Say What?

Things that should never, under ANY circumstances, be heard or said in the men's bathroom:

"Just because my eyes are pointed that way doesn't necessarily mean that I am looking."

I believe this was in regards to someone walking around like a zombie or something. Still...this is unsatisfactory in a bathroom environment.

Do Unto Others

Yesterday was one of those days. One of those days where you feel really good about yourself because you gave back to society, you're walking down the street with your head held high, you're feeling like the king of the world and then you step in a big pile of dog poop. Yep...yesterday was just one of those days.

It rained cats and dogs yesterday morning and I found out when I got to work that one of my co-workers gotten his car stuck on a flooded street. Since I have a lifted 4x4 and a tow strap, I decided to help him out. I arrived to find his 2001 Firebird submerged up to the doorline. No biggie. I can handle this. I took off my uniform blouse and boots, and I rolled my pants up and walked knee deep into the flood. My first sniff of poop came when I realized that there were no tow points on this guy's car, nowhere for me to hook my tow strap to, in order to pull him out. Okay...I guess I am going to have to push him. The only problem with that is...he's facing the complete opposite direction that I want to go. So, after pushing and pulling his car, we finally got him pointed in the right direction. During this whole soaken endeavour, there is a Chief standing on the other side of the street, watching me. I am just waiting for him to tear into my ass when I get done, since I am pretty much out of uniform. After I get the Firebird situated in its parking spot, Chief walks up to me and says:

"Since you have that big truck and a heavy tow strap, do you think that you could pull my Beretta out, too?"

Being the good samaritan that I am, I obliged. However, his car didn't have a tow point, either. We ended up wrapping the end of the strap to the frame under the hood, which I then ended up bending when I yanked his car onto drier land. Needless to say, he can no longer full close his hood.

Fast forward to the end of the work day...I am leaving work and on my way to the gas station, since I am low on fuel. I turn the corner, about 1/4 of a mile from the gas station, and everything in the Xterra shuts off...including the engine. I throw her into neutral and turn the key...nothing. I ran out of gas. Thankfully, I still had a little momentum and coasted for a good bit before I finally came to a stop. I flagged down a co-worker who just happened to be driving by and he offered to tow me to the nearby gas station. Yay. So, I got the tow strap out and hooked it up to my front tow point and slowly hit the gas. The tow strap pulled tight and...POP! He continued forward while I stayed where I was. My front tow point snapped clean off the truck. WTF???

After standing around and cursing for about 5 minutes, I found a secondary spot to hook up the tow strap, and co-worker began pulling me to the gas station. When we get there, he yells out the window and asks me what side my tank was on. I told him the driver's side.

Co-Worker: What?!?
Me: The driver's side!
Co-Worker: The passenger side?!?
Me: No! Driver! The driver's side!

And what does co-worker do? He proceeds to pull my truck up to a pump...on the passenger side. After a brief, fairly heated argument as to what I actually said, he pulled me all the way around the gas station to a pump...on the correct side.

What does this story tell you? It kind of tells me to quit helping people. See...had I NOT helped pull those people out of the water, I would've had the gas to get to the gas station. Hmm? On the other hand, I guess if I would've been the responsible adult that I am, I would've filled my vehicle up when I first realized that I needed gas. Then I never would've been close to running out of gas. Live and learn, I guess.

On the bright side, I can now cross "Run my vehicle out of gas" off my list of things to do before I die.

Au Revoir, Go-Fare

Almost 8 years ago, I walked into a Kia dealership, not intent on actually driving home in a new car. I was 18 with no credit, and I didn't have a clue what I was looking for. I just knew that Kias were fairly cheap cars. I still remember the slimy salesman...Clem. He promised to buy us pizza, since we were there nearly half the damn night, trying to negotiate. He didn't, though. Jerk.

I ended up purchasing a 2002 Kia Rio Cinco because I "looked cool in it". At least, Clem thought I looked cool in it. I even tried to convince myself that it was a "sport hatch". Nah...it was a station wagon. And to "look cool", I had to add a spoiler, racing rims, neon lights, a muffler, and a sound system. Even then, I was just a kid with all that cool stuff...on a station wagon.

