Category Archives: Humor

Everytime! Why do I keep falling for this?

Shamefully I must admit, I am a weak man. Every time I go to Dairy Queen or Chik Fil’A or restaurant, I always buy too large a size shake.

I love ice cream. Ice cream cones, ice cream shakes, ice cream snacks… It’s a big weakness of mine. I try to be responsible and smart about my snacking, but it can be hard to resist 2nds. Or 3rds… or… you get the drift.

But even my body, with all of its ice cream eating Spartan training, has its limits. I can eat myself sick if I don’t watch myself. And to make things worse, some of my favorite flavors are the ultra thick and rich, stuff-you-up-to-the-neck ones like Brownie Fudge and Cookie Dough. They’re just SOOO good and I want as much of it as I can, but I can only get halfway through a Large cup before it’s not much fun anymore ūüė¶

I KNOW this about myself. I don’t know why I keep trying the same thing and expecting that things will be different. But they make it REALLY hard to buy just a small. I see the small, and it’s like $3.25. I’m thinking, “Yeesh, that’s expensive. I could almost buy a regular pint at that. Oh look, for just 40¬Ę more I can get a Medium. And for just 50¬Ę more than¬†that¬†I can get a Large! It would almost be irresponsible for me NOT to get the most bang for my buck. I should get a Large.”

How does one compete with a tag team of addictively good taste and marketing-ploy inflated perception of value? HOW!?


“Baby, are you okay!?”

Before I jump into my experience being trained in Baby CPR and how that relates to Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal, let me give a quick update.

The twins, Myles and Remington, have been in the NICU for close to 2 weeks now. It’s something of a downer not having them home with us yet. It feels like they aren’t quite ours yet; like they’re on baby layaway or something. But it helps that we made a schedule where Jessica and I can come visit them twice every day, even though it’s a 30-40 minute drive to the hospital.

At this point I’ve begun to see the hidden blessings in what we originally saw as a trial. The greatest of which, we get to have something of a “practice run” at being parents, before diving into the whole thing. As previously stated, we’re on a schedule, but also we’re receiving professional training on baby care by the fantastic staff at the Kennestone Hospital.

  • When the baby is feeding, watch to make sure that he is remembering to take breaths after every few sucks. This was drilled into my head by a sweet-but-scary Asian nurse with a thick accent¬†who zinged me a few times for getting distracted. “Don’t take eyes off baby!”
  • When changing diapers, have the new clean one open and ready beneath the dirty one. This is to catch the not infrequent pee-pee ambushes that little babies like to make when exposed to the open air.
  • You can actually slap a baby’s back surprisingly hard when trying to get them to burp. Apparently Jessica and I were being far too gentle, and the nurses demonstrated to us a few between-the-shoulder blows that would be nigh abusive to an adult! And to prove that this wasn’t just a misguided old-wives practice, the whole time I watched the baby monitors and saw them practically sleeping through the assault with steady heart beats and breathing patterns.
  • NICU nurses have a secret category for babies they like to call “Wimpy White Boys.” Apparently females develop faster than males, and of all the ethnicities Caucasian children develop the slowest. So it’s not uncommon for them to see a 4 lb white boy hooked up to an incubator while a 2 lb black girl is sitting in a crib sucking on a bottle.

To top off all of this gratuitous instruction on behalf of the excellent nursing staff, there are a few required videos parents have to watch before taking their babies home; one of which is Baby CPR.

I love CPR. I’ve been certified several times and have even been trained on¬†resuscitation for infants before. But the DVD they had us watch came out of the early 90’s; you know, with a spunky lady host with layers of short, curly bangs and high-waisted bleached jeans. Two parts of the video really stuck with me.

The first; when you see a baby that appears unconscious or unresponsive, try to rouse it by tapping on its feet and shouting, “Are you okay? Are you okay?” I understand how loud noise and vigourous touching of the feet are good ways to disturb a sleeping baby, but do you really have to ask such a mature question? Really anything would do, given the right tone of voice. I suppose it’s in case you come across a random unresponsive baby that isn’t yours so that other people around you get some context of what you’re doing. It wouldn’t do if you wander into a park and start foot-slapping some stranger’s child while yelling “Turkey turkey turkey!”

