Spanish channel.

Along with those channels we now have the other 5,248,346 other channels. The Do it yourself (yeah right who has a wood lathe in the garage) channel. The who's who in Hollywood (a.k.a. who is sleeping with who and who is the biggest skank/man-whore) channel. The church (a.k.a. lay your hand on the T.V., send me a thousand dollars, and I'll send you a blessing handkerchief) channel. The catholic channel (wouldn't want to mix the catholics and charismatics). The Victim's Network (a.k.a. Lifetime). The Music channel (which hasn't played music in a decade). The Sports channel. The Sports channel 2. The Sports channel 3. The Sports channel 4. Los Deportes. The Ocho. This list doesn't even get into the "Premium" channels that would make a sailor blush after 10 P.M.

There is one channel that is taking the nation (maybe just the Travel Size household (future)) by storm. The subject matter of this channel is something no person can do without. You got it! Food! The Network, as I will call it, has everything you could ever want when it comes to cuisine. They have a show with a skinny lady who makes all fattening food (and no doubt purges after every taping). They have a show with a rather jolly (large) lady who makes southern fare. There is an annoying cajun want-to-be. They even have two gentlemen, who let's just say lead an "Alternative" lifestyle, that show the entire world how to host little gatherings in the easiest manner possible.

The Network is not just about cooking. No! No! No! It is also about food history, food science (which can be pretty interesting) and food competition. That's right! They have competitions where one chef squares off with another creating a delectable delight to be judged by individuals based on presentation, taste, and overall creativity. There are also competitions where chefs assemble unbelievable sculptures out of nothing more than sugar, chocolate, or gelatin. They concoct these ideas based on a theme and use different forms of sucrose to form breathtaking edifices. I am completely serious! Some of these structures can reach 9 feet tall. One would think forming these superb shapes would be a challenge in itself. Not The Network!

The other night The Travel Size Better Half (future), The Travel Size Mom (That's where she got those genes), and I were watching one of the competitions. There were four chefs who had to create a concoction based on a fairytale. Each sculpture had to be completed in 6 hours, at least 5 feet tall (almost taller than the Travel Size One) and COMPLETELY made of (you guessed it) sugar. BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE! The crux of the competition was to be able to carry these statues over an obstacle course. Honestly, have we really come to this point? Where personal achievement is secondary to the possibility of seeing someone crash and burn in a most public manner? On another note, how did The Sports channel miss this opportunity? They have professional poker on sometimes for entire days and there is not nearly as much athletic ability to play cards as there is to build a sugary statue and carry it up a flight of stairs, over broken glass, with no shoes on, blindfolded, with one hand tied behind your back, while someone is tickling your ear with a goose feather. I have to admit I was amazed by the fact that someone actually sat down and thought this idea up. The more shocking thing is that I couldn't turn my head. All three of us were glued to the television. It was like watching traffic and knowing that a car wreck was about to happen. At one point the Travel Size Mom looks at us and says this is ridiculous. I couldn't agree more. Yet, we continued to watch!

There is one character on The Network that without fail will be a mainstay in our household. She is this cute young lady whom I shall call the Duchess of The Network. The Travel Size One adores her! The Duchess makes 30 minute meals. She also travels all over the world (ok, the lower 48 and parts of Canada) eating in places for $40 a day (Not really sure why this is impressive, but hey you gotta have a hobby). There is rarely a day when I don't find the Travel Size One partially comatose (not sure if this is possible) in front of the tube learning how to make a 30 minute meal (or Traditional Jewish Cuisine. Don't ask). It has brought me good fortune. For Christmas I was able to get The Travel Size Better Half (future) a couple of cook books (by the Duchess) and it was not even construed as a hint (which it was not). I began to realize her affection for The Duchess and realize that it could be a pretty sweet deal for me! Get her something she likes and me some delightful new food that I am enjoying more and more.

I am finding as I get closer to my union with the Travel Size Bride-to-be that I am watching more and more of The Network and less of the Sports Network. It works out pretty well, but it has also shown me that for the days when the games are on, I may have to have a 13 inch with rabbit ears so as not to quench my Travel Size Chef's thirst for food knowledge.

