Why I Love My Daddy

Yesterday in line at Pei Wei Asian Bistro of Love and Deliciousness

Katy: So, Dad, how's grandpa doing? You talked to him lately?

Mark: He's doing okay. I just love my dad.

Katy: I know you do.

Mark: You know, I was actually lying in bed the other night praying about him and asking God for ways that I can bless my dad and spend more time with him. Something where we don't just sit around and talk but where we can both actually get out of the house and do something. Then, it came to me. God gave me the perfect solution: Mall Walking.

One Of The Funniest Things I've Ever Read

I wish I could provide you all with an original writing, but all my creative energy has been re-routed to papers on Shakespeare and The Bible and Methods of Research. I'm hoping my creativity will not be permanently put on hold this semester, but who the hominy knows?

Meanwhile, here's a sample from the McSweeney's website that I found to be absolutely hysterical. I have a link to McSweeney's over there to the right called "My Favorite Website" (see! see it right over there! right there!) Okay, enjoy:


FUNNY LETTERS FROM SUMMER CAMP AND THEIR NOT-SO-FUNNY RESPONSES.
BY MIKE SACKS
- - - -

Dear Mummy and Daddy:

Camp is fun and I'm eating a lot of candy!!! Kevin today caught a frog and it climbed into his shirt!

Todd

Dear Todd:

Mummy and I are getting a divorce. Will give you specifics when you come home. Tell Kevin's frog we say hi!

Mummy and Daddy
- - - -

Dad and Mom:

Yesterday I went swimming for six hours and when I got out of the water I was all wrinkly!!! Zach my bunkmate threw up after eating a whole pizza. Before lights out yesterday we all sang "101 Bottles of Beer." I fell asleep before it was done!

Chris

Dear Chris:

It's funny you should mention "throwing up" and "beer," sweetheart. Mommy won't be visiting this weekend. Do you like this special hospital stationery? Don't get too wrinkly now or you'll turn into a prune!

Daddy
- - - -

Dear Mom:

Yesterday wait two days ago I got into the best adventure in my entire life! We started off running to the springs where we ran around and around and ate lunch. And then I climbed a tree and then I killed a bug with my shoe and then we went back and had dinner. I won the skit contest. It was the best day of my entire life! I will never ever ever ever ever forget it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Kim

Return to sender; no forwarding address.

- - - -

Dear Mom n Dad!

4got to send U a letter bee-4. R U having as much fun as eye am having? Wink.

Katy

P.S. Do U get it?

Katy:

UR brother is dead. He 4got to put on his motorcycle helm8. C U very soon, K8y!

Mom and Dad

P.S. Of course we get it. Why wouldn't we? The joke was obvious, really.

Where's Bob Dylan When You Need Him?

I don't know if any of you have turned on a radio lately. If you have, then I'm writing this to you. I'm rallying the troops to fight against the horrific noise that has been accumulated into a powder puff of cultural indignity which has left me bewildered and disoriented after each painful blow to my central nervous system.

For the record, I don't intend to focus my writings on the things of this world that disgust me or cause a general disenchantment with society that is so profound I often find myself wandering off to a vacant corner three times a day so I can rock back and forth while holding myself, occasionally bursting into hysterical sobs.

But this is a situation I can no longer ignore. This cultural travesty affects the reputation of music as a whole and therefore must not be taken lightly lest the spirit of rocker legends gone by rise collectively from their graves and threaten to take back all that is good and true from the lyrics and melodies and songs and souls they provided. I'm not willing to let that happen.

So allow me, please, to raise the red flags of warning and cry 'Traitor!' to the following "songs" that I have recently had the not-so pleasurable experience of listening to on the radio. Wha-oh-oh-oh on the radio.

