hilden's gymnasium

Get offa mah laaaaaawn!

I’ve come to realize, as I age, I am becoming more and more… how do I put it, crotchetty? Is that the way it’s spelled? Let’s see. Dictionary.com has no results for the word, so I can only assume it’s not one. either that or I misspelled it. Yep, there you go… I did. 

crotch·et·y

 [kroch-i-tee]  Show IPA

Laundry

Ahhh, Laundry. 

Is there any more stupid way to spend one’s time? 

I submit: no. It seems that every day/every other day there is a load or two that needs to be done. Kids get a lot of shit dirty fast. Grown ups do too, I suppose. Which requires multiple loads a week.

I used to be able to do it once a week, sometimes once every other week, when I was younger and had less humans in my charge. 

I now do it as often as stated above, and it is an ongoing task to mark off an ever increasing list of stupid shit to do on the daily. It helps me to be able to stay ahead of the long days of laundry on the weekend, but doing a load every other day inevitably causes re-runs. IE; wearing the same damn thing to work twice in a week, maybe even two days in a row, because, I can remember to do laundry, but I can’t remember what I wore today. At least all the things I own are black or gray… The Hilden uniform. 

Clean shirts, jeans, socks and trunks are a wonderful thing… 

Holy shit, I’m boring. 

Thursdays…

Are very regimented. Drive, Work, drive, eat pizza, sit through Tae Kwon Do, drive again, clean up after animals, argue about homework, argue about baths, tuck in Hildren, catch up on news, sleep.

Actually, that’s 90% similar to every other day. With the exception of pizza and karate of course. Replace that with any other random thing, and that’s life.

Adults say that children find comfort in routines… I submit that children find less comfort in routines than adults do. Because, when I execute a perfect Thursday, I feel pretty comforted.

Perfect.

Maybe I should talk about…

Something besides shoes. It makes me look pretty insipid and shallow. 

Instead, let’s have a discussion about something meaningful… 

Full disclosure: After I typed that ellipsis after the word ‘meaningful’, I sat and stared at the monitor, for who really knows how long. It could have been a minute, it could have been ten minutes.

Well, it could’t really have been 10 minutes, because that’s how long it takes for my son, ‘lower case H’, to bathe, come down with dry hair and try to convince me he washed it… and it “just dried fast”, and go back upstairs amid protests of “I AM telling the truth!!” to wash it. I just sent him up, or was it 10 minutes ago?

Either way… oh… there he is… His hair is wet. Whew. Daughter tub time.

She’s requires nothing until she’s done. then she wants me to brush her hair… because “it’s hard for me” and “you like it, because you don’t have any hair to brush.”   

So, I guess this attempt at a blah was pointless. Seems a shame not to share how shallow and self-centered it is with the world. 

Working late… so…

I’m currently babysitting a convert… My game peeps will probably know what that means. To the uninitiated, you don’t want to know. Anyway, it keeps me here late sometimes. Tonight, I happen to be the last person here, in fact, I just stood up so the guy with the vacuum backpack could get under my desk. 

I’m the last guy. I’ll set the alarm.

Sometimes, when you work late, people will tell you to do something you shouldn’t or wouldn’t do in the regular daytime when there are witnesses. These are the times when work pranks start. Cheese under the seat, old burrito in the computer case, you know, nice things that nice people do to each other because of “idle hands” being the devil’s playground.

I’m not that clever.  I guess I’ll post a blog to be rebellious. That’s rebellious, right?

Posted.  

Now to put my pants back on and go home.

Stupid Wingtips…

…Have gotten me loving shoes like a gay again. 

It’s not like I can wear them around. There’s just no call in my day to day for my wingtips. But they’re so damn “Fresh and Clean.” (Outkast) Or, “Tight like That” (Clutch). I wore them to the museum with my Hildren today. It’s safe to say they were the best shoes there. And oh, yeah. I check shoes. Like a gay. 

I want Creepers now. Like I had once. But this time, no animal print… just age appropriate awesomeness. Black, with black welting and a 1” sole. 

Go to bed.

I got Wing Tips via UPS today

A decidedly old school dress shoe a decidedly new way. 

UPS isn’t new. Ordering them online isn’t “new” but using my coupon app on my android phone was. I got free shipping. My Opa would have been proud. #1 for frugality. #2 for buying wing tips. 

I was asked why I got dress shoes. Not by just one person mind you.

I was told that dress shoes like that were gay. Not by just one person mind you.

I was told that they looked cool. By one person. That was my favorite. 

Why shouldn’t I own wing tips? I’m going to wear them with jeans… because Opa would have been a little proud of the shoes, and a little embarrassed about the jeans.

I can’t type fast enough…

…or consistently enough. 

I signed up so I could follow a rock and/or roll blog up in here.

Maybe I’ll contribute. Likely not. Who knows.  

I said the same thing about Facebook… now I got that shit all up on my phone. 

I said the same thing about Twitter… now I got that shit all up on my phone. 

I said the same thing about foursquare… pattern… forming… 

I blah blah blah about Glue… blah blah phone pattern.

Dag, yo. I’m a dick.