Diaper Rash Flashback

Currently, we are experiencing our first significant case of diaper rash. We think this may be a part of the aftermath of the ear infection antibiotic. I didn't take a picture of it (the rash) but it is adding a little topography to the normally smooth surface of the E moon. I personally would not want it and certainly not there. We were using Boudreax's Butt Paste, a honey mustard looking formula, but it did not have the power we needed, so we upped the ante and went to Desitin. It goes on think and white, equal parts zinc oxide, Colgate and ranch dressing. That is not the actual secret formula just my attempt to describe the touch and feel. We apply it at each changing and are seeing good progress as we enter the fourth full day using it. Why is this information important?

Well, I was born in the mid-70's, what seems like a while ago and apparently light years ago in terms of infant care. It seems I too had a diaper rash post ear infection, according to my Mom. Who was a good Mom and raised a mostly-balanced individual. But did she soothe my burning buttocks with a creamy salve? No in fact she did not. She told Christa that she laid me down buck-naked, gave me a book to read and proceeded to stick an illuminated light bulb into the crack where the sun is not supposed to shine. She torched away my dirty porthole's ailment with the help of Sylvania and the electric company. And the doctor told her to do it! Was medicine that antiquated just 30-odd years ago? I don't recall leeches either, but I may have blocked that out.

What do you get someone for Mother's Day that says "Thanks for lighting up my ass in order to kill the rash."?

My Mom said, "The bulb was placed near your butt to help dry the rash, not in it."

E Speak: My 1st Birthday

Hello Peeps. One day a couple months ago, my parents threw me a birthday party. Whatever that means. I don't know what Boy and Girl Genius were thinking. Let me take you through the day.

First, what in the hell is this on my head?

"You're the birthday princess."

No, this is a party store tiara that makes me look like a cheap pageant show baby.





















"It's time for cake!"

Alright, things are looking up. Holy Crap, this is homemade organic! I wouldn't feed this to meal worms. I wanted chocolate!!! I wanted chocolate!!! With Fairy sprinkles and Magic icing!!!





















"It's time to open presents!"

Yes, anything to stop this torture. I am very excited about my new collection of live furry animals. Where are they?

"Wow, look at that pretty shirt."

This is neither live nor pretty.















Seriously, this pile of inanimate clothes is my birthday take?





















Let me plug my mouth with this festive, beach-going bear to keep from hurling.















"I think she really liked all her presents."

"Yes, and look at all the new pretty outfits."

Morons, simply morons.

"Emmy are you ready for your big present?"

Finally, the purple furry elephant is here. Wait, a wagon??? You had the entire universe to choose from and you got a wagon. I just wet myself in disappointment. Seriously, I did. Right down here, where the puffy is.















Needless to say this was a letdown. I don't know why my parents were so excited. Might as well go to bed. Wait...Wait...Do I hear running water?





















OH YEAH!!! OH YEAH!!! PUT ME IN!!! PUT ME IN!!!
















This is heaven. I am drunk on pleasure.





















THIS WAS THE BEST BIRTHDAY EVER!!! Honestly, compared to the head-squeezing terror slide, followed by orifice-poking of last year, this was heaven. When can I have another?















Smoochies,
E

Not so Golden Anniversary

Months are meaningless. No one cares. They are all unbalanced. Where is the metric system when we really need it?

Three days ago, Christa and I celebrated our Golden Month Anniversary, but no one called, no one sent gifts, I wasn't given the day off. We have been married 50 months and we didn't even get a gold credit card offer in the mail. I have waited three days to see, if maybe, someone would offer up a belated something, even a golden chicken nugget would qualify as the "idea that counts." Sadly, we are just a part of some meaningless statistics on the longevity of marriage.

We are heading into the reflective months of our marriage, where we look back fondly and relive the joy. What I remember most is how our wedding meant wedding planning was now over. You can read my thoughts on that process by following the link on the right. It's awesome!

Other things that are golden but not really that great:

Golden Arches: I acknowledge their consistency in sandwich assembly, but really, outside of pushing the excesses of the night before out of your system, there isn't a lot of greatness here.

Golden Domestic Beers: The American macro-brew had its heyday just before my birth, it may have even helped conceive me, then in some bizarre coincidence it all went downhill. Maybe the economic downturn forced them to ferment in garden hoses. It reminds of when the cat yawns in my face, surprisingly foul.

