Sometimes, do you ever just feel like there's a dark storm cloud hovering over you, or following you around?
I don't believe in luck per se. That's because I believe God is in full control of my life, good, bad or ugly. It's part of the deal. He saves us by his grace and in return, I don't have to worry about anything that happens in my world because I know He's there watching over me and running things.
But there are times when I have to chuckle when I look back and see how things play out in life. It's part of the fun, actually, of being alive. It also really gives me the sense that God does have a great sense of humor...
Take for instance this weekend. Coby's baseball team had the honor of being invited to play at a one-day, four-team tournament at the Dr Pepper Youth Ballpark in Arlington, which sits just next door to the big Texas Rangers ballpark. That now sits next door to the even bigger new Dallas Cowboys stadium. What a parking nightmare that is going to be in a little over a year.
Anyway, we were guaranteed to play three games Saturday and then would be treated to a Rangers game against the Phillies Saturday night. Haven't been to a Rangers game in a couple of years -- I don't play major league ticket prices to watch minor league baseball -- but with the freebies given to coaches and players and a discounted family price, and seeing as we'd be there all day anyway... we decided to stay for the game.
First, the Stix won both of their pool games to advance to the championship game. Then in the title game, we battled back from being down 4-0 to tie it at 4-4. The Flower Mound Rattlers, who we'd beaten 3-1 in the first game of the day (Coby pitched the first three innings of that one and struck out nine), then scored a couple of unearned runs in the fourth for a 6-4 lead before we brought Coby back into the game.
He shut them out the rest of the way, but we went 0-for-7 with runners in scoring position over the final three innings -- including not scoring with the a bases-loaded, no out situation in the last inning. We lost 6-4. And we don't like to lose, especially championship games.
So that didn't exactly create the best of moods. The championship game went long, so by the time we let Coby change clothes and put on his just-purchased Josh Hamilton jersey, and then walked the short distance from the youth ballpark to the big one, it was the bottom of the first inning.
I should have seen it coming. There had been some dark clouds off to the north about the start of the championship game, around 4:45 or so. The wind started gently, then got stronger as the game went on. I've been to the Metroplex area enough to know that storms blow up all the time, but also can miss you entirely despite putting on a fantastic light show.
Apparantly the Rangers know this too. We finally get up to our seats in the upper deck -- freebies come with a price, you know -- just after Michael Young has put one in the seats for a quick two-run homer for the Rangers. We're there about 10 minutes or so before the noise starts to hit us.
Not quite sure how to describe the noise, but it sound like a a freight train in a wind tunnel. The protective fencing at the very top of the upper deck was rattling in the wind, and the steel beams in the overhang clanged and rattled as well. The breeze was now what best could be described as a medium-to-light gale.
Monty and Nona cut out in the second inning, along with about half of our team. Storm was coming, they said, courtesy of the fancy phones they carry with Internet service. My ETBU-issued phone doesn't have those kinds of features, so I'm stuck.
Plus I'm very cheap, thanks to living with Jeannie Beth for what will be 15 years in less than two weeks. That means if I pay a discounted 20 bucks for two Rangers game tickets, I will brave a flash flood or tornado in order to get my money's worth. I was getting the nervous looks too, but I was calm. Maybe a rain delay, in which case we'd go underneath, grab something to eat and enjoy the ballpark. But we'd get this one in. Besides, the patriotic fireworks were part of the package Saturday night, and I don't miss fireworks. Especially, again, since I've already paid for the ticket.
But I also don't enjoy paying six bucks for a ballpark cheeseburger, or five for french fries. So despite the fact my family was bordering on starvation, I urged them to try and hold out for a few innings. My reasoning was simple: if indeed we do get that storm brewing just over our shoulders, we can save money when the game is cancelled and just grab something on the way home. Much, much cheaper.
Along about the fourth inning, I caved. It was slightly sprinkling a few drops, but the lightning appeared to have moved off toward downtown Dallas. Mel-Mel and I went for a concession run. I ordered three cheeseburgers, some cheese fries for Melly and some nachos for Coby, along with a bottle of water. Cost me 33 bucks.
And I kid you not -- I give the lady the money, she hands me our food, I turn around... and a wave of people is streaming for the escalators. The Rangers folks were evacuating the upper deck because of the threat of high winds. One problem for my daughter and I -- I had left by cell phone in the car, and we had no idea where the rest of our family was.
We got lucky and found Jeannie and Coby at the bottom of the escalator, but by then our food was somewhat soggy. Problem with evacuating the upper deck is that the lower decks are covered, meaning there's nowhere to sit. We ended up spending the next four innings or so at a crowded picnic table, watching the game on television. Which I could have done from the nice, dry comfort of my own living room.
