My Hiatus

Hello there,

I know it must seem like it's been forever since you've read one of my well-worded and humorous rants. I would like to apologize for the amount of time that has elapsed between this post and the last successful one. I say successful because, although I have not posted any thing since June, I have written three blogs that never made it to this site. One was written entirely in my head (honestly, beginning to end- the title even briefly appeared on the blog with no content. When I went to type it out, it just seemed like homework. It may yet appear someday if I ever feel like doing my homework again). Another story I had typed completely out and somehow, I have no idea to this day, its content was entirely deleted when I tried to post it. Poof, gone! So out of protest and no small amount of anger I refused to type it out again (which is a real shame because it was about my experience with a very polite, end of the world radical-once again, maybe someday it will see the light). The third one I started and got 75% finished with it when I re-read what I had written to that point and realized it seemed just a little too rant-y and angry. That's not what I'm about. It too may be published some day but I'm really not sure about this one because it had a great deal to do with Facebook's changes this past September and the subsequent reaction. Very topical, very dated.

When trying to think about what to write in this my first blog in almost 6 months, I knew right away the subject matter should be my absence from the blogging world. The thing I didn't know about was exactly how to spin it so as not to paint myself as a very lazy, unmotivated blogger (which is of course exactly what I am-shhh, don't tell anyone). I thought at first maybe I could convince you all that I had entered rehab of some kind. It hasn't seemed to hurt anyone's star power (not that I have any to speak of). But while it may not hurt your image as a Hollywood starlet, it would definitely affect my testimony as a Christian, so that was nixed very quickly.

The next idea that popped into my head was just to leave it shrouded in mystery. Just like the disappearance of Agatha Christie for eleven days in 1926, which to this day has never been fully explained, I would just wander back into the public (public here meaning world wide web) spotlight (spotlight here meaning the flickering ray of light that remains once you've turned off a halogen lamp), and give no explanation for my absence. The trouble is that nobody would in fact care and since I'm all about drawing attention to myself this simply would not do!

I also thought that I could just maybe ignore it. This is a tactic often employed in television when a person vital to the show decides to hold the production for ransom and not perform until their contractual demands have been met. (Will the real Aunt Viv please stand up?) What happens in these situations is usually that the star unless absolutely integral to the show is often replaced. And the rest of the crew carry on as if this new actor had been there all along. In fact it is often completely summed up in one shot with another character asking if they had done something with their hair or lost a few pounds so as to simultaneously address the obvious issue and poke fun at the person who left. Again, the problem lies with the fact that nobody would have noticed that I had taken an absence and again I wouldn't get the attention I desired.

The thought occurred to me to make up some fanciful story about how I had spent the better part of the last six months traveling around the universe and through time in a blue police box with a Time Lord. I'd tell you about all the times we saved entire cultures and species from annihilation. But the truth is I can't even speak Galifrayan (Gal-if-ray-un) and I'm pretty sure I'd have to pay some kind of royalty for reprinting the stories of Doctor Who (of which I have become a huge fan.) It's awesome! Check it out on Netflix. You kind of have to stomach the very early 90's music video cinematography of the first season. It improves drastically in the subsequent seasons, but the first is still integral to the whole story, so start there.)

No, I guess the best way to go is the truth. As my 8th grade history teacher said, "Honesty is not the best policy...it's the only policy." So here goes. The reason that I have not posted a blog in the past six months is because... Are you ready?...I...HAVE...A...LIFE!!! Do you think I have been sent here for the sole purpose of keeping you entertained? Seriously, get off my back already!!! It's not like you can't open up the comics and get your daily chuckle from Peanuts or Garfield. Must I go through life as your personal blogging monkey? If I feel like writing, I'll write! If I don't feel like writing then I won't! That's it. And I don't appreciate you trying to make me feel bad about not giving you anything witty or interesting to read the past six months...

Pauses...eats a Snickers... sorry, I get a little Diva-ish when I get hungry. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and I promise it won't be 6 months before I post again. Which only gives me a 5 month window. I'd better get to work.

My Facebook Frustrations

Editors Note:  This blog was started in September so it's a little dated but it's my blog and I can do what ever I want so there!