The second part of the video that made a permanent impression was the practice session on the baby dummy. In order to help maintain the proper rhythm, a hip Jazzercise track played while the host demonstrated, pumping the doll’s sternum to the beat of the music. It was a much happier tune than one would expect while in a life-or-death situation, but I suppose that’s to either keep you in a calm, clear state of mind or just to make saving lives more fun!

On the drive home, these two aspects of the tutorial tape combined with a top hits radio station to give me a chance to ad-lib like Weird Al Yankovic to one of Michael Jackson’s greatest hits, Smooth Criminal.

Baby are you okay?
You’re not moving
You’re not breathing at all!
Did your heart stop beating
Are you choking
Did you have a bad fall?
Someone needs to help me,
You there mister!
Make a 911 call!
It’s time to start compressions
On the sternum
The brain damage to stall!

Baby are you okay?
Are you okay?
Are you okay, baby?

Baby are you okay?
Are you okay?
Are you okay, baby?

Baby are you okay?
Are you okay?
Are you okay, baby?

Your life vitals
Are too critical!

Maybe you have to see me sing it in person, but it made Jessica laugh until she cried. All I’m saying is the old videos are a little dated, and my idea for a remake is pretty much genius.

Buff, Manly Men coaching Little Girls in Gymnastics

Anyone else find this a little humorous? Because today it finally hit me. I was helping coach the Level 4-6 girl’s team with two other guys¬†when I realized that here we were, three strapping young men demonstrating how to dance and do back-walkovers to a dozen little girls ranging age 8 to 13.

And the thing was, for the last several months I was utterly oblivious to my sidelined masculinity, blinded by my competition driven need to see straight knees and proper demi pli√®s. I was literally doing chas√® split leaps while screaming “You need to be pretty like I am!”

This is not an isolated phenomenon, either to myself or even my gym. At the State meet last week, I got my first look at the famed Georgia Elite team from Athens Georgia. They’ve won like 3 of the last 5 State Championships in our division, and I was curious to see who their coach was. Turns out it’s a 6′ tall black guy with a shaved head and chiseled biceps, who probably had to have his T-shirt sewn on over his shoulders. Now that my eyes have been opened to this He-Man gymnastics coach phenomenon, I remember that guy and laugh at the thought¬†of parents signing their daughters up for the team. I imagine him growling out in the voice of Mr. T, “I will teach her how to do beautiful¬†cartwheels!”

And yet, I feel no shame. I love what I do. Plus, I figure I’ve got at least 4-5 years before my newborn sons are old enough to be embarrassed by me. Still, as I prepared myself this morning for another day on the job I held my razor in my hand, looked in the mirror, and thought maybe I should grow a beard, just in case…

That one time I blacked-out the Gym…

So it’s a new semester at the Cobb County Gymnastics Center. I’ve now been working there for more than 4 months and I’ve gotten to know the kids and most of them know me. But there’s still a few things that I’m tragically unfamiliar with.

This semester, I’m teaching 2 cheerleading classes. Yes, I did cheer for 3 years in college and I own up to it. So this week, I was teaching a group of 6-8 year old girls how to do Russian Toe Touches. I demonstrated it a few times, and… I ended up splitting my pants!

So I had to finish the rest of the hour trying very hard to keep my legs held very, very close together. When the lesson was finally over, I had about 10 minutes before my next class started. I told another coach what had happened, and he said that the manager usually had some lost-and-found clothes in her office.

I ran to her office. The lights were out (she was already gone for the day) but the door was still open. Behind the door I saw the box of clothes, but it was dark so I looked for the light switch. There was a whole panel of about 6-7 switches on the wall, so I just started testing each of them, flicking them on and then off.

By about switch #4 I started hearing little children screaming in fear and confusion. I was down to the last switch when someone ran in and told me to stop! Apparently that was those were the master switches for the gymnasium lights! What was worse, they were a special kind (and old kind?) that needed about 10 minutes to warm up before they could turn back on.

And so all of the 6:30pm groups¬†that day had to spend the first little bit of their¬†classes with only one strip of lights working. Shhhhh, don’t tell them it was me!

And I still had to teach my next class in ripped pants.

On this day, 31 Years Ago

There, I stayed up just so I could post this at the exact right moment. At 1:17 am mountain time, just a little more than 3 decades ago, I was born into the world. Mind you, I came folded in half and butt first (good thing I was always skinny), but I survived and here I am now.


