The fabulification of Topher

Big news on the Range. I'm going to Vegas, baby. There's so much to do, and only 13 weeks to do it all. I'm working on a customer appreciation event for work, so I'll have to be there for five days. The sign says welcome to "Fabulous" Las Vegas, so I've got to start working on my fabulousness.

I've only been to Vegas once, and that was just a quick overnight stay. All I really remember was the buffet (mmmmmm good), Emily (who was like 10, or maybe in high school) asking the lead for his autograph after seeing a show at the MGM Grand, me and my pregnant wife walking down the strip so I could say I took her to Paris, and going into a grocery store the next morning for some Pop Tarts and being amazed at all the people sitting at the slot machines near the check-out at 7 am.

First item: cultural anthropology study. In order to better understand my new home (this is a five-day trip, after all), I'll need to learn more about the people and their curious customs. I plan to do this by watching every movie made about or in Las Vegas. I'll start with Honeymoon in Vegas, move on to Sister Act, followed by Oceans Eleven (did I miss the first 10?), and finish off with Vegas Vacation, because nothing says true-to-life than a Chevy Chase movie.

Second: wardrobe. The picture says it all. Except for what it doesn't say. I'm wondering if the hat is too much. Maybe I could grow a wicked mullet between then and now (considering it's a NASCAR event I'm planning...did you read about my last NASCAR event?). But then again, I only have 13 weeks.

Third: vocabulary. There are so many words to master and incorporate into my lexicon. "Luck", "Hold", "Crimp", etc. No, Mama K, I won't be gambling, but I've got to know what people are talking about.

Fourth: travel. It's been two years since I've been on a plane. Last time I flew, I was selected along with an 74-year old Mennonite grandmother as the security threats on our flight. Jenny and the three boys had gone through security ahead of me, leaving me with the camera bag, a suitcase and two car seats. After having various regions of my person searched and wanded (and the guy didn't even buy me dinner), my bags were emptied and then told I needed to hurry and re-pack them...the plane was leaving. I need to read up on the new regulations as I'm sure I'll get singled out again, and I want to be ready. There are only 13 weeks left, so I need to get crackin'.

So, if I've missed anything, please hurry and tell me.

This house is ours

Ever seen the Nicole Kidman movie "The Others"? It's about a house that's haunted, and one of her lines is "This house is ours!" in hopes of driving out the ghosts. My wife's going to kill me for blogging about this, but I had a "This house is ours" moment this week. For about three weeks, there's been an unwanted guest in our house. At first I didn't believe her, but afterall, she was right when it came to our last houseguest. This time, instead of a chipmunk, it was a mouse. I'd had enough of thinking that stupid thing was in my house, but the couple of traps I'd set last week hadn't produced any results. I went and bought several more and placed them every place I thought he'd possibly be. I even told Jenny that the thought had crossed my mind to borrow a cat from someone. I hate cats almost as much as I hate having rodents anywhere near my house.

Finally, Sunday night, I GOT HIM! THIS HOUSE IS OURS! He'd gotten stuck on one of the glue traps, and he was freaking out. He was breathing hard, and his eyes were filled with fear. Then, I felt something. He was...kind of cute. What have I done? He really was adorable, and I had done this to him. I quickly disposed of him. But for the rest of the night, I felt really bad. Then the boys asked if I would read them a Christmas book. They picked out Merry Christmas, Big Hungry Bear. It's a story about an adorable little mouse who, from the kindness of his heart, decided to share his Christmas with a big hungry bear. Great, kids, as if I didn't feel bad enough already.

In other mice news, we got a new computer...with a cordless Bluetooth mouse. Yipee! Now if I see another mouse, I can chuck the other mouse at it from across the room.



UPDATE: "he" was I think a "she". The reason I think this is that I checked the traps again last night, and I got another one. This one was dead, looked as if it was taking a nap. Because of that, I didn't feel as bad as I did when I found the live one. So I think the first one was maybe the mom because she was facing the area under the stairs. The one last night, the much smaller one, I think was a baby who went looking for mom who said she was running out for some take-out, and never came back. Hopefully this is the end of them, but just in case there are some out-of-town guests who were over for the holidays, the traps are still out and I'll get every last stinkin' one of them.

