The Most Ultimate Roommate

Years ago, when I was a young whuppersnapper, someone once told me that time goes by so fast. I never believed them, as hours felt like days, days felt like eons, and a year was such an incomprehensibly long period of time that my little mind could hardly grasp it. Surely, time did NOT go by fast. But then, you know how the story goes, I got older. And with age, came speed. I would wake up one day and realize it was Saturday, and that a whole week of work had just slipped by, unnoticed. I had to learn to be intentional with my time, lest it all slip through my fingers. But the more you grab onto a fistful of sand, the more you realize that it is always escaping, falling silently away without so much as a whisper and a sigh in the wind. Next thing you know, it's May 2016 and I realize that my first year of college is done. Gone. Written in the books. Hmm, that went by fast, I guess I got distracted by my classes. Then next year came, along with an oath to try and spend more time with friends. That plan went pretty good, though it didn't stop time from going by even faster. Funny how that works. At least so far I've learned numerous things and made countless memories and forged many friendships. I don't have time to talk about all my friends, so I'll just tell you about a few of them: the roommates I've had over the years.

Freshman year started with me and another guy renting out a room in the basement of a house. The first day I arrived was the first day he arrived as well, and we met each other for the first time: Keziah. It didn't take long for me to realize he was an alright guy and I didn't get stuck with a poor quality roommate. It didn't take long before we became actual friends. We studied together, quizzed each other, practiced solfege and music together... that was the scariest part, actually. We went out in the garage to do this, for fear the other people in the house would hear us. Even the cold of winter stopped us not, the freezing of our fingers stopped us not, we ALWAYS did our music out in the garage. Somehow we passed that class, I don't know how, hahae. Anyways, let me tell you a bit about Keziah. The first thing that struck me was his faithfulness. Every day found him reading his Bible and praying, nothing took priority over this. He always keeps in mind that he is not just going along with the flow, he is doing the Lord's work through everything he does. Whether it's school, hanging our with friends, working, anything, he always keeps that in his crosshairs. He really challenged me to become more faithful in my own life, and it's something I am still trying to imitate. Keziah is also a man's man. Whether it's construction, hunting, hiking, shooting, studying, reading, frisbee, or anything really, he hits it hard and doesn't pull punches. He has an outstanding work ethic, edge-of-your-seat hunting stories, and geeks out about scopes and frisbee throwing techniques. He makes a cowboy hat and boots look good with anything, especially after getting a bargain on a good trenchcoat/slicker. He's the type of guy you want around if anything ever goes wrong. Zombie apocalypse? He's a first-draft pick for sure.

Sadly though, good things are not meant to last. Through a variety of events which I shall not relate here, it became necessary for me to relocate. (Several people thought Keziah and I had a falling out, but this most definitely not the case.) Anyways, early February found me at a new place: 6th Street, in Apartment 2. It was an interesting apartment. The ground floor had a living room and kitchen/dining room. In the living room was one long, 4 person burnt orange couch, and there was a coffee table in front of it. On the wall was were three boards supported by cheap white shelf holder-uppers, and these three board shelves of varying lengths were flung a few haphazard books. In one corner stood a lamp. The rest of the room was completely barren, save for a jacket and a couple shoes by the door. In the dining room was a table with a few chairs that looked like they were about to break any day now, and in the kitchen all that could be seen were dirty dishes piled up and a stovetop with greasy pans. The downstairs bathroom was moderately clean and quite barren, except for a little pump bottle of soap on the sink. Outside was a small concrete patio surrounded by a poorly designed rickety wooden fence that looked like it'd fall over if you leaned on it. There was trash and random stuff strewn about. Upstairs were two bedrooms and another moderately clean bathroom. The smaller bedroom was inhabited by Froh, and the larger by a guy we'll call Taylor Boy, or Taylor for short. I don't know why we call him this, but that just be how it do. Both bedrooms had the same sparse environment as the living room. A simple twin bed in the first, and a bunk bed in the second, except the bottom bunk was taken out to make room for a desk with a computer on it. I moved into the larger room with Taylor. I stacked two black and yellow totes against one wall, threw my stuff in the closet I claimed as mine, and rolled out my sleeping bag and pillow on the floor. I was unpacked and moved in! Needless to say, I loved the barren aesthetic, there's just something really appealing about only having the bare necessities, and it harkened back to a simpler time when I lived in Arizona. But that's a story for another day.