Golden Showers: Dark golden especially. Generally I find that the less hydrated I am, the longer it resides internally and the more golden the hue. So, the darker the shower the more unsavory the health of the owner of the plumbing. I don't even want to consider other colors or clarity issues.

So I guess a Golden Month Anniversary that no one noticed is better than a Golden Shower that everyone witnessed. I would even prefer a Quarter Pounder and a Miller High Life to a shower of gold. And thankfully those are the only two afore-mentioned golden items that can be ordered at a drive-thru.

Besides, the staffing needs alone of a drive-thru golden shower establishment would be almost cost-prohibitive. How would you classify a medium? Could you charge in advance? Where do you put the warning labels? I promised you money losing business ideas and this is certainly one of them. I don't think I could give away Sprinklers "Golden Showers on the Go" franchises.

To my wife, my one registered follower, it has been a wonderful 50 months and 3 days. You knew when you married me tangential and unsavory paragraphs were a part of the package, but you said "Yes" and I am holding you to it. I love you very much and am not seeing a lot of sponsorship offers just yet. I can only guess as to why.

Grub Monkeys

What are they? Devious. Where are they found? Offices worldwide. Can they be stopped? Not by any ordinary repellent.

Say you are holding a morning meeting and there is a bagel tray. Being a standard business person you want to under-promise and over-deliver, so when you say "bagels at the meeting" you feel the need to include in the order a buffer of bagels, just in case Big Frank shows up grumpy. Now, ultimately the bagel tray is under-consumed over the course of the meeting. As you wrap up by saying, "That completes the agenda for today, I'll summarize the key points and email them out," you turn to find a random co-worker gripping a bagel half and growling. This is a grub monkey.

Grub Monkey - noun - Co-worker who plots and scavenges for office food at the instant it becomes "leftover" (sometime they even sneak under the lid unsupervised).

They use a broad array of tactics. 1) They inquire as to where unopened food trays are being used and at what time. 2) Set motion detectors near main conference room entrances. 3) Tend to circulate for non-business reasons at or near the hour. 4) They angle their chairs towards cube openings to expedite exit when they are surprised by an "extra-food" email. 5) They utilize the grab then sort and discard method ensuring premium intake. 6) They are friendly until you are no longer needed as a decoy.

They have yet to be photographed in the wild, so let me know if you snap one.

Character Introduction

Christa, my wife to be profiled soon, has recommended that I introduce myself on the chance a new and unknown reader stumbles upon this blog. So, here we go.

Physical: Slightly over six feet tall (by maybe an inch).

One day in peaceful Brown County, Indiana, I went to the BMV (Bureau of Motor Vehicles) to renew my license. At the time of renewal, my old license stated my height as 5' 11". The exquisitely-gifted and talented government employee asked if anything had changed within my personal information. I gave her my new address and stated that I had also grown an inch. She spent the next 10 minutes getting frustrated with her computer.

"What's the matter?" I asked.

"It won't update your height."

"That's odd. I wonder why not?"

"I don't know. It's saying 5' 12" is not valid."

"You could try 6' 0"."

"Well, now that worked. That was strange."

"Yes, indeed."

Honestly, I would have enjoyed being five foot twelve, even four foot twenty-four. There was no reaction at all that led me to believe she considered 5' 12" a non-legitimate height. It was one inch taller than 5' 11". Does anyone ever turn 17 years and 12 months?

Anyway, I have at least 99% of my original head hair at this point. There is additional hair that has shown up over the years that will require an additional post to cover. Blue eyes and pale flesh, like a Welsh accountant.

Intellectual accomplishments:
2nd place in the 3rd grade spelling bee at Ellettsville (Indiana) Elementary. This would be in the 1982-83 school year, just after Small City Spelling Magazine named Ellettsville a hotbed of young spelling talent. Sadly, my final opponent and I each misspelled "barrel" twice in the dramatic showdown. I believe we tried a, i, o, and u for the second vowel to no avail. Of course, the event was hosted in a southern Indiana accent, so it might not be completely our fault.