Then it rained. And rained. And rained some more. Lightning and thunder were all over the place. But they didn't call out the tarp. They played through the rain. And we continued to watch it all on TV.
About the eighth inning or so -- well after the allotted time to receive a rain check on the ticket -- we ventured back up to the upper deck. The wind had died down enough and they were allowing those remaining who wanted to go back up. Only problem was, they did not switch the escalators back up. We walked up the ramps -- about 10 flights of them, actually -- to get back up to our seats. Jeannie's Achilles tendon has been barking at her for over a week, thanks to her new commitment to marathons. But she pushed through and made it to the top.
We watched the final two innings and saw the Rangers leave the tying and winning runs on base in both frames. Lost 8-6. The Phillies' closer, and former Astro, Brad Lidge, got the save, striking out Hamilton and Milton Bradley on seven pitches to end the game with runners on. It didn't appear to affect Lidge one bit that I was screaming "Albert Pujols" at the top of my lungs from just under the awning of the upper deck, a good 300 yards away. Darn it, now he's mentally tough!
The fireworks show was awesome, as always. Then it was back to the car around 11 p.m., with a 2-hour plus drive ahead then Sunday School early the next morning. Problem was, we hit the remnants of Hurricane Andrew at Terrell, and I couldn't see in front of my headlights until Lindale. No joke. Drove no faster than 40 mph for almost two hours -- unless I was hydroplaning, which would then bump it up to about 90 for a few harrowing seconds.
The kids slept right through it, fortunately. Jeannie was my comfort through the storm, as always, even though she was dead tired and had to get up at the crack of dawn for early service at church. She actually ended up getting about three hours or so of sleep, while the rest of us got about five.
And where was little Abby during all of this, you ask? Spent two nights at Nanny's, and it seemed like two weeks. Not to mention the fact we saw about 100 little toddlers at the ballgame that ripped our hearts out every time we saw them. Loaded with guilt, we bought Abby her own little pink Michael Young jersey, which she'll grow out of by Independence Day most likely.
So we didn't have much luck on the field or in the stands Saturday. But we did make it home in one piece, and rested up somewhat on Sunday. The dark cloud has once again lifted, and the sun is shining.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Yard Work
One of the greatest things -- or downright advantages -- of moving to the 'Ville last fall was the opportunity for me to finally have a nice, decent yard to work with.
Most men know exactly what I'm talking about. A man's yard is almost like a mistress -- you want to keep 'er lookin' pretty and gourgeous, but you really don't want anyone to notice her.
Okay, bad analogy for a happily-married man such as myself. But you get the idea.
The yard at our old house couldn't really be classified as a yard. Or a mistress. More like a shaggy dog with mange that you want to keep away from your children at all costs.
We had at least twenty towering pine trees that created nearly 100 percent shade around the entire lot, which we found out much to our chagrin during the sale last summer was actually two lots, one of which we owned according to the trusty title company. Too bad I didn't start the blog back then -- wouldn't have been much positive to write about.
Shade wasn't necessarily bad, except when you wanted to grow grass. And pine trees, of course, shed pine needles. And twenty pine trees shed, well, LOTS of pine needles. It was a raking and leaf-blowing nightmare. Not to mention all the dust, roots and just plain-old nasty stuff you had to deal with.
Lived there ten years and went through four lawnmowers. I did break down and pay to have four of the trees cut down in the front yard, which led to a rebirth of sorts of some semblence of a front lawn. But that was it. Everything else was like clearing a path in the jungle. Pretty heavy, thick, nasty stuff.
Which is why moving to the 'Ville was so attractive. The house is smaller, and we are a bit more crowded inside the walls. But I have my mistress in the yard, so to speak. (Again, that's only an analogy!)
The back yard is nearly a perfect rectangle, enclosed on all sides by fences. There's one big, beautiful tree on the entire place. I can cut the grass in the back yard in nice, neat little rows or a big circle if I want. I thought about cutting a huge "W" in the back yard over the weekend, like you see on baseball fields. That way, pilots flying overhead would know the Weavers live there.
The front yard is almost picturesque. Got a row of hedges -- yes, hedges!!! -- along the front of the house, and bright, green, thick grass all over the front yard. Breathtaking.
After our much-anticipated camping trip over the weekend, I got home at about 10:30 or so in the morning Saturday. Yes, I know it's the middle of June, and the temperature was approaching about 120 or so I think, when I ventured outdoors to gently manicure the yard with my trusty Troy Built.
