Know When to Show Them (Show, as in the Big Screen, Partner)

My dear blog friend from Down Under, David McMahon, has suggested that if he were to cast a blog movie, I (as in yours truly) would play the part of the Wild West Gambler. Me: A movie star! Believe it - cause it's true. You can read all about it here.

As a former thespian I understand the importance of studying and preparing for a role. However, this character is one to which I can already completely relate. First, the obvious similarity. The name. Gamble/Gambler. We are already one in the same. And for the rest? I'm there. Almost entirely. Mostly. Pretty much. Somewhat. A little.

I do think it would be a kick to dress up in a plaid shirt with skinny jeans and a pair of supple Frye boots. Do movie stars get to keep the clothes? No matter. I'll make sure its in the contract.

Any other gaps between the Wild Gambler and I, can be easily bridged with a little tutoring from DH. While gambling is strictly prohibited in our religion. We personally believe playing a little cards with Jolly Ranchers is 'ok'. And to those that know him, it is no surprise that DH is the master of the questionable games.

Even without DH, I get most of it. I know that a full house is better than 4-of-a-kind. Or maybe 4-of-a-kind is better. Either way, I know they are both really good. And I know the red cards are diamonds and aces. And the black ones are shovels and those clover things. I can sing the chorus of the Kenny Roger's song by heart. So what else is there to learn? I got this.

Hollywood, here I come!

A Picture's Worth Three Words

One of my necklaces has a photo holder charm, inside of which I have a small picture of DH. The photo was taken on vacation, and with his relaxed face framed with an uncommon-for-him and slightly sexy goatee, the picture has become one of my favorites.

Tonight when I leaned over to zip D3's pajamas, she spotted the necklace and shouted in surprise,

"Is that Dad?"

"Yes," I confirmed, "Isn't he cute?"

"No!" she exclaimed while looking at me like I had just suggested she drive the car.

"I'm cute," she emphatically corrected.

“We are so vain that we even care for the opinion of those we don't care for.” Marie Von Ebner-Eschenbach

DH and I (well, mostly DH) have dealt with our fair share of business disappointments and the ensuing legal woes these past couple years. Finding joy in my family and friends has helped me stay positive (at least for the most part) through all of this. In fact it is the reason I started this blog.

I never expected to find humor in the legal woes themselves. But if anyone can surprise me, it is DH.

One evening DH was on his cell phone when he walked in the front door from work. With a slightly louder and more high pitched tone than is normal, I immediately knew the nature of the call was not social.

"My opinion!?" he harshly asked the person on the other end of the phone.

"My opinion," he continued, in a slightly softer more satisfactory tone, "is whatever my attorney says it is."

Final's Week Flirtation

In an effort to further my education, obtain a college degree and thereby prepare myself for a successful career of some sort, I attended Brigham Young University full-time on an academic scholarship. I worked 20-30 hours a week at a furniture store to supplement the scholarship. However, I barely managed to buy food and books and still have some money leftover for computer fees.

In an attempt to meet and marry some good-looking, smart chick, DH was enrolled part-time in a few evening classes at the same university. (However, do not falsely assume that enrollment is equivalent to attendance.) When he and his buddies were not challenging the BYU varsity basketball team to pickup games at the Richards Building, DH also worked part-time. His waiting tables gig at a Provo Pizza Hut afforded him all the essentials: 1) A paycheck with which to purchase ski passes and gas for his '79 Honda Accord hatchback, 2) All the pizza he could eat, 3) Cute girls to not-so-slyly leave their phone number on table napkins, and 4) Coins (from cheap tips) for occasionally doing laundry. It was a college guy's dream job.

One evening during December final's, known as the infamous Final's Week, my roommate managed to pull me from my studying to traverse down the hallway of our apartment complex. Her boyfriend lived a few doors down and had proudly called to invite her over to see their apartment which was festively decorated for the upcoming Christmas holiday, although he most certainly was planning to not-so-coyly catch her under the mistletoe hung above the front door. Reluctantly, I put down my books to follow her.