Ridiculous!!!! That's what I have to say about Facebook's recent changes. Now please understand me, I'm not saying that Facebook is ridiculous. They are their own company that markets social services to millions of people world wide. I am one user- who am I to tell them how to program and distribute their own product?  No, the thing I think is so ridiculous is the reaction of the Facebook-ers. WOW! Resistent to change much?

The reason I am writing this here and not on Facebook is that this is my blog and I am allowed to post my opinion about any subject without fear of offending someone. That doesn't mean it is my goal to offend- quite the contrary, you'll find that most of the opinions posted here are done so with tongue firmly implanted in cheek. They are designed more to induce laughter than to trigger offense. If I were to post this on Facebook I would have to be a little more subtle, so as not to offend any of the people on whose comments I am further commenting. Again, I mean not to offend but to simply entertain. Here though, I have the freedom of being as blunt as I wish.

That being said, ENOUGH ALREADY !!! I am so sorry that your life has been thrown off kilter because one of your favorite products has reimagined their format. Did you get this upset when they tried to introduce "new" coke? Surely the days of "crystal" Pepsi were dark indeed but we didn't grab a pitch fork and torch and lay seige to any factories. No, we just dealt with it and moved on. That is the same spirit we now must adopt if we are going to survive the great Face-book lift of 2011.

I have to be honest, the changes don't really bother me at all. Much like none of the other changes have significantly affected or altered my life. All it is, really, is a major corporation seeking to make it's product better by their standards. How can you have the temerity to be up in arms about it? You may be wondering why they didn't consult you. I imagine that it's for the same reason Diet Coke doesn't call my wife anytime they roll out a change to their product or distribution. It's because they don't really care what you think. As long as people continue to use their product they are going to continue making changes.

Now, I understand there are concerns over privacy. If you are one of those who is worried about some random friend of a friend seeing that you've posted something on your common friend's wall then just stop posting. It's not like there is some guy waiting to see what you've posted. Waiting patiently to read the perfect comment that let's him know you are alone or that your home is vacant. I know this sort of thing does happen on occasion. But the truth is that if a friend of mine sees that you are going to Bolivia for a week you don't really have to worry about him breaking into your house.  I don't associate with such disreputable people.  If you're that concerned about your privacy you probably shouldn't be on a "social" media site in the first place. Just go back to boring the snot out of your friends and family by inviting them over and having an old fashioned slide show of your vacation or your kids graduation from the first semester of Kindergarten.

The truth of the matter is that in a few months time you won't even notice the changes that Facebook made.  You'll just go about your normal life without the heart pains that now grip your chest.  That is until Facebook once again changes its format a little to keep up with other social media sites.  At which point all of you will once again clamor for Mr. Zuckerberg to change it back to the way it was before, which may I remind you, is the very thing you so vitriolically oppose presently.

Time Passes....

I've decided to pick up this article once again because after having read it again, I no longer remember who it was specifically that set me off (truthfully it was probably no one particular person) and compelled me to decry the outrage at the Facebook changes.

I would also like to point out that all of the "Boycott Facebook until they change it back" and "Why, Mark Why?" pages have been removed and life has once again stabilized.  It is because we do what we always have done.  We get comfortable, someone comes and changes up the schedule and we complain and cry, "unfair" and demand restoration.  Then we get used to it and forget how it used to be and wonder how we ever got along without things the way they are now.

I beg your forgiveness for the dated nature of this post and the fact that it is largely irrelevant.  There are a few funny lines here so I thought I'd share it anyway.  I guess I could have just waited until the next time Facebook moves the profile picture from the top right to the bottom left and World War III breaks out.  But let's hope everyone reads this first and saner heads prevail.

My Sympathetic Pregnancy

I have a dream! Not the cool Martin Luther King Jr. type of dream that can be helpful and inspiring, but the annoying type of dream where your alarm clock goes off and instead of waking up it becomes part of the dream playing the role of a police siren or really annoying little boy. My dream is that I'm pregnant. I'm not telling you this so that you can analyze it and see that I have parental issues that I'm trying to resolve during my REM sleep. In my dream the baby is ready to be delivered and fortunately for me, I never actually deliver it, it just happens to show up. It's also never a baby. It's usually some object that I have been wanting (Just a few months ago the role of baby was played by iPhone 4). Thankfully, it's just a dream.