My newfound figure, thanks to a weight loss of nearly 44 pounds since New Year's Day and a renewed commitment to the weight room two or three times a week, has enabled me to comfortably work out in the yard shirtless. I get coated down with sunscreen, grab the IPod and go out with the mistress. (Analogy!)
The only drawback to my new yard is that it's pretty much an all-day chore to get her lookin' right. This past weekend, I had to make a concession to the brutal heat and turn it into a two-day affair. Did all the mowing Saturday, took the Sabbath off completely, and returned home after work Monday to finish the trimmings -- meaning, weed-eating and hedge trimming.
Bought a used gas weed-eater last summer, and got tired of smelling like gasoline every time I used it. So now I go exclusively with the electric trimmer, provided courtesy of brother-in-law Ronnie a few years ago. A thoughtful gift at the old house, but very ineffective. The electric trimmer practically hid from me when it was time to do yard work in the jungle. Now it waves itself at me and lights up in the 'Ville.
Clipped the hedges and trimmed the weeds, and everything is looking nice for at least another week-ten days or so. We've got these large hedge-bush things on the corner of the house that were very beautiful when we moved in, but I noticed I've got some sort of issue with both of them. A bird built a nest in one, which I disposed of, but now the leaves are turning some milky-white color and appear to be dying off. Not sure if it's a disease, some sort of fungus or just the fact a mother bird fed her young in the coolness of my hedge. I'll keep a watchful eye out.
The other has a wild vine that appears to have snaked its way up the corner gutter and is now worming along the brick. I can get that down relatively easy, but... not Monday night. The thing has a swarm of wasps, bees and dirt-dobbers around it, by the hundreds. Not sure if there's a nest in there or if they were just all out for wild summer insect party. But I didn't touch it last night. Bugs and I, especially the flying, stinging ones outside, have an agreement. I don't mess with them, and they don't mess with me, in the outdoors. If they come inside, then we fight. But out here, that's their turf.
Yes, a man's yard is his castle, and I've built my own little fortress in the 'Ville. At some point I will break down and purchase a riding mower, but now I just view it as a chance to workout. And I know that every bead of sweat keeps the mistress looking good.
And believe it or not, that makes the true love of my life -- my wife Jeannie B. -- extremely happy.
Most men know exactly what I'm talking about. A man's yard is almost like a mistress -- you want to keep 'er lookin' pretty and gourgeous, but you really don't want anyone to notice her.
Okay, bad analogy for a happily-married man such as myself. But you get the idea.
The yard at our old house couldn't really be classified as a yard. Or a mistress. More like a shaggy dog with mange that you want to keep away from your children at all costs.
We had at least twenty towering pine trees that created nearly 100 percent shade around the entire lot, which we found out much to our chagrin during the sale last summer was actually two lots, one of which we owned according to the trusty title company. Too bad I didn't start the blog back then -- wouldn't have been much positive to write about.
Shade wasn't necessarily bad, except when you wanted to grow grass. And pine trees, of course, shed pine needles. And twenty pine trees shed, well, LOTS of pine needles. It was a raking and leaf-blowing nightmare. Not to mention all the dust, roots and just plain-old nasty stuff you had to deal with.
Lived there ten years and went through four lawnmowers. I did break down and pay to have four of the trees cut down in the front yard, which led to a rebirth of sorts of some semblence of a front lawn. But that was it. Everything else was like clearing a path in the jungle. Pretty heavy, thick, nasty stuff.
Which is why moving to the 'Ville was so attractive. The house is smaller, and we are a bit more crowded inside the walls. But I have my mistress in the yard, so to speak. (Again, that's only an analogy!)
The back yard is nearly a perfect rectangle, enclosed on all sides by fences. There's one big, beautiful tree on the entire place. I can cut the grass in the back yard in nice, neat little rows or a big circle if I want. I thought about cutting a huge "W" in the back yard over the weekend, like you see on baseball fields. That way, pilots flying overhead would know the Weavers live there.
The front yard is almost picturesque. Got a row of hedges -- yes, hedges!!! -- along the front of the house, and bright, green, thick grass all over the front yard. Breathtaking.
After our much-anticipated camping trip over the weekend, I got home at about 10:30 or so in the morning Saturday. Yes, I know it's the middle of June, and the temperature was approaching about 120 or so I think, when I ventured outdoors to gently manicure the yard with my trusty Troy Built.