Meanwhile, DH was helping my roommate's boyfriend hang the last cardboard Rudolph Reindeer, and he was realizing some unpleasant news. A quick trip during Final's Week to a friend's cabin for snowmobiling was turning out to be more of a couple's trip. Soon realizing that everyone of his buddies had invited a "date" for the adventure, DH was suddenly worried that the long awaited day was going to leave him an uncomfortable 5th wheel.

"What am I going to do?" DH quizzed his roommate. "I have no idea who to invite."

At that very moment my roommate and I knocked on the door. We walked in, pretending to admire the amateur decorating job in their tiny apartment. As I walked into the living room, acccented with sparkly tinsel hung with scotch tape, DH stood up. We knew each other casually since our roommates were dating, but rarely had spoken.

"Debbie!" he exclaimed, "How'd you like to go snowmobiling up to a cabin with me tomorrow?"

Despite the fact it was Final's Week, and I had a political science and a Hebrew exam for which I was completely unprepared, I readily agreed. Walking out of the apartment I was baffled by my uncharacteristic spontaneity.

Maybe it was the ambiance of a remote cabin in the Wasatch Mountains. It could easily have been the blazing fire and DH picking out Christmas carols that evening on a guitar. Whatever it was, by the time we got back to Provo the mistletoe hung in DH's apartment doorway certainly came in handy.

"The Best Day of My Life"

Last night DH and the kids were playing around with the camera on DH's Apple Powerbook. This morning D2 said, "Last night - when we were playing with Daddy's computer - was the best day of my life."

In case you are wondering what the best day of an entire lifetime looks like, here are some photos:

Love Is...Climbing a Ladder 20 Feet and 3 Inches High

Do you know how much DH loves me?

He loves me this much:

More of A Rule Breaker Than a Rule Maker

Free Willy was not necessarily a grand achievement in movie making. But it was probably watched by S1 as a toddler more than any other blockbuster. A classic line from that motion picture goes, "I am more of a rule breaker than a rule maker."

Those eleven words may easily be etched on DH's headstone.

It is very uncomfortable to sit by him on an airplane, for example. Inevitably he does not have his seat belt buckled before take off and will be found conducting business on his cell phone long after the instruction to turn off any portable electronic devices has been given. The repeated personal visits from the irritated flight attendants used to be embarrassing. I try to smile sweetly at their looks of, "Can't you control him any better than this?" It is all in an effort to try to convince them that I have never met this man before in my life.

More than once DH has gotten up to use the bathroom just minutes after the plane has "hit a little turbulence" and the Fasten Your Seat Belt light has been newly illuminated. I firmly believe it is not pressure on his bladder, but rather a reaction to being told what not to do that jumps him out of his seat. Of course, he is quickly escorted back to his seat by a frowning flight attendant, who wants to give me that look. Again. But I roll slowly over toward her to reveal quickly shut eyelids hoping she'll believe I fell asleep while reading a book and had no idea of his gallivanting about the airplane and rule breaking ways.

Naturally I am an avid rule follower as well as a rule maker. So I make the rules and DH breaks them. It is the perfect example of a match made in heaven.

Dinner Discord

After reading b.'s post Hey!! What's Fer Dinner?? I was reminded of how well my goal to have family dinner is not going.

Since school started on August 20th it has been my aim to sit as a family for dinner on all school nights. This is a huge step for us.

Sadly, in the past I have been less than consistent with serving a family meal even once a week. I have struggled to prepare something that I, as a vegetarian, will like, and that my meat-loving family will also devour, without cooking two separate entrees. However, with those excuses behind me, I embarked on a new resolution.

The third night of this new tradition, DH, upon hearing me call everyone in for dinner, told D1, "We need to go in to support your mother's efforts." DH denies any tone of ridicule in the word "efforts", despite D1's claim otherwise.

However, apparently DH is becoming accustomed to my "efforts" and has increased his expectations.

On Tuesday night of this week, DH did not arrive home until well after 6 PM so we had dinner without him. Later that evening I mentioned to DH that if he was hungry, there was vegetable lasagna that I had made in the refrigerator. A couple hours later he opened the refrigerator door, spotted the lasagna packaging and promptly called me at the mall on my cell phone.

