hurry... somebody write this down: bladder augmentations

in this day and age of elective cosmetic surgery where typically any and everything bigger is better, i think we might be on to something here: bladder augmentations. i know such a procedure would improve the cooperfive's lifestyle dramatically. especially during movies. especially during road trips. especially when you are the father of three boys which roughly translated means dad is the only one who can accompany the offspring to the loo anymore. more on this later.

before i get into what now might seem to be my quarterly post, i owe my loyal zombies an explanation. true, i may have let you down last month by not authoring a single post and then waiting all the way until the 21st of this month to finally go ahead and share my unsolicited opinions. i know it's rough trying to get by each day without the occasional sermon from the blogmaster and for that i apologize. i never meant to abandon or hurt any of you. all i can say is i'm sorry. that and i've been a little short on inspiration lately. and when the inspiration has come, the motivation hasn't been there. bottom line: it's hard out here for a semi-professional blogger trying to chase that dollar in this economy. please forgive me and return to the fold. i won't let it happen again.

now, as far as bladder augmentations, i really see a burgeoning industry about to blossom here. take for instance 4/5 of the cooperfive, that 4/5 being every member of the clan except for me, and their lima bean sized bladders. i can't relate. it's like i don't even know these people... i mean, they'd rather urinate and be comfortable than get to a destination more quickly or sit uncomfortably through a throw-away scene during a movie. i don't get it because i, on the other hand, have jedi-like internal discipline that gets me through just about any meeting, movie, or drive across half the big island of hawaii just because i was determined to hold it in.

my point in mentioning this topic has something to do with my recent jaunt in public restroom hell. said jaunt took place about a month ago when the greater cooper family was on one of its annual outings to go see the grand canyon. long story short, we never made it to the grand canyon, but that's a post for another day. we did, however, successfully arrive at the world renowned vacation destination more commonly known as jacob lake while en route to the grand canyon.

jacob lake is a little spot on the way to the north rim that has a restaurant with good milkshakes. we stopped here to regroup our family caravan after the cooperfive made a brief stop in kanab to get mrs. blogmaster's foot x-rayed (another post for another day). that was before mrs. blogmaster got strep throat which was before she got pink eye which was before she got mono (all posts for another day). meanwhile i have managed to escape the carnage of attacking viruses and germs unscathed. kind of like will smith in i am legend. or superman in everyday life.

anyway, the cooperfive got to jacob lake just as big jeff and special k were high-tailing it back into their car in an effort to catch the grand canyon before having to be back to st. george to see tarzan at tuacahn that night. this is how greater cooper family vacations go: a hybrid of boot camp and a field trip on steroids. i wasn't about to get out of dodge that quickly, though. we had just gotten there and i had to try one of the milkshakes at the restaurant there in town as we had been told these shakes were the stuff dreams are made of. for those who are unaware, i love ice cream and all its derivatives... including milkshakes.

for me, at least 50% of an enjoyable vacation hinges on the quality of food you are able to eat. if there is a reputable milk shake place in a town i visit, i must try it. it's pretty much natural law. and not only must i try it, but i will eagerly anticipate the cool soft creamy consistency of milk, whipping cream, and sugar touching my tongue over and over in my mind until i do, in fact, try it. ice cream is the ultimate game changer, mood swinger, and tool of bribery all rolled up into one. and so, such was the mood i was in while eating lunch, biding my time patiently, knowing it would only be a matter of minutes before it would be just me and a cup of frothy and delicious milk shake.

in moments like that, i can withstand just about anything as it seems that i'm in the departing gate of an airplane bound for some blissful make-believe world where the refrigerator is constantly stocked with quality ice cream and frozen yogurt dispensers are a standard fixture in every kitchen. deep down inside i know such a world does not exist, but sometimes it feels so real to me.

and so there we were. eating lunch and surveying the menu to decide which flavor of milk shake each of us would get. it wasn't all that different from opening birthday presents, but on someone else's birthday. everything was going just as i had dreamed it would until caleb says the words that when spoken in the public arena are like poison being slowly dripped into my ears.

