ALLS I WANT TO DO IS MAKE WAFFLES

NOT IN MY HOUSE

At lunch Monday, Kelly was telling me a story about the group eating dinner at Waffle House last Saturday night. 

Me: How can you eat there without me?

Kelly: You like Waffle House?

Me: Hello?

I then explained that I always eat there on road trips and that I hope every new building going up or empty lot will become a Waffle House. 

Kelly then decided I should own one, and she proceeded to sign me up on their website to become a franchise owner. 

An hour later at Target (I bought five shirts and two pants), I got a call from a company about my interest in becoming a franchise owner. Sure, I say. 

And two days later I'm on the phone with a consultant discussing my finances and my desire to get into business. He didn't work for Waffle House, mind you, but a company that pairs owners and companies together. 

Colin the Consultant and I had a lovely conversation in which I learned that I'll never own a Waffle House. He says you  need upward of 500,000 to open one of those things. 

Colin: What's your price range?

Me: Not more than 50,000. 

Colin: Oh. I don't have franchises in my portfolio for less than that. 

Let's say, though, that I had 200,000 (the average to open for one of his companies) to spare. I'd have to fill out two forms and go through a series of consultations with Collin, concluding with a conference call with us and the corporation I wanted to become a franchise owner of. 

Then, the corporation puts you through a seven-step process, including an in-person seminar. And that's before filling out a 23-item disclosure document. 

After all that, maybe you get to be a franchise owner of a business that may or may not profit. 

How the hell do people do this? Oh right, people already with money. 

Anybody wanna be partners?

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

I'm looking for a document while talking to my mom on the phone. I can't find it among all my papers. "You better straighten out all your shit or you'll never find anything."

Mom is recalling her Katrina experience. She says it was particularly hot the day after the storm moved through. Me: How hot was it? Her: "It was fucking hot."

CUTTING UP

My grass was getting a tad high, so I got off my lazy ass and went to cut it late Monday afternoon. This is how far I got. 

It looks like I heard a voice from the fields and started constructing a baseball diamond. I think I heard it say: If you build it, the Cubs will win the pennant. 

There's even a weird little circle in the corner where I may or may not have made home plate. 

All kidding aside, the lawnmower gave out after a minute and wouldn't start again. There was some gas left, but I added more just to be safe. Oil, spark plug and filter were all fine. That's the limit of my expertise. 

I put the lawnmower away and went about a fine Monday evening. On Tuesday, I asked my neighbor for help. He tried several things with some gizmos.  Nothing. 

Tina stopped by. Pulled the chord as if she had a magic touch. Nothing. 

So on Wednesday, I had my dad come by to pick it up and bring it to a repair shop. It is still under warranty. 

Just as Tina did the day before, he yanked on the mower like he had some power over a broken machine. On the fourth pull, however, it started. 

Mowed the back. Emptied the bag. Started it again. Still worked. Mowed the front. 

Maybe it was bad gas that had to work its way out, and the new gas I put in Monday got into the engine by Wednesday? I don't know these things. 

But it's working for now, as the grass is fully cut. And the Cubs will never win the pennant. 

STREET SENSE

I WAS OFF SUNDAYS THE PAST 6 MONTHS

I was the first to arrive at work Sunday. Just me and a big old empty building. 

I sort of felt like a kid on Christmas morning because we were starting daily publication again. So no gifts and I was at work but a Christmas spirit nonetheless. 

The publication is called TP Street. Yes, it sounds a little like Sesame Street. I told that to the editor and publisher and then sang the theme to Sesame Street in a meeting two months ago. 

They laughed. Sort of. I think my coworkers did a collective smacking their palms against their forearms in embarrassment. But oh well. Just trying to liven things up. 

Anyway, I'm excited to make a daily newspaper again. And it should be snazzy. 

Of course, I didn't start working right away when I got in Sunday. Instead, I typed this. OK, time to open the presents. First up, page 47. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom reads the story of a Harahan man getting arrested for selling a drug called a Molly just across the way from her house. "What he thought no one saw him? If I was living next to him, I would have told him to get off the fucking street." 

She notes that the drug dealer is so and so the IV. "On Sex and the City they say the higher the number, the smaller the dick."

Mom says it was too hot Sunday. "It's a fucking sauna."

Mom says you need five years experience to get a job. Me: Where? Her: "Every fucking where."

