Usually it's not a good combination when it's late at night and I can't sleep and I turn to blogging; a philosophical insomnia brought on from a strange concoction of emotions, with a dash of good, brooding music stuck on repeat.

I like to consider my past an open book; one that I jealously guard and flaunt when able.  Indeed, my envy-filled pride is always eager to arrogantly supplant anyone else's history.  But while I'd rather not admit it, this post is less about my past and more about the future.  My future, to be exact.  The bleak, unimaginable landscape that haunts me and sends me scurrying away into my dreams.  You'd think that someone so eloquently fanciful in his dreaming might be able to combat the unknown fears that lurk under tomorrow's first light, but you'd be wrong.

Without ground to stand on, they are simply there to drown me.

But let's get back to the hidden, indefinite creature that sits between my thoughts and my would be audience.  I always hated when people would ask me, "where do you see yourself in five years?"  Go ahead, make it six years, or seven years, or ten years, or even just one year.  Some 365 days from now. Where would I see myself?  What would I hope to be doing?  Who would I be becoming?  I don't know, and to be completely honest, I don't believe I've ever known.  You'd think someone who's mind is racing with thoughts and ideas, card games, board games, potential movie scripts, assorted collections of writings, budding novellas, and other inspired works might be able to see himself in some sort of location, occupation, or other sensation relative to an indeterminate time from now.  But you'd be wrong.

Brief history: I was especially involved in music from a young age.  Yes, I was an unmistakeable band geek.  Nerd, if you prefer.  Dweeb, I would contest.  Regardless, I spent from 4th grade to 12th grade in some form of wind symphony, jazz band, or marching band.  I genuinely enjoyed it, otherwise I don't know if I would've contributed so many hours and years to such things.  However, when it came to college, I didn't want to major in music.  "I don't see myself doing this as a profession," I would say, when the real truth was that I didn't see myself doing anything as a profession.  "Why?"  That burning question I could never answer.  I still can't answer.  Perhaps it was lack of perspective, perhaps it was divine providence, or perhaps it was just me.

Okay, back to the present.  I like to talk a lot about "time," or maybe I just like to blog about it quite often.  Perhaps it's because time is the ultimate measure of our humanity.  Perhaps because it is inescapable.  Perhaps it is simply because my most intellectual contemplations happen in the later hours, where I like to dream that those in houses built by their own hands (and some by others) sleep restfully... away from the internal turmoils that weigh me down.  Surely, they, in the comfort of their beds, are immune to such woes.  But coming back to time itself, I realize that this year includes a number of recurring events.

Elevenths: this year marks the eleventh anniversary of my sister's wedding.  They're still happily married (probably more so than when they married, as marriages often go).  I still remember the event pretty clearly, largely because it was the same day I had to take the dreaded SATs.  Talk about a surefire way to drain someone both physically, emotionally, and mentally (not to mention spiritually).  They have three sons, and I wonder if that's what my future holds when I've been married that long: a full and happy family.

Tenths: this year also marks my ten year high school reunion.  If it is hard to imagine my sister having been married for more than ten years, it's even harder to imagine that I've been out of high school for ten years.  I am excited to go, and I'm genuinely looking forward to meeting up with people I haven't seen in such a long time.  It probably helps that I went to a smaller, private school, so my relationship with my class, as a whole, may have been more personal than others' experiences.  I'm friends with many former classmates via social networks, but I'm not sure how accurate that is to describe the semblance of a current "friendship."

Fifths: this year happens to mark my five year anniversary at my current job.  Not just my current employer, but my current position, title, desk, and name placard.  I'll admit that it is relieving to have been employed (and by the same employer) for such a steady length of time.  My job was fairly immune to recent economic falterings, which I'm sure I will greatly appreciate more in the future.  Maybe that's one thing I can expect of my future self.

Fourths: this year marks my four year anniversary of marriage to her.  The astonishing part of married life is that I still, continually, feel like I'm only scratching the surface of this miracle gift.  I genuinely don't know what the future contains for us, but I can only know it will get better.  And I am excited for things to keep getting better year after year.