Now I had two new roommates. Interactions were sparse to begin with. We all had a strong tendency to only talk when necessary, and I largely stuck to myself and washed dishes and did schoolwork. But as I got more comfortable where I was at, things began to change. We began to become more than domicile proximity associates. I watched them play CSGO on their computers, and listen to their pro-liberty, yay America, love Trump, nationalism all the way talking/ranting. Being a strong Libertarian, I disagreed with most of what they said, but I appreciated their enthusiasm and unwillingness to back down. And we had a common dislike for snowflakes, so we could always bond over that. We had many philosophical talks about all sorts of things, and many times the talks would get quite passionate and maybe heated even. As the weather got better they started going out to the turf and playing frisbee, and I'd go with them sometimes. It was always great to run around and burn some energy while making amazing plays filled with throws, catches, and blocks, enough to satisfy anyone's craving for fast-paced action. Many was the time when Taylor and Froh would come running downstairs in their frisbee clothes hooping and hollering about how they're about to go smash the commies and they'd do their best to convince me to go with them, and more often than not I'd decide to go last minute and jump in the car with them and go unleash some Apartment 2 on the frisbee world. It was a simple time, it was a great time. At the end of the year I felt like I knew them decently, but not amazingly well. Good enough though that I could definitely call them friends.

When the second year rolled around, Taylor left us because he had gone off and gotten married, but Froh stayed and Luke and Thomas moved in. I switched rooms and moved my stuff into the smaller room with Froh, while the other two took the larger room. Luke and Thomas were not strangers to me at this point. We had already done plenty of things together the year before so we knew each other decently. However, hanging out with someone is much different than living with someone, and we soon discovered we each had our quirks. For starters, Luke and Thomas did not appreciate the barren aesthetic like Froh and I did. They were all in a hurry to Make The Downstairs Great Again. They got a new couch, Thomas bought a nice TV for a bargain at $100, and Luke bought a weird Asian squarey rectangle lamp. It looked strange and foreign, but hey, the light was good. They decorated things and brought in a shelf for boots by the door, and many other things. All of these changes Froh and I took in stride, we didn't care too much what they did with the common space as long as we didn't have to participate. But then, a great controversy came up: Luke and Thomas wanted to replace our baby trashcan that uses Winco bags for liners with a bigger, large capacity trashcan. Froh didn't care (and ultimately I didn't care either), but I dug my heels in a little and wrote a blogost in protest. I titled it, On The Degradation of Society. It was a well thought out argument for why we should keep our little can and not get a big can. Anyways, it didn't work and we ended up with a big trashcan. (This wasn't actually a huge controversy but I like to bring it up since it was a memorable moment that's fun to laugh about) Anyways, it was a lot of fun having these two guys around.

Thomas is mostly quiet and spends a lot of time doing things by himself, but I've had many a long conversation late at night in the kitchen talking about random, deep things with him. He is an amazing frisbee player, the kind you want on your team so you don't have to play against him and so you can catch the perfectly thrown shots in the endzone. Every time. I don't know how he does it. Thomas is always down for an outing, no matter how many people. 2? 5? 10? 20? Doesn't matter. Whether it's a hiking trip or just a casual game of cards, he's ready. And somehow, he makes anything funner just by being around. He is calm, collected, always there when you need him, and you can always count on getting his honest opinion whenever he talks. He greets you with a smile no matter how long it's been since you've talked. He doesn't try to put up a facade and pretend to be someone he's not, and I respect that. When you meet him, you meet the real Thomas.

Luke has the energy of the sun. He is always doing something, and seems to plan his days and meals out weeks in advance. How do I know this? He is busy all the time and the freezer is full of plastic containers with lunches and dinners in them he made himself. He is the funnest guy to surprise, prank, and just generally mess around with because he takes everything with a smile and then sends a loving snowball back your way. He is passionate about many things, and diligent in them as well, but probably the thing that sticks out the most is his prayer life. When he moved out I reclaimed the closet under our staircase that he had been using as his prayer nook, and I found a bunch of cards with people's names on them to remind him to pray for them, and I think that's a really good idea. Prayer level status = warrior. He's a lot of fun to have around, and I miss our late night chats and pranking him. We'll have to catch up when I get back to Moscow....  (That was a veiled threat if I ever made one, hahahae)