I do prepare Christa and I's taxes with TurboTax, whose ease of use and guaranteed accurate tabulations would make it an excellent sponsor for this blog as we have not been audited to date. And hopefully TurboTax will keep it that way.

I am also a contributing inventor on a patented near-infrared flame detection algorithm. If you are a pale, five foot twelve, silver medalist speller; you get chicks. But add to it a near-infrared flame detection algorithm patent and you need to take a bug zapper and a cattle prod out in public to hold the swarm at bay. I will have to find and add the link to it because it is a page-tuner.

Foods (i.e. all legitimate sponsors):
Peanut Butter M&M's - I can eat a medium bag in one sitting. My internal systems later protest, but my mouth says "If you stop, the flavor will never come back."

Dr. Pepper, Triscuits, Papa John's Pizza, Milk (Yes, I drink it at dinner all the time. It's the wine of the bovine.)

Ice Cream - I worked at Bresler's at the College Mall in Bloomington, IN during high school. We received one ice cream treat per shift. The store philosophy was that employees would get tired of ice cream and not always partake, opting for the pennies-a-cup soda instead. Wrong. I could handle upwards of 6-7 scoops per 4-hour shift commandeering my co-workers treats in the process. At a macro level the treat policy might work, but I was eating time and a half when I was on the clock. I have developed some restraint, because even though I view a pint as more of a pudding cup, Christa thinks it is good to share.

That is all I have time for today. I have merely scratched the surface, so I will have to add more in coming posts.

E Speak: Winterizing

I am sometimes called a diva, sometimes high maintenance; but I am totally worth it. I have survived one winter already, without even owning shoes. This year I told my parents that if they even think about taking me out for anything holiday, they better find me some more appropriate footwear. Not Dora snow boots from Wal-Mart. Baby needs some Uggs.

"I don't think Uggs that would fit for only one season really constitute an "investment" in your wardrobe. I don't think Clinton and Stacy's advice fully applies to baby clothes and accessories."

Dada, I say this with love, but you are not the person I model myself after in a fashion sense. This is an investment in, not only my fashion future, but in my personal well-being. Feet covered in luscious sheepskin are 42% less likely to enable colds than feet adorned with normal Wal-Marty footwear. And you do remember how many times I woke you up during the Ear Infection of 2008, don't you?

"Well argued; rationale and mostly fact-based reasoning, while attempting to elicit empathy. I am curious as to the source of your research and to know what corporate/government entity sponsored it. Since I appreciate baseless random facts, I am willing to compromise. I will get you some Uggs, but you have to wear them everyday."

Yes! I have successfully manipulated my Dada once again. I want chocolate brown and WANTED THEM YESTERDAY!

"I anticipated this and I have them right here. They are just like Mama's"

Seriously? You really got me Uggs! I am too good at this.

"Yes, try them on."





















You're a bastard.

Love,
E

Misplaced Stuff

Do you ever misplace stuff? Put it one place and not find it there later. Sometimes Christa "cleans" or "reorganizes" around the house, which always results in my things being taken from there "special place." Their "special place" being somewhere I can find them, usually by sight. Christa is much more of a infer the location of things person. She has a connection with the inanimate, often running into them, like the bedpost, at the foot of our bed. Sure it's covered with a blanket and below eye level, but it is always there. Why is it the bed's fault? Would it be better if we moved it everyday?

Unlike the bed, my half-dirty shorts get moved to new and exciting locations like the laundry hamper or back into my shorts drawer. If it was dirty, I would put it in the laundry. I understand that basic concept. But they are half clean; worn, but not ass-nasty. Therefore, they should not go back into the drawer. That is for the clean shorts. So I give them a "special place" on the floor within a two-foot radius of my dresser. Now, to be clear, I don't have an infinite number of half ass-nasty shorts laying around. I go from half- to full-ass to laundry before selecting another pair.

There are a multitude of factors to consider when assessing the ass-nastiness of a given garment, including: description and duration of activity, temperature, and pre-existing conditions of the user and the garment. For example, 8 hours sitting around a climate-controlled house, watching TV, having showered that morning would contribute no more than a half-ass of nastiness, so depending on the initial ass-nastiness, this pair would get the hamper or return to the "special place." Whereas, 30 minutes, riding a vinyl-seated bike on a Midwest summer day to and from a port-a-potty where you reunited last night's curry dinner with the good earth from which it came, could take you from zero to double-ass-nasty, regardless of your bathing record. I could build you a formula, but you can use the nearly as reliable sniff check.