The On-Time Machine

There was a shipping company several years that promised themselves as the "On-Time Machine". I can not remember for the life of me if it was FedEx, UPS or the Post Service and after several Googles (Has that really become a word in our vernacular?) I am unable to recall the frame of reference. So I decided just to write about it instead of spending more and more time searching a seemingly copious amount of websites.

I was in Chicago last week on business. I was staying at the historical Drake Hotel in downtown. No I was not there for Job 3:14. It was for a boring training seminar filled with boring internal auditors and IT nerds (of which I am. Sometimes I think I am about 30 seconds from a pocket protector). The week started and ended about the same way. My flight on The Airline was delay a short time... 1 hour... and so that didn't get me into O'Hare until very late. They are renovating and the place looks like a sanctuary for the homeless.

A complete side bar. Why in the world do people stop in the middle of an airport walk way and look around? Could you imagine what the street traffic would be like if we all acted the same way. You would think that there was some hypnotic beam that comes on and people are drawn to stop dead in their tracks in the middle of a wide open walk way and look at it. Hopefully the beam will never command people to wet themselves. That could get messy. My main request would be for people to just pull over to the side before they act like a Pavlovian dog after the bell has rang. I digress. Back to the subject at hand.

So I get to the Drake and having received an email earlier that day informing me that training was in the same hotel went dog tired to bed with the assumption I could sleep late the next morning (by late I mean 6:30). I wake up after one of the most invasive acts ever known to man, the wake up call, informs me that it is indeed time to move my butt out of bed. I perform the usual routine shower, shave and dress in typical man time (2 minutes 30 seconds) and go to check email. There is this phenomenon in my industry (consulting) that doesn't count training as "Real Work". So I read through the emails and see if there is any "Real Work" to be done before I go to my training class which I guess is now considered "Play Time". I finish with the email about 7:30 and casually stroll down to the level where they have a breakfast buffet set up and partake of a Parfait and some luke warm cranberry juice. I look at my watch and realize that it is about 5 minutes until class starts and decide I need to figure out the location of the training room. I nonchalantly saunter to the desk to inquire as to the location of my conference room. The lady behind the desk blankly stares at me as though I have just asked her the meaning of life. You see my conference room (CR 22004) was actually in The Company's Chicago office approximately 20 blocks away. So I break the land speed record up stairs to my room grab my coat (that I only break out during the winter when I travel north), and then out of the hotel as fast as possible to grab a cab. During my trip to the office, one of my managers calls me and asks where I am. I do my best to feign ignorance (of the fact that I am late), and tell him I will be there in 5 minutes.

Fast forward to Friday...

I am usually pretty casual about getting to the airport. I am there so much every article of clothing actually knows its place in my suitcase. I have the travel time from my front door to The Airport in my home town to the nanosecond. When I am in another city I like to play by the "Two Hour Rule". The "Two Hour Rule" states that if you are within a reasonable distance of the airport in whatever city you are in, you can grab a cab, get to the airport, run your belongings through the nebulous "X-ray" machine, enjoy a full body cavity search by a 6'6'', 350 pound, guy named Brutus (The Special Treatment as I call it when I see it happening to some poor smuck), and make it to the gate to board the plane in time. This is a good rule. If you can, I highly recommend you live by it. Now if you are a 2 hour drive from the airport, don't be stupid. Do the math. Plan accordingly.

Friday morning I had an 8:00 flight out of Chicago. Something in my brain didn't connect that 5:30 (which really means 5:40 for me) is not early enough time to pull myself from a groggy slumber, shower, shave (skipped that, as my Travel Size Better half (future) kindly noted to me upon seeing me), dress, place my belongings back into their rightful places and make it to a cab. Seriously if you could have witnessed this event, you would have been proud. I was a machine! I looked like I was running the sprint-relay by myself after taking Nyquil, Benadryl, and two Tylenol PM Extra strength. With all of the confusion, I am sure there is sock in my collection at home now running solo because his brother has been lost in battle and never to be seen again. A P.O.W. of the trip to Chicago (I will keep you posted on this). I made it. I was down stairs at 6:05 a.m. to find a taxi that took American Express (In the middle of my melee, I actually had the foresight to call the Concierge and inform them of my need). So I get into the taxi and ask "You take AMEX?" Which must have translated to you "You drive cab?" in his native language because he smiled and said "Yeah, maaunn" (not sure he was Jamaican, but he was not originally "From here").