Mom says she should have been a hairdresser. "If I could do it over again, I would. They make more fucking money than you."

Mom read Jose Baez's book. "He went broke defending Casey. So he hired a bunch of interns and they sat there and looked up information on the whole fucking jury."

Finally, mom saw Dirty Little Secret, a Lifetime original movie about Jody Arias on Saturday night. "I don't understand why he didn't punch the fuck out of her after the first stabbing. He kind of just let her keep stabbing. He should have knocked her the fuck out. He's 240 fucking pounds. She's little. But no, she stabbed him 20 fucking times."

Arias is still awaiting sentencing. "They ought to just give her fucking life."

PARTING SHOT

I used to have a quote of the day in the old days. Hopefully, this is the first in many new parting shots. 

Someone at work notes that many Pittsburgh teams have nicknames that start with a P. Penguins, Pirates, Power (AFL). 

David Jack: What's their WNBA team called?

Liam: Pussy. 

I'M IN A HITCHCOCK REMAKE

A CROW LEFT OF MURDER

On April 27, I left the building to discover a crow, or some such bird, chilling at the intersection of my hood and windshield. 

He seemed to be waiting for me and wouldn't budge. I yelled. I hit the hood. I shooed him. Nothing. 

Liam was also leaving and laughed at me as I gingerly got in my car afraid the crow might pounce on me. 

I started the car and bonked the horn. He stayed there stoically perched. 

I felt like the crow was saying, "I live here now. I ain't moving." Waving like I just didn't care at the crow also didn't work. 

And so I backed out of my parking spot, hoping the crow would fly away as I picked up some speed. Nope. 

Too afraid to nudge it off, I was at a crossroads. I told Rachel the situation, and I'm not sure if she has stopped laughing yet. 

I realized as I was driving that the crow didn't know how to fly. As I got to 20 mph, it flapped its wings in a panic and clung to the windshield wipers. 

The speed became too much, and momentum took the crow to my roof. It actually looked like the crow was moonwalking up the side of my car and onto the roof. 

I could hear the crow scratching the roof for a few moments. And then ... nothing. The crow was gone. I circled back around but couldn't find it. 

I like to think that I taught that crow how to fly. That's better than thinking I killed it, right?

Anyway, Rachel thinks that the crows have been plotting their revenge. She has told me a few times that she saw crows swarming my car. Not funny at all. 

But on Thursday, there was another incident. I found this in my driveway. 

So the crows killed one of their own and left it for me. That's some serious shit. It certainly startled me.

How should I respond?

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

I called my mom the other day. This is how she answered: "What? I got shit in my hair."

I'm driving us to lunch. The guy in the car in front of us opens his door at 30 mph and spits. "What the fuck?!"

One of mom's favorite shows is The Voice. But this is how she described the show after this week's finale: "I don't know why they even have that show. Everyone fucking knows what's his face is gonna win. Country gets all the votes. I I didn't realize fucking country people owned the fucking world."

Nelly performed on the finale. "Nelly is into that country shit now. It's weird."

Mom calls me. "Hey, my Cox bill says HBO is free in March. I think they fucked up. It's June." Me: That does seem wrong. Her: "Is it a fuck up?"

FOUR CORNERS

1) In the old blog days, I often lamented not getting a hug from my boss, Marcus. Well it happened Wednesday. And it was all that I thought it could be. You know, for a hug. 

2) I work in a smoke free building. Yet, someone found it necessary to put a No Smoking sign on the wall in the second floor showers. Maybe the sign has been there since before it became a smoke free building and no one ever took it down. But still, it looks odd. 

3) Paul has left his ATM card in the machine three times and left two different vehicles running while locking himself out. But he may have topped himself Wednesday when he somehow dropped his cell phone into the ocean and broke it. 

4) My rec basketball team came in second place in the spring league. We took out the third seed and the second seed before losing to the top seed. In the summer league, however, we have a championship appearance hangover. It's just like a Super Bowl hangover. We're 0-2, and we only had four players for the first half of one of the games. 

R-I-D-G-E

MY NEXT BILL WILL END UP IN MEXICO

I've been living in my house since early October of 2011. And yet, my credit card address is still Tina's house. Shut up, I've been busy. 

Last week, I called Citicard to change my address to Park Ridge. I couldn't do it online because I don't know my password. I've actually never used the credit card web site. 