DH: You made vegetable lasagna?

Me (initially oblivious to his sarcastic tone): For dinner tonight. Yes. It's in the refrig---

DH: This lasagna is from Costco. If you microwave a frozen dinner, that is not making dinner.

Me (full of indignation): I did not microwave the lasagna. I cooked it. For an hour. In the oven.

DH (mocking in a loving way - if that is possible): I can't believe you think that is making dinner.

(Remember this is a man that ten days ago was getting virtually nothing for dinner, except perhaps a bowl of cold cereal he poured himself.)

Me (exasperated and wanting to get back to shopping): Next time I'll be more precise. I'll say, "I prepared vegetable lasagna."

DH (in a non believing tone): Uh, huh.

Me: Warm some up and try it - it's really good.

DH having confirmed the complete lack of meat in the dish, ended up having steak for dinner instead. Steaks were charitably delivered by a dear neighbor concerned about DH's minimal iron and red meat consumption.

The Seventies Were Hot

I don't mean to dwell on the unfortunate, but if I don't stop complaining about the lack of A/C in my Yukon, I might be forced to recall my real problems.

Pope Terry pointed out the irony in that what is supposed to be the coldest place on earth, The Yukon, is actually the hottest, my Yukon. That made me laugh. For about a millisecond.

My neighbor, RKCD, unlike OzLady's neighbor, rarely assists with any of my plant care or gardening chores. And he is really pathetic when it comes to car repair. However, he tries to be helpful, which is probably why he suggested the following, "If you are going to drive around all day without air conditioning, like in the seventies, perhaps some seventies tunes will help you along."

It is rather basic logic, not rocket science, but as I considered it further, I realized, "This is profound advice!"

So I immediately snagged DH's custom burned CD, hand titled with a black Sharpie: "70's Funk." I suppose I have yet to mention that DH is The Master of Music Mixes. You wish you had this CD, I know. Or at least if you had ever heard it, you'd wish you had it.

It is hard to be cranky when you are grooving to Boogie Shoes and Brick House. Sorry, Chewy and Dance With the Sun, no Sugar, Sugar by The Archies. But only because it is DH's mix, not mine.

So in response to my adorable neighbor's terrific advice, I'm playing it at full volume. Mainly because with all the wind rushing around the car cabin that is the only level at which the music can be heard.

Air conditioning will come and go. But KC and The Sunshine Band, The Commodores, and even The Archies will live on forever.

For Clarification or More Confusion

If you have not had the opportunity, please visit Grettir's blog for Part One of his side of The Date story.

But for clarity's sake, since some of you may already be a bit confused, I am Debbie, Kim's sister. Not to be confused with Debbie (aka DW), Kim's sister-in-law that coerces (tricks?) Grettir into going on a blind date.

Although I do know of Grettir. And although I did date that Debbie's (Kim's sister-in-law's) husband Pat (Kim's brother-in-law) once. Before he married that Debbie, and before I married DH, of course.

So in another world, that Debbie might have been me Debbie. But it’s not.

That's me with DH in the picture above. No pics of the other Debbie right off. But you'll know who she is because she is the one not pictured here.

Just when one is trying to fall asleep for the night, while wondering how to get a picture for the blog, suddenly a light comes on and she remembers she has the perfect picture in her computer already. How did I not remember I had this picture of my sister's sister-in-law Debbie and her husband Pat?



Are you getting all this? There will be a test later.

Lentil Lover?

Yesterday DH worked late so I made a vegetarian dish of lentils with carrots, tomatoes, and onions for dinner. To my surprise, later that evening, defiant meat eating DH came in the bedroom and commented on the leftover lentils he had found in the refrigerator. "They were great!" he remarked.

"Sweetie, please lie down. Here, take this cool cloth and place it on your forehead. Do you need an Ibuprofen? Dear, are you sure you are feeling all right?"