I can't blame Christa for all of the issues I am having with "disappearing" stuff. Honestly, I think the baby does it on her own. I put her down to play with something and then go make a snack and run an errand. By the time get back she is no longer where I left her. How am I supposed to keep her safe if she is moving around unsupervised all the time? Regardless of what Christa says, my shorts have never gotten up and put themselves in the hamper. How come that's where I always find the baby?

Loose Meat Sandwiches

Heaven in a brown bag. Actually, I wrap them in foil, but you get the picture. Personally, I don't know why they are referred to as "loose." Is it a nice way to say "slutty?" Does it put out on a first date?

"I'm having a slutty meat sandwich today," i.e. I'm meeting the "anything for $5" Ham twins for drinks and then it's back to my place.

I guess the same could be said for Easy Cheese. I assume that refers to the convenience and speed of application, but then again it comes out ribbed for his and her pleasure. It's a firm 8 oz. of aerosol cheese, capped with a pressure-sensitive pleasure dispenser. I probably just lost Kraft as a sponsor.

Anyway, the concept of a loose meat sandwich is simple; meat, toppings and condiments between bread. But HOW it can be messed up. The main issue for me is the equitable distribution of ingredients. It is not a "loosely-arranged" meat sandwich. The meat is loose, which I take to mean "detached from the animal," but it should not be haphazardly flung about the sandwich. I should not have to open my mouth more in the middle than at the edges.

An tragic offender on this front was Schlotzsky's deli. They had a franchise in Bloomington, IN for a while, but as much as I cared for their ingredient combinations, they could not construct a well-balanced sandwich to save their lives. There would be a half-inch perimeter of bread surrounding a plum-sized core of finely-shaved meat. That franchise closed, but it appears they are still in business. Maybe they have since brought on a quality control team. Another sponsor ruled out. Penn Station, Subway are you listening?

So, if you want to construct a top notch sandwich, learn how to lay meat. Again, inappropriate sounding, but it is a crucial skill that should be taught in Home Economics, if it still exists in today's curriculum. Which it should. If I were interviewing students for a job, I would pass over the perfect SAT score valedictorian for the C student with a photo portfolio of well-constructed sandwiches. It shows creativity, attention to detail and fiscal responsibility.

Also, if you are going be "health-oriented" and offer sprouts, they should never be more than a quarter inch thick. My sandwich does not need an insulating layer of sod. Ease off Moonbeam.

E Speak: Flowbeed by Mom and Dad

I am an attractive young woman. A natural beauty, no make-up, no products, 3-4 baths a week. Yet, somehow these older people who live with me, keep monkeying with my business. Listen to them.

"Do you think her hair is bothering her?"

"I am not sure she comprehends it that way. But, it would probably bother me."

"Should we cut it?"

"As long as she doesn't look like a charity case. Are you talking just the bangs?"

"Yes, bangs only. If we twist it in the center and then take one snip, it should fall pretty nicely. That's how they did my bangs."

Sounds innocent enough, doesn't it? Let me tell you that I have fine, delicate fairy hair that goes predominantly straight forward. Sure it makes me blinky, but that's just how I grant wishes. So, Mom and Pop genius over here twizzle me up and before I can say "WTF Pops?" he snips me.

NOT HAPPY!!! DO I LOOK HAPPY?

So, now they are discussing whether they did a good job.

"I think it's cute."

"I think we are bordering on baby-fairy mullet."

While I sit and ponder about how big a doofus I must look like. Did you consider my face shape?












I went into the bathroom to see if I could repair my departed innocence and I was so shocked at my appearance I must have blinked three times, because NOW I CAN FLY!!! THE IS THE BEST HAIRCUT I HAVE EVER HAD!!!





















You do realize I have no other haircuts to compare it to, so I am merely making my so-called barbershop-savant parents feel better. Sometimes I'm surprised they know at what end to feed me.

Peace,
E

New Productivity Tool

Here is my first invention/business idea. First, notice my business savvy in calling it a productivity tool. If you are going to get corporate clients you need to make it sound pro-business, plus you need an infomercial-style, hard-hitting value proposition.

