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.

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.

Getting Old

I realized the very sad truth last night.

I'm getting old.

I work out everyday and would like to think I am very active for a 38-year-old who has survived the 70s, 80s and 90s. I am nowhere near retirement, although I absolutely love the idea. Doggone it, I also don't feel old most of the time -- no large aches and pains, no glaring health problems, you know, the things that become part of your life when your body starts to break down with age.

But I'm getting old. Know why? Because my kids laugh at me when we play video games. That 70s, 80s, 90s comment above -- that means I grew up in the very beginning of the video game age. I remember when getting a plain old Monopoly game was big deal on Christmas morning, or maybe Clue or Payday. How about those old electric football games, where you had to lift the little tiny players off the field and direct that little wheel on the bottom, then flip a switch and feel the buzz shaking them all over that metal football field. Got one of those every Christmas because I kept losing the little player guys over the course of the year. Mom and Dad kept it coming, though.

Then there was the Atari. Space Invaders -- I spent two whole days after Christmas playing that stupid game. I took breaks to eat and go to the bathroom. Every other waking minute was spent shooting those square-looking aliens out of the sky and saving the world.

Atari bred Intellivision. Then came the first Nintendo unit. That has, of course, evolved into the PlayStation, X-box, and all its offspring. Of course, during this evolution I grew up and got busy with other things like making a living, putting food on the table and a roof over my head, you know, stuff grown-ups have to do.

My son cashed in a couple of weeks ago on his birthday, receiving $236 in cash and another 55 bucks worth of Wal-Mart gift cards. He knew what he wanted to spend it on before we left the party that night.

Nintendo has gone through its original game system, to the Nintendo GameCube, and now its latest invention is the Wii. Coby requested one at Christmas but Santa didn't oblige, claiming even his elves up north couldn't find one in stores. On that note... just what do Santa's elves do between Jan. 1 and, say, August or so, when the Christmas lists probably start rolling in? You'd think they could stock up on some Wii consoles at least to get ready for the rush.

But May is apparently a good time to find them in stock. We finally got the chance to go to Wal-Mart on Monday and we found one of the elusive buggers. The kids have been playing that thing since we walked back in the door with it.

Problem is I'm not very good at it. I got shut out in Wii baseball by both my older children. Melody sent me out of the room completely with a mercy-rule win in game two -- yes, my 9-year-old daughter Melody. I couldn't get out of there fast enough, and when I did leave she was laughing at me all the way.

I curled up with my one remaining child who has yet to get a Wii victory over me. Abby doesn't care about the video games other than she does enjoy grabbing a controller and maybe chewing on it for awhile. That's the kind of support I needed most last night.

Yes, you know you're getting old when your 9-year-old girl can whip you in video game baseball and laugh about it. Hysterically.

Holiday Weekend in the 'Ville

We just completed one of those weekends around the house that makes me realize something that is very easy to forget most of the time.

Work is a blessing.

Memorial Day weekend has always been a favorite of mine. It's the first real weekend that feels like summer break. On cue around the 'Ville, the temperature rose to furnace-levels this past weekend with the East Texas heat and humidity -- which was hovering around 180 percent or so I think. The sweat just sticks to you like a jellyfish; I went through three shirts on Saturday alone.

You think gasoline prices are outrageous? Try laundry detergent, according to my lovely wife. Sometimes I get the feeling she'd be okay if I went with just three shirts a week.

Anyway, it was a great weekend but yes I am glad to be back at work this morning. A return to normalcy is very welcome right now.

Jeannie's sister Melissa, her husband Michael and their little cutie daughter Katherine drove in from Alabama on Friday night to spend the weekend. Melissa and Michael are very popular around our kids -- well, not just our kids. Most kids, actually. They own two toy stores in Alabama, and that is quite the drawing card for aunts and uncles, you know.