"i've got to go potty."

maybe aim will take him. not a chance. he's way too old and it's always my turn when we're together, especially on vacation. plus, she was on crutches at this point.

i say something like, "fine, let's go. make it quick."

so, we go to the restaurant's restroom which, unfortunately, is in a very narrow hallway and roughly the size of two porta-potties glued together: not only difficult to get into and out of, but difficult to maneuver to the urinal and toilet once you are in there.

it was like negotiating a rubik's cube. say there, kind sir, can you take a step back while i open the toilet door? now you, stranger, over there take one step to the left while i slide sideways into the stall. once i'm inside, you'll need to move back to your original position so i can close the door. after that, you two are on your own. needless to say, we made it.

no big deal. i can handle taking one kid to the public restroom. no skin off my back, i've got a big fat famous milkshake coming my way. not so fast, my friend, for no sooner do i go to order when mrs. blogmaster tells me that now colston has to go to the bathroom, too. i feel a hint of frustration start to swell somewhere within my upper bosom, but i just tell myself "milkshake, man. keep your eye on the prize."

off i go with son #3 (luckily son #1 is fully potty trained and capable of using a public restroom on his own). of course there's a line for the restroom by now and we wait. we finally get in and navigate the internal labyrinth, more efficiently this time, but colston's the kind of kid (like his dad, i'm ashamed to admit) that has to drop trow’ all the way down to his ankles when urinating in the urinal. don't ask me why. we just do it because we can, i guess (not that i do it anymore, i quit years ago. he can still get away with it, though).

colston takes care of business. we exit. a load has been lifted off my shoulders thinking the only thing now keeping me from enjoying my milkshake is the speed at which those puberty loving teens behind the counter can whip it up. not fast enough, apparently, for no sooner had i secured my milkshake in hand and begun to enjoy every bit of it and its delectable divinity that mrs. blogmaster motioned over towards son #2 anew and said, "he's got to go to the bathroom again."

you've got to be kidding me. he just went 10 minutes ago. can't you see i'm eating a milkshake here? am i a pigeon? is this a hot dog? what's gives?

"i think he had a bit of an accident," she says. "he told me he thought he was passing gas, but something came out (pardon the detail, faint of heart zombies)."

you've got to be kidding me... did i already say that?

in that moment i literally felt the seed of frustration already firmly planted in my fertile bosom start to spring forth a mighty stem with powerful branches budding at a break-neck pace.

"caleb, let's do this." i resolutely demanded.

back to the bathroom, through the maze, into the stall, to grandmother's house we go...

"let's survey the damage, caleb." off came the drawers and sure enough, there was some skid markage.

"looks like you're going commando for the rest of the day, son." that didn't seem to bother him, but then again i'm the one who had to clean the underwear there in the enclosed stall. i guess i could have left them there, but that didn't occur to me. then another issue popped up: what do i do with the shorts once i wash them? do i just walk out of here with a pair of little boy's underwear in my hand? not a chance. that can mean only one thing: i've got to hide them in one of my pockets. so, i did. luckily, i had cargo shorts on.

that was no fun. but i did it and there was still plenty of time to enjoy my shake. what could possibly go wrong now?

maybe son #3 having to go to the bathroom again. that's right, my two youngest boys both had to go to the bathroom twice each within a 20 to 25 minute time period all while i was trying to enjoy my milk shake. not a good situation for me.

at this point, the budding frustration in my bosom had full-on blossomed into a mighty redwood as i marched over to colston who was standing outside the front door of the restaurant where several other old people had congregated to wait for a seat. i stepped up to colston and leaned over to ask him if he really had to go to the bathroom or if he just wanted to ruin his dad's life (just kidding, i just asked him if he really had to go or if he wanted to go because he had seen his brother go. it happens all the time).

unfortunately, he wasn't as interested in answering my question as he was in showing me the butterfly he had just noticed in the potted plant he was inspecting.

"look dad, a butterfly."

"do you really have to go to the bathroom?" was my uninterested reply.

"dad, a butterfly."

in my head: son, i'm about ready to stomp on that butterfly, although i'm starting to think you don't have to go due to your lack of a response. i must confirm this suspicion, though.

so, i ask again:

"colston, do you really have to go?"

he's still not looking at me or acknowledging my question at this point so i grab the top of his head and turn it until his face is facing mine in order to get his full and undivided attention. his eyes, however, stay fixated on the butterfly.

seriously? does it really have to be this hard?

