A Wife present?

Alright, so it has been a year since the celebration of the anniversary of my significant other's birth. This year the date fell on a Monday. I had to work. Flarg. That meant no pancakes. I wanted pancakes, even if I had to make them. Oh well. Off I go to work. Let me go back a day.

It is Sunday. I need to get the wife a present. I scored major brownie points last year by braving the estrogen laden ULTA. She still has some parfum. Damn. It will not be easy this year. I am constantly accused of not getting a "wife present." Whatever that means. So there I am, racking my brain for the gift idea. It is not coming. Crap. I've got family members asking what to get her. I tell them I'm not sure, get her an iTunes gift card. Can you see where I am going yet? No? Keep reading.

A few years ago I worked at Apple Computer. One fine year all of the employee's received a 1st Gen iPod Shuffle. Pretty cool. It worked for me for almost a year. I needed to upgrade though. I was able to procure an iPod Nano from Sandy Claws the next year. Sweet. A few months later I wanted the new and improved iPod Touch. Got it. Through each upgrade the old iPod got passed along to the wife. She never got her own brand new iPod.

On September 9, 2009, yes 09/09/09, Apple released a new iteration of their iPod Nano chock full of Appley goodness. It even came in several wonderful flavors. Skip ahead on the DVR of my life to the Sunday before the wife's birthday. Add in the fact that I have told people to get her an iTunes gift card and that proverbial light bulb started shining bright.

I loaded the sprog into the short bus and headed off to Best Buy. We went straight to the iPod counter and picked up the pink flavored iPod Nano. The sprog picked out some pretty nifty headphones.

I got home from work on Monday and got ready for dinner. This year we decided to deviate from our standard fodder and libations and traveled out to Roseville for some Ruby Tuesday's. Pretty tasty. The wife opens up the recycled gift bag and looks at me. In that moment I knew I did good. "My own iPod?" That's right honey, your own iPod. "Yay!" Excellent.

Now, I now that it was not diamonds, jewelry, parfum, or some other stuff; however, it was pink. That counts it as a wife present right?

30th and Graduation

Alright...so now I am 30. I walked across the stage to receive my diploma on Saturday even though I still have 1.2 classes left to take. Standing around for an hour in the bowels of Arco Arena was not much fun. Not to mention the fact that they must be trying to conserve energy because it felt like an oven. But oh well. I got up there with the rest of them and got my Alumni pin and then moved the tassel.

So I can now call myself a college graduate in the field of Criminal Justice Administration.

We had the post-grad party at my house with all my friends and immediate family. Thank you all for coming! All of the gifts will be put to good use. In fact, the biggest is being used right now! All of my parents and wife chipped in and got me an EeePC netbook. I then repartitioned the HD and installed Eeebuntu Linux on the other partition. Now I have a dual boot system! Even though I will be through with my Bachelor's classes soon I may continue on to get my Master's degree. Just a thought that I am still kicking around.

That's good honey

Update: I'm missing outside house Xmas lights.

So I went to the three boxes that I had found looking for the lights to go on the outside of the house. I know exactly where they are located. Easy task right? Wrong. 

I go to the box where all of the lights are located because in my infinite wisdom I relocated them all to one box. I find the regular little lights that have served their purpose for many years and toss them aside. I find the nice LED lights that were purchased for the tree. I gently set those aside. I'm out of lights. There is something wrong. I launch Brain 1.0 and enter the search string "outside LED Christmas lights" 2 results found. Yes I did purchase some last year and took them down before moving. I'm in the garage and complete a 360 degree rotation. Crap.

Two hours later and many boxes looked into I still have no lights. I am going to buy more! I look at a major hardware store's website and find some interesting LED lights that appear to be 150 feet long. The price is excellent. I hop in the minivan and head on over. 

I stroll up to the Xmas light aisle and find what I am looking for. Only one problem, the box says 12.5 feet. Now I know that I'm not crazy and know that I read the website correctly. It said 150. I head home and jump back on the website. I squint really hard while looking at the dimensions of the lights I would like to purchase. Some of you may have figured out where I went wrong at this point; for those that haven't I will bore you with some math. I had an epiphany. Ready? 12 inches in a foot. Still haven't figured it out? 150 divided by 12. Want me to put it another way? 150 / 12 = 12 x 12.5 What's that mean? It means some genius in marketing decided to put the inches measurement on the website and the feet measurement on the box. They used a font small enough that when glanced at the " appears as a single '. I got suckered into going into the store. But the fool I am not. I bought nothing on that trip and will probably not shop at that establishment for about a month.

I still have no LED lights. I start stringing the old incandescent style lights that I found earlier hoping that I have enough. I do not. Dag nabbit! Back to the garage because I WILL find those LED lights. Commence the tear down. Again. They are not in any of the boxes. Wait....there's one more box buried in the back I have not checked yet. I gingerly open the box hoping against hope. They are not in there. I kick the box and hear a tap sound on the ground. Wha? I tilt the box away from the wall. I see a single LED light. I grab that sucker and pull with all my might. I have found them! I hear trumpets playing and then fanfare. Stupid radio. 