They make it in about 2 or 3 times a year, I guess, and seeing as we pretty much have the only house for hosting right now with Donnis and Anthony still in nomads land waiting to sell their house -- fingers are crossed, guys -- the McCollums bunked in Coby's room for the weekend. That meant Coby got to sleep on the trundle bed on the floor in Melody's and Abby's room. He's such a good sport.

Saturday also marked Melody's first All-Star tournament. Yes, that's right -- my little daughter, as it turns out, is a softball prodigy. Her older brother has gotten much pub here on the blog this spring but Mel-Mel is quite the little ballplayer in her own right. She'd never played one inning of organized softball until this spring, and she was nominated and voted to the 'Ville's own 10-under All-Star team. One of the few 9-year-olds on the team, in fact.

But I mentioned that humidity? It was in full force at the ballpark Saturday. We took three losses on the chin, and it felt like 30 because of the brutal heat.

And Melody took some on the chin, literally, too. She overran third base in one game and got clocked in the head by the little girl desperately trying to tag her on the return trip back to the bag. Once I determined she was okay, I made sure to mention that we would be working on the slide into third soon enough.

Then in the final game of the day, she was hitting against a little girl who was throwing straight gas (that's a pitcher who throws the ball very hard, for all you non-sports fans out there). Melody fouled the first pitch off to the right but was right on the gas. The second pitch was inside and she took a hack and fouled it back to the screen -- then slumped to the ground in tears. The ball had clipped a knuckle on her right hand, and by the time she got up and was helped to the dugout it had already swollen pretty good with a cut on the inside. Bad part was she had to go back up to the plate and hold the bat basically with one hand because she couldn't just come out of the game.

Now, Coby has gotten bumps and bruises all the time in the game. No big deal. We rub it and move on. The little aches and pains he endures don't really bother me.

But when it's my little girl, well, that was different. Dads don't handle that very well. Abby is our baby and is such a big part of our lives, too, but Mel-Mel was our first little girl, you know? I pray I don't ever forget that. When she was on the ground crying because it hurt Saturday, well, it's very easy to remember.

Anyway, she's fine and nothing was broken. We finished playing ball and got back to the house for a big feast of barbecue from Bodacious. The big back yard came into play nicely, and I whipped all the boys in some one-on-three or four basketball. Had to stop, though, because there were the inevitable arguments between the boys. It's frustrating when you can't guard the big man, and I was the big man that day for sure.

Sunday we got up and went to church for the Memorial Day service. It's always one of my favorite of the year, because we are reminded of the sacrifice of others for our rights and freedom to gather together and worship. Don't ever forget that. The service and sermon were patriotic and feel-good. But we can never forget.

A little afternoon swimming out at the Meissners' beautiful new pool set the stage for a big blowout cookout Sunday night at our place. We had 20 or so folks at the house, which is built for no more than 7 or 8. That was fun.

The McCollums had to leave Monday morning to get back to Alabama and their toys, so we had Memorial Day Sunday night. We had volleyball, badminton, horse shoes, and mosquitos. Everything you love about summer.

Things quieted down a bit Monday, but we did have Stu and Lauren over for some hamburgers and fellowship. Abby was a bit cranky because she's cutting a tooth, but she eventually went to sleep and I was preparing to when we discovered a big problem.

Our floor was buckling in the hallway just outside the air conditioning unit. Upon further inspection we saw a flood underneath the unit in the closet. That's a big problem that shouldn't be taking place at the end of a long holiday weekend. Jeannie and I worked for over an hour trying to get the mess up, and our floor is buckling slightly now in a large area from the moisture. I think I found the culprit -- a very gunked up drain pipe, which I tried my best to clean without losing my holiday meals -- and as of this morning there was no new moisture dripping from the unit onto the floor. We are praying we have dodged a bullet and won't have to replace much if anything in the floor, at least not anytime soon. But we know how big a problem moisture can be in the house from our last home, and we won't play around much with it this time.

Just the way you want to finish a nice, relaxing holiday weekend. Once again, work is a blessing and I'm glad to be back. The good thing is, in another week, I'll get a full slate of vacation time to use for the next year.

