I kissed her at midnight on Valentine's Day. A few days later, I sent her a mistaken text that led to our St. Patrick's Day engagement. It's been a crazy two years, and it only gets crazier from here on out.
Happy Valentine's Day, Anne!
14 February 2011
Happy Freaking Valentine's Day
It has been exactly two years since our first kiss. I think this picture was taken some 20 hours (and countless kisses) after the landmark first that sealed our fate.
I kissed her at midnight on Valentine's Day. A few days later, I sent her a mistaken text that led to our St. Patrick's Day engagement. It's been a crazy two years, and it only gets crazier from here on out.
Happy Valentine's Day, Anne!
I kissed her at midnight on Valentine's Day. A few days later, I sent her a mistaken text that led to our St. Patrick's Day engagement. It's been a crazy two years, and it only gets crazier from here on out.
Happy Valentine's Day, Anne!
10 July 2010
The Cove in San Antonio
Looking for a laundromat in San Antonio? How about a car wash? Need a quick organic bite to eat? Well have I found the place for you.
It's called The Cove. At worst, it's San Antonio's answer to the clarion call for business diversification. Conversely, it's the hippest place to eat in the Deco District (that's right, San Antonio has a Deco District, as in art deco, as in don't get excited, it's just a street with a grocery store that belongs on Nick at Night). In one convenient and crazy place you can clean your clothes, wash your car, and eat a sustainable, organic, and locally grown meal (SOL food, as they call it). What'd you expect, chili dogs and Hostess Snacks?
Finding myself alone last Friday night (Anne's in my hometown visiting the people I grew up with. How's that for weird?), I did what any lonely married guy would do: I looked up places Guy Fieri's taken his show and visited the closest one.
When I arrived, the parking lot was packed and the line was out the door. I didn't check the washing machines out and at a glance the car wash seemed just alright, so I knew the crowd must have been there for the food. As I waited, I scanned the menu and read about their philosophy (the SOL philosophy), and knew that this was my kinda place. What can I say, I'm a sucker for sustainable, organic, and locally grown things. Example: as Anne can attest, I am picky to a fault about the softness of our toilet paper and will only acquiesce to something stiffer than 12-ply (ok, does that even exist?) if it is made from something recycled or sustainable. I await the day I can buy locally grown, organic Charmin Ultra, but something tells me that day will never come. And until it does (or doesn't), I'll continue fighting the mental battle I face when I go down the toilet paper aisle.
Okay, back to The Cove.
So I'm waiting in line, and everyone starts raving about the fish tacos. But this isn't just your average raving. People are breaking social norms and telling people they don't know (like me, the lonely married guy) that not only did they order the fish tacos but that I needed to order them as well. The fish taco chatter was weird but I decided to give it a go and try 'em out. I mean, how could that many people be wrong? (I don't want to get political, but this would be a great place to insert a picture of any number of politicians. Instead, I give you a picture of the tacos.)
Shortly after ordering, the tacos came, I ate, and I hate to say it but the tacos were mediocre at best. I don't know what the kind patrons of The Cove are using as their standard for fish tacos, but in my opinion they were no better than (or in other words they were worse than) Wahoo's or even Rubio's fish tacos. Don't get me wrong, they weren't all that bad--it's just that they weren't all that good either. I mean, I ate them in their entirety (not that that's ever an indication of quality, thank you McDonald's Dollar Menu). I would have finished the baby spinach salad they came with, too, if it weren't for the bee that wouldn't leave me alone. 50 people sitting at picnic tables and the bee chooses me. I had visions of Anne coming home to a swollen husband à la Bear Grylls in Man vs. Wild.
I am happy to report, however, that after my romantic dinner for one I escaped The Cove bee sting free, wishing all the while that I had done what I always wish I had done after I eat at a new restaurant: that I had ordered what Google, San Antonio Magazine, and Guy Fieri had told me to order and not what everyone in line was ordering. I always do this thing where I order the most exotic thing on the menu (or what the waiter doesn't explicitly recommend--elk and cow tongue to name a couple of mealtime mistakes). Had I followed Fieri's recommendation instead of the weird lady in line's idea of a good meal I could have left with a stomach full of organic Texas beef and no run-of-the-mill fish tacos.
On the bright side, the taco incident gives me a reason to go back. I mean, I didn't hate the tacos and I really want to try the burgers. Knowing me, though, I'll go back and get distracted by some new item on the menu or whatever the guests are raving about that day and end up not getting a burger, hating what I order, blogging about what I hated, and vowing to return to get that burger. I really only see this benefiting The Cove.
But as the French say: C'est la vie...
...and as I emphatically add: especially my vie.
It's called The Cove. At worst, it's San Antonio's answer to the clarion call for business diversification. Conversely, it's the hippest place to eat in the Deco District (that's right, San Antonio has a Deco District, as in art deco, as in don't get excited, it's just a street with a grocery store that belongs on Nick at Night). In one convenient and crazy place you can clean your clothes, wash your car, and eat a sustainable, organic, and locally grown meal (SOL food, as they call it). What'd you expect, chili dogs and Hostess Snacks?
Finding myself alone last Friday night (Anne's in my hometown visiting the people I grew up with. How's that for weird?), I did what any lonely married guy would do: I looked up places Guy Fieri's taken his show and visited the closest one.
When I arrived, the parking lot was packed and the line was out the door. I didn't check the washing machines out and at a glance the car wash seemed just alright, so I knew the crowd must have been there for the food. As I waited, I scanned the menu and read about their philosophy (the SOL philosophy), and knew that this was my kinda place. What can I say, I'm a sucker for sustainable, organic, and locally grown things. Example: as Anne can attest, I am picky to a fault about the softness of our toilet paper and will only acquiesce to something stiffer than 12-ply (ok, does that even exist?) if it is made from something recycled or sustainable. I await the day I can buy locally grown, organic Charmin Ultra, but something tells me that day will never come. And until it does (or doesn't), I'll continue fighting the mental battle I face when I go down the toilet paper aisle.
Okay, back to The Cove.
So I'm waiting in line, and everyone starts raving about the fish tacos. But this isn't just your average raving. People are breaking social norms and telling people they don't know (like me, the lonely married guy) that not only did they order the fish tacos but that I needed to order them as well. The fish taco chatter was weird but I decided to give it a go and try 'em out. I mean, how could that many people be wrong? (I don't want to get political, but this would be a great place to insert a picture of any number of politicians. Instead, I give you a picture of the tacos.)
