Equipment Reviews

I have a love for computer hardware.

That means components as well as the outside cases.

Women tend to love shoes, purses, and things that sine. Well, that’s been my experience at least. (No offense is intended, I’m trying to prove a point)

Me? I like backpacks and computer cases. My wife says that  I use my backpack and my computer to define myself. While that seems like a silly thing to say, I think she may be right.  So, because of this, I think I’ve come up with a plan.

I want to review hardware and computer cases. Hell, maybe even backpacks. But mostly, I want to review the cases.

So, I’m going to approach a few vendors and see what happens. Worst thing that can happen is that they’ll say no.

 

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#365Grateful – An outing with my Girls

I had the chance to go out for a morning jaunt with my wife and daughter today. Being out with them reinforces how much I like them.

Daily Prompt: Truth or Dare

Daily Prompt: Truth or Dare.

Seriously? Is it possible to be too honest?

Let’s chew on some deliciously salty food for thought, shall we?

 

-Yes honey, that dress DOES make your butt look big.

-Actually potential mate who happens to be a single mother, I find kids to be irritating and gross.

-No, I actually find organic food to be a supreme waste of money.

-No darling child, I love you and your siblings all the same.

 

Honesty is NOT always the best policy.

I’m sorry, but in my personal world view, I find that occasionally there is a time where shading the truth, omitting facts, or flat out ignoring something is going to be the best option available. No questions asked, hands down.

If we lived in a world where everyone was 100% honest 100% of the time in regards to 100% of all the things, then I believe we would find a way to cope with it. In fact, I believe it would make SOME things better.

Examples? Of course I have examples.

-ANYTHING politically charged! I’d like to see what the president had to say if he couldn’t lie for a few days.

-Courting rituals! Is this a one night stand or is he/she actually looking for love?

-Poker? Actually, this would ruin poker, but I’m sure we could come up with a new game if we tried.

-Fast food advertising! I’d like to see a poster that actually showed what a taco bell burrito looked like when they used truth to sell it.

***SIDE NOTE!***

Taco Bell burritos actually look like they are advertised. It’s everything else that doesn’t look accurate. I mean seriously, how hard is it to screw up the sale of a tortilla.

Regardless, back to the rant.

 

Truth is subjective to the situation where it is used in our current society. My religious roots tell me that the ability to choose… to choose right from wrong, good from evil, or truth from fiction is essential to our trial and purpose to being on this earth. Taking away ones free agency is something that would defeat the entire purpose of being here.

So… truth or dare… it’s a valid question. I choose truth simply because it is USUALLY the easiest method.

But are there times where it’s not the best option? Absolutely. It’s just up to the individual to determine when those situations arise.

 

*** Secondary side note!***

Darling wife: No, that dress does NOT make your butt look big.

Former Potential Mate: I do ACTUALLY like kids.

Organic Food Hippie: Sorry, Organic food IS still a scam. Sorry. And get a haircut you dirty hippie!

Loving children: I do love you equally! Sometimes I like one of you more than the other, but I LOVE you equally! (Don’t hate! I believe there is a difference between liking someone and loving someone. Deal with it!)

My blood runs cold at the utterance of these words…

I have learned over the years that there are certain combinations of words that you just don’t want to hear from your children as a parent. I haven’t heard ALL of these yet, but I know I don’t want to hear them.

Examples:

-Would you like to see my piercing?

-Mom, Dad… I got her pregnant.

-I know I’m only 13 daddy, but Snake and I are in love!

-Where do we keep the fire extinguisher?

-I think someone pooped in the bathtub.

Most of these things are fairly stereotypical. You hear about them in movies. But of all the things you could hear (Either fake or real) the one that stops me in my tracks the fastest is this…

“Dad, What’s for dinner?”

CRAP! I have no flippin clue. It’s only four thir…… DOUBLE CRAP! It’s almost SIX.

Mom’s not home to yell at me to make something which means I’m on my own here. This isn’t that big of a deal since I do the cooking every night anyways. But now I have to come up with something quick, easy, and that they will ACTUALLY eat.

Might as well go paint a chapel ceiling cause’ that will be WAY easier than THIS task.

Okay, seriously, what to make for dinner.

After a quick look in the cupboard I realize I don’t have a lot of quick and easy stuff. Lots of meats and such, but not a lot that’s fast.

Suddenly, I spy the pasta.

I’m making spaghetti tonight.

 

Freaking SWEET! I love spaghetti, but my family hates it. Every last one of them. Seriously… how does one make it this far in their life and NOT eat spaghetti? It’s a freaking staple of civilized society for the love of Odin.

