Clothes

Today my wife got mad at me. This isn’t terribly uncommon, or surprising. I am juvenile and impossible most of the time. But, today she was mad at something that surprised me. Apparently, I am too practical. She told me that I dress like a bum, and that sometimes I am an embarrassing eyesore. Of course she didn’t put it like that, that is something I’d say, but that was the gist of it. I was disturbed at this thought, then determined to argue. Unfortunately, she is right. Politicchic will no doubt whole heartedly back this up. I was in denial for a while, but when we got back to our house, we went through all of my clothes and I have to admit, I’m a poorly dressed hobo. My two newest t-shirts Malu brought to me from Peru. Before that, two shirts that my sister sent to me on my mission. Oh, and one “Lucky to by Irish” shirt my brother gave me for Christmas. I’m not Irish. Where did all my clothes come from? Gifts, plays, yard sales, DI, and just random free ones. I have not bought a new shirt since the Oscar the Grouch and Slacker t-shirts that I bought when I was 14 or 15. I got some shorts from that time period as well. I bought a pair of pants at Mervyns (SP?) when it went under because they were cheap. My sister bought me a pair just because she felt as my wife does. Got a pair for Christmas from my mother. Tis a sad state. As I was explaining to Malu how I had aquired all of my clothes, and hats, I realized that I am a bum. I don’t care about clothes. I am happy not being naked, but I really don’t have a style, except scruffy. That’s a word for me. Scruffy. I have found clothes in apartments that I have moved into that I have kept because I like them. I have and use t-shirts that I got for being in plays when I was in 8th grade. Sad. I remember the Kenya Breweries t-shirt that my sister made me chuck because you could see through it. Also the Blue Nike t-shirt that was too big for me in seventh grade and finally met it’s demise after the mission looking like a holey muscle shirt. Or how about the green shants that were made of parachute nylon and finally ripped all the way up the backside? Or my tough green shants that I currently am wearing as I write this, though the fade and worn areas render them mostly tan? I get attached to my clothes and I’m cheap, that’s all I can say. Sorry. I really am. It’s just a tribute to my not really being concerned about other people’s perceptions. But alas, there is a person who’s perceptions I cannot ignore, and therefore: the light blue Nike hat, the Pink Floyd baseball T, the Oscar t-shirt, all the flannel, the Duchesne Eagle muscle shirt, the Music Man, the long sleeved red shirt, the slip on black shoes, the gray hat, the Old School Denver Broncos t-shirt, the green and white baseball T and other articles are all being discarded. Some will find their way to DI, some will become rags to clean with, and some will be tossed outright. This was sad for me. I thought Malu was going to have a seizure she was so pleased when she tossed my light blue Nike hat (One of the only 2 fitted hats I have ever bought in my life- the other one Steven stole). I loved that hat. It went golfing with me more than I can recall, and to concerts, and to Peru. Oh well. Maybe now I can become better dressed and more presentable. Maybe one day I will be a snappy dresser like unto, dare I say it, BEN JENSEN? I doubt it. In the last ten years, I have probably spent less than $250 for clothes. Not even Mason Jennings can make me feel better about losing some of my favorite clothes, who I am currently listening to. Next time I will talk of happier things, such as Peruvian dancing and the antics therein. But for now, I’m spilling out some of a proverbial 40 on the ground for my homies that didn’t make it.

These are tributes to my fondest childhood.

Well, you maybe have too much spare time on your hands already. I assume this because you are blogging and lets face it, nobody is doing this as a number one priority item. So, I will not feel bad about recommending these videos for your viewing. The people in the video obviously had more free time than you do now...

You know a dude apartment.

Here I sit with Quezada and I am waiting for Malu to get out of driving school. Also, I went to my old apartment While I am here, I noticed several things that make guy apartments dudely.
1) He cooked quesadillas in a pan that had obviously been used for something else, and not been washed. I consider it a tribute to my own dudeliness in that I didn't bat an eye at eating them.
2) There are no hand towels in dude bathrooms. You just have to dry your hands on their personal towels, which probably haven't been washed in months.
3) It is common to find a handful of napkins shoved in the toilet paper holder. Or no toilet paper at all.
4)A large pile of unwashed dishes.
5)A nicer TV than anything else in the apartment, usually with a few new gaming systems.
6) Empty pizza boxes.
7) Like six expired things in the fridge... and nothing else.
8) No warm fuzzy pictures on the wall and no catchy little handycrafts decorating stuff.
9) There is a fouton(sp?) somewhere in the place.
10) The floor is SCUZZY.