i then ask him one last time, somewhat sternly, "hey, do you really have to go?" he nods his head, yes. at this point, i'm at my witts end and to make matters worse i hear one of the older ladies not sitting far from us, who apparently had been observing the entire exchange between colston and me, say, "oh, look at the pretty butterfly," in an effort to acknowledge the observation of the poor little boy whose dad couldn't have cared less about his precious discovery. for, here was an opportunity to enjoy the beauty of nature outside of one of earth's most spectacular stages with my youngest son and all i could think about was running him to the bathroom so i could enjoy my shake. but, it was a good shake. and so, for one last time in that span of just under 1/2 hour i made my way back to the hobbit sized public restroom, with which i was on a first-name basis at this point, so colston could hit the stall and take care of some grunts.

i sat there observing the boy with my arms folded thinking that if anything can redeem this series of visits to public restroom hell, it was my milkshake which i left safely in the hands of mrs. blogmaster. even then, i could picture it in my mind sitting there loyally waiting outside for my imminent return. that would calm the storm. that would put me at ease and cause me to forget all my worries and allay all my fears.

and with that thought in mind, we triumphantly made our way back outside to be reunited with my cup of ice cream. but then, as i reclaimed my milkshakelike, like a giddy little school girl, from my dutiful wife and raised the straw up to my anxious lips, i looked down into the cup only to see no more than a 1/2 inch or so of melted milkshake remaining. i was devastated. it was a betrayal of the most devious kind. i felt as though i'd been double crossed by both the milkshake and my wife. the milk shake failed to repel the glutinous sips of my dubious wife in an act of duplicitous, not to mention gratuitous, reciprocation. i was so disgusted i couldn't even finish the damaged goods left for me and i summarily discarded the cup into the closest trash can before stomping over to the family car.

the drive back to st. george that afternoon wasn't a pleasant one. it started with a vociferous lecture from me to the boys in which i established a decree in the family of cooper that never again would there be two quick trips to the bathroom in this family when there could be one. not on my watch. i tried to get them to understand this concept, but i'm afraid my pleas fell on def ears. on the other hand, my stink eye stares in mrs. blogmaster's direction were certainly not without merit as my message of supreme immaturity and rank selfishness was received loud and clear.

but, then to top it all off, it was as if the demons who dwell in public restroom hell, who seemed to be zeroed in on the blogmaster that day, ready and willing to torment me at every possible moment, had orchestrated one final act of mischief to put me over the edge. for at long last after we had trekked down and arrived at our seats towards the bottom of the tuacahn amplitheater to see tarzan, and as i set my drink down (which was then serving as a poor man's substitute for the milk shake that had been so coldly taken from me earlier that day) which subsequently tipped over due to my lackluster efforts to hide the drink from the grabbing hands of the kids who would have surely robbed me yet again of the blissful joy i was expecting to experience from another sugar-laden treat, and as the soda seeped across the ground like a spreading pool of blood oozing from a wounded body, mrs. blogmaster tapped me on the shoulder and pointed down at colston who was informing us anew that he had to go to the bathroom... again.

you can't make this stuff up.

that was just the start of it. after that whole ordeal we made the mistake of going to see a 2.5 hour movie with the kids and buying them adult sized drinks beforehand. i kid you not, jameson left the theater no less than five times to use the restroom. i think he missed one hour of the movie.

then most recently, on our way to idaho, mrs. blogmaster informed me she needed to use the restroom. duly noted, love, i thought at the time. but as we cruised up 1-15 and as my mind jumped back and forth among the myriad issues a driver at high-speed with multiple passengers in the car has to consider, i drove right by an exit leading to a perfectly suitable restroom facility.

my bad.

only then did i inquire as to whether mrs. blogmaster would be able to make it to the next stop, which who knew when that would be. she then informed me that when she says she has to go to the bathroom on a roadtrip, that she has to go right then and there is no time to wait. thing is, the time immediately before that request, some 30 minutes earlier, she told me she had to go, but that she could make it for another 15 minutes or so.

go figure.

after pleading my case for a minute or so, in an attempt to clear my good name as a husband who does want his wife to be able to urinate when she needs to, mrs. blogmaster stated that when she tells me she needs to go, she expects my one goal in life to become the deliverance of her to a restroom facility. thus, in summary, life, eternal salvation, my job, the safety of others, and much, much more can all take a back seat to aim's urge to pee.

and to think all of this could have been so easily avoided with a few bladder augmentations.

an abridged treatise on sarcasm

i sometimes drive aimee crazy. sometimes this happens because she is oversensitive and sometimes it happens because i get a kick out of... as her father would say... cooking her sausages or frosting her cookies. juvenile? sure; but we always look back at the cause of such consternation and laugh. in fact, some of these moments have provided the entire family with fond memories, the likes of which we'll cherish for years. for example, it's unlikely the boys will ever forget the time their mother threw a bag of chocolate chips at their dad and said bag exploded sending shards of chocolate chip shrapnel flying throughout the kitchen while the rest of us went ducking for cover (good thing aim's aim was off or else i might still be picking chocolate chips out my skull).