Well, I know I want spaghetti, so now I gotta figure out a way to make the kids eat it. I have garlic bread, and I know they will eat that, but that doesn’t solve my spaghetti problem.

While I’m digging through the freezer looking for something that I could make other than the awesome pasta that I have running through my head, I moved around a bag of Rhoades Bread Dough. (I love that stuff).

I didn’t think too much about it at the exact moment I saw it but by the time I made it upstairs, I knew what I was going to do.

Genius had struck!

Okay, before we go any further with the dinner train of thought, I need to give a short backstory.

I grew up eating something called “Cowboy Bread”. That stuff was AMAZING. Deep fried bread type substance that my mom made on occasion. Apparently, my uncles wouldn’t eat elephant ears when they were kids back in the 50’s so my grandmother called it “Cowboy Bread” because my uncles were always playing cowboys and indians. My mother picked up the term and it stuck. So this amazing bread that I ate as a kid was simply re-branded fried bread dough. Simple enough, but freaking amazing with a little bit of cinnamon and sugar.

I apologize, my back stories are usually WAY WAY better than this. I might not have the commitment to that one that I should.. but meh. Whatever.

Okay, so I’m walking up the stairs from the basement and inspiration hits. Instead of calling it spaghetti, I’m calling it… uhm… canned noodles? No, they’ll figure that out. Uhm… “Super Spaghetti”?…. HA, even I’m not dumb enough to fall for that. ooohh…. I got it… “Potted Lasagna”.  (Turns out it wasn’t even a real thing yet… I might have to patent this one.)

HELLS YEAH!

So, as I’m standing in the kitchen, before I open anything, I yell to the kids…

“HEY! Who wants potted lasagna?”

Hayden: Uhm… sure.

Lillie: Okay.

Dinner is ON!

So I make the noodles, and I throw the sauce in the pan afterwards  (which I never do) and I let the whole thing cool off a tad. I throw a little shredded cheese in the bottom of a bowl. I top it with the spaghetti and I top it with a touch more shredded cheese.

Now people, for all intents and purposes, THIS IS LASAGNA! I don’t care how you slice it… It’s freaking lasagna.

So, Lillie devoured hers in a heartbeat. Hell, she even asked for seconds. Now if I had told her that she was eating spaghetti, she would have freaked the hell out. But… this did not happen. Dinner for her was a success.

However there is the issue of Hayden. This kid is WAY smarter than I honestly give him credit for. I set that bowl down in front of him and he stopped. He looked at me and stared for a moment. Three words escaped his ever truthful lips… “This is spaghetti”.

Well crap.

I had to poke, prod, bargain, urge, yell, plead, cry, and cajole, but I finally got the boy to eat. I dunno if I’ll be trying that one again with him any time soon. But for Lillie, it was a stellar success.

Now I gotta figure out what I’m making for dinner tomorrow.

Crap.

In and Out and In and Out and In and…

So, to make a long story very short, I just finished moving back in to my house.

First, I moved out of the house. You should see the process involved in moving out. In fact, you’re going to see it even if you don’t want to because the pictures are already on your screen.

BAM!

Now that the pictures are off of the walls, I can start packing stuff.

GAH! Now it’s a mess.

 

There we go, most everything is out.

 

But now that I moved out, I moved back in. (This process happened twice for a number of reasons.)

Today.

I got the last of my worldly posessions out of my storage unit and in to my house. They are still in boxes, taken apart, and sitting all over the place, but they are at least sitting inside my house.

There is a funny thing about houses and homes but I’ll get in to that in a minute. For now, I am wanting to point out that my stuff is in the house.

I put my table and chairs back up in the kitchen. I got the dressers back in to the bedrooms. My clothes are in drawers instead of a seabag. I am slowly moving back in.

As soon as my medical stuff is taken care of I still plan on having the movers take my crap out of here and I’ll move on to the ship. But for now, I’m back in the house.

The house. That is an interesting statement.

I have lived in this house for a little over two years. Up till about July of this year, this was my home. But now, it’s just a house.

I remember right after I got married I was excited about having a home of my own. My wife and I had a little two bedroom apartment in Reedsport Oregon. It was a small place but it was home. We only had a 13 inch TV, a mattress on the floor, and a glider rocker that my lovely wife sat in while she was pregnant. This simple apartment was Home. We moved around with the Coast Guard and in each place we went to, that was home. Just like those previous houses, this one in Michigan was home.

After a series of events took place, the family moved out and I was left here alone. Suddenly, within a matter of moments, this home became a house.

The laughter of my children, the thudding of feet down a hallway, the constant mess of chips, soda cans, and papers from school… all of it was gone.

This home is now a house.

And I just finished moving back in.

I guess I have some boxes to go unpack.