Jimmy’s Poor Parenting Skills on Display – Thanksgiving Past

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  Well obviously the Parent of the Year Award will not go to Jimmy.  I think it stems from past violations around Thanksgiving time ten years ago.  At the time, my daughter was having a hard time sitting still at grandma’s place waiting for the main meal.  Since she was only four years old it was quite understandable and the cousins had gotten her pretty wound up throughout the day.  She needed a nap in the worst way but would not sit still for fear of missing anything.

In order to move the process along, Jimmy decided it was best to have her sit on his lap and watch a little TV.  The only problem was that Grandma received only three useable TV stations (which brought back memories of my childhood).  Of the three, one had football – this was no interest to my daughter – although I would have gone for that, but I was still in the running for Parent of the Year.  The second one was fuzzy and needed a person to hold one end of the antenna while using the opposite hand to point toward town.  (I would have used this option, but my hands were full and it too brought back too many good memories of my childhood when it was my job to double as the signal boost ground operator).  The third and best choice (like I had any other) was to watch the family friendly cartoon - The Simpsons. 

Now I know that the Simpsons is not the best choice for a four year old, but given the constraints and the objective to keep her occupied until she fell asleep, it seemed like the best option.  Everything was going well and I figured what few age inappropriate jokes they had, would go over her head… until my wife showed up to help.  Her first comment was, “You aren’t letting her watch that show are you?”

Rather than explain the options, I responded that this episode of the Simpsons was really tame and I pointed at my daughter’s head and mouthed the words, “This is way above her head.  Don’t worry.”

Unfortunately I did not know this episode.  It was the one where Mr. Burns had a girl friend and she was trapped in burning building.  In an instant, Mr. Burns developed super human strength, rushed into the building to save her and somehow carried her out against all odds.  The reporter on the scene asked him while he was still holding her like a bride across the threshold, “How were you able to perform this miracle when you are barely able to walk?” 

Mr. Burns replied, “Well, you know what the strongest muscle in the human body is… it’s the heart.”

Homer happens to be standing by and responded, “That’s funny, I always thought it was the wiener.” 

Immediately my wife gave me the I-told-you-so-stare, walked over to the TV and slapped it off.  

Jimmy’s Excuse For Not Writing

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  My apologies to my three loyal readers (yes, we had a 50% increase in followers within the last month from two to now three), but work has been getting in the way of blogging.  I know that really is not much of an excuse.  But since work pays better than blogging, it is my fiduciary responsibility to maintain some sort of a standard of living and support my family.  Since blogging pays almost as much as my gambling winnings (if not a bit more), I need to concentrate on what brings home the bacon. 

Some may have thought that I was on probation after a few of excerpts regarding wardrobe issues, but no… not this time… It was merely a requirement to concentrate on work during a pretty hectic schedule.

However, the work has had plenty of side benefits.  I have a bunch of new material to share and I had a chance to visit many interesting countries.  At the time of my last blog, I was starting a round-the-world trip going from Scotland to Germany to Poland to India to China and finally Korea before coming home… then back on the plane a couple of weeks later for two weeks in Europe in France, Germany, Poland, Scotland and No. Ireland.  Luckily I am able to sleep pretty well on planes as I normally get a good 21-24 minutes total when adding up the 3 minute bursts… so I am ready to go all the time.

Well… I am back and well fed and those new scanners really penetrate through all the extra body weight I am carrying while eating all the time.

Below are a number of random photos of a couple of sites.  I will get back to the blog shortly. 

No visit to Scotland would be complete without a visit to the Royal Links... the birthplace of golf.  I tried to enter the ballot for a chance to play, but no luck this time.

Here is a look out over the putting area... It is my understanding that the caddies make most of their money by betting with the visiting players and I can see why.

While driving through the Scottish country side,  we spotted a castle that we had to visit.... no idea of the name, but still pretty awesome.

Off to Osnabruck, Germany... beautiful town square with the church here.

I will write later about my trip to India, but here are a few vendors selling spices on the street.  I would have stopped, but they don't take Visa.

Paris - light show at the Eiffel Tower.  Much bigger than I suspected.  Met some Americans I will blog about later.  

Spent a little time visiting Jim Morrison's grave in Paris.  

Then off to Versailles.  Beautiful setting outside for Paris.  Interesting history, but too bad for that unfortunate incident with King Louis and Marie Antoinette losing some body parts.  Not sure how the French do it... everywhere I went, I expected to pay for a ticket, but no one would take any money even though the signs clearly said 18 Euros.  Now I see why they have a fiscal issue, they try to make everything free... but I'm  not complaining.  I guess they thought I was storming the gates of Versailles to get a piece of history.

