I am trying this for the first time... If it works, then this should be a link to a slideshow of the wedding set to music.

Cheers and love to all...

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Let's get this straight... I am tired of talking about my Houston classroom adventure. I have put off much more intersting topics just because I felt the need to let everyone know that I was actually doing something constructive and not just down there partying in the humidity - or "closeness". So here we go. Buckle up for a quick hit marathon.

Scattershooting while wondering whatever happened to Kenny the Damn Yankee...

I stopped the Houston story at the end of class on Friday, day five. Here is a very brief synopsis of the remainder of my time in H-Town. (By the way, the 'H' stands for humidity, despite what others may tell you.)

• Friday night: Bought a hardhat and a flashlight because Saturday was our class field trip to construction sites.
  
  
• Saturday: Made the drive to Katy, Texas (home of Roger Clemens) to visit a home being lived in as well as several homes under construction. Note to potential buyers of newly constructed homes: Just because it is new does not make it right. We snuck in to several "custom" homes in the 5,000 square foot range only to see workmanship that was befitting a shed, not a manor. If you are going to spend $700,000 and up on a house, just factor in an extra $2400 or so and get a quality phase inspection. TRUST ME.
  
  
• More Saturday: Dawn flew into town that day around noon. Meanwhile, I was trudging around construction sites in the rain. Knowing I would see her made the day drag on much longer than normal, because I was just ready to hold her in my arms.
  
  
• Sunday: This was a planned family day and I was very proud of myself for a little play on words that I came up with. By this time, I had been in Houston for a week but I had yet to see any family other than Chris and Aynsley. In other words, I had not seen a single Malone. So on Sunday, as we headed to Brandon and Lori's new house to see them and the rest of that clan, I mentioned how I really needed "some Malone time". Say it out loud.
  
  
• Monday: I returned to my class for two days of study on electricity. This is the subject we were all dreading the most, which might be why I didn't ask many questions of the instructor Steve during his discourse. I just concentrated and absorbed like a sponge. (By the end of the two week long course, there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that my strength was squarely in the electrical element.)
  
  
• Sidebar: Ok, fine... my "Gandalf" statement. Ready? Steve had a very professorial attitude about himself and a way of making all of us in the class scared to answer questions because he would tell us how stupid we were. But then Sean, the Air Force guy, noticed something. While on a break on Monday afternoon, Sean told us that Steve wore a belt buckle that read "Gandalf". Worse, the buckle also had a sketch of the J.R.R. Tolkien character. "That explains it", Sean said. "Now I understand why he acts the way he acts."
  
  
• Sure as shit, I made it a point to look, and he wore that belt buckle every day. Had I been on top of my game - rather than trying to wrap my brain around ampacity, GFCIs, and aluminum anti-oxidents - I would have thrown in a few references to Orcs and Ents. But, becaue this is my future, I stuck with Ohms and amps.
  
  
• Monday night: Dawn and I went to eat and have a few drinks with three of the guys from class. She gave them some great pointers on how to market themselves to realtors once they are ready for business. Ben, for one, was so impressed that he paid for the tab belonging to Dawn and I. I spent the rest of my night kicking myself for not ordering more food.
  
  
• Wednesday: This was supposed to be the return of Slumpy for two days of HVAC instruction. (Remember the cross between Sleepy and Grumpy?) However, much to our delight, Richard - our teacher/motivator for the first three days of class - showed up. Later that afternoon we all found out that Slumpy had been fired. I kind of felt bad because he was, after all, 80 years old and perhaps they should have given him a chance to retire instead. But then I thought: Does he really need this gig on his resume at 80? And, to take it a step further, I paid good money for this class. I deserve(d) an instructor that not only gave a shit, but that would eat that damned fried egg sandwich before five hours had passed.
  
