BraimeeDotCom

Last week Aim and I stopped at SuperAmerica to gas up for a road trip, and as I futzed through my wallet to find my credit card, I was happy to stumble upon a gas card given to me as a gift almost a year ago. I couldn’t use the card at the pump though, so I had to prepay inside (this is critical to the story, so keep this in mind).

I grabbed some snackies and pop, then settled in back of the one open checkout line. The cashier managing the line looked like that one lady from The Goonies. As I watched her grumble and belittle customers as they came through the line, I looked frantically for an alternative cashier to help me escape my doom. Unfortunately, Giggly High School Girl was too busy texting and LOLing on her Sidekick, and Bitter College Kid was committed to refilling propane tanks. My fate was sealed.

I put my products down on the counter, gave Goonies Lady a big smile and said “Hi, how are ya?” as she began to ring me up. She grunted in my direction, scanned my goods and gave me the total. What transpired next was uncomfortable:

Me: I’d like to use this gas card for $40 on pump 10.

Goonies Lady (looking at my pop and chips): *Grunt!* That card can only be used for gas.

Me: Right. Well, I want to buy gas with the card, so I think we’re all set.

Goonies Lady: But you are also buying this stuff! *Grunt!*

Me: Ok…so…

Goonies Lady: I’d have to ring this stuff up separate if you use that gas card.

Me: Ok…so…

Goonies Lady: Oh, FINE! *Grunt!* *Grunt!*

She pounded away at the register, swiped my gas card, rang the transaction, charged me for the pop and chips, rang that transaction, then threw my change and receipt at me and grunted again. I tried to remain calm as I left, thinking that I could either:

• Burn the place down on my way out.
• Write a heated email to SuperAmerica corporate.
• Do nothing.

I was already cooling off as I got in the car, so I chose option C and figured I’d probably never see that lady again. And besides, I had a Mountain Dew and Pizza Craver’s Doritos, so life was good, right?

WRONG! I looked down at my gas gauge and it was almost at the E! What the heck…did I prepay for my gas and then not pump it? Yep, that’s exactly what I did!

I whipped a 180 at the nearest exit, and told Aimee that she was going to have to go in there and explain everything to Goonies Lady. She refused, of course, and left me to die via public embarassment.

I sulked into the front doors, ready for my death, when to my surprise…Giggly High School Girl had just opened a register! I ran to her like Forest Gump and whispered what had just happened, hoping Goonies Lady wouldn’t overhear. I almost succeeded, except once Giggly High School Girl realized I was “that guy” who just did a real boneheaded move, she got all excited:

“Oh my gaw, we saw you drive off and were like, oh my gaw, like what is he doing? Haw-haw-haw! But like, I totally saw you drive off and just canceled the prepay credit on your pump so nobody would like, get free gas or something.”

Though I was blushing from the fact that everyone in the store heard about my stupidity, I did want to hug Giggly High School girl and tell her she had a, like, totally bright future in customer service. I ran out of the gas station like my life depended on it, but not before catching a quick disapproving glance from Goonies Lady.

I remembered to actually put the gas in the vehicle this time, and soon we were ready to go. I considered rolling down the window and shouting “Say hi to Sloth for me!” but decided that would be childish. I also toyed with the idea of finding Goonies Lady’s car in the parking lot and shoving one of Cam’s skid-marked diapers in the tailpipe. But again, my high character (i.e. Aimee telling me she’d kill me if I did either one) prevailed.

Warning: This post talks about body cavities and fluids in relation to a medical experience. If you don’t like talking about that kind of stuff, you should skip this post.

Well since we’re on the topic of surgeries and recoveries, I thought it might be a good time to share my medical experience from today. First of all, I can’t believe it’s already been two years since I was 12 years away from rectal exams, but I was reminded of that in an all-too-horrific manner when I went in for a physical this morning.

The nurse called me back and we went through all the standard stuff – height/weight/cholesterol/etc. Then she took me to the exam room to wait for the doctor. I sat down to relax and fiddle with my Blackberry to waste time, and I began thinking about how much trouble I was going to have producing a tinkle sample, because I’d been fasting for 12 hours (per the doc’s request). However, my train of thought was totally derailed as I caught a look at the exam table. Sitting on top of it were two pairs of purple rubber gloves and a big tube of some ungodly lubrication!

Oh my sweet heavens…did I perhaps hear the doctor wrong two years ago? Did he say exams start in two years instead of 12? My heart started racing, my skin got cold and pale, and I was suddenly all too ready to produce a urine sample!