Parting is Such Sheep Sorrow

Because Bart has been clamoring for more missionary tales, and since I've only told one or two, I've got another today. As I have not served a mission, this story is retold from the DH archives.

One particular missionary that served in England with DH was Elder Poulsen. Elder Poulsen was a country boy from Utah, and playing pranks on other missionaries was his forte. He was so evil he made DH look like a choir boy.

More than one unsuspecting missionary had been left in the dust by Elder Poulsen because a bike tire had abruptly fallen off mid ride. Further investigation into the unfortunate accident would reveal that the tire bolt had been mysteriously loosened only minutes earlier. The destruction had most likely been done while the missionary companion had run back into the flat, on behalf of Elder Poulsen's request, for a forgotten leaflet.

Several elders (male missionaries) had uncomfortable conversations with sisters (female missionaries) because they needed to temper supposed romantic inclinations. They had been told in confidence by Elder Poulsen that a certain female missionary had the "hots for them." Of course, none of the alleged romantic feelings had been substantiated by any inkling of proof, which is probably what made the drama so seemingly enjoyable for Elder Poulsen.

Because of his reckless nature, many of the other missionaries were not so fond of Elder Poulsen, and they did little to hide their lack of affection.

Near the very end of Elder Poulsen's two year mission, several missionaries were celebrating his upcoming departure from England. But some seemed more contrite. A few of the missionaries in Elder Poulsen's mission sent him a package shortly before his scheduled departure date.

Elder Poulsen received the package one afternoon in the mail. Sitting in the flat he shared with three other missionaries, he unwrapped the twine and tore off the brown paper. The box of chocolates immediately had the others' eyes, but Elder Poulsen refused to share. He first looked inside at the hand written card from the kind-hearted package-posting missionaries.

Upon opening the note, Elder Poulsen read a sincere message his fellow missionaries had written. Expressing gratitude for his work ethic and example, the missionaries wrote of their respect for him and their confidence in Elder Poulsen and his abilities. They concluded with sharing their love for him and the work with which they were all involved.

Not one to be emotional, even Elder Poulsen was more than misty eyed by the peace offering. Still refusing the pleadings to share from his flat mates, he popped a chocolate in his mouth and began to open another letter.

After sucking on the soft melting chocolate for a minute, a striking putrid taste began to emit from the delicacy. Elder Poulsen quickly spit out the offending treat. Then he looked around. Apparently, having given up on receiving even one morsel of chocolate, and deeply engrossed in their own letters from home, none of the fellow missionaries had noticed Elder Poulsen's half-eaten confection.

In an uncharacteristic streak of generosity, Elder Poulsen threw a chocolate morsel to each of the other missionaries. They quickly gobbled the rare treats with delight, so Elder Poulsen tossed them each another.

Midway through the second round, one of them caught on to Elder Poulsen's inconsistent sharing of chocolates. In a loud gagging eruption, the fellow missionary's taste buds told him the truth about the supposed treats.

When eaten quickly, one could hardly notice, but when slowly enjoyed, the triple chocolate dipped sheep droppings were positively awful.

Summer Slumber (Or Lack Thereof)

Summer vacation is in full swing at our house. For the most part that is a good thing. But tonight at 10:15 PM when DH told D2 she needed to go to bed so she could get up early, she confidently explained, "Daddy, I can go to bed at twelve thirty-four and wake up at seven twenty-nine. And that sums up precisely the problem I have with summer vacation.

NYC: Alien Sightings and MetroCard Malfunctions

New York City is a favorite vacation destination for DH and me. We've been several times and enjoy taking our friends with us as well. On those trips we play the knowledgeable, know-the-city-like-the-back-of-our-hands, tour guides. Truthfully, DH is the real tour guide, I just tag along to eat cheesecake and do some shopping.

We are also expert on doing NYC on a budget. Which means no shopping at Burberry, standing in line for hours at Times Square for discount theater tickets, and rarely taking a taxi anywhere. When we first arrive in the city, we each purchase a multiple day, unlimited ride, MetroCard. This way we can rely on the NYC transit system and our two feet for virtually all our travel needs. While it is my opinion that the Subways in the Big Apple are generally confusing and crowded, with DH's impeccable sense of direction, they are more than doable.