My newfound figure, thanks to a weight loss of nearly 44 pounds since New Year's Day and a renewed commitment to the weight room two or three times a week, has enabled me to comfortably work out in the yard shirtless. I get coated down with sunscreen, grab the IPod and go out with the mistress. (Analogy!)
The only drawback to my new yard is that it's pretty much an all-day chore to get her lookin' right. This past weekend, I had to make a concession to the brutal heat and turn it into a two-day affair. Did all the mowing Saturday, took the Sabbath off completely, and returned home after work Monday to finish the trimmings -- meaning, weed-eating and hedge trimming.
Bought a used gas weed-eater last summer, and got tired of smelling like gasoline every time I used it. So now I go exclusively with the electric trimmer, provided courtesy of brother-in-law Ronnie a few years ago. A thoughtful gift at the old house, but very ineffective. The electric trimmer practically hid from me when it was time to do yard work in the jungle. Now it waves itself at me and lights up in the 'Ville.
Clipped the hedges and trimmed the weeds, and everything is looking nice for at least another week-ten days or so. We've got these large hedge-bush things on the corner of the house that were very beautiful when we moved in, but I noticed I've got some sort of issue with both of them. A bird built a nest in one, which I disposed of, but now the leaves are turning some milky-white color and appear to be dying off. Not sure if it's a disease, some sort of fungus or just the fact a mother bird fed her young in the coolness of my hedge. I'll keep a watchful eye out.
The other has a wild vine that appears to have snaked its way up the corner gutter and is now worming along the brick. I can get that down relatively easy, but... not Monday night. The thing has a swarm of wasps, bees and dirt-dobbers around it, by the hundreds. Not sure if there's a nest in there or if they were just all out for wild summer insect party. But I didn't touch it last night. Bugs and I, especially the flying, stinging ones outside, have an agreement. I don't mess with them, and they don't mess with me, in the outdoors. If they come inside, then we fight. But out here, that's their turf.
Yes, a man's yard is his castle, and I've built my own little fortress in the 'Ville. At some point I will break down and purchase a riding mower, but now I just view it as a chance to workout. And I know that every bead of sweat keeps the mistress looking good.
And believe it or not, that makes the true love of my life -- my wife Jeannie B. -- extremely happy.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Tent Revival
For whatever reason I have this dream now of being an avid outdoorsman. Specifically, a tent camper.
I really don't have any kind of interest in guns, or fishing in particular. And God hasn't blessed me with the riches it takes to purchase one of those mansions on wheels that makes camping somewhat of a luxury cruise.
But I wanted to enjoy the outdoors and the fine, sultry East Texas weather in the summer while I have a chance. So I've been hinting rather loudly around the house for a few months about how great it would be to have a nice, big comfy tent to use whenever the camping itch needed a scratch.
Father's Day arrived, thankfully, last weekend, just a few days after the 39th birthday. There was no tent forthcoming for the birthday, so the only hope I had was Father's Day. So rather than risk being completely shut out, I happened to be in Wal-Mart last Friday and just happened to come upon a steal of a deal on a nice big, 7-person dome tent. That became my Father's Day gift -- which I had to purchase with my own cash. But needless to say I now have a tent.
Wanted to make sure I could still put one of those things together before I actually made it to a campsite, so I pulled it out of the box last night. Coby and Melody and I have planned our first overnight camping trip this weekend at a little state park in the area here, but they have been absolutely wearing me out about breaking the tent in in the backyard this week first.
By the way, Jeannie says she wants no part of camping or togetherness. If it ain't air-conditioned, she's willing to sit out. She has no spirit of adventure, at least not when it's 95 degrees in the shade. So she and Abby won't be joining us on our first family camping trip.
But back to last night. Bone and Kaylee wanted in on the fun too, so they came home with us last night. All four were going to enjoy the outdoors together in my brand new camping tent. After about an hour or so of trying to figure out just how that thing was supposed to become a shelter, I finally figured it out with no thanks to the instructions stapled to the inside of the bag. I think I could build a nuclear weapon from scratch now a lot easier than it was to decipher how to put that tent together. But at least now I won't have that frustration, hopefully, at the lake this weekend.
It was about 8 o'clock or so when the quartet of kids entered the tent. It was about 8:05 or so when they made there first foray back into the house. The patio door needs a good oiling down now, because at least one kid or more kept traipsing back and forth across the yard from the tent and slamming the door shut every time. Couldn't keep them out of the friggin' house!
"Dad, can we have some ice cream?" Sure.
"I need to go to the bathroom." By all means.
"I'm taking my TV out to the tent, it's boring out there?" What?
