OPERATION: Homebody...part two?

Well boys, you get your wish...you get to see more of your daddy.

Addicts call it "rock bottom". It's the absolute lowest level before the self-realization or assisted proclamation that help is needed and their current state is unsustainable. Granted, my problems are no where near as detrimental as a clinically-deemed addict, but I did need some help in something I have been struggling with for a while.

I know, I know, we have been through this before with varying results. But I was in Corpus where I could make the excuse to be a homebody (or not). But this is Dallas. This is a town where they build stuff on top of stuff to exercise boredom. This is a town that blows up stuff that used to be fun, because they thought is was a good idea. But there is a true reason for the operation reboot. And I don't think I have a choice in the matter.

So, there are these things called taxes. Apparently, you are supposed to do them every year. But I am not sure if you are supposed to pay them in the amount and frequency we have done in the couple of years in Dallas. I don't know if The Lovely wants me to divulge the amount paid from our last two submissions. But I will say that the grand total could finance a small counterinsurgency in an unstable region overseas.

Last year was a bit different because we actually had a war chest ready to use for the huge number changeover we were going to experience. And yes, your hand shakes whenever you write a check with five significant digits for the first time. But this year, we are in a bit of a pinch. So, what do responsible adults do when they are in a pinch?

No, seriously, what do we do?

We -- more in tune to the situation, I -- know exactly what to do. OPERATION: Homebody 2 has to work. If it doesn't, that's all I need to compound a situation...tax issues. It's really not a big deal. I either pair down the optional living expenses and throw money at the problem or I arrange a payment plan and get worked over by simple interest to pay this off. It's not a big deal. It has to be done. And I'm sure it will go to a good cause.

It sucks. My outings and my schedules will now be affected. Hell, The Lovely is skipping one of the four weddings to save some money. My social schedule will be altered by trying to load balance other things to do in the saving effort. No more drunken nights of random iTunes purchasing binges. No more kickass dinners where we shrug at triple-digit tabs. No, all the spare change we have goes to Uncle Sam. Blogs will consist of reading back issue magazine articles and supplanting delayed opinions as opposed to comparing which restaurant has the better short ribs (Bolsa has the Shiner Bock marinade as Craft just slow roasts the hell out of them). That might be an accidental benefit from the op reboot. And I can cancel that miniature giraffe order.

But in the back of my mind, I hate this. I wish I was one of those crooked bastards that gets away from all of this fiscal responsibility. I could stare and bold-face lie to some sap to protect my secret millions. But I'm sure there are some pitfalls with that as well.

Or I could fix my W-4 like a normal person.

So, for all my social connections, I will be in hiding for the next four months. I may sneak away for a rebound of the fun life. Hopefully, my debt to the nation will be paid sooner rather than later. I'm sure I can generate some action while at home, but we will see. I have this thing called a PS3...I wonder what it does other than Blu-Ray and Netflix?

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) C'mon, admit it, VCU and Butler in the Final Four is kinda cool. However, you will never make me love the bracket of 68. Make it an even 96 and move on.
2) So many hacks...so...many...hacks.
3) Welp, I have lost another dozen brain cells. Eh, it happens. Catchy. At least it's not that damn "Saturday" song.

Seriously, this homebody thing has to work. If anyone has any suggestions or assistance, don't hesitate to comment. I may need the comments to read to pass the time. Lameness. Talk later.

Wedding Blog, Pt. I - Dunes are different from the beach

Congrats to Derica and Patrick, looking lovely on the most important St. Patrick's Day of their lives.

In my ongoing quest to turn this blog into a series of telenovelas, I now present the first part in my four-part series on weddings and why anyone would invite me to them. Within this ongoing series, I will unfairly and unjustly compare everyone's wedding to my wedding. I know, it's not a fair fight because I had the best wedding, ever (everyone should be so biased). Also, as the convention of this blog, I will attest to the mature nature of this very important ceremony simultaneously with the immature hypothesis that we don't need all this pomp and circumstance to be with the ones we love. The adult in me loves the stability, while the kid in me just wants to eat wedding cake.

First up, the lovely daytime nuptials of Derica Shipley (not related to the footballer Shipley family) and Patrick Griffin (not related to the Griffin's from TV's "Family Guy"...because he is not animated).

Last Thursday was a very good day to get married on the coast. Yeah, you read it correctly...last Thursday, as in St. Patrick's Day...as in the first REAL day of The Tournament. Yeah, that last Thursday. Speaking of the kid in me, the spoiled brat in me was throwing a hissy fit. A personal lesson to me would be that love does not care what your schedule looks like or what holiday it collides into. Of course, this is the second time I have been scolded with this harsh reality. My younger brother was married on New Year's Eve. Of course, he got his feelings hurt when I left a shade before midnight. So, St. Patty's Day should not have set me crooked, right? Right?

