It's That Time Of Year Again

I went to Lowe's with Mimi 3 days before Halloween.  There were three or four rows plus the main area at the front of the store full of Christmas decorations. There was a very small area of Thanksgiving decorations on clearance. Something is wrong with this picture. Just saying.

The Cutest Little Girl In The World (TM) Update

Well, I think it's time for me to retire the title of Cutest Baby in the World (TM) for M&M. As you will see in the photos to follow, she's getting so big, she's started potty training, she moved up to her big girl bed and so much more that she's just not a baby anymore (though she will always be my baby and little girl).

I do have to share one quick story with you. The Queen and M&M have made my days the last couple of days by trekking up to the dreary north away from Castle Erickson to where Daddy Hawk plies his trade for lunch with your humble scribe and other assorted activities. As we were sitting down for lunch today, I started to ask the blessing on the meal when  M&M lifted her bowed head up and gently reached for first my hand and then The Queen's hand before bowing her head back down. It was SOOO stinking cute. As far as we know, that is the first time she has done that. The Queen had taught her to bow her head during prayers, and we have both reached out for her hands during meal blessings. However, this was the first time she had done that on her own. It made me want to cry.

Love that little girl....

This was my ride in Houston last week when I was down there for a day trip to monitor jury selection in a trial. It's borderline cruel and unusual punishment to be given a convertible to drive on a warm, sunny day when you only have time to drive from the airport to the courthouse and back. To sum up my thoughts on the Camaro succinctly: it handles decently for its size, the V6 is adequate but not impressive, it's okay on creature comfort, and it's nearly impossible for someone my size to easily get in and out of that thing especially in a crowded downtown parking garage.

Candance should recognize M&M's accessories. For the last several weeks, M&M has shown no interest in them whatsoever. Then, out of the blue, she just HAD to take both of them on a walk to the park. Go figure.

I love the look on her face in this picture. The bear didn't stand a chance.

M&M napping in her big girl bed. The grey blob on the right side is Spanky McCloud curled up at the foot of the bed. Spanky has been on a mouse hunting tear since the great Mouse Hunt post. He has caught, killed and eaten/partially eaten three that we know of. He caught another last night that we managed to rescue (only for the mere fact that we did not want to be cleaning up mouse innards in the living room....AGAIN).
 

An early morning sunrise pic from the air southbound to Houston. In the past two weeks, I've been there three times. I'll be there three days next week unless the case involving the trial I am monitoring settles over the weekend. Did I mention that I am not fond of Houston even though I know it almost as well as my hometown? At least my Gold status with American Airlines is protected for another year.

A close up of M&M in her big girl bed. She was so ecstatic to be getting her big girl bed, she kept climbing in while were trying to put the sheets on it.

The Queen and M&M sharing a moment at the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens.

M&M snuggling with her favorite travel buddies. That girl has more stuffed animals than any child I know, and she loves them all.

You never know what you will find on the shelves at Home Depot. Good luck getting a price check though. She passed out in The Queen's arms while were there getting some things and hadn't bothered to bring a stroller with us. An HD associate had the idea of getting a cart and putting a bath mat in it as a makeshift portable crib. Worked like a charm.

New Content in The Toy Box

For those interested in my consumer opinions...A Tale of Two Tire Purchases.

A Quick Consumer Product and Service Review: HTC EVO and Sprint

Recently, The Queen and I made the decision to switch from AT&T Wireless to Sprint. The decision was not without some mild trepidation as I had been with AT&T since 1996, and The Queen had had Sprint back in the dark ages before we were married. She had had more than one bad customer service experience with Sprint. I clearly remember her frustration which led to my frustration with simple things like paying a bill or correcting an error. Then there was the fact that Sprint's network was atrociously bad with dropping calls and such. 

Fast forward to 2011. Our contract with AT&T had been expired for over a year, and our iPhones (second generation 3G) were becoming difficult to deal with (meaning they were slower than polar bear snot in a blizzard and updating the software was no help). Apparently, it is all part of Steve Jobs' evil plan to force you to buy the latest iPhone # whatever instead of continuing to service a perfectly useful product. I decided that it was time to check out what the other carriers had to offer and see if the Android phones were worth all the hype. 

Enter Sprint. They offered the HTC EVO at a reasonable (at least reasonable to me) price as the HTC EVO 3D had just come out, and their shared minutes family plan with unlimited text and data included was a big selling point especially considering that AT&T recently went to tiered data plan where you have to pay extra for unlimited anything. The total bill for Sprint's service was going to work out to about $20 less per month for double the minutes and unlimited data and text versus limited data and text with AT&T.