I paid it off in 2006 and bought a 2005 Nissan Xterra 4x4. I passed the Kia down to my wife. The Kia became a secondary vehicle, used only when the Xterra was down with an injury, or there wasn't enough gas to make it to payday. Eventually, I grew up and had a couple of kids. The Kia became too small for the 4 of us. We had the Xterra, but the wife needed a new-er ride to haul the little terrorists around. We got a 2002 Chevy Trailblazer and the Kia got parked in the driveway. She collected leaves, mold, and bird poop. The battery died, the alternator blew up, and I had to replace the passenger-side wheel bearing/tie rod end. She was in bad shape.

My grandmother-in-law wanted the Kia, as a trade for the Trailblazer, since she bought it for us. Pretty fair trade, if you ask me. I just had to get it ready for her. That's what I spent last Saturday morning doing. It took damn-near forever to get the mold that was caked all over the outside.When spraying the hood, water got up under the paint and ripped about half of the paint off. I drove her, unregistered, 45 miles out to Grandma's house and dropped her off. She has the title in hand, I removed my "NEALIO" license plate, and the Kia is now hers.

I was a little sad to get rid of her. She was my first new car. I drove 104,000 miles with her. I blew the transmission, blew both front tires, and got stuck in the snow against a retaining wall at 3 in the morning. I broke the motor mounts. I lost the timing belt in downtown Columbus, OH. For a while, that car was my baby. Near the end, I treated her like a step-child: I ignored her, stuck her in the corner, told her she would never be as good as her big brother & sister.

I only hope that someone else gets some joy out of her. She was good to me. She'll make a good first car for someone else, too. Ignore the fact that she's a Kia Rio station wagon with a fart-can muffler and racing graphics. She has heart. Au revoir, Kia. Au revoir.

False Start

Well, it has been a little over a week since I began my Wii Fit Get Into Shape endeavour. And, I am sad to say, that it has hit a little bit of a snag. Let me start by saying that I wasn't as adamant this past week as I should've been about the effort that I put into the Wii Fit workout. I weighed in everyday, but I didn't go through all of the exercises. I mainly stuck with the aerobic and balance exercises. And I did between 10-20 minutes of exercise each day. Yeah...I know...not really cutting it if I want to see a change in myself.

So, one week later, Uncle Sam has decided to intervene. Apparently, this obesity thing is worse than I thought. And the Wii Fit just isn't a solution that is reasonable for the Navy. So...I have been assigned a fitness trainer. And I am to participate in 3 mandatory sessions a week, 1-hour per session.

Normally, this is where I would piss and moan, but this fitness trainer is kick-ass. See, the last time that Uncle Sam felt that I was obese, I was sent to this trainer for fat boy workouts and she whipped me into about the best shape that I have ever been. And then, after I got "in shape", Uncle Sam felt that I didn't need to go to a trainer anymore. And then I got fat again. It's funny how the world eventually comes back around full circle.

Her routine is pretty out there. And it's never the same thing 2 sessions in a row. She loves cardio, though. Do a minute of wall sits. 2 laps around the gym. 30 push ups. Another 2 laps. 40 lunges. Then 4 laps around the gym. And this goes on for about an hour, plus some stretching. And then, on Fridays, she likes to go for a 3-mile run on the beach. Wonderful.

Like I said, fat and unhealthy John would protest this to no end. But, getting-into-shape John will not. New John will glady accept this mandatory fitness. Because it works. Well, as long as I work with it. I really have to curb the nasty eating. And the Pepsi, too. It's no bueno. Really doesn't help to do a 3-mile run and then go smash a quad stacker from BK, even though it IS delicious.

By the way, she took an "official" weight measurement with some sort of super sensitive scale, and I came out to 232 lbs. Not sure about the body fat percentage, but 232 isn't too terrible. It's about what I felt that I was. And sure as hell better than 241 that I was measured at a couple of weeks ago.

So, for the time being, I am going to hold off on the Wii Fit, as far as a solitary means of weight loss, since I will be doing a much more intense workout now. It would definitely skew the results that I would be seeing on the Wii Fit.

**I apologize for the lack of wittiness in this posting. I really tried my best to throw in a little wit, but you can only go so far when it comes to being fat and forced into working out. I promise that I will try harder on my next post. Really...I will.**

Only In America

As seen/heard on "Cops" this evening:

First off, before I go into the actual dialogue between the officer and his new friend, allow me to paint a visual picture of what is going on. The police arrive on scene and are immediately approached by a shirtless man telling them that they are wasting their time. They talk back and forth, but it's really not important, so I'll leave it out. The camera then shifts over to a white cow that is just wandering around the property in which they have recently arrived to. It is apparent, due to all the commotion, that said cow is not in an area that it is supposed to be. The officer walks up to the house and eventually he confronts the property owner. Cue dialogue:

Cop: Good evening, sir. Do you own a cow?
Dumb Redneck: Huh?
Cop: A cow, sir. Do you own a cow?
Dumb Redneck: A cow? What?
Cop: Yes, sir. A cow. Do you own a cow?
Dumb Redneck: A cow? What kind of cow?
Cop: A white cow, sir. Do you own a white cow?
Dumb Redneck: A white cow? Yeah, I own a white cow.

