Hate Ashbury

For our honeymoon, the Wife and I ventured out to San Francisco. Despite her catching a cold on the way out, we have several wonderful memories of our visit. This is not one of them.

On the second day, we took a "hop-on, hop-off" tour bus. We hopped off at a few locations, one of which was the Haight-Ashbury district.

The bus rolled up Haight street. I was so excited. As a teen, I was a bit of a hippie (as much of a hippie as one can be in Athens, Tennessee, and without drugs...or sex). I love the music that was born out of that area in the late 60's. Reading about the Haight, I could only imagine how cool it must've been to live there. At some point, perhaps around the time I began earning a living, I began losing my tolerance of the hippie kind (though I still dig their music).

The bus drove right past the intersection of Haight and Ashbury. It stopped at the end of Haight, several blocks away. I didn't mind so much. In one of the Wife's guide books, I had found a walking tour of several locations of importance, so that was something we could do. First and foremost, though, I wanted a picture at Haight and Ashbury.

Haight street is nothing like what I had imagined. Despite what made the area famous, it has become very corporate. I guess anything that draws tourists will draw commercialism. It's mostly stores like Gap and Stussy. But it still draws hippies....dirty, dirty hippies. Perhaps the spirit of illicit drug use that still persists got to my wife, as she felt the need to take a Dayquil LiquiCap right there on the street.

Here's a little game that I came up with to play with the wife. "Hobo or Hippie?" The game is simple. Spot a filthy person on the street and determine whether that person is a hobo or a hippie. It's not as easy as you may think. Both groups generally avoid bathing. Both will beg you for money. One of the few ways to tell is that hobos may show some shame while begging.

After, walking several blocks, being pan handled and bothered by hippie after hippie (or hobo after hobo, I'm still not completely sure) I was growing weary of them. By the time we reached the intersection, my beautiful bride and I had grown so annoyed with the swarms of the wretched beings that we just took the damn picture and made our way back before the love of the Grateful Dead could be suck entirely from my body.

As we got back to Golden Gate park, a girl looked up at my wife and asked, "You got any ganja?" The Wife replied, "Nope. I have a job, instead." Man, I love her.

I'm still not sure why homeless people would come here. Hippies don't have any extra money to give you, and people with money to give you will probably just think you're a damn hippie.

What a disappointment. I do however find it ironic that a place born as a counterculture has become a corporate hole. Also ironic is how a group of people believing in peace and love has evolved into a bunch of people that I just want to punch in the head.

I Did

From this point forward, the Bride-t0-Be will be known as the Wife. This will be in effect, until such time as she is known as the Widow (I will have to haunt someone to have them update you all).

After several months of planning, the wedding is over, and we are back from honeymooning. Man, it was exhausting to hear the Wife talk about all the hard work she put into the plans.

Crazy For You.

Wedding day is closing in, and last week B2B and I went to get our marriage license. Over all, a rather quick and painless experience (esp. since the government is involved). But I can't help but wonder where exactly they view the institute of marriage. Just before we signed on the dotted line, we had to raise our right hand and swear that we were: not intoxicated, not coerced, of sound mind, and not related closer than second cousin. Does this mean that they find it hard to believe that you'd want to be wed, unless you are: drunk, forced, stupid, or inbred?

Adding insult to injury, this is the sign outside their office.

Maybe that's what B2B meant when she said we had to get certified to be married.

EVO-lution

Last week, I bought a new fancy phone. I played with it all day Friday to learn how to operate it (also because, I downloaded a fart sound application). The next morning, I allowed the Bride-to-Be to gaze upon it. She was playing around with it and asked my thoughts on it.

B2B: Do you like it?

Me: I'm still getting used to it, but I think I do.

B2B: Do you really like it?

Me: Yeah.

B2B: Do you love it?

Me: Kinda.

B2B: Well, then why don't you marry it instead of me?

Me: Because it can't provide me with an heir. So I'll stick with you for now.