Firsts: this year marks the arrival of my first niece (if she'll spare her mother and quicken her arrival).  Take note, I may be wrong on the "first niece" part, as I have a terrible habit of not being closely connected to my relatives.  But I'm "pretty" sure that her sister's daughter will be my first niece.  At least, I'll be telling myself that for a little while longer.


The funny thing about the variety of these historically relative events convening in a single time frame is that I could say negative things about each one of them.  I could also say positive things about each one of them.  Time has an interesting way of being similarly biased.  I get asked a lot if I, "like" what I do for a living.  "Does it make you happy?"  But I don't know if it was ever really about happiness.  I'm too much of a pessimist to believe that my job will ever make me fully happy, and I'm too much of an optimist to think that the only thing to look for out of my job (or any job for that matter) is happiness.

Like all things, this is just one small facet of my life.  Good, bad, and in between, I'm thankful for them all.  I can look at my past, and I can look at my future and embrace these elevenths, tenths, fifths, fourths and firsts, while looking forward to tomorrow's twenty-seconds, twentieths, fifteenths, fourteenths, and some larger number of nieces and nephews.  So where do I see myself in five or ten years?  Or how about just one?

I'd like to see myself as being loving and well-loved.  And just like my relationship with her, I expect it will only get better from here and beyond.

A long time ago when I was contemplating existence with a close friend (at least one so close at the time), I commented idly about how I felt that life did not travel a linear path nor one so simply circular.  No, I mentioned that I believed life traveled in spirals, constantly returning us to moments from our past... but with new perspectives, knowledge, or other such growth.  We might choose to disagree or believe that such self-awareness is never so acutely familiar, but I find it hard to accept.

Curiously, this has become all too true of my own existence, and quite ironically the topic of my first return post.  I have traversed all my old stomping grounds; this blog, and the many others that lay vacant from past seasons.  Indeed, I have seen all too often the promises, dreams, desires, and wishes that have plagued me since time immemorial.  Some embarrassing, some heartwarming, and others quite laughable.

And I, in my spiral stairway, desperately hold onto the hope that I have grown, even if only minimally. Even if only in my perception of self.  I know that ultimately, in some vein physical, emotional, or spiritual, that I do not find myself at familiar crossroads unchanged.  Indeed, even if I wanted to believe that I might find myself crossing old footpaths ignorantly, I cannot bring myself to release the burden of proof.  I have grown.  I have changed.

I have dreamed, and now it is time to lay those dreams to rest.

I think I'll be dialing things back a bit, turning in new directions, and trying to spice up the blog of life... or at least, the blog of my life.  Less weepy, whiny, self-opining, nostalgia drama.  More pictures, day-to-day, and fun fun fun fun.  Even Rebecca Black would be proud.

Actually, my daily web browsing introduced me to some 52 writing prompts, and I think I'll start doing those each Wednesday.  A "Writing Wednesday" if you will.  Name subject to change, of course. Anywho, let's get to the pictures.

This is a picture of the top of my computer monitor at work.  Toy soldiers.  Arguably the best toy for little boys everywhere.  I got this from an arcade that I went to with her, though I honestly can't remember the name or place.  It might've been the old GameWorks that was at the Pike, but is now noticeably absent (though there's a nice $1 book store down there!).

These were some of the cheapest items you could redeem for and for good reason.  Looking at the above, the guy on the left seems alright.  The guy in the middle, tossing the grenade, has a wonky base.  And the guy on the right looks like he came out of a cartoon.  Just look how the nozzle of his gun is drooping!  But before you think Commander Green is doing alright, make sure you get a closer look.


Those are some of the worst bug-eyes I've ever seen!  Sorry for the fuzzy pic, my camera finger isn't used to such bloggy-photography.  Not seen in either of these pics, the grey soldier's eye is sliding off his face.

The ironic part is, despite these being poorly made toys, I kind of like having them hanging around the office.  They were certainly not my first choice for office decoration (I'll probably share more of it later on), but there's a nice sense of playfulness they bring.  I can daydream and imagine that they are giving me covering fire while I make a phone call or that they are on lookout for when my boss drops by my desk.