Time to start planning now I guess.

Dunkball

For the last year or so I've become caught up in the national craze that is "dunkball."

Okay, maybe national is a bit of an exaggeration. The game isn't quite national yet; probably hasn't gotten much farther than the couple of courts I've played on. But all we need is a little publicity. So here it is.

"Dunkball" is derived, of course, from its much older cousin -- plain old basketball. The rules are the same, a.k.a. traveling, double-dribbling, etc. The only difference is that we play with a ball that is small enough to palm. And, we lower our adjustable goal to its lowest point, making it easier to, well, dunk.

The first dunkball game ever played at our house in the 'Ville took place yesterday afternoon. My good little buddy Jason from work has been actively involved with dunkball for quite some time, and he has become quite the promoter for the sport. Got me involved originally, and he's been begging me to play again for quite some time after I'd taken a bit of a hiatus from the sport the last few months.

But I got the whim yesterday to play again, so I invited him over after work. I enjoy playing against Jason for one reason -- I'm a foot taller than him, which is quite the advantage in basketball. He's got some pretty smooth moves on the court and actually might be a bit quicker than me, but I make up for it with dominating play around the rim -- which, of course, is below my elbow in dunkball.

Coby wanted to get his first dunkball action yesterday, so we played a game of 21 and bent the rules a bit to make it competitive for him. The rules applying for when a ball hits the rim were in force, meaning you have to take the ball back after a shot hits the rim of course. But we made it easier for Coby by saying he could just go back up with a layup if he got the rebound. After about five quick layups by my offspring, though, I began to dominate him around the rim as well.

Coby lasted one game and then decided he'd spectate. That made it mano 'a mano between Jason and I. I forgot to mention the point system in dunkball -- two points for a bucket, one for a free throw, and three for a dunk. It's a little tougher to dunk one-on-one, simply because you got one defender standing in the lane the entire time. Plus my height advantage on my opponent yesterday made him sag back like a wilted flower, defending the paint at all costs.

That's when I go to my post up game. Back him down to "my" area around the block, and then it's literally like taking candy from a baby. I got the dream shake, the fadeaway, the up and under, or just a straight up in your face jumper. He can't defend it. Then go make some free throws and pour it on.

The little cheap elbows to the kidneys can't faze me. The trash talking is just funny, doesn't affect my game one bit. Let me get to my paint, and it's game over. And the best part about all that is, he knows it's over. Game, set, match.

I did allow him to play an extra game and leave with at least one win, just to ensure that he might want to come back and play again. Now he's talking smack today at the office about beating me that one time, so the rematch will happen. That I am quite sure of.

Dunkball. Catch the fever.

Getting Away

Like most kids growing up my favorite time of year usually was Christmas, for obvious reasons. Gifts, gifts, gifts -- and more gifts. Being out of school for a month didn't hurt either.

Now that I'm grown (at least according to my birthday count), my favorite time of year has changed. I still love Christmas, for most of the reasons listed above. But the May-June-July-August swing, particularly May-June-July, has become my favorite time of the calendar.

Since going to work at ETBU eight years ago this coming June 1, I really have come to love the summer months. The kids are out of school, and knowing how much they enjoy their vacation also takes me back to the good old days. I am married to a teacher, too, so I know she will be around. And no matter how much I try to hide it sometimes because its just masculine to do so, I don't have as much fun doing anything if my wife isn't there. She's my friend and my comfort zone. There is a certain amount of emptiness, of something missing, when she's not around. So having her resting and enjoying the summer at home with the kids is very refreshing for me as well.

Anyway, summer at ETBU also means no students, which means absolute zero activity on campus. There are some summer church camps, and some summer sports camps, but I have basically nothing to do with any of them. So I go to work, sit in my little office and write blogs. Or listen to music/talk shows on the Internet. The 8-hour day drags and drags and drags and drags...

