Please Note:  This blog was originally posted about year and a half ago (by me) on fannation.com.  I mentioned it in my last journal post, and I think it's some of my best work, so I included it here. 

...

There are many ups and downs in the life of a divorced father.  I know I don't have it as bad as some divorced dads, but I also know I have it worse than others.  I don't want to bore my few faithful readers with the sordid details of my private life, but I wanted to blog about something positive.  I wanted to blog about something more important than just football or sports in general.

I'm not sure how to approach this subject matter here, so if I come off as overly sappy I apologize in advance.

I just mentioned ups and downs.  Let's start with the downers.  My son Michael loves football, just like his dad.  He used to sit with me and watch bemusedly while I yelled at the TV and jumped up and down only to see the Bears pull out a close victory.  He had an Urlacher jersey, and he was a Bears fan, but alas...

At seven years old, Michael's biggest male influence in his life is now his older half-brother, Tait.  Tait is fourteen years old and has played football for four years now.  He is currently a freshman and just completed his first year of high school football.  He is Michael's hero.  He is also a recently converted San Diego fan.  Now Michael is a Chargers fan too.

Michael's teacher recently told me that Michael, while struggling a bit with reading, will read anything football related, and "Boy, does he love those Chargers!"  I think she was expecting me to say that I was a Chargers fan too, but I kept silent.  All I could do was sit there and think dejectedly, "Well he used to be a Bears fan." 

He used to tell me that he was going to be a professional football player, but that he'd never play for the Bears.  One day I asked him why.  "Because you always yell at the Bears players, Daddy, and I don't want you to yell at me when I'm playing."   I asked him, "Do I ever yell at you when you're playing flag football?"  "No," he replied.  "Well then I wouldn't yell at you if you played for the Bears either.  I would be too busy telling everyone in the stands that you're my son, just like I do now."  He took that in for a while and said, "Okay, well I guess I could play for the Bears." 

But those days are gone.  I can see that I am not as big an influence in Michael's life as I once was.

I take small comfort in the fact that, while the Bears are no longer his favorite team, we still share a love of football.  Even if Michael never comes to his senses and returns to the Bear-Nation, we can have fun when the Bears and the Chargers play every now and again.  I can take solace in the fact that he inherited his new favorite team from a young man who never really knew anything about football until I became his stepdad. 

See, older-half-brother Tait is an awesome baseball player, but never showed interest in football until he met me.  He was vaguely aware of football on TV, but really never played it until he played with me in our backyard.  When I first met him, Tait was a Packer fan.  We had fun with our little in-house rivalry, and I especially have enjoyed the Lovie Smith years!   But I'm getting off the point...

Michael is not my little middle linebacker.  I played soccer with him for thirty minutes Sunday, and (at seven years old) he ran me into the ground!  He's too darn fast!  On defense, I'm sure he'll be playing somewhere on the edge.  He's my little outside linebacker right now.  I love Michael dearly, and he provides me with a steady diet of memorable moments, but this blog isn't really about him.

I recently sat in a mediation session with my ex-wife and listened to her tell the mediator that the kids didn't want to come see me at my house anymore, and how I'm a negative influence in their lives.  She was trying to fix it so I couldn't see my kids during the week.  Fortunately, the mediator saw through the B.S., and I'm now seeing my little ones every Wednesday afternoon and evening.  But no good parent should have to sit and listen to someone say the things that were said that day.

The only thing that kept me from coming unglued during that mediation session was the thought of my little middle linebacker, Anna.  My little girl will turn five years old in less than three weeks.  She's a big girl for her age, and with two older brothers, she's tougher than most boys her age.  Don't get me wrong, she still likes to sing and put ponytails in her hair and play with dolls.  (And yes, Daddy plays dolls with his little middle linebacker on occasion.)

Sitting in that little room listening to she-who-shall-not-be-named spew venom at me, I was calm.  I thought about one of Michael's flag football games.  Anna ran over to me and plopped down on my lap.  She's getting so big that I let out an audible, "Oof!"  Borrowing a line from my dad, I said, "You know, Anna, I think middle linebacker will be your position!"  This elicited a chuckle from the parents who were sitting nearby.  I continued, "Do you want to play football next year?"