Candy Kisses. As the song starts to play, we are romantically whisked away to a world of lullabies and fairy tales with its clever use of the triangle chime. You know the triangle chime...that instrument you always wanted to play in 4th grade music class because, hello, it looked like a triangle and all you had to do was hit it with a metal bar occasionally or, if you were really daring, you could run the metal bar all around the inside of the triangle at a rapid pace so as to illustrate your extensive musical talent. Okay, so that's the image this song sets up for us in the beginning. Eventually, the singer commences the lyrics and we recognize immediately that she's going to sound like every other nasally 18-year-old female singer on a rocket ride through the pop charts. Great. But the part of the song that has me the most confused is the demon-possessed stalker/serial killer guy who is intermittently singing about these wonderful candy kisses. It begs the question...are these kisses really full of candy? Or are they kisses of death bestowed upon an unsuspecting victim who just happens to enjoy singing about touching someone else's lips with their own and it reminding them of a Starburst Fruit Chew? It's hard to tell based upon the Satanic quality of this gentleman's voice. Triangle chime + nasally 18-year-old musical stereotype should not, in my opinion, equal the Angel of Death quality this song possesses. Picture with me, if you will, Jack Nicholson's character from The Departed singing "I've got your candy kisses on my mind" while tucking your child into bed. Awk-ward.

A Bay Bay. This song is by a young man named Hurricane Chris. His name is appropriate considering the amount of destruction he has caused and how he has somehow managed to obliterate fifty years of quality music with one incomprehensible phrase. A Bay Bay. What does it even mean? I'm so perplexed by the level of horror that is this song. Let me just let you see for yourself:

Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3] (I don't get that it's X3...four times...)
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]
Ay Bay Bay(Ay) [X3]

You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Stink Wit It,Stink Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'

When I Holler Ay Bay Bay
I Finna Get My Groove On
Its So Hot Up In Da Club
Dat I Ain't Got No Shoes On
Im Holdin' Up A Big Stack And Dem
Hundreds In A Rubba Band
Girl Don't Ask Me For No Cash
Cause Im Not Dat Other Man
Everybody Trippin' Cause Im Limpin'
When Im Walkin' And Im Pimpin' When Im Talkin'
I Don't Trick On Chick Dats Talkin'
Dem Boyz In Da Back Dey Be Rollin'up Dey Doughdy
Then Dey Blow It Till Dey Chokin'
Dats Wat Godly Came Out

When I See A Bad Chik Im Hollerin Out(Ay Bay Bay)
I Hope Yall Ain't Wit Ya Boyfriendz
Cause I Don't Care Wat Dey Say
And I Don't Care Wat He Say Or She Say
Im In Da Dj Booth Takin' Pictures Wit Da Dj
You Wanna Know What We Say
When Clubs Get Crunk (Wat)
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up [X2]

You Wanna Know Wat We Say In Da Club (Ay Bay Bay)
Whites Folks Gangsta And A Thug (Ay Bay Bay)
Sting Wit It,Sting Wit Dem Duh (Ay Bay Bay)
Ridin' In A Lac Wit A Mug (Ay Bay Bay)

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'

Now If You Lookin' For Me Baby You Can Find Me
Bangin' In Da Chevy Candy Painted Swingin 9 Deep
Saint Card Creep Wit My People Right Behind Me
I Showed Dem My Chain Now
She Hollerin Wat U Buyin' Me
I Show My Mouth Piece
To Dem Freaks Now Da Hirin' Me

Oh You Got A Problem Well I Hope You
Tryin Me. Throw Them ....Park
Then I Reach Under My Sit
Hop Out With My Hand Under My Shirt
Dats Where Dey Hirin Me
Yellow Bone Chirpin' Me
She Trying To See Where Imma Be.
You Gonna Let Me Get Up In
Your Mouth Well Dats Where Imma Be
I Don't Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be. Straight To The Hotel
All Da Bad Chick Followin' Me
I Know You Like My Style, I Ain't Trippin
Im Just Tryin' To See, Girl Is You Drunk
Well Tell Me Why You Leanin' All On Me
And If You Thinkin' Imma Stink You Trippin
I Pull Up In An Expedition Wit Da Roof Lift

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Bay Bay (2x)
Ay Bay Bay (3x)
Im In Da Club Holerin'
Ay Bay Bay [X2]
Ay Bay Bay [X3]
Im In Da Club Hollerin'

Im In Da Club Hollerin'
Ay Baybay Let it Play
Dats My Song Turn It Up
Im In Da Club Hot,Crunk,Sweatin, Burnin' Up
Im 'bout To Do The Crowd
Bumpin And Hollerin Wats Up
I Done Fell Out In Da Dance Floor
And Now Bring It Up
Js On Your Feet But You Cant Get These
You Wear Wats Unbrown White, And Yellow
Till You Breeze
Ill Go To Saint Louis Let My Chain Hang Low
Con Every Yellow Diamonds Mixed Wit Rozo
I Shy Real Bright In Da Light Because Im A Star
8 Shots Of Patrons Now Stannin'on Da Baw
Probably Get Drunk Wit A Scum And Put Da
Keys In Da Wrong Paw