Or I can just laugh at the cheap paint job.  At ease, soldiers!

This was a post I intended to make last Friday, but time got away from me.  Or rather moody selfishness did, but that's a tale for another time.

Friday was a terrible day for me.  Just one of those foul-mooded, rotten, wish I had stayed in bed, kind of days.  The days where other people reap rewards, but in return you just feel even more miserable.  Flashes of green, wailing cries of broken dreams, and all that is usually included with such sour visitations.

Friday was terrible.  But leave it to her to snap me out of it.

That's one of the things that annoys me about her.  She has this nasty habit of not letting me stew over such mired emotions.  As a resident depressant, I must contend that I enjoy letting deep seated feelings of hurt boil and bubble.  There's none of that now, but that's what makes her significant.  She has the gentle touch to viscerally rip me away from such dark place.

It caused me to stop and ponder over the term "significant other," and where it applies in the matrix of relationships.  To offer up my own definition, a significant other is the kind of person who reads you instantly.  When I step in the door, it's no mystery to her just exactly what I'm feeling.  Likewise, a significant other knows how to affect those feelings.  I know the kinds of words I can use to help or harm her, as comic books often remind us... "With great power comes great responsibility."  It's the type of person that can make you want something you didn't want.  The type of person that can pull you up from a low point.  The type of person that will stop the clock and enter a midsection in the space of cosmic reality with you, leaving you the comfort and emotional assistance necessary to both grieve and grow. Words do little to describe with what incredible expertise these persons use wordless deeds.

I'm often one to champion her as some tantamount elevation in my personal existence, and it should come as no surprise since it inhabits part of the title of this blog.  But largely, I feel it is simply my duty to uphold and cherish her.  It is not perfection that I describe, but rather the imperfect joys and revelations of a relationship so finely crafted and designed that dares to touch upon the outskirts of perfection.  It may not be perfection, but it is perfectly-suited for me.

For the last couple days, I've found myself starting a new trend.  When I get home from work, I change out of my business attire and immediately put away yesterday's dishes, wash any new dishes, and clean out both cat boxes.  It's "amazing" to her, but I can't see what is incredible about doing a daily task.

I know too well that as soon as I sit down on the couch; I'm leaving all responsibility behind.  I don't want to be sitting there, watching the judging eyes of the digital clock, constantly chastising me for idleness.  I don't want to be lazily admitting "Just one more episode of Friends" before it's far too late for me to lift a finger.  Plus, I want to live in the "now."

If I have a task to do, I want to get up and do it.  I'm a grown-up and I get to set my own priorities, and I want to have the integrity to see them through.  If I'm going to do the dishes every day, then I am going to do them.  It's an oddly empowering feeling.  Some might view it condescendingly or consider it a punishment, but there is a real sense of purpose when I come home, finish my tasks, and busy myself with entertaining, extracurricular activities.  The positive sensation is what encourages me to keep with it.  And while it's too early to tell if I'll continue these jobs in such a timely fashion, I can't but help appreciate their regular completion for the time being.

Besides, if it makes her happy, it can't be that bad.

My boarded ship of dreams sets sail

There's nothing quite like a new year to make an introvert turn introspective, though granted it doesn't take much to spur an inspection of an introverted life.

In years past, I've had a tendency to dwell on what I was not or could not be.  I wasn't popular.  I couldn't be cool.  I wasn't funny.  I couldn't be social.  High school was a trying time, and I was largely a shadow of who I have become.  It is an often told story of how it wasn't a joyous time.

I always wanted to be one of those cool or arty people. The ones who would divide cinemas between "film" and "movies," offering some air of elegant arrogance concerning all things evocative.  Be it art, music, or more.  But I grew up in a stable home with no cable.  I didn't have MTV or IFC to watch at night, let alone a TV or sound system in my bedroom.  Sure, I expressed interest.  I even feigned interest in things I knew little about (or barely comprehended).  There's nobody better at saving face for being ignorant of something than me (I do it quite frequently to this day).  Truth be told, I was in to all those things that sixteen-year-olds who smoked were into.  Only I never smoked or visited record stores or smuggled liquor to church outings.  I guess I didn't have the credentials to really fit in.  I didn't ride a bike or have much money.  I was just an amorphous blob that sponged life from others' interests.