To my surprise, Anna nodded her head.  Then she looked up at me and said, "Daddy, will you teach me how to play middle linebacker?"  I couldn't believe what I just heard.  I looked down through misty eyes and said, "Sure, honey."  It was all I could say.  I don't know if she really meant it or not.  She's never brought it up since then.  But I know it's something she said for the express purpose of showing interest in something her Daddy is interested in.  It was her way of saying she doesn't care how we spend our time together, as long as we spend time together.  And it's one of those moments I will never forget for as long as I live.

...

Update:  My daughter DID play flag football last year and had a lot of fun pushing around the boys on the field.  :)

I am going to apologize for this post in advance because I'm just "freewheeling" here.  I'm trying to get some thoughts into text because I've been away for so long and I miss blogging.

It's not that I haven't blogged since my last post here.  I spent the better part of two years posting a regular blog about the Chicago Bears on various websites during football season, then blogging about their offseason moves too.  If you go to Fannation.com or therustynut.com and look for "Sneaky Pete" or some variation thereof, you'll find my stuff.  (So to speak.) 

This link will take you to Fannation: http://www.fannation.com/blogs/show/121408.  I recommend "My Little Middle Linebacker."  It's one of my better pieces and not really about sports.

I tried to link my more recent blogs from therustynut.com,  but there seems to be a problem with the site, so maybe I'll break them out from my personal archives someday...  ah well.

The Bears Blog was all fun and good and the feedback was mostly positive, although I gladly accept ANY feedback as long as it's sincere, but I always missed my "every day" blogs.  Ranting about the Bears is something almost any knowledgeable fan can do, but ranting about YOURSELF and getting folks to read is another thing altogether. 

So, after a two-year hiatus I'm back and there are a couple familiar faces still lurking around here, which is really good to see.  One friend in particular has fled, which is unfortunate.  There's a good lesson there about maintaining friendships, but I'm not sure what else I could do.  My ex-girlfriend was not keen on me visiting this site, and she wouldn't have approved of me maintaining friendships with members of the opposite sex from this site either.  Go figure! 

I sincerely hope whoever I end up dating next time will be more understanding.  If I don't end up dating someone from this site, it doesn't mean I should have to dump them as friends, does it?  I don't think so. 

And that's where this blog has led me.  My biggest regret from this last relationship is losing a good friend I had on this site.  I guess I can't say for sure that I lost the friendship outright, but I can tell you it will forever be altered. 

I'm almost positive it wasn't worth it.

...There's a Don Williams song that pretty much sums it all up for me?

I'm posting this in part to respond to cguni's journal post about magic and unicorns and the Easter Bunny. To answer Uni's question: Yes, I do believe in magic. Yes, I know I'm silly. No, I'll never grow up.

Some background on the song and the artist: This song was written in the seventies and is still relevant today. Almost eerily so, actually. My dad listened to Don Williams all the time when I was young. Don Williams is known as the Gentle Giant because he's 6'5" and has the most tender and soothing voice I think I've ever heard. Dad used to play the 8-track (dating myself, I know) on long car trips because it would make me and my sister fall asleep! The lyrics alone don't do justice to this song because Don Williams' vocal quality just makes this song... Magic. :)

I Believe In You
Don Williams

I don't believe in superstars,
Organic food and foreign cars.
I don't believe the price of gold;
The certainty of growing old.
That right is right and left is wrong,
That north and south can't get along.
That east is east and west is west.
And being first is always best.

But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.

Well, I don't believe that heaven waits,
For only those who congregate.
I like to think of God as love:
He's down below, He's up above.
He's watching people everywhere.
He knows who does and doesn't care.
And I'm an ordinary man,
Sometimes I wonder who I am.

But I believe in love.
I believe in music.
I believe in magic.
And I believe in you.

Well, I know with all my certainty,
What's going on with you and me,
Is a good thing.
It's true, I believe in you.