Is this song even in English? I mean honestly. What is 'Keys in Da Wrong Paw?' And why don't he "Pop Trunk Wit Lights Dats
Where Dey Choppa Be?" It is physically impossible for me to unfurrow my brow in this moment. Seriously??? This is what we've become? If someone were to actually come up to me and say "A Bay Bay" with the same emphasis and shrill inflection that Hurricane Chris uses, I might reasonably be compelled to commit an act of murder. And who could blame me? Sheesh.

Mercifully, there are some songs out there that are romantic and poetic and it's probably the praise I should be handing out rather than the criticism. I just wanted you all to be aware of what passes for "popular" these days. Bob Dylan once said "Him not busy bein born is busy dyin." Artists, of all people, should know all about reinvinting themselves in a new light, so why is it that we still have the same five songs being rewritten over and over and over, sucking all the passion out of a powerful lyric and leaving a life-changing melody writhing in the gutter?

Firtht Day of Thkool

I started school last night! For those of you who don't know, I recently decided to pursue my Master's Degree in English Literature at the University of Central Oklahoma. (Man, that was a lot of capitalized words.) My first class was last night. Shakespeare. Aye forsooth.

I've never denied the fact that I'm a super nerd. But sometimes I completely amaze myself at the level of nerdiness that I exude. For instance, my class last night started at 7:30, but I left my house at 6 so I could get to school early enough for an entire NFL football game to take place before my class, should such an instance need to occur. Also, if that wasn't nerdy enough, I actually stopped at the public library on my way to school to pick up some books to read while I waited around for Room 219 of the Liberal Arts building to become vacant. Thank goodness I left the pocket protector and suspenders at home. Sheesh.

So, I sat outside my class and read for a good lengthy time. When I was finally allowed to enter the room I set up my note-taking perch on the back corner desk. Since there was still about 20 minutes to class time, I took out my sharpened pencils, my clean notebook, and my text book, and set them all in the top left corner of my desk, the home of every diligent student's classroom necessities, then proceeded to read some more.

When the professor finally arrived, I was thrilled to see he was the embodiment of every delightfully quirky Lit professor I've ever had. Complete with a "Whoa" (a white man's afro). Aaaaaand, to make the situation so much more wonderful, he brought the whole class Diet Coke and baklava. Now, I have no clue what either of these food items has to do with Shakespeare. I mean clearly grapes, bread, goblets of wine, and spiced meat from an Igloo cooler would have been more applicable sustenance, but I don't usually turn down free food or drinks, so I happily consumed the Diet Coke he offered.

And as people were slowly filtering into the classroom, he kept calling them by name and welcoming them to the wonderful abyss of Shakespearean goodness. I was so impressed that he knew so many of the students and I was also slightly jealous that he didn't know who I was...until he frantically turned toward me, pointed, and shouted "Are you the famous Tracy Hastings???!!" I didn't know what to say! I was so tempted to say "Yes! Yes I AM the famous Tracy Hastings! Please, remind me again what I'm famous for and if you are in the habit of giving As to this famous young woman!" But, my sheer panic led me only to the boring truth and I nervously shook my head no. He didn't seem too disappointed so I felt confident that Tracy may not have been the best person's identity to adopt at that particular moment. However, if he would have said "Are you the famous Angelina Jolie?!?!" clearly I would have indulged him.

Eventually, everyone got settled in and the professor began discussing the expectations of the course and I felt my pulse race with excitement as every paper assignment was mentioned and every due date handed out. La la la la. Then, he handed out our first assignment: Read Julius Caesar by Wednesday. Great Caesar's ghost! Is he serious! Reading a Shakespeare play involves so much more than two days. My heart was beating even faster at the challenge. I wanted to stand on my chair and shout "Friends! Countrymen! Lend me your ears! I WILL have this entire play read by Thursday...O pardon me thou bleeding piece of earth!" And I'm halfway tempted to wear a toga to class, but I'm not ready for them to see how completely zealous I am about getting an A just yet. I must pace myself.

