Katdish.net

image courtesy of google images

A week ago Tuesday:

As he does five days a week, my son emerges from his room around 6:00 a.m. dressed in shorts and shirt courtesy of the school’s athletic department. His first class of the day is football. On most mornings that’s a good thing: roll out of bed, put on your athletic clothes, eat some breakfast and go. But this is not most mornings.

It’s Day One of Hell Week.

The term Hell Week is a bit of a misnomer. While most of the players would say the intense workouts consisting of everything from bear crawls and up downs, tire flips and sleds to good old fashioned power lifting, sprints and jumping rope is hell, it typically doesn’t last a week. Instead, it goes on until the coaches decide it’s over. If one or more of your teammates isn’t putting forth his best effort, everyone pays for it with added days. It’s a way to simultaneously strengthen the team and thin out the herd. Some set themselves apart, others decide it’s not worth it and quit football altogether. Most just keep their heads down and endure.

Knowing my son, it came as no surprise when I saw the anxiety on his face last Tuesday morning. He’s been through hell week before, but as a freshman with an all freshman class. This year he’s in there with the big boys–all upperclass linemen. He’s going to have to prove his worth against bigger and more experienced athletes. Still, it’s the first day. Getting stressed out to a point where you can’t even eat breakfast isn’t going to do you any good.  I told him as much, not that any of my advice penetrated the fog of anxiety he was in.

As expected, Day One was “hellish”. They were divided up into 4 groups: A, B, C and D–“A” being the best. My son was put on the “B” team, which considering that “A” consisted of mostly varsity players, I thought was pretty good. But by the end of class, he had been moved to the “C” team. When he got home, he didn’t want to talk about it. “I just have to do better”, he said.

In some situations, I would have left it at that–let him lick his wounds and try again tomorrow. But not this time, because there is absolutely no good reason he should have been moved down. I say this not because I’m one of those parents who thinks my kid is better than he really is. I say this because I’ve spent the last two off seasons driving my son to and from strength and conditioning training five days a week; watching him build muscle, speed and agility performing most of the drills the coaches are putting them through now. If he got moved down, I knew it had more to do with the muscle in that big head of his than any of the muscles used to push sleds and flip tractor tires.

I couldn’t let it go. I pressed him. I asked him what was so hard about the first day of hell week. They didn’t do anything he hasn’t done before.  He finally told me what the problem was.

Son: Mom, I’m afraid of getting hurt.

Me: You’re afraid of getting hurt? After going through a year of weight and speed training specifically designed to prevent injury? After putting in more time in a year than many of your teammates put in their entire high school athletic careers you’re afraid of getting hurt? After two seasons of playing football essentially injury free you’re afraid of getting hurt? If you go into hell week thinking you’re going to get hurt one of two thing will happen. You’re either going to get hurt, or you’re going to perform under your potential and all that training will have been a big waste of time and money.

By Wednesday, he had been moved back up to “B” team with a personal goal of being moved up to “A”, provided that hell week continues past Thursday. We’ll see what happens.

You can’t play a contact sport like football if you’re afraid of getting hurt. What you can do is trust your hard work and training.

You can’t stand up and sing in front of a crowd if you’re afraid of forgetting the lyrics or singing off key. What you can do is rehearse the song so many times that it’s forever burned into your mind.

You can’t write a book if you’re afraid of being panned by critics. What you can do is write the best story you can, and then you write it again with the knowledge that there’s no such thing as a universal audience for a book. If someone doesn’t like your work, it’s because it’s just not for them.

You can’t ride a bike, learn to drive, interview for a job, save a life, fall in love, lead someone to Christ or make a difference if you’re afraid of getting hurt.

Life is full of hurt. When we choose not to pursue something out of fear, we feel the hurt of regret for what could have been.

And that’s the kind of hurt we can seldom overcome.

image courtesy of google images

It’s certainly not a new trend. Humans have been anthropomorphizing the world around them as long as there have been humans. Early man used anthropomorphism in an attempt to explain things beyond his ability to understand and comprehend them. The term anthropomorphism was first used by the Greek philosopher Xenophanes when describing the similarity between religious believers and their gods.