The doc came in, ran through his list of a zillion questions, listened to my heart and lungs, and did the grand finale “turn and cough” number. I couldn’t take it anymore, and had to ask: “Hey doc, uhh…are we doing anything with ehh…those (pointing to gloves) today?” And he made my day with his response: “Nope, those aren’t for you. You’ve still got 10 years – unless something is bothering you now?”

I swear, I was so full of relief at that moment…I could’ve had a porcupine living in my rectum and I would’ve lied about it just to get out of there. I raced out of that office, gave the lab techs the necessary samples they needed, and clicked my heels like Dorthy from the Wizard of Oz as I hopped out to the parking lot. I also said a prayer hoping for a nice, long next 10 years of my life.

If you know Aim and I, you also know that we can’t cook. Actually, I’m gonna qualify that: I don’t think we can’t, I just think we don’t very often. Now when push comes to shove, Aim’s got some culinary skills, but my pathetic cooking portfolio consists only of:

• Toast (rare)
• Toast (medium)
• Toast (well done)
• Grilled cheese
• Cereal
• Eggs (scrambled)
• Hot dogs (microwaved or boiled)
• Sandwiches

Well, that all changed this weekend when we added cakes to our resumes. We were put in charge of two of them – the first was a patriotic 4th of July cake for a family party:

The second was a baby shower cake for my cousin, who is having twins:

As proud as I am of our work, one family member told me it would’ve been very simple for us to take a picture of someone else’s work and post it as our own. So to that family member, allow me to cordially invite you over to enjoy our next recipe: a knuckle sandwich with a side serving of kickyouinthenuts sauce.

Aim and I banked $27 big smackers last week week…another fat royalty check from our movie star days in Jingle All the Way. Some people think $27 isn’t much. I think of it as $27 closer to retirement.

I included this picture of Tony Robbins because just the sight of him helps me not want to write warm, touchy-feely, puppies-and-ice-cream kind of posts. I stay away from sentimental stuff not because I’m out of touch with my sensitive side (heck, we’re too good of friends), but because I get much more creative pleasure out of rants and sarcasm. And from the traffic stats I see on this blog, it seems my visitors like that better too.

However – and I’m hoping you can relate to this – once in a rare while I experience something or someone that makes me want to be a better insert-name-of-thing-here. Two examples: being around Aimee makes me want to be less selfish, and being around Brad Pitt makes me want to be better looking. (God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…)

This week I read Matt Logelin’s blog and got a twofer in the inspiration department. Matt’s someone I went to high school with, and I think no matter who you are you will find his story interesting. In a nutshell: his wife complained of dizziness after delivering their first baby, and she died minutes later. As I read through Matt’s blog every week, I’m captivated by his openness and honesty about his hopes/dreams/fears of that event, and how he is tackling life as a single dad. It makes me want to be a better father, and not take my family for granted. Unfortunately, I’m sure for most people (myself included) it takes actual loss to get proper perspective on life.

My second flicker of motivation came while sifting through the comments on Matt’s blog. A photographer named Gina Lee left a few notes, so I checked out her blog, which features a sample of her portfolio. Now I’m a wannabe photographer who has taken a rare money shot from time to time, and certainly there’s no shortage of great photos and photographers that should motivate me to get off my butt and learn to take better pictures. But for some reason, Gina’s photos did that for me – especially the Ben’s family series. Now, maybe there’s a tiny factor that hits close to home – the kid in the Superman shirt reminds me of my childhood, and also makes me think I’ll definitely torture Cam with some more posed Superman shots as he gets older. But Gina’s work is really marvelous, and I encourage you to check it out.

On the subject of photography, I’d really like to force myself to upload a picture of the week just to give myself an excuse to become a better photographer. I won’t commit to that yet, but in the meantime, here’s my latest favorite pic. Aim snapped it on our way home from the zoo. Cam had gone into a big tired/yawn stretch and then fallen asleep before he put his arms back down.

We’re not proud of this, but we had a little incident with Cam over the weekend. Check out this excerpt from Saturday’s Star Tribune:

Cameron Johnson, 21 months old, was arrested for DMWDAPC (drinking milk while driving a plastic car) and verbally assaulting police officers on Saturday evening. After being pulled over for driving on the wrong side of the driveway, officers issued Johnson a breathalyzer test, which showed high levels of vitamin D and fruit snacks. Johnson was sentenced to a brief time-out in his playpen without his blankie.

Aimee and I have no comment, and ask that you respect our privacy during this difficult time.

I usually don’t play along with chain letters and “do this to X amount of your friends” kinds of things, but Jeff tagged me with a meme, and after reading his, I thought it might be fun to participate.