I don't believe virginity,
Is as common as it used to be.
In working days and sleeping nights,
That black is black and white is white.
That Superman and Robin Hood,
Are still alive in Hollywood.
That gasoline's in short supply,
The rising cost of getting by.

But I believe in love.
I believe in old folks.
I believe in children.
I believe in you.

But I believe in love.
I believe in babies.
I believe in Mom and Dad.
And I believe in you.

...

Used without permission. Sue me. I dare you... :P

Since I am now an engineer-type, I thought I'd post this collection of jokes (funny stories, whatever) to help everyone understand me better. Remember, they're funny 'cause they're true! :)

...

Two engineering students were riding across a university campus when one said, "Where did you get such a great bike?" The second engineer replied, "Well, I was walking along yesterday, minding my own business, when a beautiful woman rode up on this bike, threw it to the ground, took off all her clothes and said, "Take what you want." The second engineer nodded approvingly and said, "Good choice; the clothes probably wouldn't have fit you anyway."

�

To the optimist, the glass is half full.
To the pessimist, the glass is half empty.
To the engineer, the glass is twice as big as it needs to be.

�

A priest, a doctor, and an engineer were waiting one morning for a particularly slow group of golfers. The engineer fumed, "What's with those guys? We must have been waiting for fifteen minutes!" The doctor chimed in, "I don't know, but I've never seen such inept golf!" The priest
said, "Here comes the greens keeper. Let's have a word with him." He said, "Hello, George! Whats wrong with that group ahead of us? They're rather slow, aren't they?" The greens keeper replied, "Oh, yes. That's a group of blind fire fighters. They lost their sight saving our clubhouse from a fire last year, so we always let them play for free anytime." The group fell silent for a moment. The priest said, "That's so sad. I think I will say a special prayer for them tonight." The doctor said, "Good idea. I'm going to contact my ophthalmologist colleague and see if there's anything he can do for them." The engineer said, "Why can't they play at night?"

�

Normal people believe that if it ain't broke, don't fix it. Engineers believe that if it ain't broke, it doesn't have enough features yet.

�

An engineer was crossing a road one day, when a frog called out to him and said, "If you kiss me, I'll turn into a beautiful princess." He bent over, picked up the frog and put it in his pocket. The frog spoke up again and said, "If you kiss me and turn me back into a beautiful princess, I will stay with you for one week." The engineer took the frog out of his pocket, smiled at it and returned it to the pocket. The frog then cried out, "If you kiss me and turn me back into a Princess, I'll stay with you for one week and do ANYTHING you want." Again, the engineer took the frog out, smiled at it and put it back into his pocket. Finally, the frog asked, "What is the matter? I've told you I'm a beautiful princess and that I'll stay with you for one week and do anything you want. Why won't you kiss me?" The engineer said, "Look, I'm an engineer. I don't have time for a girlfriend, but a talking frog, now that's cool."

My results:

Aphrodite
66% Extroversion, 86% Intuition, 55% Emotiveness, 71% Perceptiveness

Funloving, talkative, flamboyant, social... you are most like Aphrodite. You love parties, people, fashion, and sex. You're impulsive, inconcise, and you find crowds and parties to be energizing. You're optimistic, upbeat, and frequently irrational. You hate structure and routine, and you don't like know-it-alls. You're not really a "big picture" person, however, and might not always assess the consequences of your actions before taking them. You do have a very strong hedonistic streak, though, and this gives you a magnetic personality. You dislike people who think too much.

Like Dionysus, you classify your life as a search for meaning and, when things go wrong, you can become manipulative. To others, you can often seem directionless and impulsive, but you make sure that everything that you do is in line with your strong, internally motivated set of moral guidelines. Your funloving streak, although your greatest asset, can sometimes prevent you from realizing goals or staying on task. As accepting as you are of other people, you have a great need to be accepted yourself, and this can sometimes lead to an overdemonstration of affection and insincerity on your part.