Shortly after ordering, the tacos came, I ate, and I hate to say it but the tacos were mediocre at best. I don't know what the kind patrons of The Cove are using as their standard for fish tacos, but in my opinion they were no better than (or in other words they were worse than) Wahoo's or even Rubio's fish tacos. Don't get me wrong, they weren't all that bad--it's just that they weren't all that good either. I mean, I ate them in their entirety (not that that's ever an indication of quality, thank you McDonald's Dollar Menu). I would have finished the baby spinach salad they came with, too, if it weren't for the bee that wouldn't leave me alone. 50 people sitting at picnic tables and the bee chooses me. I had visions of Anne coming home to a swollen husband à la Bear Grylls in Man vs. Wild.
I am happy to report, however, that after my romantic dinner for one I escaped The Cove bee sting free, wishing all the while that I had done what I always wish I had done after I eat at a new restaurant: that I had ordered what Google, San Antonio Magazine, and Guy Fieri had told me to order and not what everyone in line was ordering. I always do this thing where I order the most exotic thing on the menu (or what the waiter doesn't explicitly recommend--elk and cow tongue to name a couple of mealtime mistakes). Had I followed Fieri's recommendation instead of the weird lady in line's idea of a good meal I could have left with a stomach full of organic Texas beef and no run-of-the-mill fish tacos.
On the bright side, the taco incident gives me a reason to go back. I mean, I didn't hate the tacos and I really want to try the burgers. Knowing me, though, I'll go back and get distracted by some new item on the menu or whatever the guests are raving about that day and end up not getting a burger, hating what I order, blogging about what I hated, and vowing to return to get that burger. I really only see this benefiting The Cove.
But as the French say: C'est la vie...
...and as I emphatically add: especially my vie.
04 July 2010
Happy Fourth of July
You can bet I'm wearing the same shirt I always do.
Happy Independence Day, everybody.
Happy Independence Day, everybody.
03 July 2010
The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill
Movies evoke all kinds of emotions in their viewers. Some make you laugh, some make you cry, and some make you realize how many weirdos there are out there. The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill definitely falls into that last category: it's a movie that makes you happy you are you and you're not a jobless squatter taking care of and naming non-native parrots on San Francisco's Telegraph Hill. Oops, SPOILER ALERT, I kinda just ruined the film for you. Oh well, it's not like you were gonna see it anyway. And if you were, here's one more spoiler that might deter you. In the end, the jobless squatter is evicted and starts dating the documentary's director. Definitely a case of truth trumping fiction.
I first (and last) watched the film about a year ago with my then future in-laws in a minivan between Chicago's MDW and Traverse City, Michigan. Me being the conscientious future son-in-law that I was thought it would be nice to load up my iPod with movies for our trip to a lake house in Michigan. Of course, I picked The Wild Parrots... and Helvetica, a documentary about a typeface. Now you're getting jealous you weren't there, huh? To make it even better, I pressed play before we even left the Chicago city limits. If you're wondering what my reasoning was, let's just say I'm impulsive and didn't put a whole lot of thought into it. There, I've said it.
Though it has been a year since that fateful minivan ride, nary a week has passed where I don't at least mention the lead parrot Connor and his tragic death by hawk (look out, another spoiler). Someday I hope to make a trek to SF so I can see the birds myself and get them out of my system. Until then, I pray they aren't prey and that the people of T-hill are kind to them. After I find them, they can be deported or poached or whatever.
The closest I have gotten to living out my dream has been by living vicariously through Cody (as seen here after New Years on the Pima reservation). The Code Man is currently interning in SF and working on the laundry list of things I have sent him to do for me. Number one on the list, right before visiting the Full House house and eating Rice-A-Roni: The San Francisco Treat (numbers two and three respectively), is finding the birds and reporting back to me. I am ecstatic to say he went to T-hill yesterday but am saddened by the fact that the birds were AWOL.
I'd like to say that his trek provides me with some sort of closure, but I think closure won't come until I find (or don't find) the birds myself. Who's with me? Let's go find those birds so they can stop plaguing my thoughts on an almost weekly basis.
I first (and last) watched the film about a year ago with my then future in-laws in a minivan between Chicago's MDW and Traverse City, Michigan. Me being the conscientious future son-in-law that I was thought it would be nice to load up my iPod with movies for our trip to a lake house in Michigan. Of course, I picked The Wild Parrots... and Helvetica, a documentary about a typeface. Now you're getting jealous you weren't there, huh? To make it even better, I pressed play before we even left the Chicago city limits. If you're wondering what my reasoning was, let's just say I'm impulsive and didn't put a whole lot of thought into it. There, I've said it.
Though it has been a year since that fateful minivan ride, nary a week has passed where I don't at least mention the lead parrot Connor and his tragic death by hawk (look out, another spoiler). Someday I hope to make a trek to SF so I can see the birds myself and get them out of my system. Until then, I pray they aren't prey and that the people of T-hill are kind to them. After I find them, they can be deported or poached or whatever.
The closest I have gotten to living out my dream has been by living vicariously through Cody (as seen here after New Years on the Pima reservation). The Code Man is currently interning in SF and working on the laundry list of things I have sent him to do for me. Number one on the list, right before visiting the Full House house and eating Rice-A-Roni: The San Francisco Treat (numbers two and three respectively), is finding the birds and reporting back to me. I am ecstatic to say he went to T-hill yesterday but am saddened by the fact that the birds were AWOL.
I'd like to say that his trek provides me with some sort of closure, but I think closure won't come until I find (or don't find) the birds myself. Who's with me? Let's go find those birds so they can stop plaguing my thoughts on an almost weekly basis.
02 July 2010
Relaxing Getaway @ Hyatt Lost Pines Resort
As all three readers of my blog already know, Anne and I spent a few days a week or two ago on our first little getaway. Fully funded by my company--a reward for our outstanding-ness--it was extremely affordable (free always is), relaxing, and eventful.
Okay, not eventful--momentous. That's right, momentous.
All of my married life (indeed, all 11 months of it), I've been listening to Anne talk about how she hates horses, that she's scared of horses, and that every time she gets near a horse the horse can sense her fear and starts to do little things that only she can see that provoke her and make her never want to be around horses ever again.
So imagine my surprise when Anne said she wanted to go horseback riding. I guess it was a testament to her "when you fall off the horse you've gotta get back on and ride again" attitude. Or maybe she has a penchant for fear and needed her fix. Whatever was driving her, a-horseback riding we did go.
