I have been so (adverb of your choice, all of my current ones range from slightly off-color to downright Debi-disapproved) busy lately. Ok, not so busy that I don't take breaks to throw the football with Bubba Ray, but busy nonetheless. Also, Hibberds and I watch Chuck on NBC every Monday night. (The best FHE activity, ever!!!) If you have never watched Chuck do so now. Go to www.msn.com and select TV. Select Browse Shows with Free Episodes and watch all of the available episodes. We love Chuck Bartkowski, Morgan Grimes, and Big Mike. But we hate Bryce Larkin!!!

Debi will also argue that I have not been to busy to take study breaks to watch my new addiction, Arrested Development, also on www.msn.com. This one is about a dysfunctional family (insert joke here) and all 57 episodes are available. It is my goal to watch everyone before the new year. I realize reaching for the stars like that is dangerous, but what the heck, I am committed. If you too are a high achiever, I dare you to take the challenge and tackle them with me.

I have been tagged numerous times, and I do intend to respond to them, but not just yet. First I have to say, "check out the picture above." The ugly guy on the left has a beautiful family and is incredibly grateful for each of them.

Confession time: My name is Scott and I am a BYU Football-a-holic. Seriously. Not only did I buy season tickets and spend a small fortune on concessions, I have worked half-shifts on Saturdays in order to feed the habit. Mister Stingy hates leaving any cash on the table, and to leave work early to attend games is horrendous. But today, I hit rock bottom. Mark offered to let me leave early to watch the game on TV. I walked away from 3 hours wages and went home. Wait, IT GETS WORSE!!! (Bad enough for ALL CAPS and exclamations points, oh my!)

The game was not on regular Comcast Cable. We even have On Demand, but no luck. I was so desperate that I went to CBS College Sports online and paid $14.95 to watch the live game feed on my laptop. If anyone is unsure of the true depths of this depravity ask Steph. She knows a pry bar and a court order is needed before the inside of my wallet sees daylight. And if you don't believe her, ask Debi. Wait, no, don't ask her. She will start to cry as she re-tells tales of my tight-fistedness.

So anyway, perhaps an intervention is in order. Stephs attempted one to get me out of the 80's did not work, so I don't have much faith in one breaking me of this. It is pretty sad when an adult (cough) sits screaming at his computer screen and gets emotionally distressed with every Cougar miscue. Oh, well, it could be worse.

I have promised the story of the flying frozen turkey, and I intend to deliver for your Thanksgiving pleasure, but not today. I just wanted to share some of the things that are important to me right now. My family and time with them, Chuck, re-runs on the computer, BYU FOOTBALL, and my extended family. Believe it or not I think of each of them regularly. Even the ones who probably think I don't even remember them.

I have been so blessed in the extended family respect. I have great memories of each member which I think about constantly. Thank you for putting up with me. I often wish for a time machine. There are many times and places I would like to visit again and re-live those moments with my family. Summers at Bear Lake, Thanksgivings at the Cabin, Christmas' in Bountiful, the 23rd in Provo, Green Valley, Willard Bay, and many others.

Sometimes the missing of those days and the people in them makes me sad. When that happens I have to stop being sad, and be AWESOME instead. If that ever happens to you, think of the picture below!

Love to all,
The Oneryguy

Paul Horwinski and the Great Pizza Caper

With all of the demands on my time, such as work school, work, lawns, wife, work, kids, P.E., etc., the last thing I should be doing is updating this lame blog. But, my mind needs the break a little creativity can give it. By the way, by P.E. I mean that every Friday afternoon I take Dallin's class to P.E. That's right, I'm a Room Mom. I did the same for Abby's 5th grade class two years ago and did not learn better than to do it again. Besides, time with my Sunshine Bear (one of Dallin's many nicknames) is precious to me.

The first picture is of my family and some ugly old guy who jumped in to the picture. If you copy it and simply crop me out you have one nice photo! The picture below is of our scout camp out last Friday night. I have had two Friday nights off this year and I spent both of them with the scouts. I need some serious social re-training. A special thanks goes out to Debi for letting me borrow her PTA Wagon to pull the scout trailer. Inside the trailer is a camp stove that made for some good cookin'! Dallin and Zach came with me and we had a great time.

So anyway (my idea if a smooth transition), I have been spending too much time wrapping my mind around my accounting class. It has infiltrated my dreams. All I see at night are balance sheets, general journals, assets, liabilities, and other horrendous sights. Tonight, however, I am going to share the tale of Paul Horwinski and the Great Pizza Caper. I encourage you to read this with low expectations because then you will be less disappointed at the end.

I had wiped the blood off of my boots, but I still felt a little uncomfortable. They were only tiny spots. Three of them, each smaller than a tear drop, just above the pocket of my short sleeved white shirt. But in my mind those little blood stains were a flashing sign, revealing my uncleanliness to the world. I am much more relaxed now, but back then I was uncomfortable if there was a wrinkle in my shirt, a button missing, a hair out of place, or any other sign of sloppiness. I walked into Scene One Video and Pizza a little after one o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon. I had eaten many pizzas from there before, but I had never actually gone in and picked one up myself.

We had a tradition going on back then. It was some time in the late 90's and the four of us worked together in the meat shop at the old Provo Storehouse. I was the meat manager, married, the father of baby girl, ploding through an English degree at BYU one class at a time, and working 55+ hours a week to make ends meet. Johnny was single, getting a degree in Philosophy, and stocking the freezer. Johnny was a friendly guy, into sports, and always willing to help anyone. He spent a lot of time helping us, slicing meat and hams for customers, facing our counter, and making it a funner place to work. Cory was newly married and the supervisor over all of the meat departments. Saturday afternoons he always came in and had lunch with us. And this brings us to Paul.