Maybe there's an app for that.

Spice of Life

Last week, I found a link, entered my email, and received, an invitation to try a new spicy chicken sandwich for free at Chic-fil-a. Today I tried said sandwich.

I will tell you now that I am not affiliated with the fine folks from Chic-fil-a. I do find their menu offerings to be delicious in my mouth. But nothing to date has come close to this fiery delight. After a couple of bites, I was immediately looking around the room to find the official launch date (June 7). Upon completion, I called the Bride-to-Be to tell her all about it and even offered to bring her for dinner next Monday for a date night (launch date night). I asked if I could order another, and was told that it was just a special preview offer and the couldn't sell it yet. I was invited back to enjoy one next Monday.

As I left, I could help feel ashamed of my denied gluttony. I also couldn't help but to reflect on the after school specials of my youth, in which; the dealer would get the kids hooked, then inform them that "the first taste is free".

I'm so cold.....

Any Given Sunny Day.

The Sun.

Will we ever know the extent of its amazing powers? It seems to just make people cheerier.

For example: Yesterday, I was getting a few shots of the Kenton County Courthouse (and enjoying alliteration). A woman walking by must've thought I was shooting Izzy's Deli across from me, as she cheerfully asked, "are you using your 'super-zoom' on the potato pancakes". Because the sunshine had me in a good mood, I responded with a joyous "you know it!" Normally, due to my usual disdain for people, I would have just grunted to acknowledge that she'd said something to me and thought to myself "there's no such thing as a 'super-zoom', you ass head."

Damn you, Sun. I don't like who I am around you.

Warning: Incoming Poop Joke

I think that perhaps some of the fine folks at my workplace have heard of my healthy-sized movements and, much like those in the Mississippi Delta, are preparing for an eventual ecological catastrophe.

She Sparkles!

You know, life is a strange lady. One day, your standing on your friend's deck, drunkenly shooting each other in the ass with a BB gun. Then a couple years pass, and that man is responsible for a human life.

Scott and Tiffany, congratulations on your feat of reproduction.

Dessie Marie, welcome to the world.

.328 Career Batting Average!

A recent conversation with the B2B about our future went something like this:

Me: Pretty soon you're gonna have a new last name.

B2B: Yeah. I'm excited, but I may miss my old last name.

Me: I'm pretty liberal. I'll let you hyphenate it... around the house. (that part was under my breath. See what I did there?)

B2B: That's nice, but Schilling-Kuykendall will be hell for our children, when they learn to write their names.

Me: True. But we don't have to name them that. We get to name them anything we want. I think that applies to last names, as well.

B2B: Really? What name will they have?

Me: Boggs.

B2B: I can see that. (In a child's voice) Mommy? Daddy? Why is my last name different from y...

Me: (Interrupting) BECAUSE WADE BOGGS IS A GOD! Now go to your room without dinner.

Let's just hope that his sister Donna Mattingly isn't such an impertinent little ass.

When I was a kid, you couldn't enter the majors, until you grew a mustache.

Is There A Hobo Fire In Our House?

Last night, as I was leaving my place of employment, the Bride-to-Be called. "I almost lost your dog, tonight," she said. I questioned what had happened. Apparently, the pup had yanked her leash from my future wife's hand, realized that they were no longer tethered, and took off like Usain Bolt going for gold. Luckily, our friend Matt had come over to see the pup and easily retrieved our Olympic pooch.

Unluckily, during her brief adventure, she came across a skunk that must've appeared to want a friend. It did not want a friend. I came home to a smell so foul that words don't do it justice. The best description I can come up with is that it smelled like burnt poison.

I can safely say that now (after 23 hours, 4 doggy baths, 3 vacuumings, and too many curse words to count), we can literally breathe easier. But it's been a tough go to get to this point.

