I think I’ve hit my cruising altitude in the NaNoWriMo challenge which is awesome but time consuming, as you can imagine. This is turning out to be such a great adventure and I’m so glad I pushed myself out of my comfort zone.

So I asked Natural to tell me about one of the Unsung Heroes from her past. And by hero I mean a random person she ran into who made an impact on her — large or small. So that’s who we’re going to meet today — Natural’s Unsung Hero.

Growing up I was a skinny child. Even as a young adult, I remained thin. I had no shape, no curves, no body and my legs were as thin as two pencils. I resembled an ironing board, flat in the front and flat in the back.

Maybe that’s why I always felt the need to cover up and was uncomfortable with my body and showing too much skin. I chose to dress conservatively throughout my adulthood. I was also a shy and quiet child and believe it or not, I still carry some of that shyness with me today.

Eventually as I aged, I worked on my body image. I wanted to add a little definition to my physical appearance, so I joined an all-women’s gym and hired a personal trainer. I worked out in the gym several times a week alone and once a week with the trainer until I moved out of the area.

Once I settled into my new place, I found a gym not too far from where I lived. However, this gym was different and a lot bigger than what I was used to. It was two floors high, the top floor housed the cardio machines and the lower level retained the weight machines.

Behind the main rooms of the upper and lower gym was an opened-spaced room for aerobic classes. Even though it was a unisex gym, I always felt the setup segregated the sexes, which was okay by me. The women worked out upstairs and the men worked out downstairs. I was no different than most of the women members, I spent a lot of time upstairs on the cardio machines until I worked up the nerve to workout downstairs, in a pair of shorts.

At first I felt out of place, like I was being watched, so I was nervous, but managed to successfully do a few sets on the leg press. Then I walked over to the cable pulley machine to work on my triceps and I noticed a man staring at me. As I approached him he said, “You know you have some beautiful legs, don’t you?”

I’m sure I looked down at my legs in disbelief that he was speaking to me. I smiled back and said thank you. It never occurred to me that my legs might be anything but skinny.

The genuineness of his comment — unbeknownst to him — meant a lot to me.

His compliment
wasn’t
a pick
up line, in
fact, I’m
certain we never
spoke to each other againHis compliment wasn’t a pick up line, in fact, I’m certain we never spoke to each other again and I never forgot his comment.

It’s been my rare, personal experience for a man — and I’m not referring to the man in your life — to give a woman a compliment without wanting something.

I’m not the type of person to withhold a compliment from a man or woman; if I like something, I will speak on it.

A simple compliment can change someone’s day and maybe even a person’s life.

Sometimes when I’m running on the treadmill or I’m using the leg press machine and I catch glimpse of my legs in the mirror, my unsung hero’s words iterates in my mind and silently gives me the encouragement to press on.

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 174.

How many of your friendships have lasted more than ten years? Which of your current friends to you feel will still be important to you ten years from now?

Hmm, I would say a scant handful. I can think of three people — Karen, Tonya and Carmen — and they are listed chronologically. We talked about Karen, Purveyor of All That is Good and Fun, on Wednesday. We must have been friends for at least 30 years. I told you it’s sketchy for me whether we met in fourth or sixth grade, so I’m going to split the difference and assume we were around 10.

Fun fact about Karen which was more of a fun fact for me, but which sucked for her. Sorry about that Karen. Karen went to college in California her freshman year. She might have gone there her sophomore year as well, but by the time she was a junior she’d come back to Michigan and finished up at U of M.

Anyway in California she lived with her grandma and the relationship was, uh, strained. And so she became Karen With the Grandma Who Hates Her when I talked about her to my friends at college. She sort of became the Bob Saccamano to my Kramer, only I’m not nearly as tall as Kramer and my hair is not as fuzzy.

I met Tonya my freshman year of college through sheer luck and serendipity. We both roomed blind which meant we threw caution to the wind and let fate decide who our roommate(s) would be.

We were thrown in a room with a third chick who turned out to hate my guts. I’m still not positive why but legend has it that Tonya actually talked that chick into staying in our room the entire year.

She wanted to move out after the first term ended. Wow.

So we met when we were 18 and our birthdays are one week apart and are never jacked up by Leap Year. Isn’t that awesome? If her birthday is on Saturday, my birthday is on Saturday.

She’s a week older than me so her birthday dictates the day of the week. We’re both Aquarius (Aquari?) and our birthdays are on Monday next year, just in case you wondered.

Completing my friendship trifecta is Carmen. I met her in college as well, but I think we were seniors. I’m pretty sure we met at The State News which is the award-winning student newspaper at Michigan State. It’s online now and I can’t even imagine what working there would be like (dusts off her fedora with the sign that says “Press” on the front.)