"Dad, how about we run the extension cord out there and hook up the Wii?" No, how about let's go camping and curl up in the sleeping bag. Now!
The first casualty of the group was Kaylee. In her defense she's also the youngest of the four, and all odds on the table were that she would be the first to go. She finally tapped out a little after 9 or so, admitting it was a little scary out there once the sun went down.
Jeannie and I gave knowing glances. Melody, who has actually been a little more excited than Coby about this weekend's inaugural trip, was going to be the next to give up on the backyard. To her credit, my oldest little girl didn't jump at the chance to join her cousin back in Coby's room. She made a couple of trips back to the house for varying reasons, but about the third time in she started the begging.
"Dad, it would be okay out there if you were with us. Can you come out and sleep with us? Please?" No. "Please." No. "Please." No, I have to work tomorrow. "Plllleeeeaasseee?"
I promised her I would at least come out and check on them in a few minutes. At least I think that's what I said... the Rangers and Braves were going at it on television and I can't be responsible for anything I might have said at the time.
I did manage to walk back out to the tent and join the remaining three for a few minutes. When I got out there, they were all three huddled around the flashlight. Bone was on his last legs, as it was way past his bedtime. Mel-Mel was just downright scared, and Coby -- well, if our lives were a Scooby Doo episode, he'd be Fred. The calm, cool leader. He was just a little bored, which was a little kink in his armor on this night.
I camped with them for about 10 minutes, and we all stretched out on sleeping bags and looked out at the moon through the huge back window. I tried to give them a boost of confidence, but every time I moved Mel-Mel pinched my arm tighter. It was then I knew she wasn't long for the adventure.
I walked back in the house about 9:45 or so, and Melody was about two minutes behind me. Two down. Coby and Bone tried to hold out for as long as possible, but when I got out of the shower at around 10:15, they were looking for something to eat in the kitchen. Coby informed me they had decided enough was enough, the tent was just too big for just him and Bone and they would just bunk on the couches in the living room.
He also said, and I quote, "Dad, it's a little scary out there."
So my wonderful creation, my Father's Day tent, is still standing in my backyard this morning. But there's yet to be anyone spend a night in it.
But the good part is, my oldest kids still feel the most comfortable when Mom or Dad is within shouting distance. Or, to be more specific, in the same camping tent.
I really don't have any kind of interest in guns, or fishing in particular. And God hasn't blessed me with the riches it takes to purchase one of those mansions on wheels that makes camping somewhat of a luxury cruise.
But I wanted to enjoy the outdoors and the fine, sultry East Texas weather in the summer while I have a chance. So I've been hinting rather loudly around the house for a few months about how great it would be to have a nice, big comfy tent to use whenever the camping itch needed a scratch.
Father's Day arrived, thankfully, last weekend, just a few days after the 39th birthday. There was no tent forthcoming for the birthday, so the only hope I had was Father's Day. So rather than risk being completely shut out, I happened to be in Wal-Mart last Friday and just happened to come upon a steal of a deal on a nice big, 7-person dome tent. That became my Father's Day gift -- which I had to purchase with my own cash. But needless to say I now have a tent.
Wanted to make sure I could still put one of those things together before I actually made it to a campsite, so I pulled it out of the box last night. Coby and Melody and I have planned our first overnight camping trip this weekend at a little state park in the area here, but they have been absolutely wearing me out about breaking the tent in in the backyard this week first.
By the way, Jeannie says she wants no part of camping or togetherness. If it ain't air-conditioned, she's willing to sit out. She has no spirit of adventure, at least not when it's 95 degrees in the shade. So she and Abby won't be joining us on our first family camping trip.
But back to last night. Bone and Kaylee wanted in on the fun too, so they came home with us last night. All four were going to enjoy the outdoors together in my brand new camping tent. After about an hour or so of trying to figure out just how that thing was supposed to become a shelter, I finally figured it out with no thanks to the instructions stapled to the inside of the bag. I think I could build a nuclear weapon from scratch now a lot easier than it was to decipher how to put that tent together. But at least now I won't have that frustration, hopefully, at the lake this weekend.
It was about 8 o'clock or so when the quartet of kids entered the tent. It was about 8:05 or so when they made there first foray back into the house. The patio door needs a good oiling down now, because at least one kid or more kept traipsing back and forth across the yard from the tent and slamming the door shut every time. Couldn't keep them out of the friggin' house!
"Dad, can we have some ice cream?" Sure.
"I need to go to the bathroom." By all means.
"I'm taking my TV out to the tent, it's boring out there?" What?
