In the Future When All's Well

We've settled in to our new digs but soon realized our house was haunted by a menacing poltergeist who promptly destroyed the hard drive on our computer. The Ghostbusters put an end to that and yet the hard drive remains only partially recovered. More to come once that gets fixed

Ryan and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Morning

Last night I couldn’t sleep because I was worried about the all the work I had to do this week and then at 3:33 AM I rolled over and my daughter was in my bed looking at me rubbing her bunny’s ears and I woke up ten minutes before my alarm went off and my feet were freezing and my eyes wouldn’t open properly and I could tell it was going to be a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad morning.

I took a sip of coffee and immediately had to go take a dump and I hate taking a dump at 4:30 in the morning and the toilet seat was freezing and my wife bought generic toilet paper that rips my ass to pieces.

I think I’ll move to Australia.

When I got out of the shower I didn’t have any underwear or work socks in my dresser or in the clean clothes basket on the floor of the closet so I had to wear dirty socks from yesterday and the dry cleaners starched my shirts so bad that it was like trying to put on a piece of sheet metal and I have a zit on my lip that has roots that go to my brain and I took a sip of coffee right after I brushed my teeth and it tasted like goat ass. I said I was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad morning but no one listened to me because it was 35 degrees outside and they were all sound asleep in their warm beds with lots of blankets and pillows and bunnies and bears.

I was so tired I couldn’t even make oatmeal for breakfast so I drove to the McDonalds at the front of my neighborhood but all their lights were turned off and they said they were closed.

I bet McDonald’s in Australia are never closed.

I drove to another McDonalds but an 18 wheeler was blocking the drive-thru entrance and I screamed so many loud swear words my head started throbbing. I drove to the window and the McDonald’s lady was sassy and didn’t give me napkins and it started raining as soon as my window was down to pay and I’m sure that they licked my biscuit and dropped my hash browns in their filthy McToilet and then cooked them.

On my drive to work it rained but not real rain, just the constant drizzly rain that makes it just hard enough to see but not enough to keep your wipers on and I hate driving an hour to work and I forgot to make a lunch for today and I hate everything and the instant I walked into work some lady asked me to open some dumbass email about puppies that she couldn’t open and it has been a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad morning.

My wife says some mornings are like that.

Even in Australia.

Hope for the future

It looks as though we might just sell our house. For those of you who have interest in the new math it breaks down like this:
(2+ hours commute)-(burdensome house payment)/(decreased stress)+(children growing) = huge increase in Mojobrand activity

I don't want to jinx it but we're ever so close. And to think of all the things I have to tell you! I went to a butt doctor!

I'll keep you posted - 2009 could be a big year for Mojobrand.

Commuting vs. Sanity

This morning I drove behind someone who had “I love DP – AKA Dr. Pepper” written on their rear windshield in white shoe polish. What a strange thing to have written on your car. I understand that Dr. Pepper is in the upper echelon of sodas, but I assumed that this was common knowledge. Dr. Pepper will continue to rule our faces each day with its intoxicating mix of prune juice & goat blood, whether or not someone’s car says so. On the other hand, I would have no idea if you were recently married or celebrating a milestone birthday or needed a honk to affirm your sexiness. These are the messages that cars need to display. The AKA was a nice touch, because I first assumed the driver of the car was a big fan of Delaware Punch.



When I’m sitting around the house ratifying important documents there’s nothing like an ice cold can of Delaware Punch. That cool and spunky Delawarian flavor made me think back on Mojo’s ill-fated soda company, GMS (Golden Monkey Shower) Inc. He wanted to roll out five flavors but investors balked when sales of his first soda, Menthol Blast, went nowhere. The remaining inventory was purchased by Kool and sold to elementary schools across the country.

The Importance of Being Ryan

Yes, it has been eight months since I wrote last. Since it will take all seven of my readers a while to catch on to the fact that I have emerged from my self-exile I present a brief recap. Those of you who read each and every post ever written on a daily basis will discuss my return in shadowy chat rooms and unknowingly be added to FBI watch lists...