at the end of the day, these little episodes can usually be attributed to the fickle art of sarcasm. i have been called the "king of sarcasm", although, as noted in a previous post, i would prefer the "supreme chancelor of sarcasm" if i had my druthers. either way both labels might be an understatement, even if they were somehow combined. because of the extreme state of my sarcastic personality, aim often threatens to send me to a sarcasm detox camp which threat might be effective if such a place existed... little does she know, it doesn't. thus, her threats ring hollow and the surging sarcasm cells continue to grow within me, getting stronger every day.

you see, sarcasm is like that poisonous sushi dish that only the elitist of elite japanese chefs can prepare. and when someone partakes of this rare and dangerous delicacy, one of two things will happen:

1. you will have an exquisite meal, fit for the gods; or

2. you will die

so it is with sarcasm. you either deliver a comment that leaves everyone tickled pink and a much better person for having heard it or leaves everyone offended with egg on the commentor's face. i have been on both sides of this equation as i have tasted the glory of a successful delivery in the perfect moment, but i have also absorbed the agonizing shame of inserting my foot firmly in my mouth. i prefer the former.

still, each embarrassing moment leaves me thinking my sarcastic days are behind me, but just when the withdrawal symptoms are starting to subside my dear mom says something that just dangles there like bait in front of me, begging for a response and, all of a sudden, the little red devil of sarcasm appears out of nowhere on my shoulder whispering ever-so witty comments in my attentive left ear until i fold: hook, line and sinker. game over. il finito. right back on the wagon.

thing is, i don't think sarcasm is all bad. it can be, but if used properly sarcasm can be a source of wholesome and delightful humor. in my estimation, there are two basic forms of sarcasm from which all other forms of sarcasm flow. they are:

1. the kind meant to demean people, ideas, or situations

2. the kind meant to over or understate a situation in an attempt to extrapolate humor out of an otherwise unfunny situation

i won't lie to you, zombies, as i have participated in both forms. but, here on the blog, i operate almost exclusively in the latter form of sarcasm because i want to make you all to be rotflao'ing (i think that's the acronym). problem is, sarcasm doesn't typically elicit that type of a reaction... it's usually just results in a subtle chuckle or benign smirk, but the kind that keeps a smile on your face all day and might even bring you back for more. i never mean to demean people... other than spineless politicians (redundant, i know), but i realize that sometimes it might come across that way.

as such, my modest proposal to you, zombies: don't take anything i say at face value especially since the other tool i use as much as, if not more, than sarcasm on this blog is satire, i.e., i like to affectionately point out the fallacies of myself and others by presenting them in such a way that makes them painfully obvious to the reader but uncannily oblivious to the author. bottom line: the only time you should take my words seriously is when i mean for them to be such... you'll figure it out sooner or later. even my mom's starting to catch on after 35 years of listening to me. thus, there's hope for everyone.

defining tlc: the princess and the pig

i may have mentioned that mrs. blogmaster has been a little under the weather lately. well, that was like two weeks ago, but tonight, even as i sit here tardily typing only my second post this month, mrs. b lay in bed still not fully recovered from what's been ailing her ever since her birthday.

turns out the apple of my eye's tonsils are about four times their normal size (per a medically trained professional). knowing that her tonsils are uncannily enlarged makes aim feel like a freak of nature.... or superfreak, if you will. i tend to prefer the term "mutant" to "freak" as such a label gives her a better chance of being able to join a group of superheros like the x-men, and then wear spandex all the time and go by some wicked awesome nickname like the tonsilator or tonskillz. what have you. i only bring up aim's afflictions so that you, my beloved zombies, may play a pivotal part in settling a point of dispute between the mrs. and me.

the origin of this particular debate reared its controversial head some three or four days ago as i sat dutifully at my dear wife's side on what one could have easily perceived to be aim's deathbed. fortunately, for all our sake, reality was getting the better of any misconstrued perceptions of my muse mustering her last breaths and that dour old chap better known as the grim reaper was no where near knocking at mrs. blogmaster's door. alas, mrs. blogmaster seemed unaware of the science of the matter and, in an effort to curry some compassion from her companion (i.e., me), the lass locked her longing eyes with mine and lamented that she was in need of some tlc.