On the drive up to the corral I could tell Anne was getting a little overworked about the looming horse experience. I had seen that overworked Anne all too well when I met her on the top of the Sundance Resort in the dead of winter just six months prior. She doesn't freak out at the bottom in time to not get on the lift and not get off at the back mountain where the only way down is on your skis. No, she waits 'til the top of the mountain where I have to panic and think of asking a nice ski patrolman to toboggan her to safety.
As a testament to Anne she always overcomes and ends up enjoying herself, but those moments leading up to the event can be tense. She'll probably kill me when she reads this because the pre-horse tensity was nothing compared to the near ski-death experience/meltdown we had at Sundance. But as she let you all (all three of you, yes) know here, I live to get a rise out of her. So back to the story.
As we waited for our horses, things were getting a little tense. Anne was nervous and I was trying to assuage her fears by making jokes about the situation, which usually only intensifies the problem. (I'll have to find a better coping mechanism.) When we were finally assigned horses, Anne got the sluggish and slow Jazz and I got the former racehorse Pokey. Jazz took his own sweet time on the trail (to my chagrin and Anne's delight) and Pokey galloped every chance he got (literally). If there were five feet between me and the next horse, he would gallop and then slam on the brakes.
When the ride was over, we took our horses to the water trough, which only made me think of the adage "you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." Maybe one of you horse savvy readers can fill me in, but why is that adage even necessary? Sure, you can't make him drink, but he probably will anyway. At least that was the case with Pokey and Jazz, who we found out are bitter waterhole rivals. In the picture above, I was trying to climb down Pokey's neck to recover the reins he had yanked out of my hands as he and Jazz bit each other as a show of their extreme disdain for sharing the same trough.
As we dismounted, Anne walked away a confident horse riding woman and I walked away bowlegged and saddle sore.
We spent the rest of our time at the resort winding around the lazy river, eating smores, walking the banks of the Colorado River, getting attacked by mosquitoes, buying overpriced resort bug spray, never using said overpriced resort bug spray, and bringing home a full can of overpriced resort bug spray as a souvenir.
Okay, not eventful--momentous. That's right, momentous.
All of my married life (indeed, all 11 months of it), I've been listening to Anne talk about how she hates horses, that she's scared of horses, and that every time she gets near a horse the horse can sense her fear and starts to do little things that only she can see that provoke her and make her never want to be around horses ever again.
So imagine my surprise when Anne said she wanted to go horseback riding. I guess it was a testament to her "when you fall off the horse you've gotta get back on and ride again" attitude. Or maybe she has a penchant for fear and needed her fix. Whatever was driving her, a-horseback riding we did go.
On the drive up to the corral I could tell Anne was getting a little overworked about the looming horse experience. I had seen that overworked Anne all too well when I met her on the top of the Sundance Resort in the dead of winter just six months prior. She doesn't freak out at the bottom in time to not get on the lift and not get off at the back mountain where the only way down is on your skis. No, she waits 'til the top of the mountain where I have to panic and think of asking a nice ski patrolman to toboggan her to safety.
As a testament to Anne she always overcomes and ends up enjoying herself, but those moments leading up to the event can be tense. She'll probably kill me when she reads this because the pre-horse tensity was nothing compared to the near ski-death experience/meltdown we had at Sundance. But as she let you all (all three of you, yes) know here, I live to get a rise out of her. So back to the story.
As we waited for our horses, things were getting a little tense. Anne was nervous and I was trying to assuage her fears by making jokes about the situation, which usually only intensifies the problem. (I'll have to find a better coping mechanism.) When we were finally assigned horses, Anne got the sluggish and slow Jazz and I got the former racehorse Pokey. Jazz took his own sweet time on the trail (to my chagrin and Anne's delight) and Pokey galloped every chance he got (literally). If there were five feet between me and the next horse, he would gallop and then slam on the brakes.
When the ride was over, we took our horses to the water trough, which only made me think of the adage "you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make him drink." Maybe one of you horse savvy readers can fill me in, but why is that adage even necessary? Sure, you can't make him drink, but he probably will anyway. At least that was the case with Pokey and Jazz, who we found out are bitter waterhole rivals. In the picture above, I was trying to climb down Pokey's neck to recover the reins he had yanked out of my hands as he and Jazz bit each other as a show of their extreme disdain for sharing the same trough.
As we dismounted, Anne walked away a confident horse riding woman and I walked away bowlegged and saddle sore.
We spent the rest of our time at the resort winding around the lazy river, eating smores, walking the banks of the Colorado River, getting attacked by mosquitoes, buying overpriced resort bug spray, never using said overpriced resort bug spray, and bringing home a full can of overpriced resort bug spray as a souvenir.
01 July 2010
"Don't call it a comeback"
I'm back! Did you miss me?
It has been an extremely eventful 8 months, and I've got so much to tell you. So here's a top-ten list of things that have happened since my last post:
10. Anne graduated, got a full-time job as a pastry chef, and hasn't gotten in a car accident for over a year
9. J.D. Salinger died
8. Anne got her first two cavities
7. We bought a fish (as seen here)
6. I found out Nick Jonas has diabetes (three years after the world found out)
5. We dealt with my quarter-life crisis (though I'm sure I'll be having fraction-of-life crises my whole life)
4. I said goodbye to Jenny the Asian (as seen here and here) and hello to Betty and Georgio
3. I started DVR-ing Late Night with Jimmy Fallon
2. We watched Oprah today
1. Hurricane Alex hit the Texas coast and we got rained in (thus the Oprah Show)
Okay, so it wasn't exactly the most dramatic period of my life and I did struggle a little bit coming up with that list. But don't be fooled, I was extremely affected by all of those events.
I think what it all comes down to is I want to blog again, but I couldn't move forward until I made blogging closure with the past. So there you have it, my blogging closure.
Now indulge me as I quote LL Cool J:
Don't call it a comeback
I been here for years
I didn't go anywhere, I was just on sabbatical.
It has been an extremely eventful 8 months, and I've got so much to tell you. So here's a top-ten list of things that have happened since my last post:
10. Anne graduated, got a full-time job as a pastry chef, and hasn't gotten in a car accident for over a year
9. J.D. Salinger died
8. Anne got her first two cavities
7. We bought a fish (as seen here)
6. I found out Nick Jonas has diabetes (three years after the world found out)
5. We dealt with my quarter-life crisis (though I'm sure I'll be having fraction-of-life crises my whole life)
4. I said goodbye to Jenny the Asian (as seen here and here) and hello to Betty and Georgio
3. I started DVR-ing Late Night with Jimmy Fallon
2. We watched Oprah today
1. Hurricane Alex hit the Texas coast and we got rained in (thus the Oprah Show)
Okay, so it wasn't exactly the most dramatic period of my life and I did struggle a little bit coming up with that list. But don't be fooled, I was extremely affected by all of those events.