The next year rolled around and Luke and Thomas moved out, and John and Daniel moved in. They liked having a home, not a house, even more than Luke and Thomas, and I'll have to admit things started to look a bit spiffy as time went on. A little more crowded, yes, but nice nonethelesss. To be fair though, going to furnished living room from just a couch and coffee table is always going to seem a bit crowded, hahae. We had nice Christmas lights, we rearranged the couches (plural!) got a new lamp or two, cleaned up the junk off those shelves, and it looked pretty good. Then, they both got on an art kick and wanted to hang pictures up. John's pitch, reimagined:

"Ok, so here's the deal. I'm looking for a nice, beautiful, aesthetic picture to put up on the wall, something that really sets the tone for the apartment as a whole. I'm thinking maybe over here, or perhaps over there. What do you think? I'm not quite sure myself, I'm just wondering what your thoughts were. But I definitely want to get this place looking nice, and having good art would really give this place the aesthetic we want. What do you think?"
"Yeah I guess so, I don't really care."
"Ok cool. Well I'm gonna keep my eye out and see what I can find."

Little did I know, but this short exchange would beckon in the most turmoil ridden, strife infected, festering hours of argument and disparage the apartment had ever seen. About a week or so later, do you know what he and Daniel got there hands on? A picture thingy of a cartoon Ironman with red and yellow flashy colors all over it and... yeah. They were super excited about it and really wanted to put it up somewhere in the livingroom. But that was not going to happen. Froh and I don't care a lot about what happens to the apartment, but we weren't about to let that picture be on the wall downstairs, no way. Both of us hollered about how bad it was and how it would never be in the common area, and went on and on and didn't let them put it up. "Put that thing up in your own room if you like but it's not gonna be down here!" I may have lost the trashcan war last year, but we won the picture war this year, hahae. Besides that though, we got along perfectly.

Daniel is kinda quiet at first and keeps to himself, but once you get to know him he's pretty great. If you ask a question about something he really likes, he'll go on and on describing it and he'll make something you thought was kinda boring sound really cool. It's always really fun to tell him you're having people over, because we have this running joke about how he hates people and never wants to have them over, and he gets a steely eyed look in his face and something that is either a smile or a look of forced acceptance. It makes me laugh every time, hahahae. Daniel is always fun to be around, really enjoys sharing and laughing at memes, and he has some of the funniest, epic rants.

John and I have been friends since I first moved to Idaho, so it was kinda cool to be roommates with someone I already knew for a change. He cares a lot about his friends and is always there to help you when you need it, and praise you when you're not expecting it, and he doesn't pull punches when he tells you something you need to hear. We've spent more than a couple nights staying up late talking about random things, sometimes shallow, sometimes deep. And he cooks really good, unique Asian food I've never had before, and is always generous with it as well. More than once I've come home just starving and he has already made dinner for everyone, just because he wanted to. John is kind, thoughtful, loves to cook, loves to box, and always puts things in perspective of the ultimate Truth, Jesus Christ. I'm proud to call him a friend.

However, there was one roommate who was a constant: Froh. He is the only repeat roommate I've ever had, and over the course of these three years we've become pretty good friends. At first we mostly kept to ourselves and respected each other's privacy, but because we had those same values and both liked having our own time to ourselves, we began to appreciate the other person. We always love to banter back and forth about politics (Don't get him started on Thomas Hobbes!) or just argue about the simplest of everyday items. On Saturday mornings before rugby we eat light breakfasts and get super excited to go tear up the pitch and then drive as fast as we can to get there in time to warm up. We've hung out with friends late into the night watching movies, we've played frisbee in the cold and dark and rain with strong winds, and hiked Moscow Mountain at 3:30am to see the sunrise and sing hymns at the top. We've even started to copy some of our sayings and idioms, hahae. And so much more than just that, there's a thousand little things that all come together to make him the perfect roommate.

Froh is bold, happy, smart (he once got an SCL/A+ in seven classes in one quarter!), and just. He knows what is right and what is wrong, and although he pushes the limits he never goes too far. I don't remember when, but he started paying my portion of the electric bill because I washed so many dishes and kept the kitchen clean all the time (well, most of the time, hahae). I didn't ask him at all, he just thought it was a just thing to do. He has the get-up-and-go to do what he wants, and I believe he could literally do anything if he put his mind to it. He is rough and tumble on the outside, but secretly soft and caring on the inside. He is one of the few people who makes me doubt my pure strain of Libertarianism and I actually appreciate being patriotic a bit now. He's the perfect roommate and a great friend.