Toward the end of class, we watched some of the 1944 version of Julius Caesar which stars Marlon Brando as Marc Antony. Not a bad person to see in a toga, that's for sure. And as we watched the famous murder scene when Caesar looks at his betrayer and friend and stammers "et tu, Brute?" I couldn't help but think of the other day when I gave Tickle a bath and she gave me the same look that Caesar gave Brutus and I swear if she could have talked she would have said the exact same thing..."Et tu, Katy?"

Why I Love My Mama

On the phone with my mother:

Katy: I'm almost finished with it.

Mom: It's a really good...OH MY GOSH HER BOOBS ARE HUGE...

Katy: Whose boobs?

Mom: This girl's on the street...they're huge! They're like Morganna's.

Katy: Who is Morganna?

Mom: She's got the biggest boobs in the world. Google her.

Katy; Mom, I'm at work. It'll probably take me straight to a porn site.

Mom: Yeah, probably. Do it anyway.

Airport Hugs

I went to pick my grandma up from the airport last night and had the beautiful honor of watching the people from the flight before hers come out and greet their loved ones.

Now, I'm not trying to get all sappy, but I think airport reunions are the most soul reflecting moments in our world. I don't care who you are, whether you have made plans to be picked up or not, EVERYONE hopes to be greeted by a familiar face when they get off a plane.

So, as I stood there waiting for my grandma, I melted and made up stories about the people I saw:

Carl and Francis. Carl and Francis were just returning from visiting their daughter in Sacramento. She moved out there about five years ago with her husband and three daughters. Usually, she's the one that comes to visit her parents, but this time Carl surprised Francis with a trip to see their daughter, in honor of their 47th wedding anniversary....not an anniversary that holds any special epic reward except for the fact that he's still madly in love with her. So much so that he carried her purse as they descended down to baggage claim, his hand resting on her back as if it felt more comfortable there than hanging idly from his arm. They didn't expect anyone to be waiting for them because they had already shown up for each other.

Tina, Wade, and Cheryl. Tina and Cheryl are sisters. Cheryl just flew in from Washington with her husband Wade and their four year old daughter, Chrissy. Tina waited anxiously for their arrival while holding her own four year old child, Braydon, in her arms. It's been only six months since these sisters saw each other, but Grandpa Darren's funeral was hardly a reason for celebration, so this visit was going to be sooo much better...just what they needed. Upon arrival, Tina feverishly grabbed her niece and Cheryl dramatically swooped up her nephew as if they were clinging more to the reminders of their sisterhood as it had been in their youth than the children their adulthood had produced. Wade stood by, knowing better than to get in the way of women and sisters and children and all of that. Cheryl held Braydon and Tina now had Chrissy as they went off to retrieve the bags that Wade would no doubt be left to carry.

The Porter Family. Mr. and Mrs. Porter found out 10 years ago that they would never be able to have children. After two years of mourning and 45 marriage counseling sessions, they decided their love for children was not meant to be withheld due to this minor setback. So, they started to look into adoption. Mr. Porter was anxious to begin the search for a tiny infant they could raise as their own, but Mrs. Porter felt strongly that the children waiting for them were in another country and were already past those first developmental years. It took some time for Mr. Porter to be in agreement, but eventually he knew that his wife was right. These children deserved homes, too. So, they showed up at the Will Rogers Airport at 7:45 p.m. on Monday August 13, 2007, with a red balloon, a white balloon, and a blue balloon. The next fifteen minutes were spent on tiptoes as they craned their necks to see her coming. And when they finally noticed Sung-Li, they hoisted their signs that bore her name above their head, and waved furiously. An unapologetically American wave. Sung-Li, shy and insecure from the circumstances that made up her nine year old existence, humbly bowed her head and allowed herself to become liquid, bending like a question mark as she melted into the arms of this new family that chose her. She accepted the patriotic balloons and wondered quietly when she would get the opportunity to embrace them again.

It was such a great privilege to watch these reunions and that last one honestly made me choke up. Not tear up. Choke up. I was choking on tears because it was such a delicate, human moment. And then I felt dumb for crying because come on. Who cries at the airport??? Oh wait. Lots of people...

Then, my grandma wheeled around the corner. I gave her an "airport hug" and we went and got her bags and went home. And the parking was free! Yay!