Paul Edward, or Edward Paul Horwinski III. I can't remember the order of his name but I will never forget him. Paul was a character. He was also certified to fill propane tanks in the state of California. I know, he told me. And he showed me his license, complete with photo. Paul was a theatre major at BYU and one of the most interesting people I have ever met. We had many funny games going on in the meat shop, and they were eight hour games. That's right, each of Paul's shifts came complete with a theme and we did not break from it for anything. One of Paul's favorites was Fish Bowl Friday. He would close the sliding windows in the shop and pretend we were underwater. He would swim with his arms when he walked and he would blow bubbles with his mouth. When he spoke it sounded like he was gargling. Needless to say, I helped the customers at the window on Fridays. We got many strange looks from people, but it was fun. Another fun game, before I get back to the story, (I bet you don't even remember where this started) was Brian Wilson Day. Paul brought his CD player to work everyday and periodically would pronounce a day as Brian Wilson Day. This meant that he would loop the Bare Naked Ladies song Brian Wilson for the entire eight hours and sing along at the top of his voice. Non-stop. Again, a day when I helped all of the customers.

So anyway (another smooth transition) every Saturday afternoon Cory would come in and Johnny would make his way back to the shop and we would call Scene One Pizza next door and order our own individual pizza and drink meal. Then we would hand our cash to Paul he would go and pick the pizzas up. It struck me as odd that Paul always volunteered to go. He was, after all, notoriously lazy. (Slow motion day was another favorite of his). At times, he would simply lie down on the floor, curl up, and take a two-minute nap. Right in the middle of wrapping something. Understand this, I love Paul. And he was a fun guy to be around. He was even a very good worker, though he would deny that label to the death. But he loved to make a big deal about not doing anything more than the bare minimum. And that he said he did grudgingly. But every Saturday afternoon he jumped to volunteer to go and pick up the pizzas. Rain, shine, heat, blizzard, didn't matter. There were even Fridays when he left the fish bowl because we had decided to break with tradition and have pizzas twice in a week. He always covered it by saying he had to return a movie or pick one up while he was getting the pizza so it was actually saving him a trip, plus he was getting away from work, thereby increasing his laziness. But all the same, it still struck me as funny, and very out of character for him to volunteer to go. Besides, it involved walking, and doing something for someone else, both things Paul was diametrically opposed to doing.

This went on for several months until one fateful Wednesday when Paul had the day off. Johnny was done filling the freezer and had come in to see if I needed any help. This was before the flying frozen turkey incident, which is another story I may share, if you want to hear it. But, back to the fateful Wednesday. It was a slow day, the work for the day was done, and we were hungry. We decided to splurge a little and order pizzas. Johnny was helping a customer while I called in the order so I volunteered to go pick them up. Walking in I was overcome by the smell of great pizza. You know the smell. I was also a little disoriented after walking through the rows of videos. If you are old enough you will remember a time when there were businesses that rented VHS videos and sold pizzas. Our grandchildren will never believe such businesses existed, but they did. And they were glorious.

The combination of the aroma, the dizziness of walking through the maze, the John Cougar Mellencamp video blaring from multiple screens, and my self-consciousness over the blood spots on my shirt, left me a little disoriented. I had to apologize to the clerk and ask him to repeat what he had he just asked me.

"You got your card?"

"I don't want a movie, just the pizzas" I answered.

He rolled his eyes grabbed a small card and a hole puncher. Click, click, "here you go."

I looked at the card and asked, "So, how long have you guys been doing this card?"

"Longer than I've been here, that's about six, seven months now."

"Thanks," I said as I put the card in my wallet. I picked up the pizzas and the drinks and walked out with a smile on my face.

"Hey Johnny, get a load of this," I said as I handed him his pizza and the card.

"What's that?" he asked.

"The answer," I said. He looked a little puzzled and asked "the answer to what."

"You'll see tomorrow morning, let's eat!"

A little after six, Thursday morning and Paul walks into the shop and goes through his ritual. He gets his CD player out and plugs it in. He asks if I watched Mystery Science Theater the night before and then begins to tell me about it as he pulls on a clean smock. Johnny walks in behind him to say good morning. I motion him over.

"Paul," I asked, interrupting his diatribe, "could you tell me how this thing works?"

I handed him the card with two holes in it I had gotten from Scene One Pizza and Video the day before. A sheepish grin crossed his face and he knew he had been caught.

"Umm," he said, before I interrupted again.

"Now it seems to me that you buy four pizza meal deals and then get the fifth one at half price. Then you buy four more and get the tenth one free. Is that how it works?"

"Umm," was all he could get out. He knew he was dead in the water.

Johnny and I started to laugh.

"I knew there was something going on when you volunteered to pick up the pizzas. You rotten bugger, I knew it. When Edward Paul Horwinski the third goes out of his way to help someone, that someone can only be himself."

He looked a little embarassed and unsure. I started to laugh again.

"Well done, well done," I said as I handed him the card. "You might as well use this one too, just like you used us. And don't worry, I'm not mad. Anyone who can keep a con going on for as long as you did should be congratulated. But I am curious, how much have you spent out of pocket on pizza's since we started."

A little glint of pride showed up in his eyes and a smile cracked his lips as he told us, "well, since my roommate's like that pizza so much, and of course, being the generous person I am, I always offer to pick it up for them, as well as pick up or drop off movies for them, because after all, I am all about doing unto others, of course..."