  
• Skipping ahead to Friday: Dawn got to sit in during class on this day because the first several hours were spent on marketing - and she is going to market for our company. A huge thank you goes out to the school - and that particular instructor - for allowing her to do so since I only paid for me. She left the room during the late afternoon because we all had to take our final exam. I was worried that she would be bored hanging around, especially since we had checked out of our hotel room that morning, but she found some school computers that she could get on to access her MySpace account. When I was done with my test, I found her in the common area chatting it up. I am pretty sure that she was excited that I felt confident about how I did on the exam.
  
  
• More Friday: A little later, with Dawn back in class by my side, we found out that I scored higher than anyone else in class on the final. And, yes, you can say that there were only five other people in the group, but I don't think that detracts from the fact that I only missed one question out of sixty. A 98.3 score is the same no matter the size of the testing class. Hello, free inspection mirror (for getting high score)!
  
  
• Finally, a quick real-time update: I need 13 certificates before I can take the state exam for my actual license. Right now, I have five. The rest will be had before you know it, and then I have to... eh. I'll blow that bridge up when I come to it. Rather, we'll blow that bridge up when we come to it. Package deal and all.

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I believe I was about to tell about Friday during the first week of class. After three days of education interspersed with motivation, we were subjected to the elderly, illegitimate son of Sleepy and Grumpy - if that sort of conception were possible. Let's call him Slumpy.

We were all ready for a change of pace that morning, especially since we knew that the new instructor would be with us the next day, along with Slumpy, as we went out and looked at actual houses to put our learning to good use. Of course, we still had a day of plumbing tutoring first. Nothing quite gets the blood pumping like a good round of sewage talk!

The new teacher - let's call him "Steve" - started out with a bang. He first talked a bit about his credentials, which were above and beyond the average home inspector based on his chemistry background alone, and then he launched into his standard rhetoric. He posed a question to us that I initially thought was easily answered: "Would any of you live in a gingerbread house?"
0
Duh. My answer was "no". Who would do such a thing? Live in a structure that could fade away as fast as it was built? Unthinkable.

He went on to tell us that no one had ever answered "yes" to his question. Then he proceeded to tell all of us why we already live in gingerbread houses. (I could never do his analogy justice here, but suffice to say that we all pretty much live in time bombs. Wood is a natural attractant to all things that we deem infiltrating. All it needs is water to create an environment that things such as mold and termites love. So what do we do? We plumb it! We bring the water right into the structure to create a potential breeding ground.)

This man had my attention.

However, as the morning moved on, my classmates and I realized that we were only on page 5 of our study guide... and that there was still 100+ pages to go. Why were we going so slow? Because Steve kept going from tangent to tangent, telling us chemically related things that did not add to our study at all. He may have felt them important, but those of us in the class were just worried about getting our notes in order to pass the state test.

Finally, during a break, one of my classmates asked Steve about the pace. And, no, it was not Ben. It was Sean - the Air Force guy. And he was pissed.

Steve assured him (all of us, really) that everything was right on schedule. We had our doubts, but Steve's professorial attitude gave me pause. Maybe he did know what he was doing, afterall. All the lectures about which elements transfer heat and which don't, which elements were building blocks and which weren't, and which elements were good to touch and which weren't... perhaps there was a method to his madness.

Well, there wasn't.

As the afternoon drew to a close, the Power Point slides began to speed up. Very fast. Steve was obviously making up time - time he spent telling us about elements we didn't need to know about. Slide? Bam! Slide? Bam!

Finally, Sean stopped him on one with a question: "How can we tell a 3/4 inch pipe from a 1 inch pipe?" Simple enough, right?

Not so much...

As Steve rattled on his own answer (something about the diameter of all pipes not being uniform, with a ton of mumbo-jumbo thrown in), we all just sat in our chairs perplexed. Ten minutes later, I asked a simple question.

"So, what you are saying is that the 3/4 inch and 1 inch pipe are misnomers?"

Steve looked at me and answered in the affirmative. My fellow classmates thanked me for my direct questioning. I'm still not sure if that helpled us, but it shut up his long-winded explanation.

