My pal Hank looks just like Hermie from Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. You will see this plain as day here in this photo where he is holding a lollipop that I bought in December of 2005, carried in my suitcase from KS to FL in January, moved it back to KS in May, flew it back to FL in June and then packed it in my bag to finally arrive in Sweden in July. Hank, do NOT eat that thing. It may kill you.
Hank or Hermie? It is hard to tell.
I went to meet the Emily and the girls for dinner tonight. It is so crazy to be able to do that. There was some Bon Jovi looking guy playing at this bar that my 6 and 3 year old nieces wanted me to see. Yeah, adorable. They sang along and everything. Imagine these children singing “wanted, dead or alive!” at the top of their lungs. It happened.
Me in my glasses.
Maggie in my glasses.
Chloe in my glasses. Thus proving, everyone can rock these glasses.
There even was dancing.
Photo by Chloe. She has a style all her own. Notice the red tint? She likes to cover the flash with her little fingers. Watch out Ansel Adams.
I have a public apology to make. Spangler girls, I am sorry. I am sorry for making fun of you every time I came to your house from November to February for the past two years. I am sorry for endlessly mocking the two sweater, stocking cap wearing, thermal sock sporting, shivering when the door is left open ways. I. Am. Sorry. Really.
Tonight, after not experiencing a fall in 3 years, I am humbled. It is NOT even cold yet. NOT at all. But, it is starting to get that chill in the air. Right now, it is 58 degrees outside and…here it goes…I am FREEZING!?!?! What has happened to my blood? What has happened to my fingers and toes? They look like they belong to E.T. All skinny, shrunken and white with a chill. How will I survive? Will my blood thicken back up? Am I doomed? Will Joe ever let me close the windows? Will I have to have a stocking cap permanently stitched to my head? All of these are questions that plague me. Oh my. I might have to seal myself in aluminum foil for the winter.
Once again, I am sorry, girls. I am freezing. Paybacks are hell.
Notice the open door in the background? Yeah. J.o.e. H.a.g.e.n. If they find me in a block of ice, eternally trapped, find that man.
“Where ever you wander, where ever you roam, be happy and healthy and glad to come home.”
Well, my blog has been made over. Nice, huh? (Imagine this next sentence in a horrible country accent) “Joe Hagen, he sure can de-sign. You should hiiire him.”
I also got a make over….well, sort of. I got a tattoo.
I think it will especially look nice when I am 85 and saggy.
The other day, after having lunch at P.F. Chang’s (yummy) with my sister-in-law, we decided to take a little stroll down the Kansas City plaza. All of a sudden, Emily stopped. “Look up.” I couldn’t believe my eyes. There in front of us was a genie, not one from a lamp, but one of those crane thing-a-ma-jiggers. Atop this genie was none other than one of Santa’s little helpers. Yes. What was he doing, you ask? Well, he was stringing up the first little shining signs of Christmas. Stop. Before you freak out, as I did initially, chase the Grinch out of your heart and think. It is September. In just 2 short months, there will be a grand ceremony illuminating the Plaza with thousands of magical twinkling lights. In order to make this happen, it will take months of preparation, people. So, I am here to share with you that the preparation has begun.
Jack Skellington said it best:
Oh, look
What’s this?
They’re hanging mistletoe, they kiss
Why that looks so unique, inspired
They’re gathering around to hear a story
Roasting chestnuts on a fire
What’s this?
What’s this?
In here they’ve got a little tree, how queer
And who would ever think
And why?
They’re covering it with tiny little things
They’ve got electric lights on strings
And there’s a smile on everyone
So, now, correct me if I’m wrong
This looks like fun
This looks like fun
Oh, could it be I got my wish?
What’s this?
The artwork in our neighborhood in Ft. Lauderdale consisted of construction equipment, piles of rubbish (I just said rubbish), half built condos that I could knock down with a single karate chop (yeah, dare me), and neon pink fish shaped mail boxes. Beautiful.
So, you can imagine my delight at jogging around this amazing Midwestern city and seeing that someone actually cares about what it looks like. Welcome home.
It is time I admit something. I have a problem. It has been something that I have carried with my entire life and had a hard time coming to terms with. Here it goes; I am accident-prone. There, I said it. Are you happy? Yeah, I know there are some people out there cheering right now. This admission been long time coming.
Now, let me clear some things up for you. Fortunately, the accidents are never that severe…umm…except for the tailbone/concrete floor/skating rink incident and the homecoming kneecap blow off ordeal of 1993. Other than that, it is just a lifetime full of random scratches, bruises, scraps, cuts and bumps. Now comes the bad part. I NEVER know where they came from. They just appear out of nowhere. I feel something that hurts, look down and see a giant (insert whatever injury that has occurred.) NO, I am NOT clumsy. There is a difference, I think. I can play sports decently, I have rhythm and I can fix things around the house. All of these things are hard to do if you are clumsy. So what is it? Well, here is my justification. It is better to bruise easily on the outside than on the inside, right? Hahaha. What a steaming pile of cheese that is. Hmm…but honestly, it is wonder that my parents did not get investigated when I was a child. I had 4 black eyes within a 2-year time span. Have any of you even had ONE? What kind of person has 4 black eyes? Oh, and one of them was caused by a bug. Lame.
All of this came from this random bruise I found last night. Where did it come from? I have no idea.
Who gets bruised on their torso?
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Another piece of random information for you:
Proof that I still remember how to cook after 4 months. Yes, I said 4 months.
It is a quiet Saturday morning. Joe is sleeping like a baby with the fan blowing at mock 10 and Jack is tucked up under my feet. Last night, the rain came and I am hoping that it washed away the moving blues. I am happy to be here. It is just that after the incredibly action filled summer that I had, sitting in one place and unpacking my entire life feels a little like a punishment. Unfortunately, there is no magic wand for moments like these. There is no card to draw to “move ahead 3 spaces through this difficult transition.” Then, the problem is that I start to feel guilty about it. I feel guilty about wishing time away. What a horrible thing to do with such a fragile idea, time. So, here I go. Onward and straight through all of this baggage to the other side.
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The apartment will be wonderful, but do not come visit us if you want everyone to look like you.
201 West 38th Street
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We did force ourselves out of the house for a good time last night. Nothing says party like eating in the street, crazed drunk dudes, snorting foam, ice cubes that light up and getting beer spilled on you.
If this guy is your role model, you might be going to hell.
Yes, we are adults. Yes, this is my friend. Yes, he is snorting the foam off of a beer.
I’m pretty sure these things should not be in anyones mouth.
Ryan made his point, incase you were wondering.