They had an exhibition with a Japanese artist showing a bunch of his work throughout the palace.  It didn't seem to fit, but I had to get my picture take in front of this one... not sure which subject is odder looking standing in front of the palace...(My three followers are not allowed to comment).

















Then inside were these statues... just out of place in this historic building in my opinion.















Here is one from No. Ireland.  We took a drive along the northern coast and saw spectacular vistas.  This is well worth the drive and needed more time than I could give it.


 Later I will post a few of the best photos to the slide show.


Good to be back home.

Escalation of the Wardrobe Wars

Me knows better than to say this... but I will. In continuation of the sweatshirt issue, Jimmy ran across an issue while trying to hang my jacket in the coat closet and not finding 1) an available hanger and 2) any available slot to squeeze just one more coat into the double sized closet. What in the... world is going on here?

I quickly deduced that my wife had too many coats and we needed to pare this down a bit. If I needed to get rid of some old sweatshirt, she should at least part with a coat or five. So to prove a valuable point in the logic war, I decided to get an accurate inventory of the situation. One, two... fifteen, sixteen... twenty-one, twenty-two. Twenty- two coats! How many coats does one woman need!

Since I was sure that a comparison would be asked, I decided to trump that argument with my total. I was sure I was as low as single digits and maybe ten or eleven at most. One, two... ten, eleven... Hey I finally found that golf pullover I was missing... twelve, thirteen. At twenty I counted my pastel blue tennis jacket purchased twenty-five years ago. I have't played tennis in at least twenty-two years and at some point I converted it into my oil changing jacket. However I haven't changed my own oil in at least twenty years. But I hung onto it since I was sure that pastel blue would come back into vogue for the third time... shortly I am sure. Thirty, thirty-one, and finally the last one nuzzled up against the wall number - thirty-two. It was my good ski jacket which hasn't fit Jimmy in fifteen years... But I'm sure I'll lose that thirty pounds by winter so I better hang onto it.

Well I may have to save the point about too many jackets for another time. Please, no one tell my wife. I'm sure she will never read about it in the blog so (in Pig Latin) ixnay on the acketjay.

Jimmy’s Wife Comments on Last Blog

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  (Editor’s note pertaining to the last blog):

Hello – this is Jimmy’s wife (technically it’s Jimmy.  She’s just standing over me while I type this so that the following is accurately represented in the post). 

It has come to my attention through a good friend, that I was mentioned in the last blog.  I normally don’t read that drivel (even though I am still 50% of his active readership), but I decided I had to investigate.  The quotes attributed to me were not accurate.  What we have here is a case of a man’s selective hearing and general lack of thinking… you ladies will totally understand my problem.  I don’t even need to explain it to you.

All I said was, “That sweatshirt…” and I shook my head.  It was no where near the given impression of general biatchiness.  (Jimmy’s post editorial comment:  Is that really a word?  “Biatchiness”)

I can only assume that my good senses caused him to re-evaluate his wardrobe selection.  He must have rationalized all those statements in his head… only after realizing that I was indeed right.  How he described that ratty old thing was the only thing that was accurate about the blog: old, torn, didn’t match, not good enough for Good Will.  I guess what he wrote is only what he interpreted from those two very inert words and his descriptions where his own.  The only way I could describe his attire… in a kind way… it was a bit, shall we say, ragged. 

So… don’t believe everything you read here and would someone mind giving me some clue as to where he hid that thing?

***

OK – now that she’s gone… 

Jimmy – GQ is Waiting

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.  This morning, I got up early to play a little golf.  Since it was a bit chilly, I elected to throw on some jeans with a golf shirt and I topped it off with a comfortable sweatshirt which coincidently has the name of the club embroidered on it.  (What Jimmy is failing to mention is that his favorite sweatshirt has been just that - his favorite for the last 15 years and is a bit - by some generous standards - frayed around the collar).  Also, he failed to mention that the color combination did not match the golf shirt.

The moment I put it on, my wife looked at me and commented, “Uh… that doesn’t go together and that sweatshirt needed to be thrown out ten years ago… and jeans?  You can’t wear those up there.” 

“Hey, it’s my favorite sweatshirt and I play better when I am comfortable.”

She responded, “At least do something with the sweatshirt and get something that matches this time… and take that frayed thing immediately to the garbage can.  It’s so bad, you can’t even give it to Goodwill.”