"Of course," Johnny and I agreed.

"I think I paid for one pizza the first time I went in and they gave me a card. Since then, I've had sixty or seventy pizzas and paid nothing. I mean when I had to pay for the half price ones, I figured every ones change was like a delivery tip, so you know..."

That pizza theivin' bugger. I really wasn't mad at him. But I was sure jealous of his devious ways.

Well done, Paul, wherever you are!

Que Dia!

Talk about True Blue Cougar Fans!!!

I love taking the older kids to the BYU Football games. Go Cougars!!! You would not recognize the orneryguy at the game. I wear BYU t-shirts, I do all of the cheers (another cougar first down, BYU Cougars, etc.), I stand and sing the fight song and do the fist pumping rah-rah's, and I even stand and do the wave. In short, I am embarrassed to be me at the games, but I love it! It took me 38+ years to get over my self-consciousness enough to actually stand and yell and throw my arms in the air when the wave comes around. I even stand and dance when the band plays, moving my shoulders and shaking my bum. I actually have FUN!!! Dallin and Abby do not even recognize me at the game.

Oh yeah, baby, we sit at mid-field!!!

Except our seats are in the nosebleed section. This was a case of going in with low expectations and being pleasantly surprised. (No jokes about marriage here, please). Anyway, when I bought the tickets I warned the kids that we would be sitting on the next to last row and so they should not get their hopes up about enjoying much of the game. We took the binoculars and I was dreading the fighting we would have over who used them and when. But, when we got to our seats and turned around to watch the players warm up, we were shocked at how well we could see EVERYTHING! We can see the entire field at all times. Even all four corners of the end zone. And plays along the near sideline are not blocked from our view by the players. To make our seats perfect I want to move to the back row for next year. Seriously, the only better seats would be straight across on the top row of the west stands on the 50 yard line, because those seats get shade in the third quarter. But, those tickets cost a lot more. I get mine at a faculty/staff discount that is hard to beat.

A couple of Swinging Monkeys!

The people who sit behind us did not come to the Wyoming game today so we moved one row back to their seats. This picture was taken at the start of the fourth quarter. The diamond-plate box behind the kids is actually a folding platform that opens up to the light tower behind us. It is scary high and there is no way you would get me to walk out on it. Anyway, it is locked and it has chains attached to hold it level when it opened. The kids sat down inside of the chains for a minute when I got the genius idea to put their pads inside the chain. They loved it. Another reason I want those seats right behind us is because when the crowd starts stomping their feet to make it too loud for the opponents to call their plays, I was pounding on that gate with my fist and the noise was deafening to us. Banging on the wall around it just hurts your fist, but the gate itself is like a big bass drum. Again, I only like noise and chaos when I am the one making it. It is just another item on my long list of double standards!

MINI-ME!!!

Yeah, I am becoming a total nerd! A year ago you could not have gotten me to wear a BYU t-shirt, period. But, as a part of an assignment in my Organizational Behavior class, I wore a BYU sweatshirt while watching a game. It had to do with identifying yourself with your organizations culture. Anyway, anyone who knows me knows I am easily embarrassed by just about everything. If it involves having fun and allowing others to see you are enjoying yourself, well, it is just not allowed. Part of the dysfunctional upbringing I had. Ask Steph, she will vouch for the screwed-upedness we all got (he just made up that hyphenated word, didn't he?). Imagine being so messed up that you get embarrassed about what people will think about you for wearing a BYU shirt. Or being embarrassed sitting in a restaurant while people are singing 'Happy Birthday' to someone on the other side of the room. (Special note, we went to Los Hermanos tonight after the game, and I clapped and cheered along during one of those sing-a-longs, are you proud Steph? No, she is probably embarrassed that someone she knows was in a restaurant while singing took place :-)!)

No longer stifled by this weird insecurity, this year, we all got BYU blue before the first game and wear it religiously on game day. It doesn't matter if it is a home game or an away game. It is BYU Blue Baby!!! Before this game I bought BYU hats. Dallin and I got blue ones and Debi, Abby, and Emma got pinks ones. Then today we scored 5 more free shirts. They were handing them out on the way into the stadium. Now we have 5 matching BYU Blue shirts. We are the Nerd Herd (homage to 'Chuck', if you have seen it on NBC). It gets even worse, so watch out for the next paragraph!

You have been warned, so, proceed with caution. Tonight, at my insistence, all 5 members of the Crazy Lee family wore their BYU Blue shirts, and their hats, while we went to Los Hermanos and the grocery store. I am losing it. The mere thought of two of the five of us even dressing similarly used to be enough to send me into a tizzy. But tonight, I was the instigator of this unseemly behavior. Later on I noticed that Dallin and I were looking very similar and started calling him Mini-Me as we were walking around. I asked Debi to take the pictures. (Again, I usually run away from cameras). Help me, I am losing my orneriness!

I need to find something to complain about quickly before the orneryguy becomes mrhappy.

Grr, curse, grumble, :-(, etc !

Get Ready to Vote and Be Poked

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The Sad Man Behind Blue Eyes

What a great song by The Who!!! Being a sad man, and having blue eyes, I have always identified with this song. Whenever I start to have a "pity party", or start a "poor me story", Debi always taunts me with, "Oh, is it our little sad man behind blue eyes?"

