How to waste a beautiful day.

Go the post office.  I spent a year there Friday afternoon.  A very long year.

I bet you didn’t know…

Princess Diana was murdered…by lizards.  Not your run of the mill lizards either.  They are an alien race who hide their reptilian nature beneath a human form.

Isn’t it amazing what you can learn on the internet?  David Icke, a Brit, makes these amazing claims among others.  Like being the son of God.

Anyhow, if you need a good laugh check him out on YouTube.  You see, the Royal family only wanted Princess Diana’s DNA.  Once she gave birth to Prince William they had no further use for her.  So they used mind control to cause her driver to crash on that “tragic” night in a Paris Tunnel.  And don’t you believe for a single second that it was a coincidence the car was driven into the 13th pillar.  I guess the only reason they kept her as long as they did was because she sold so many newspapers for the reptiles in publishing.

According to Icke,  the world is ruled by shape shifting reptilian alien invaders.  To name a few-  The British Royal Family- all reptiles.  The Bush family- all reptiles.  The Clinton’s- all reptiles (I had my suspicions!).

Icke tells the story of a guy who doubted his far-fetched  theory of lizard/humans.  That guy became a believer…the hard way.  At a conference, somewhere or other, this guy became embroiled in a heated exchange with another “man.”  The guy tried to flee by elevator.  However, the other “man” forced his way into the elevator whereupon he shape-shifted into his reptilian form.  Yikes!  Yet he failed to eat the guy.   If I was a reptilian shape-shifting alien I would eat all eyewitnesses.  It’s easier to maintain a conspiracy without eyewitnesses.  In case you didn’t know.

By the way- you would think our reptile rulers would be pro-global warming.  Don’t reptiles perfer heat?  On the other hand, they are alien reptiles so maybe their blood is different.  Just our luck.  Or perhaps that’s why they needed Princess Diana’s DNA.

Meanwhile, I have yet another reason to hate snakes, lizards and such.

Have a great weekend.

P.S.   Our lizard overlords will be none too happy with me once they read this post.  If I die soon have the coroner look for lizard bites on my body.

Tuesday 12 May 2009

I’m not Superman, but if I was my kryptonite would be cloudy days.  Which means I would have been a pretty sorry superhero these last few weeks in Tulsa.  However, I keep trying to see the bright side.  Such as having a working sump pump I installed myself and having such wonderfully vibrant bright green grass in my yard.

This afternoon I rushed around with Amy as we ran errands and readied our house for our Tuesday night hang-out time with the college class.  We’ve got a pretty good routine worked out by now.  One of the things I really love about my wife is her ability and willingness to minister.  She doesn’t even need me.  I left her by herself to play minister and hostess which allowed me to help out with the food pantry at Memorial Drive.

Tonight I learned how to do the paperwork part of our food ministry.  I think I got it, but I’ll probably forget everything I learned by the next time I get to do it.  We’ll see.  Anyway, the really cool part about the evening was the time I got to spend with a couple of the old guys who are part of our church.  Paul and Carol.  Yes, Carol is a guy.  They are fun.  They are wise.  They love to talk.  They love Jesus.  They have great passion for their ministry.  David, Darin, Aaron Taylor and I did a lot of listening.  And a lot of laughing.

Then it was back to my house where we joined the party in progress.  A couple of the girls were trying to watch Dancing with the Stars.  One of the guys switched the channel to that show about dangerous fisherman, or something like that.   He then hid the remote.  The ladies didn’t like that one bit.  He couldn’t stop laughing.  From the amount of noise everyone was making  it wouldn’t have mattered what was on TV because you couldn’t hear anything.  I ignored the goings-on and the card playing so I could eat supper.  Like my time at the food pantry- there was a lot of laughing.

Christians laugh a lot.  I like that.

After everyone left we cleaned the house (again) and brushed our teeth.  It was a good day.

I hope we see a little sun tomorrow.