The call to change my address took 12:25. It should have taken 2:25. 

The automated service asked for the last four numbers of my credit card. I type them. It says card doesn't exist. Not a great start. 

After a second failed attempt, a representative came on and found my account. 

Rep: Now what can I do for you, sir?

Me: I'd like to change my address. 

Rep: No problem. I just need your password. 

Me: Yeah, I don't know that. 

Rep: It's the last four digits of a phone number. 

Me: I don't know anybody's phone number (after thinking about it, I know six, two of which are disconnected). 

Rep: Ok. I'm going to have to get my supervisor. 

Me: I just want to change my address. 

By the time I finished that last line, I was on hold. I then went through the same spiel with Ben the supervisor. He finally believed it was in fact me and changed my password. 

(I realized when I hung up the phone, that perhaps my password was my debit card password. That being four numbers and all. Though that doesn't feel too smart having both of those the same. Point is, this was taking way too long.)

Finally, the time had come to actually change my address. I had the rep back on the phone, and she asked for my new address. 

Unfortunately, she was not familiar with the word ridge, which appears twice in my address. I spelled it about six times and slowly the last three times. 

At one point it seemed like she had it figured out, but I asked if she understood that the ridge in the city was the same as the ridge in the street. Uh, not quite. 

So we started over. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom has been rewatching The Wire. "I can't remember all their fucking names.  What is that guy's name? The bow tie motherfucker."

Mom warns against getting into deep in a relationship. "You just never know who you're fucking."

Mom says the last Mad Men was boring. "Nothing happened. What? He's getting divorced again. Jesus."

NOT THE RIGHT SIZE

Lately, I've been complaining that nothing comes in the right size for me. First world problems, eh. 

But really it's aggravating. A lot of stuff I buy I wish there was an in-between size or a smaller size. 

The small bread has 20 slices. I need one with 10. Once I use it for five sandwiches, I don't feel like eating a sandwich for like a month. So the last 10 slices are a waste. 

If I get a gallon of milk, I don't finish it. Half gallon, I'm at the store just getting milk way too often. I need 3/4 gallon milk. 

When I go to Bud's, one sandwich leaves me hungry, but two is too much. Unfortunately, they don't have a 1 1/2 no. 7 option. 

There's other food orders like that as well, but you get the idea. 

Doc Brown would have given better advice

YOU'RE NOT ACCEPTABLE

The results of my blood work came back. I viewed them online. All the numbers, save cholesterol, were good. 

The highest number in the OK zone for cholesterol is 199. 200 to 239 is borderline risk. Above 240 is at risk. 

My number is 207, to which my doctor left this note: not acceptable. Diet and redo in three months. Other labs fine. 

Well, thanks for the advice. Diet. Don't think I could have figured that out myself. 

And not acceptable? To me above 240 is not acceptable. I'm more in the 'needs work' category. Also, there are 3 numbers that go toward your cholesterol number. One of mine was in the normal range. One barely missed. And the other was pretty far off. That's hardly 'not acceptable.'

I've already started a few things to bring the number down, so I don't die of a heart attack at 35. I refuse to change my diet. 

1) I switched to reduce fat milk. That saves me 16 grams of saturated fat per week. 

2) I bought a huge pack of almonds, which are said to increase your good cholesterol (my number that's barely off).

3) I'm only allowing myself one coke a day. Sometimes skipping days. 

4) I've mostly eliminated sweets. 

THE TINA CURSING CORNER

My mom and I had lunch earlier this week. She was mostly tame until we arrived back at her house. As we walked to the front door, a cop car rolled slowly down the street. Without breaking stride, she said: "Asshole."

Mom has yellow spray paint on her sidewalk. I ask her what's up with that. "Water company shows up and just starts spraying. I came out and said what the fuck are you doing. They were working across the street. He needs work and I get the shit. Then they realized the work was unnecessary. So that yellow is for nothing. Can you believe that shit?"

About a recent incident with an older gentleman: "Old fucking man shouldn't be on a fucking bike on the highway."

KINDA OF LIKE WHEEL OF FORTUNE

In the car today, I was thinking about our city and came up with a little game to pass the time on the drive: New Orleans before and after. 

It's two things New Orleans with a connecting word. The end of the first part is the beginning of the second. I thought of five. See if you can get them. 