Well, yes, yes it is. I have been brutalized on all fronts for my unintentionally being such an 80's icon. OUCH!!! Why didn't anyone organize an intervention. I obviously need help and support, not laughing and ridicule. Perhaps a makeover on Oprah would help. I hear she is a "miracle worker." So here's the deal. I am asking you to answer a few questions for me.

1. Please list as many things about me that scream "80's dude" that you can think of. Be specific. Blanket statements such as "everything" may be accurate, but they don't give me much to work with. Also, things such as "pants, shirts, hair, etc." need to be more specific. Exactly what is "wrong" with them. Note: I no longer own any Guess Jeans :(


2. Is there any hope for me? If the answer is no, you are probably right, and you are now done. If however, you are foolishly optimistic, and you answer yes, please continue.


3. Please, please, please offer suggestions. What can be done to bring me at least to the 90's, or even make me Y2K compliant. I am aware that actually reaching 2008 is impossible, but please help me to not be "that guy" who everyone sees and automatically thinks "time-warp."

Debi and Abby looked up 80's fashion websites and kept laughing at me. It was sad, so of course I pouted, which made them laugh harder. Poor me, the sad man behind blue eyes.

Please help me to not be "The Hoff" (see picture above)!!!

Simple Man

I saw this poster and I want to know if it is true. Please answer yes or no in the comment section and have a nice day. Also, if I am a "simple kind of man" does that make me a simpleton?

Anyway, Lynyrd Skynyrd rocks and you should really listen to that first song on my playlist. In fact, if you want to have a classic rock kind of day you should listen to the entire list. You can open a new browser window and keep on surfing while you listen. The playlist is very incomplete, and a little sporadic. I mean Barry Manilow? Hello? That was definitely for Debi (and I am a closet Fanilow).

Back to the simpleton question. My life was certainly simpler before school started for me on 9/2. For the record, I am in my second year of a three year master's program at BYU. I will be earning a Master's of Public Administration, which means if I play my cards right I can be like the head garbage man dude. Here is a simple way of explaining my upcoming degree, think MBA (Master's of Business Administration) designed for the not-for-profit sector. We are both part of BYU's Marriott School of Management and have similar courses and professors. The MBA focuses on for profit enterprises. The MPA focuses on government, universities, churches, charities, etc. Some examples include working in the administration of any government office, the LDS Church, BYU, the Red Cross, IHC, etc.

Wow that was boring! So here's the deal, I would like to either move into the administration at BYU or possibly work for the Church in a sector of the welfare division. I have visited Welfare Square a few times and have felt that I need to be involved in improving the lives of others(That's right, the orneryguy has actually been touched by the spirit). We have two guys in our program who work for LDS Philanthropies raising money for various projects such as providing wheelchairs to the handicapped and building wells for impoverished communitites. I want to get involved in something like that. Debi and I want to serve multiple missions and I want my work to prepare me for that while it provides for my family.

I apologize for the serious tone of this post. It was truly not intended. In fact, if this nonsense keeps up the blog may have to be cancelled.

So my accounting professor is like the world's smartest guy. Seriously, he has three PhD's, the last one in Artificial Intelligence from Carnegie-Mellon. He created an accounting teaching computer program that nearly ruined my sanity. It uses artificial intelligence to track what you are doing and predict mistakes you may make and questions you may have. It gives hints and warnings when you ask for them and it is spooky. If you are unsure of what to do, rather than clicking help and entering a word or phrase, you simply hit help and it answers the exact question in your head. I am afraid to think "do you know what I am thinking?" and hit the help key because I know the answer will come back "yes, and you better repent!" Anyway, the program is great, and I love using it, but it was the install that was terrible. My computer kept rejecting the program. Our professors son is a long-titled computer genious (read: geek) who comes to each of his fathers classes on the first day of school to help anyone who is having problems installing the program. He helped everyone who had problems but me. He spent over an hour and determined that I would have to wipe out my hard drive, re-install all programs, and lose anything that wasn't saved off-site. So, I got to rebuild my computer the first week of school. Nothing like a little added pressure.

This post is already too long and tragically terrible. So here's the deal, (the deal? Is this guy a used car salesman or what?) if you would like another sardonically delicious attack on something like people who chew with their mouths open and kick the back of my seat in the movie theater, stupid people, (you know who they are, and so do I, so why don't they know who they are) or whether the comma should be after the phrase or the comment in the parentheses after the phrase, (I am pretty sure I have screwed that up. Twelve years earning an English degree shot to ....) let me know. I crave comments. Especially sardonic ones.

Oh yeah, if you are all good little commenter's, I will tell you the story about Edward Paul Horwinski and the Great Pizza Mystery or possibly the one about how Johnny Got Hit in the Head by a Flying Frozen Turkey. Make a request!

Oh, and did I see Ryan McQuivey at the BYU/UCLA game? Go COUGARS!!!

Warning: This Post Is Lame (I'm Learning to Post Pictures)

As Debi and I were leaving from a wonderful short weekend stay at Johnson's Mill in Midway, I got a hold of her digital camera and starting taking pictures. I normally don't go for those new-fangled gadgets. Anything more technical than a Sony Walkman (circa 1982, cassette version) is beyond me. But, I was having fun. Snap, snap, snap and no paying for film development. I decided I wanted one for myself.