If you were thinking of coming over anytime soon, and are now reconsidering, thinking that we're gross slobs who live in a rodent-infested dump, that's totally understandable. We don't mind if you want to cancel. You can just send us the cash you were planning on spending to come see us. Depending on who you are, we might enjoy that more.

Attention ladies - we love you but this has to stop

I know many of my readers are women. I know what kind of chocolate you like. I know your shoe sizes. I'm in marketing; you should know that I analyze my blog stats on a very regular basis. You should also know that I'm going to call you out because I know what you've done. And, painfully, I'm sure your husbands are tired of it. We men have been quiet long enough, and now it's time for you, oh fairer of the sexes, to face the music.

That's right, we're not going to take it any more. Ever since we learned how to control our bladders at the age of two or three, or later in some cases, women have harped on us to lift the lid. You've trained us to change our underwear on a daily, in most cases, basis. You've trained us to use coasters for our drinks. Now it's your turn to get schooled.


I'm talking about how you treat our bbq grills. Obviously your fathers never trained you the way our mothers trained us to keep the toilets sparkling clean [notice I said they "trained" us; that doesn't mean we do it]. Our grills are to us like clean toilet seats are to you. We don't mind you using our grills, especially when it involves food (not that I can think of any other uses). Thank you for feeding us, really. But, you've got to learn how to take care of our grills. We should not open the grill next time we feel like throwing on some burgers or dogs to find crusty, greasy, ant-covered residue. You know those grill brushes? They're meant to be used, and meant to be used immediately after removing the food from the grill. That way there's nothing left behind. Once you've scrubbed the grill clean, it needs to be sprayed down with cooking spray to prevent
rust. Oh, and one other thing, please turn off the gas when you're done. My darling learned that the hard way when I went to grill the next time and found the dials turned on high and the tank empty.

We'll make you a deal. We'll keep your toilet seats up [but you can't blame us if you forget to put them back down] and our underwear changed regularly [or daily depending on your requirements] if you'll scrub down the grill when you're done making dinner. It's all we have; it's all we ask.

For more information on grill maintenance, please refer to this tutorial. It was written by a man, a man with a pony tail, but still a man.

I was tagged by Emily to write seven interesting things about myself.

1. There were 32 people in my graduating class. It was the largest class ever to graduate from my high school. I was like #17, GPA-wise, which is ironic because that was also my score on the ACT when I re-took it hoping to improve my first score of 23. So technically, I got dumber the more I tried. But I don’t consider myself dumb. Other people might.

2. I was the president of my 4-H club. However, I did not live on a farm. I was a “city kid”. My city had 900 people and is actually considered a village on the state records. My things in 4-H were photography, drawing, and clothing (we had to demonstrate how to put together an outfit and then model it at the county fair – and yes, there were lots of other guys who did clothing, too. They were mostly the “city kids”, though.)

3. I really like watching documentaries. One of my favorite documentaries is My Date With Drew because I like Drew Barrymore; another favorite is Country Boys. When I meant to record the recent NOVA documentary Marathon Challenge, I accidentally set the VCR for the wrong time and recorded The Undertaking instead. It’s a documentary about funeral directors and the funeral business. Very interesting. See point #4 below.

4. I considered becoming a funeral director at one time. I have sort-of a morbid curiosity (who doesn’t?) and I’m a pretty compassionate person. I saw the funeral profession as one where a compassionate person would do well attending to the needs of the living who were in mourning. I wouldn’t have passed chemistry, though, and I don’t know how to do make-up (it wasn’t offered in 4-H), so I don’t think I would have made the cut.

5. My great-great aunt’s favorite story to tell me was that we have an ancestor who signed the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution named Robert Morris. What I don’t think she ever knew about Robert Morris is that he died in debtor’s prison. Oh, and what’s even more interesting is I’m married to a woman who claims to be related to Winston Churchill.

6. On my mission in Japan, I averaged one bike wreck a month for the 22 months I lived there. I was only seriously injured once.

7. I have 11 toes.

Ok, so I really only have 10 toes, but I couldn’t think of anything interesting for #7. I am, after all, trying to work here, you know.