So what does all of this have to do with Gandalf? Ed will be pissed, but I'll tell you next time...

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The last four loads I have put in the dryer, I was sure that I was using my last dryer sheet.

Not so fast there, Mojombo.

I still have at least one left.

Liquid softener lets you know when the thrill is gone. Sheets keep you guessing.

I get a little thrill when I find a dryer sheet under the last one I pulled out of the box. But when I get to the bottom of the bottle of the liquid softener? That is a little deflating...

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Well, I learned tonight that no one in my family (blood-related, anyway) believes in me. I guess the thousands of dollars I have indebted myself to school is nothing but cartoon money to them, an extra pouch of honey mustard for their Chicken McNuggets.

Nevermind the fact that I am in the midst of cramming 358 hours worth of classroom study into 3 weeks. Just because I haven't called on a daily basis to expound on S-Traps versus P-Traps, or the importance of a TPRV, or purlins and studs, or DWV and HVAC... I should be at McDonald's working. Forget the fact that by the time I would get that whopping-ass paycheck I will be cramming for the state licensing exam for my chosen career that has a 17% pass rate.

Not important.

Here is what is important: It took me 37 years to decide what I wanted to do with my life. And I guarantee you that many of the naysayers are acting so because they still haven't decided. I said a long time ago, back when the Navy was recruiting me in high school to study nuclear engineering, that I could not be paid enough to do something I was not happy doing. I have stood by that motto ever since, much to the chagrin of many.

When my heart was no longer in retail? I left it.

Sure, I could go back. I'd make just above poverty scale and never own a house while working terrible hours as well as every single holiday, not to mention suffering the bombastic nature of today's customers. And, as fun as that sounds, I think I'll pass.

So ignore me. Call mom so she can lecture me on your behalf. Forget I even effing exist.

But, so help me God, do not order a Big Mac when you see me hovering over that grill.

There are others that belive in me...

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Well, too bad because I have a few wedding remnants to pass along before talking about the angry instructor.

First, from Jamey's "Newberg Report" that hit my inbox just before 10am on Saturday morning:

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If you haven't read the previous entry, you should do that first by clicking here.

Enjoy the show.

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Taking a break from my Houston story, it is time to tell another tale that actually originated there.

When Dawn came down to spend my last week there with me (which I will get to eventually), she mentioned that she would like to get married to me on 7-7-07. We always knew we were going to marry, but we (ok - she) kept wavering about big wedding vs. small wedding vs. eloping. Leave it to us to somehow combine all three options.

As soon as she mentioned the date, I was on the phone with Devin.

"What are your plans on the 7th of July?"

"Nothing. Why?"

I told him of our plan, and he immediately changed it for the better. And that is how we found ourselves in a luxury suite at the Ranger game tonight (Friday the 6th) with a smattering of friends and strangers, rings and license in tow, while wearing matching Hank Blalock mock-jerseys and matching Nikes. The top of the sixth inning was the "time".

There were two friends I really wanted to be there for the moment: Joe and Debra. Joe was able to make it, but Debra was not. One was better than none, however, and though there was no formal ceremony, I knew my best man was there.

After the fifth inning ended, Devin started herding everyone back into the suite from the bleacher seats in front. Almost on cue, four other people entered our room, most notably the great Jamey Newberg and a writer (Will Carrol, if I spelled that right) from Baseball Prospectus. Dev performed a very nice, precise, semi-baseball themed ceremony as Dawn held flowers provided to her from some of our caring friends. We exchanged rings, a bit awkwardly because there was no rehearsal at all, and then kissed to seal the deal.

Gette, a friend of all of ours, brought two bottles of champagne up from the bar he tends in the park. (He was stopped while leaving with them, but he told his boss "You can charge me for them if you want to, but I'm taking them upstairs to a suite where some friends of mine are getting married. I'll be back in thirty minutes." He left with a piece of cake that he was going to use as evidence.)