I did fine installing the Kodak EasyShare Program on my computer and took some pictures only a guy would take. You know, the first was my Coke from Taco Time. Then pictures of my Mustang, Truck, Motorcycles, the fence we built this summer, etc. Then I decided to get adventurous and try the video feature. So I have a short clip of the inside of the door and the dashboard of my Mustang while I start it and listen to the exhaust (with the door open so we can all hear the ringing of the door open bell, of course). Yeah, I am pretty lame. But, when you've got a K&N Performance Intake, Bassani headers, and a 3" MagnaFlow exhaust with Cat-Back headers installed on a 5.0 HO Ford V-8 engine, you are pretty lame, and obviously living in the past. You can take a flashback with me and have a listen here.

Speaking of living in the past, have you seen my straight-leg, faded blue jeans. Debi is pretty sure I never left 1988. She teased me just today about my pants. And my hair. And my shirt. And my music. Oh yeah, and about being ornery. She finds it hard being the unfortunate soul stuck with me. I mean, yeah sure, she likes the idea of me, but not the actual practise. I guess I am like one of those fancy trucks you see on the road with the awful, multi-color, paint jobs and murals on the tail-gate. Whoever thought it up and paid the ridiculous amount of money to have it done envisioned a true work of art in their mind. But when the work is done it just looks stupid. That's me, Debi's stupid looking truck (painted in the 80's obviously). If only it weren't against BYU standards I could grow an awesome mullet and wear muscle shirts (these of course present a problem with the whole garment thing). Wow, religion is standing in the way of me living out my white trash fantasy (and looking like my dad). Yeah, I'm the guy Debi wanted to marry. What was she thinking? My mom and Stephanie tried to tell her to run far, far away, but she didn't listen. She regrets it now. She's told me so. Lot's of times. Oh well, maybe one day I'll be the guy she wanted me to be when we got married. But until then I've just got LOTS OF POTENTIAL. (And a wardrobe, hair-cut, car, and music from the 80's).

Oh yeah, back to the camera. Here are some photos that only a guy would post. Especially a guy who lives in a trailer, drinks generic beer, and whistles through his tooth. I am that classy guy :)

Oh yeah, that Mustang was pretty sweet my senior year of high school. Ironically, I hated those Mustangs then and I hate them now. Back then I liked the Camaros a lot better. Still do. The Mustangs I like are 1964-1967 Fast Backs and the newest ones after the restyling done in 2005. Oh well, the price was right, it was a low-mile, original owner model. And it is fast. Stock, the 87 GT's did over 148 MPH. This one has had some work done and will go faster than I will ever find out. Now, if I had this car back in 87, I would have found out how fast it would go and probably not be here today.

Why Is Everybody Always Picking On Me?

What an easy target I am. Stephanie is always making fun of my mongoloid sized noggin. I can't help the fact that I lost in the genetic lottery and have such an over sized head. Not only does she make fun, she does it in ALL CAPS!!!!!!!!!!!!! Argh!

Then, while defenselessly enjoying my son's pack meeting I get ambushed by Debi and Kevin. It is a pretty low thing to purposefully, and with the obvious intent to inflict emotional trauma and embarrassment, dress in the same outfit as someone else and then not have the decency to stay far away from them and avoid eye contact. If Debi has on anything that remotely resembles what I have on, I immediately change. Seriously, I am not one of the Bobsey twins. One awful Sunday the kids all wore yellow shirts, blouses, or dresses. They easily convinced Debi to wear a yellow blouse to match them. Then, the hungry wolf pack surrounded the weakest among them and begged me to wear a yellow shirt to church so we could all match. I was horrified by the thought and refused. But, even the crustiness of my heart can be softened by Emma's big eyes asking me "please Daddy, please." So I caved. That's right, when it comes to my kids I am a big caveman. They ask, I say no, they say "pleeeease" with sad eyes, and I cave in to their demands. Yeah, anyway, church sucks when the whole family wears the same color because EVERYONE made a HUGE DEAL about it everywhere. The bishopric was laughing on the stand. People I had never talked to (most of the ward, like Stephanie, I am the ward recluse) felt compelled to tell me how cute it was and what a great dad I was for playing along. During priesthood opening exercises the bishop remarked he was embarrassed that he was not aware it was YELLOW SHIRT SUNDAY and asked Brother Lee to be sure and call all of the priesthood next week before church and let them know what color we would all be wearing. Yeah, that Sunday sucked, almost as much as the one when I carried Nikki, the American Girl doll and sat with her on my lap through Sunday School and Priesthood because Emma insisted Nikki could not be left in the truck during church and that she would cry if I did not hold her. You can be sure the kind, sympathetic brethren of the priesthood let that one slide by unnoticed. Even the oldest and sleepiest of the high priests took their shots that Sunday.

Anyway, as this approaches the longest, most boring, text filled blog in history (seriously, does this guy not have a camera, know how to post pictures, or add cute polka-dots and frilly things to his blog), I find out the ORNERYGUY has been tagged by "Sweet Melissa" (a great song and even greater cousin) unless he is "too ornery" to play. GROWL, CURSE, SPIT AND VENOM, ETC. I am the meanest, orneriest, rottenest, big-headed beast to ever walk the earth and all should fear me and tremble in my presence. But, truly fearsome as I truly am, when it comes to family, friends, strangers, even people I loathe and despise, I quickly become just another caveman.

So here it goes, a tagging of the most boring person to ever sleep through World History and wake up during a South American history class (being taught in Spanish) and go back to sleep until that class was over before exiting the classroom.

A - Attached or Single? Oh, so attached (is he talking about "the old ball and chain"?)

B - Best Friend(s)? Eric. Then of course Abby, Dallin, and Emma. And I think there is someone else, but the name isn't coming to me. SB, or something like that.