I think what it all comes down to is I want to blog again, but I couldn't move forward until I made blogging closure with the past. So there you have it, my blogging closure.
Now indulge me as I quote LL Cool J:
Don't call it a comeback
I been here for years
I didn't go anywhere, I was just on sabbatical.
07 January 2010
Meet the Newest Member of our Family
Something is seriously wrong with Michael...no blogging since October! Don't worry I'll get down to the bottom of it, and until I do I will blog about the newest member of our family...
Meet Edgar
I apologize for the fuzziness, Edgar did not like the camera.
Edgar is a cichlid, but he looks like a goldfish. Michael and I received many wonderful presents this Christmas, two of them being a fish tank and a gift card to Petco (thanks mom and dad). Several days after returning home from our vacation we headed to Petco to fill our new tank. We both wanted to get an African cichlid,
but the Fish Nazi (we'll get to him later) wouldn't sell us one. So we took home Edgar, instead. It's probably for the best. Apparently African cichlids can reach up to 10 inches in length, so one probably wouldn't do very well in our 12 inch tank.
Edgar, however, seems to be doing well. We've had him for three days and he hasn't died yet. With my fish record, that is nothing short of a miracle. Every fish I'd ever previously owned died within two days.
He enjoys his cichlid fish pellets and he loves his rock. He prefers the tank light to be off and he doesn't seem to like it when I wake him at 4 a.m. as I'm getting ready for work.
Had it been up to the Petco Fish Nazi, we wouldn't have taken home a fish that night, because we hadn't let our filled tank sit long enough. He grilled us with questions about the size of our tank and the type of light it has. Michael and I scrambled for answers and probably made some up. He insisted that we purchase a background (so the fish's color would really pop) and a $30 water heater all for our $5 fish.
I was ready to give into the fish Nazi, but Michael held strong. When he wasn't looking, we ditched the water heater and headed for the register before he could take Edgar away from us.
The most awkward moment of the night was when the Fish Nazi was informing us about the different types of fish at the store. The Tetra's, he explained, needed to be purchased in groups of three. Alone, a Tetra would get so stressed that he would die in a matter of days. The thought of a freaked out lonely fish hectically swimming around and suddenly dying seemed slightly amusing to us and Michael said out loud, "Oh, that's funny." The Fish Nazi's response: "Not to the Tetra."
Until next time,
Anne
Meet Edgar
I apologize for the fuzziness, Edgar did not like the camera.
Edgar is a cichlid, but he looks like a goldfish. Michael and I received many wonderful presents this Christmas, two of them being a fish tank and a gift card to Petco (thanks mom and dad). Several days after returning home from our vacation we headed to Petco to fill our new tank. We both wanted to get an African cichlid,
but the Fish Nazi (we'll get to him later) wouldn't sell us one. So we took home Edgar, instead. It's probably for the best. Apparently African cichlids can reach up to 10 inches in length, so one probably wouldn't do very well in our 12 inch tank.
Edgar, however, seems to be doing well. We've had him for three days and he hasn't died yet. With my fish record, that is nothing short of a miracle. Every fish I'd ever previously owned died within two days.
He enjoys his cichlid fish pellets and he loves his rock. He prefers the tank light to be off and he doesn't seem to like it when I wake him at 4 a.m. as I'm getting ready for work.
Had it been up to the Petco Fish Nazi, we wouldn't have taken home a fish that night, because we hadn't let our filled tank sit long enough. He grilled us with questions about the size of our tank and the type of light it has. Michael and I scrambled for answers and probably made some up. He insisted that we purchase a background (so the fish's color would really pop) and a $30 water heater all for our $5 fish.
I was ready to give into the fish Nazi, but Michael held strong. When he wasn't looking, we ditched the water heater and headed for the register before he could take Edgar away from us.
The most awkward moment of the night was when the Fish Nazi was informing us about the different types of fish at the store. The Tetra's, he explained, needed to be purchased in groups of three. Alone, a Tetra would get so stressed that he would die in a matter of days. The thought of a freaked out lonely fish hectically swimming around and suddenly dying seemed slightly amusing to us and Michael said out loud, "Oh, that's funny." The Fish Nazi's response: "Not to the Tetra."
Until next time,
Anne
11 November 2009
10 Things I Didn't Know...
Keeping in tradition with the title of this blog (Michael: More Than You Ever Wanted to Know), I decided that it is my wifely duty give you a little insight into the REAL Michael. These last three months with Michael have certainly been an adventure. So, I present to you a list of the 10 things I didn't know about Michael.
1. Michael is a neat freak. There, I said it. I feel like I am a relatively clean person. However, my passion for clean has been put to shame during the last few months. Clean laundry is very important to Michael. I have found myself using a bathroom towel only twice before Michael whisks it away to be washed. Michael's love for a freshly mopped floor and dusted apartment is only surpassed by his love for me (I hope).
2. Michael is always in search of new and sometimes bizarre health habits. Many of you know that Michael regularly drinks apple cider vinegar.
But you may not know about his obsession with our recently purchased Neti Pot used for nasal irrigation. Basically it's a small teapot that you fill with saline solution. Just pour the solution into one nostril and watch it flush out your sinuses.
3. Michael enjoys scaring me. I will be painting my nails in the bathroom only to finish and find that the rest of the lights in the apartment have been turned off and Michael is nowhere in sight. The first time this happened I thought that Michael had run out to get something. Before I ever had a chance to turn a light on Michael jumped out of his hiding place screaming/squealing. I'm slowly learning and can usually catch him in the act.
4. If you tell Michael you don't like the song that's playing on the radio he will likely turn it up. Just as he is likely to slow the car down when you tell him you have to use the bathroom on the way home from a movie.
5. Along with getting Michael on August 8th 2009, I also received several other "gems". One small puppet penguin that is often thrown at me during unsuspecting times, a tin man alarm clock, a dashboard hula dancer, and a bedazzeled skull named Leonard. (Ok the last one came after we were married but it was given in honor of Michael's Ed Hardy shoes, so I consider it his).
6. Michael has a very distinct bedtime ritual. He drinks a glass of apple cider vinegar, flosses his teeth, brushes his teeth, washes his face, takes his vitamin pills (and vitamin D spray), turns off the light, plugs in his phone, sends a few texts, and sets his alarm. Then he's ready to sleep.