Famous People like you: Elvis, Eva Gabor, Paris Hilton, Elizabeth Taylor

Stay away from: Atlas, Prometheus, The Oracle, Daedalus, and Hermes.

Seek out: Pan, Dionysus, Apollo

You scored higher than 72% on Extroversion

....

I'm having trouble coming to terms with this test. I've taken it twice just to be sure. And twice I received the same results.

What's most troubling to me is that it's right on about certain things, but words like "frequently irrational" just rattled me. I'm not frequently irrational. I do have my moments, but frequently? I think not. Then it says "You hate structure and routine, and you don't like know-it-alls." This is absolutely true about me. But look what follows: "You're not really a 'big picture' person." Well, the Meyers-Briggs test must've gotten it wrong, I guess. ENTJ. Big picture. Big time big picture!

Then I was almost offended when I read: "You do have a very strong hedonistic streak" and "You dislike people who think too much." Wha? This would be insulting if it wasn't so funny. *I* think too much! Does that mean I hate myself? Hedonistic? HEDONISTIC? My goodness. I almost fainted... I don't know how I could prove to anyone on-line that I'm not hedonistic, so I guess you'll have to take my word for it!

I must admit this statement rang true: "Your funloving streak, although your greatest asset, can sometimes prevent you from realizing goals or staying on task." That explains all the time I waste here while I should be doing something else... ;)

It seems there is an interesting mixture of truth and tragic/humorous error in these results. But here comes the *real* kick in the pants: "Famous People like you: Elvis, Eva Gabor, Paris Hilton, Elizabeth Taylor."

I will admit that it's better to be compared to the "nice" Gabor sister, however I cannot get over the fact that I've been lumped into a group with PARIS FREAKIN' HILTON *AND* ELIZABETH TAYLOR! GAH!

Someone shoot me.

This is an actual editorial I sent to my college newspaper in 1990. Unfortunately I don't have the exact date it was published. I'm posting this to clarify an interesting chapter of my past.

Please keep in mind that I was twenty years old when I wrote this. :)

...

I would like to take advantage of this paper�s function as a public forum to confront a problem that it has reported on in the past. This problem is racism.

Throughout the course of this semester, I have been harassed by obscene phone calls that would offend the likes of Andrew Dice Clay. These phone calls are in regards to my involvement with the Inter-Racial Club and Phi Beta Sigma Fraternity, Inc.

The calls come around 11:30 pm on Sundays, and open with a familiar voice giving me an obviously phony name. The voice usually informs me that he is a member of the Ku Klux Klan. The voice then begins a lengthy diatribe that includes the following: the word �nigger-lover� (used extensively), accusations of my being a homosexual love-slave to my black friends, and numerous filthy comments about my parents and sister. Throughout the duration of the call, I can hear other voices in the background laughing and adding their own comments.

What truly boggles my mind is that these people actually believe they have a right to judge me for my beliefs and for the friends I choose. I cannot even comprehend how these people believe they have the right to invade my (and my roommates�) privacy, and compromise my integrity by calling me and wasting my time with their incomprehensible rantings. If these people are so convinced in their beliefs, why don�t they confront me face-to-face?

On two separate occasions, I have invited these people up to my room to discuss the issues of racism. I waited. These people never appeared. I wondered to myself, why? Could it be that they know they�re wrong? What are these people afraid of?

I don�t know what the exact purpose of the calls is, but I�m almost positive that it isn�t to create an anti-racism activist. Congratulations, guys. Now I�m your worst nightmare.

White people always ask me how I relate to black people. It�s easy. I relate to them the same way I relate to anyone of any color. I look beyond outer appearances to what is inside the person. I keep an open mind. Racism is a problem that stems from ignorance. To know someone, one just has to understand them. To understand someone, one just has to listen to them.

Once you really get to know someone who happens to look different, one usually finds out that you have a lot in common. We�re all products of our environment, people. Let�s learn to live with each other.