Lots and lots of pictures were taken and a link will be posted on this site by the end of the weekend with the ones from our camera. But there were many other great shots taken from the others there - one who is a professional photographer and another who should be.

We all toasted, hung out, pontificated, and (most of all) celebrated.

We also watched Eric Gagne blow his first save of the season, turning a 3-2 Ranger lead into a tie in the top of the ninth. The plus side of that? When he entered the game to his customary "Welcome to the Jungle", Dawn and I had our first dance. Or mosh. Whatever.

Then, when the game went to extra innings, my wife and I made our exit. Isn't it customary for the bride and groom to leave before everyone else? Showered with stale popcorn, because there was no birdseed, we left in the tenth inning. On our way to the car, just as I was calling mom, we heard a loud roar from the stadium. The Rangers had won the game on a hit by Michael Young.

And, as much as I love that team, I was more happy with our win.



Good times...

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If you happen to be at a place where you can watch tonight's Texas Ranger game (it is being broadcast locally on Fox Sports Southwest), I suggest you tune in. Especially from the 6th inning on.

And if you can Tivo it or put it on your DVR? Even better.

And if you have the capability to transfer from the above unit to PC? Let me know...

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When I walked into the class/lab on Thursday morning, I saw a few of the guys chatting with a short, frumpy old man who was sitting at the end of the front row but facing the room. He had a fried egg sandwich on toast neatly unwrapped in front of him, and sometimes he made a motion toward it - but he always withdrew at the last minute. Perhaps he heard his arteries screaming in fear.

I set all my supplies at what had become my normal seat on the front row, opposite the end that our new instructor was sitting at. Then I went outside to get in one last smoke before roofing instruction began.

Once the clock turned to 8am (precisely then, in fact) the man started talking. A half hour later, we had learned that he was a former civil engineer and had lived mostly in the Northeast until moving to Texas. He asked us to guess his age, then turned and pointed at me.

"Twenty-seven," I blurted. Not even the hint of a laugh from him, though there were some chuckles behind me.

He pointed to Ben directly behind me. Knowing that I already took the best answer, Ben was more honest with his guess of sixty-five. The correct answer turned out to be eighty.

Thirty minutes in, we finally began to study the subject of the day, but with more tangents than a teenage girl's conversation. Finally, after one particular point, I noticed his eyes close... and stay closed. I was hoping no one would say anything, because I wanted to see how long he was going to sleep. After a few seconds, Don finally said something to wake the old man up. The same scenario happened at least one more time that I saw, but Ben swore it happened a total of four times.

I didn't feel like I learned a whole lot that day, other than nothing is made like it used to be. All the craftsmen are gone and cars these days suck. Builders are idiots and people are lazy. No one speaks English, and those that speak Spanish cannot read it. This guy was a walking (yet sleeping) timebomb of political incorrectness.

When Ben and I took our smoke breaks on this day, the others started to join us just to get out of the classroom. We all bemoaned the fact that we paid good money for this course and that this day felt like a true ripoff. I told everyone to look on the bright side: this was our bonding day. We had all spent the last three days together without talking much, but Thursday was totally different. We finally felt a kinship because we had a common cause to rally around. Knowing that this instructor was supposed to be back for the following Wednesday and Thursday to teach us (or attempt to) about HVAC, we all swore that we would not let that happen.

At lunch, the teacher sat with us at our table in the deli (after sending us late because he got into a twenty minute lecture about psychology and what the eyes really reveal). When Mark and I got done eating, we both begged away from the table. Mark said he had to call his wife and I said the same, adding that I also needed to feed my habit.

When lunch was over, all of us sat waiting in the room - except for Don. He finally walked in, wagging his finger at us. "You guys owe me big time," he said while looking from me to Ben to Mark. Evidently, he got stuck at the table for the entire area and he was about to blow his own brains out.