Row, row, row your boat…

We have had a LOT of rain in Tulsa, OK.  Even when it’s not raining it seems a mist is constantly falling.  Good news- our hugely expensive retaining wall is working just fine.   Bad news- on Friday a sump pump in another part of our back yard failed.  As a result I woke up to several raging rivers roaring at our backdoor.

As I watched my plans for the day gushing past me I decided to deal with the sump pump myself.  That’s a pretty big deal for someone as non-mechanically inclined as myself.  So with a prayer my little car wouldn’t be washed away I headed for a hardware store.  Then another hardware store.  And another.  And another.  Then back to the house to re-measure.  Then back to Home Depot where I finally bought a new sump pump.  For a lot of money.

Once I got everything home I went to work.  In the rain.  Plug this into that.  Screw this in there.  Drats, I need a certain tool.  Back to the store.  Home again.  Attach this.  Yikes, I did it wrong.  Undo everything.  Do this first.  Oh brother, my hacksaw won’t fit in that space.  Not gonna go back to the store.  Set this like so.  Not again!  I’m gonna shoot something if I have to go back to the store.  Where’s my gun?  Back to the store.  Home again.  Yes!  Finally finished.  Wait- what’s that noise?   NO!!!  I can’t believe this.  “Amy, can you run to the store for me?”  She did.

And so it went.  Into the night.  Till I got it right.  I think.  Wouldn’t you know- we haven’t had a hard rain since.  Just that mist stuff.  I hope we get one more deluge before this storm system moves on.  When the heavy rains fall I will be sump side watching my handiwork.  And if it works- and if it’s in the wee hours of the morning – my neighbors just might see me dancing around in my underwear while laughing hysterically like a deranged leprechaun who has just found his pot-o-gold.

Speaking of leprechauns.  Thanks to the drenching rains our lawn is a very pretty lush green.  God is good.

The luckiest man who ever lived.

I will be forty-four on May 8th.  I can tell.  The white in my hair is becoming more obvious.  And it’s been years since I bleached it.  I’ve also noticed, as I’ve blogged before, my face isn’t recovering from a night of sleep as quickly as it once did.  Some of the “sleep-lines” appear to be permanent.  To make matters worse sometimes I will have been awake for hours before I can see my eyes because the bags under them have finally deflated a wee bit.

Speaking of wrinkles.  I’ve developed a hatred for rear-view mirrors.  Is that my forehead  in the mirror’s reflection, or my grandfather’s?  In the rear-view mirror the deep furrows on my brow  have the appearance of a freshly plowed field.  Not to mention the crows feet etched into the skin around my eyes.  It’s little consolation knowing objects are closer than they appear.  Honestly, I’ve quit looking.  When I change lanes these days I grit my teeth and hope for the best.

All is not lost.  Yet.  They say a person’s nose and ears never quit growing.  Which makes me think the only thing that kept the 969 year old Methuselah from achieving lift-off when he flapped his ears was the weight of his nose.  What a bummer.  Or in his case, what a honker.  In my case,  so far so good.  I began with small ears and a small nose so it’ll be awhile before I can provide my own shade.

All of which leads me to revealing my candidate for the luckiest man who ever lived.  Mr. Potato Head.  Think about it- he’s ageless.  The only way his skin can wrinkle, crinkle or crack is by way of a hammer.  Sagging skin?  You would have to microwave him or throw him in a fire.  If Mr. Potato Head doesn’t like what he sees in the mirror all he has to do is detach the offending piece and replace it with one he likes.  No surgery.  No beauty regimen.  No creams.  Snap, snap and he’s a new man.

There’s no one like him.  Not even Barbie or Ken.  If they get tired of the way they look- because it’s the only way they’ve ever looked- they’d have to replace their entire head.  And we all know that’s impossible.

So, on the occasion of my forty-fourth birthday I salute Mr. Potato Head.  For all we know he’s even outlived Methuselah.