When I was 16 years old I took a job at the local movies theater. The manager was a quirky guy, who I found aggravating at first. He was *so* into his job. Everything was done his way, which was by the book. I could tell his whole life was centered on work. He started as a concessionaire when he was in high school, and literally worked his way up to the #1 manager position at the movie theaters. He made sure he told me that at least twice during my job interview. "Big deal," I thought. "Why is he so proud of that?" I could tell he imagined that he spoke from a lofty pulpit, and that I should be honored that he was speaking to me. During my interview, I was wondering why my friend recommended I apply for this job. My friend had already been there for a month; didn�t he realize he was working for an arrogant @ss?

I got the job. At the beginning of my first day, Manager #1 told me, �SneakyPetey, you�re going to be fine here and throughout the rest of your life if you remember one thing: People are stupid.�

At this point, I instantly changed my opinion of Manager #1! I must�ve had a quizzical look on my face, because he smiled and explained himself. �People will stand in line at the front door, complaining the entire time about how slow the ticket line is moving. And the entire time, staring them in the face, there's a GIGANTIC lighted sign that lists all the movies in our theater, their rating, and their show times. When they finally get up to your window, they'll complain that the line is moving too slow (which slows down the line even more), and then they turn to whoever they�re with and say �What movie are we here to see again?��

I was grinning ear-to-ear by now. Manager #1 continued, �Then those same people walk up to the concession stand, get in line, and complain about how slow the line is moving. The entire time there's a GIGANTIC lighted sign showing every food and drink item we sell, the sizes, and the prices. When they finally get up to the counter, they will complain to you that the line was moving too slow (which slows down the line even more), and then they turn to whoever they�re with and say �What do we want to eat?��

While I was amused by Manger #1�s cynicism, I was skeptical of the veracity of his observations. My first day we were showing Beverly Hills Cop II and Rambo III. Every showing sold out! We were mobbed. I was still learning the ropes, so I was frustrated. However, I was prepared for the most aggravating part of the job because everything Manager #1 told that first day was absolutely true! After the first day of work, I got home exhausted. My folks had already gone to bed because we didn�t get out of there until almost 1:00 am. The next day at breakfast my mom asked my how my first day at my new job was. She was puzzled by my terse response: �People are stupid.� My dad demanded an explanation, and I gave him the speech that Manger #1 gave me the day before. He laughed. My mom asked if I was going to quit and I said, �No the job is fine as long as I understand that �People are stupid.��

Manager #1 still holds the top spot in my memories of any manager I�ve ever worked for in my life. He never went to college, but he could (and *would* if someone called in sick at the last minute) do *any* job in the theater. He learned everything he knew from observing people and learning from them. He was honest, fair, and he never yelled at anyone. In three years of employment at those movie theaters, I never heard him raise his voice once. Pretty impressive when you consider that there were times they thought they had misplaced a $15,000 cash drop for the bank� They always turned up because his assistant managers always went by the book. Manager #1 knew that. He inspired his teenage workcrew to the point that we were rated #1 in the country by the corporate spies, who would come in as customers and rate the theaters. Manager #1 knew exactly what to tell people. �People are stupid� got me through those first few weeks, and the rest of my life for that matter.

I keep �People are stupid� in mind when I�m in a bar and some idiot is in my face about unions, or liberals, or Rex Grossman, or whatever.

I keep �People are stupid� in mind when I�m at the store, on the highway, or somewhere else were people tend to hemorrhage IQ points.

I keep �People are stupid� in mind when I�m standing in line behind the teenager in McDonalds who is telling her best friend (and everyone else within earshot) the sordid details of last night�s date.

I keep �People are stupid in mind when I get a message in my OKCupid inbox that�s a horrid affront to the English language.

I keep �People are stupid� in mind when I get a message that equates to �Yer HAWT!�

(Okay, okay, that last one doesn�t happen all that often!)

How does �People are stupid� help? It keeps me serene by lowering my expectations of everyone around me. If I *know* and *expect* people to act stupid, I won�t get aggravated with them. And when I find someone who�s actually SMART, it�s a pleasant surprise!