Anyway, we seemed to hit it off right away and the vines of fate intertwined our lives long after we graduated from college. I met Mr. C in May of 1993 and Carmen got married in September of 1993. I was invited to the wedding, naturally, and I invited Mr. C to come with me.

A lot was resting on that date and I was really looking forward to it. So I wowed him by dressing up and slapping on a little lipstick. Off we went to the wedding and soon after we walked into the reception hall, Mr. C’s eyes lit up in surprise and recognition as he hugged a short, middle-aged woman.

That woman was his Aunt Mary Lou. And she was a teacher at the same school where Carmen’s mother was the principal. And as a child, Carmen was pen pals with Mr. C’s sister. How wild is that?

She gave me advice on how to reel Mr. C in and the rest is history.

Ours is a long distance friendship which seems impervious to space and time. Like a quilt I’m working on, I can set that friendship down mid-stitch with the needle secured in the fabric for a year or two at a time and then start stitching right where I left off. I don’t know how or why that’s possible, but it is and I really value that.

Those three are charter members of the East Coast Soljahs* and I am positive we will be friends for the rest of my life.

Viva la Soljahs!

*I just made that gang name up. Well, I went to GangNames.net and used their random gang name generator. It was between Nuclear Gang and East Coast Soljahs and you know which one I went with.

It’s fun because we don’t have a name like that at all. In fact those three don’t really know each other. They know of each other, I think, but they don’t hang together.

It’s possible you may have noticed I have a thing about germs. I wouldn’t go so far as to call myself a genuine germophobe, my focus is on sharing items that go inside one’s mouth.

I’m not sharing my drink, you cannot use my fork to try a piece of my cheesecake and if you
even
think about
using my toothbrush
I will
cut you —
that’s a promise not
a threat.if you even think about using my toothbrush I will cut you — that’s a promise not a threat.

My mouth is a no-fly zone. I’m not quite sure where this comes from but I have a solid idea of how it originated.

I was the youngest of six kids and there was lots o’ competition growing up. A new bag of Oreos lasted roughly 37.8 seconds in that house.

And when supply is low and demand is high certain folks will go to great lengths to secure the product.

Which means my brother and all of my sisters would grab a cookie and lick it to declare ownership. I have many, many memories of someone snatching a cookie or candy bar, licking it and then setting it down on the table in front of me with a look of smug satisfaction.

Sweep the Leg, just thinking about that disgusts me. If it’s not what I deem pristine it’s not seeing the inside of my pie hole.

I feel so strongly about this that I told the priest who married us I was not interested in receiving the Blood of Christ during Communion at our wedding.

Bold, yes, but necessary. I cannot handle backwash; I just cannot stomach that.

Before you ask, I do not know why it’s okay for the priest’s meaty paws to handle the host and then place it in my mouth. It is what it is.

But back to our wedding, the priest was fine with that and made a mental note. What he did not tell me was that, as the bride, I would drink FIRST from the cup.

And he also forgot that I wasn’t partaking. Until he approached me, extended the cup, remembered and then pulled the cup away and gave it to Mr. C. In front of the congregation. While we were sitting in profile in front of the altar.

So it’s not like our backs were to our friends and family. Nope. Everyone was able to see me reject the Blood of Christ even though it went directly from the pitcher into the chalice.

Many thanks Father, I appreciate that.

Cut to present times. My kids and I go to the same dentist and our six-month check ups are scheduled a couple of weeks apart. And when you go to the dentist, they usually give you a handy dandy bag that contains a new toothbrush, a small tube of toothpaste and a container of floss.

Katie had her check up in August and received a purple toothbrush with the dentist’s name printed on the handle.

I had my check up in September and received a purple toothbrush with the dentist’s name printed on the handle.

The very same purple toothbrush that Katie received. We all share the same toothbrush holder in the bathroom. So you can see my problem.

Why not buy a different toothbrush from Meijer, Cardiogirl? Because I am also a cheapskate. I felt the need to use the free toothbrush for the next six months. But Katie is using her toothbrush for the next six months as well.

So I wrapped a rubber band around the handle and had a come to Jesus talk with Katie.

I told her to please, please pay attention to which toothbrush she was using each night and each morning. Hers has no rubber band and yet our toothbrushes look the same. I showed her both toothbrushes so she could see exactly what I was talking about.

I begged her to stay away from my toothbrush and told her I was as serious as a heart attack. The expression on her face told me that she clearly understood what I was asking and she is a classic first-born so she is an ardent rule-follower. Thank God for small favors.

And she has been using her own toothbrush every time.

How do I know she’s been using her own toothbrush. Every single time? Because, unfortunately, she needs serious prompting to brush her teeth so I am always standing next to her when she picks up her toothbrush.