For my wife however, this is an absolute reality. Well, except for the iPhone part-we're expecting a baby boy- but I won't be absolutely heartbroken if we end up with an iPad 2. This is our third full pregnancy. Hopefully, this is our last. Don't get me wrong, I love Bryce and Henry, I love Charlie (that is what we are naming baby boy #3-- His full name will be either Zachary Charles or Reagan Charles--we're still hashing that one out) and I will love any more God chooses to give to us but let's just say that I'm not asking for anymore! I'm totally over the whole baby thing.

But I digress, this blog isn't about the baby, it's about the pregnancy. My wife is a trooper when it comes to pregnancy. She doesn't often complain and even when she does it is tinged with humor. She experiences back trouble from the onset. By the end of a long day her feet and ankles have merged into a tan shape that strongly resemble Uggs (even barefoot she has stylish footwear).

With Bryce, the experience was all new and even the uncomfortable things (i.e. back pain and Uggs) were exciting and anticipated with much eagerness. With Henry it was still pretty neat although the luster had worn off. With the third, it's just, "oh yeah, there's that happening again." I honestly don't know how people like the Duggars have so many kids. You would think that the excitement must eventually diminish (how many times can you watch the same magician pull a rabbit out of his hat before you get bored and demand a better trick).

Before you have kids, people are always asking you, "So when are you gonna start trying for a baby?" The day your first is born they ask, "So when are you gonna have another?" But after a couple of the little boogers they start to ask, "So how many are you gonna have?" It's here where it begins to get a little tricky. If they are a small family, they go on and on about how they wished they had a couple more kids (this is usually the case because one of two things (or both) is true-either they have long forgotten the difficulties of having a baby or their kids have grown to the point where they are gone and no longer around to help with the housework). If it is a big family, they are quick to praise the merit of multitudes of children and try to convince you that two or three are not enough. They usually cite the verse in Psalm 127, "Happy is the man that hath his quiver full..." I am quick to point out that God just said full and didn't stipulate what quantity was considered "full". My quiver happens to be much smaller than the Duggars' quiver (thankfully).

There is one wonderful thing I love about my wife being pregnant. It's what is commonly referred to as "Pregnancy Brain". I'm not really sure if that is in fact the common name but that's what I call the selective amnesia that develops with pregnancy. You see, my wife is one of those people who remembers things a specific way. If you try to convince her differently, you will find that she is immutable. Even if you have video evidence she is unwilling to acquiesce to your point of view. But not on "pregnancy brain!" On "pregnancy brain" her mental fortitude has been compromised and what makes it better (for me that is) she knows it! I only ever have the last word in the argument when my wife is under the influence of "pregnancy brain".

When she is affected by "pregnancy brain" I can convince her of almost anything. If I tried, I could probably convince her that it's still 2002 and George Bush is still President. All I would have to do is fabricate a few points to argue and remind her that she can't even think straight enough not to leave her Blackberry on the register counter at K-Mart (which I had to go and get for her). I might even be able to convince her that the Earth revolves around the moon which in turn revolves around a giant space whale named Franklin if I felt so inclined. All I have to do is argue earnestly and remind her about one of the plethora of things she's forgotten about during pregnancy, like washing an entire load of clothes without using any laundry soap.

I am convinced that "pregnancy brain" is just early onset "delivery amnesia", which blocks the neural pathways that remember the horror and war-like atmosphere of the delivery room. It's a good thing- without it Bryce would be an only child. His was a rather painful and arduous birth and not just for Nicole--she separated my shoulder while bringing Bryce into this world. But that is a different blog for a different day.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go convince her that she said she would mow the lawn this week. After all, she is the one who keeps calling our boys "Dusty," which is our dog's name for those of you keeping score at home.

