My breath is Aqua Net fresh

At work, I sometimes have early morning meetings. Usually, these are conference calls with my coworkers in India, and I'm just in my office by myself. On some mornings I'm running a little later than normal. Instead of rushing to get cleaned up and driving through traffic, I just head into work right out of bed. (Well, first I change out of my Spiderman pajamas.) After I'm done with the meeting, I just use the showers we have at the office.

That's how my morning started yesterday. The meeting was over quickly, and I headed to the bathroom that has the showers. The showers are in separate room from the bathroom, behind a badge-access door, because you're supposed to pay the monthly fee for the fitness center in order to have access to the showers. The shower room has several showers, some lockers, shampoo and soap dispensers in the showers, washcloths, towels, and a counter with a hair spray dispenser, a mouthwash dispenser (with little cups), shaving cream, and disposable razors.

However, there isn't a sink in that room. If you want to shave or brush your teeth, you have to take the shaving cream or mouthwash into the main bathroom where all the sinks are. It seems like a poor design to me.

But I digress.

After showering and getting dressed, I took a cup of mouthwash to the sink area with my toothbrush and toothpaste. I brushed, rinsed, and was gargling the mint-flavored mouthwash. I'm not sure how it got into the mouthwash, but I also detected the slight aftertaste of hair spray.

For those that don't know, hair spray is not a taste you can get rid of by drinking a huge glass of water. I'm sure alcohol will work, but since we don't have a scotch machine at the office (and I don't drink), a Coke did the trick.

Tagless shirts

For my birthday last year (Oct. 7th, in case you needed a reminder), a friend of mine gave me a lovely t-shirt. One of the things I like about it is that it's a nice simple design: not too flashy, not too bright. Kind of like me, I guess.

Another thing I like is that it's tagless. It has the care instructions printed inside the shirt where the tag would have been. So there's never a tag poking you in the back of the neck, and you never have to push the tag back into the shirt.

However, the one thing I don't like about the shirt is that it's ... tagless. Because sometimes it takes me until after lunch to realize that I've been wearing it backwards all morning.

What I lack in skill, I make up for with enthusiasm

Dancing is something I enjoy. If you've ever seen me dance, you know I'm not great at it, but what I lack in skill, I make up for with enthusiasm.

Many, many years ago I had a girlfriend whose name started with the letter Teresa. She was a few years older than me and was constantly fretting over what she perceived was my immaturity. I think it had something to do with the fact that I was immature.

A month or so into our relationship, we went to a wedding. The groom was actually the younger brother of one of her ex-boyfriends --- a boyfriend that she lived with for four years --- so she was very concerned about making a good impression. To that end she decided that we weren't going to dance to any fast songs at the reception.

We danced to the slow songs, but she wouldn't dance to the fast ones. And I sat through some really good fast songs. Heck, I even danced the Hokie Pokie just to get out on the floor.

Finally, Young MC's Bust A Move started playing. And I literally begged, "Please, can we dance to this song?" And she replied, "Fine, but if you do anything crazy, I'm walking off the dance floor."

And I did really well at first. Both feet were on the ground at all times. My hands stayed below shoulder level, and not once did I do any sort of spin ... up until the part of the song where Young MC sings, "Break it down for me fellas!" and the bass and drum interlude kicks in.

And I broke it down for him!

After a few spastic arm moves and a spin, I looked up and Teresa had already stormed off the dance floor. She sat at our table, arms crossed, glaring in my direction. When I walked back to the table, another couple sitting at our table gave me high-fives and congratulations, while Teresa remained in the "glare" position.

As you might expect she ended the relationship a few months later. She said it was because I was "too immature."

To which I replied, "Am not! Am not! Am not!"

You've got the wrong one again!

Earlier this week, my grandmother turned 91. Even at that age, she's still very sharp (at least compared to the rest of us in the family). However, she doesn't hear that well, and she won't wear her hearing aids, so you have to talk to her VERY LOUDLY.

She also gets me and my brother confused. I've been known to get Christmas cards from her to "Don and family" even though Ron is the one who is married with a kid, and I'm ... uh, not. She also thinks Ron lives in Austin. I don't really fault her for that since we are twins, and she's not the only one who gets us confused (see My brother Ron is a PIG!).

I sent my grandmother a birthday card, and I was trying to call her to wish her a happy birthday. Normally, you have to catch her near the phone or someone else has to be there to hear it, but I couldn't get anyone to answer all morning.