See, this is what I expect on St. Patty's...and that's it! Say hi to Amber...

God bless this lovely couple, but if you were told only these four things about a wedding:
March 17th
5 PM
Corpus Christi, TX
Padre Balli Park
...what would come to mind?

In my simple, panicked mind, I am thinking, "okay, a beach wedding during spring break on one of the drunkest days of the year." What could go wrong?

My doomsday scenario was nowhere close to being realized. Balli Park is probably the best possible location to avoid drunken beach sunburned zombies as the pavilions ask for the cash deposit before anyone shows up near those buildings. All of my fears were quelled. Even the weather cooperated with my sports jacket and heavy slacks as the sea breeze was comfortable and somewhat calming.

As the wedding ceremony goes, I also expected a very heavy catholic tilt even with the neutral ceremony site in between the dunes separating the tides with Park Road 22. No dice, with the unknown association to clergy from the officiator of the wedding, the ceremony lasted, maybe, 15 minutes with very few religious overtones. The wedding procession of seven groomsmen, seven bridesmaids, the proud parents, a ring bearer and bagpipes(!!!), the walking portion of the wedding nearly eclipsed the ceremony running time (Lessons Learned sidebar: I need to have a stop watch to measure how long these ceremonies last if I am going to blog about it).

"It's easy to grin, when your ship has come in, and you've got the stock market beat..."

With all timing and sequencing analysis aside, there is one constant that remains...everyone looked beautiful. The bride was beautiful, the groom looked slick with the all-black. The green of the bridesmaids' dresses offset the groomsmen's highlighted accessories brilliantly. The sun-kissed blue sky was the ultimate backdrop as the rows of waves behind us came with five rows at three feet. The only natural element that was a bit of a bear was the cloudless glare of the sun...but that was the witnesses' problem that a pair of sunglasses could easily solve.

To the happy couple, thank you for the invite. I apologize for the mumbling as this was not what I expected. I appreciate being surprised in a good way. No disrespect, but my wedding was cooler. Literally, we had central air when we were inside. Good luck to the both of you.

Wedding Blog series disclaimer - I am going to be a jerk about your wedding because my wedding was the best. See paragraph one.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) If Corpus could pull off nights like last Thursday, they would have to worry about their image because the tourists would just be pouring in enjoying themselves. Quit over-thinking and just be a city by a sea.
2) If Austin was the size of Dallas, locals would probably not bitch all the time about visitors invading their city. It's SXSW. What the hell did you guys expect (see: ComiCon)? Blessing and a curse...
3) If Dallas wanted to be more like Austin, they should have asked this guy to come north. Ah, the North Texas identity crisis continues post-80's TV show. Wait, what?

Unlike the Costa Rica series, the "goin' to the chapel" series will be a bit more spread out. We double-down in June as April and May are sans ceremonies. July through September are also quiet for reporting as we finish up the ego-trip in October for the event of the season. Then and there, we will see how these bums stumble out of the blocks on day one. If trash-talking weddings are wrong, then I don't want to be right. Talk later.

Stealing Words

Being thirty-two, I am years from my college English courses. English majors learn to think and write, but in a way, unless you are creatively writing (the thought of which always completely terrified me), you're just putting your ever-growing internal vocabulary list to work in order to analyze and explicate someone else's words in some meaningful way. However, I've come to realize that even just doing that is better than not using your words at all.

So, after being urged by a friend to write, I find myself making an attempt. This is not the first time someone has suggested I do this, but it is the first time I've taken anyone up on it. It's strange how people have told me before that I would be a good writer, never even having read two words I've attempted to put together outside of a Facebook status update. The fear of proving these people wrong has kept me from this for a long time. But, I think I'm ready to get some words down on a page (or screen).

What to write about? How about words themselves? I love words. I own an extensive collection of magnetic poetry, I love to play Scrabble, and I am the owner of three books about vocabulary building. As much as I do love words, I sometimes have a hard time putting them all together on a page and shuffling them around to find that perfect mix that will completely express a thought with all the subtleties and shades that might be required. I used to collect quotations and song lyrics because I thought that there was nothing that I could say about anything that had not already been said better by someone else. I mean, we are limited by the finite number of words that exist, and I thought that it was best left to the professionals to combine them in appropriate ways. Don't get me wrong I understand that new words are coined every day. There is a continuous need to describe or explain new technologies or to find different ways to communicate complex (or not-so complex) ideas with our thumbs. But there is something magical about the most simple combination of everyday words, when their interaction manages to completely capture a single true emotion.