Do you know how much work time is lost speaking to your co-workers? Roughly 6 hours a day. I ain't lying.

This is not time spent in budgetary-overview revisionary sub-committee meetings. I am talking about the time spent listening to co-workers who want to fully describe their medical conditions and their affect on bowel movements, or want you to relive every moment of their toy poodle's third place showing at the local "Pets are like little furry people" talent and costume ball.

Would you rather waste six hours listening to them or retain the ability to waste time as you see appropriate? PONDER NO MORE!!!

And what is the one thing that shoos them away? Yes, the client phone call.

"How can I make the client call at the right time?" you ask. "Are you offering Jedi mind trick training?"

Maybe. But let me ask you, what indicates that a client is calling?

Yes, the ringing of the phone. (I assume you got this right.)

"I can't make the phone ring." NOW YOU CAN!!!

Introducing the Ring-Ding-Dithcher 4000. With this simple, space-age device. You, YES YOU, can snatch the timing of important phone calls away from fate and put it in your pocket, or under your desk.

Side Note: Have you ever seen an infomercial that didn't involve something space-age? And doesn't it make you think you are witnessing some part of the future? Even though the Space Age started roughly in the 1960's. Tang is a space-age, fruit-like beverage. And let me tell you, I can only hope something as tasty as Tang gets brought to Earth in the next millennium.

So let me re-phrase, the Ring-Ding-Ditcher is a simple, intergalactic-age device. And installation couldn't be easier. First, transform your phone into your wingman by placing the Recepticon between the phone and the incoming line. Then use one of the three trigger mechanisms to create an incoming call.

1) The floor-mount foot trigger.
2) The under-desk, bank security trigger.
3) The in-pocket key fob trigger.

Then simply say, "Oh, I got to take this." And you will never hear about plowing the back forty on hemorrhoids again. You can even set a delay, so not to tip off your co-workers. It's just that powerful!

If this product existed I would sell it for $29.95 + S&H (somewhere around $100). BUT WAIT! If you could order now I would also include a second Ring-Ding-Ditcher at no extra cost, for those with home offices. And if you could order in the next 2 hours, I would also include a 5-DVD set that includes installation instructions, 10 more infomercials and a code for discounted, downloadable ring tones.

IMAGINE ORDERING TODAY!!!

Current and Future Endorsements

My current endorsements consist of my wife, Christa. I hope to grow this list. My plan to get endorsements; write well-crafted Brain Drippings. These are things that ooze from my head over the course of a day that I sometimes feel are best left unspoken. But since I can write them on a blog with a current readership of one. I shouldn't get into any trouble, just yet.

Why "Brain Drippings"? I am not sure. I considered the general source of my thoughts, my brain, and then the way they seem to appear, as gelatinous poolings under a game bird in the oven. So Brain Drippings it is until better inspiration strikes. But that is the essence of brain drippings.

"Sure, I'd love to take a steam with you Senator."

"What's that puddling underneath your seat?"

"Brain Drippings."

I just realized I have created an alternative meaning and am slightly disgusted. This probably just killed my chance of future endorsements, but I would like to begin listing my preferred suitors.

Future Endorsements: Dr. Pepper.

I am a sack lunch man. Loose meat sandwiches at least four days a week. (Future post to cover proper assembly of loose meat sandwiches.) And what do I serve myself with such sandwiches? The only liquid taste treat worthy: Dr. Pepper. Caffeinated, carbonated, sweet nectar nursed from heaven itself.

But what is up with the 23 flavors? It has one flavor, and that flavor is tasty. I can't even come up with 23 flavors. And they certainly don't list them on the can. Is it essence of rhubarb? Or is it a proprietary combination of artificial flavors; 1 - 17, 35 - 38, with a hint of 56 and a sprinkle of 87. I have one tongue with four quadrants, who are you trying to impress? I have 23 pairs of socks. I don't put it on my name tag. I realize this might not be the best approach to getting a Dr. Pepper endorsement, but it is my lunch time beverage and I only want the best for it.

Notes for the future: Expand on proper construction of loose meat sandwiches, work on list of inventions and bad business ideas for feedback, provide more background on myself, family and surroundings, and try to woo more sponsors.