What could go wrong? Right?

Where to start? Let's start with the phone. That's the simplest place to begin. With the exception of one big honking, glaring, roadside flare of a battery issue, I really like the phone much better than I did the iPhone. The Queen...not so much. She has been mourning the loss of her iPhone ever since we left the Sprint store even though complained loudly for months before we made the switch about how slow her phone was and how frustrated she was. I can't win for losing. The Queen hates the phone, I think, because it's not like her iPhone. At the core of that is the battery issue with which I agree with her wholeheartedly. 

The battery on the HTC EVO flat out sucks. When we got our iPhones we were not used to how much smartphones went through battery life. We learned some relatively easy tricks to extend the battery charge, and we were happy. The iPhones wouldn't outlast a regular cell phone on battery life, but they'd make it through a full day of data usage and talking without needing a recharge every five minutes. The HTC EVO's battery makes the iPhone battery look like the Energizer bunny by comparison. It's phenomenally bad. 

For instance, I plug it in to the charger at night and use the phone as my alarm clock. The alarm goes off, I sorta kinda wake up, take the phone off the charger and take it with me into the bathroom to check email and such while I get ready for my day. In the span of the 15 to 20 minutes that it takes me to go through my morning ritual, the battery has been drained by about 10%. Apparently, that big freaking display that I love so much about the EVO accounts for 88% of the power used by the phone since it came off the charger this morning.

To be completely fair, I really do like everything else about the phone. I like the display a lot better than I do the iPhone's display. The apps seem to work better although there are some slight differences between the Apple version and Android version of identical apps like Facebook which take a little getting used to. Once you spend a day tinkering with the phone, you've figured out most of the quirks. The only thing that I think the iPhone does a little better than the droid is the contacts list. This is balanced out by the droid's smart dialing system. Want to call Bob? Any Bob. Dial 262 on the phone, and the Bobs in your contact list are presented for your selection. 

Anyway, I could have lived with the battery life issue by doing what a young friend of ours did...he bought a bigger frikkin' battery. If that were all it was, I think we could have been happy. But, nooOOOOoooo!. Sprint had to be difficult. For the past two weeks, I've heard nothing from The Queen but how bad the phone was, that it was dropping calls, etc. I was in the car with her during one of those times when a call was dropped, and it just happened to be in an area where I had consistently dropped calls with the iPhone. It told her so and suggested that that spot might just be a deadzone out of line of sight of any towers. She was skeptical but let it go for the time being; however, her complaints resumed the next day.

Things came to a head on Tuesday as The Queen and I were driving in separate cars to my mother's house. We were to be doing some house sitting this week while Mom was out of town. We took two cars as I would have to come back to our house to take care of work, our animals and other things. Whilst we were traveling from home and hearth at Castle Erickson to where Fortress Mimi is located in the hinterlands of the frontier, we were in the midst of a heated discussion about matters which do not concern my fair readers when the call was dropped. Right in the middle of a fair sized town on state highway. No signal. Zap. Discussion over. We were without cell signal for over 15 miles until we got to the interstate highway. Even then, our resumed call was dropped yet again in between small towns on the interstate. Oddly enough, we could send and receive texts while in radio silence mode.

Oh. HELL. No.

I drove back and forth between Dallas and Houston for two years with very rare dropped calls on AT&T's network due to loss of signal that lasted less than a mile. I called people from the top of a 10,000 plus foot tall mountain using my AT&T cell phone outside of Jackson Hole, Wyoming. I've driven this exact same stretch of road between Castle Erickson and Fortress Mimi for as long as I've owned a cell phone without ever having had a dropped call with AT&T's network. Fifteen plus miles of no signal on a major state highway is UNACCEPTABLE. Period. End of story.

I will give Sprint kudos for one thing. The young lady who helped us when we signed up for service was super nice and helpful. I can only hope they are as helpful and nice when I go back in on Sunday to tell them we are taking advantage of their 30 day money back guarantee to go back to AT&T. If not, you'll be hearing about it. 

Your mileage may vary.

Whole Foods Employment Requirements

Tonight was a shopping night. The Queen and I needed a few items to tide us over the weekend until payday Monday. Technically, because of the Memorial Day holiday on Monday, my paycheck will actually hit the bank tomorrow; but, for planning purposes, I budget against the 15TH and 31ST.