So I hang the lights up and head inside to tell Melissa of my discovery and subsequent hanging. "That's good honey." 

Christmas Boxes and the Darn Garage

Thanksgiving finally came and went and now we usher in the Christmas Season. The stores are all ready to turn around their profit margins and the little ones remember that they were supposed to be good all year and decide to cram it all in less than a month in the hopes that Sandy Claws will forget that they colored on the wall last spring. Melissa has decided to start a new after Thanksgiving tradition of getting up before the Sun, driving to retail outlets, and spending money while trying not to get trampled in the store. That sounded like so much fun to me that I decided to wish her well the night before and pull the blanket over my head when she awoke.

Another tradition, that hopefully will not be repeated, is finding the Christmas boxes. For those of you that do not know we have moved several times in the past year. Each of these times has been within months of Christmas. The first move was in August/September of 2007. Boy was that garage packed to the rafters. I was somehow able to find those Christmas boxes with very little effort and all went well. We had just finished the Christmas fest when we received the call from the owners of the house; they were moving back to California in 30 days. Great. Another move. We took the tree down and boxed everything in the house back up. We moved and filled another garage. Fast forward to the day after Thanksgiving 2008.

It has now been almost one year since our last move. When loading the garage I thought I was being smart by placing all of the holiday decorations-Halloween and Xmas-in one place. I open the garage door and step over multiple items and grab the big green plastic Xmas tub. I crack the baby open. What do I find? Empty ornament boxes and a broken macaroni necklace. Expletives ensue. Once my ranting is complete I do a complete 360 degree rotation in place looking for any box that may have Xmas materials in it. My eye catches on nothing.

Now to put things in perspective there are many boxes in my garage. Okay, so maybe there is a plethora of boxes. The task seems daunting. Well, Melissa is out on her crazy minded new tradition mentioned above; Brighid is watching some sort of annoying program on television. What else do I have to do today? Not much of anything really. I shall tackle this garage and win!

I grab Brighid's radio. Dial in to the local station that goes all Xmas after Thanksgiving to get me in the spirit of finding those darn boxes. I even go so far as to pour myself a glass of Egg Nog. I am set.

I tear through boxes looking for those accursed Xmas items. I find none. If you have ever seen cartoons where the main character is looking for something in a room/box/somewhere and that room/box/somewhere is filled to the rafters you would have noticed that stuff just takes wing out the door. The main character then finds that proverbial needle in the haystack and all is well. Hey, it took them 10 seconds and they did not even break a sweat. Imagine that scenario except add five hours, much sweating, more foul language, and the random places that the Xmas items are located and you come close to what happened in my garage.

Approximately two hours into the search my loving mother calls me to ask how things are going. I hope I was civil and replied, "All is well, I am just finding the Xmas decorations and I cannot feel better." Though I think it was a bit different. I do recall saying that I was cleaning the garage quite by accident because I could not find the Xmas boxes. There is silence on the other end of the line. Mom? Mother? Hello? "You're doing what?" Well at that point I was sweeping the floor of a section of the garage and related that to her. Her response, "That sounds like fun! Would you like me to come over and help?" Okay, so that is a complete fabrication and the real response was, "You actually have floor to sweep in there?" Thanks mom.

At the end of this five hour session I have completed three things and resolved to never do another.

1. The boxes were found. A Sierra Nevada beer box, of which I would have never purchased that many, has ornaments in it. A Staples box has ornaments and tree lights in it. And a box that I have no idea where it came from has the rest. 

2. The garage has a floor and there is more order to the madness.

3. I have my own ManCave in the garage with my swords, trophies, and a small homework station located.

4. I am never doing this again. The Xmas boxes are all going to be labeled with a big black marker and placed in a conspicuous location.

Click...Click...Click

So this morning started out like any other. I struggled out of bed, stumbled out to the garage, opened the big door, and fired up the motorcycle. Once I was satisfied that she was running I went back inside to get ready for work. 

Okay, I'm dressed, I've got all of my gear on and I step outside. Funny, I don't hear the motor going....crap. I walk up to the bike and hit the start button again. Click...Click...Click. Uh oh. Quick glance at my watch; I've got some time. I break out the tools. Off flies the seat and battery cover; on goes the battery charger. 10 minutes later I shut down the charger. Now I know from experience that the wise thing to do is to not put the thing back together until the bike is running again. So I turn the ignition on...make sure the bike is in neutral...cross my fingers...pull out the choke...and hit the start button...vrrooom! Yes! I then batton down the hatches and take off.

So now I'm headed down Sunrise Blvd. when all of a sudden...Chug...vroom...chug. NO! We're losing power! The odometer is flickering. And what in the world is that speedometer doing? I get to the side of the road and BAM the bike starts running normal again. Odd, I know. Okay, off I go again.