On a related note, I know that the skunk spray is a defense mechanism, but I don't understand how it works. That smell (like that of a chemical plant fire) was so horrible that it evoked nothing but anger from me. Blinding...white hot...anger. So how is that a good means of defense? If I were the dog, the interaction probably would have gone similar to this:

Kevin Dog: Hey! Look at that squirrel-cat! He looks neat! I like his white stripe!

Skunk: Oh crap. I hope he doesn't see me.

Kevin Dog: Hi! Do you wanna be my friend! I really like your stri......

Skunk: Take this!

PFFFFFFT! (thats the sound of ass juice being sprayed)

Kevin Dog: What the!?!? Did you just spray me with something that smells like a dirty hillbilly's meth lab? Oh God! F%^*, you! F@#!, you....you little S#@$ F@$# &^*((&^$%&*&%%#^&*^()(%%$##@%^$%^^%#@$%)(*!!!!!!!! I just wanted to be your friend, but now I am going to have to murder you in your dumb face!

And I didn't really like your stripe!

Why would someone spray me with ass juice?

Here's two things I've learned during this ordeal:

1. Using tomato juice to kill the skunk smell is a myth. I wish I had discovered this before...

2. If you're not going to keep tomato juice in your home, then you should try to strain the chunks out of salsa before you pour it all over your dog in the shower.

My Cerberus

They're is a new addition to the Devil's Wind family. The Bride-to-Be and I decided it was time to adopt a pooch. Meet Bootsy!

Hi There!

We brought this beautiful little girl home on Saturday. She is half Doberman and half Labrador Retriever. So, she will murder you in the throat, then give you kisses.

My dear friends, this dog embodies the devil's wind. If, in the search for alternative fuel, the world's scientists discover a use for canine flatulence and/or excrement, then I am sitting on a gold mine.

Say What!?!?

Three Races, Same Show

Around the time I get home, three shows seem always to be on at the same time:

According to Jim

The George Lopez Show

My Wife and Kids

I'm glad to see that crap knows no ethnic boundaries.

Poorest Nation, Eh?

I think we may be getting scammed by all this "Haitian relief" business. The following ad is as it appears all around the interwebiary.

The children are not only carrying substantial amounts of gold, they are flashing it around like a rap video. Sure, I've seen all the video on the news of the suffering of the Haitian people, but with that kind of bank, I'd imagine it'd be pretty easy to fake.

Either that, or the people of Haiti haven't figured out that they can trade all that gold for goods and services. Who's the poorest country in the Western Hemisphere now? (I'm looking at you Canada)

In all reality, if you do want to give, HERE is a link to Matthew 25 Ministries. They are one of many great organizations with efforts to help Haiti in its time of need.

Thanks to Shawn for sending me the ad.

All The Single Ladies

Dear ladies,
I understand that when you go out to the bar or club you want to look nice and try to find you a fella (perhaps you just want to feel pretty). However, as the temperatures go near and below freezing, bundle up a bit. Wear a jacket. Find yourself a nice outfit with sleeves and pant legs. You don't always have to slut it up. As a once single man myself, I can guarantee that the guys will still find you attractive. What they won't find attractive is your stump, after your frostbitten leg has been amputated. Well most of them anyway, some people may be into stumps.

Take care of yourselves, ladies. I worry.

Sincerely,
Devil's Wind

J. Thomas Is A Dick Head Meter Maid.

So, yesterday was New Years Eve. I got up early, despite not feeling top notch, because I wanted to accompany the Bride-to-Be to an appointment with a wedding photographer. So we pull up in front of his building. I proceeded to place an American twenty five cent piece in the meter for our space. But alas, it changed nothing. That's right my friends. My quarter bought us no time, so we proceeded inside, assuming the meter was broken.

Fast forward to 45 minutes later.

B2B and I are exiting the photographer's office to find the meter maid (he's a man named J. Thomas, but attacking his masculinity consoles me) typing in a ticket. I yell from the steps, "Hold on! That meter is not working." His response? "It's flashing red. That means it's expired."