I think we tend to assign human characteristics to animals we feel strong bonds with, particularly our pets. This would explain a multi-billion dollar industry devoted exclusively to dog clothing. I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that if your dog could talk, he would most likely tell you that while he appreciates the irony, he doesn’t really appreciate being dressed up like a hot dog. He’s only been humoring you. And while this practice is relatively harmless save for the dignity of your canine companion, other forms are not.

Most of us remember the tragic death of Sea World trainer Dawn Brancheau by Tilikum, the oldest and largest killer whale at the park. People were understandably horrified, but no one should have been particularly surprised.

As it turns out, the “normally docile” orca had killed twice before. Most of us are accustomed to seeing killer whales jumping out of giant swimming pools and allowing trainers to ride them like giant water horses, but they’re not called killer whales for nothing.

I’m fairly certain that whale in the second picture isn’t jumping up to give that penguin a kiss. The anthropomorphisation of killer whales has a logical explanation. Sea World parks are profit driven. Kids want to see Shamu jumping out of the water and kicking giant footballs with their tails, not what they typically do in the wild like, say, dragging seals off of rocks and eating them.

Other examples of anthropomorphisation are more difficult for me. While I suppose I can understand the popularity of the teddy bear based upon President Theodore Roosevelt’s encounter with a black bear on a hunting trip, I don’t think anyone in the early 20th century would have mistakenly assumed a bear in the woods to be cuddly and/or friendly. No, that ill-fated assumption only came to pass in the late 20th century courtesy of Hanna-Barbara Studio’s Yogi Bear. Since then, people have been happily feeding bears in state parks resulting in the death both campers and bears. Seriously, people. Unless a bear approaches you wearing a green tie and a fedora, it’s best to keep a safe distance.

I’m sure you can think of dozens of other examples. The Coca-Cola polar bears are fun loving and family friendly. Actual polar bears are one of the few mammals who will kill for the sake of killing. Fantasia’s dancing hippos? Hilarious. Real hippos kill more people in Africa than crocodiles. Sock monkeys? Adorable. Real monkeys? Disgusting, stinky, vile animals.

I will make one exception because I’m rather fond of rabbits due in large part to Watership Down by Richard Adams. I love that book, and I see rabbits all the time. They’ve never once attempted to attack me. Rabbits are wholly fantastic and wonderful. But don’t watch the movie based on the book. It’s horrible.

I am certain that real rabbits are mostly good and true and would be befriend you if they weren’t completely terrified of human beings.

I know that all the aforementioned is simply restating facts that you are probably already aware of. But of late, I have observed a disturbing trend in anthropomorphism.

Namely, the cute-tification of owls. Owls are certainly not a new phenomenon to literature or home decor. Who can forget Owl of Winnie the Pooh fame? But he wasn’t portrayed as cute, only wise and a bit on snooty side. Home decor? Need I remind any of you of the tragedy which befell almost every 1970’s household: the macrame owl?

Again, these could not be described as cute by any stretch of the imagination. But today? Owls are everywhere. In home decor and in fashion, almost always portrayed as cute.

They’re not cute, people! They’re predatory killing machines. I’m convinced that the only reason the large owl which frequents the telephone line behind my house hasn’t attempted to kill me is because I’m simply too heavy to carry off. But they’re getting more confidently aggressive every day as we are lulled into a false sense of security.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

I’ve posted this twice before, but clearly my message is going unheard and/or unheeded, because you people are still committing horrible crimes against fashion under the guise of holiday spirit. So, since you’re still pulling your ugly sweaters out of storage, I’m pulling this post out as well:

Breaking my Silence

Yesterday, I posted the following tweet:

I’m going to write a post tomorrow that needs to be written. It may offend some people, but I’ve got to take a stand.

About most things, I am willing to speak out, but on this particular subject I felt the damage might be too great; the cost too high. But then I received the following reply from @peacegardenmama:

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.” – Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., 1929-1968

Thank you, Roxane. Your tweet gave me the courage to finally end my silence; to speak out against what might be the greatest abomination of the Christmas season.