A Letter to the Horn in My 2002 Honda Civic LX

Dear Horn of my Honda,

It's a good thing you weren't the only thing standing in the way of me and death the other day when that guy pulled out in front of me. I mean I could understand your lack of enthusiasm if I used you on a consistently regular basis, but I clearly only utilize you once in a great sweet while. And, more often than not, when I use you it's because I REALLY need you to get some point across that a simple hand gesture or hateful facial expression will not take care of.

I don't understand you, Horn. Isn't your sole purpose as a fixture in my vehicle to serve and protect? When one thinks of the essence of who you are, it usually conjures up images of fear and respect...but when I think of you, I picture only the worthless piece of garbage that you are and how every time I use you it's more like I'm presenting a three headed tiger at the circus rather than a loaded reminder that someone has clearly violated my rights as a responsible driver. *insert festive circus music here* "Look ladies and gentlemen! Katy's using her horn! Isn't it adorable?! What will she think of next?!!!"

People talk about you, you know. I've had people get in my car, put you to the test, and then practically laugh themselves into oblivion because are you serious? that was your horn? Who are you trying to scare into submission with THAT thing? These embarrassing presentations of your less than satisfactory abilities have often left me feeling reasonably insecure and ashamed.

I'm very evidently disenchanted with you, Horn. I think it mostly has to do with the laughable responses I get when I put your abilities to the test. I'm fairly certain that most of my fellow drivers half way expect balloons and confetti to fly out my car when I use you because you quite obviously sound like you would be more willing to announce the arrival of a giant purple dinosaur than save my life. I mean I guess I understand. We all have our priorities. I would just love it if my overall safety was one of yours.

Thank you for your time.

Sincerely,

Katy

Day -o- Fun

Welp, I just thought I'd share my day with the one or two of you that actually read this thing.

It was a modest day. A day of nothingness, really. And when I am presented with a whole reasonable span of time that involves no personal plans or pre-set agenda, I tend to get a little excited and life suddenly starts to look a whole lot like a Rogers and Hammerstein musical with festive choral entroits and choreographed musical numbers. *twirl twirl twirl* NO PLANS!! *bell kick bell kick bell kick*

So I thought, for organizational purposes, I would take a picture of everything I did today and then explain each item so you can be as thrilled as I am with the sheer nothingness of my day.



I woke up at around 9am which was largely due to the fact that I actually went to bed reasonably early last night after deciding I would rather go home and sleep than meet up with my roomate at City Walk. The first thing I did when I woke up this morning was grab my lap top and start watching disk two of Smallville Season 3. It's always great to start off each day with a superhero. Ain't nothin wrong with a little Clark Kent in the mornin, y'all.

I watched Smallville for a bit, then took a shower and cleaned my room. I left my apartment at about 12:45 to go down to my grandma's to feed her cats while she is visiting my mom in Ohio. While at my grandma's, I managed to spend the next 4 to 5 hours watching The Hills on MTV. Which, for those of you who don't know, is the most assinine show in existence, but so incredibly delicious I couldn't possibly change the channel. I mean, what if I like missed something really important like Heidi dumping buttface Spencer or like Whitney making head intern at Teen Vogue. Like, duh.

However, you will be pleased to know that I alternated reading two Christian non-fiction books during commercial breaks. Lies Women Believe and When Jesus Came to Harvard. So, while I was filling my mind with the attrocities of measuring up to the superficial existences of random twenty-somethings living in Beverly Hills, I was also counteracting each negative thought by reading books that reminded me that the Lord is in control of my emotions and I shouldn't live with an "I'll be happy when..." mentality. My brain was downloading so many conflicting thoughts that I'm pretty sure my house might have looked like the cottage in Sleeping Beauty when the fairies were firing different colors from their wands and the mayhem was shooting out the chimney for all the world to see. Yes, that's right (she says with an evil eyebrow raise)...my brain waves were so fiercely active, that my thoughts were atually launching from my brain and escaping through my grandma's chimney. In which case, you might have seen them if you were flying over SW 68th between the hours of 3:30 and 5:30pm.

After sufficiently warping my mind, I left there at around 6:30 and headed home. I borrowed my grandma's Dyson vacuum and decided to do some more intensive house cleaning...superhero house cleaning, if you will. And may I please just say that this was my very first experience with a Dyson vacuum. And please Sweet Lord of Mercy and Goodness, don't let it be my last. That thing was AWESOME. I don't want to go into too much detail lest another choreographed musical dance number ensue, but the sucky hose thing on the Dyson could quite possibly be the most life-changing thing I've ever experienced. You have to be careful, though, because it will literally suck up any and every thing that is put in it's path. I accidentally vacuumed the following: two bobby pins, a necklace, my white shabby chic shower curtain, half of a hand towel, and two bottles of perfume. No, seriously. I did.