I called my brother to make sure I had the right number, and I did. He said he had talked to her 10 minutes earlier, and although no one was at the house when he called, he said Dad was up there visiting so I might be able to get through when he's back at the house. He also said she thanked him for the birthday card, but since he didn't send one he assumed she thought he was me. He said he just went along with it and told her she was welcome.

I kept trying to call and finally got through later that afternoon. I wished her happy birthday (loudly). My niece has the same birthday as my grandmother (just 85 years apart), so she asked me if my daughter had received her card yet. I planned on going along with her until I heard my dad yelling in the background, "You've got the wrong one again!"

It didn't matter anyway. She didn't hear me still talking, so she said her goodbyes and hung up on me.

The Ranch Style Beans Incident

Back in the summer of 1987, my incredibly handsome twin brother Ron and I were walking around the mall one Saturday to kill time. One of our friends --- let's call him Richard B. (because that's his name) --- saw us and invited us to a pool party his parents were having. Since it involved free food (which we Youngs never turn down), we said, "Sure!" and headed over to their house.

We arrived at Richard's house and were introduced to his parents. The parents had a few guests of their own, but it wasn't too crowded. The food was ready when we arrived, which included bratwurst and Ranch Style Beans, something I think is the second greatest invention of all time. (The first is Cheeseburger Macaroni Hamburger Helper ... duh!)

After a little bit of food, a little bit of swimming, a little more food, and a little more swimming, I decided to go for thirds on the Ranch Style Beans. I know, it sounds like I was being a pig, but in my defense, I was only going to get a couple more bites. Plus, everyone else had already eaten at least one helping.

As I was spooning out the beans, I noticed Richard's mom, Mrs. B., was glaring at me. Apparently, she thought I was taking more than my fair share. "Well, why don't you just take the whole damn pan?" she said with a hint of disgust.

Looking back, a mature person would have explained that he was just getting a small amount and that everyone had already had a helping or two, but being mature is something I'm rarely accused of. As Mrs. B. gave me the evil eye, I glared back at her, dumped the entire pan of beans on my plate, and ate every bit of it. Yes, it was way too much food, and yes, my stomach hurt after, but I was going to win this battle of wills. And I think I did.

Surprisingly enough, Mrs. B. never really liked me that much.

EPILOGUE: A few years ago, Richard's lovely sister was my date to a Halloween party. In addition to the pictures we took of us in costume, we also took one with the both of us holding a can of Ranch Style Beans as a memento for Mrs. B.

They say the memory is the second thing to go

They say the memory is the second thing to go. I was reminded of this when I was at the grocery store this morning. After selecting all of my items and going through the checkout line, I realized I had forgotten my wallet. As nice as the employees are, they weren't going to let me pay with my striking looks and incredible wit. However, they were nice enough to hold my groceries while I drove home to get my wallet. It's fortunate that I lived close by.

I have an excellent memory. Anyone who's had to listen to one of my stories told in excruciating detail can attest to that. I remember my first crush. I remember quotes from obscure movies. I remember the two interceptions I made during my high school football career. I remember the time Ron dove into a swimming pool, hitting my head with his head, causing each of us to get 5 stitches.

But I've forgotten some things, too. I don't remember going to a friend's wedding, even though she has a picture of me standing next to her at the reception. A few years ago, I was filling up the tub for a bath, and I went off to do other chores. Thirty minutes later, I realized that I'd left the water running. When I went to check on the bathroom, I found out that I had forgotten to turn the water on.

They say the memory is the second thing to go.

"What's the first thing to go?"

I don't remember.

That's how the game of Uno is played!

Another Christmas has come and gone. This year, I drove up to my brother's house outside of Denton. My dad and sister were also there, so my oldest brother was the only immediate family that couldn't make it.

The drive up was largely uninteresting, except for when the truck in front of me (and one lane over) lost their load and had some mattresses and box springs come flying out of the back. A queen size mattress landed in my lane, but my "race driver" reflexes allowed me to dodge it. I was like a NASCAR driver that could also turn right.

I spent a lot of my time watching football on TV. Ron's cat Dude would sit with me, but he seemed uninterested in the games. We also played Uno with Ron's daughter Shayla. Ron still hasn't learned the ol' "let the kid win" lesson, and when he made her draw 8 cards she threw her cards down crying and quit. (In his defense, he claimed that she doesn't mind drawing cards when it's just the two of them playing.) She did rejoin the game later, and we even let her win a few games (even Ron).