I’m talking about, of course…

The holiday sweater:

First introduced as a form of seasonal birth control in communist China, they soon made their way across the Pacific to Europe and the New World. But this still does not answer the question of why, in a country where its citizens have the freedom to wear anything they choose, people would voluntarily wear one of these things.

At first, the blight of the holiday sweater was only observed in the weakest of our society–those not in a position to make sound, educated decisions about their wardrobe choices. I speak, of course, of the very young:

and the elderly:

So what of the rest of society? I have a theory:

Having worked in the fashion industry for several years (and by “having worked in the fashion industry” I mean “I worked in the Junior Department of a local department store”), I know that home interior trends tend to follow clothing fashion trends. Don’t believe me? Here’s proof:

From the runways and red carpets of one fashion season:

To the trendy, overpriced furniture stores the following season:

I think it’s important to remember that this is a one way street. Clothing fashions can trend to home fashions, but when you try to flip this trend, the results are often disastrous:

As a Christian, I find it disheartening that Christ followers seem particularly vulnerable to the mysterious allure of the holiday sweater.

Attend any Women’s Ministry Christmas Tea, luncheon or cookie exchange, and I dare you to swing a wiffle bat without hitting an attendee NOT wearing a holiday sweater.

I think this particular phenomenon can be traced back to a misinterpretation of scripture. The Bible speaks of the Holy Spirit dwelling within you and treating your body as a holy temple. Perhaps in later translations it states, “the Holy Spirit shall come to dwell on your person. Maybe you should provide a comfy chair and a big picture window with a cat sitting in it.”

(Of course, this is pure conjecture on my part as I don’t own a copy of the New Living Translation Bible.)

I know I have focused on women’s holiday sweaters in this post, but in conclusion I want to urge men, women and children alike to think long and hard before the Christmas card photo this year. One hundred years from now, is this how you want to be remembered by future generations?

No, I didn’t think so…

Many of you know that besides being a part-time blogger and internet tornado, I’m also a decorative painter. Or, as my friend Jim once introduced me as, a faux paux painter. Since my paint buddy Tamara went back to work full time, I’ve pretty much stopped accepting jobs, but I will do small projects for friends occasionally. A friend called last week and asked if I would be willing to do a faux finish in her powder room.

The above picture is how her bathroom currently looks. Rather, I should say it’s how it used to look before I began the prep work for the faux finish. It’s a perfectly nice looking little powder room, she just wanted something a little fancier for the guest bathroom.

This is how the powder room currently looks:

Stripped of the mirror over the sink, pictures and accessories removed, crown molding, fixtures and baseboards covered with blue tape, the room’s not nearly as attractive as it was just a short while before. Add some temporary task lighting (so I can see what I’m painting), and imperfections which were once unseen begin to appear.

The most obvious flaw is the huge gouge in the wall which is normally covered up by a mirror:

Once the ceiling vents were removed, I discovered the previous painter hadn’t bothered to remove them but instead painted around them:

Plus a multitude of small imperfections which go unseen in the dim light of the bathroom:

All which must be addressed before any actual painting begins.

I enjoy painting immensely, whether it be a simply repainting a room or doing a faux finish or mural. There’s something incredibly satisfying for me about the ability to completely change the mood and character of a space with nothing more than a can of paint, a paintbrush and a few hours.

Do you know what I don’t like about painting?

The prep work: taking down pictures, filling nail holes, taping, removing switchplate covers, wiping down baseboards and crown moulding and walls, etc. It’s tedious, boring and annoying. It’s also necessary if you want to do the job right.

All the aforementioned things make a room look considerably worse before it begins to look better. Now’s not the time for inviting your friends to see the room. It’s best just to keep the door closed until the painter can come back and finish what she started.

We all go through minor and major renovations in this life. There are times when what has worked well for years just doesn’t seem to fit anymore. Sadly, life isn’t a 30 minute makeover show with instant results.

Change is a process, and oftentimes things get a whole lot uglier before the get better.

If you’re in the prep stage feeling ugly and useless, ask yourself this:

Who’s in charge of the renovation?

Do you trust Him?