ever so anxious to please, i grabbed hold of this information and made every effort to internalize it accurately and to its fullest extent so that i might give that which my dear wife desired at that moment. unfortunately, in my mind, the term "tlc" was not entirely clear to me as i figured it could be interpreted in at least one of three different ways.

first option: tlc could mean the grammy award winning american girl-group, consisting of tionne "t-boz" watkins, lisa "left eye" lopes, and rozonda "chilli" thomas. if i'm not mistaken, these gals were at their musical peak during aim's high school years meaning this trio of r&b crooners could have had an immeasurable impact on her impressionable life in such a way that she continues to look back on said heroines as a source of strength and healing. fortunately, i know aim well enough to know that even now as she is reading these very words she hasn't the slightest clue in infierno as to who tlc is. thus, it is unlikely she was referring to them when asking for some tlc and i was successfully able to eliminate this option from consideration.

with r&b out the door, tlc could only mean one of two things: (1) either mrs. blogmaster wanted to cuddle and particpate in every derivative innocuous form of cuddling known to man or (2) she wanted to participate in a more mature form of cuddling. therein lie the dilemma and i was hellbent on getting this right for the sake of my suffering wife.

at first glance, many of you might not think this quandary to be as quizzical as i'm making out to be... and you're probably right as it's probably not. but, sometimes you just have to be sure, because, for instance, if i were to say i wanted some tlc, it would most likely mean something slightly different than if my wife, or pretty much every other woman in the world, were to say they wanted some tlc. but, you never know... so, i had to be sure.

that being said, i thought to myself, "let's not play games here... let's get to the bottom of this." i knew in all liklihood she probably wanted to cuddle, communicate, read books, paint toenails, braid hair, go for a walk on the beach, participate in a dramatic reading of twighlight, or pretty much any other activity known to man other than the alternative form of "mature" cuddling... in fact, i estimated that there was about a 99% chance that the former forms of cuddling were the types of cuddling she was wont to particpate in, e.g. the non-mature cuddling activities.

however, as you may have surmised, there was still a 1% chance that she might have meant "mature" cuddling and if that were the case i wanted to be sure i was there for her in whatever way she needed me to be. and, so, to be sure i just flat out asked, "just so we're clear, when you say "cuddle" you're not saying you'd like to engage in "mature cuddling" (or something like that), right?"

i can't recall mrs. blogmaster's exact response, but let's just say she made it abundantly clear, in no uncertain terms, that she was in league with pretty much the rest of the female world in how she would define tlc. and, as expected, it was nowhere near what i would have expected it to be had i asked for the same. for a minute there, i was hoping she might strive for new heights of greatness by distinguishing herself from the rest of the female species. you know, rise above traditioal stereotypes of what a woman should want... guess she's just one of the sheep.

on the bright side of things, i guess we know now and, as a result, i don't ever have to make the embarrassing mistake of assuming "tlc" means something that it clearly does not. crisis averted. problem solved. myth busted.

we all lived happily ever after... at least until aimee decided to poll everyone she's come across since by inquiring as to what they mean when they or their wives ask for a little tlc. turns out, not to my surprise, that most guys lie when answering and most women agree with my wife to the point where during one such polling a female friend finally turned to me and said in a "this-pretty-much-confirms-what-we-already-knew" tone of voice: "well, jeremy, i guess you're a pig."

maybe... but, i must ask: what's so piggish about wanting to listen to a little ionne "t-boz" watkins, lisa "left eye" lopes, and rozonda "chilli" thomas when i'm in the mood for some tlc?

mrs. blogmaster is one year older

it just so happens that mrs. blogmaster's birthday is on easter sunday this year. i guess its bound to happen once every six or seven years, but i don't really recall the last time it happened... which is kind of surprising because mrs. blogmaster can be somewhat of a diva on her birthday. more power to her. it's her day and i'm happy to celebrate the moment of her birth to the greatest extent possible; as such, that other semi-important event... the resurrection... may have to take a backseat to the other important event i just mentioned.

i'm only kidding of course, but aim did inform me yesterday morning that she was going on a "mom hiatus" for the weekend which was her right due to the fact that her birthday fell on a weekend (meaning she gets the entire weekend off in order to celebrate). fine. following that logic then, i guess i get the rest of the week off when my birthday falls on a weekday. i'm not counting on it.