And I feel the bristles of my own toothbrush before I use it to make sure they’re dry.

Naturally I don’t want to pass on my neuroses to my kid. So when she asks me why I slide my thumb over the bristles, every time I pick it up without fail, I gave her my pat answer. “I’m just making sure there are no small pieces of food stuck in the bristles from the last time I brushed my teeth. I think that’s gross.”

So she does the same thing to her toothbrush now. And I consider that a win-win.

I have but one remaining friend from elementary school and her name is Karen, Purveyor of All That is Good and Fun, but she allows me to simply call her Karen.

It feels like we met in fourth grade but I am positive we’ve been brothers in arms from sixth grade on. She and I were in Mr. Tyler’s class in sixth grade and I remember learning the alphabet in sign language so we could talk while he was up at the chalkboard.

As I recall, we would spell a word and then swipe the air to indicate the beginning of the next word. Naturally Mr. Tyler hated it when we did that, I can’t imagine why.

I’m pretty sure he was a recent transplant from the Deep South so he had a strong Southern accent. When he was pissed off his accent became extremely pronounced and I vividly remember his face getting red with frustration, which seemed to happen quite often.

Sweep the Leg, why would anyone want to be a junior high teacher?

Anyway, when he caught someone acting up in class he employed the Army Method of Punishment. If one person disrupted the class the whole class was going to be punished. No one liked that, but I’ve got to say I’ve employed that method more than once with my own children. It’s pretty effective here at Cardiogirl Manor.

It seems like he was all talk and no action most of the time, but his threat was always, always, “If ya’ll don’t stop, ahm gone go tell Coach! Ahm gone tell Coach!”

I do remember him saying that all the time, but I didn’t remember what would happen if he actually did tell Coach. Further I don’t remember a coach of any sort in that school.

So I turned to Karen and this is how our email conversation went.

____

Hey Karen,

Who was “Coach” as in, “I’m gonna go tell Coach.” I know Tyler said it all the time but even back then I didn’t know who the hell he was talking about.

We were still in Anderson, weren’t we? Was there a Coach at Anderson?

Do tell.

Cardiogirl
____

Yes indeed there was a coach at Anderson. Remember trying to climb the dreaded rope? I don’t remember his name, but I remember that he was a relatively young guy. My memory was that he was in his thirties, but he could have been in his twenties since that would have seemed “old” to us at that age. (We’re both 41.)

Tyler’s idea of telling coach was that coach would make us do laps around the gym as punishment. I think he actually had us do that a few times, but I’m not sure.

Karen
____

Yes, I remember that hellish rope. God that’s a post right there although I don’t really remember more than standing on the knot and trying to jump while pulling my body up. Period.

Never got any higher than that and what the hell was wrong with that coach not trying to give suggestions on HOW TO CLIMB THAT EFFER?

I cannot believe that I have zero memory of a person, much less a coach, during the gym class. I always want to think it was the junior high coach Mr. E something, like Eisenhauer but that’s not it.

Remember it was him or that mean lady (Miss F something) in junior high who everyone said was having an affair with that scum bucket Wilkinson?

Now that you’ve mentioned running laps that seems vaguely familiar. It was on the very outside of the gym floor, right next to the walls, wasn’t it? And it makes total sense that Tyler was threatening to make us run laps if we didn’t get in line.

Man he must have hated his job as a teacher.

Cardiogirl
____

(Later email from me after some serious contemplation)

I remembered! The gym teacher’s name in junior high was Eichbauer. Man I was so proud of myself. I thought of it driving home from school yesterday and actually said it out loud, “Eichbauer!”

Yeah!

Cardiogirl
____

That’s amazing that you can remember that. I had the female teacher Ms. F-whatever. You’d think I would remember her name because I HATED her. She gave me a D one semester. Total Evil Bitch.

Karen
____

She seriously gave you a D. In GYM? She was a Total Evil Bitch. Damn. I truly want to remember her name. It will eat at me for quite some time but it’s going to be extra difficult because I know I never had her so her name is just ancillary information floating in my head.

Whereas Eichbauer’s name was primary, necessary information tucked away in the folds of my mind.

Cardiogirl

____

Fiola. Ms. Fiola. I’m pretty sure that was her name. Evil woman. Another chesnut from that period: We all had to lie on the floor with our feet in the air as she checked us for warts. Guess who had one? Yep, I had a damn planter’s wart on my foot and she announced it to the whole class. Ahhhh, memories.

Karen
____

Karen you are awesome! I was just pouring my coffee thinking, ‘What was her name?! Fine, Feeney?’ And here you are providing the answers. Stellar job.