But, I've had enough of roommates. I'm done with them. No more. I am moving out, never to return. It's not that they were too annoying, or messy, or rude, or anything like that, it's just that it's time for an upgrade: I'm going to have a wife to live with instead. I haven't really written much in the past year, and the little I did write didn't even include her, but that's changing. Right here, right now. And you can fully expect to see a lot more written about her in the future. Guys, you might be great and all, but Mandy is a thousand times better.

Mandy is a jewel. She's kind, loyal, beautiful, thoughtful, and strong. She can do anything she sets her mind to. Like move all her and my stuff into our new apartment without any help in less than a day! When I first met her I thought she was about twenty years old or something because she was so calm, collected, and mature, but then I found out she was eighteen! I was shocked. She is always there for her friends and somehow knows when they need her. She's the 'mother' of her apartment because of how much she does to keep it together, whether it's washing everybody else's dishes all the time, picking up after them, or having to be put through the stress of finals week without actively participating in it, she does it all. She bakes cookies all the time and makes really good bread, and puts up with hearing all about our classes whenever we geek out about them. She thinks very straightforward on a lot of issues and her answers to my questions are always on point and I'm constantly impressed. One day she told me she was always on edge because she was waiting for me to start grilling her with questions and she was nervous about how she would do. Then I told her that I'd already been doing that each time we were out walking Jex, and I told her how impressed I was with how she responded. Her love for the Lord is readily apparent and she does her best to pray and read her Bible each day. She's a ton of fun to be around and always brings a smile to my face every time I see her. We've swam in lakes and hiked through snow and gone sledding down many hills (that deserves its own blogpost, hahahae, good times). We've walked Jex well over a hundred times and gone on drives up city streets, down country roads. We toured the floodzones of Moscow when it got flooded with rain, and we've ridden a weird cart thing across a river in Spokane to see a dam in all it's glory. And we've done so much more, so much that I'll never be able to write it all. But I'll definitely write some blogposts about some of the things we've gone and done though.

I never knew it was possible to love someone this much. But here I am. She's my favorite person of all the several billion on this planet. And the best part? We're gettin hitched, putting a ring on it, tying the knot, saying the vows. Our old selves are dying to make room for each other. We're becoming one person. I never imagined I'd get a wife as beautiful and as good as Mandy. She's perfect. And the best part? I get to live with her for the rest of my life, always and forever.

We're getting married.

So, that's about it. No more roommates, no more wondering who's going to be living with me next year, and no more waiting on others to put in their part of the rent, hahae. I've got a better thing going now. A much better thing.

And her name is Mandy.

Angry Rant Time

Monday, December 31, 2018

The other day I was on the phone with my mother, and I told her about having had seriously sprained my thumb (I don't think I broke it, though at the time I wasn't quite sure) the other day. It was a glorious story of how Patrick and I had both dove for the volleyball after it came over the net, both thinking nobody else could possibly get it and being entirely unaware of the other's intentions. As it was, we collided and my left hand slammed into the side of his head and we both collapsed in pain on the court. My whole hand was shook pretty bad and especially my thumb, while his head had received such a blunt force hit that a single small drop of blood beaded up on the side of his head. We were both down for the count, and went on to ice ourselves and nurse ourselves back to health. I will say though, he did get the upper hand in that one since my thumb still hasn't fully healed, even three days later. Fun times though, fun times. (It's been a great Christmas break so far, very exciting, hahae.)

Having just related that story to my mother, she asked if I had gone to the hospital to get it checked out. This is a shortened retelling (though not, obviously, word-for-word, but the spirit is definitely there) of what ensued:

"Did I go to the hospital!? Is that even a question!? Of course I didn't go to the hospital! Hospitals are stupid, they charge you hundreds, sometimes thousands of dollars, just to tell you, "Oh yeah, go home and rest it and it'll heal." Ohhh wow, I'm glad you told me that doctor, I never would've guessed. You should ONLY go to a hospital if something is VISIBLY wrong, like you about to DIE if you don't get medical attention RIGHT NOW. An arm better be dangling, intestines should be slipping and falling out of your stomach, there should be an immense loss of blood before you go to the hospital. You better be giving birth or in clear danger of dying before you even THINK about it. Hospitals are so stupid. I'm not about to go pay hundred$ of dollars and sit around for a couple hours just to be told it'll heal by itself. I'd much rather sit at home with a broken thumb and let it do just that instead of going to the hospital first and only then going home. Hospitals don't have doctors, they have war healers. If you go, it should be painfully obvious why you went. A random guy off the street should be offering to walk you to the hospital because you are obviously in a lot of pain and will probably drop dead before you make it there  by yourself. There should be daylight pouring through the bullet hole in your chest, you should be coughing up your internal organs, limbs better be in danger of falling off, before you go to the hospital."