We got Shayla to go to bed early Christmas Eve, and Ron snuck out of the house in the cold rain to ring sleigh bells outside of her window. She ran into the living room very excited because Santa's reindeer were outside her window. She wanted to go outside and see them, but we convinced her to go back to bed. Ron was finally able to come back into the house once we got her back to bed.

The excitement didn't wear off though. She got up at 2:15 Christmas morning to see what Santa had brought her. I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, so I had to get up, too. But I couldn't really complain too much since Ron and I used to set the alarm for 12:15 when we were kids. We wanted to give Santa a minimum of 15 minutes to carry in the heavy stuff.

After a good Christmas lunch, I headed back to Austin. Again, it was a fairly uninteresting trip. I did get passed by a red Mercury Cougar near Austin. The driver was dressed as Santa, and his wife (or girlfriend) was dressed as Mrs. Claus. I guess the reindeer were napping.

All-in-all, it was a good Christmas. I did learn a couple of lessons: 1) don't play Uno with my brother, and 2) when I send Christmas greetings via text messages, I need to sign my name. Otherwise, I just end up getting several phone calls wondering who just sent them a message.

I hope everyone's Christmas was merry. All the best in the coming year.

Goats, clowns, and diverted flights, oh my!

This past Halloween, my friend Laura asked me to come out to Florida to visit her and her family. Her daughter Abby was old enough to go trick-or-treating this year, which meant candy for me, too. And we Youngs never turn down free food. I planned to leave Friday after work and stay until the day after Halloween.

My trip didn't start out well. After parking my car in off-site parking and getting on the shuttle, I realized on the way to the terminal that I had left my cell phone in my car. When I got to the terminal, I learned that my flight had been delayed for 45 minutes, so now I needed my cell to let Laura know I'd be late. On the plus side, I now had plenty of time to catch a shuttle back to my car and pick up my cell.

The flight finally took off an hour late. Naturally, there weren't direct flights to Tampa, so I had a quick stop in Dallas. And of course, the Dallas-to-Tampa flight was delayed as well. Another call was made to Laura.

Since the second leg was longer, I had to make a pit stop during the flight. I found a lavoratory that was marked Vacant and opened the door. Unfortunately, it was already occupied by a man sitting on the toilet. I'm not sure why he didn't lock the freaking door, but there he was. I apologized and started to close the door when I realized he was actually fully dressed. He was just trying to use his cell phone during the flight (which is a no-no), and he was trying to be sneaky and hide in the bathroom. Apparently, he was soooo important that he couldn't wait another hour to use his cell on the ground.

Laura was nice enough to be at the airport when I finally arrived at 2:00 AM Saturday morning. The rest of the night and most of the morning were spent sleeping. Saturday night we all went to a haunted house and out dancing. We ended up at a club that played 80's music, so I was in my element.

On Sunday, we went to a fall festival at Laura's church. Abby dressed in her clown costume (like JoJo from JoJo's Circus) and really enjoyed the pony rides. I got to make a new friend, shown below.



On Monday, Laura's work was moving to a new location. She works for the Deaf and Hearing Connection of Tampa, and they were moving the administrative offices to a new location. I didn't do any heavy lifting (I was on vacation), but I did drive the U-haul.

After Laura and I picked it up, I drove it to the old location so that it could be loaded. When I was in the parking lot, I stopped so that I could back it in. At that time, a car parked in a parking spot to my left decided to back out. He then proceeded to back into the driver-side door and dent it. Yes, I tried honking at him, but since he was deaf, it didn't really do much good.

When Laura was talking to him (via sign language), he told her that since the sun was in his eyes at the time and he couldn't see me, he decided it wasn't his fault. Apparently, the noon-time sun prevented him from seeing a big orange truck. The police had to be called so that a report could be filled out naming him as the one responsible for the accident.

Since that was so much fun, I didn't go to work with Laura on Tuesday. Instead, I spent the day in my PJ's sick. I felt better later that afternoon, and Abby and I got to play in the back yard.



That evening we took Abby trick-or-treating, mainly to all her relatives on her dad's side of the family. They were nice enough to offer me some candy, and I was nice enough to take it.