Rules: Once you are tagged, link back to the person who tagged you. Post the rules on your blog. Post seven random or weird facts about yourself on your blog. Tag seven people and link to them. Comment on their blog to let them know they have been tagged.

Ok, let’s do this thing:

I have never smoked, taken drugs or consumed an alcoholic beverage in my lifetime.

Yeah, it’s true. But if you want to get really nitty-gritty, the only drinking I do is communion wine on Sundays. This life choice – particularly not drinking – has been the source of much conflict and many awkward conversations for me. Everyone thinks there’s a big reason behind it. But when you boil it down, it’s not quite so exciting. Here’s the really short version:

I was blessed to grow up around friends and family who never pressured me to drink (or take other substances). By the time I got to college, I decided I really didn’t need to make drinking part of my life – I figured I could live without it.

Do I ever look back and regret this decision? Once or twice. I think this decision has inadvertently kept some people away from getting to know me, because they feel like I’m judging them for drinking, or that I think I’m better than other people for not drinking. And I know I have been left off the invite list for certain gatherings in the past. But today I’m happy I stuck to my guns. And when Cam gets to the point where he’s feeling some peer pressure, I can look him straight in the eye and tell him my story, and hopefully be an inspiration for him to hang in there (at least until he’s 21).

I’ve been shot before.

I want to get this down on record so that 100 years from now, my great grandkids know how this story really went down.

When I was in junior high, I went grouse hunting with my dad in northern Minnesota. We parked the truck and rode ATVs a few miles north to a “hot spot” my dad was excited to take me to. We headed through the woods, standing about 30 feet apart from each other. A bird flew up in front of us and my dad took a shot at it. Just as I was going to shoot, I felt like someone whipped me in the face with a bush. Turns out some BBs from my dad’s shot had ricocheted and hit me in the neck and earlobe. I dropped my gun and freaked out as I felt the blood on my face.

As I mentioned, we were several miles away from anything, so my dad hooked me up with an ice pack and asked me to tough it out and drive the ATV back to the truck. I remember driving with one hand and icing my face with the other while I cried like a little baby. I didn’t know if the BBs were still in my skin – and if they were, was my life in danger?

Fortunately, the bleeding on my neck and earlobe had pretty much stopped by the time we loaded the truck and gassed up, so my dad bought me a MAD magazine (suck up) and drove me to a clinic in Minneapolis. The doctor saw me and immediately sent me downstairs for X-rays. Once they were complete, the tech handed the results to my dad and sent us back upstairs. My dad, being naturally curious, opened up the X-rays and held them up to the light. Sure enough, you could see a BB stuck in my earlobe and neck! Rather than comfort me during this unsettling time for me, he started cracking jokes. “Hey Bri, guess I can’t tell you to get the lead out anymore! I wonder if you’ll set off the metal detectors at the airport! Or I wonder if your head will hang cockeyed now that you have a BB in one earlobe! Yuk-yuk-yuk!”

I breathed a huge sigh of relief when the doctor said the BBs weren’t stuck deep enough in my skin to remove them. So, to this day, I’ve still got the BBs in me. I’m thinking of getting them surgically removed and mounted on a plaque when my dad hits his next milestone birthday.

One of my dreams is was to be in a boy band.

This dream has faded now that I’m an old man, but I’m not afraid to admit it: when I used to watch Nsync or Backstreet Boys woo the ladies with their sweet dance moves and rockin’ harmonies, I couldn’t help but want to join ‘em. But I never quite fit into any of the “labels” that a boy band requires. But I’m keeping my eye open for any band that needs a “musically talented but out of shape guy with a big head who can’t dance.”

I learned the definition of abstinence the hard way.

This is embarrassing. Ok, when I was a freshman in high school, a senior asked me if I wanted to join a group that was touring junior high schools in the area to discuss the importance of abstinence. I didn’t know what that word meant at the time. I thought it had something to do with “substance,” so I figured this girl was pinning me as a druggie. So I told her (and I remember this oh so clearly), “You know, I don’t think I’m the best person to talk to about that.” I about hit the floor when I got home and popped open the dictionary. I called her up that night and tried to clear things up, but I think the damage had already been done – I was no longer invited to join the tour.

I want to write a screenplay before I die.

Sometimes people email me from this blog and call me a movie snot, and say things like “What, you think you can do better?” Yeah, in a lot of cases I do think I can do better. I’ve got two ideas I’d love to develop into a screenplay, but due to my own choices, these writing projects have never taken a front seat on my priority list. Some day I hope to go for it. I honestly don’t even care if my screenplay is actually made, I just want to experience the writing process, then look back and say, “Yeah, I did that.”