My Summer Vacation

Do you remember the inevitable, "What I did on Summer Vacation..." reports? Every year summer vacation would end and we would return to the drudgery that was elementary school (remember it with the mind of a third grader - I would of course pay no small amount of money to pass my days in Mrs. Wheeler's class concentrating on my spelling and recess with only a small thought for the fractions that I would soon face the next year). Every year our teachers would assign this same report. Was it not enough that we had been ripped from the carefree days of summer? Was it not enough that we had exchanged long days of sun and play for short, cold days of lugubrious seat work? How much greater was the injustice of having to recount the wonderful days of summer while restricted to the prison that was my school desk?

While I know summer is yet to officially begin, I could bear it no longer and took my family on a much needed vacation. It is in the same spirit with which I recalled my youthful, summer days that I now relate to you, "What I did on Summer Vacation..."!

Last year was our tenth anniversary and we celebrated in grand style with a cruise to the Mexican riviera. But we figured that would be the last vacation we would take sans the boys. When my wife was a child, her family vacations were pretty traditional. They were what I call a "traveling vacation." They have no single destination but rather are made up of several destinations where you spend a day looking at some canyon or tourist trap, spend the night and move on the next day. I think this is a terrible vacation. Being the chief driver (see "only driver"), I would of course be the one missing out on a vacation. Driving, to me, is not a leisure activity. When I get behind the wheel I want to get to my destination as quickly as possible. I don't want to make a million stops or see the world's largest ball of barbed wire, unless of course that is our destination and we plan on staying there for a minimum of three days.

When it came time to pick our destination, my wife suggested Tahoe. I thought it was a good suggestion although I dreaded the long drive. When I reminded her of the length of the drive and the fact that she would be well into her third trimester, she immediately nixed that plan and began looking closer to home. So in an attempt to determine what we should do for this summer's vacation, we trolled the pages of Facebook, soliciting advice from our many, "married with children" friends. We determined that the bulk of the suggestions weren't worth the time it took to investigate them. They came from people to whom money was no object (I didn't even know we had those kinds of friends) or to whom thrift was the operative word even at the expense of safety and peace of mind. Through the mass of responses one shown through, bright and gleaming. Our good friend, Jonathan Reginald Brooks, (not too many people are aware of his true middle name) suggested that we look into the Marina Resort in Big Bear, CA. My wife jumped on the computer and within a few short hours we had a vacation booked and the anticipation began.

When the first day of vacation finally arrived it was perfect. We had no real time table (a theme that would recur throughout this wonderful week). We got up when we felt like it and began to pack. There was no rush, no plane to catch, just a 3:00 check-in time that was not hard and fast. Once we finished packing and loaded up the boys, we headed out to Big Bear Lake. The trip up was uneventful, save a few stops to head off car sickness (those mountain roads can wreak havoc on a two year old's stomach). We arrived at the resort and checked-in. The front desk tried to upgrade us to the cabin style rooms ( a mere $30.00 more a night) but when I found out the only difference other than the price was that the cabin style rooms simply had newer furniture but were identical in every other way, I quickly passed and signed off on the plain old standard room.

Our room was nice, if not spacious. Two queen beds and a cracker box for a bathroom. It was all done in a rustic, woodsy motif and would have made the folks from Deliverance feel right at home. There was a flat screen TV mounted to the wall which looked a little out of place, but with no easily accessible wi-fi, we gladly put up with it despite its shattering the ambiance. We had a sliding glass door (right next to the main entry door) that led to a small porch/patio with a table and chairs. This was quite lovely as it afforded us a beautiful spot to have lunch and view the lake which was literally just steps away.

Our first dining experience left something to be desired. We decided to sample the wares of a small Mexican food joint. As we entered we were both encouraged and disheartened. Encouraged at the sight of an entirely Hispanic work crew (this of course meant we were gonna have good Mexican food). Disheartened at the sight of the sign over the salsa bar sternly warning against wasting the salsa at the threat of having to pay for an otherwise free condiment (this of course meant a wait staff that was more concerned with their overhead than providing quality service). As anticipated, the food was pretty good, at least the Mexican food was. Our boys are somewhat finicky when it comes to eating and one ordered chicken nuggets (they were the Dino nuggets, which we serve them at home, dropped into a large vat of oil and crisped to a hard and dry, golden brown with just a hint of chimichanga).