Are you willing to stick it out through the ugly mess and have faith the He knows what He’s doing?

I sure hope you are.

Because even masterpieces don’t start out as masterpieces.

Abstract Impressionist painter Jackson Pollock

During a recent game of Words with Friends, the following conversation took place with Ricky, aka Bob, aka Arthur, aka Ricky Bobby:

1357bob: Nice start.

Katdish10: I’m gonna beat you someday.

1357bob: Yes you will. Wanna write a guest post beforehand?

Katdish10: That was very subtle.

The rest of the conversation involved me asking him what he wanted me to write about and him telling me he was about to be a first time dad looking for some sound, deeply intellectual advice from me. Or something like that…

To find out what advice I have to offer for first time dads, follow me over to Ricky’s Blog.

In the first exciting and compelling installment of Words with Friends: An idiot’s guide, I debunked any false presumption that I was a smart or logical person. Clearly, anyone who downloads a game app on their iPhone then stares at it for months hoping to ascertain how to play by sheer will rather than googling “How to play Words with Friends” is not the sharpest tool in the shed.

However…

Over the past two weeks, I have gained priceless knowledge about the inner workings of this game. Knowledge that I will share with you today.

Because that’s me.

I’m a giver.

The following are a few random observations about my journey into the world of Words with Friends (WWF). It is my sincere hope that you will benefit from my learning some things the hard way.

There are certain words used in WWF that I dare say have never been uttered by human lips. No one really knows what they mean, and if you look them up in the dictionary, the definition most likely will say, “word used in Scrabble”. This definition may quite possibly be written in the margin with a red crayon. The Mac Daddy of all of these nonsensical words is:

QI or its plural form QIS

Then there are those words whose root word is allowed, but not their verb form:

"STANK"

But not "STANKY"

There are other words that, if used in a writing assignment, would be circled with a big, red angry pen, but are apparently perfectly acceptable in WWF. Words like “NOHOW”. The use of these words may stir up anger and resentment in your opponent:

These seeds of resentment sometimes spill over into other forms of social media:

And speaking of acceptable and unacceptable words, many of you already know that proper nouns are not allowed. I found this out when my triple word score of “PEZ” was summarily rejected. JUNE is also not acceptable, even though I would argue that “JUNE” is a descriptive of “BUG”. But nobody asked me. You can, however use this word:

"JUN" - yeah, I don't know what it means either.

And finally, in choosing words, you must let your conscious be your guide. There are certain cuss words which are allowed and others that are not. I’ve tried to avoid using any bad words. Unless of course a double or triple word score is involved. (Sidenote: “BADGERASS” is not an acceptable WWF word. Or so I’ve heard.)

If you do choose to use questionable words, my personal recommendation would be only to do so with someone you know, and a quick text to them in the form of an explanation may be in order:

Just to make sure you’ve not offended anyone and everything is COPACETIC.

So what say you, Words with Friends fans? Am I leaving out any crucial information? Care to share some uncommon words with me? Talk to me.

image courtesy of photobucket.com

I’m a big fan of words. Not individual words per se, but when words are strung together in such a way as to affect us deeply. Whether the results manifests themselves in a good laugh, a good cry, a call to action, or some combination of all of the above. Words are powerful.

Two forms of word play I have particular affection for are quotes and song lyrics. I don’t know why. I’ve just always admired a good quote. A small collection of words that conveys a powerful concept. As for lyrics, I think there’s something magical about combining thoughtful words and music, especially when it seems as though the songwriter has somehow peeked into your heart and found a piece of your own story.

Yesterday, with a song that’s been playing in my head for the past several days, I came across a quote that was in opposition with said song. It left me feeling conflicted, because I tend to agree that the words in the song and the words in the quote were both true, even though they were at odds with one another. Here’s the quote:

“It’s better to keep grief inside. Grief inside works like bees or ants, building curious and perfect structures, complicating you. Grief outside means you want something from someone, and chances are good you won’t get it.”
~ Hilary Thayer Hamann (Anthropology of an American Girl)

As I spoke these words aloud though, they felt bitter in my mouth. Grief outside often does indeed mean you want something from someone, and the stiff upper lip side of me tends to agree. “Stop whining,” it says. “Don’t burden someone else with your problems.There are certain things that must remain unsaid. Bury them deep and no one gets hurt,” and on and on.