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate what hospitals do. Well equipped hospitals with trained staff are a wonderful product of this modern world we live in, it's just that they're not that great for small things like a potentially broken hand. Try a chiropractor guys.

The Potential Dog Thief

Monday, January 15, 2019

About a week ago I was reminded of an even t that happened about a year ago: that crazy dog-lady who is actively trying to seduce Jex. She walks up my friend's driveway and then up a couple steps to the yard where Jex is tied out just to pet her and occasionally give her treats. One Christmas she even dropped a bag of treats on the front doorstep for her. I've bumped into her a couple times while out walking and she always stops and tries to pet her, and I always forget to tell her to not trespass on my friend's property so that she can pet Jex. This concerns me because this type of consistent behavior isn't.. well, I'm afraid that one day she'll steal my dog away. If Jex is ever missing one day, I'm going to be 100% suspicious of this lady.

But anyways, the reason I was reminded of this lady the other day is that I bumped into her while walking Jex. She had two friends or family members with her, and when she saw Jex she was like,

"Oh, is that Jacks?" And went to pet her. But this time I remembered to talk to her:
"Hey, how's it going. Hey, do you think you could not give her treats when you walk by? I'd just rather not have you doing that to my dog."
She replied, "What? I never give her treats. I haven't ever done that."
"Well, please don't go up and pet her when she's tied out then."
Here she sounded slightly offended: "But every dog needs love. She needs to be petted."
"Yes, but she's my dog and I'm asking you to just not pet her. I take good enough care of her."

At this point one of the guys with her recognized that this was an awkward conversation and told her that they should probably get going, but she began going off saying how Jex needs love and deserves to be petted and walked and so forth. Here I repeated, "Please don't pet her in the future. Thank you." And with that, I turned and walked away, leaving her with no option but to follow her friends' advice and to continue walking as well. And that was that.

How someone can make the accusation to the owner of a dog who is currently out walking her that that dog doesn't get enough love and isn't cared for properly is beyond me. Perhaps the fact that she is tied out in a yard during the day is sufficient evidence to levy claims of not-loving-your-dog? Bringing her inside at night isn't enough, little kids playing with her at random points in the day isn't enough, and me taking her on walks and adventures isn't enough, and so it is absolutely necessary that she pet Jex when she is tied out on someone else's private property. (And not just reaching over a fence to pet her, no, it's walking a car's length driveway and up two steps and to the open gateway to pet her. This can only be a very conscious decision.) That must be what she thinks at least. Perhaps she doesn't know all of that, but to assume it is nevertheless an overstep on her part, especially when she is saying this to my face... while I'm out on a walk with Jex. Curious.

???

???

Bounces

Wednesday, October 31st, 2018

Sometime last month I was cleaning off my nightstand and found a bouncyball. It was maybe an inch and a half in diameter, and it seemed to be in a sad state of non-bounce, probably due to the fact that it hadn't been bounced in a while. So I went out to my patio to try it out and was not at all disappointed at its bounciness. I threw it to the concrete, it bounced up and then off the side of the apartment and then back to my hands. It was a rather ethereal experience. But then, disaster. I put a little too much force on it, and the ball bounced up and onto the roof and didn't come back down! Sadness. So I climbed up and retrieved it, making a mental note not to bounce it that hard, since I didn't care to go through all the trouble of recovering it again. But then again.... something about the taste of a powerful bounce made me crave more. Not wanting to repeat the earlier incident, I ran out into the parking lot to give it a try. I threw it down with all my might and up, up, up it went, high enough to inspire naught but sheer delight in my innermost heart.

