I'm THAT Guy

While walking the dog the other night, I had a revelation. Ya see, living out in the country, with no street lights and no neighbors, when I walk the dog I don’t worry too much about “dressing up”. So, I was standing there in the middle of the field, in my house shoes, boxer shorts and holey t-shirt, drinking a beer while my dog was smelling along the fence row where the coyotes seem to play.

Now, I was staring up at the stars, pondering the universe, when it hit me. I’m that guy. You know, that guy you see on TV, standing there in his house shoes, boxer shorts, holey t-shirt and drinking a beer, explaining that while he was outside walking his dog, aliens swooped down and picked him up! And, because he’s standing there as he is, in his house shoes, boxer shorts, holey t-shirt, and probably still drinking a beer, you just don’t give his story much credibility.

Now, no one cares that I’ve climbed the corporate ladder. Okay, so I didn’t climb it all the way to the top, but Dad always taught me not to stand on the top rung of a ladder, else you fall off. And no one cares that every 6 to 8 years I quit my job, travel the country and “find myself”, knowing that if and when I’m ready to work I can always find a new state and insert myself back into that corporate world. And no one cares that I have a successful E-commerce business with the added benefit of being able to help people become financially free. Heck, no one even cares that I have TWO motorcycles, neither of which is a Harley, which means they both run and no one is interested in stealing them.

Nope, all anyone would care about is the fact that I was standing in the middle of the field, in the middle of the night, in my house shoes, boxer shorts, holey t-shirt and drinking a beer. And they wouldn’t believe that aliens swooped down and picked me up. And, once the aliens were done learning everything I know about the world, which really wouldn’t take too long unless they asked me about energy drinks or how to quit your job, they’d swoop down and drop me off, knowing that no one would believe me.

So, I decided right then and there that when I’m out walking the dog in the middle of the night, I need to have a much better image, so that way when the aliens swoop down and pick me up, people WILL believe me.

So from now on, when I walk the dog, I make sure I wear one of my best t-shirts. Preferably one without swears words on it.

Life is good, see ya in the National Enquirer.

Stupid Bowl 2008

In 2007, the Chicago Bears were playing in the Super Bowl in Miami, FL. So, being the really intelligent guy that I am, I decided to fly from Dallas, TX to Chicago, IL to surprise some friends that were getting together to watch the game. The one thing that I remember (besides the fact that the outcome of the game sucked) was that when Bill and I left the Underground Wonder Bar after listening to some great music, it was -6 degrees!

But, that must have been short term memory which was lost, because when I heard that this was the Tenth Anniversary of Stupid Bowl, I had no choice but to book another flight north.

Stupid Bowl is where the guys book a condo in the Wisconsin Dells, which is a summer resort town, where we take over the indoor pool and hot-tub for the weekend and find some local drinking establishment to watch the game. It was started when the Green Bay Packers were in the Super Bowl, and when we were young enough to enjoy ice fishing, walking in the snow and 60 degree temperatures (yeah, this global warming myth is a bunch of crap!).

So, I booked my ticket based on Russ's sage advice (something about Wisconsin women and Spam) and the next thing I knew (did I mention that neither Chicago, nor Dallas, nor even Green Bay were even IN the Super Bowl?) I was stuck in the Memphis airport for 8 hours waiting for Chicago O'hare airport to open long enough for the snow plows to clear the runway.

The good news was that Debbie let Russ drive the All Wheel Drive SUV to pick me up. The bad news was that Russ had already drank 2 beers before I found out that Northwest had sent my luggage to Detroit.

Now, I'm not going to go into the details involving shopping for new underwear (you tell me, Victoria Secret or Kmart?) nor the two nights in Chicago prior to leaving for Wisconsin, but best I can recall White Castle hamburgers used to come in bunches of 6, not 3. Ken, you didn't fool anyone blaming it on the rabbits, or squirrels.

After driving thru a snow storm on icy roads, MANY accidents and emergency vehicles, and a pit stop at an abandoned port-a-john at a closed, truck weigh station, we arrived at the Caribbean Club Resort. Again, you must realize that this is on a lake, which is surrounded by resorts, and is known for the Tommy Bartlett Water Ski Show, which, in case you haven't been following along, requires LIQUID water. Something we did NOT have. So instead we had empty condos, ice fisherman, and a hot tub built for 12. As is often the case with this type of gathering, either I don't recall all the details, or they aren't fit for publishing on a blog that my mother might read. Either way, the New York Giants won the Super Bowl, we learned about spitting, Russ learned about lap dances and Depends, Ken's new knees made the trek half way across the lake, Jim could work at the Mystery Spot, house on the hill, Gary makes great pickled bologna and Al, well he's the philosophical one that probably said something we all thought was great but can't remember what it was.

The trip back to Dallas was nearly as eventful as the trip there, with a "fuel stop" in Austin due to weather in Dallas and the shuttle bus driver dropping me at at Nate's Seafood for a Fat Tuesday celebration complete with blues music and a LOT of boiled crawfish. It was good to be home and I'm already starting my lobbying for next year's Stupid Bowl to be held in Texas, or where ever it is that my house is parked, which HAS to be warmer than the Midwest.

Life is Good, Send...whatever it is you cook with Spam.