When you are as sensitive, chemically and otherwise, as The Queen, you tend to gravitate to foods that have been adulterated as little as possible. As a side benefit, most of Whole Foods suppliers are either local or American meaning my money stays in the US economy instead of going to Mexico or China. Given The Queen's nutritional needs, we shop almost exclusively at Whole Foods Market because of their greater selection of organic produce and grass fed meats. As a result, I am at the Whole Foods near The Queen's castle at least once a week.

In the course of my adventures to Whole Foods, I've noticed something about the personnel hired by Whole Foods. Most notably, they are all strange in one form or another.

Now, I know I am probably one of the least strange people (let's not bring up the high school/college mullet) on the planet you are likely to meet. Not to mention the fact that I am unabashedly conservative in my outlook . So, it's quite possible that my view is slightly skewed; but, having properly disclosed my potential bias, I still think Whole Foods has an unusual set of criteria for hiring prospective employees.

1) First and foremost, it does not appear that you will be considered for employment at Whole Foods unless you have one or more tattoos and/or piercings. I have seen some pretty interesting ink at the local Whole Foods including a sleeve on one girl that includes a classic hot rod Rat Fink tat. Having seen her on several occasions in varying modes of dress, I can safely say she has the one or more requirement satisfied in both categories.

2) If you are female, your name must sound like you are next up on the main stage at the local strip club. I have yet to see a Barbara, Jane or something mundane, but there is a Cheyenne, Destiny, Bambi and Thumper. Just kidding about half of those. The other half are for real. My guess is they recruit at the topless clubs or vice versa. Maybe. I was never much of a fan of "gentleman's entertainment" establishments. So, I can't really say for sure.

3) If you are male, you must be gay. Flamingly and flamboyantly so. I haven't seen that many three dollar Bills in one place since the Oak Lawn Gay Pride Halloween parade I was talked into going to several years ago (I'm still trying to repress some of those memories). If you are straight, you can still work there, but you'll be hidden behind the meat counter. No exceptions.

4) You must be under the age of 40. Apparently, 40 is the new 30. Or 80. Or something like that. Whole Foods appears to think that anyone past age 40 doesn't need to be employed.

I hear Whole Foods is a pretty good company to work for with good benefits. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like I am qualified for employment despite my high school and college retail experience. I refuse to get a tattoo or a piercing. If God had wanted me to have either, He would have decorated my hide prior to delivery. I am not female; and, even if I were, I wouldn't have a good stripper name. I am definitely not gay, and I just turned 40.

Guess that means I'll have to look elsewhere for employment if my current gig takes a dirt nap.

Midlife Crisis Wish List Update

So, yesterday, mom and I were going to meet for a late lunch/early dinner at a shopping center near where The Queen and I reside. Mom suggested the location as she needed to locate and purchase a new top to wear for a concert. Mom E., for those who are wondering, is a tremendously gifted musician (she has a masters degree in piano performance from SMU), and her current day job is the chorale director and professor of music theory (among other duties) at a small college. As such, she would be the one directing for her students at said concert.

I was under the impression that we would eat first and do any necessary shopping duties afterward. I was apparently mistaken as mom forced me to assist her in her efforts to locate the above mentioned top prior to allowing me to satiate my substantial hunger. In fairness to me, I had been working hard all day up to that point and had only had a bowl of yogurt and granola to tide me over since awakening (By the time we got to a restaurant after 5:00, I was ready to chew an arm off). In fairness to mom, she did point out that some of the stores might have closed by the time we finished eating since it was Sunday after 4:00 when we got to the shopping center.

Add to this the fact that, as some might recall, I have an aversion to clothes shopping in general and women's clothing in particular (especially when the one doing the shopping is the same person who taught me to speak "Thingie"). To say that my heart was not in it is yet another understatement of colossal proportions. It didn't help matters one bit that I spent a few minutes in the firearms section of Dick's Sporting Goods while waiting for mom to get to the shopping center. It was there that I came across a rifle that I didn't recognize.





It turns out that this little gem is the Savage Mark II BVT (which apparently stands for bull/varmint barrel with a thumb hole stock) in .22LR (they have it in .17HMR as well, but I'm not interested in that little varmint nose pickin' round). Of course I couldn't resist asking to fondle...I mean hold it for a few minutes. The stock on the one at Dick's appeared to have a darker finish than the one pictured above. It's satiny smooth, and it has the heft of a bigger rifle (as opposed to my Marlin 60 which I can shoot relatively accurately, pistol style, with one hand at arm's length). It's real comfy for my monkey man arms, and Dick's was even kind enough to put a scope on it as part of a package deal. To top it all off, they've got it on clearance for $329.99 which is a steal when you consider that the best price I found online was $339.00 WITHOUT the scope (and the little detail of shipping, handling and FFL transfer fees).