1) Pelicans shooting guard AND restaurant on Poydras connected to the casino. 

2) Bearded jazz pianist AND man for who the zoo is named. 

3) Fox investigative reporter AND annual golf tournament. 

4) Super Bowl winning coach AND Super Bowl winning quarterback. 

5) Recently named skyscraper next to Champions Square AND pizza joint near the end of Veterans. 

Can you think of more?

Joe gave me a flask, and I used it.

Joe and Jenna's wedding extravaganza

Joe and Jenna got married April 20th. So why am I posting about it in June? Because I just figured out how to put pictures into the blog using my phone. 

Anyway, Joe and Jenna has always been my favorite couple. And I was more than honored to be in the wedding and share in their special moment. 

The wedding week was epic with so many old friends in town, and let's just say I got home at 6 a.m. from Joe's bachelor party, which started and ended at the casino. 

As for the rest of the story, I'm going to tell that through the use of photographs. Grab some popcorn, kick back and enjoy. 

This was the site of the ceremony one day earlier. The rehearsal went smoothly except for the confusion about when and how they would put their rings on. 

Jenna works at the zoo, and through that  connection, she was able to get family and the wedding party to participate in a feeding of the giraffes. 

The first rule of the feeding was that we were not allowed to post pictures on social media of the giraffes. But I'm a badass. Besides, this isn't accessible through google searches and such. 

The tallest giraffe was 18 feet tall. Or three and a half Genes. Also, their tongues are purple. 

Here's the wedding party sans Gill and me on a picture-perfect day at the zoo.  We were deemed unworthy for this shot by the wedding photographer. I think she hated us because we're beautiful. 

 

In lieu of a wedding cake, the happy couple had 200 buttermilk drops. I went with Joe to Tastees several months before to see if this was possible and how much it cost. 

Joe: How much for 200?

Worker: probably right under 200 dollars. 

Joe: and how much notice before picking them up?

Worker: you can order the day before. 

Joe: I could kiss you. 

They are ptetty much the best thing ever. I thought they would last 10 minutes, but somehow there were leftovers. What the hell people?

I myself had 2 1/2. They assure me that they kept four drops to eat on their one-year anniversary. Such traditionalists. 

Joe and Jenna got married at the zoo. Some of the guests invited themselves and then got bored and took a nap. 

The zoo names their bears after major hurricanes. Great. That is Betsy. Or was it Camille?  Anyway, we were allowed to feed the bears just before the wedding. 

I threw a piece of cheese to this bear. It one-hoped the ground and went right into her mouth. Awesome. The worker tells me the next bear will be called Katrina. Ugh. 

Ah, first dances. Can you feel the love tonight? The peace the evening brings. The world for once in perfect harmony.  Sorry, got carried away there. Oh, that's Tina in the background. 

I first realized Joe and Jenna were meant for each other at Gill's birthday in August of 2004. At the end of the party, there were five boys and five gals. Those two were left alone on the couch giggling about something. 

As I got water out the fridge for a drunk Kate, I glanced over and ... I don't know how else to say it. I just knew. And every time I am around them, I am reminded of that night and how perfect they are for each other. 

I wanted to say as much during wedding week, but it didn't feel appropriate. Khush's best man and Katie's maid of honor speeches were better anyway. In fact, Katie and Jenna are still in an open relationship on Facebook. 

Chuck, Bob and Joe have been pointed finger dancing around Jenna for as long as I can remember, so it was necessary for this pic to happen at the wedding. 

The wedding itself was a beautiful occasion, starting with the bride herself, who was radiant as she walked the aisle to Somewhere Over the Rainbow. 

Then they got hitched in the midst of nature. I think the crocs even woke up and shed a tear or two. 

On a personal note, I walked up the aisle with Gill, which was awesome. And no matter what anyone tells you, we were the best bridesmaid/groomsmen pairing. 

That's my seersucker suit for the wedding. You know, cuz that's how Joe does. 

Rachel made me a shirt to wear under my suit that said Joe and Jenna's Journey. It had a music symbol for Jenna, a baseball bat for Joe and the Loyola Wolfpack symbol for where we all met. 

In the summer of 2003 (or 69), I declared Journey's Don't Stop Believin as my anthem. I made up a dance to it while drunk, and Jenna loved it. She begged me to do it at every party thereafter in college. 