I ordered the nachos (a dish that is very difficult to mess up ) and my wife ordered a two taco plate. When they brought us our food, they brought my wife a kid's quesadilla. When she told them that she had not ordered that, they gave a look of frustration and disbelief and took the plate away. Eventually, they brought her what she had ordered but without so much as an apology for its delay. We asked for some ranch dressing for the carrot sticks that had come with our kids' meals. What was brought to us resembled bleu cheese in both taste and texture. When we asked for ranch a second time (a request that obviously irritated the waiter) we were told that it was in fact ranch but that they made their own and thus the consistency was not up to Hidden Valley's standards. They then brought us a ranch and a bleu cheese so that we could see the difference for ourselves (it is important to note that a good waiter will just correct the issue without placing blame or assigning guilt and certainly would never deflect the error back to the guest). What we determined through visual and taste tests was that they used a ranch flavor package in a bleu cheese dressing. It was not overly appetizing and our finicky eaters would have none of it. When they brought us our ticket at the end of the meal we noticed that the children's drinks were twice what they were advertised in the menu. When we asked them about this they said that they had "changed that policy" and that the ticket had the proper price and gave the impression that we were to pay the full amount because we should have known what items on their menu were accurately priced and what items had undergone a "policy change". Eventually, they knocked the price off the tab and we payed and hurried out of there, never to return.

One of the highlights of our trip was the world famous Moonridge Zoo and Animal Park. To say that this is a low budget organization would be to say that the Donald Trump has a little money. The reptile and amphibian exhibit was a 10x10 room filled with terrariums. That being said it was not too shabby. They had some pretty neat animals (my favorite was the Bald Eagle) and the small size of the zoo lent itself to a more up close and personal viewing of the animals ( I was literally five feet from the aforementioned and majestic Bald Eagle). They had a few bears and some cool wolves. I would however, suggest not going on a Wednesday as that is a fast day which means they don't feed the animals, which also means the animals are less active. It was a quaint little zoo and best of all we traversed it in its entirety in less than 90 minutes.

Overall it was a quite enjoyable vacation. Mostly because we did nothing unless we wanted to. There was no schedule. We got up at our leisure, went out at our leisure and nodded off to sleep early every night. This is my ideal vacation. We did something whilst simultaneously doing nothing!

And that was my summer vacation!

My Terror Alert

There is an organization within the borders of our country that is so clandestine that very few people are aware of the true nature of this group. They are so well organized and nefarious that it is time that we begin to take note of them. I feel it is my patriotic duty to sound the clarions and alert my countrymen to this domestic enemy that inconspicuously operates under the auspices of cuteness and sugary delight. They are so brazen and cavalier that they are often found pushing their wares in the parking lot of a local grocery store. I am of course referring to that militant group known as the Girl Scouts of America and their devilishly delicious desserts.

They may look adorable and uber-cute in their little brown dresses and their sashes. But don't be drawn in by these scelerate sirens of snack food. It's just one of their many ploys. Think about it for a second- they use the fact that they are cute, little girls to shame you into buying their products. What would you do if a boy knocked on your door and tried to sell you a cookie? I'm not sure about you, but I would either be worried he was casing the joint or I would tell him to get a real job. But when a cute, little girl looks up at you with those doe-like eyes and with a slightly quivering chin asks that you "support" their group by paying $4 for a box of cookies, you almost feel like a reprobate if you turn them down. See- it's one of their tactics. They shame you into buying them. They leverage their cuteness against you so that you're basically as evil as someone who kicks dogs or bilks money out of defenseless old women.

They are also extremely aggressive. There are three different entrances to my local grocery store and this sinful sorority had pushers stationed at each door. I entered the middle door the other day barely making it through by remembering to not make direct eye contact with them and pretending I was listening to something by having my ear buds running from my ears to my pocket (I had mistakenly left my iPhone in my car). But when I came out, I had forgotten they were there and accidentally locked eyes with a miniature member of this maleficent group. She pleaded with me to purchase some of their treats. But what I heard was a desperate cry of a sickly child begging for help with a tear in her eye and a tremor in her voice that called for immediate action on my part. I practically melted as she threw in a slight cough for effect. Without even thinking I reached for my wallet and offered to buy two boxes. Thankfully my wallet was depleted of funds and I was saved by my own poverty.