Simple words are often overlooked. I once had a conversation with a person who was able to appreciate my usage of the word "trite." He commented on its infrequent usage, ironically showing that it has become a word that is in itself the opposite of its own meaning. I appreciated his appreciation. Then, I smugly commented that one need not be sesquipedalian in their expressions to convey an important idea. And yes...at that point I was just showing off. I just really enjoyed the fact that we could have an entire conversation about the very words we choose to converse with.

So, back to putting words together...I think I'm ready to try it. I'm sure I will be regurgitating words already learned and known. And I will most certainly be leaning upon the crutches of my thesaurus, my extensive collection of magnetic poetry and the most intriguing work ever to be published by the London Philological Society. Yes, the words will all be stolen, but the ideas will be my very own.

March Madness can mean so many things.

Meli's kickass hat is from The House of MacGregor. Daniel's hair is from decades of bad haircuts.

With all the insanity that is going on globally, it is difficult for me to use the word "epic". First of all, it's part of a title of a Mickey Mouse video game. Right then and there, the word lost a bit of it's intensity. Secondly, I would be breaking the Louie CK rule of exaggerated vocabulary. But I have no other adjectives in the word box. I'm sorry.

Anytime you get to go to two sporting events without having to pay for a single ticket, that's pretty awesome. Granted, it was hockey, but it's a professional sports league. So, for most people, that would be their weekend. Spool it up and wait for Monday to show up. But no, I had to entertain out-of-town guests, go to a birthday party, pull a late night filled with service industry alienation, Old Milwaukee, YouTube video references, ditching The Toadies, calling an absolute stranger a d-bag for cutting in front of me in a food line (yeah, I don't know if it was the beverages or the sunburn talking at that point), the luckiest pizza delivery guy outside of a porno storyline, the best shower ever, and a home-cooked meal in which my mother would assault a small child for the recipe.

Yeah, yeah, this is a 32-year-old's epic weekend.

Part of the epic-ness was moving through a cloud that I used to navigate all the time when I was younger. You really start to appreciate stamina when you start to lose it. But then when you have 12 hours on your feet and in the heat without collapsing under your own weight, you start scrambling for those gold stars you used to earn because, damnit, you just got yourself a new one. Also, where did that tolerance come from?

Maybe I should back up...

Dallas is known for very few things because it's filled with plastic people ballooning plastic thoughts. But if there is one thing this city does right, it's the St. Patrick's Day Parade. Every Saturday before drunky's night out, this town goes greener than Al Gore's PowerPoint presentations. The scene is controlled chaos before the floats, flat-bed trucks and one poorly decorated OU alumni trailer (it's 8:47pm...). Then the parade rolls out. Living downtown and being trapped near kiddie parade central (thanks Adolphus Hotel for waking me up so early on a holiday weekend), it was a welcome change of pace where the subject matter is not overtly adult, but PG-13 enough to tolerate the Charlie-Foxtrot of traffic, people and waking up relatively early on a Saturday. Then it ended. Media juggernaut Gordon Keith stole my thought on The Musers this morning, but I will reiterate. The aftermath is the most realistic looking post-apocalyptic, zombie-plagued urban scare-scape that I have seen in a long time. And it was awesome.

For most people, just the parade would be enough to call that an epic weekend, especially after witnessing the revelry and the expiration of some people's sobriety and good graces. As a parade virgin, it was all to be expected with a couple of fun surprises in between. As I have mentioned before, it is amazing how the body responds to different stresses. And with the White Rock Marathon notwithstanding, this was about as impressed I have been with my sad sack of beyond-the-warranty bones. But when you really want to continue to stand to see what happens next, the stamina shows up in buckets.

Good job, human body. And thanks to everyone that joined along in the fun. If we do it again next year, remind me to grab a hat and get a better night's sleep.

Lessons Learned, my three things.
1) Never, ever, ever, ever buy something you really want. Three months later, another something will come by and CRUSH EVERYTHING IN IT'S PATH, INCLUDING YOU.
2) So, my older brother is now on Twitter. I wonder in how many formats, languages and social media platforms he can offend with? Now he's just showing off (@garner99...go ahead a guess what his password is.)
3) If it wasn't for The Bachelor, Dancing With The Stars and Modern Family, ABC would be my generation's version of CBS. BTW, fuck The Bachelor; can I have my wife back, now?

Pow. It's an update. Now I have to watch a lot of basketball. PS - I have a couple of new correspondents. Hope they come up with something a delicious as post-parade coverage...wait, that sounded odd. Talk later.