"Dad, how about we run the extension cord out there and hook up the Wii?" No, how about let's go camping and curl up in the sleeping bag. Now!
The first casualty of the group was Kaylee. In her defense she's also the youngest of the four, and all odds on the table were that she would be the first to go. She finally tapped out a little after 9 or so, admitting it was a little scary out there once the sun went down.
Jeannie and I gave knowing glances. Melody, who has actually been a little more excited than Coby about this weekend's inaugural trip, was going to be the next to give up on the backyard. To her credit, my oldest little girl didn't jump at the chance to join her cousin back in Coby's room. She made a couple of trips back to the house for varying reasons, but about the third time in she started the begging.
"Dad, it would be okay out there if you were with us. Can you come out and sleep with us? Please?" No. "Please." No. "Please." No, I have to work tomorrow. "Plllleeeeaasseee?"
I promised her I would at least come out and check on them in a few minutes. At least I think that's what I said... the Rangers and Braves were going at it on television and I can't be responsible for anything I might have said at the time.
I did manage to walk back out to the tent and join the remaining three for a few minutes. When I got out there, they were all three huddled around the flashlight. Bone was on his last legs, as it was way past his bedtime. Mel-Mel was just downright scared, and Coby -- well, if our lives were a Scooby Doo episode, he'd be Fred. The calm, cool leader. He was just a little bored, which was a little kink in his armor on this night.
I camped with them for about 10 minutes, and we all stretched out on sleeping bags and looked out at the moon through the huge back window. I tried to give them a boost of confidence, but every time I moved Mel-Mel pinched my arm tighter. It was then I knew she wasn't long for the adventure.
I walked back in the house about 9:45 or so, and Melody was about two minutes behind me. Two down. Coby and Bone tried to hold out for as long as possible, but when I got out of the shower at around 10:15, they were looking for something to eat in the kitchen. Coby informed me they had decided enough was enough, the tent was just too big for just him and Bone and they would just bunk on the couches in the living room.
He also said, and I quote, "Dad, it's a little scary out there."
So my wonderful creation, my Father's Day tent, is still standing in my backyard this morning. But there's yet to be anyone spend a night in it.
But the good part is, my oldest kids still feel the most comfortable when Mom or Dad is within shouting distance. Or, to be more specific, in the same camping tent.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Ballers
Coby spent the first three days of this week at ETBU's Football Camp. He made quite the impression as a receiver, as shown in the picture, running sharp, crisp routes and catching everything close to him. He also won the Punt and Pass parts of the Punt, Pass and Kick Competition. My response was, we'll have to work on the kicking before next year!Mel-Mel was at ETBU's Softball Camp and was also a "hit"... look at that form! Can you believe she'd never thrown a softball competitively three months ago... now she's attending camps and making all-star teams!! She really enjoyed the last day of camp, which included a "sliding" drill -- on the slip 'n slide.
And Abby... well, she just stayed home with mom. No camps for her yet.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
U Gotta Be Kidding Me: Gas Receipts
After a long day at work, in the gym and at the baseball practice field in the 'Ville Tuesday, I had to cap it all off with a trip over to the 'View to put some gas in the truck.
Why drive to the 'View, you ask? Simple. Got no money in the bank account until payday, so if I want to continue to drive to work I have to put a little gas on the trusty Shell credit card, and the only Shell station close is in the 'View. So I have to drive eight miles or so just to buy freaking gasoline.
Coby and I jumped in the truck and cruised over with the gas gauge sitting below the "E." Back in my younger days it would never get close to a quarter-tank. Now, I use every last drop with the unbelievable hope that gas-per-gallon prices will at some point return to at least the price of a Starbucks Grande Mocha. And with a truck that is currently in its 13th year, well, I pretty much know exactly how much fuel is left in the tank by now. Old Blue and I are in tune.
Anyhow, I get over to the Shell and see that the gas price there is $3.99 per gallon. Sonofagun! Who needs that much money in the world to where you have to charge a guy four bucks for purchasing just enough gasoline to mow his yard once!!! There are a lot of things out of whack in the good old USA these days, and greed is right at the top of the list. Oil companies are sucking the blood right out of our veins and laughing all the way to the bank.
But that's not necessarily the subject of today's "U Gotta Be Kidding Me" post. We'll save that for another day, the day when my Shell card actually maxes out a week before payday and I really have a gas shortage. Got no idea how I'll make it to work then...
Standing at the pump, I determined to put 20 bucks worth of gas in the tank in an effort to make it to payday. That gave me the grand total of about 4.8 gallons of gas, which pushed the the gauge just a tad above the quarter-tank mark. Unbelievable!