But those aren’t the words I want to believe. The words I want to believe are these:

Say (by John Mayer)

Take all of your wasted honor
Every little past frustration
Take all of your so-called problems,
Better put ’em in quotations

Say what you need to say [x8]

Walking like a one man army
Fighting with the shadows in your head
Living out the same old moment
Knowing you’d be better off instead,
If you could only . . .

Say what you need to say [x8]

Have no fear for giving in
Have no fear for giving over
You’d better know that in the end
Its better to say too much
Then never say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shaking
And your faith is broken
Even as the eyes are closing
Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you need to say [x24]

I’ve thought about both the quote and the song quite a bit. Maybe it’s just me, but I think the quote comes from someone who builds walls around herself. Walls built in an effort to insulate her from getting hurt again. I understand that. But I also think those walls don’t really insulate you from pain. They just keep others out, and by doing so, allow you to focus on yourself almost exclusively. (A sure recipe for misery.) They’re also pretty painful for those who are trying to get through them to reach you. And sometimes words left unsaid are every bit as painful as the ones that are. Sometimes moreso.

Are you holding back words you need to share?
“I’m proud of you.”
“I believe in you.”
“You make me smile.”
“Thank you for being there for me.”
“I know this is difficult, but I’m here for you.”
“I wish things could be different.”
“Things are going to be okay.”
“I love you.”
“Hang on.”

I think I’ll vote for reaching out and saying what needs saying. It just might be exactly what someone needs to hear today…

image courtesy of photobucket.com

There are two types of commonly known elephants: the African and Asian elephant.  They both used to exist in great numbers across Africa and parts of Asia. Today, both of these gentle giants are endangered. Twenty-five years ago, there were approximately 1.3 million elephants in Africa, but now it is estimated that there are about 500,000. In Asia, the numbers are even less. Loss of habitat and illegal poaching are the reasons sited for their dwindling numbers. (Source:Utah Education Network.)

There is, however, one species of elephant that continues to thrive and multiply:

image courtesy of photobucket.com

These invisible giants have most likely been around since Eve tempted Adam with the forbidden fruit. And while I have no biblical proof of such, I’m guessing there was at least one pair on Noah’s Ark.

Over the next few months, I plan to present a few examples of these fabled beasts and show how to ensure your elephants continue to thrive and live indefinitely. While there are a myriad of conditions which result in the creation of an elephant in the room, there is typically commonality to the environments in which they thrive.

• The owner of the elephant is rarely its master.
• The elephant cannot survive in an environment of open, honest communication where there are no secrets.
• “Shoulds” and “ought to haves” are an elephant’s favorite treats.
• These beasts feed and thrive on guilt, fear, pride and shame.
• Ancient elephants still exist today; many producing offspring through several generations.
• The ideal environment for a large, virile elephant is one where secrets are never openly confessed but are known by both the elephant’s owner and its master.
• Several elephants can co-exist under one roof. The come in many shapes and sizes, as do their masters.

As previously mentioned, over the next few months I will provide examples of healthy and thriving elephants. For now, I wanted to share an example of how to kill one. I could not find a video of this song, but the lyrics provide proof that these beasts can be eliminated. Sadly, in this particular example, it also meant the death of a relationship. But that’s not always the case.

What you didn’t say (Mary Chapin Carpenter)

I can read your eyes just like a book
You tell me different, but I know that look
And I don’t have to guess what’s between the lines

So what in the world am I still doing here
You push me away when I get too near
Saying love’s too simple to analyze

So why do I feel confused
Why do I feel so used
Like a worn-out thought you threw away
It wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say

Where are the windows, where are the doors?
I haven’t the key to your heart anymore
I haven’t a clue to what’s gone wrong

‘Cause you look at me sometimes as if I weren’t there
You say you’re listening, but you never hear
The strains of silence have grown so strong

I never wanted to doubt you
But I’d be better off without you
I’m no good at looking the other way
It wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say

So look at me one last time
With eyes that still know how to shine
Hold me like you won’t let go
But you let go anyway

No one belongs where they’re not wanted
You’re just a ghost, and my heart is haunted
When I said goodbye, you didn’t even beg me to stay
It wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say
No baby, it wasn’t what you said, it’s what you didn’t say

So how about you? How well are your elephants thriving?