After the Dyson dance number, I decided to play Boomer Sooner on my recorder. There was nobody here to appreciate it, but it's the only song I know how to play on my recorder and they always say that if you don't consistently play your instruments, you will forget how to play them, and, well, I just can't let that happen. After playing Boomer Sooner (twice....heheh), I settled in for some more Smallville lovin. But I was way too wired to just sit and stare at my lap top, so I grabbed a magazine and some scissors and my notebook and I made a prayer collage, which is an idea I got from my friend, Kim, where you cut out things in magazines that remind you of someone and then pray for them based on what you cut out (I think). It was a fun and artistic endeavor with results that made me feel more like a maniacal serial killer than a prayer warrior, but whatever. Here ya go, Kayla. I prayed for you/plotted to kill you tonight:



And, well, after creeping myself out with my very first prayer collage, I colored a pretty picture in my Princess coloring book! Yay! And painted my nails pink! Yay! Then, mercifully, before the night got REALLY out of control, my roomate got home and we chatted about the Lord and our lives and how completely ridiculous it is for us to spend more than 24 hours apart from one another. Giggidy. (That's for you, Carrie)

The Quintessential Luke

Well, Luke. You turned 16 yesterday. I still can't believe it. I still can't believe you've been on this planet for a long enough period of time that the government somehow believes it's okay to hand you a license allowing you to operate a moving vehicle...that moves...and drives...on roads n stuff. I can still remember when I was told that I would be a big sister. I was 8 years old and thought I would be the baby of the family forever. Then you came along.

I was so in awe of you. I remember the phone call I got from dad at the hospital when he called to tell me you had finally been born. I was thrilled. I learned quickly how to scoop you up in my arms and change your diaper and make you smile. You weren't really a person in my world. You were more like a new toy. Something I could carry around and put outfits on. And you were spoiled. Being the first male child of the family and the newest baby in almost 8 years, everyone pretty much thought you hung the moon.



We all wanted to be the ones to feed you and put you to sleep. We fought over who would get to push you in the stroller and who would give you a bath. But, in the end, I think I won....You see, Luke, I don't think I ever told you this, but I used you as my fifth grade science project. It was a brilliant project that had a lot to do with raw vegetables and your reactions to certain foods. The details aren't important. Mainly because I was never good at Science. And you turned out fine, so no worries. Just please stay away from corn fields in July.



After the wonder of babyhood wore off, we sort of started to not get along, you and I. In fact, I loathed and despised you for the second and third year of your life. It might have something to do with my infamous competitive nature and the fact that you stole all the attention right out from under me. Or it might have something to do with the fact that pure evil invaded your body for those two years and directed all its hate and malice towards me. Whatever the case may be, let's just say you got away with a whole lotta crap while I got blamed for it. Thanks.




But we grew up and started to kind of like each other. I started to feel a strong connection to you when I realized your eyes were gonna stay blue, therefore making us the only blue-eyed children in the family. I also grew to respect your fondness for reading and your fascination with little plastic army men. Luke, you had army men everywhere. There were army men floating in the toilet at one point, I think.

Then, it seemed like over night you changed into this little man. You developed all these wonderfully human characteristics which, unfortunately for you, are almost identical to our father's. You have such a great talent at being at ease with the world. Nothing affects you too greatly. You show such amazing kindess to others and I've always believed you have this innate sense of rightness that is just forever imbedded in your character. You make it impossible for anyone to ever be mad at you. Frustrated to the point of delusion, yes. But mad, no. Your brothers look up to you and I think you have done a pretty good job of setting a strong example for them.



But the coolest thing is that you've managed to teach me some stuff over the years, too. If there's one thing I admire about you, it's your bravery. You are always very honest with yourself and that takes a lot of strength of character and wisdom. You are determined, but not in a conventional way. You are determined to be yourself which is more than a lot of people can boast. Most of us are too busy trying to fit in.