It's become a wedding tradition. The music hits. People get excited, and I make a fool of myself with a magnificent display of otherworldly moves, concluding with the worm when the song's title is sung at the end. 

And so the pressure was on to make this the best rendition yet. Some said it was. I even danced with Jenna in the middle and sang more than usual along with the song. The best part was right before I started my routine, I unbuttoned my dress shirt to reveal the special shirt. 

After the wedding, we went to the Columns for the afterparty. More good time were had there, even if the room was spinning the whole time. 

Gill and Kaila were tired after a long night of partying. Or maybe they were just relieved to be alive. 

Bob drove us home from the afterparty, and as he was changing lanes on the Interstate, a red ( possibly Corvette) came out of nowhere at about 89 mph. 

Bob quickly hooked his car back into its original lane as the car went whizzing by. I estimate the cars missed hitting by six inches or so. 

Who knows what would have happened had we collided. Anyway, congrats to Joe and Jenna. Hell of a party!

Doctor. Doctor. Give me the news. 

Ever since the health screening lady at work a few weeks ago told me I was in the high risk zone of cholesterol, I've been kind of freaking out. Not drastically changing anything, mind you, but freaking out nonetheless. 

I cut back on soda, switched to reduced fat milk and ate more almonds. And, oh yeah, made my first doctor's appointment since a physical to play soccer senior year of high school. That was 2001. 

I arrived on time (no small feat for me) but, of course, I was not summoned to the doctor on time. In the waiting room, I got to listen to an old couple and another lady discuss the finer things in life: Asian art and Netflix. 

The two ladies were actually doing most of the talking until the old man said he prefers to watch golf or baseball. His wife: I like watching to cheer against that Tiger Woods. He left his family. He's such a bastard. Asked about the difference between Woods and Bill Clinton, she said: I can forgive him. He's a sweetheart. 

Another man was signing in.

Nurse: would you like to list a religious preference?

Man: Jesus. 

Thirty minutes after my appointment, I was called in for the nurse to do some tests. Blood pressure was good, but the nurse didn't tell me that. I just knew the numbers. 

The doctor came in next. He asked me if I had any pains. No. Any discomfort. No. Any medical problems to address. No. Any past problems. No. Any medications. No. Anything at all. No. Then he shot me a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-here look. 

Me: cholesterol. The health screening lady ... 

Doc (waving his hand): Those things are such bullshit. 

After he was done with me, I peed in a cup and then had to go pick up a red phone in the hallway. No dialing. Just picked up a red phone. I half expected Neo to answer. 

Another nurse came out to take my blood. As she was rubbing my vein, I said: That's where the heroin usually goes. She hesitantly laughed. Hope that doesn't go in my file. 

On my way out of the facility, I went the wrong way twice. First, I took the wrong elevator to get to my car. I looked out the window and could see my car. However, my only option was to enter an office. So back down the elevator I went. I then found the right elevator. 

On the way out of the parking garage, I followed the exit signs, but on the first floor I ended up driving down a dead end of sorts. Almost hit a dumpster. I was barely able to turn around to go back up a ramp. I mean just barely. Almost was forced to go back up the down ramp in reverse. 

So I had to re-enter the garage to the third floor before exiting again. When I got back to the first floor exit, there is actually two arrows, one for the real exit and one pointed toward the non-exit I originally followed. So you can see my confusion. Or I'm just a moron. 

The Tina cursing corner

My mom looks at her grass. "Look how high it is. It's been one fucking week."

The neighbors were making all kinds of racket, as usual. Mom does not like this. She hears hammer meeting nail. "Maybe he's sound proofing the motherfucker."

Mom is worried about legal action being taken against her for an incident the other day. "Fucking old man. He's going to haunt me the rest of my fucking life."

You didn't know that

I'm often being told that at work. It's always a good time when someone never heard of something you thought everyone knew. It happens both ways to me. 

Two from the other day. Paul didn't know the theme to SportsCenter. You know, da da da danna da da. Been there for all our lives. He heard it the other day and thought it was just the noise made when you draft a fantasy player. This is the same guy who once asked me what a Jonas brother was. 

For her part, Kelly doesn't believe that carrot is in carrot cake. I've heard some bad ones before, but that just might take the cake. Thank you and drive thru. Kelly: You motherfuckers are just messing with me.