C - Cake or Pie? I agree with Melissa on this one. Aunt Janet's pies are beyond heavenly. I feel sorry for anyone who has never tasted one, but not sorry enough to share with them. Seriously, pity has it's limits. And pity ain't gettin' anyone no pie. No way, no how, and no caveman, neither.

D - Day of Choice? Any day Dallin and I can spend a few hours at the ballpark working on baseball. He is really helping me get better. With a lot more hard work I might be good enough to play on his little league team next year. Not start or anything, but maybe play for an inning every fifth or sixth game.

E - Essential Item? Coke. That one girl, SB or something like that, has tried to guilt me out of drinking my beloved Coke. Seriously, it is sweet ambrosia, and she refuses to bring it home when she goes to buy groceries. I think she delights in my suffering. She claims some BS story about kidney damage or something like that. Like anyone is going to believe that such a sweet nectar that also eats the rust off of nails is going to hurt anyone's vital organs.

F - Favorite Color? Definitely purple. I don't think I own anything that is purple, nor would I ever paint anything purple, nor do I even really like the appearance of the color purple, but, it is definitely the best tasting of all of Mr. Crayolas delectable delights.

G - Gummy bears or worms? This one is so easy. My all time favorite song to sing (off-key and with a truly sorrowful case of the poor-me's) goes something like this: "Nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I'm going to the garden to eat WORMS!!!!!" (Caps, exclamation marks, and an incorrect use of the colon? This guy is a total loser.)

H - Holiday of choice? This is a toss-up. I love Christmas. Not the carols being played even before Halloween, the shopping, the sappy movies, and all of the commercial crap (colons and crap, this guy is total class). For me it is celebrating Christmas with my family. This past one we spent in Disneyland was wonderful beyond my highest hopes. Now, to complete the toss-up, it is nearly impossible to beat Easter in St. George, at Green Valley, any year in the 1980's. Unless it is Arbor Day, the Fourth, the 24th, or Thanksgiving at the cabin. Oh yeah, and the 23rd at Grandma's. Really, just spending one more hour sitting with Grandma Dallin and listening to her talk and laugh, watch her holding a baby, and feeling her sweet hug would top all holidays that ever were, are, or will ever be. I miss her much more, and much differently than I ever expected to.

I - Indulgence? My family, definitely. I love doing everything I can for them and my greatest regrets are the things I do not have the time or the means to give them. There is nothing good enough for them, and unfortunately, they were stuck with this ornery old fun-hater.

J - January or July? Definitely July. No school, lots of baseball, and rib-eye steak on the grill. Now, if we could just get July to change weather with early October, then we would have a great month.

K - Kids? They are kind of stringy and chewy. Mine especially are way too skinny for eating but they sure are fun to be around. I wish I could slow time WAY DOWN and spend a long time in the present with Abby (12), Dallin (8), and Princess Emma (4). Check out the Rush song "Time Stand Still" with Aimee Mann of 'Til Tuesday adding her vocals. It is on the playlist.

L - Life isn't complete without? This little girl I know, Debi. Fortunately, she is the anti-Scott. She is kind and sweet, good at everything, and people like her. Like I said, she is the anti-Scott.

M - Marriage date? 7 September, 1994. And after 14 years of marriage I have learned enough to refrain from any snide comment about that. It was truly the most amazing day of my life and one I do not, and never will, deserve. Thank you Debi, for taking pity one me.

N - Number of brothers and sisters? 1 sister and 2 brothers. They are for sale, if anyone is interested. I've slashed the price on the brothers, both for a bum-nickel. But the sister, she's ........................priceless! :) (is that a smile?)

O - Oranges or apples? Apples, definitely. I am an apples guy. Ask Debi, she will tell you. She slices them and I eats them. I'm too lazy to slice them myself. But, then again, when Grandpa Dallin peels oranges I eats them too. Again, the lazy thing. But if anyone is up and would like to bring me a peeled orange, a sliced apple, another plate of dinner, a Coke.........., please feel free.

P - Phobias? Oh yeah, I got phobias baby! I'd tell you what they are but that would jinx me and they would all come true. Oh crap, (seriously, this guy is a potty mouth) I think that may have jinxed me, but now I'm un-jinxed, scrud, now I'm jixed again, argh! Has anyone seen MONK? Debi hopes and prays that one day I will be as highly-functioning and self-sufficient as the amazing Mr. Monk.

Q - Quote? "I think it needs more cowbell"-SNL skit devoted to the loss of a member of Blue Oyster Cult and referencing the cow-bell being played in their ode to suicide "Don't Fear the Reaper." I believe his name was Gene Frankel or something like that. I am embarrassed that I can't remember that bit of trivia, but I am also too lazy to look it up. Go ahead and Google it yourself. This much I do remember, he was not the lead singer of the band, but he did sing the lead vocals for a few songs. I think "Godzilla" was one. If you have a moment listen to that song. I think it is on my playlist. Anyway, Gene was a guitarist extraordinaire. Find some old BOC songs and "fritter away" (Pink Floyd reference) some time relishing in the genius that was Gene.