Over time, I've grown in different directions.  Now I'm the "game" guy.  All things games.  Board, computer, video, card, you name it.  If it's a game, it'll probably pique my interest. To be honest, it scares me a little bit how into games I've become.  In the absence of hobbies or active social life (like high school or college), I guess it isn't surprising an activity I often do alone has become so primary in my life. Now I'm that guy who wears funny shirts, whom you roll your eyes at when he talks. A bit surprising coming from someone who once wished that he might leave a profound impact somewhere in his life (hopefully more profound than a witty shirt's anthem).

Despite my better efforts, there are some things I have long thought impossible that I've attained.  I'm married, living with cats, and on my way to hopefully owning a house within a few years.  I was lucky enough to attend E3, which is considered the largest expo in the video game industry.  It has been exciting to be me.  But sometimes I still wander down the road of who I could be.  The number of funny shirts in my wardrobe has declined, though I am hesitant to fully discard such a self-comforting attire.

And there are still things I think I cannot be or will not.  Some days I still want to be arty or into the scene of the day.  Some days I would like to be all a buzz with social media, running an interesting and exciting blog and twitter feed.  But there are other days I know this is not what I am and not what I ever will be. Pinterest annoys me, Instragram is frustrating, and I seriously will never understand the fascination with owls or other fashionable animal life of the day/month/year.

I am what I am.  I'm glad that I am, but more frankly I'm glad that it makes her glad.

So TLC recently aired a new two episode premiere called "Geek Love."  Probably the most interesting discussion point that came up after watching this show with her, well... I was more playing a game on the laptop called "Gratuitous Space Battles."  Basically, imagine a game where all you do is decide whether you want your Imperial cruiser to have powered armor, ablative armor, shields, reflective shields, regenerating shields, auto-repair systems, fusion lasers, quantum blasters, defence (silly Europeans) lasers, missile launchers, decoy missiles, rocket launchers, targeting lasers, missile defense lasers...

Okay, so now you're probably aware of why this show was so interesting to her, but anyway...  We were watching Geek Love and the interesting discussion point came up when I was asked a simple question.  "Do you ever wish you married a geek girl instead?"

RED ALERT! RED ALERT!  A trap question was identified to our port side.

Questionable questions aside, it was an honest question.   The simple answer was, "No."  The longer answer was, "No. Never."

Alright, so you'd like a bit further discussion on the subject matter? I certainly hope so as that's what I'll be doing for a few more paragraphs.  Basically, the unimagineable awesomeness of her largely comes from the fact that she isn't a geek girl, or much more importantly... she isn't what I wanted.  Or at least that I thought I had.

An oft told story is how I met her on a blind date.  Blind dates are, for the most part, innately random.  Almost like a dark splotch on our fantastically beautiful world that we call the cosmos.  I used to loathe whoever came up with the idea of "blind dates."  Granted, I loathed them moreso because I never got to go out on them, but the premise seemed flawed at best.  If I can't get a date with someone I know, who says that someone I don't know would even care?  Cause let's face it... there is probably something wrong with you if you can't get dates with people you know.

"Hey, want to go on a date with my friend?  He's a really nice guy but can't ever seem to find girls that want to go out with him.  I mean, he's got a lot of interesting hobbies but not used to talking to women.  I mean, he's got a great personality!  So... how about he picks you up this Saturday at 8?"

That scenario does little to inspire confidence, which consequently landed me in my loathsome state.  Of course, nothing was ever wrong with me.  It was everyone else who had the problems!

Internal monologuing aside, I had recently been hooked on a song by The Fray when I was dating her, and everything clicked.  The song is titled "She Is" and here's the chorus part"

This is a battle known well by her.  One that comes from deep within each moment upon which my eyes perceive to themselves a gem that is worth desiring.  A lesson from long ago, forever buried in my conscience.  How does one justify paying so much for a game?