My last name.

Just sitting here, wondering..., "What is the deal with latin people and my last name?" Today in church, Malu and I gave the opening and closing prayers. That was when I was reminded of this issue. Basically, it can be anything than what it is: sweet, shwek, shrek... etc. But never SWEAT. Hmmm. Any ideas?

My late night antics.

Well... I am sure you have already noticed the slide show. I am growing by leaps and bound in my software exploration. Last night I figured out pretty much everything you see above in CS4 Photoshop. I love that program. It is sweet and there will be some more goods to come, I'll tell you what. The first was my rough attempt at figuring out how to recreate the IPOD ads. I thought those were pretty sweet and I have seen some good spoofs, so I figured I would find out if I could do it. Then I got excited and my second attempt with the peeps came out better. As far as the freaky elf looking thing goes, the Rage said it looked scary. And Malu thought they were frightening:). That's about all for now, I will soon be blogging again, about Big Steve, who is now stealthily perusing the blogosphere. His eyes are upon us, so be warned...

Texting.

It has recently came to my attention that I am a sloppy texter. I discovered this because I always use the "word" function to have the cell phone auto complete my words to go faster. Unfortunately, when each key has three letters each, it makes for some accidental (and humorous), potential errors. Some are just annoying. For example: 'me' &'of'. Also: 'go'& 'in'. But recently, I have had some good ones. I sent a text to Joe saying that I had to call my wife. Unfortunately, that is the same key stroke pattern for 'ball'. Yesterday I sent Liberty a text to ask if she and Asher were going to be 'celebrating'. While I don't remember exactly how that one was messed up, I remember that it said something 'ing' and sounded dirty. And here's a good one that the Rage asked me. If anything had ever happened (I forget what) while 'eating' different people... when she meant to say 'dating'. I want to hear all of your funny text bloopers, so get to posting.

The moment.

There is a moment, a moment we all know well, that I am about to describe. This is a moment that I am sure you’ve experienced, a moment that I can only describe as “the climax of impatience”. Now I know that our general run of the mill sleepmuch8 readers will be thinking dirty thoughts based solely on the imagery inspired by the word ‘climax’, but c’mon now, pull it together and focus with me for a second. This is the moment when you are in traffic and the light turns green but the #@#$er in front of you is dosing and doesn’t go. Or, when you are in a hurry and you are hitting all of the red lights. This is the feeling you get when you are reading a particularly crappy book (Twilight) and you just want it to end so you can say you finished one, gave it a fair shot, and still hate it. This is the precise moment when you are in church and a speaker (especially a testimony person that jumped up WAY after it was obvious that the current line was going to be cutting into your Sunday lunch/nap) is over time and weeping and showing no signs of stopping. I find my self chanting “in the name of Jesus Christ, AMEN!” over and over in my head in hopes that somehow the speaker will be overpowered by my intellect, repeat the words, and be forced to sit down. This also happened a lot on the mission with apostatizing bishops; you have a golden investigator losing desire to know more about the church because of the fools rant and you are powerless to stop it. This is the moment where you need to use the bathroom really bad in the theatre and the movie pretends to end about five times (I’m looking at you Return of the King… did we REALLY need to see the super gay –not that there’s anything wrong with that-hobbit pillow fight?) Or even Mama Mia, where the movie basically sucks and you just wish it would roll into its grave and die already (but there is a whole blog soon to come dedicated to how much I disliked that movie, so never fear, its crimes will not go unnoticed/unpunished). This is the moment where you are engaged in a discussion with someone (or you are being lectured by someone), and you just want them to shut the hell up so you can be on your way. This is the moment when you are waiting for the next shift to come on so you can be relieved, especially if they’re late (this can be really bad when you work grave). This is the moment that I will soon be experiencing, and one that I anticipate will suck, as it has thousands of times before. But there is light at the end of the tunnel friends, do not despair. The last Amen will be uttered, the light will turn green, the jerk will get out of your way, the book/movie will end, and the shift will end. This I promise you. But, you’d all better shape up because I firmly believe hell is driving to the theatre in heavy traffic to get to the huge line to see ‘Twilight’, the movie. Just thinking of that makes me shutter and desire to repent. Till next time, may your moments be brief.