Hey Salt Lake, I Fu*kn Love You

Happy anniversary, sweetie. Nine years ago today I landed here and immediately fell in love at first sight. I fall in love with you more every day. Thanks for being you and letting me do the things I love to do right in our back yard. Preserve the sexy, you fine piece of city.

Most Definitely a Gift

This just makes me want to get the most out of my life that I possibly can; doing the things I love to do.

The Barnes & Noble Bathroom Experience

Several people that know me also know that I friggen' love Barnes & Noble. It's by far one of my most favorite places to go when I've got nothing else going on, or when it's time to flip through the newest Surfer's Journal.

Every now-and-again the urge to do the business (drop trow, lay pipe, take the kids to the pool, etc...) will randomly strike me while flipping through readables at the magazine rack. Now, being one who isn't terrified of the public restroom, I quietly duck out to take care of the task at hand. Usually everything goes as planned. Except this one time. Join me, while I paint you this one-of-a-kind picture.

The Sugarhouse B & N (closest to my casa) men's room has three stalls. Two 'regular' stalls and then the handicapped stall at the end. Now, I try to avoid using the handicapped stall when regular stalls are available out of principle. I opened the door to the first stall - not a pretty sight. The next (regular) stall was occupied by a relative unknown, forcing me into my last option. Whew, the handicapped stall was both unoccupied and clean.

I posted up and began working on the project at hand (really trying to stay away from the typical bathroom jargon, here). I started flipping through texts on my phone and deleting old messages to pass the time and keep my mind occupied. But, while doing so, I couldn't help but notice the man's feet in the stall next to me. Correct me if I'm wrong, but not many people sit down with their feet pointing out at 90-degree angles. Nor do their feet twitch nervously - unless they're really bearing down and growling one out (sorry...descriptions you could do without...). All signs were pointing to 'no' with regards to this fella having b.m. troubles. Then it happened. An audible noise. No. Not a burp. Or a fart. Or a laugh, even. Any of those would have been welcomed. Rather, on the other side of the stall wall, I could hear a faint, "Whap, whap, whap." Then silence. Then more, "Whap, whap, whap." Then some rustling of whatever this dude was 'reading.' Then a few more whaps..."Whap, whap, whap."

Yeah, you get the idea. If you don't, share this with a friend and maybe they'll see what I'm getting at with regards to what this dude was up to. Needless to say, I cut this particular trip to the men's room short and got the hell out of there.

I still love me some B & N, though.

That Dog Named Joe

I moved into the place I currently live somewheres around October of 2007. This is now, officially, the longest I've lived in any single dwelling outside of my parent's house. I can hear the faint round of applause; thank you.

One fall afternoon back in the stacks of 2007, I recall being outside; I was bringing groceries in from my car. It was after work. I'd probably had a long day. And as I was walking up the sidewalk to my front door I remember hearing the lady across the street shouting. It went kind of like this:

"JOE! Come back here! Get over here! NOW!! JOE!!! Inside, now!!!"

So tell me, what the hell would you have done? Probably exactly what I did - never looked back and got inside the (my) house as fast as I could.

Instances similar to this kept occurring, randomly, over the next few weeks. Granted, it's my own fault I never went over to see what she needed me for. Then I met Joe; well, the other Joe, at least. The Joe that this lady had been shouting at the whole time. This Joe in particular stands, on all fours, about 12 inches off the ground, barks ferociously at times and actually comes to his owner on command.

People names for pets....now I know we can do better...