The material after lunch flew by, because the instructor barely noticed it, instead focusing on his own little rants. At 2:30, the power point presentation was over. We were all hoping that meant an early exit from class. Instead, it was a perfect time for our pseudo-leader to bitch for thirty minutes about how little this nation recycles. How that applied to roofs, I never figured out.

At 3:00, he was done. Ben, ever the rebel, finally spoke up. "So, can we go now?"

Over the first three days, we were out by 5pm every day, if not a little earlier. And that was with the head instructor teaching us. The class listing actually showed the classes going until 5:40, but he didn't care. Thursday's instructor cared a lot.

"I can't let you go until 5:00. Technically, not until 5:30." He then resumed his silent reading.

We all looked around at each other until Ben finally said something again. "Well, how about a break, then?" Thankfully, it was allowed.

We went outside and made our plans on who to email at the school to make sure none of this happened again. We also made no attempt to hurry back in. Our normal one cig break was stretched to three smokes that time.

Somehow, the rest of the afternoon passed without much incident. We all had the email address to the "dean" of the school, thanks to our little classroom rebel, with the intent to use it. None of us wanted to waste two more days like this.

At least we had a different instructor to cover plumbing the next day.

How does that old saying go? Oh, I remember:

Be careful what you ask for. You might just get it...

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Let's see... We are back from East Texas so now I can finish my little trip narrative. I left off by alluding to the fact that Tuesday nights are bar nights for the Houston gang.

I really didn't feel up to going that night, but I went for two reasons: I told Chris that I'd drive him and Cousin Brandon also usually goes on Tuesdays. I would have been content with staying "home", talking to Dawn on the phone, and unwinding from a day packed full of information regarding foundations (slab as well as pier and beam), drainage, anchoring, expansion joints, and weep holes. But the allure of hanging with Chris and (one of) the cousin(s) was too much to pass up.

Plus, it was Trivia Night.

Chris and his buddies usually team up to provide answers and split the hundred dollar prize. Well, actually, they give it to the lawyer in the bunch and he hold on to the money until they build up enough for a party for all of them. When we got there that night, their "balance" was at $700. That would have been more than enough for me to have a shindig. Then again, I drink Keystone Light and only have two friends.

In a normal week (in other words, when I am home in Ft. Worth), Chris would normally call or text me each question. I would then go to Google to search for the answer under a sever time crunch before texting back my best guess. For those of you scoffing, these questions are not your garden variety Trivial Pursuit queries. These bitches are tough.

But this week we lucked out.

Though we had Dawn on stand by, we ended up not needing her... because the trivia host left his questions - and answers - laying on the bar when his girlfriend walked in and started talking to him. So Chris' friend Buzz took off to the loo with them and quickly jotted down what we needed to know.

Needless to say, "we" won. Others in the bar weren't very happy, but the Houston regulars that I was alligned with calmly pointed to me and called me their "out of town ringer". Like I could possibly know the exact height of that crazy tower in Dubai.

The "balance" went up to $800 and we left after a total of two hours there.

It did feel good to get out, and it felt really good to get home at a very decent hour, but I was disappointed that my cousin couldn't make it because his allergies were kicking his ass.

Then, like most nights I was down in Houston on this trip, I went to bed early. Exhausted - mostly mentally.

I got to class early the next morning. Remember me saying I was five minutes late on the first day? Well, for all the other ten days, I was at least 40 minutes early - sitting in the parking lot and chatting with classmates.

We spent another day on structure and framing and found out at the end of Wednesday that our instructor would be passing the reins to two other instructors until the last day of class. Even though we all liked him, we also thought it would be interesting to hear some other perspectives.

However, nothing could prepare us for the left turn that Thursday provided...

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I'm back. Well, more precisely, internet is back. No more loading up blog entries on my jump drive and posting them from my mom's house.