So, if you don�t bother to read my profile and you decide to send me a �Yer HAWT,� I�ll try to be nice about it� But you should know I�m thinking: �People are stupid!�

I need to explain the latest pic of me that I uploaded. It shows my tattoo of St. Michael. Some of you may ask, �Why do you feel the need to constantly explain yourself to others?� This is all part of my neurosis, so bear with me�

The question I get asked the most is: �Are you some kind of religious fanatic?� The answer is obvious to me. No. Since most (if not all) sects of Christianity consider a tattoo destruction of the human body and such behavior is considered a sin, I�m not following the religion that inspired the tattoo in the first place. I don�t believe God is that picky. I can�t see getting to the gates of heaven and hearing Saint Pete say, �Well, you were a good person, you tried your best to live like Jesus, you were a good father and neighbor, but you�ve got this tattoo� Sorry.�

The tattoo perplexes the truly religious people in my life. My pastor doesn�t know what to make of it. My aunt (who�s a nun) likewise finds it� Odd. Though both people can see that I�m basically a good person, but that tattoo makes me into some kind of enigma wrapped in a riddle.

Some of the best advice I ever received was from an old schoolmate. I met him (again) at my ten-year high school class reunion. He won the award for most interesting occupation that night. He started his own tattoo parlor. I told him I was thinking about getting a tattoo, but I didn�t know what to get. He told me if I didn�t know what to get, then DON�T GET ONE! A tattoo is with you for life and you don�t want to spend the rest of your days wondering what you were thinking when you got the Tasmanian Devil etched onto your chest. He said a tattoo should be something that some deep meaning for you.

Two years later, I finally figured out what I wanted. As an early birthday present to myself, I drove up to Steve�s in Madison, WI with a medallion of St. Michael. The medallion is about the size of a nickel. I told the nice folks at Steve�s that I wanted the image on the medallion transferred to my right deltoid. Five hours later, a tattoo artist named Pedro finally took the job. One artist already looked at it and declined, saying he couldn�t pull it off. Pedro had been in Tattoo Magazine three times. It took him over an hour to draw the image from the medallion onto the transfer. I spent two and a half hours in the chair that night. I spent a total of ten hours at the tattoo parlor. Two weeks later, I came back and spent another two and a half hours in the chair for the shading. It was worth it. Pedro did a great job on the tattoo!

What significance does St. Michael have for me? I took Michael as my confirmation name back when I was a Catholic. I took the name because Michael is the angel God sends down to Earth at the end of the world. Michael battles the Beast, binds him, and locks him in the Bottomless Pit for ten thousand years. To me St. Michael represents the belief that Good will overcome. It�s that simple.

Addendum: Now that I've added the pic, it's become my "avatar" when I comment on someone's journal. I'm not too happy about that. I'm not ashamed of the tattoo, but I put it in a discrete place for a reason. Does anyone know how I can change what pic appears when I email/comment? Please let me know. Thank you.

This song has been around a while, and I�m sure many folks have quoted it in their journals. I don�t care; I�m going to talk about it too!

When the song �If You�re Going Through Hell� by Rodney Atkins was the hottest on the radio, I was in a bad place: A place full of worry, self-doubt, and pain. I found myself listening to the radio just to hear this song. That�s a pretty big deal, because I seldom listen to the radio since I left my career as a deejay. (That�s a blog for another time.) Furthermore, I seldom get excited about new music. Radio left me somewhat jaded because so many of the �new� songs are really just the same old recycled crap. But this song made me smile at a time when smiles were hard to come by.

Besides the fact that I was having a rough time, this song drew me to it for a number of reasons. As Rodney Atkins wrote in the CD notes, the song comes from a Winston Churchill quote: �If you�re going through Hell� Keep going.� Churchill is one of my favorite characters from the World War II era. Say what you will about him, but he was one tough, determined bastard. The song also derives its lyrics from the old Irish toast �May you be in heaven five minutes before the Devil knows your dead.� Being of Irish descent, I always liked that toast.

For those of you who don�t listen to country music, or have been living in a cave for the past year, here are the lyrics to the song. They�re not included in the CD and I can�t get on-line at home, so I had to write them while listening to the CD. My apologies if I didn�t get them exactly right. If you�re having a tough time maybe it�ll make YOU smile too!