R - Reason to smile? Knowing I have something truly devious planned. Fear me now, mere mortals, for I am orneryguy! :)

S - Season of choice? "It's the time and the season for loving"- The Zombies. Check out where the "Who's your daddy?" reference came from. If anyone can cite an earlier pop-culture reference of "Who's your daddy?" than this classic song by the Zombies let me know in the comments section. I will then destroy you, claim to have found the reference myself, and use this kernal of knowledge to rule the world . I am smiling at the diabolical genius of my devious plan. :)

T - Tag 3 people. This is difficult since nobody reads my blog, or leaves me comments, or loves me, or cares that I am pouting, or that I am about to go out into the garden and eat worms. (Wow, this guy is a sad-sack) That, and half of the people who "pity-read" my blogging drivel have already been tagged. Therefore, with great "Pomp and Circumstance" (seriously, that is the title of the song they play when the president of the United States is introduced? How weird! Also, the dork driving this blog should know that works of art, songs, book titles, etc., should be italicized, not put in quotation marks.) As I was saying, with great Pomp ande Circumstance, I hereby request that the wise, noble, and honorable Stephanie (Aunt Meanie) and the most delightful, wonderfully beautiful, true love of my life Debi (SB) please considered themselves tagged and respond to this invitation forthwith and in due haste. For those of you who have taken off your shoes and socks to help with the counting are so painfully aware, that is only two people. Again, I am weeping in shame over the lack of love my blog is receiving, so if you have ever stumbled across this page and been so embarrassed you even saw it, please, please leave a comment this time and consider yourself tagged. (Wow, that guy has no shame, begging for comments like they were signs of approval. Maybe he should change his name from the Orneryguy to Mr. Self-Esteem. Excuse me, the dripping drops of sardonicism have left a puddle on my keyboard and I must clean up).

U - Unknown facts about me? I wish I could tap-dance. Seriously, Sammy Davis Jr. is THE MAN! And what about Mr. Bojangles. First of all, the song by the same title, by the Nitty Gritty Dirt Band, always chokes me up. Especially the part about him grieving the death of his dog twenty years later. But, getting beyond that, watching old clips of him, Sammy, Gregory Hines, etc. really make me wish I could tap dance. I am not so much for the white guys. I mean Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly are great and I have seen Michael Flatley (sp?) the "Riverdance" dude and was impressed, but it is the great soul, feel, emotion, sorrow, showmanship, and truly divine grace of movement of the black men that gets me. (Is any of that true? Is there any way of knowing?)

V - Vegetable? Mashed potatoes with Grandma's gravy. There is no food as good, and there will never be.

W - Worst Habit? Debi will say it is generally being an "Aspirin". Say it out loud and slowly, you will get the drift. If you don't, let me tell you a cute little exchange I have with Emma often. I ask her who each person in our family is and she responds, "Dallin is our Sunshine, Abby is our Monkey Butt, Mommy is our Queen, Emma is our Princess, and you are the DADDY DONKEY). That's right, I'm an aspirin. :)

X - X-ray or Ultrasound? Huh?

Y - Your favorite food? Thanksgiving at the cabin again with the potatoes and GRAVY and Aunt Janet's pie. Yum. For regular days I love Rib-Eye steaks.

Z - Zodiac sign? I am a Gemini. No I'm not.

A Special Place

There is a special place in hades (Debi will have a melt-down if I use any profanities or obscenities, but I'm sure you know where hades is, right? It is a part of H-E-double hockey sticks). Anyway, there truly is a special place in hades for people who drive under the speed limit in the carpool lane.



I just don't understand what compels these morons to drive 55 mph in the carpool lane. There is already a special lane reserved for these people. It is on the far right side and it is called "the slow lane". I am guessing these special people are so "slow" they are not even aware of how "slow" they are.


Here are a few tips to help you determine if you are one of these slow people who will be spending eternity searching for ice water:

1. Look at your speedometer. If you are not going at least 10 mph over the maximum posted speed limit, you better buy some asbestos underwear.


2. Look out of your front windshield. If the only cars in front of you are ones that recently swerved in front of you, nearly clipping your bumper, while the driver honked, glared, and gave you the Italian Salute, I hope you like BBQ.


3. Look in the rear-view mirror. If however, you are like most of the morons driving slow in the carpool lane, you don't even know what or where the rear-view mirror is. Consult your owners manual. After finding the mirror if you see a long stream of cars all driving bumper to bumper behind you and there is only clear sailing ahead of you, please pull over, get out of your car, and repeatedly slam the drivers door shut on your head.


4. If you find you are one of these (choice adjective) slow drivers, please exit the carpool lane immediately. Cross the double white lines now. Do not wait for the dashed lines to appear. If you get a ticket because you crossed the double white lines while leaving the carpool lane because you have realized you are of the "special people", I will gladly pay the fine for you. So long as you swear to never leave the far right lane again, that is.

In conclusion, though I am normally a very tolerant person (kind, forgiving, understanding, slow to anger and all of that), I do draw the line at driving slow in the improperly named carpool lane (it should be named the ultra-high speed passing lane and be restricted for drivers who are comfortable driving at least 20 mph over the speed limit.) I feel it is my duty to warn those who violate the very laws of nature and drive slow in the carpool lane of their impending doom, and to call them to repentance. Those who insist on violating the true and intended purpose of the carpool lane will be expediently cast down to "hello operator," where they will be forced to listen to __________________________ for eternity. Have a nice day :)

(If you read this post, I request you make a comment, and also that you fill in the blank with whatever you find contemptible to listen to. It may be a specific song, artist, genre, high-council speaker, me, or anything else you would personally feel tortured if you had to listen to it for an eternity.)

The Orneryguy Has A Little Fun?

Abby (click her name to link to video sight!) was on Good Things Utah today! That is certainly worthy of an exclamation mark. Maybe three!!! She was a little nervous thinking about how many people were watching her on TV, but she handled it well. By the end of her segment she was very comfortable. When the show was over she took a basket up to "the Girls" and gave them some hair bows. They were very impressed with her generosity.