From this point on, the cops and the dumb redneck and the dumb redneck's dumb redneck friends all try to 'rassle and wrangle this cow back into its pen. But, the damage has already been done. The back-and-forth between those two couldn't have been better even if it were scripted as such. The only thing that was left out was the dumb redneck making some sort of remark, like, "Well, yeah...I own a white cow, but I usually just call her my wife". That would've taken the cake. But, for what it was worth, I was satisfied just the way it was. I even peed a little. And it was nice.

Cucumbers Taste Better Pickled.

So, earlier this week, I came to a realization of sorts. I LOVE pickles. Well...let me specify because I am prejudice when it comes to my pickles. I love DILL pickles, and ONLY dill pickles. Bread & Butters...GTFO. Screw off, Sweet Gherkins. I'm talkin' about hamburger chips, dill spears, and big, fat, honkin' whole dill pickles. They are delish. No...NOT relish. De-lish. As in...delicious, yummy, and unbelievably good. To be quite honest, I am currently about halfway finished with a jar of spears that I opened a couple of hours ago. I plan on finishing them up before the night is through. Then, I might even drink the dill pickle juice. If that's wrong, then I don't want to be right.

Dill pickles are actually pretty decent for you, too. I mean, zero calories, zero fat, zero carbs, zero cholesterol. Those are what we are trying to avoid, right? However, the dill does take a little bit of heat due to the sodium content. Depending on the size of your dill, you could be eating up to 50% of your daily intake of sodium...in just one tasty serving. Sodium causes you to retain water, causing you to bloat and essentially prevent any real weight loss. I guess to offset that, you can drink more water, therefore peeing it (and the extra sodium) out. I dunno. I am not a qualified nutritionist or anything. I just know that I loves me some dill pickles. :-)

P.S. That's my 13 month old, John 3, up there...enjoying himself some dill hamburger chips. He knows a good thing when he eats it.

Mr. Gorbachev, Tear Down This...Fence?

So...THIS is what my back fence looked like earlier this afternoon. It had been slowly coming down over the past year or so and rather than man-up and fix it, I just kept rigging it to keep it semi-upright. In the above photo, you will notice a large fence post (NOT in the ground where it belongs, a baby gate, a wimpy-ass bush, and part(s) of a broken rake. Also, somewhere in that mess, is a push broom, 3 large tree branches, and the handle to a shovel. Real top-notch craftsmanship.Bob Villa would be so proud.

I have decided to bite the bullet and use some of my hard earned tax money and pay for a new back fence. I was tired of the neighbors behind me laughing every time they went out on their back porch to smoke/drink. Plus, our skinny dog, Mackie, found every vulnerable spot that this monstrosity had to offer and had gotten out of the yard one too many times. So, it was time to take care of the fence.

In order for the fence guy to give me the best price, I had to remove the shitty fence myself and leave him with a blank canvas to work with. Hey...if it saves me $150, then I am down for it. How hard could it be to remove a few fence panels...right?

First, I had to assess the situation. Yep...it's a jacked-up fence. Had to move all my rigging equipment out of the way to get the fence first, though.

Who doesn't like chopping shit down with a machete? I know I do. Takes a little longer when said machete is rusty and dull. But, still...

Crap out of the way, the first 2 panels come crashing down. Man...this is going to be cake!

Big Mike from across the street comes over to lend a helping hand. Halfway done knocking down the panels.

Fence is completely down. Looking better already. Now, just have to disassemble the panels and take them out to the front curb.

This was one of the hardest parts of this whole endeavor. The cemented cinder blocks that had given way were unusable, so I had to chuck 'em. This piece here had to weigh AT LEAST 120 pounds. I am a big guy, but, as you have read in the previous post, I am not in the best of shape. So, this piece of work here gave me a run for my money.