Video gaming is an expensive hobby, depending on how you go about it.  For any real collector, you're bound to be spending quite a bit of money each year.  Significantly more than a subscription to Netflix, The Grocery Game, and probably even your data plan for that snazzy phone you bought (not realizing how the evil corporations that control the air waves are slowly bleeding you dry of your precious capital savings).  Honestly, it's quite hard to find any justification for buying a game which, after playing for approximately 10 hours, you'll probably finish, put on the shelf, and forget about by the time the "new hot thing" has arrived that you "simply must own."  The other problem with gaming is that the medium is not prone toward legacy value, unless you have something particularly iconic.  While years from now, people may still be playing (and even bidding on ebay for) the original Super Mario Bros., you're less than likely to find someone who will want to be playing Call of Duty 3 when they'll have moved on to better, faster, newer versions of the series (for those keeping track, the eighth iteration will be retailing in November).  With some exceptions, books are by and far, in comparison, much more likely to continue on into existence (either as they become completely free or as the electronic reading continues to advance in market share).

Arguably, this sort of metric can be expanded to criticize any pleasure spending.  My key weakness is food, as I enjoy food immensely.  I will pay for food.  I will pay people to make food for me.  I will pay people to make bad food for me.  If you feed me, I will pay.  For others, their weakness may be coffee, cigarettes, caffeine, CrossFit... the list goes on, creatively speaking.

Luckily, as far as gamers are concerned, there is a system much like Netflix for the distribution of games across the country to the various households of subscribers.  It's still quite expensive (though less than a data plan for your phone), but it helps ease the burden of buying games and selling them back for minimal return value.  In fact, such a glorified rental service provides the necessary venue to trying out games that you know you would like to play but would never buy (as they are too short, you're unsure if you would enjoy it, etc.).  For someone like myself, a recognized gaming aficionado, having a fairly inexpensive opportunity to keep abreast of the goings on in the video game world... this is certainly a cost that can be justified (if only vainly).

So without further ado, I signed up for the service and will be chronicling my experiences with it.  Hopefully, it will gain good remarks, but I will not hold back any biting criticisms if I believe they are relevant, necessary, and true.  Meanwhile, if you yourself would care to tread new ground alongside myself, I happen to be the holder of a "Buy 1 month, get 1 month free" web coupon (new buyers only).  For one game out a month, the price is a grumbling $16.95+tax.  The 2 or 3 game out plans increase by a grueling six dollars.

Much like Netflix, you set up a queue and get what is available (presumably in the order you've designated).  So what is available depends largely on your interests, but I was surprised at the number of readily available Wii titles that I have always had the intention of picking up but never did.  I signed up for the service, thinking I would put at most five games in my queue.  After looking through their wares, mine is now up to twenty-four games.

And only two of those were "low" in availability.

So the latest Harry Potter movie will be gracing theaters this weekend, and it seems like every cable channel known to man is running movie marathons of the mightily magical miscreant himself (had to fit in a few more "m"s in that last sentence).  An exciting time for sure, that is if you enjoy crowded rooms with loud, annoying, obnoxious fans that hem, haw, laugh, cry, and comment on anything and everything that appears on screen.  I'm sorry, but I'm here to see a movie... not to hear some delirious person scream "It's HARRY POTTER!!!" every time Daniel Radcliffe comes on screen.

I used to treasure my midnight showings of opening releases.  Now, I treasure my crotchety old self who enjoys the visual and auditory exclusion of others as I experience a media exposure in mental isolation.  Besides, there are people who "dress up" for these movies (much like some do for Star Wars) with the least bit of actual creative inspiration.  Anyone can throw on a cloak and be a wizard, or a jedi, or a vampire.  Please keep your wands to yourself while we're waiting in line, thank you.  This is a public area and there are children present (or at least people who think they're children).  So I avoid these showings and prefer for the more "adult" ones.