We all went up and had our picture taken with the cast. Marti told us she choked up while reading about Abby on the air and that she had cried when she read what Debi had written about Abby.

Dallin even got in on all of the action. When we were at the Day Spa they all adored him. After being asked a few times, Dallin finally consented to a free haircut. It would have been $45 and they were anxious to do it for free. Then, walking into the studio we saw Angel, who does the cooking segments unloading her Cadillac. She hollered hello and waved to us, very friendly. In the lobby I told her that Dallin is her biggest fan. He loves watching the cooking segments and then helping Debi to make the dish they showed. She showed him what she brought in and told him all of the ingredients. During the show, after the cooking segment, Angel came over and got him out of the audience. She said they were not supposed to take guests on-stage during the show but that since he was her biggest fan he had to come and eat some of the dessert. They visited for a few minutes and Dallin had a delicious treat with macadamia nuts, mandarin oranges, crust, and whip cream. He thought it was delicious. Angel even gave him the copy of the recipe that had been on the counter while they were filming. Later, when the show was over and we were having our picture taken with them I lifted Dallin so he could be seen and Marti turned around and told me to set him down next to her.

All in all it was a wonderfully fun time (something an ornery guy rarely has). I was surprised at how genuinely friendly everyone was. It was almost disturbing to think that people can go for so long without being a little irritable.

Poor Emma missed the fun, but we were sure that had she been there she would have been running around the studio and generally making a nuisance of herself. She does her own thing that child. Instead of going with us she went to Diana's house and played Princess. She did not want to come back home.

Abby got back in time for the last half of her first day of Junior High. Then she was rushed back to BYU for the closing performances of her daCi dance camp.

I love my children and am very proud of their achievements, accomplishments, and abilities. I am even more proud they are "nice kids" who are working hard on strengthening their own testimonies. They come from a great pioneer heritage on both sides and are great representatives of those they came from. As their father, I just hope to learn from them and not mess them up too bad.

I Take Offence!

Offence, much like colour, is a chiefly British variant, and perfectly proper and acceptible. I am deeply offenced anyone would question me on that. It must be all of the English literature classes I took and all of the English literature I read leaking out of me.


When questioned, I must defend myself.


Actually, I was relieved to see "offence" listed in the dictionaries after I googled it.

Great eyes, Steph. I thought I was the only critical one in the family.

Also, I googled "parentheses" and "parenthesis" and found both uses to be acceptable, although there appears to be some possible, minor differences in their definitions. Google them and read up a little, then we can neither of us care which is the most proper under which conditions.

Anyway, enough blammer.

Scroll down the music list and see if you like anything. Sorry if David Bowie's Ziggy Stardust is not working properly. If you have three minutes to kill track the song down. It has a great guitar riff and the song influenced many bands of the 70's (Sex Pistols, etc) through today (Green Day).

A note on Black Betty. Could you find a better white trash anthem? Seriously, I think I need to buy a trailer before I can truly appreciate the song. No wonder it is the most popular song played during the University of Wyoming football games.

And what happened to Stairway? It sounds like the Chipmunk's cover version.

If you read this post you are morally obligated to leave a comment.
(This post passed the spellchecker, anything missed is totally the responsibility of the big-headed author).

What____ this blog ____about (where should I place the 'is'?)

Warning: This blog does not necessarily express the views of it's author or anyone who knows him. The content may be considered offensive to the thin skinned (should that be thin-skinned?) and should only be perused by those well versed in sardonicism (think sarcasm, without the intent to hurt or cause offence). There may even be an occasional revealing of my true soul, but on all but the rarest of occasions, it will quickly be covered by a smart-alecky comment. Though I am often accused of 'getting smart' with someone, I am usually (sadly enough) doing it alone. However, this is my official invitation to you to 'get smart' with me. Exactly how a couple of idiots like us will do that I do not know.

This is my opportunity to put 'it' out there. What 'it' is may be anything:

A rant, a rave,
a cry or complaint
A song to fill the air.

My life, my thoughts,
the things I love,
And those which make me pull my hair.

Basically I am writing for my own amusement. Random thoughts as well as deep feelings may be found here. (I hope someone noticed the proximity of the words 'well' and 'deep', even though 'well' was used in a different context than the one normally associated with 'deep'. If you caught it before I pointed it out give yourself one point.)

I am making the grandiose and most likely untrue assumption someone other than myself will ever read this blog. (OK, Debi will read it out of pity). But if you have stumbled across this ornery guy's blog, leave a comment, let me know who you are. I am even open to suggestions for future topics!

One will be how I hate people who use bold fonts to emphasize specific words and points. I also detest people who use exclamation point. Seriously, if you express your point well enough you do not need explanation points. They just make you look like an idiot!!! (especially those of you who use more than one).

I also am disgusted by the use of comments in parenthesis (what is that, some kind of aside?) (Or is it a peak inside the writer's mind?) (Am I using apostrophes correctly?) (Really, only jerks use parenthesis, it is like saying, "hey, here is a little private, inside joke only you and I get.) (What are the rules pertaining to quotes within parentheses?)

If you made it this far I am truly sorry. You will never regain the time you wasted. As for my next post, assuming I am not canceled by the network, it may be a list of potential future topics I will explore. Or it will be links to pictures of cool cars, motorcycles, and hot-dog stands.

Buenas noches!!! (Or dias, or tardes, depending on what time you tripped and fell into this!!!)

Let the Complaining Begin

In the beginning was bickering, and bickering was good!