Of Course I Remembered You Baby. You're the Wife Right?

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Hey guys. Do you know that Valentine’s Day is fast approaching? Well, it is. The grocery stores and drug stores started stocking candy and cards the day after Christmas. The jewelry stores are advertising sweetheart diamond pendants or bracelets and the florists are flooding our mailboxes with heavily scented flyers to let us know they have roses and lilies and carnations galore.

Are you prepared to prove to your wife or significant other that you love her, really, really love her? If not, you are in a situation akin to stepping in one of Sam’s poop piles and not being able to extricate yourself cleanly no matter how hard you try. You would be well advised to not wait until 5 p.m. Valentines’ Day - on your way home from work - to stop at Costco and buy a bunch of flowers - the little lady will know: 1. Where you got them (which makes you look cheap); and 2. That you had forgotten what day it was until almost too late.

Husbands, especially, often look like total boobs when it comes to love and romance, so take heed guys.

The following is something I recently received from my Bellingham friend Maggie; she apparently received it in an email from her friend Norm. Even though Norm said on his email that this little gem was only for the intended use of its recipients and could not be copied, I’m copying it anyway and putting it here in my blog because it’s just too good not to pass on. Hope Norm’s okay with this.

'ROMANTIC REPLIES FROM MEN'

A group of women were at a seminar on how to live in a loving relationship with your husband. The women were asked, "How many of you love your husband?" All the women raised their hands. Then they were asked, "When was the last time you told your husband you loved him?"
Some women answered today, a few yesterday, and some couldn't remember.

The women were then told to take out their mobile phones and text their husband: *"I love you, sweetheart*." The women were then told to exchange phones with another person, and to read aloud the text messages they received, in response.

*Here are some of the replies:


1. Who the hell is this?

2. Eh, mother of my children, are you sick or what?

3. Yeh, and I love you too. What's up with you??

4. What now? Did you crash the car again?

5. I don't understand what you mean?

6. What did you do now?

7. ?!?

8. Don't beat about the bush, just tell me how much you need?

9. Am I dreaming?

10. If you don't tell me who this message is actually for, someone will die.

11. I thought we agreed you wouldn't drink during the day.

12. Your mother is coming to stay with us, isn't she???

Norm didn’t say what happened to the men who replied so stupidly to their wives, but you can use your imagination.

Want To Send Me Into Beast Mode? Just Push My Button

Say! Have you jumped into your Beast Mode for the Super Bowl yet? Seahawks’ running back Marshawn Lynch is getting ready to run amok with his Beast Mode over those Denver Broncos.

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But hey, if football doesn’t send you into Beast Mode, what does? A lady friend of mine wondered (facetiously, I hope) on Facebook recently, why people, especially guys, go into Beast Mode waiting for a woman to pull out of a parking spot. Is the woman texting all her friends, writing her memoirs, studying a map on how to get out of the parking lot, looking for her lipstick and keys . . . WHAT!? How many times have I waited on a woman to vacate a parking spot after she came out of a store and got into her car? There I am, blocking traffic with my turn signal on to indicate I’m going to take the woman’s parking spot if she ever backs out of it. And how many times have I just given up waiting and gone to another spot? I feel a HULK episode coming on just thinking about it. Beast Mode!

Seahawks’ fans say Marshawn Lynch is in his Beast Mode when he runs through the opposing team’s offense like an unstoppable freight train. Guys try to tackle him and all they can do is hold on for a ride and hope eventually enough of their teammates will join them to gang-tackle Lynch and bring him down.

Beast Mode is a pretty good metaphor for how we react to certain situations in our lives, isn’t it? Surprising how certain things like your dog pooping on your rug (Sam would never do that!), or some bozo cutting you off on the freeway, or the ATM machine telling you there’s no money in your checking account, can set you off.

Somebody dinging my truck in a parking lot sure sends me into Beast Mode. Someone not replacing the empty toilet paper roll in the bathroom (no names); not being able to assemble something easily or not being able to figure out how to do somethin g on my computer also can send me into Beast Mode. But those things are all small potatoes.