On a trip a few years ago, we brought several couples along with us including Janna and Troy. (You remember Father Love, right?) They were enjoying the long weekend trip, but Janna had routinely struggled with her MetroCard. Somehow the timing of swipe and then walk through the turnstile had eluded her completely. More than once she had improperly swiped only to bruise her hip, slamming into one of the metal rotating arms of the turnstile. She'd swipe, bruise, swipe, bruise again, and then start swiping furiously. At some point she'd get a valid swipe, but in her fury, would miss her chance to enter through the turnstile. By this time, we would all have long since passed the seemingly simple test of MetroCard usage and were lined up waiting for our train.

Once the MetroCard was successfully swiped to travel in a certain direction, it could not be reswiped for 15 or 20 minutes. So Troy would have to go back to the turnstile and through the bars hand Janna some coins, and lovingly talk her slowly through the MetroCard vending machine process, so she could purchase a one-time use MetroCard and, hopefully, gain entrance to the Subway platform with the rest of us.

If this had happened once, it would be funny. But this exact scenario occurred numerous times throughout our trip. And it seemed the bigger hurry we were in, like if our Subway was already approaching the platform, the less likely Janna would be able to successfully maneuver the turnstile requirements in time to catch the train. But we were all on vacation, not racing to a job interview, so we didn't mind too much.

On Sunday morning of this particular trip, we were making our way back to the hotel from church. As we went down into the Subway tunnel we were reminded that there is at least one time when the New York City Subway looks like a ghost town. That is Sunday mornings. As we neared the silent platform, Janna and I were right next to each other at parallel turnstiles. Suddenly Janna's screaming voice echoed, "Debbie! Look! It's..." and then she started to furiously swipe and attempt to walk through the turnstile. Banging her hips one after the other, in her futile attempts, she did not slow down her swiping efforts. After each swipe, she'd look up and shout, "It's...oh my gosh!" She would then again bang a hip on an unmoving bar. Undaunted, she'd swipe again, "I can't believe... there is..." and again, a jam. "That guy..." she swiped, "...from TV..." another bang.

I had managed to make it through the turnstile without incident, and looking around to see what Janna was loudly freaking out about, on the nearly empty Subway platform, just as Janna, still stuck on the other side of the entrance, finally spilled out, "...from 3rd Rock..." I looked up to see John Lithgow passing right in front of me. He tipped his head slightly with a polite greeting while trying to hide his smile. I replied with a big grin and a thoroughly enunciated, "Hello," as he passed. Our exchange was not more than a few seconds.

Once again, Janna was permanently stuck at the turnstile and after we all quietly (except for Janna) watched John Lithgow walk away, we finally handed her a few quarters so she could purchase another Get-Out-of-Jail-Free MetroCard.

We thought we had lost sight of the famous alien, until our train approached. As we hopped on, we noticed a few cars ahead of us, Dr. Dick Solomon had boarded the very same train. At each stop a couple of us would peer through our train's open doors to see if he had exited yet. We continued this little game all the way from Lincoln Square to Times Square. Finally, our lookout team spotted him leaving the train. "Should we exit too?" we wondered. "Or should we give the poor celebrity his space?" While debating our options, the doors of the Subway closed. With our decision made for us, we looked up at a map to see when our own exit, which should have been near, was approaching. Just then DH, the Tour Guide, shouted, "Hey that was our stop too!"

The missed exit automatically meant more walking (in our church shoes) than we had planned, or trying to get Janna to pass through the turnstiles again. We opted for the Sunday stroll.

One Last Jab

Apparently, the word has gotten around that DH can not be trusted at the local Bob's Big Boy. Yes, we are all a bit embarassed. As if he didn't learn his lesson 20 some years ago. And now I promise this is the last time I will mention it. Sorry, honey, just had to get in one last comment. The book is closed. Done. Finito.