As I pulled into my driveway, still shaking from my hairbreadth escape, I gave a great sigh of relief as I could see the safety of my home and knew how close I'd come to falling prey to these taciturn tots. Just as I had opened my car door, two little girls appeared like creepy children of the corn and tried to get me to buy some lemonade. Fortunately for me, I was sobered by my close call and these were only recruits in training. I was able to withstand their sales pitch and rebuffed their efforts.

We must be guarded against this bonne bouche wielding brigade. They have many forms of their delectable treats with which to tempt you. I am particularly susceptible to their Thin Mints. They are more chip than cookie. You can't possibly eat just one and they package them so that you feel wasteful if you leave just a couple in the foil packaging. They will entrap you with cuteness and before you know it you'll have purchased a dozen boxes of their addicting baked goods and already eating two.

They are cute. They are adorable. They are well organized and execute their training with precision that would rival Navy seals. So it is with great urgency and utmost earnest that I worn my fellow man to beware of this shudder-some sisterhood and their sinister snacks!

My Fatherhood

I love being a dad! I heard a comedian the other day suggest that it wasn't natural to want to have children. He is a moron. He went on to say that if any man ever suggested that he wanted kids, that his "man card" was to be revoked. This man is clearly a world class idiot and his hatred for children is probably just a projection of his resentment toward women who obviously and wisely avoid him completely.

I am proud to say that I love my boys and am completely thrilled to be a dad. I encourage any and every man to have as many kids as you can handle. Don't go all NBA or anything- get married to one woman- but have as many kids with that woman as you two desire. It's a good thing.

There are obvious benefits to being a dad. I get to eat fruit snacks and drink capri-suns without people casting their judgemental eyes upon me. I can watch things like Spongebob and Phineas and Ferb completely free of shame.

There are also some drawbacks. You end up subjected to all the songs from Thomas the Tank Engine along with the slightly off pitch English accents that sing them. You are also spit upon or sometimes worse (those of you with kids know what I'm talking about; those without kids, I'd really hate to spoil the surprise). It's somehow not as bad when it's your own kid though.
There are unhappy moments when it comes to parenting, but the good far outnumber the bad and really there's no comparison. Yes, I've had to get after Bryce from time to time but all of that gets erased when he does what he did a couple of weeks ago.

On the 23rd of February, I turned 33 years old. I received many gifts from friends and loved ones. When I came home from work, there was a hand made card on the counter that read, "Happy Birthday, Dad". There was a drawing of the two of us on the outside and when I opened it, I saw that he had drawn another picture and had written a couple of sentences about me. It read, "Dad, I love you. My dad is funny (a revelation which swelled my heart with pride-he thinks I'm funny!). My dad plays with me. Thanks for my swings." Under that he had drawn a picture of his swings and a birthday cake. It was awesome but if I may draw your attention to the last sentence of this lovely card.

My wife and I used some of our tax return to purchase a swing set for our backyard. We love having a backyard and had a few toys scattered here and there but nothing that could occupy a significant portion of the boys' time. So we purchased a lovely metal swing set from Wal-mart.

As I've mentioned, I love being a dad, and if you're a reader of this blog you know that I am a somewhat paranoid parent. I have the ability to see the worst possible outcome of any situation that could slightly cause bodily injury to my sons. I've said it before and it's still true today, that my preferred method of parenting involves bubble wrap and inflatable furniture.

Armed with this knowledge, you may be wondering why someone who is so worrisome would bother having a swing set at all, let alone the death trap that is a metal swing set. Well, when you are a parent sometimes you do things you wouldn't normally do in order to bring joy to your children (anybody who has ever taken a kid on "It's a Small World" knows exactly what I'm talking about).

It took me just about three hours over the course of two days ( I like to pace myself) to assemble the swing set in the backyard. It has a slide, three swings-two standard and a third with foot rests (my guess is that's so your feet are comfortable while you slip off and land in the dirt face first), and a see-saw.