What really sends me into Beast Mode is someone telling me I can’t do something I really want to do and - in my own mind at least - believe I have the ability to do. I will just by golly show you I can, which, I suppose, may be kind of a good thing. I have accomplished many things in life because I wanted to prove other people wrong. Know what I mean? If the term “Golden Years” has any special meaning for me, it’s that I’ve reached a point in my life where I don’t really give a rip what other people think of me or what they think I’m not capable of doing. Like the Viagra commercial says, I’ve reached an age where I’ve learned how to get some things done in spite of obstacles - like writing and publishing books. If nobody ever reads my books, at least I’ve produced a few - and the agents and publishers who won’t help me? Look out people I’m in Beast Mode and coming through!

Anyway, come Sunday, Sam and I will be joining the rest of the Seahawks’ 12th man fans and cheering our team on. Say, don’t you wonder when women are going to insist that the 12th man be referred to as the 12th person? Just asking.

Gluten-Free Beer or Not, Friday Night's for Chug-A-Lug

This beer's for you

Last Friday I remarked that since I was retired I had kind of forgotten what Fridays were all about. But as luck would have it, I remembered and took Kathleen to a local brew pub for beer and nachos - had to leave Sam home, of course. Sorry Sam.

Did you know there is such a thing as gluten-free beer? Apparently, gluten can cause celiac disease and a type of dermatitis. So, sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful brew (sung to Gilligan’s Island theme). Take a long pull or two on your hefeweizen and I’ll enlighten you.

According to Wikipedia, gluten-free beer is beer made from ingredients that do not contain glycoproteins (gluten). People who have gluten intolerance can have a bad reaction to certain proteins in grains, such as barley and wheat, commonly used to make beer. Something called hordein, found in barley, and gliadin found in wheat, are types of gluten that can trigger symptoms in celiac and dermatitis herpetiformis sufferers.

“Coeliac (celiac) disease is an autoimmune disorder of the small intestine that damages the villi (little wormy finger-like thingies) of the small intestine and interferes with absorption of nutrients from food. Celiac disease occurs in genetically predisposed people of all ages from middle infancy onward. Symptoms include pain and discomfort in the digestive tract, chronic constipation and diarrhea, failure to thrive (in children), anemia and fatigue. Vitamin deficiencies are often noted in people with celiac disease. Celiac disease can lead to a number of other disorders including infertility, reduced bone density, neurological disorders, some cancers, and other autoimmune diseases.”

“Dermatitis herpetiformis (DH), or Duhring's disease, is a chronic blistering skin condition, characterized by blisters filled with a watery fluid. Despite its name, DH is neither related to nor caused by herpes virus: the name means that it is a skin inflammation having an appearance similar to herpes.”

So, I guess I might owe an apology of sorts to gluten intolerance sufferers. I’ve been pretty vocal about taking the gluten out of our foods, but man! If you can’t quaff a tall, cold one on a Friday night because of gluten intolerance that's harsh. My only question is, since it’s estimated that only 1 in 133 Americans or about 1% of our population have celiac disease why are we going so overboard (the typical American way) and eliminating gluten from nearly everything on our grocery store shelves?

Gluten be danged, Kathleen and I risked our lives to hoist a couple of locally brewed pale ales Friday night. We didn’t ask if our beers were gluten-free, but they tasted pretty darned good going down. I’m not usually a very enthusiastic imbiber of brew pub micro-brewed, handcrafted (or whatever they call them) beers though. Call me unenlightened and old fashioned, but I generally prefer the taste of good old Bud. I’d still drink Oly and Hamms too if they were still around and if I still drank much beer - which I swear I don’t (I only had two officer). Strangely enough, Bud is supposed to be fairly gluten free, because it is brewed mostly with rice rather than wheat or barley.

I wonder if dogs can be gluten intolerant? I’ve known a couple of dogs who really liked their beer. Sorry though Sam, this brew is not for you.

Stuck for Words? Consult This Book of Witty One-Liners

Dear readers: please consider today’s blog a book review (of sorts). That way maybe Sam and I won’t get in trouble for plagiarism or for violating any copyright laws. 

Do you enjoy witty sayings zippy one-liners, gotchas? Sam and I do too. I bought a book titled Great One Liners at Barnes & Noble the other day and Sam and I thought I should share a few laughs with you. The book was published by Platinum Press, L.L.C. and edited by Marcia Kamien.

I’ve always admired W.C. Fields’ ability to put life in its proper perspective, like when he says, (quoting from the book) “Everybody’s got to believe in something. I believe I’ll have another beer.” How about this saying from Dean Martin, “You’re not drunk if you can lie on the floor without holding on.” Frank Sinatra chipped in his two cents by saying, “I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.”