Then my "U Gotta Be Kidding Me" moment. I go to all that trouble of driving over there to get this stupid gas. You stand there at the pump barefoot (don't ask) and swipe the card, watching your life savings go up in fumes until it gets to $20. Then you miss the mark and end up with a $20.03 tally.
I need a receipt of course, so I punch "yes" in answer to the pump's "Need a receipt?" question. Then I wait. And wait. And wait some more...
"Please see cashier." U Gotta Be Kidding Me!!!!
Here's a tip -- when the consumer is having to pay these kinds of prices for gas, the least the seller can do is make sure the pump printer has receipt paper! I use the gas card for the sole comfort of not having to walk in the store, stand in line and pay or get a receipt. Please, please make sure I don't have to do this.
There are certain gas stations in the area I know without a doubt when I go there that paying at the pump is out of the question. I might as well have a truckload of cash to a) buy five gallons and b) pay inside for the gas I do buy.
My biggest problem with gas cards, debit cards, etc., is not keeping the receipts or forgetting to enter them into our online register. My wife has a coronary when she goes online to update the checkbook and discovers a dozen missing debit receipts for varying reasons. And it's a very painful experience around the house for everyone.
But I will not go into a store to get a slip of paper that says I paid for gas at the pump. That's why I use the credit card for crying out loud!!! Please, please make sure there's paper at the pump. That's all I ask.
Or maybe the price of paper is going up along with the fuel. In that event, I'll go with Dunder Mifflin maybe for all my paper needs in the future.
Why drive to the 'View, you ask? Simple. Got no money in the bank account until payday, so if I want to continue to drive to work I have to put a little gas on the trusty Shell credit card, and the only Shell station close is in the 'View. So I have to drive eight miles or so just to buy freaking gasoline.
Coby and I jumped in the truck and cruised over with the gas gauge sitting below the "E." Back in my younger days it would never get close to a quarter-tank. Now, I use every last drop with the unbelievable hope that gas-per-gallon prices will at some point return to at least the price of a Starbucks Grande Mocha. And with a truck that is currently in its 13th year, well, I pretty much know exactly how much fuel is left in the tank by now. Old Blue and I are in tune.
Anyhow, I get over to the Shell and see that the gas price there is $3.99 per gallon. Sonofagun! Who needs that much money in the world to where you have to charge a guy four bucks for purchasing just enough gasoline to mow his yard once!!! There are a lot of things out of whack in the good old USA these days, and greed is right at the top of the list. Oil companies are sucking the blood right out of our veins and laughing all the way to the bank.
But that's not necessarily the subject of today's "U Gotta Be Kidding Me" post. We'll save that for another day, the day when my Shell card actually maxes out a week before payday and I really have a gas shortage. Got no idea how I'll make it to work then...
Standing at the pump, I determined to put 20 bucks worth of gas in the tank in an effort to make it to payday. That gave me the grand total of about 4.8 gallons of gas, which pushed the the gauge just a tad above the quarter-tank mark. Unbelievable!
Then my "U Gotta Be Kidding Me" moment. I go to all that trouble of driving over there to get this stupid gas. You stand there at the pump barefoot (don't ask) and swipe the card, watching your life savings go up in fumes until it gets to $20. Then you miss the mark and end up with a $20.03 tally.
I need a receipt of course, so I punch "yes" in answer to the pump's "Need a receipt?" question. Then I wait. And wait. And wait some more...
"Please see cashier." U Gotta Be Kidding Me!!!!
Here's a tip -- when the consumer is having to pay these kinds of prices for gas, the least the seller can do is make sure the pump printer has receipt paper! I use the gas card for the sole comfort of not having to walk in the store, stand in line and pay or get a receipt. Please, please make sure I don't have to do this.
There are certain gas stations in the area I know without a doubt when I go there that paying at the pump is out of the question. I might as well have a truckload of cash to a) buy five gallons and b) pay inside for the gas I do buy.
My biggest problem with gas cards, debit cards, etc., is not keeping the receipts or forgetting to enter them into our online register. My wife has a coronary when she goes online to update the checkbook and discovers a dozen missing debit receipts for varying reasons. And it's a very painful experience around the house for everyone.
But I will not go into a store to get a slip of paper that says I paid for gas at the pump. That's why I use the credit card for crying out loud!!! Please, please make sure there's paper at the pump. That's all I ask.
Or maybe the price of paper is going up along with the fuel. In that event, I'll go with Dunder Mifflin maybe for all my paper needs in the future.