7. Michael loves to cook and he is very very good at it. Every meal he has made was delicious, which is more than I can say about some of the meals I've attempted.
8. Michael has a special place in his heart for weird movies. Baby Jane was just the tip of the iceberg.
3. Michael enjoys scaring me. I will be painting my nails in the bathroom only to finish and find that the rest of the lights in the apartment have been turned off and Michael is nowhere in sight. The first time this happened I thought that Michael had run out to get something. Before I ever had a chance to turn a light on Michael jumped out of his hiding place screaming/squealing. I'm slowly learning and can usually catch him in the act.
4. If you tell Michael you don't like the song that's playing on the radio he will likely turn it up. Just as he is likely to slow the car down when you tell him you have to use the bathroom on the way home from a movie.
5. Along with getting Michael on August 8th 2009, I also received several other "gems". One small puppet penguin that is often thrown at me during unsuspecting times, a tin man alarm clock, a dashboard hula dancer, and a bedazzeled skull named Leonard. (Ok the last one came after we were married but it was given in honor of Michael's Ed Hardy shoes, so I consider it his).
6. Michael has a very distinct bedtime ritual. He drinks a glass of apple cider vinegar, flosses his teeth, brushes his teeth, washes his face, takes his vitamin pills (and vitamin D spray), turns off the light, plugs in his phone, sends a few texts, and sets his alarm. Then he's ready to sleep.
7. Michael loves to cook and he is very very good at it. Every meal he has made was delicious, which is more than I can say about some of the meals I've attempted.
8. Michael has a special place in his heart for weird movies. Baby Jane was just the tip of the iceberg.
There was also Rumba, Lars and the Real Girl, The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill, Helvitica, and Year of the Dog. Check out any of those previously mentioned at your own discretion.
9. Michael loves his family. I was born into a loving, wonderful family, and I have been lucky enough to marry into another loving, wonderful family. Michael loves his family and doesn't go a day without talking to, or texting, at least one of them.
10. Michael is an extremely caring and compassionate husband.
I guess I had an idea about this one before the wedding day. But, I don't think I completely realized how amazing he was until we tied the knot. He may have his quirks, but I do in fact love every single one, except for maybe that scaring thing. Yeah, I could do without that one.
Well, there you have it. Now your knowledge of Michael is even more extensive. Feel free to bring up any of these items the next time you see him. I'm sure he'll appreciate it.
Until next time,
Anne
15 October 2009
Michael Martin Murphy or John Michael Montgomery?
I don't know if this is a real memory, or something I made up today, but it made me laugh so much that I had to share it with y'all.
Back when John Michael Montgomery was singing about the Grundy County Auction, Robyn (my sister) had to have his album. She asked for it for Christmas, and my dad (or Santa, I can't remember) tried his best to deliver.
When Christmas morning came around, Robyn's heart was broken when she opened up a CD-shaped package only to find Michael Martin Murphy's (not John Michael Montgomery's) face staring back at her.
And wouldn't you be heartbroken, too? I mean, compare their pictures.
John Michael Montgomery looks like someone Robyn's teenage heart could have crushed all over.
Michael Martin Murphy looks like Chuck Norris with a cowboy hat on.
See what I mean?
Back when John Michael Montgomery was singing about the Grundy County Auction, Robyn (my sister) had to have his album. She asked for it for Christmas, and my dad (or Santa, I can't remember) tried his best to deliver.
When Christmas morning came around, Robyn's heart was broken when she opened up a CD-shaped package only to find Michael Martin Murphy's (not John Michael Montgomery's) face staring back at her.
And wouldn't you be heartbroken, too? I mean, compare their pictures.
John Michael Montgomery looks like someone Robyn's teenage heart could have crushed all over.
Michael Martin Murphy looks like Chuck Norris with a cowboy hat on.
See what I mean?
12 October 2009
Ragnar Relay Las Vegas 2009
On the last leg, I told my teammates that I didn't come to Vegas to drive the losing team to the finish line. Even though I was being sarcastic, they were in no way the losing team.
Besides coming to the Ragnar Relay's Las Vegas Series to be the driver of a non-losing team, I came to spend the weekend with friends and family in a seven passenger car as we worked as a team to relay across a 171 mile course that started at the Clark County Fairgrounds and ended at the Red Rock Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.
We spent a lot of time together and covered a lot of ground. Here are a few pictures to help you get a photo-recap of the weekend.
The team ran all day and all night and then all day again. By the end we were tired and a little loopy (especially Joe before his last leg).
After seeing the race first hand, I might be tempted to do more than drive the next time Robyn asks me to participate.
Besides coming to the Ragnar Relay's Las Vegas Series to be the driver of a non-losing team, I came to spend the weekend with friends and family in a seven passenger car as we worked as a team to relay across a 171 mile course that started at the Clark County Fairgrounds and ended at the Red Rock Hotel and Casino in Las Vegas.
We spent a lot of time together and covered a lot of ground. Here are a few pictures to help you get a photo-recap of the weekend.
The team ran all day and all night and then all day again. By the end we were tired and a little loopy (especially Joe before his last leg).
After seeing the race first hand, I might be tempted to do more than drive the next time Robyn asks me to participate.
06 October 2009
Eins, Zwei, Zuffa
When you're a Mormon attending Utah's version of Oktoberfest, the only activities you're going to be able to participate in are those loosely linked with, but not at the center of, the original Bavarian celebration. That is, you're not going to be able to drink beer, so you're going to have to settle for Americanized polka dancing, $10 Johnsonville bratwursts (the least Bavarian of all the brats), and the alpine slide.
On Labor Day, Anne and I decided to give it a shot and see how well Utah could do Oktoberfest. We went with hopes of enjoying our German heritage, doing German things, and especially finding some German lederhosen for me und a German dirndl for Anne.
Our hopes were shattered after searching the Oktoberfest market, where all we could find were Mexican bracelets, knockoff sunglasses, and blankets emblazoned with wolves, bears, and other North American (or non-German) animals.
In dire need of a distraction from the very disappointing market, we headed up the hill to wait two hours to take the 30 second ride down the alpine slide. It was fun, but still not German enough.
So, in a last ditch effort to do something German, we ordered and ate the $10 brats (each with a side of $5 sauerkraut), and topped off our meal with some German chocolate cake (the least German of all the cakes--except in name).
While we ate, the polka band made us feel a little bit closer to our German roots. I mean, they did play some polka music...before they ended their set with an Irish jig.