Sam and I are betting more than a few Seahawks fans can relate to those sayings about strong drink, especially after Sunday’s playoff game against the 49’ers.

How about this saying for all you New Year’s resolutionistas on the importance of exercise: “Exercise can add minutes to your life. This enables you, at 85 years of age, to spend an additional 5 months in a nursing home at $7,000 per month.”

“We could certainly slow the aging process if it had to work its way through Congress.”

“How about a fitness program for older folks called Pumping Rust?”

Moving on, I like these sayings: “What’s the difference between a Harley and a Hoover? The position of the dirt bag.”

Hey, “If carrots are so good for the eyes, how come we see so many dead rabbits on the highway?”

“The sooner you fall behind, the more time you’ll have to catch up.”

“Women will never be equal to men until they can walk down the street with a beer guy and a bald head, and still think they’re sexy.”

“The enemy isn’t conservatism. The enemy isn’t liberalism. The enemy is bullshit,” (according to Lars Erik Nelson).

“Rome did not create a great empire by having meetings. They did it by killing everyone opposing them.”

“We have 35 million laws, trying to enforce just Ten Commandments.” (How many times have I said that!)

“Some mistakes are too much fun to make only once.” (I’ll drink to that!)

“Forget health food. I’m at an age when I need all the preservatives I can get.”

“Who was the first person to look at a cow and say, ‘I think I’ll squeeze those dangly things and drink whatever comes out?’”

“I used to eat a lot of natural foods until I learned that most people die of natural causes.”

“Health nuts are going to feel stupid someday, lying in hospitals, dying of nothing.”

“Old aunts used to come up to me at family weddings, poking me in the ribs and telling me, ‘You’re next!’ They stopped after I began doing the same thing to them at funerals.”

Sam and I give Great One Liners three tail wags. It’s a fun read. Pick up a copy for yourself.

Locked Up or Not Cookies Are Not Safe Around Sam and Me

Been caught with your hand in the cookie jar lately?

Now there’s a new way for your mother, wife, daughter, whomever, to keep your sticky fingers out of those Toll House goodies, those buttery-rich Snicker doodles, those coconut macaroons and those oatmeal raisin chewies . The Kitchen Safe cookie jar, as advertised in the January/February issue of Food Network Magazine (page 36), “has a lockable lid that keeps you from over-snacking.”

But how can over snacking on cookies be a problem? Define over-snacking.

The Kitchen Safe is a clear plastic box-like container that has a lid with a digital timer on the top. The advertisement for The Kitchen Safe says, “Fill it with cookies or candy, then set the timer. I’ll stay sealed for up to 10 days - with no override option. “

No override option? For 10 days! What the . . .? Looks to me like the Kitchen Safe might succumb to a hefty crowbar though - or a small pipe bomb. I’m telling you man, you don’t want to get between Sam and me and our cookies! I am the original Cookie Monster. That dude on Sesame Street could never keep up with me when it comes to munching cookies. Sam has become quite the cookie monster too. If he even thinks I’m opening up a bag of cookies he comes a runnin’.

When I was a kid my mother tried in vain to hide cookies from me. But I always sniffed them out. She got so exasperated she once hid some chocolate chippers in the wash machine. Shoot! I found them. “I can’t believe you can eat so many cookies my mom would yell at me.”

Of course, I wasn’t quite the cookie monster my mother thought I was. I actually sold most of her cookies to neighbor kids. We lived in this low-cost housing project in Paso Robles. California, in those days and a lot of Fort Ord army families lived there too, and those Army brats (uh, kids) always seemed to have nickels or dimes (allowances I guess) to spend. One day a kid begged me to give him one of my mother’s cookies, but I made him pay a nickel for it and a young entrepreneur was born. Soon, every time my mother baked cookies the word went out and as soon as mom left the house a line formed at our kitchen window. A couple of times I made so much money selling cookies I was afraid my mother would find out so I ran up to the nearby neighborhood store and bought yo-yos or candy or something I could hide. I’m surprised my sister never squealed on me.

One of those Kitchen Safes could be kind of handy, just not for keeping cookies locked up. Sam and I suggest broccoli or certain other vegetables be put in there. Ten days without eating some of that stuff would be wonderful. Sam thinks so too. He’s wagging his tail just thinking about freeing up some cookies!