Monday, June 2, 2008
Sunburn
Is it just me or does it seem like the sun has moved closer to the earth?
Coby and I travelled to Waco this weekend with Uncle Monty and cousin Ty "Bone" Meissner for a baseball tournament. Three games on Saturday followed by another on Sunday on a sun-drenched field. I made sure I personally was drenched with sunblock, and the moms in attendance made sure my son and the others on the team were equally protected as well.
Yet I come home with an apple-red neck and nice bullseye target on the back of my head, right where the little hole in my cap was. It's gotten quite a few laughs this morning at work -- which started at 7 a.m. as part of ETBU's summer hours, by the way. Monday through Thursday, 7 a.m. - 5 p.m., with Fridays off during the summer.
So I'm wondering what's the deal: is the sun about to fry us all or do I need to sue whatever sunscreen company was supposed to have been protecting my already dried up skin this weekend?
And it wasn't just the boys in the family. Jeannie had to stay home because Melody had her first All-Star softball tournament all day Saturday. The girls played five games Saturday, winning three, and Mel-Mel came home bruised and battered from the experience.
To wash off the long day, my girls got together with Aunt Nona and Kaylee after church for some swimming out at the Meissner pool. Jeannie swears she practically bathed herself and Melody and Abby with sunblock, yet Abby was getting her first aloe-vera bath late Sunday night when I called. Her first sunburn -- June 1, 2008.
Melody is having a tough time. The long day Saturday took most of her youthful energy, and now she's got a couple of layers of UV rays on top of exhaustion. And Jeannie looks like a red lobster, literally. An extremely painful one.
I've been sitting here at work this morning wincing every time my head hits the back of my high-back chair. That big red spot back there... if an assassin were to be hunting me today, he'd have a nice big target back there to aim at.
I've noticed -- my own family notwithstanding this weekend -- that ladies always seem to have it covered when it comes to stuff like sunscreen, or having Tylenol handy when it's needed, or bringing along fruits and snacks to stuff like ball tournaments. Our baseball moms on the Stix are really really good about that kind of stuff, but there's not a dad or husband in the mix who would ever remember those necessities if the ladies weren't around.
Why is that? I wonder what Adam did on this hot humid days in the Garden of Eden before Eve came along. He was either a very tanned sucker or looked like a peeled orange, I'm willing to bet.
Coby and I travelled to Waco this weekend with Uncle Monty and cousin Ty "Bone" Meissner for a baseball tournament. Three games on Saturday followed by another on Sunday on a sun-drenched field. I made sure I personally was drenched with sunblock, and the moms in attendance made sure my son and the others on the team were equally protected as well.
Yet I come home with an apple-red neck and nice bullseye target on the back of my head, right where the little hole in my cap was. It's gotten quite a few laughs this morning at work -- which started at 7 a.m. as part of ETBU's summer hours, by the way. Monday through Thursday, 7 a.m. - 5 p.m., with Fridays off during the summer.
So I'm wondering what's the deal: is the sun about to fry us all or do I need to sue whatever sunscreen company was supposed to have been protecting my already dried up skin this weekend?
And it wasn't just the boys in the family. Jeannie had to stay home because Melody had her first All-Star softball tournament all day Saturday. The girls played five games Saturday, winning three, and Mel-Mel came home bruised and battered from the experience.
To wash off the long day, my girls got together with Aunt Nona and Kaylee after church for some swimming out at the Meissner pool. Jeannie swears she practically bathed herself and Melody and Abby with sunblock, yet Abby was getting her first aloe-vera bath late Sunday night when I called. Her first sunburn -- June 1, 2008.
Melody is having a tough time. The long day Saturday took most of her youthful energy, and now she's got a couple of layers of UV rays on top of exhaustion. And Jeannie looks like a red lobster, literally. An extremely painful one.
I've been sitting here at work this morning wincing every time my head hits the back of my high-back chair. That big red spot back there... if an assassin were to be hunting me today, he'd have a nice big target back there to aim at.
I've noticed -- my own family notwithstanding this weekend -- that ladies always seem to have it covered when it comes to stuff like sunscreen, or having Tylenol handy when it's needed, or bringing along fruits and snacks to stuff like ball tournaments. Our baseball moms on the Stix are really really good about that kind of stuff, but there's not a dad or husband in the mix who would ever remember those necessities if the ladies weren't around.
Why is that? I wonder what Adam did on this hot humid days in the Garden of Eden before Eve came along. He was either a very tanned sucker or looked like a peeled orange, I'm willing to bet.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)