On Labor Day, Anne and I decided to give it a shot and see how well Utah could do Oktoberfest. We went with hopes of enjoying our German heritage, doing German things, and especially finding some German lederhosen for me und a German dirndl for Anne.
Our hopes were shattered after searching the Oktoberfest market, where all we could find were Mexican bracelets, knockoff sunglasses, and blankets emblazoned with wolves, bears, and other North American (or non-German) animals.
In dire need of a distraction from the very disappointing market, we headed up the hill to wait two hours to take the 30 second ride down the alpine slide. It was fun, but still not German enough.
So, in a last ditch effort to do something German, we ordered and ate the $10 brats (each with a side of $5 sauerkraut), and topped off our meal with some German chocolate cake (the least German of all the cakes--except in name).
While we ate, the polka band made us feel a little bit closer to our German roots. I mean, they did play some polka music...before they ended their set with an Irish jig.
28 September 2009
Baby Jane Hudson
As part of my continuing efforts to initiate Anne to Michael's Weird and Obscure Movie Club, I recently rented Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
(The initiation process has been going on since we started dating, and will continue until she decides to get onto our Blockbuster Online account and add some movies of her choice to the queue.)
I first saw Baby Jane when I was in high school. It was one of those serendipitous meetings. I was flipping the channels late at night and stopped on AMC long enough to get a glimpse of Baby Jane (played by Bette Davis) doing something crazy.
The crazy factor kept me watching intently until the movie ended and led me to eventually renting and falling in like with the crazy characters, the crazy" plot, and the crazy surprise ending.
So next time you find yourself in the mood for two and a half hours of crazy (or, as in Anne's case, you find yourself with someone who's always up for crazy), go out and rent Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
If you're only in the mood for two minutes of crazy, watch this.
Welcome to Michael's Weird and Obscure Movie Club.
(The initiation process has been going on since we started dating, and will continue until she decides to get onto our Blockbuster Online account and add some movies of her choice to the queue.)
I first saw Baby Jane when I was in high school. It was one of those serendipitous meetings. I was flipping the channels late at night and stopped on AMC long enough to get a glimpse of Baby Jane (played by Bette Davis) doing something crazy.
The crazy factor kept me watching intently until the movie ended and led me to eventually renting and falling in like with the crazy characters, the crazy" plot, and the crazy surprise ending.
So next time you find yourself in the mood for two and a half hours of crazy (or, as in Anne's case, you find yourself with someone who's always up for crazy), go out and rent Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?
If you're only in the mood for two minutes of crazy, watch this.
Welcome to Michael's Weird and Obscure Movie Club.
27 September 2009
The Killers at the E Center
After a semi-hiatus from the blog (semi because for 6 months I put up two posts, and they were both the result of a self-imposed family birthday related obligation), I am back.
What brought me back, you ask? Anne would like me to tell you I'm back to blog about the wedding, honeymoon, and subsequent marital bliss that is now my life.
Though entertaining, those subjects will all have to wait. I mean, I like blogging about weddings, but there is something else out there that I love even more (and as that girl from 10 Things I Hate About You let us know, there's a difference between like and love).
Okay, so I'll get to the point.
Tonight, Anne and I attended our first post-wedding concert. Actually, besides the BYU Phil and the Utah Symphony, it was the first concert ever in the history of Anne and Michael.
And yes, there were two outrageously drunk, middle-aged men to the right of us that had the craziest dance moves you can imagine.
And yes, there were two daddy-chaperones (out with their daughters) on our left who had their hands over their ears for most of the show.
And no, sadly, I didn't get any pictures.
But I did live to blog about it, so please, imagine the most outrageous characters you can think of, and know that they were ALL in attendance at tonight's show.
Oh, and if you didn't pick it up from the title, we went to see The Killers at the E Center.
Imagine the glitz, the glamor, and the lights of the old strip in Vegas (their hometown), then imagine taking all that on tour, with a modern man in black at the helm. There were lights, there were fireworks, and there was music. And good music, at that.
Now, I know what you're all wondering. Your asking yourselves, "Why do they call themselves The Killers?" Check out out this Jimmy Kimmel skit below for the answer.
Common sense could've told me that.
--
So now that I'm back, maybe I'll blog about the wedding.
And maybe I'll blog about the honeymoon.
And maybe I'll blog about my summer.
And...
And...
And...
Stay tuned.
What brought me back, you ask? Anne would like me to tell you I'm back to blog about the wedding, honeymoon, and subsequent marital bliss that is now my life.
Though entertaining, those subjects will all have to wait. I mean, I like blogging about weddings, but there is something else out there that I love even more (and as that girl from 10 Things I Hate About You let us know, there's a difference between like and love).
Okay, so I'll get to the point.
Tonight, Anne and I attended our first post-wedding concert. Actually, besides the BYU Phil and the Utah Symphony, it was the first concert ever in the history of Anne and Michael.
And yes, there were two outrageously drunk, middle-aged men to the right of us that had the craziest dance moves you can imagine.
And yes, there were two daddy-chaperones (out with their daughters) on our left who had their hands over their ears for most of the show.
And no, sadly, I didn't get any pictures.
But I did live to blog about it, so please, imagine the most outrageous characters you can think of, and know that they were ALL in attendance at tonight's show.
Oh, and if you didn't pick it up from the title, we went to see The Killers at the E Center.
Imagine the glitz, the glamor, and the lights of the old strip in Vegas (their hometown), then imagine taking all that on tour, with a modern man in black at the helm. There were lights, there were fireworks, and there was music. And good music, at that.
Now, I know what you're all wondering. Your asking yourselves, "Why do they call themselves The Killers?" Check out out this Jimmy Kimmel skit below for the answer.
Common sense could've told me that.
--
So now that I'm back, maybe I'll blog about the wedding.
And maybe I'll blog about the honeymoon.
And maybe I'll blog about my summer.
And...
And...
And...
Stay tuned.
01 August 2009
An Embarrassing Story About Robyn on Her Birthday
Robyn's turning 29, so here's a great picture and a great story to help her (and us) celebrate.
We are a family of fair-skinned sun-lovers. However, it isn't a healthy relationship--when everyone else gets tanner, we get pinker. Robyn isn't an exception to this rule, though I think she wishes more than the rest of us that she were.
Growing up, she spent the most time tanning (or pinking). That means she also got the most warnings about skin cancer from our parents. Despite the warnings, she hated sun screen, and probably can count on one hand how many times she wore it while in high school.
One of the few times she applied sunscreen, she decided to use it only to strategically cover her moles. After the sun had set and the burns had appeared, she was a spotted mess.
And that's why we love Robyn!