I need gas so I stop at a local service station and fill'er up. Eight dollars goes in and I straddle the bike again...turn the ignition...pull out the choke...and hit the start button...Click...Click...Click. Luckily I had my helmet on with the visor down otherwise the expletives would have echoed off the building. So I push the bike to a parking spot at the gas station and inform the staff there that I will need to leave it for a few. 

Now, I'm a member of an auto club with roadside assistance. Funny enough there is another stranded motorist, in a car, at the gas station and a tow truck pulls up. I break out my cell phone and call my auto club. "We're sorry sir, we do not tow motorcycles only cars." Great. Remember that other stranded motorist and the tow truck? I walk up to the tow truck driver and ask how much it would cost to go less than 3, yes 3 miles, to my home. $180. I laugh and walk away. Out comes that cell phone again and trusty Dad answers and agrees to come pick me up sans bike.

We get home and my fingers start walking. I contacted every tow place that I could find and got estimates much lower than the $180 quoted earlier. The lowest I found was $70. Ech. Still too much. So I call up a moving truck rental company and ask how much to rent a pickup and trailer. Apparently they don't do this as a combined package. Great. I explain my situation to the person on the other line. The man was a genius. "Why don't you just get one of our moving trucks and walk it up the ramp into the back. Then use tie-downs. We had a guy who's [really expensive loud] motorcycle broke down do it the other day."

So Dad drops me off at the rental place while he runs to buy some tie-downs. Out to the gas station. Load up the bike. Tie it down. Close the back. Drive home. Unload the bike. Drive back to the rental company. Total cost = $40.

Now I've got a dead motorcycle sitting in the driveway. Up goes the pop-up for some shade. I tear the bike down...again. Hook up a multi-meter. There is not enough power in the battery. I hook up the charger...again...and walk away. After some calls around town to service shops I'm pretty certain that I need a battery. Cost? $175. Ouch. A couple hours later I call one more shop and the guy tells me, "If you can get it here I'll run a load test at no charge." Nice! Let's hope it fires up.

Back out to the bike. I turn the ignition on...make sure the bike is in neutral...cross my fingers...pull out the choke...and hit the start button...vrrooom! YES! Batton down the hatches and away I go. With a chase vehicle. I get it to the shop and the service guy does something. "Save your money, your battery is fine." What? Okay. He then tells me to put it on the charger at night for the next couple of weeks until his service load is low. No problem.

So now I need to tear the bike down at night and put it back together every morning. Fun. Really, no sarcasm. Okay maybe a little.

Mission Accomplished

So I was awoken this morning in the normal Sunday fashion; Brighid strolled into our room and jumped on the bed. Okay, I can deal with that. After about 15 minutes I get up with her and head out to the living room. Fifteen minutes later comes the "I'm huuuungry" whine. I can not stand this. So I plop a bowl of Frosted Flakes down in front of her and turn on Sponge Bob while I head into the kitchen to attempt to not mangle some pancakes. Now, I've never made pancakes without the assistance of some sort of mix, i.e. Bisquick or some other sort of just add water mix. I pull down that good trusty red and white New Homes and Garden, I think, cookbook binder, thanks mom, and flip to pancakes. Perfect. I mix up a batch, add in some vanilla and cinnamon, and cook up some turkey sausage from a tube. It is now about 1030 so I usher the sprog into the bedroom with instructions to lay down next to mommy and say, "I smell pancakes and sausage." 45 minutes later and breakfast has been demolished. 

Now you may be wondering why I did not just do breakfast in bed for Melissa's birthday. All I have to say is I do not wish to sleep in syrup. 

Up next, present time. Yesterday Melissa was doing some sort of cheer stuff all day. Thankfully I only had to attend the first game to watch the little sprog do her thing. So when I got home her sprogginess was sent off to the nappytime and I headed over to ULTA. Yes, you read that correctly, ULTA. Luckily I knew exactly what I was searching for and found it quickly. 

For those of you that have never been into this establishment it is horrific for those without the critical estrogen levels. There were no guys present and I got some pretty funny looks. I grabbed what I was looking for and ran to the counter to pay. "Are you a rewards member?" the nice young lady behind the counter asks. Now, to be fair to her I am sure this is a question that they are required to ask of every customer; however, I stare at her as if she has asked if the sky was a rich hue of puke green and humbly state, "Uhm, no." Task completed and the sprint to the door made. 

Fast forward to today after breakfast. Melissa opens her little recycled gift bag from my birthday and takes out the parfum, DKNY Be Delicious. Just what she wanted! Score one for me. The box gets flipped over and she notices the ULTA tag. "You actually went in to ULTA for this?" Uhm, yeah. Add 100 more points for me. Yes! 

Later in the evening we head out to Chili's and the ribs. Mmm. Brighid once again amazed me with the speed and messy factor in which she can consume a basket of ribs. Melissa headed over to Hollywood Video to claim her prize of a free rental. This is the night of all nights that I dread. Right now I am choosing to ignore the fact that our Blu-ray player and HDTV are being sullied by the likes of Becoming Jane and am attempting to tune it out. It's hard. 

All in all I hope that Melissa had a pleasant 95th *chuckle* birthday.