Finally, got that beast in the wheelbarrow. Big Mike...just watching me be all Strong Man. I felt like my name should be Magnus or Helmut.

And then the whole thing dumped over. THIS is why my name is not Magnus or Helmut.

At the end of the night, after about 3 total hours of work, this is what we are left with. Fence is down, save for a couple of possibly usable posts. I had to break down all the panels to manageable sizes, so that the refuse guys can come and take them off the curb. All-in-all, it looks pretty good. Megan and Mackey are on their dog chains and will be alright until the fence guy comes later in the week. Now...time to sit back and enjoy a hard earned Bud Light. I think my diet can handle just one.

Fat Kids And Video Games

No, this post isn't about the "epidemic" that's sweeping across this country faster than an olympic curler.

I recently discovered that Uncle Sam feels that I am "obese". While it IS true that I could stand to lose a few pounds - I am currently at my heaviest since joining the Navy back in 2002 - I'm not sure if I qualify as being "obese". Hefty, plump, or what the hip-hoppers like to call "thick"...maybe. But, not obese.

You see, according to U.S. Navy Regulations, for my height of 6'0", I am allowed to weigh no more than 201 lbs before having my Body Mass Index (BMI) taken, for which I am THEN allowed to have a BMI of no more than 22%. To put things into perspective, I weighed 196 when I came into the Navy 8 years ago. Shortly thereafter, I started packing on the pounds, and I haven't looked back since. Anyway...I got a courtesy weigh-in Thursday, since our semi-annual Physical Readiness Test is right around the corner, and the measurements shocked me: 240 lbs and 28% body fat. Like I said, I have always been a little big, but I am fairly tall, so it evens itself out. However, 40 lbs over Uncle Sam's ideal weight is not something that I am proud of. So...what do we do about this?

I have decided to enlist the help of video games to try to whip myself back into shape. I dusted off my Wii Fit Balance Board this afternoon and took a "real" measurement as to how I am looking. Yeah...the Wii Fit might seem kind of sissy for a big manly man like me to use, but whatever. I LOATHE working out, and outside of mandatory PT with the command, this is about as real as I get about exercise. I hadn't turned on the Wii Fit in approximately 500 days, so needless to say, I had to reset all the data.

Granted, the Wii Fit gathered my weight and height and "made an educated assessment" of what my BMI should be given those measurements. Uncle Sam actually has a body-fat measuring tape and mathematical formulas to compute my fatness.



Well, according to the Wii Fit, my actual weight was a little lower, at 226 lbs. However, my BMI was higher, at about 30.5%. I feel that the Navy's measurement was a little more accurate. Besides, they don't give a good damn about how fit the Nintendo says I am, and will be conducting their own analysis on my fat ass. However, for the purpose of this blog, I am going to keep track of the Wii Fit measurements.

I am going to utilize a combination of the Wii Fit and Wii Sports to try this out. I am required to participate in Navy Command PT 3-4 times a week, but I am going to try to focus those sessions on strength training, since the Wii seems to hit more on cardio than strength. I'm going to try my damndest to stick to it for the next 6 weeks. And who knows...if it works, maybe I'll write a book or something.

***DISCLAIMER: I did NOT consult a physician, write my congressman, ask Dear Abby, or call a phone psychic before conducting this experiment. I am doing this of my own free-will. I take full responsibility for the outcome of said experiment, good OR bad. This is a personal choice, and NOT "advice" for anyone to follow. You are an adult and you can do whatever you damn well please. Just don't hold me responsible for what happens should decide to do the same "weight-loss plan".

Hi, My Name Is John, And I'm A...

Wow. So, this is a blog. I never thought that I would jump on the blogging bandwagon, but I figured that it won't hurt to at least give it a shot. I guess it's kind of like having a diary, only a little more "manly" and without the tiny, useless lock & key. I have the Facebook and the Myspace (but I absolutely REFUSE to Twitter), but this is the place where I can put the stuff that just won't fit onto the other social outlets. I'd like to try to write on here everyday, but a couple of times a week is a little more realistic...for now. I'm planning on reviewing some of my favorite local spots, try out some new ones, give my insight on things I think are important, and just tell my story on here. It will probably be a little rough at first, until I get the hang of things. I am not planning on this thing getting huge, but I'd like to have some hope that a few people stumble across it (accidentally or on purpose) and read it, comment, and maybe hang around for future posts. If not, oh well. At least I can cross "blog" off the list of things to do before I die. Either way, welcome to my life!