So he gets me to the airport in plenty of time. It comes time for the payment and I politely ask again, "You take AMEX? Right?" which once he realized I was not telling a funny joke, he deduced that I wanted to pay with a credit card. The fare was 36.05 and I had 36 even in cash. So I said "I have this much cash or you can swipe my AMEX between your butt cheeks see if that works"(I don't normally recommend this to anyone, but desperate times you know). The stark realization that not only is he not going to get a tip, but he will be required to eat an entire 5 cents of the fare, causes him to magically discover a manual credit card device that catches an imprint of the card on a piece of carbon paper (The little guy on my AMEX card actually stopped perspiring once the threat of cabby butt crack was no longer imminent). I pay the guy $40.05 (which I am sure once I was out of the cab would be altered in some way to $4005.00) and head into the terminal. All in all it was a momentary scare, but nothing tragic.

My Travel Size Better Half (future) would never allow this to happen. You know there are those people we joke about being late to their own funeral. She is NOT one of them. She arrives early to EVERYTHING! She arrives early to parties (She is actually not this bad anymore. The Travel Size one's Father says I have had a calming effect on his Travel Size daughter. People actually began to count her in the group of people to help set up with out telling her. It was just a fact she'd be there.). She arrives early for early voting. If you tell her something starts at 7:00 p.m., she will consider 6:55 p.m. to be late. There was a time when I was concerned. Did I need to get two Palm Pilots? One that was on the normal time scale and one that was 5 minutes fast. You see what use to be something that bothered me is now something that I find endearing. It makes me laugh. In fact it was my motivation for this entire entry. I am by no means always late, but I can't hold a candle to her (She has actually relaxed a lot. We have both made changes and it has been great!). It will no doubt make for a good combination as we grow together and no doubt create opportunities for many more humorous yarns about our differences on this subject. She being the original "On Time Machine" and me... well not so much.

Sex and Chicken (er Roses)

Every man does it and every woman hates it! If you are a man and you are reading this now, you do it. If you are a woman and you are reading this now, you hate it. Quoting movies. See you thought, "He is making a bold generalization". Then you read further and realized..."He is right!" One of the all-time great quotable movies is "Anchorman: The Legend of Ron Burgundy".

This is one of those movies that most people (ok guys) watch once and think it is the dumbest movies ever made. They then watch it a second time and realize the comedy rating is about 9000 out of a possible 100. It is practically plotless, but there are so many quotable one liners that every man should watch it at least twice. Clever little quips like "Mm, I look good. I mean really good. Hey everyone, come and see how good I look!" or "How are you? You look awfully nice tonight. Hmm? Maybe don't wear a bra next time. No, I was talking to you. No, not her. I don't know her name. What is it? Lanolin? La-lanolin, like-- like sheep's wool." or "Hope I'm not disturbing you, but, uh, I saw you from across the party, and, uh, I don't usually do this, but I felt compelled to tell you something. You have an absolutely breathtaking heinie. I mean, that thing is good. I want to be friends with it."

I realize that if you are reading this and have not seen the movie, you have already tuned out. OK SNAP BACK! There is one more little quote that is probably one of the most underrated quotes of the whole movie. Champ Kind decides to make a run at the new girl Veronica Corningstone played by Christina Applegate. He walks over to her desk and poorly pretends to reach for a pencil and essentially gropes her breaking every H.R. Policy ever written. Corningstone, already on to his shameless attempt, confronts him and ask him if he is trying to touch her breasts. His response is priceless. "What can I say. I like the way you're put together. What do you say we go out on a date. Have some chicken maybe some sex. You know see what happens." Applegate's character then proceeds to reach across the desk feigning the need for a stapler and hits Champ in the one place no man should ever be hit.

You'd think that a swift shot to the mid-section would stop every man from thinking that way. For some reason it doesn't. I am not talking about coping a cheap feel from a co-worker. I am talking about the idea that women are geared the same as men. In our pre-marital class at church it is preached constantly (in a good way). Women are like crock pots and men are like microwaves (Do I really need to explain the analogy?). A woman needs to feel connected to her husband. She needs to know that he is there for her emotionally and that he is her biggest supporter. The number 1 need a husband has is sexual fullfillment. Sexual fullfillment is approximately number 98 on the top 100 needs of a woman. It barely nudges out a lint remover on the list.