So now it is time for a few light-hearted quick hits before getting back to the Houston narrative:

Last night, Dawn called me away from my man room (otherwise known as the garage) because she wanted me to watch a TV show with her. I left the Rangers post-game show playing on the radio and went inside to see what kind of gold she was watching. Alas, it was 'Family Jewels'. For those like me, who absolutely despise so-called "reality TV", it was like a bullet to the brainpan.

The show is based on the life of former Kiss bassist Gene Simmons and his family. I gave it an honest shot because, like I told Dawn, it was a novel twist to be watching someone famous that I have met and she has not. (Do you not know that story? It can be found here. That was my fourth entry on this site.) After about 10 minutes, I was done. Out. Ready for Ranger talk on the radio again.

Dawn said that she thought I'd like the show because I used to really like Kiss. I told her, "Well, I also used to really like Clifford the big red dog."

------

Jumping way ahead in the Houston story now before reverting back to last Tuesday...

On our way back, we were broke beyond repair. The reasons for this will be apparant as I finish the rest of the tale, but for now all you need to know is that we had some change and a Wal-Mart gift card with a little over nine bucks left on it. We also had only two cigarettes. We figured that we could stop at a Wal-Mart gas station on the way home to get a pack of smokes because 1) they take the card and 2) they have the best prices. What we didn't plan on was not seeing an effing Wal-Mart for hundreds of miles.

I had one of the two cigs while in Houston traffic. The other, I (or we) left sitting in the pack until we had some reinforcements.

We finally stopped in Waco - about three hours outside of Houston. I bought a fresh pack there and truly enjoyed the lone cig we had been saving. I don't think I have ever enjoyed a smoke like that one.

But the really funny thing about all that?

As we got back onto the highway for our last leg home, the name of the next exit struck me as funny. Or ironic. Or coincidental. Or all three.

The next exit was for "Craven Street".

Bastards...

Stay tuned for several more updates before I delve into my online courses.

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Where was I... ?

Oh - on the couch. At Dawn's brother's girlfriend's place. (Wow. That is a lot of apostrophes.)

I woke up a little disoriented, not to mention later than I had planned. My new cell phone's default alarm tone was piss-poor, hence my late awakening. I did a quick wash-up and hit the road for the fifteen mile drive to class. I had an address and Google maps printed out, but they did not prepare me for the quickly changing block numbers.

I paid my seventy-five cent toll at the exit and started looking for building number 1250. However, driving down the service road, I noticed that the buildings went something like 440 on one corner to 880 on the next. By the time I saw 1250, it was too late. I had passed it on this one-way street. No problem, I thought. I have a great sense of direction and I was sure I could find a way back to the place with minimal trouble.

Not so much...

I did get there, though... eventually. I walked into the building and asked where the inspector class was being held. After a few wrong hallway turns, I found it and walked in about five minutes late. Never again, I swore.

There were only six other "students" in the class. Four rows of tables, two guys per row... except for mine because I sat in the front row. (Dawn called me an ass-kiss for that, but I chose to sit up front so I wouldn't miss anything. After all, I was there to learn. To start a new career. A new and improved life.)

During the class intros, I learned that there was only one other guy there who had the same level of inexperience that I had. He was a former IT guy who was tired of trying to keep up with the times. (He was gone after two days. A family emergency or somesuch.) The other five guys? I'll start at the back of the class and move forward...

Mark: A fourth grade teacher from New Braunfels who has until July 13th to decide whether or not he is going to teach the next year. He owns a lot of rental property, hence he has tons of experience regarding home repairs.

John (not me): A guy who was tired of working with family ventures, especially since he was "involuntarily retired" from his last venture based on his pay. He used to do inspections for a gas company. He, like the rest of us, was there so that he could work for himself. A Houston area guy.

Sean: A Captain in the US Air Force, based in San Antonio, who is three years away from "retirement". Probably much older than he looks.

Ben: A psychology student from Austin who grew up, as he said, with tools and a paint brush in his hand. Lots of experience in construction, as he was a contractor that worked for many builders.