like i said, she deserves it... she's more than earned it; but, i don't know if i have the mental, physical, and emotional capacity to handle aim on her birthday when she is also sick. aim can also become a little diva-like is when she gets sick. i guess if someone gets sick, you should take care of that person and, for some kooky reason, that's what human beings have come to expect from one another. thing is, i never get sick and when i do, i downplay it as much as i can and don't expect any pampering. because of this, i typically, and maybe callously, downplay other people's infirmities, as well.

unfortunately, aim kind of takes the opposite approach to sickness and whenever she's a little under the weather she's usually within inches of losing her life. well, at least in her mind she is. and along with aim's said mortal illnesses, or as like to call them stuffy heads or runny noses, she expects the exact kind of care given to her that she gives to others. there's nothing wrong with that, she deserves it... i'm just not hard-wired that way, so i typically don't respond the way i should. rather than remain at her side all day long ,i'll usually come up with some lame excuse like, "i have to go to work" and then leave her on her deathbed. it's amazing she's survived all these years.

the reason i bring this up is because i have now mentioned two instances in which mrs. blogmaster has the potential to expect diva-like treatment (keep in mind, i'm not saying she doesn't deserve this type of treatment, i'm just telling you how it is). and so later last night, on the eve of mrs. blogmaster's birthday, she tells me she's not feeling well. uh oh, diva-like treatment to the second power. i all of a sudden felt as though i was staring down the double barreled shotgun of sickness and birthdays. luckily im shifty and can dodge the lethal spray of visceral buckshot coming from such a shooting iron and planned to give the queen of cooper manor a small slice of a poor-man's diva-esque treatment:

yesterday, or the day before aim's birthday, i realized i hadn't gotten her a birthday present. i had a couple hours at one point to do some shopping for her, and so i did. while i was shopping for aim's b-day present/s i found a great deal on some shoes and a shirt... problem is, they were for men and they just happened to be my size. being the bargain shopper i am, i couldn't resist. plus, there really isn't anything wrong with buying something for yourself while you're out shopping for someone else's birthday, is there? is still got her some gifts and spent more time and emotional effort looking for her stuff than mine. it's all good.

besides, i rushed around to three different stores to buy the ingredients for aim's birthday menu today which will be catered... by me.

it actually started last night with hagen daaz's chocolate and almond covered ice cream bars. maybe as close as you can get to balboa bars without going to newport. good substitute, but not nearly as good as the real thing. rich man's diva treatment: charter a sesna to newport just to get a balboa bar and then head back. poor man's diva treatment: the aforementioned. they'll do for now. oh, and she had a sparkling glass of grapefruit flavored perrier.

will do a light breakfast this morning: yogurt parfaits, some more perrier and the traditional cinnamon rolls.

then some brunch: eggs benedict. aim has become a big fan of eggs benedict ever since she had hash house a go go's eggs benedict. i will be preparing something similar to eggs benedict but instead of using canadian bacon i will be using prosciutto and a little spinach. mine are pretty good, but not as good as hash's. unfortunately, that's what the poor man's diva gets. we'll have some more perrier and the leftover birthday cake our friend stephanie made and brought by... possibly the best tasting birthday cakes i've ever had. and it looked really, really cool.

dinner: homemade pizza napoli style minus the coal-brick oven. i've got the ingredients to make some wannabe settebello's/grimaldi's pizza, unfortunately i don't have the know-how or the brick stove (and i forgot to buy some pine nuts) to fully replicate. we'll see how it turns out. finish off the perrier and maybe give aim a glass of her favorite: pellegrino (i personally can't stand that stuff).

twilight dessert: no we are not going to eat the book, edward, or jacob for dessert; rather, we will probably pour aim her final glass of pellegrino as the sun starts to go down, but not before we use it to chase down some lava cake and vanilla bean ice cream. should be good.

so, that's the menu. everything always sounds so much better in my head than when i actually taste it. we'll see how it turns out.

in closing, let me just say that although mrs. blogmaster deserves rich-man diva-like treatment, she married the man that only has the capacity to give her middle-income diva-like treatment... for now. all in all, she is the polish that makes the cooperfive shine. time and again she amazes me with her dedication to perfection and desire to be a good person. she won't allow anything of value to be cheapened by complacency or apathy. sincerity is key with her. she can be a very sensitive person and that keeps her keen on other people's feelings which is the catalyst behind her desire to help anyone in need. i love seeing that very motivated, yet selfless side of her. and i would be remiss if i didn't mention that aim is also a pillar of spiritual strength to the family whose dedication to our faith is nothing short of inspirational. row hi who, babe, you grace us all with your presence.