I’ve had a lot of majors/jobs.

I went to school to be a theater major, then moved to computer science, then settled on public relations. Unfortunately, once I got in the real world, I wanted to make the turn back to computer science and get into IT. So my career has been one, big, gradual shift towards that. This shift has provided a lot of new opportunities, so I have jumped on them when given the chance. Unfortunately, this has given me the nickname of The Job-Hopper with a lot of my friends and family. But for the record, I’m not losing these jobs or getting fired, ok?!

I have absolutely no interest in “real” sports.

I’m not sure if this makes me not a man, but I could care less about any of the major sports. In fact, I could probably name two people on my state’s professional sports teams. Now I should say that I enjoy watching a sporting event live at an arena, but sports on TV just make me want to get up and do something really active – like play computer games.

Well there you have it – seven random facts about me that you didn’t know and probably don’t care about. But those are the rules, so don’t hate the player… And speaking of players, I hereby tag you, you and you.

My little niece Soph really, really likes to clean:

I went to the Walgreens pharmacy for a pickup this week, and as I waited at the counter, the head pharmacist was talking to an antsy drive-up customer through a speakerphone. The pharmacist was studying the documentation that had printed out with the customer’s prescription, and wanted to make sure he fully understood the warnings that went along with the meds. Unfortunately, she was moving as fast as a turtle that took an overdose of sleeping medication. It was clear the customer had no interest in hearing the warnings, and part of me didn’t blame him, since the biggest side effect I’ve ever experienced from a medication was drowsiness. Anyway, mister antsy pants was trying hard to look annoyed by furrowing his eyebrows at the pharmacist, and tapping loudly on his steering wheel.

Pharmacist lady: OK, so just a second sir…alright…one sec…ok, it says that when you take this medication you may get a mild fever.

Guy: Fine.

Pharmacist lady: Wait, it also says you might incur periodic headaches.

Guy: Ok, please send it through.

Pharmacist lady: And you should take the medication with food.

Guy: Can you just send it over please?

Pharmacist lady: One minute… (Just then I thought angry guy was going to blow a gasket in his face, until he heard the final warning)…one final thing…this medication will turn your urine red.

Guy: Oh.

Pharmacist lady: So you might wanna watch out for that.

I’m sure the guy was happy to hear that warning since he never would’ve read it himself (and boy would having red pee surprise me if I wasn’t expecting it!), but I also bet the guy did not appreciate me snickering to myself as he drove away. So if my dead body turns up in a Walgreens parking lot in a week, please tell Marg Helgenberger to do a tinkle test on the suspects, and she’ll catch the suspect red-handed.

What do you call a blogger with writer’s block? Does that person have writer’s “blogck,” perhaps? That word doesn’t really roll of the tongue – or the fingers. Anyway, I’ve had a case of it the last week or so due to a combination of things, so I’m just doing a free write like the teachers used to have us do in high school. Basically I’ll just write what comes to mind, and the process of doing so is supposed to be relaxing, healing and stress-relieving…

Hmmm…all I can think about is the other things I SHOULD be doing. Anyway, I should give you an update on Cam. He continues to do really well in every way we could hope for. He’s walking now, which has proven to be just as challenging as some experienced parents told us it would be. It brings a whole new dimension of fear to his well-being. Obviously he is now prone to a whole new slew of forehead-level injuries (which so far he has avoided), but I’m also afraid of the new confidence that walking has given him. A few times he has stood at the top of the steps and glanced at us in a way that says, “I could just walk down these steps if I really wanted to, I hope you know.” But for now, his only dirty trick is to walk slowly down a hallway like he’s not up to anything, then suddenly dart into a bathroom and rinse his hands in the toilet. Lets just say Aimee has given me daily warnings to make sure I always flush after I’m done. (Sheesh, a guy forgets to flush one time and do you think I’ll hear the end of it?)

As far as words, he’s not saying a ton yet, but his vocabulary includes:

• Duh! – sometimes this means dog and other times it means dad. And, sometimes it means “Grab me that bottle that I just dropped.”
• Mama – unfortunately, he calls me mama more than he does Aim.
• Uhh! – this is half of the phrase, “Uh-oh.” He hasn’t learned the second half yet.
• Owwtsss – imagine E.T. saying “ouch,” but with the slur of a little kid.
• Ball – for balls and anything that can be pushed like a ball.
• More – self explanatory, and heard the loudest when he wants Cheerios or Ritz crackers.

Wow, if I was an English teacher and had to grade this paper, I’d give it a B- for story structure and a D+ for grammar.