Yes, I go to the movies at 10AM on Saturday morning because it's cheaper ($6 at AMC) and because this weeds out the much louder crowd (and crowds in general for that matter).  Which is a breath of fresh air considering that time I went to see Twilight with her.  Some people forget that this is a shared viewing experience, and I don't want your cowl blocking my view of sexy boy wizards.

I know it's probably cliché of me to keep philosophizing on this blog, but you all will have to indulge me for one more metaphysical memoir.


In each and every moment, whether breathing, sleeping, dreaming, or eating... I am uncontrollably moving through time.  No matter what I do, these moments are irrevocable save for a distant memory or tour of nostalgia.  Arguably, I consider this the world's most precious resource... time.

When pondering my chronological travels, it makes me reflect further on what I make of these precious materials.  It is impossible for anyone to feasibly make good intentioned use out of each second, yet how many countless minutes have I thrown away on insignificant endeavors.  When I could clean house, I watch television.  When I could design my game, I instead surf the web.  When I could blog, I fill my time with flash games.

Eventually, I think on all the time I allot for Him and for her, probably less than I should.  Probably less than I say I would.  Definitely, less than I could.  Yet no amount of self-centered reflection accounts for any recovering of lost moments.

I intend to make better use of mine.  While intentions will not slow my journey forward, they may better guide me toward the paths I would rather travel.  Cause eventually I will be out of time entirely.

I graduated in 2008, five years after I entered college (and after I subsequently dropped out and re-enrolled).  Five years of piddling around trying to figure out what the heck I wanted to do with my life.  This was a primary reason I considered enlisting in the Air Force instead of going to college (a decision I sometimes regret).  But I made it through and got a Bachelor of Science degree in Communication Disorders.

Last week, two of my friends became doctors (one of which was my best man and freshman roommate).  A few others are finishing up getting their CCC's (which is what you're supposed to do with the type of degree I got).  Honestly, the biggest thing that came across me this weekend is how fast time goes by.  Some of my friends have already finished 4 years of graduate school.  However, inevitably it came to... gee, what have I accomplished.


When I got out of college, I landed a job that didn't even require a degree.  It was (and has been) a sore point for me, which has only been somewhat offset by health and dental benefits.  Previously, I felt like I had wasted five years of my life in college, and now I felt those fears confirmed.  However, I was determined to not let this get the better of me and proceeded to create a short-term plan (since that's what every self help source seems to say).

In fact, I considered my job as a stepping stone on my three year plan.  The plan was to work at my university for three years, moving up or laterally through various offices over that time, and then finally seek employment elsewhere when time was up.  By that time, I would've explored other career paths, discovered what my dream job would be, and could attempt to pursue it.  Unfortunately, my job became less of a stepping stone and more like a stop sign.  There was no moving up or laterally, and in some ways there was only moving down (see a previous post on this blog about how my net gain has diminished).

Come August, my three year plan will have ended... and ultimately be derailed.  I'm no closer to finding my dream job (let alone acquiring it), or even just figuring out what I want to do with the rest of my life.


My friends are doctors... and I'm the guy, wearing a tie, not even sure who he is trying to impress anymore.

There are some days where I just don't want to get out of bed, where I don't want to wake up, where I don't want to take the extra effort to wear a dress shirt and tie, where I don't want to drive for half an hour to a job I don't particularly enjoy, where I don't want to spend half a day working on things and accomplishing little, and where I just want to pretend like this day never even started.


Then I get home and realize that the one thing that makes it all better is coming home to her.

There's a phenomenon driving across our country that I have rarely partaken in.  That is about to change...

A while ago, the Food Network hosted a show about food trucks.  It was an interesting show to watch, and one that led her and I with whet appetites.  Unfortunately for us, many of these trucks were far away or catered to neighborhoods not near our own (no way I was driving to downtown LA just for some food).

Reluctantly, this desire to sample some of the racers fell back into "wish it could be, but probably won't" status.  That is until I found out that the runner-up truck (and indeed, the truck that seemed most appealing) would be in our neck of the woods city.  While I don't consider myself a "foodie," I certainly have a personal love for food (just ask my thighs).  I simply couldn't let this chance pass me by.  Unfortunately, it ultimately would.