She's in Vegas right now for the weekend with her friends, and you can bet she's spending some time by the pool. Let's just hope that she doesn't come home spotted this time. (But if she does, hopefully there will be pictures and blogs to follow.)
Happy birthday, Robyn.
We are a family of fair-skinned sun-lovers. However, it isn't a healthy relationship--when everyone else gets tanner, we get pinker. Robyn isn't an exception to this rule, though I think she wishes more than the rest of us that she were.
Growing up, she spent the most time tanning (or pinking). That means she also got the most warnings about skin cancer from our parents. Despite the warnings, she hated sun screen, and probably can count on one hand how many times she wore it while in high school.
One of the few times she applied sunscreen, she decided to use it only to strategically cover her moles. After the sun had set and the burns had appeared, she was a spotted mess.
And that's why we love Robyn!
She's in Vegas right now for the weekend with her friends, and you can bet she's spending some time by the pool. Let's just hope that she doesn't come home spotted this time. (But if she does, hopefully there will be pictures and blogs to follow.)
Happy birthday, Robyn.
20 April 2009
Mom's 28 Years and 12 Days Old
Happy Birthday, Mom (12 Days Ago...)!
28 years ago (don't do the math, it's disturbing), my mom was born. At the beginning of April, we were lucky enough to have her out here so we could celebrate it all together. It was pretty great.
In thinking about this post, I've decided to share some of my favorite mom stories. She's an amazing woman with a huge heart and a lot of personality. If you're lucky to get to know her, you too will be amazed by the woman that she is.
Mom loves music, and has passed her passion on to me. When she was a teenager, she went to a Carlos Santana concert. Alice Cooper happened to be performing at that concert, too. She likes us to think that she went just for Carlos, but I know deep down that she was excited to see Mr. Cooper live.
You must realize that mom has quite a talent to see through facades and look at people for who they are beneath their make-up and theatrics.
I'm sure to her, Alice has always been a nice guy with an affinity for bats.
Now, when I was a teenager, Weezer came out with their single "Hash Pipe." At that point, MTV had taught me what a half pipe was and anyone who knows me now knows that I am very familiar with hash browns...
But the FCC hadn't allowed the media to teach me about hash pipes, yet. Innocently, as we were running some afternoon errands (with some of my friends along for the ride) and listening to "Hash Pipe" on KROQ or Star 98.7 (which was only allowed/tolerated with mom, not dad), I asked my mom what exactly a hash pipe was. In my mind, I think I had concocted some sort of McDonald's snack for skaters.
Mom, who had become all to familiar with hash pipes during her concert days in the 70s, told me the honest truth. I found out that it was a sort of skaters snack that made them crave McDonald's, but it wasn't even close to what I was picturing. I'm sure my friends thought I was an ignorant idiot, but to them, my mom was a superstar.
So, on that note, happy (belated) birthday to the coolest mom around.
Stay tuned next year for more stories.
28 years ago (don't do the math, it's disturbing), my mom was born. At the beginning of April, we were lucky enough to have her out here so we could celebrate it all together. It was pretty great.
In thinking about this post, I've decided to share some of my favorite mom stories. She's an amazing woman with a huge heart and a lot of personality. If you're lucky to get to know her, you too will be amazed by the woman that she is.
Mom loves music, and has passed her passion on to me. When she was a teenager, she went to a Carlos Santana concert. Alice Cooper happened to be performing at that concert, too. She likes us to think that she went just for Carlos, but I know deep down that she was excited to see Mr. Cooper live.
You must realize that mom has quite a talent to see through facades and look at people for who they are beneath their make-up and theatrics.
I'm sure to her, Alice has always been a nice guy with an affinity for bats.
Now, when I was a teenager, Weezer came out with their single "Hash Pipe." At that point, MTV had taught me what a half pipe was and anyone who knows me now knows that I am very familiar with hash browns...
But the FCC hadn't allowed the media to teach me about hash pipes, yet. Innocently, as we were running some afternoon errands (with some of my friends along for the ride) and listening to "Hash Pipe" on KROQ or Star 98.7 (which was only allowed/tolerated with mom, not dad), I asked my mom what exactly a hash pipe was. In my mind, I think I had concocted some sort of McDonald's snack for skaters.
Mom, who had become all to familiar with hash pipes during her concert days in the 70s, told me the honest truth. I found out that it was a sort of skaters snack that made them crave McDonald's, but it wasn't even close to what I was picturing. I'm sure my friends thought I was an ignorant idiot, but to them, my mom was a superstar.
So, on that note, happy (belated) birthday to the coolest mom around.
Stay tuned next year for more stories.
09 April 2009
Tonight, on Dateline.
For those of you who have been wondering what has been occupying my time and keeping me from blogging, this is it.
And this.
If you watch enough SNL sketches, you'll find at least one you actually like. If you're lucky, you'll find one that even makes you laugh.
And this.
If you watch enough SNL sketches, you'll find at least one you actually like. If you're lucky, you'll find one that even makes you laugh.
29 March 2009
The Birthday Festivities
I could try to make this funny, or witty, or whatever, but it's just gonna take too much effort.
So...
I had quite the birthday a few weeks ago, and I need to let those who made it great know that I actually appreciated what they did.
First off, I was treated to a trip home to Nashville by my parents. I think the original plan was to see me before I left the country for four months. Update: Peru is a no-go. I decided making money and getting married not-penniless was better than spending the summer abroad and coming home with a bank account that would get me the key to bum town. (Anne, what do you think? Rent's cheap, food's free...)
Nashville was fun. Unfortunately, the photo evidence of that trip is on my parents' computer.
Thanks, mom and dad.
When I got back to Salt Lake from Nashville, my grandma paid me a birthday visit at my sister's house.
Thanks, grandma.
Cody was glad when I got back to Provo. He wanted to show off his hard work at decorating my room.
Please notice that my bed has arms (Snuggie), and that my present is in a princess bag.
Cody wasn't actually the mastermind behind the decorations. He was just there to reach all the high places. When I saw the princess bag, I knew that this could only be the work of my friends Tammy and Melissa.
Thanks, Tammy and Melissa (and Chelsea and Callie...and Cody).
When I got to work the next day, I found a 20-pack of these in "my" drawer.
They can be purchased here.
Thanks, Chelsea (different Chelsea from the one mentioned above).
Later that night or week (I really don't remember now), Anne gave me her present, and then a week later, she constructed the birthday cake of all birthday cakes. I wish I had taken a picture of it. It was a real work of art. She took my favorite flavor (lime) and one of my favorite foods (cake) and turned it into a party in my mouth. Fantastic.