My boys love it. I can only look at it and see utter mayhem and destruction but when I get those visuals, I just chase them from my mind by picturing the smiles on the faces of my boys as they saw what daddy was building them in their backyard. I still see every possible thing that could go wrong- Bryce catapulting Henry on the see-saw; falling of the top of the slide, backwards; falling of the bottom of the slide (you may question this one but that's exactly how Bryce broke his arm a couple of years ago); whacking each other with the swings; and of course, the whole thing just collapsing down on top of them. I picture these things I just try not to dwell on them. Instead I like to think of that birthday card in which Bryce thanked me for getting him swings.

He thinks I'm funny!

My Terribly Horrible, Gloriously Wonderful Day

How many of you have ever thought you had a chance at winning the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes? We see the Super Bowl commercials and how thrilled the family is that wins. We immediately begin to fantasize what it would be like to have Ed McMahon (or his ghost-I honestly have no idea who delivers the cartoonish 3' x 6' check anymore) ring our doorbell and surprise us with a million dollars (I'm also not sure what the current prize is valued at, but a million seems like chump change anymore).

Maybe I'm speaking in antiquated terms. How many of you have ever heard a radio contest and thought, "I could be the 9th caller"? We may hear them or even occasionally enter sweepstakes of some kind but we never really expect that the "You" in "you could win" applies to us. We always assume that it is a reference to some nebulous person in Culver city who wins every contest and his house is overflowing to bursting with swag from the local radio stations.

Well, it was with that same, "I don't stand a chance to win" attitude that I filled out a small postcard with my name, cell phone and a fake email address that I use for entering things like this (so that my main email doesn't get hit with copious amounts of spam from these sorts of things). But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself a little bit. The title does begin with with "Terribly, Horrible" so I guess I should address that first.

You see, this particular Monday started out like a typical Monday. I woke up at 3:30 that morning got dressed for work and headed out the door. That isn't a typo. I get up between 3:30 and 4:00 every Monday morning and go to one of 40 Jack in the Box restaurants. I serve as asset protection for a franchise. You should only ever eat at one of the 40 Jacks owned by Beshay Foods Inc. (for a complete listing send me an email). Anyway, I drove to work in Rancho Penasquitos (Ranch-o Pen-a-skeet-os, for all those non-southern Californians) and began my audit.

About 8:00 that morning my phone chimed to let me know I had missed a call (my phone has been temperamental (mostly mental) these last few days). I listened to my voice mail and it was someone representing the sports store that was holding the drawing and told me I should call them back by midnight tonight. I figured that there was no way I actually won the contest. I was certain that if I did in fact return the call that they would tell me I didn't win but they have some intriguing offers for me.

I finished with the bulk of my work and decided to head over to another restaurant to pay them a visit. As I was crossing over the 15 (that's Interstate 15 for all you non-southern Californians)I approached an intersection that will forever be ingrained in my mind. This is a somewhat unique intersection. If you stand in the very center you have to go up hill to get out of it. It doesn't matter which direction you choose, you must go up hill. I was waiting at the light to turn left and when it changed I entered the intersection and my vehicle stalled. Everything went dark. I still don't know what exactly is wrong with it, I just know that it didn't run and there was no electricity at all. I was in the middle of an intersection with cars about to start approaching me. I jumped out and with one hand on the open door and the other on the steering wheel I began pushing the Jeep Grand Cherokee up hill. I huffed and I puffed and I pulled a muscle in my calf and just as I was entering the cross walk I reached that point at which you know you have lost all forward momentum and are about to start rolling backwards. Just when I thought I couldn't go any farther a good Samaritan happened along and gave me the impetus I needed to get the car through and alongside the curb. I thanked him and he disappeared.

I'll spare you the boring details but suffice it to say that I spent the next two and half hours being passed by countless cars with no offer of assistance whatsoever. I found a loose cable, I repaired it and, since I could get no help, called a tow truck company to come give me a jump for a paltry $25. When all my efforts at repair proved inadequate, I was forced to have the tow truck guy load up the truck and take me back to the Jack in the Box less than a mile a way. The tow truck driver informed me that there was usually a $99 flat fee charged to tow less than ten miles but that since I only called for a jump and the drop wasn't even half a mile away he'd do it for the price of the jump. I was thrilled at that thought but was quickly smacked with reality as the tow truck drove away leaving me in a parking lot 46.3 miles from where the Jeep should be.