The year was 1986. Twenty year old me was very much attuned to the music of the day: from Heart to Huey Lewis and the News, Stevie Nicks to Little Stevie Windwood. I was down with Peter Gabriel, INXS, The Dire Straights, Van Halen, Human League, ZZ Top, Sade, Bon Jovi, Level 42, Madonna, Prince and yes–even Scritti Politti. I’ve always had a rather diverse taste in music. Still do.

Whenever someone would ask “Have you heard that new song by so-and-so?” Typically, I had. If it was on the radio, MTV or VH1, it was a pretty safe bet I’d heard it. (Remember when they actually played videos on MTV and VH1? Ah, good times…) Even if you didn’t know who the artist was or the name of the song, all I really needed was for you to sing a few bars, and I would know which song you were talking about and who sang it.

Which is why I was completely perplexed by my friend Kim one day. We were sitting in her apartment talking when she asked me if I’d heard this new song. “I know you’ve heard it”, she said. “They play it on the radio all the time.”

“How does it go?” I asked her.

“Get a job…”, she sings.

“What???”

“That’s all I can remember, but I KNOW you know this song. Get a job…”

At this point, I’ve move past being perplexed. I’m simply laughing at her.

“Are you sure those are the words? Get a job?” I ask her.

“Yes! You’ve heard it! I know you have! Get a job…”

“Um…yeah. Have you been drinking? I don’t know the Get a Job song.”

The funny thing is, I did know the Get a Job song. And when the Get a Job song came on my car radio while driving home from her place, I had to pull over because I was laughing so hard.

Ladies and gentlemen, the Get a Job Song:

Also known in some circles as “The Way It Is”, it was the first hit for Bruce Hornsby and the Range.

I found it funny that Kim would remember that one line in the song, because it only appears in the first verse. Not in the chorus, not in the bridge. Just the last line of the first verse. Had she sung, “That’s just the way it is”, I would have known what she was talking about immediately, because duh, that’s the name of the song and the first line of the chorus. It’s part of the central message of the song:

That’s just the way it is
Some things’ll never change
That’s just the way it is
Ha, but don’t you believe them

Why would she remember that one line? Who knows? Maybe she had been drinking. Maybe she remembered it because in the context of the song, the line was pretty outrageous: “The man in a silk suit hurries by, as he catches the poor old lady’s eye, just for fun he says Get a job.” I won’t argue that the line is a powerful one. It helps set up the central message of the song, even though when I heard it out of context it made absolutely no sense at all.

Is there a point to this walk down memory lane? Actually, yes.

If you’re going to argue what the central message of a song is, it’s probably best you know the song yourself in the first place, instead of hearing it second hand and assuming your source of information is correct.

And if you don’t know the entire song, you should at least know the chorus.

A final charge to Timothy from the Apostle Paul:

You, however, know all about my teaching, my way of life, my purpose, faith, patience, love, endurance, persecutions, sufferings—what kinds of things happened to me in Antioch, Iconium and Lystra, the persecutions I endured. Yet the Lord rescued me from all of them. In fact, everyone who wants to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted, while evildoers and impostors will go from bad to worse, deceiving and being deceived. But as for you, continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus. All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness, so that the servant of God may be thoroughly equipped for every good work. ~ 2 Timothy 3:10-17

And that’s all I have to say about that.