The Perfect Prayer Prank

DH has only a mild history of being a jester. But the few gags he has done have been well executed (putting aside the obvious Bob's Big Boy incident, of course). Evil scheming authored the Greeny Companion Gag he pulled on some poor lad in England.

In the late 80's DH went to England for two years to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Donning the title of "Elder", this was to be two years of spiritual growth for an otherwise immature 19-year-old. It is common to be paired with another young male "companion" and together they were to spread a message of Christ and the Gospel. For the most part, that was the lofty work DH was involved in during those two years. But that is not to suggest he was a perfect saint

After DH had been in England for more than a year, he received a new companion fresh from the United States (aka "A Greeny"). Fighting a terrible case of jet lag, this new missionary was not very successful at avoiding the urge to doze off during what should have been wakeful hours.

Soon it was Sunday morning which for two missionaries, obviously meant time to attend church. Sure enough, once the opening hymn was sung and opening prayer was given, this new messenger to England was sound asleep in an awkward upright position. DH, let the poor boy snooze for some time. Amazed at the young man's ability to be so soundly slumbering during the middle of the morning, DH quickly developed a not-so-righteous plan.

During a lull not more than half way through the Sabbath Day meeting, DH gave the inexperienced missionary a huge elbow and whispered, "Elder, the Bishop just asked you to give the closing prayer." Abruptly brought back from dreamland the obedient missionary promptly walked to the front of the chapel, stood at the pulpit, looked over the unsuspecting crowd, then bowed his head and eloquently prayed a blessing on the congregation to close the meeting.

A bit bewildered, the Bishop stood up. As the newly hazed missionary walked back to sit next to DH, who was doubled over in pain trying to silence his body from exploding in hilarity, the Bishop quickly suggested, "While our new Elder has given us a closing prayer, I think we will keep going for at least a few more minutes."

Gahanna Police are Punk'd

There has been a bit of a ruckus at the house because of the latest news story to hit the headlines. Originally brought to my attention by David, the news flash has since been confirmed by USA Today and even my own local paper. Apparently someone has succeeded, despite DH's botched attempt in 1985, to place a fiberglass Big Boy statue atop their local high school.

The antic was executed by pranksters in Gahanna, Ohio. I'd say the Gahanna Lincoln High troublemakers are obviously more sly than DH and his buddies to have successfully carried out the caper. DH contends that there is simply less policing done in Someplace, Ohio compared to San Clemente: The Heart of Southern California.

Besides the obvious similarities in the stories, I am perhaps most amused by the statement from Gahanna Police Lt. Jeffrey Spence, in which he suspects this "may" be a prank by seniors. On second thought, DH may have a point about the policing differences between the two towns.

As they clearly need a little jump start, allow me to help out the Gahanna Police Department. While I have no intimate knowledge as to the corny event in their town, this was definitely a prank by seniors.

That narrows the town of 32,636 down to about 275 people. Delete the girls and you are at about 140 students. Cross off the valedictorian and choir president and now you have 138 possible suspects. Nix all the names of students in the computer and physics labs during the next pep rally and there is your list of about 100 likely offenders.

Begin your investigation with the basketball, football and wrestling team captains and anyone with access to a Ford F250 with bolt cutters as well as pulleys and ropes hidden under the backseat.

There. That little tidbit should get the Gahanna Police Department on track. And perhaps they'll even be successful at making sure some poor seniors get criminal records for life.

Opposites Overcome

When DH and I were first married, we did not have a "song". I joked that our song was Paula Abdul's, Opposites Attract. We have since snagged a song to call our own that is much more fitting, but there is some merit to claiming the Paula Abdul mildly popular hit instead.

Mostly because we are not the picture perfect couple. DH is tall; I am short. DH is blond; I am brunette. DH has blue eyes; I have brown. DH is athletic; I received only one ribbon (4th place Honorable Mention) in 5 years of swim team. However, our incompatibility goes much deeper than these examples. And we have had the Newlywed Game losing streak to prove it.

Our friends Janna and Father Love (as Troy prefers to be called on this special game night) host an annual Newlywed Game. Every year Janna chooses great questions. At least I think they are great, but they often embarrass Father Love.