I was about to type all kinds of bitchy drama but realized what's really dominated my time



I'm not real proud of anything I've ever done in my life but these two sure make me think I'm doing all right.

In other news, Mojo got a contract job writing "away messages" for instant messenger applications. His top five:

Computer has burst into flames
I am currently eating grapes
Trapped under something heavy
Ironing thongs
Crying while pooping

The lure of two blogs

Two blogs are better than one blog. That’s what my Blog Professor at Katy University told me while I was taking Blogity 101. He was arrested a few weeks into the semester for growing marijuana inside his own beard. Shortly thereafter I became obsessed with my fingernails and dropped out of school. I bought a mask and cape and picked fights with street toughs as my alter-ego, Pointy McScratchscratch. You mess with Pointy, you get clawed fool!

R.I.P. Zoe

It’s been one month since our sweet kitty met her untimely end and now I shall tell you the tale of her murder...murder most foul!

When we first welcomed Zoe to our home it was pretty obvious she had been treated rather poorly at her prior residence, and was probably abused at some point which led to her constant distrust of men. On top of that, she had been de-clawed front and back and was then let outside frequently. Her first few weeks here were spent trying to get outside and hissing at me, suspicious of behavior that did not include Samantha or treats. Eventually she came to enjoy the indoors and she even began to accept me, although she probably just thought of me as an extension of the sofa that scratched her chin. All was well, and the pet I initially did not want had become an integral part of our lives.

After Sheridan was born, Zoe did not take well to the decrease in attention paid to her and started to try and escape again on a regular basis. It was my greatest fear that she would slip out the door and be free to roam outside where she would unable to climb a tree or leave a well placed claw mark on an attacker. However, each time Zoe would break out we would eventually find her sitting on the front porch waiting patiently to be let in, acting as if nothing remarkable had happened. One morning while I was at work she darted out the front door and Samantha could not catch her or even find her. A one year old who was walking and perfecting the fine art of tantrum throwing did not make a search possible and Zoe remained outside for the day. That night the girls came into town and Samantha and I went out to celebrate my birthday while family watched Sheridan. When we made it home that night there was no kitty waiting for us by the door and I knew right then that the evening was not going to end well.

I grabbed a flashlight and checked out the backyard and the flower-beds in the front and then began to look under every car on the street, hoping to see those big eyes reflecting back at me. After a trip up and down the street I was definitely panicked, and I began to look between houses amongst other beds and shrubs. I walked next door and almost immediately saw Zoe laying in the grass and it felt as though the air had been siphoned out of my lungs. I could hear myself saying “oh no” over and over as I bent down and scooped up her furry little corpse and staggered back to our house. I don’t remember why I ended up on our front porch, but that’s where I crumpled with my mangled cat. It was my worst fear come true and it hurt a lot more than I imagined it would. I choked and moaned and cried; cried those kind of tears that burn your insides up because you know that all the grief and hurt can’t do anything to change what has happened. I think in those moments I thought she might wake up because I couldn’t imagine life without her and my cat would know this and come mewo-ingly to my rescue.

We learned from neighbors that the German shepherd and the pit bull next door smashed through their fence and then mauled her to death. Why in 2007 a woman with two small children has a pit bull in her back yard is beyond me.

Later that night I wrapped Zoe in a towel and drove her to an emergency clinic where they could take care of the remains. It was such a strange drive there, my body was devoid of all moisture as it had evacuated hurriedly through my eyes and I felt like I hadn’t slept in days. I passed her over to the technician who told me she was sorry and then I gave then clinic fifty dollars. That certainly wasn’t in the budget.

Over the next few weeks we continued to see Zoe all over the house, dashing and darting out of the corner of our eyes, disappearing when we turned to take a closer look. Sounds and noises that used to originate with Zoe could now go back to being blamed on the imaginary blood-smeared homicidal maniac I believed to be lurking in closets and behind doors. Zoe was a great cat, sweet and playful and a giver of purrs. Sheridan misses her too, naming all cats she sees “Ooooee!”

So long Ooooee, so long.