I called my father-in-law to ask for any sage mechanic advice he could give me that might make the Jeep miraculously spring to life. But after a few last ditch efforts, the vehicle just sat there like a half ton paper weight. With no other recourse, I quickly called another tow truck company with better-not good,but better-rates.

You may wonder why I knew that the Jeep was resting 46.3 miles exactly from the Church parking lot. When you receive a quote to have a vehicle towed for a $50 hook up and $5 per mile, you know exactly how far you have to take it. So for those of you who failed Consumer Math, that's a grand total of...wait for it...$285 (yes, that means the 3/10ths of a mile were rounded up!). A bill I would have to foot entirely even though it wasn't even my vehicle.

With the Jeep securely tied down to the tow truck and the driver finishing a few last minute notes for his paperwork, he remarked that I seemed different than anyone else he had towed. I asked him to explain and he responded by saying, "Most people are extremely upset and even get mad at me for having to tow/charge them. But you're joking around and seem completely okay with this." I must preface my response to him with this: if he had seen me a couple of hours earlier, he probably would have assumed I was no different from anyone else he's ever met. I was pretty upset at first, but you see, I had about four hours of down time and I guess I just got over it. While at one point I was ready to push the jeep off a cliff, I was resigned to my fate and determined not to let it control me any longer.

I conveniently left all of that information out when I responded by saying that I was the Assistant Pastor of a Church in Temecula ( a truth that would become abundantly clear when we pulled into the parking lot to drop off the Jeep) and that as a Christian, I was commanded to trust that God had a purpose in everything (though at the time I had no idea what that was). He perked up immediately at hearing that I was a Pastor and asked me if I ever did any counseling. I told him that from time to time I did (omitting that fact that it was usually with teens) but not very often. Well, apparently he heard, "Yes, I'm a tremendous counselor. Please, tell me all of your troubles." because he began telling me all of the issues he was going through.

I didn't really have any wisdom to impart to him, but I asked a few questions and mostly listened to him. I think he may have just needed someone to whom he could vent his frustrations. After he finished, I asked him if he went to church anywhere and if he knew what it meant to be born again. He said he started going to church with a buddy recently but had never really gone before. I began to speak with him and just as we were coming down the road to the church, it all sank in and he understood what he needed to do. As we crossed the last stop light before the church, he prayed and asked God to forgive him of his sins and make him a new man.

That was when my Terribly, Horrible day begin to transform into a Gloriously, Wonderful day.

As He finished unloading the Jeep into the church parking lot, I pulled out my empty wallet to reach for my bank card (which was also void of funds) not sure how I would pay for this whole thing. He walked up to me and handed me the paperwork and told me that he was so grateful to me for sharing the gospel with him, that he was just going to use this as a tax deduction and that I would be charged absolutely nothing! That's blessing number 2, for those of you keeping score at home!

I was so excited (and exhausted) that I forgot all about that drawing I had entered and didn't call the people back. I realized that the next morning as I was driving my son to school and wishing I had a new phone because my Blackberry was freezing up again. Once my phone came back up, I called the number of the store holding the contest again just on a whim. Someone picked up and I began to explain that I got their message to call by midnight last night and I related the ordeal I endured the day before. The person on the phone told me that it was alright that I still qualified as a winner of their drawing and that I had won their Grand Prize!

Now the biggest thing I had ever won before was a $50 gift certificate to ProFlowers from a sports talk radio station in San Diego. I just sat there unblinking as I realized what I had won.

A brand new 16gb iPhone 4!

I went over to the Apple store in Temecula (still disbelieving) and walked out with a $461 (tax included) phone. I was so flabbergasted that I could barely control myself as I called my wife extolling the virtues of Apple and the sports store that had held the contest. I was so ecstatic that one could have mistaken the smile etched into my face as a botox injection gone wrong.

My iPhone and I have lived very happily together for the last couple months. It does everything I could hope and so much more. I even got a nifty cover featuring the logo of the World Series Champion San Francisco Giants to protect it from harm. The only issue is that my wife complains of being an iPhone widow from time to time, but I try to keep my iPhone from hearing such talk.