This was not a discovery of bliss I could keep to myself, so I ran back inside and told Froh, "Come outside Froh, I gotta show you something!" He asked what it was but I wouldn't tell him and simply chanted, "Come on, come on, come on!" He got up from the couch and followed me out, though not as fast as I'd've liked, and maybe there was a bit of disinterest there as well. I mean, he did have some reading to do. But all those thoughts vanished from his mind when he saw The Bounce. A look of sheer youthful delight broadened his face into a wide grinning smile as he saw the bouncyball soar high into the sky. He gave it a go and we both laughed at the sheer joy of it all. We spent several minutes out in the parking lot bouncing the ball insanely high to each other, until one misplaced bounce landed the ball at the road, and then it proceed on to roll to the other side the road. I ran across to get it and was instantly hit, not by a car, but an idea: I'd bounce it all the way back across the road! As I wound up for the bounce, a car crested the hill and made it's way towards us. I jumped up and threw the ball down, but unfortunately at a terrible angle. It's trajectory was less than optimal, and as it made it's way back down to earth it seemed like it wouldn't even make it across the road, let alone all the way to Froh. That car kept coming, the ball kept falling, and it almost looked as if... PLUNK! the bouncyball struck the roof of the car and then bounced off into the grass on the other side.

I let out a hearty laugh at the improbability of it, and the car got really offended and slowed WAY down, almost to a halt. It didn't quite know what had happened, but it was blaming me. I mocked the car (in my head, of course, and 5/8s in jest), saying that he was a cheap junker and the bouncyball couldn't possibly have left a dent anyways, and that he was just being silly for getting so offended. He wasn't quite convinced though and came to a full stop, and it looked like he would turn around and give me a piece of his mind, but then another car came up behind him and wondered why he was taking so long, and then they both moved on. Stupid car.... hahae, cars these days.. they don't make 'em how they used to.

Anyways, Froh and I bounced around a little longer before an even better idea struck me: how about bounce it over the apartments! I wound up for the shot, ran, jumped, and threw down. The bouncyball soared at a perfect trajectory, bounced off the top of the roof, then down off the other side out of view. Froh and I ran with glee to see how good the results were, and there, sitting innocently on our back patio, was the bouncyball. We congratulated ourselves on all the fun we had and then called it a day and went back to work.

Pitchforkin' Away

Summer, 2012

I stood in the cool mid-morning breeze and looked at the labryinthine barn, pitchfork in hand. It was a series of sheds connected by other sheds, decades' worth of add-ons and additions. Who knew how far back it went, it was hard to tell. What I did know was that there was a large flock of goats who made their abode there, as well as an impressive amount of manure; and, as you may have guessed, that's why I was there. Upon entering, I discovered the extent of the need to get the manure mucked out: in some places it was a mere six inches deep, in others, a foot. I was getting paid by the job, which meant the quicker I got it done, the quicker I could get out of there, so I set to. It didn't smell too bad at first, but once you got all that straw mixed with months of goat urine and droppings thrown around a bit, the dust became oppressive and the smell repugnant. My trusty wheelbarrow didn't fail me though, and together we moved load after load to the large trailer hooked up to the tractor out front.

After a good while I made it to the largest area of the shed compilation. Besides an astounding amount of muck, this one particular stall also had a very oddly placed metal beam, about an eighth inch wide, connected the ceiling to the base of one of the walls. I wondered why in the world they decided to build it that way, but since the whole shed-upon-shed thing was already weird enough, I didn't think too much about this strange metal beam and set to work. I avoided the beam the whole time, which kind of got annoying since it cut straight through the stall and made it somewhat awkward to maneuver around, but hey, what could I do. After that I moved on to the next stall, and then the next and the next. Finally, some time later, as I was taking out another wheelbarrow load, I noticed something fishy: the metal beam wasn't in the same place, it had moved slightly! I set the wheelbarrow done and moved in for a closer inspection. I got real close to the beam and looked at it intently.... hmm. I positioned my hand to grab the beam, then brought it in to take hold of it.. except... MY HAND WENT STRAIGHT THROUGH THE LITTLE METAL BEAM!! I had no idea what had just happened, I was totally shocked. I passed my hand effortlessly through it time and again, completely consumed in awe. And then, it struck me. I looked up and sure enough, there was a little hole in the tin roof, and the little metal beam was actually just sunlight. The air was so dusty that the bright sunlight on the obscenely high concentration of dust particles made it appear to be a solid physical object!