When we arrived, this scene greeted us.  Look at the chaos!  Look at the frightening sights of crowds!  Look at how maliciously that child in the center of the frame is dragging her mother as if her arm was merely a leash!  Actually, it wasn't that bad.  There were some lines here and there (and parking was nuts!), but we were able to move freely about and peruse the finely cooked wares.  Within seconds, our prey stood before us like a magnificent beast waiting to bless us with its bounty.


What's this?!  The doors aren't even open yet?!  Indeed.  That treasured sandwich we lusted after most was not yet being served, and the line only continued to grow. I don't have any pictures of it, but you'll have to believe me when I say that it would've probably taken us at least an hour to get food.  The Nom Nom Truck wasn't ready for our awesomeness.

This was terrible news!  I was hungry, and the belly monster was ready to burst forth in Hulk-like fashion (you wouldn't like me when I'm hungry).  With our stomach-defeated hearts, we instead turned to our next best (and cheapest) option: a Brazilian food truck that was next door.


It was called... Ta Bom.  I'm not exactly sure what made my street tacos "Brazilian," but I didn't mind so much. They were small, but it was to be expected.  In fact, "street" is probably synonymous with "small" when it comes to food truck fare.  Regardless of their menu's vocabulary, the important part was that it was readily prepared and hastily devoured.

Overall, a 7 out of 10 in my opinion.  The food was good but hardly "ta bom".  They lost a point for not having their whole menu available and not easily decipherable (I wasn't able to get a burrito for her).  We also snacked at a place serving fresh fries (consequentially called Fresh Fries).  Probably 7 out of 10 on the fries too, but how does one rate fries by themselves?  Mine were curly, but the sweet ones were for her.

Sad because we didn't get our food of choice, we decided to make it up to ourselves with treats from Cool Haus.  Yet we had to leave that food truck equally disappointed.  Their line, while short, was moving too slow.  Already an hour had passed, and we had things to do and video games to play.


Moral of the story:  While appetizing and appealing, the Food Truck Experience™ (you're darned right I've got a trademark) takes a long time to...  well, experience.  Future adventurers should remember to provide themselves with ample time.  I know that's what I'll be doing.

In the words of Doctor Claw, "I'll get you next time, Nom Nom!  Next time!"

I have a confession to make.

Sometimes I sing to my cats.  Sure, I bet there are many other feline fans who do likewise.  But I take it to a-whole-nother level.

I change the lyrics of  popular songs to be about cats (and sometimes specifically my cats).  Hopefully, these lyrics say more about my cats then it does about my music preferences.  Some examples include, but are certainly not limited to...

I'd catch a toy mouse for ya,
Rub my hand through your fur for ya,
I'd chase you 'round the whole house for ya,
You know I'd do anything for ya
(Bruno Mars, "Grenade")

Cause baby, you're a cu----te kitten! Come on, show them your fur mittens!
Make them go aw-aw-aw, as you snuggle cross their lap-lap-lap!
(Katy Pery, "Firework")

All the single kitties (all the single kitties), put your paw up (up), up in the house (house), gonna go lay in the sun...
If you like it, then you should put catnip on it,
If you like it, then you should put catnip on it
(Beyonce, "Single Ladies")

She take my lap, when I'm in need,
Yeah, she's a purrin' friend indeed.
She's a small kitty, cute as can be
And she digs on me...
Now I ain't saying, she's a gold kitty...
(Kanye West, "Gold Digger")


Now, I do sometimes come up with original songs, but radio tunes are the things I most often catch myself singing to one of my furry companions.  However, I may be broaching even new depths heights, as I recently caught myself quoting famous poems (with interjected "cat-tations").

Let's just say, it's a good thing that Edgar isn't alive to hear my rendition of "The Raven."  Though it was certainly amusing to her.

While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As if some kitty gently rapping, scratching at my linens' door
To which I replied, "Nevermore!"