Thanks, Anne.
And thanks again to everyone that participated in the big two-four. I needed something like this to help me cope with the quarter-life crisis I've been having this last decade.
Happy birthday to me!
So...
I had quite the birthday a few weeks ago, and I need to let those who made it great know that I actually appreciated what they did.
First off, I was treated to a trip home to Nashville by my parents. I think the original plan was to see me before I left the country for four months. Update: Peru is a no-go. I decided making money and getting married not-penniless was better than spending the summer abroad and coming home with a bank account that would get me the key to bum town. (Anne, what do you think? Rent's cheap, food's free...)
Nashville was fun. Unfortunately, the photo evidence of that trip is on my parents' computer.
Thanks, mom and dad.
When I got back to Salt Lake from Nashville, my grandma paid me a birthday visit at my sister's house.
Thanks, grandma.
Cody was glad when I got back to Provo. He wanted to show off his hard work at decorating my room.
Please notice that my bed has arms (Snuggie), and that my present is in a princess bag.
Cody wasn't actually the mastermind behind the decorations. He was just there to reach all the high places. When I saw the princess bag, I knew that this could only be the work of my friends Tammy and Melissa.
Thanks, Tammy and Melissa (and Chelsea and Callie...and Cody).
When I got to work the next day, I found a 20-pack of these in "my" drawer.
They can be purchased here.
Thanks, Chelsea (different Chelsea from the one mentioned above).
Later that night or week (I really don't remember now), Anne gave me her present, and then a week later, she constructed the birthday cake of all birthday cakes. I wish I had taken a picture of it. It was a real work of art. She took my favorite flavor (lime) and one of my favorite foods (cake) and turned it into a party in my mouth. Fantastic.
Thanks, Anne.
And thanks again to everyone that participated in the big two-four. I needed something like this to help me cope with the quarter-life crisis I've been having this last decade.
Happy birthday to me!
17 March 2009
Save The Date!
To the surprised (and the not so surprised) readers of my blog, I hereby officially announce the engagement of Michael (me) to Anne (the girl).
We took some preliminary engagement pictures a while back. Let me know what you think.
Can't you see why I'm madly in love? Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Oh, and plan on August 8.
We took some preliminary engagement pictures a while back. Let me know what you think.
Can't you see why I'm madly in love? Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Oh, and plan on August 8.
13 March 2009
I love my coworkers!
This morning, I walked into the pastry kitchen at work, and all of the crew knew that my birthday was coming up. A few minutes later, I walked into the hot-food kitchen, and the sous chef asked me if my birthday was today or soon. When I asked her how she knew I was about to have a birthday, she said the banquet chef had told her. I was perplexed that everyone knew.
Later, when I was out on an event, I got a call from one of the consultants. She told me I needed to stop by her office sometime today. When the event was served, I walked back to our main office, curious about all the attention I had been getting about my pending birthday.
It all made sense when I was presented with 12 of these.
Apparently, they were made by both the sous chef and the pastry kitchen and most likely ordered by Candice, one of our consultants. A joint birthday celebration effort, if you will.
I know you're wondering, so let me just tell you. They are divine. Think of how much you love Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and then multiply that by 65 billion. That's how good they are.
For this, and many other reasons, I love my coworkers. Thanks, guys!
Later, when I was out on an event, I got a call from one of the consultants. She told me I needed to stop by her office sometime today. When the event was served, I walked back to our main office, curious about all the attention I had been getting about my pending birthday.
It all made sense when I was presented with 12 of these.
Apparently, they were made by both the sous chef and the pastry kitchen and most likely ordered by Candice, one of our consultants. A joint birthday celebration effort, if you will.
I know you're wondering, so let me just tell you. They are divine. Think of how much you love Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, and then multiply that by 65 billion. That's how good they are.
For this, and many other reasons, I love my coworkers. Thanks, guys!
10 March 2009
Happy Birthday, Padre!
Here's dad in front of one of our family's more recent favorites, the Loveless Cafe.
Isn't that a flattering picture? Ever since the computer crash of 2008 when I lost all of my pictures, the pickings have been pretty slim.
Anyway, today my dad turns 53! In honor of his birthday, I would like to list 5.3 things I like/appreciate/enjoy/love about him (53 is just too dang many).
1. Dad does more for me than I deserve. I don't know what I would do without the Bob Johnson Scholarship Fund. I always tell him I'll return it to him when he's old, senile, and wearing diapers. We'll pay someone to change those...
2. Dad loves cars, always drives fast, and is passionate about his work. He has passed those traits on to me. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize how like my dad I am. Unlike the teenage Michael, I think being like my dad will be pretty cool.
3. Dad likes to eat out, and is always adventurous. I think I got my appetite for anything and everything from him. He's also generous and always takes my friends out whenever he gets the chance.
4. Dad laughs the hardest at his own jokes. There's nothing better than watching him crack up as he reads a funny e-mail over the pulpit in Church or tells a funny story that happened to him in Japan or D.C. or wherever.
5. Nobody does a better Mexican-American English accent than dad. I think he learned it from our gardener way back when. "I don't pick up the sh**."
6. Dad loves his family and loves to...
(I said only 5.3 things!)
Happy Birthday, Dad!
Isn't that a flattering picture? Ever since the computer crash of 2008 when I lost all of my pictures, the pickings have been pretty slim.
Anyway, today my dad turns 53! In honor of his birthday, I would like to list 5.3 things I like/appreciate/enjoy/love about him (53 is just too dang many).
1. Dad does more for me than I deserve. I don't know what I would do without the Bob Johnson Scholarship Fund. I always tell him I'll return it to him when he's old, senile, and wearing diapers. We'll pay someone to change those...
2. Dad loves cars, always drives fast, and is passionate about his work. He has passed those traits on to me. In fact, the older I get, the more I realize how like my dad I am. Unlike the teenage Michael, I think being like my dad will be pretty cool.
3. Dad likes to eat out, and is always adventurous. I think I got my appetite for anything and everything from him. He's also generous and always takes my friends out whenever he gets the chance.
4. Dad laughs the hardest at his own jokes. There's nothing better than watching him crack up as he reads a funny e-mail over the pulpit in Church or tells a funny story that happened to him in Japan or D.C. or wherever.
5. Nobody does a better Mexican-American English accent than dad. I think he learned it from our gardener way back when. "I don't pick up the sh**."
6. Dad loves his family and loves to...
(I said only 5.3 things!)
Happy Birthday, Dad!
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