But summer is also the perfect time for vacation. Got a little taste of the freedom that comes from being away this past weekend, when for the first time this year the whole family got to load up and go to one of Coby's baseball tournaments. We spent the weekend in McKinney, and the Stix were playing up one age level against 11-year-olds but actually came out of Saturday's pool games as the top seed. Lost in the semis on Sunday, but that just meant we got home at a decent hour. We had already accomplished quite a bit for the boys during the tournament, and we are playing really well right now.

But the highlight for me again was that we finally had the girls with us. Jeannie hadn't been able to come on an overnight trip this year, which began back in March. We got to load up in the car and stay overnight in a hotel, with a dinner at Ralph and Kacoos... top notch. For those worried about our weight loss competition, we had grilled catfish and shrimp.

The kids were thrilled about being in the hotel room, as all kids usually are. Abby also had a quick night without much of a nap during the day, so she was altogether pleasant when it was time to go night-night.

Got up, played a couple of games on Sunday, then had a nice quiet drive through the country on the way home. Sometimes in life, you just want to get off the interstate and enjoy the calmness of country, right? I took the back way home and it took a couple more minutes but it was worth it.

Vacation time is great for all of us. We are kicking around a few more ideas of what to do with our time this summer. We've got Coby's World Series coming up in July, so that will take one week away. We also hope to take a quick trip down to Houston, maybe, or Galveston, or someplace like that. Don't really know, we'll probably decide to go somewhere on a whim. But at least we have the free time to have that option during the summer.

Also want to take the girls camping -- Jeannie's not much on the outdoors, though. But she won't stay at home by herself either, so I always have that card to play.

Happy Birthday "Boby"!

Those who know me and read this will certainly understand the next sentence.

My son's birthday was yesterday... and I'm just now blogging about it.

Some might call it procrastination. Others call it laziness. Guilty as charged on all counts, in most situations. But I must plead simple forgetfulness this time. Or maybe busy-ness.

In any event, I'm giving a belated one-day shout-out to Coby, who turned 11 Sunday. The nickname in the title of this entry is a tribute to what Coby's first little sister, Melody, used to call him back in the old days. It was quite hilarious and one of those memorable kid things you never forget as a parent, hearing those two toddlers -- born just 18 months apart -- talking to each other as "Boby" and "Med-a-die."

Birthdays, at least for kids these days, always seem to turn into birth weeks or even longer now. For example, the actual birthday was yesterday, May 7. Coby got up, was treated to breakfast of his choice by his mom, and then was treated to a nice 11-pat birthday spankin' by yours truly. Went to school, came home, and Jeannie took him to Academy to pick out a much-needed new baseball glove. Then to Nanny's for a birthday supper of hamburgers, then on to church with new glove in tow.

Sounds like a decent little birthday, right? For an 11-year-old "pre-teen?" Nope, haven't had the party yet. That big shindig happens Friday, out at Aunt Nona's and Uncle Monty's. Coby actually planned his own birthday party this year, or at least came up with the general idea.

He and his cousin Jacob, of course, were born just two weeks apart. Almost so close, in fact, that I guess we could have named Coby "Esau." Anyway, about a month ago he decided he wanted to invite Jacob to have a dual party, which is no big deal really. But he wanted the party to be out at the Meissner's baseball field, where we spend about 80 percent of our time this time of year anyway.

He wanted to invite his entire baseball team, along with some other friends from school/church, I'm guessing around 15-20 invites total. Then have Jacob invite pretty much the same amount, and the entire lot get together and play baseball. We'll have hot dogs and baseball, a good ol' American birthday.

We can probably even use the banner Jeannie bought for cousin Ty's birthday a month ago, although (by mistake of course) she happened to miss the "Happy Birthday" banner and came home with "Happy New Year." So we all sang "Auld Lang Syne" instead of "Happy Birthday" to Ty.

It'll be fun, of course. I'll either be a coach or umpire, or maybe just a fan, Friday. Either way, it's nice knowing your kid is enjoying his birthday as much as we enjoyed the first one.