This past weekend, I discovered that may most recent deposit was... smaller than I would've liked.  In fact, it was smaller than I had anticipated.  To put it frankly, the revelation was depressing.


But while it's easy to get caught up watching the black ink going down, it's important to remember the bigger picture.  While I'll admit that I don't envy myself for the job I currently hold, there have been some significant benefits from my current employment (despite what may appear to be diminished returns).  Here is just a sampling:

• My job has given me a job (which is surprisingly more significant than unemployment)
• My job has provided the three things I desired before getting engaged:
• A job (see how handy these things are?)
• Health and Dental Insurance
• Money for rent
• My job has granted a large discount graduate tuition for her
• My job has supplied multiple venues (and incentives) for carpooling
• My job has a good environment
• And more...

It's important I never forget or discredit what my job is providing for me and her, but I should not accept complacency or cease to strive to better myself.  I may certainly have a good job, but it is not the "best" job (and especially not the best job for me, personally).  There is a career out there for me somewhere, perhaps in fields I've yet to experience.

I should not look down on my present, but in turn look forward and upward toward my future.  It may be difficult or even arduous at times, but nobody ever said life was "easy."  In fact, they've all said it was hard.

That's probably what I should change the title to, since it's the only time I ever seem to find to blog.  Today's lunch is brought you by the letter "P" for pesto chicken and potatoes.

If you don't know it already, I have a Twitter account.  I can't say I'm the tweeting type, or the kind of person that Twitter was designed for... but that won't stop me from trying to use it.  You can find me here.  I would add a button on here, but it messes with some of the design layout and look ugly because of my custom CSS settings (I really wish I knew more about webdesign).  I'll figure it out eventually or just be mysterious and keep my tweets a secret.

Also, BlogLovin' has got this as well.  So feel free to connect there (or here).

There's a part of being married that sees this inevitable problem come to fruition.  With her, this happens quite a bit.


This past weekend we did a mini-vacation (or as I will start to call them, "minications"), where we went down to Sea World San Diego and generally just got away.  This wasn't something I wanted to do, and I'm not even sure its something I would've planned to do had it all been up to me.  I'm normally fine just staying at home being productive watching TV or playing video games or fulfilling my weekly quota of laziness (I'm a licensed procrastinator after all).  The last thing I would want to do is do a bunch of things all weekend, including walking around a parking lot, walking around a theme park, finding a crummy hotel to not stay in (don't ask, long story), finding a better hotel, returning to said theme park and parking lot the next day, spending time getting reacquainted with traffic and California freeways, and spend my last day before returning to work schmoozing with extended family and going to church.

Had I planned my Easter weekend, it would've been much much different... and I would've hated it.


That's the funny thing about being married, especially with such a complementary spouse.  She says good things about me all the time has this nasty habit of bringing out the better in me, which always seems to happen particularly at times where I'd rather she didn't.  I didn't want to go away for the weekend, but I did.  All those things I thought I wouldn't like, I accepted and they became some of the better moments of my life (okay, maybe not the freeway traffic).

Spending a day at Sea World?  Fun!
Finding a better hotel in a nicer area with a better view and better food options and better customer service and better things?  Awesome!
Having a good Easter at church and then with family?  Great time!
Getting to do all of this, and more, with her?  Incredible!

I used to be this ho-hum, stick in the mud, stay at home, do nothing exciting (except beating a video game boss at midnight), boring kind of guy.  In many ways, a part of me still is (just ask her).  But now I find that all these things I thought I really didn't want to do, I now want to do.  I'm not talking about saying "I want to do them" just to get her off my back, but a legitimate, genuine, excited, ecstatic, and even anxious emotion of desire.


No more do I find myself protesting the slightest change in plans, possible afternoon whim, or otherwise suggested occasion with a disappointed gaze or interjected "but" (my butt is large enough already).  Instead of being a crab apple, I just accept it and go along for the ride.  Sure, after a long day's work, I can probably think of something better to do with my time (like relaxing), rather than going out with friends or driving across town to get a pizookie.

But the secret is...  I can't.
These are now all the things I want to do.