Don: A high school shop teacher who retired this summer. He was usually quiet, but when he did say something, it was usually funny as shit. Another Houston area guy.

And then there was me.

On our breaks and lunches, we all pretty much went our own separate ways. Ben and I would hang out from time to time during the day because we were the only smokers in class.

We covered the basics of the business and some marketing principles on day one, then spent the next two days on foundations and structure. These first three days were spent with Richard as our instructor - a guy who could teach and motivate at the same time. I was certainly getting my money's worth. But I digress.

When I got "home" from class on Monday, I was informed that Dawn's brother felt terrible about what had happened the night before. He told her that he really wanted me to stay with him while I was in town. And, feeling a little weird about staying with his girlfriend, I agreed. So I packed up (again) and ventured to his duplex on Monday night.

Next up? Tuesday night is (apparantly) "bar night"...

Am I too late?
Am I too late?
To tell you that I love you
Now they've carried you away

- 'Am I Too Late', Old 97's

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(Well, eighteen now, I think. When I talked to my mom on Thursday night, she said our town had rain for sixteen consecutive days. Then it rained yesterday and it is raining now. This is the wettest June since 1928 or so. Good times.)

Even though I don't have internet, thanks to the above mentioned storms, I am finally going to write about my two weeks spent in Houston. The adventure from Hell. Or somesuch. Buckle up.

I was to stay with Dawn's brother while in Big-H so we could save hotel money. He and I get along great, and he was really looking forward to having someone around. (Sidebar: He recently moved out of his cohabitation with his girlfriend, but they still see each other. Who hasn't done that?) He told me to call him when I was about 30 minutes away from his duplex. And I did.

Over and over and over and over. No answer.

I finally pulled up in front of his place only to find him and his buddy in the driveway completely shit-faced. Now, I have seen Dawn's brother drunk, but never like this. After a few minutes of small talk, I unloaded my stuff into his place. I organized everything, because I am like that, and then went about my business. I eventually went outside to have a smoke before bedtime while talking to Dawn on the phone. That is when the fit hit the shan.

I approached the front door only to find it locked. Back door? Same thing.

He hadn't given me a key yet, so I started knocking. Nothing.

So here I was: all set to start school the next day at 8am with nothing to wear except the clothes I wore while driving in to Houston. Deodorant? In the duplex. Shampoo? Toothbrush? The same. Pissed would not even begin to describe the mood I was in. So I called Dawn.

That is when the phone lines lit up. She called her brother's girlfriend which led to the girlfriend coming over to bang on doors and windows. When she finally got him out of bed, she told me to load up because I was spending the night with her. After all, she had a downstairs couch. Me? I can sleep anywhere. It's part of my charm.

I repacked everything and went to her place. We spent a little bit of time shooting the shit on the patio, while smoking, until it was time for bed. I bundled up on the downstairs couch while wondering what the Hell I was going to do for the next eleven days.

Nothing is ever easy for me.

Ever.

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Yes, I am alive.

No, I have not read your blog.

Maybe humidity and hard hats are more interesting. (JOKE)

Yes, I have a funny story about the instructor from Hell.

No, I cannot tell it now.

Maybe I am just too tired.

Yes, I can get email.

No, not all the time.

Maybe it depends on the neighbor's connection.

Yes, I am in Houston.

No, the driving lanes have not gotten any wider.

Maybe this city is run by insurance companies.

Yes, I am staying with Dawn's brother.

No, I have not seen my cousins.

Maybe they have a good reason. (That's a joke, Brandon.)

Yes, I will see them on Sunday.

No, I will not be abstaining.

Maybe that is because that day is my one day off.

Yes, "abstaining" refers to beer.

No, it doesn't refer to anything else.

Well, maybe, it refers to those most intimate of areas.

Yes, I know my parents read this.

No, I don't think they'll be shocked.

Maybe it is because they know me.

Love to all.

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