If you’re not following me on Twitter, you’re missing out on some real teachable moments for you and your children (and possibly your dog – I seem to have a large dog following). If I am following you on Twitter, may I please suggest to you that there are a few things that I could happily live the rest of my life not knowing about you via twitter?:

– that you need to pee
– whether or not you washed your hands after you went pee
– that they put the wrong kind of pickles on your Chic fil A sandwich (Sorry, Erin – too good to pass up.)
– that you can tweet 74 bible verses in a row via twitter
– that your dog just peed on the floor (actually, that was rather amusing)
– that my dog is plotting against me
– that you got a really crappy parking spot at the mall
– that you cleaned your barn with a leaf blower
– that you’re back from Wal*Mart (unless you’re Steph. Then I’m all up in that.)
– that you are now following me and 20,000 of your closest friends via twitter*

*A notable exception to this rule is if you are @kickbuttcoffee and you tweet the following message: “We triple filter our water and then Chuck Norris grinds the beans with his teeth and boils the water with his own rage.” (Because that’s pretty much awesome.)

And here’s some frigintastic advice you’ve been missing out on because you’re not following me on Twitter:

@brian_russell: Yar! I keep forgettin’ where I be s’posed ta click on this here Facebook fer Pirates!

@katdish: You know, @br8kthru used the twitter pirate function until I threatened to punch him in the kidneys.

@myapronstrings: I love how solicitors come to your door and when you say “Im not interested” they say “But I’m not selling anything” Oh. Really? My mistake.

@katdish: I used to have the same problem. Then I started keeping a battery operated chainsaw and a bottle of ketchup by the door.

@churchpunk: how in the crap do we lose a whole computer?

@katdish: One word: NINJAS.

And some random bits of wisdom:

I think Joe Biden was the inspiration for the main character of all those Naked Gun movies.

@marni71 – good point. did you know that the uterus is also a highly specialized homing device to find car keys and lost homework?

@marni71 -it should be by seniority – chidrens pastors pray for salad, youth pastor pray for coffee & tea service, senior for the meal.

@Brian_Russell – I have assembled a team of ninjas that have assured me it can be taken down, but yes – I believe there is.

@puriChristos – Can you ever REALLY get past the monkey butt? The genie is out of the bottle. It cannot be undone.

@nickcarnes – have you ever seen the warning label on the weight loss pill Ally? “May cause anal seepage”. Um, thanks. I’ll pass.

@mabeswife – I prefer barf, but yeah…

@erinbeekeeper – Oh, I’m not worried. Texas will never fall into the ocean. Why? Because Oklahoma sucks.

@purichristos – try not to say monkey butt in your meeting.

@whataboutbobdog – Say an extra prayer for your mom’s ungrateful heart, would ya?

@candysteele – Mike Rowe nekkid

@PuriChristos – Oh, excuse me, Mr. Monkey butt

@CandySteele, @redclaydiaries, @PuriChristos – Stop all this blaspheming! (Oh, wait – need to save that one for Sherri’s email.)

@purichristos – we really should have a dictionary for FOTTSP. Maybe use monkey butt as some sort of magic portal to definitions.

@CandySteele – Oh, you’re right! It’s raining pork and beans outside!

@weightwhat – It’s a virtual rainbow of monkey butts. Sort of like a skittles rainbow, only disgusting.

Dear Fed Gov: If you want people not to panic about the swine flu, stop holding round the clock news conf. telling people not to panic

FINALLY! Stupid news conference is over. Now I can watch Shepard Smith – who is dreamy…

If the only qualifications you need to be a press secretary is the ability to say um and I don’t know, I think I might apply.

@mabeswife – he’s not glittery, he’s sparkly! Stupid people!

And here’s three awesomatastic blog posts I tweeted this week:

A Bunch of Swingers (from Very Much Later)

A brief snippet from Jake’s post:

People aren’t great at balance, we have such a nasty tendency toward extremism. It’s just tons easier to be all or nothing, black or white. Less thought and effort goes into being extreme than being balanced. That’s where this whole back and forth motion of theology comes from. We just don’t like to think, and apparently don’t read the Bible enough to understand that balance, my friends, is a key to following Jesus and living life a little more like He’d have us do it.

This is why I pink fuzzy heart Helen: Security! Security!

And finally, a parenting blog post inspired by an inordinate number of monkey anatomy related tweets:
What not to call the Hoo-Ha

So, there you go. This is what you’ve been missing Prodigal Jon.