Tonight's favorite was: As a player on the field of love, what penalty will your wife say you’re most likely to be called on: •motion in the backfield •rushing (or) •illegal use of hands?

A close second was this inquiry: Exactly how long will your husband say he can go without playing leap frog before his personality starts to change: •hours •days •weeks • months?

I should explain that during part of the game, one of the couples had a young daughter in the room, and so we had to use code words. What I'm really trying to say is, in case you did not already know, "leap frog" does not really mean the childhood vaulting yard game.

Typically DH and I do not fare too well on these or any such questions. Over the years I have come to realize that DH has no idea what color my toothbrush is, nor does he have any clue as to where the craziest place is that we have ever played leap frog. And sadly I don't know what animal DH's mother-in-law reminds him of, nor can I correctly recall the oddest place on his body I have ever seen him shave. And so it has been the running joke that DH and I always come in last or close to it when we play the Newlywed Game.

Well tonight we turned everyone's heads. Not because we did not finish last, and not because we did well. But mostly because we won!! Woo hoo!! That would be as in 1st place! I'd say not bad for a couple of polar opposites.

Four Winns Forlorn

Somewhere in the comments of this blog, despite my claims otherwise, David contended that there is no such thing as a "dumb boat."

Before we bought our wasteful watercraft, a friend offered a good measure as to whether or not we were prepared for boat ownership. The test goes as follows: Start by flushing twenty dollar bills down your toilet every night. Continue this game for one week. Spend the second week flushing hundred dollar bills down the toilet. At the end of the two week test, if you found such activities to be enjoyable, then you are an ideal candidate for boat ownership.

DH figured he'd pass that test with flying colors so he bought a big 'ol vessel.

In the past seven years, we have realized boat ownership is more expensive than flushing twenties and hundreds down the toilet, but is also a bit more fun.

However, with four restaurants, we are running thin on money to flush down the toilet as well as time to enjoy the process. So, alas, our boat is for sale.

I thought the day DH decided to sell the boat would be a happy one for me. But as I nostalgically rummage through pictures to post on our listing, I'm feeling twinges of sadness. Wistful for a dumb dinghy. Can you believe it?

Fame and Fortune

A special thanks to McGlinch for today's graphic. I made a request on his blog for one of his doodles and while he has no idea who I am, and has no hope for any type of compensation, he did it! So here is my custom Cinco de Mayo Bajio Dude. Isn't he awesome? That'd be he as in both McGlinch and the Bajio Cinco de Mayo Dude.

Our lives may never be the same. DH was on the news. And no, the local burger joint did not report a missing mascot.

In celebration of Cinco de Mayo, DH was laughing it up with a local mid-morning news crew. Showing off some delicious shrimp tacos and tasty green chile chicken salads, we hope all of Utah's taste buds started watering for the fresh fare of Bajio Mexican Grill.

While I should be happy for the free advertising, I can't help but be a bit jealous. After all, DH has become famous. But I am still living in obscurity.

Several years ago, I really thought I had dreamed up an invention that would guarantee us incredible fame, as well as fortune. It was a Saturday night at dinner with our friends when, after securing iron clad promises of secrecy, I first divulged my incredible vision.

I described my idea for a piece of electronics for the television. It would be a computer of sorts, that connects to your TV. Using the remote control, you could access an interactive screen with television programming. Via the guide you could easily select shows to record to the unit's built-in hard drive. Then you could access them at any time from a menu listing all your recorded programs. Pure genius. I know.

But my friends, as well as DH, did not seem overly impressed. They kind of stared at me with confused faces. "What?" I insisted, "Don't you think we'd be rich? It's the best idea ever!"

What followed next was my dinner companions providing me with a brief explanation of a product called TiVo. Honestly, while I can't live without it today, I had never heard of such a thing before that evening.

I guess it's a good thing someone made my brilliant TV recording invention, because now, just in case we don't ever receive a fortune as proof, at least we'll always have the video recording of DH's 15 minutes of fame.