And even though it scares me to pieces that you are going to be behind the wheel of a car that's too big for any sixteen year old to drive (don't get me started), I know you will do your best to have fun while maintaining integrity. And if you start to drive like an idiot, I will sooooo bring up the resentment I've supressed from the years you were Satan to me and I will kick your ass. Don't think I won't.



Love you, bubba. Happy 16th.

Anonymous

Chapter One:
I walk down the street
There's a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in
It's not my fault
It takes a long time to get out

Chapter Two:
I walk down the same street
There's a deep hole in the sidewalk
I see it there
I still fall in
It's not my fault
It takes a long time to get out

Chapter Three:
I walk down the same street
There's a deep hole in the sidewalk
I pretend I don't see it
I fall in
I must be a victim
It takes forever to get out

Chapter Four:
I walk down the same street
There's a deep hole in the sidewalk
I walk around it

Chapter Five:
I walk down another street.

A Superhero Power I Didn't Really Want

Well, over the weekend, my left eye started bothering me pretty badly. On Sunday morning it felt like I had something in it and I wondered if maybe my contact was torn so I took it out, but it looked fine, so I put it back in. Logically, I should have left my contacts out and worn my glasses, but I hate/loathe/despise/abhor/detest myself in glasses, so I decided it wouldn't be any big deal to suffer through some mild irritation for the day.

By Monday morning it was pretty unbearable. Again, like a blessed idiot, I kept wearing my contacts. All day at work I suffered in anguish as I slowly became a cyclops, ignoring the frightened screams of my coworkers as they passed by my office door. (There may have been some growling and drooling on my part that I was not aware of.)

Tuesday evening, my ojo was watering quite a bit and itching like bonkers. So, I took my contacts out..hahaha...noooooooo I didn't. I left the durn things in and slept in em. I have the kind that you are allowed to sleep in, but I'm pretty sure my symptomatic distress should have prompted me to, I don't know, buy a vowel...'u'...'e'....I'd like to solve the puzzle...CLUE!!! Vanna White sadly shakes her head...Poor Katy and her incessant need to prove that stubbornness really is a fruit of the spirit. I'm just sure it is.

Wednesday morning, I woke up and realized that I wouldn't have to be squinting any more. My eye was already doing it involuntarily on it's own. It was as if a little super glue fairy had come along whilst I slumbered and applied her glue to my lash line so that my eye would stay shut for all eternity. Ick. So, I went to my bathroom mirror and pried open my eye, using my fingers as mighty forceps. There it was. My poor little ojo. I couldn't see any obstruction, so reached in there to (finally!) take my contact out. But as soon as the offending finger made it's way to my ocular cavity, my eye started filling with blood. With. Blood. Now...if you know me, you are probably aware of my irrational fear of anything that has to do with things going into or coming out of my eye. I kick and waller like a hooked catfish whenever I have to put eye drops in my eyes, so you can imagine the horror on my face when I saw the blood spilling from my eye. I mean, I've been trying to be a lot more like Christ lately, but this just seemed to take it a little too far. You see, we build up to weeping and sweating blood.

Anyway, I panicked. I walked around my bathroom pushing my head as far away from my body as possible. Since heads are clearly attached to bodies, I was really just bent at a 90 degree angle with my neck extended at it's fullest length, like an ostrich. This position also allowed for some pretty efficient dry-heaving as well because gag! there's blood coming out of my eye!

So, I did what any normal human being would have done. I called my mommy. Who lives in Ohio. We decided it would probably be a good idea to go to my eye doctor. Who offices in Moore. So, I called up there and they told me to come right in. I finally got the bleeding to stop, so I felt confident in driving. And this has nothing to do with anything I'm writing about, but it was just so random...on my way to Moore, a bird flew into the side of my car. I didn't really notice until after it happened. I just heard this thud, looked over and saw the bird kind of bounce off my passenger door and I was all like 'what the hell, man'...and the expression on my face as I was holding kleenex over my eyes was one of mild irritation because, come on, I have an emergency here. Go play kamikaze bird gang initiation games on someone else's car.

I made it safely (which is more than I can say for the bird) to my eye doctor and found out that I had torn my retina, but no eye patch would be needed...sorry, all you pirate fiends. I'm wearing my glasses for now which is fine. I'll take it. I'd rather wear glasses than have my eye fill up with...I'm seriously gonna vomit if I have to say it again...

Here's my eye...all better now...