So what has changed since Nov. 11, 2014? I graduated college, which I suppose is a big achievement. My wife, Jessica, is pregnant with TWINS. I’m very excited about that, but I kinda just squeezed that one in at the end of my year deadline and was mostly unintentional (I mean, it’s TWINS! How cool is that?), so I don’t know if I can give myself too much credit. I got back into gymnastics via the route of Georgia’s competitive job market, and it has made me feel really good. Oh, I now live in Georgia, though it still hasn’t quite grown on me as a “home” yet, though I suspect it eventually will.

I’m still not a published author yet, but that’s largely my fault for being too distracted during my “free” time. It takes a lot of work to get one’s first novel published, and I really need to train myself to make it more like a job, which will kinda bite because that pushes it out of the Hobby zone. Still worth it. I think. I also haven’t started my Biology career, but I blame¬†that on no one from any of the companies ever calling me back. I think it must be¬†a Georgia thing. If I did the math, I bet I’d find less than 5% of my messages or inquiries ever returned. Guess who¬†did call me back? The gymnastics team. Yeah.

I miss doing the animal rescue. I miss Rexburg, Idaho and my alma mater. I am surprisingly fine with sharing a house with my in-laws. I think a lot more people could find themselves in a better financial place if they just swallow some pride and share property with their nuclear families when feasible, and go into huge debt just to “have some space.” Besides, all you have to do is out live them and you get a free house! Lol, just playing. Love you Wallace Mom and Wallace Dad!

Ok, it’s 3:17 am (Georgia time). Gotta post! Happy Birthday to me!

I Survived 3 Days Away from Civilization!

From 1:00pm on Tuesday afternoon, to 1:00pm Friday, I have lived with only one set of clothes, no internet, and no toothbrush out in the middle of nowhere!

Why? Well, for starters I must clarify that it was largely unintentional. An old man from my church is building a cabin up in rural Northwest Georgia as a pet project of his, and he’s always looking for a young, strong back to accompany him. I think it’s for mixed parts safety, efficiency and company. He pays good, and I’d gone with him one before a month ago, so I was looking forward to this trip as well. Only, we didn’t communicate the details clearly and when I came over to his regular house to trim some shrubs, I didn’t realize that he planned to take me with him to pick up a part for his John Deer skid steer. And I further didn’t realize that after picking up said part that he intended to continue on up to the cabin to start the week’s work!

When I brought up the fact that I didn’t have any thing packed and I’d left my house in complete disarray, he sincerely apologized for the miscommunication and assured me that we’d make due, but there was no way that this boat was turning around when we were already more than halfway there already. So I called my wife, who was a little hysterical at the thought of me being “kidnapped” for manual labor, and we attempted to arrange for some things to be sent to me. I had my phone, wallet, car keys, and the clothes on my back, which consisted of a gym shirt, sweat pants, and a pair of old tennis shoes.

The first day wasn’t so bad. We worked on getting the skid steer working. I got some diesel fuel and grease on me, but I had high hopes that clean clothes and supplies were coming soon. Second day consisted of laying dirt, grass seed and hay all around the house, as well as hauling off load after load of cut tree limbs. It got pretty sweaty and my hands got pretty cut up, and it was all topped off by word that the trip to bring me my things was canceled. My father-in-law offered to come “rescue” me, but we really needed the money and all I needed were a few commodities. I figured I could hold on one more night, because my boss’s family was planning to come up to visit tomorrow and they could bring my things.

The next day we set out to work on the pond (or at least the patch of dirt that was¬†supposed to be the pond). He¬†dug out literally tons of dirt with the skid steer and I dug a trench through rocky soil with an actual pickax. It was exhausting and I donated at a pint to the local mosquito charity and I swear nearly lost my boss at least three times over the edge of the ditch. On the bright side, my boss agreed that we’d be heading back tomorrow (Friday) rather than Saturday like he originally intended. The down side, his family didn’t see the point in bringing me my stuff that evening if we were just going to head back the next day.¬†Oh, and to top it all off, the cows across the street were just set out in the pen and they cried and cried all night long. I never realized they were so loud!

So, finally Friday morning came. And thank goodness, it was RAINING! With nothing we could really do around the cabin, we decided to call it and head back after lunch. I got home and was sent immediately into the shower by my wife. I didn’t mind.