The Mark II is a bolt action instead of the increasingly more common semi-automatic. Now that I think about some, I'm seriously considering dropping the Ruger 10/22 from the wish list in favor of the Mark II. I already have a semi-auto .22 in the Marlin 60. The Marlin is plenty accurate for plinking and "shoot it as fast as you can" noise making. It was never designed as nor intended to be a serious tack driver. While the Ruger would be an improvement over the Marlin in terms of accuracy, but a bolt action would be a bigger improvement. Since I am more interested in improving my accuracy skills right now, the Savage is going to the top of the wish list

Did I mention the fact that it's all kinds of pretty?

Yeah, I want it. I want it real bad.

The Queen's New Drawers

The Great and Glorious Queen of the Erickson household has one personality trait that makes me, as her husband and loyal subject, the envy of every married man alive. She hates to shop for clothes. She hates it at least as much as I do, and I only go clothes shopping when I start looking like something which no self respecting homeless person would want to associate with. Working from home has only seen my wardrobe stagnate even more than usual since I only have to look presentable once a week or so. I’m just not ready to show up for church in my bathrobe and slippers.

So, anyway, a little over a week ago, The Queen informs me that she is in desperate need of new underwear. Under normal circumstances, this would not be a news item to which I would be privy. Unfortunately, The Queen and I have not been living under normal circumstances for about three and a half years now.

Three and a half years ago, The Queen began having health issues. We’re not talking about a touch of the flu or a garden variety case of pollen allergies. We’re not even talking about something scary yet identifiable like cancer. No, The Queen has to be unique and enigmatic. She has to come down with a chronic mystery illness that’s left my formerly energetic, athletic and independent Queen in a very dependent, constantly fatigued and decidedly unsporting state.

After three and a half years and thousands of dollars worth of medical treatment later, you’d think that The Queen’s condition would be a little less mysterious. While the exact nature of her condition remains somewhat illusive, we have learned quite a bit about what her condition is NOT. It’s not HIV. It’s not cancer. It’s most definitely not all in her head. Seriously. Why can’t doctors just admit they’re stumped when they don’t have a clue instead of more or less accusing their patients of making everything up? Some doctors need a little more practice than others, I guess.

And, now, back to our impending adventure in lingerie shopping.

Due to her distressing lack of energy and stamina, The Queen has must confine herself to a wheelchair when making public appearances. I’m sure you see where this is going. Me pushing The Queen into Victoria’s Secret.

Please, no. Not that. Anything but that.

First, let me say that sending a guy to go shopping for women’s underwear is a little like sending a bull on a tour of a slaughter house. The bull is pretty sure he shouldn’t be in there in the first place, and it’s an even money bet that he’ll be too scared to ask any questions.

This is due to the fact that men keep underwear simple. Men’s underwear comes in two basic styles and a variety of colors. The entire men’s underwear industry can be displayed in the same amount of area occupied by a walk in closet in a modest sized house. Most men can shop for underwear in less than 5 seconds. Men generally have their style choice made by the age of five and, for the most part, see no need to fix something that’s not broken. With some exceptions, men don’t spend a lot of time worrying about the color of their underwear. That leaves locating the correct size as the most time consuming task in the shopping experience. Size is based on your waist measurement. If you know the size of the pants you’re wearing, all you have to do is make sure the numbers match. Done.

Not so with The Queen’s underwear. So many dangers to marital bliss. So little time.

Let’s start with styles? The Queen shops for her dainties at Victoria’s Secret which has more styles than there are people on the planet. They have everything from “granny panties” to “What do you think I am? Some kind of cheap slut?” to “Why, yes, I am; but, no, you can’t afford me.” And don’t get me started on the displays. This is supposed to be a family blog.

Then there is size. Ladies, never ever ask a guy what size underwear you should buy. You might as well ask us to do jumping jacks in a mine field. You might be saying “Should I get this size or that size?” and really want to know which one will look better on you. All we men hear is “Honey, how big is my butt?” There are no correct answers to that question. So, don’t ask. Our brains will lock up. You can spot us in the store easily. We’re the ones frozen in position with a nervous tick. Besides, it annoys the sales staff.