i also failed to mention that aim is pretty easy on the eyes... so easy i feel like my corneas are getting a massage every time i look at her. note to zombies: it always helps if at least one person in the relationship is smoking hot. it's done wonders for ours.

and with that i sing in a monotone key: happy birthday to you, mrs. blogmaster!!!

the anniversary but not before a quick political disclaimer

if you don't want to read about my politics, skip the stuff in ittalics:

i just got on the blog to post about phase 2 of the gauntlet and noticed an ad addressing health care reform linking you back to harry !@#$'s website (for those new to the blog, !@#$ is used in place of the four-letter word "reid"). as a disclaimer, i do not in any way shape or form endorse harry !@#$ or the healthcare reform bill that was recently passed. i also don't endorse any stake conveniently holding firesides for brother !@#$ during an election year, but don't get me started...

as for health care...

i, like anyone with a heart or conscience, admit that health care needed some changing and credit to the democrats for having the anatomy to actually do something about it. unfortunately, according to friends of mine who are native to other countries with the very kinds of health care systems the left covet but who have also lived in america as non-resident aliens (note to zombies: these friends are anything but conservative), something moving towards a universal system is not any better than what we have now... their words, not mine. in fact, more often than not, the reason some of these individuals came to america was to escape the health care of the other country, ie canada. both systems have their pros and cons, but more often than not I have heard negative commentary from people i know and trust who have actually lived in and dealt with both systems.

plus, i think there is also the issue of whose corruption and cronyism you trust more: the governments' or the capitalists' because you are flat out lying to yourself if you try to claim that a given side is immune from either. i tend to side with adam smith and the invisible hand because the market is less binding and generally responds more quickly and willingly to consumer dissatisfaction and similar market forces than the government does (those pesky set terms and the ability to make law and all); that being said, we need both forces at work as together they serve as a nice check and balance against each other.

this reform may bring some balance to the spectrum, but most of us gun-toting free market capitalists fear that this may be a step in the wrong direction (for the record, i don't own a gun, but i do own several light sabers). for if political geniuses like sean penn and bill maher get their wish and this system drives insurance out of business, eliminates competition, and leaves the government with all the power... well, you know what they say about absolute power and barney frank and fannie may and freddie mac. i'm happy to be proven wrong, but i am inherently incapable of admitting that politicians can get things right unless, of course, i agree with them.

last word on this, my main concern is that if this new system disincentives some of our best and brightest from the medical field, in other words if the quality and cutting edge advancement of our health care services goes down because the prestige/financial incentive evaporates from the field, the words that come to mind to describe my feelings towards those who passed this legislation in spite of major opposition to it are too strong to utter on this blog.

that is all. i've vented and now i'm going back to semi-professional blogging in the comedic arena full-time. politics gets me too riled up and into too much trouble with friends.

the cooperfive recently spent a few days in san diego while i was there for a work seminar. san diego is a pretty sweet city. we used to spend a week or so there each summer growing up in the mission beach area, but i'd never really spent much time downtown in the gas lamp district. i know they recently revitalized that whole area, so it wasn't as cool then as it is now, but i was really impressed. i kept having to ask myself why we don't come to visit more often, but then i'd remember that it's because it costs money.

not long before the san diego trip, aim and i celebrated our 12th anniversary. it was a fairly uneventful celebration this year as mrs. blogmaster requested that we not do much. being a guy, i actually thought she was serious about that... on second thought, she probably wasn't. but, hey, we've only been married 1 and 1/5 decades, how am i supposed to know that kind of stuff yet... give me some time to get to know her a little more.

at any rate, we spent the evening watching a show i don't really recommend called "diary of a mad black woman" or something like that. i'm almost ashamed to even admit that we had the dvd, but someone at work whom i trust almost implicitly when it comes to movie recommendations recommended it and actually gave me a copy of the dvd to watch, so after we'd had it for like 6 months and there was nothing at red box, the dvr, or on tv, we finally gave in.

it had a few funny lines here in there, but overall i felt like i was watching a seminary video or that love dare movie fireproof i wrote about a while ago, but for the bet channel. interesting, but not my cup of tea.