The Travel Sized Better Half (Future) and I were talking at lunch the other day about how intimacy for women and men is totally different. She and I were deep in discussion and she said she knew that it would not always be sex and roses and thats when I made the connection blurting out "but never sex and chicken". At first she was a little peeved because I seem to always take a sincere deep moment (like number 3 on the top 100 needs list) and turn it into a movie quotation opportunity. I was serious though. It really made sense. She doesn't have to always have the "Romance Movie" scene but she will always need to feel connected to me. She will need me to be sympathetic, understanding, listening (not fixing), and all of the things that men are typically not by nature. It was a good day. I took a quotation from a crass movie and actually applied it to something that is a good truth. I am just glad it didn' t take a fist to the crotch for me to figure it out.

When you are on the road...

Well I thought I would join the "blogging" craze and start putting my thoughts into words for all the world (at least those with nothing better to do) to see.

I traveled over 60,000 miles last year. It got to the point that I was taking a regular flight to New York City and the flight attendants began to know me by name. When you are on the road for work it is much different than traveling for pleasure in 2 ways.

1) Price. When I am on the go for The Company price is not a priority. I book flights when ever (on demand) which means I could get the same flight to the west coast for tuppins two weeks before or spend the Gross National Product of Guam on airfare the same day due to poor planning by the client. I stay in nice hotels and am rather picky. Don't hear me wrong. I don't try and screw the client, but I am away from my family (I will get to that a bit later) and therefore should be compensated for it a little. Besides, they normally have a corporate rate wherever and there are penny-pinchers watching my every move as though I were Al Qaeda. If I tried to pull the wool over the eyes, I would probably get busted and be on the next episode of Oz as the new fresh meat on the cell block. When I am on my own time, I plan a little more. Do a little more deal shopping. I am not cheap by any means, but there is a little more concern when its my own buck.

2) Packing. When I travel for work all I want to do is carry-on. I am typically in a hurry and don't want to have to wait for the 2 midgets, 3 dwarves, and token elf to decide that my bag is now important enough to drag through the mud, over hot coals, and through a bed of razor blades (Honestly, what do those people do to give your luggage that fresh "Beat to hell" look?) in route to the conveyor belt that must be 46 miles long (I swear it takes longer to get bags after checking them than it does to make the flight). When I am on the go for work, I want a rolling suit case that I can stuff into a paper thin space but can hold enough clothes to provide an entire Filipino village with chic attire for the year, shaving gear, and any other toiletries not found in your run-of-the-mill hotel chain. If packing were an art, I would be Michelangelo (ok, maybe Jackson Pollack)! Essentially everything has to be "Travel Size". "Travel Size" tooth paste. "Travel Size" mouth wash. "Travel Size" razors. "Travel Size" nose hair clippers (don't ask).

My Bride-To-Be's (The family I mentioned earlier) sister is a very cool chick. She is 5'11'' while my Future Better Half is approximately 5'2''. It is quite the stark contrast seeing them together. Well The Sister has an ongoing joke with The Better Half (Future) that any time she is coming to see her that she needs to get her "Travel Size" butt to the designated location (It is usually said with great excitement and not in a demanding tone that can't be conveyed in type). We were talking at some point (The Better Half (Future) and I) and came to the realization that everything in my life is "Travel Size". Even my soon-to-be-Bride. Well, everything except me! I am 6'2'' and weigh about 220 (Which will be dropping soon with what we call HM Training. That's another story for another time). This blog will be a chronicle of what I call "My Travel Size Life" and will hopefully provide some humor as well as a ongoing history of my life with The Travel Size Bride (to-be). You see the more and more I get to know The Travel Size Bride, the more I realize that one thing that is not Travel Size is her heart. She loves me more than anyone has ever loved me without being related via blood line. She was talking to me the other day and said she never knew she could love someone so much. It really is the little things that make me realize just how huge her heart and it makes me wonder how God can put such a big heart in a, well lets be honest, Travel Size Body!

That's all for now. You guessed it... I have to pack for Chicago. Can't let The Airline miss me!