Me: Yes! But I put a quarter in and nothing happened.

Dick head meter maid: mmm hmmm. (uninterested in my protest)

Me: Yeah. Here let me show you.

So I pulled some change from my pocket and proceeded to put a nickel in the meter. Sure as hell, five minutes popped up.

DHMM: Seems to be working fine.

Me: Well, it didn't just before nine.

DHMM: (while now printing the ticket) I can't help you. You can call the number on the top and tell them your story.

Me: I will.

DHMM: Here.

Me: Great. You're awesome. (Then under my breath as he walked off) Dick head meter maid.

So I called the number. Talked to a very nice lady named Sharon. She told me to write what happed on the ticket, mail it in, and they'd look into the matter.

But I would like to reiterate that J. Thomas is a dick head meter maid.

I told you that to tell you this.

Later that day, B2B and I were at Kroger. As we left I noticed this.

That's right! Friggin' fake mustaches for a mere fifty cents. But looking into my pocket contents, guess what I found. Only one quarter, because I wasted my other one on a Cincinnati parking meter that didnt' work. Which would have been fine, except the dick head meter made, J. Thomas, still gave me a ticket. So I got a ticket and did not have the funds for a fake mustache.

I hope for better in 2010 (but not for J. Thomas: Dick Head Meter Maid).

Really! Why Am I Watching This.

Right now, it is just after 4am on December 06 of the year of our Lord Twenty Aught Nine. I am sitting on my couch with the woman I love (and plan to spend my life with) currently asleep on my lap. I find myself watching a movie on one of the local channels (seeing as we don't have cable or satellite), called "Judicial Indiscretion". Here are a couple problems I have with this film:

A.) The writers of the movie don't seem to understand the duty of the Supreme Court. The main character claimed that she hopes her nomination leads to appointment to the highest court in the country, so that she can "put criminals behind bars".

The Supreme Court ONLY decides cases of constitutionality. Not criminal cases.

B) The Supreme Court nominee is trying to cover up some criminal activity (that she views as only possibly illegal), and tries to cover it all up as she seeks and wins appointment to the Supreme Court.

C) The writer, producers, directors, and actors of this film think that I won't make fun of this horrible display.

I am sure that if you want to see the movie, you will (at some point) find it on late night. Otherwise, look in your local $5 bin.

I just found myself wrapping up this post... and now there is a rape subplot involving the "Smoking Man" from the X-Files.

This movie is really providing more and more baffling crap than one can handle.

Quick Update

The Girlfriend will henceforth be referred to as The Bride-to-Be, until such time that she becomes The Wife....or comes to her senses.

Goin' Batty.

Oh, these kids today and their Twilight. I understand what all the fuss us about. Vampires are sexy.

Random Shower Thought #17 (30th Birthday Edition)

In some circles a new millennium doesn't technically begin until the '01. Christ's birth isn't denoted as being the year zero. It was the year 1 AD (non-Christians, please take no offense. But, our calendar is based on his birth).

Do I get to count my thirties as not beginning until I'm 31?

Swingin' Twenties

On this, the last day of my twenties (as I cling to my youth), I feel I should take a look back at the highlights of the decade that was.

Age 20: Found a gas station that wouldn't turn down my fake ID. Don't remember much else.

Age 21: Got an actual ID saying that I was 21. Bought my first legal beer. Don't remember much else.

Ages 22-25: Don't remember much during this period (see Age 21) I think I graduated from UT and got a job somewhere during this period. Also, somehow I wound up living in Cincinnati.

Age 26: Umm. I am at a loss to find anything from this year.

Age 27: Turned 27 in London, UK. That was pretty cool.

Age 28: Found the love of my life. The Girlfriend.

Age 29: Bought a house. Moved in with the girlfriend. Lost a dear friend in Neck Beard.

Tomorrow, I turn thirty, and as it times out, I will make my first mortgage payment 9 days later.

I could use a drink.