The next morning, I had my flight from Tampa to Dallas, and then from Dallas to Austin. During the flight to Dallas, the pilot announced that the weather was bad in Dallas and there was a "line" to land, so planes were having to circle around waiting for their turn. Since we didn't have enough fuel to circle that long, our flight was being diverted so that it could refuel and continue on to Dallas. As luck would have it, we were being diverted to Austin.

Since Austin was my final destination, they asked if I wanted to get off when we refueled or did I want to continue on to Dallas. I believe my response was, "Duh!" I had checked one bag, so I was going to have to come back to the airport later that night to pick up my bag, but that was a small price to pay for getting home a couple of hours early.

We didn't have a gate, so I actually got to de-plane down the rear steps. I tried to get them to let me slide down one of the emergency landing slides, but they didn't go for it.

Maybe next time.

He probably thinks I'm an idiot

According to Wikipedia, passive-aggressive behaviour refers to passive, sometimes obstructionist resistance to authoritative instructions in interpersonal or occupational situations. Someone who engages in passive-aggressive behavior will typically not confront others directly about problems. But, in some cases it can also be fun!

For example, when I was in high school, my incredibly handsome twin brother and I shared a car, a 1985 black IROC Z-28 (shown here). At the time, that car was awesome. During my senior year, I asked a young lady to the movies. Naturally, she said yes. (Ok, her exact words were, "I guess.")

The day of the date, a friend told me that another friend told her that my date had told the friend of a friend that the only reason she was going on the date was so that she could ride in the car. And I thought it was because of my sparkling personality. I thought about canceling the date, but I didn't want to stoop to her level. And I didn't know for sure if she actually said that.

So I went on the date. I just took my sister's car instead. My sister had a very nice Buick Regal, so it's not like I showed up in a Ford Pinto, but when I picked her up for the date, she said, "Uh, where's your car?"

See, that was fun.

Another example happened in college. I was in a large political science class, and I was doing OK in the class. I did well on the first test, and I took pretty good notes. Before the final, a classmate asked if he could copy my notes because he had missed a few classes, and he knew that I hadn't. So I let him borrow them, he made his copies, and he returned them that same day.

A few minutes before the final, he sits in the seat directly behind me. He leans forward and says, "Hey, when you take your final, could you keep your test on the right side of the desk? I got really wasted last night and didn't get a chance to study. Don't worry, I only need to make a 60 to pass the class."

I was pissed that he expected me to help him pass the class just because he couldn't take the time to study. But, I'm not a snitch so I let him copy off my test. I put a little dot under each answer that I thought was correct, and then I purposely circled a different answer on every single question. When he got up to turn in his test, I went back and changed all of my answers.

I got an 'A' on the test and in the class, but I imagine he didn't make the 60 he needed to pass. When he got his grades, he probably saw his failing grade in political science and thought to himself, "That guy I cheated off of was an idiot!"

I hope he's the assistant coach

I didn't sleep well Friday night. The soccer team I coach had their first game of the fall season Saturday morning, and I was nervous about how well the kids would do. Yes, it's "just" recreational soccer, and yes, it's not about the winning or losing so long as the kids have fun. Well, in my opinion it's not much fun if the other team beats the holy heck out of you.

Why was I worried? First, we just moved up to U12 (Under 12) this season. At the U12 level, we play with a full complement of players, 11 vs. 11. And since I didn't play soccer growing up, I had my concerns about my ability to decide on a formation and where to play the kids.

Second, I was worried about the number of new kids I had on the team and the number who hadn't played soccer before. Several years ago, the U7 team I coached had eight kids on the team, five of whom were new and had never played soccer before. We lost every game that season, and we never scored a goal in any of our games. Granted, they did improve over the season, but losing the first game 13-0 certainly sucked.

Third, I was worried about playing older kids. There is no U11 age bracket, so the kids play in the U12 bracket for 2 years before they move up to the next one. All of the kids on my team just moved up to U12, and we were playing a team that was comprised mostly (if not completely) of kids who were in their second year of playing U12.

And the other team was a lot bigger. They had 2 or 3 players that were bigger than the biggest kid on my team. (I think they might have been bigger than our other coach.) While we were warming up, one of my smaller kids looked down the field at the other team and remarked, "I hope #17 is the assistant coach!"

But as we all have learned, sometimes we worry about nothing.

We won the game 2-0.