Some time later I had finally filled up that huge trailer and gotten every scrap of manure out of the shed-barn-conglomeration. All that was left to do was drive the tractor over to the dumping spot and offload it all; I was almost done! Not only that, but I was in fresh air again and didn't have to struggle to breath anymore. That, along with the fact of being almost done, urged me on to greater things and I started forking out the manure faster than I'd ever gone before. This hastiness may have been the main contributor to my demise. All at once I made a simple mistake: I tried to scoop up some manure that, unfortunately, my foot was under. I felt an odd feeling in my left foot, at the same time as my pitchfork came to an abrupt stop. My smile fell. I slowly looked down at my left foot. One of the forks had gone straight through my leather boot, in one side and clean out the other. And it wasn't just through the a little bit of it either: it entered near the middle of my foot area and exited at an angle toward my toe. AND I DIDN'T FEEL A THING. I gulped. My foot was probably so messed up that my pain registers had shut down to help me not go into shock or something. I winced, then tried to wiggle my toes... then my whole foot.. it felt great! I breathed a huge sigh of relief as a nervous laugh echoed ominously, resonating from.. well, myself I guess. I gave the pitchfork a solid tug, and yanked it out of my boot. There was no blood, and then I really believed my foot was fine. I continued working after that, but slower this time. I immediately decided to say not a word of this to anyone for at least three or five years. And I didn't. Not a word. Sometimes it's better for stories of danger and near-misses to age a little bit before one tells one's mother, for the safety and sanity of all.

Murphy's Law At Its Finest

On your average day, I'm one of those guys who really hates being stuck at a stoplight. I will go out of my way to avoid them, even if it means adding another minute or two to my drive. And for me, it's worth it. Today, however, was a different story. I turned left at a stop sign right after a copcar had done the same, except I had to wait for a few pedestrians to cross first. As such, he got to get to the redlight first and wait. I pulled up behind him a moment or two later. Immediately, I realized something was going wrong. There was a FedEx truck on the other side of the road, but he wasn't moving. He was stationary. Very stationary. I imagine he was busy delivering a package and that's why the truck was so stationary. Now, as scientific studies have shown, stationary vehicles are more than twice as likely to impede traffic flow when on roadways than their non-stationary peers. Now I, personally, can confirm that this study has at least some empirical evidence to back up its claims. There was a string of cars behind him waiting to get going, and then there was one car, the last one in line, who also tried to make the light and turn onto the clogged road. This didn't end so well. The light turned red and then traffic from the other direction had a fairly difficult time getting around this individual in the middle of the intersection. There were also two cars trying, and failing, to back out of their coffee shop parking spots. They couldn't accomplish their goal because myself, the copcar, and the car in front of him were stuck at the light. I also realized at that moment that had I noticed before pulling up behind the copcar that the FedEx truck was in fact stationary and there was a pile of cars behind him, I could've hugged the right side of the road so there'd be enough space for them to squeeze by and so solve the traffic problem that was developing. But unfortunately, I was not paying enough attention to notice this before a car pulled up behind me and locked me in position.

Well, it couldn't get much worse than this. At least the light was about to change. Finally, after what seemed like ages, we got the green. But you know what? The car in front of the copcar wanted to turn left, and guess who was still in the middle of the intersection blocking everything? You already know who it is. That Guy. So then the car who wanted to turn left did what any reasonable person would do under these circumstances: he gave up on going left and decided to go straight and slightly readjust his travel plans so that all the cars that had piled up behind me could get by. He took one for the team. Or at least, that what we all hoped he'd have done. In reality though, he decided he'd be better off if he just waited for the car to move so he could turn left like he wanted. Time passed. More cars piled up behind me and in the left turn lane of the other road. The light turned red. The cross-traffic painstakingly maneuvered themselves around That Guy in the intersection. Slowly. Finally, the cops in front of me had had enough. They threw open their doors and jumped out very determinedly. One headed for the car in front of them to tell them to go straight to alleviate traffic, while the other headed for the FedEx truck to get him to move ASAP. Now, I'd been laughing and chuckling to myself throughout this entire ordeal because it was just too much, but the cops actually getting out of their squad-car was the icing on the cake. Or was it? Just then the FedEx truck's engine roared to life and he started to lurch forward. The one cop, visibly frustrated, immediately turned around and called to his buddy, and they both hopped back in their car. As the line of cars finally drove on by, the cops honked angrily at That Guy who had managed to block the entire intersection. Soon enough the light changed again and everybody was stonefacedly going on their way, annoyed at the unnecessary stupidity and trafficjam. And then there was me, laughing my head off as I turned left and made it through just in time to hit the yellow light and make it up 6th street. Life is truly a joy, even with all its unforeseen roadblocks.

Still tho, don't be That Guy. Please.