As I walked back to the closet to change I heard her mumble, “Men… you can dress ’em up…  No… in your case, I can’t even do that.”

Looks like GQ will be waiting for Jimmy a little longer than usual.

Jimmy's Apology to Target Corporation

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.   Really, I should know better, but this is too good to pass up.  Jimmy “knows” an older couple and they were in Target the other day doing some shopping.  Out of no where, the elderly man sneezes so violently that his dentures fly out of his mouth and slide across the tile floor doing a slow rotational glide to a stop on the other side of the aisle.

The elderly lady sees this and she begins to laugh so hard that she pees her pants. 

If you see my mother-in-law, you didn’t hear this from Jimmy.

P.S. Target Corporation - My apologies to your staff.  I will will pay the sanitizing bill... it was worth it.

Jimmy’s Nemesis

Me Knows Better Than to Say This… but I will.   There comes a time in every project when the homeowner needs to step back and leave it to the professionals.  Sound advice.  Too bad Jimmy wasn’t listening.

Several months before the birth of my daughter, my wife decided it was time to convert the spare bedroom into a nursery.  As an uninformed stupe, Jimmy later realized this was called the “nesting syndrome” and most intelligent men know it’s time to tread carefully – apparently hormones have something to do with this.  However, first time dad… no one told me. 

While she was painting up a storm, Jimmy decided, rather than help paint, that now was the best time to run a telephone line, cable TV and Ethernet into the room.  I still don't know what I was thinking.  That would be mistake number 1… I should have helped.  My logic: One bad cut now - screw up a fresh paint job.  This was a simple plan… pull back the baseboard, drill a hole, fish a wire, cut the box… job done.  I can still help paint after this job is finished.

Unfortunately the drill kept digging deeper into a much larger board than I anticipated so a new plan was hatched… drill at a different angle thereby missing the board completely.  Mistake number 2 was about to happen.  Jimmy snagged the edge of the carpet with the drill bit.  It was only a millisecond before releasing the trigger, but here’s a little factoid for those that don’t know:  It’s amazing how fast a spade bit can wind up Berber carpet… just a little touch and it was like a sweater unraveling and the drill winding up in a nice little skein of yarn. 

Jimmy cursed. “$*%#, I think the crib is going in this spot.” 

My wife winced, “There’s no need to do that job.  Help me paint.”

“I will, but this will take just take a second.  I don’t think I can get it from here so I'll  go downstairs and drill up.”

“But you can’t.  That’s the dining room below and my good wallpaper which I spent a fortune having professionally hung.”

“Ah… don’t worry.  I’ll go through the closet and cut a hole in the sheetrock.  I can put my arm in the wall, drill up and I’m through that board... in and out... piece of cake... can of corn.”

“But what about the new hole?”

“I can patch that.  No one will ever see it.”  That would be mistake number 3 for those counting.

Everything was going smoothly, but attempt number three just wouldn’t come together since they must have triple-headered that damn wall as the bit kept going and going and never broke through. Since I didn't want to run to the hardware store for a longer bit (mistake number 4), it was time to try another option.

Since going up was useless, perhaps a different angle from above was better after all.  Maybe if I went back to the original spot, pulled the carpet back this time (Berber carpet lesson learned since I'm not that stupid) and skimmed the ceiling below, I might hit my target. 

“Honey… go downstairs and watch the ceiling in the dining room.  Yell at me if you start to see a drill bit poke through the ceiling.”  That would be mistake number 5.

“OK… that didn’t work.  Since I have a hole in the closet, I could try that angle up instead.  That might work better.”

Finally my wife put her foot down.  “If you go through that wall paper…”  She didn’t finish the sentence so I knew she wasn’t all that serious about the threat.

  

Even with that ominous word of caution, Jimmy measured and calculated… used all his math skill available… put an “x” in the closet at just the right spot and started to drill… until he broke through.

“Uh oh… I shouldn’t be able to see light…  $%&#.”  That would be mistake number 6.

To her credit, my wife didn’t say a thing.  She put on her coat, left the house and went to a movie by herself.  Jimmy spent the next three hours patching holes and wallpaper.

***

A few years later, Jimmy hired a professional to finish the task.  “When you do this room, might I suggest you try a different route since that wallpaper is kinda special.”

“Oh, don’t worry sir.  We have this new feature called “Wireless.”  That would be mistake number 7.

Final tally:  House 7 – Jimmy 0.