the movie is about some pompous wealthy lawyer who treats his wife like garbage and eventually kicks her out. she, in turn, finds true happiness through some young handsome thing with sweet cornrows who works for a moving company by day and the tv show criminal minds by night. there was a nice underlying Christian message throughout the show which is always nice to see, but watching this show before bed was kind of like hearing the mormon tabernacle choir sinker in on the ipod at an inopportune moment like i shared in a recent post... if you know what i mean.

thing is, the couple in the movie had a few fights which reminded me of the one or two fights mrs. blogmaster and i have had over the course of our marriage. right. and when i think that far back i am reminded of virginia and helen's house: the century and a half old house we lived in as newlyweds while attending school in provo, utah. lots of fond newlywed memories there. take for instance the time that aimee, being the good dutiful wife she is, made a special dinner for the two of us... perhaps an anniversary dinner.

for the record, i think mrs. blogmaster is an excellent cook. admittedly, cooking was not really something she'd had a ton of experience with coming into the marriage, but i didn't care... that's not what i married her for. over the years, however, she has become quite the culinary wonder, to her credit. she, on the other hand, feels fairly inadequate when it comes to this area of homemaking, but keep in mind, she's a perfectionist.

on this particular evening, aim decided to try her hand at little dish i like to call chicken cordon bleu. pretty ambitious for a novice. but when she brought it out and served it up, it looked and smelled great. in fact, it even tasted great, leaving me thoroughly impressed. after one bite went down smoothly i proceeded with little inhibition until i started to notice a minty fresh-like aftertaste. curious. no matter, maybe it was some new age recipe that incorporated some odd ingredient to give a traditional favorite a modern flare. i'm down with that. but the taste persisted and seemed to even get a little stronger. and then i noticed a greenish liquidy looking color that appeared to have bled off of the string holding the ham and cheese together and onto the chicken meant. it was at that point i either realized or had to ask, is that dental floss in the chicken?

sure enough, it was. ever the industrious woman, aim had made good use of our dental floss by incorporating it into the preparation of this celebratory meal (i'm not sure how much we were flossing back then). i couldn't have cared less. it still tasted great overall and the effort aims had gone to in making it to begin with was all that mattered to me. one thing for sure is that i had the best smelling breath i'd ever had after eating cordon bleu when i walked away from that meal.

back to san diego.

while driving in the car...

caleb: "dad, i've got a rash from colston's underwear."

me in my mind: what am i missing here? how the heck does that happen?

colston in his unassuming little three year old voice, with a slight lisp: "i've got my own underwear."

it was then that i remembered caleb had thrown on colston's underwear that morning because he had been too lazy to get his own out of his suitcase. these types of comments are commonplace during a road-trip with three boys.

then there was dinner at the mexican place on coronado island.

colston: "i've got to go potty."

i look at aim hoping she'll bail me out but knowing full well it is infinitely my turn given all the diaper changing and potty breaks she takes care of when i'm not around. i look back at coles.

me: "let's go."

we get in el bano and, of course, there aren't any kids sized urinals. great. not surprisingly, coles insists on using the urinal and he also insists on dropping trow to the ankles which means i have to pick up the kid and hold him on par with the urinal so he can keep the stream in the urinal while his pants are down. note to readers: this is an odd site to the common passerby, me standing there holding a kid with his drawers down to his ankles while he goes tinkles in an adult sized urinal.

as luck would have it, he gets stage fright and doesn't go. i wait patiently, trying not to make eye contact with anyone else in the bathroom, until time is up and we call it quits. we head back out to finish the meal. not more than three minutes later.

colson: "i've got to go poops."

i don't even bother to look at aim this time and grab the kid by the hand hurrying him along to the restroom again... those sizzling shrimp for the shrimp fajitas aren't going to sizzle forever.

we get into the bathroom and this time he has no choice but to use the toilet. we enter the stall and he refuses to let me put anything on the toilet seat as a buffer between the seat and his cheeks. fine. i place him on the seat where he braces himself from falling in by placing his hands on the seat itself. i try not to throw up. please tell me hand sanitizer is as potent as i'm hoping it is right now. a couple of grunts later he's done and insists on flushing the toilet even though it flushes itself. at this point i don't care what he touches in the bathroom and let him feel around for the flusher. he finally believes me when i say he can't flush it and we leave the stall and wash his hands like he's a surgeon prepping for surgery. now back to the fajitas if i can still muster up an appetite.

i sit down and start to eat. not more than four minutes go by.

colston: "i've got to go tinkles."

me: "that's it, babe. it's your turn."

let's move on to the pictures...