If You�re Going Through Hell (Before the Devil Even Knows)
Sam Tate, Annie Tate, Dave Berg

Well you know those times when you feel there�s a sign there on your back
Says I don�t mind if you kick me, seems like everybody has
Things go from bad to worse you think they can�t get worse than that
And then they do

You step off the straight and narrow and you don�t know where you are
Use the needle of your compass to sew up your broken heart
Ask directions from a genie in a bottle of Jim Beam
And she lies to you

That�s when you learn the truth

If you�re going through Hell,
Keep on going
Don�t slow down
If you�re scared don�t show it
You might get out �fore the Devil even knows you�re there

Well I�ve been deep down in that darkness I�ve been down to my last match
Felt a hundred diff�rent demons breathing fire down my back
And I knew that if I stumbled I�d fall right into the trap
That they were layin�

Yeah

But the good news is there�s angels everywhere out on the street
Holdin� out a hand to pull you back up on your feet, the ones that you�ve been dragging
For so long you�re on your knees you might as well be prayin�
Guess what I�m sayin�

If you�re going through Hell,
Keep on going
Don�t slow down
If you�re scared don�t show it
You might get out �fore the Devil even knows you�re there

Yeah if you�re going through Hell
Keep on movin�
Face that fire
Walk right through it
You might get out �fore the Devil even knows you�re there

If you�re going through Hell,
Keep on going
Don�t slow down
If you�re scared don�t show it
You might get out �fore the Devil even knows you�re there

Yeah if you�re going through Hell
Keep on movin�
Face that fire
Walk right through it
You might get out �fore the Devil even knows you�re there

Yeah, You might get out �fore the Devil even knows you�re there

Copyright 2005 Gravitron Music/Whattayadef Music.
Used without permission. They can sue me if they want to�

This is how my so-called mind works. I�m completely uninspired to write anything for days, and then I get five ideas at once. Okay, three ideas� Which is why I�m sitting in my living room with laundry to fold working on three journal entries at once. Why three at ONCE? Because I don�t want to lose ANY of these ideas.

This has been an interesting weekend for me to say the least. The mini-van era has ended. I got a new (used) vehicle, and I�ve been dealing with the giddiness that goes with it. It�s been five years since I�ve purchased a vehicle. I don�t remember it being this easy� I bought a �05 Ford Taurus, by the way. Tan. NOT sexy, I know, but it�s a neat car and I�m happy with it. It�s affordable, functional, dependable, and safe. Just like *I* strive to be� Sorry, I couldn�t resist inserting a shameless plug for myself.

My parents came by to have lunch with me Saturday. I enjoy having them around, and they live a good distance away, so it was a big deal. They bought me lunch and went with me to pick up the car. My mom had recently taken a trip to Israel and she gave me some neat stuff she picked up over there. Dad and I looked at some vehicles at the dealership in Rochelle. (His lease is almost up on his F150.)

I did something this weekend that I don�t normally do. I went out TWICE to sing karaoke. I�m not really a karaoke fanatic. I go out to sing once or twice a month, usually. But I just couldn�t contain my aforementioned giddiness so I went out to do some singing Friday and Saturday night. There are two local bars (that I know of) that have karaoke the weekends. I chose to go to the bar with the �older� crowd. I�d been there once before and the folks there are really nice. They mostly sing country music there, but they�re appreciative of just about anything if you put some effort into it. For those of you who are wondering (and you know who you are) I was VERY safe this weekend. I met a couple who were my age and also into karaoke. They promised to take me to some other karaoke bars in the area.

Apparently I�m also on a historical epic kick. While I was doing laundry and cleaning the house, I delved into my collection of VHS tapes and watched Gettysburg, Gladiator, and Glory. Apparently I�m also transfixed on the letter �G!� Just to do something different, I think I�ll watch an episode off one of my X-Files DVDs while falling asleep tonight.

What�s my point? It was a good weekend for me. I just wanted to share.