Uh, that is seriously messed up. WTF? You had to lie on the floor, barefoot, with your feet in the air? I am so glad I had Eichbauer.

Cardiogirl
____

(Later email from me after some more intense contemplation)

I really am curious about her checking your, uh, bare feet. Where did you lie for her to inspect?

Cardiogirl
____

Oh Fiola! That evil woman. She had us all lie on the gym floor, barefoot, with our feet in the air. Then she “examined” our feet by pressing on the bottom of our feet with her car keys! Yes!

Karen
____

Karen, I have not burst out laughing like that in a long time. That was a turbo laugh. Her car keys, eh?

Cardiogirl
____

I knew you must be laughing…they could have been work keys :) :) but you get the idea.

Karen
____

That’s really nuts. I can’t believe she was allowed to do that.

Cardiogirl
____

Scarred for life…

Karen
____

I think I might have some PTSD by association from that.

Cardiogirl
____

Yeah, I wonder if teachers still get away with shit like that today.

Karen
____

Aaand scene.

My obsession, which has burned brightly and was fueled by insane curiosity, has reached its apex and is now like an orange coal that glows quietly with the spent heat.

I have confirmed the identity of the guy with the tic. I have metaphorically put my hand into the wound on his side and have inspected the nail holes in his palms.

And the discover truly fell into my lap.

I won’t keep you in suspense any longer — it’s Salt and Pepper — although I will explain in great detail how I discovered his identity. Because the journey really was the best part.

But first I have to say now that I know who it is, I don’t even hear the tic anymore.

It was like the scratching noise outside of my house during very windy days. Once I realized that it was a lightweight tree branch that was sashaying against the aluminum siding just outside the window in the dining room, the annoyance ceased to exist.

I figured out what it was and it fell off my radar.

The same holds true for Salt and Pepper. I really feel a huge sense of satisfaction now that I have solved this mystery. It was
like
a personalized
scavenger hunt that
God made
just for me.
Thanks, God, I had
a really good time.It was like a personalized scavenger hunt that God made just for me. Thanks, God, I had a really good time.

Okay, you may recall that I used many different methods of investigation. I began sitting in a different pew in an attempt to narrow down where the sound of the tic was coming from. By doing that I isolated it to four pews. After a few weeks of observing those particular pews I discovered that two men routinely sat in there.

I dubbed them Yellow Cardigan and Salt and Pepper. But I never did get a good enough vantage point to figure it out.

And then one morning while I was shopping at Kmart and mentally drafting a scathing letter to the CEO regarding the lack of Fuji apples Salt and Pepper strode purposefully past me toward the bakery. At the time I marveled at my good fortune and mused, “What are the chances?”

Mr. C pointed out that the chances were extremely high since Kmart is located one mile away from our church.

I told him not to muddy my tale of intrigue with logic.

While I pulled off a hell of a reconnaissance mission, I walked away with no answer. I heard but one ambiguous noise and that was not enough for a positive ID.

Cut to last Sunday. I was sitting in contemplation at church waiting for Mass to begin when Salt and Pepper slid into the pew next to me. Yes! Right next to me!

It was serendipity, I’m convinced. It took until the homily for me to concretely ID him. I really heard nothing until the priest was breaking down the gospel.

And the priest, bless his heart, walks about in the front of the church while delivering the homily so I was able to turn toward Salt and Pepper to listen. Turning slightly toward Salt and Pepper allowed me to keep my head in one position while letting me slide just my eyes over, so I could avoid making S&P self conscious.

Initially I was glancing at his mouth and I saw nothing even though I heard the sound. It took a few minutes of serious obsession deduction until I realized the sound comes from his neck and throat area. When I subtlely looked at that region, while keeping my head turned away from him, I saw his neck muscles flex in unison with the tic.

I couldn’t believe it. It was him. It really was Salt and Pepper the whole time.

I have to admit Miley Cyrus hit the nail on the head with the following lyrics from “The Climb.”

Ain’t about how fast I get there
Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side
It’s the climb, yeah!

I had fun adjusting my Sherlock Holmes hat and chomping on my pipe while reviewing the evidence. His tic, which I initially found distracting, has become oddly endearing.

So the last piece of the puzzle has fallen into place and my obsession has ended.

Until the next leaf blows in the wind and I catch the scent of another good mystery.

As you may recall, I’ve outed myself in an attempt to create a best-selling novel by yours truly. I am proudly participating in NaNoWriMo this month and shall transform myself into a mean, green writing machine — sorta like the Incredible Hulk, but with a green ponytail.

Cue the introductory music as she stage whispers, “Steve — you’re on!”

Way back in 1998, I was working at a government department, bored out of my skull and disgusted with the pathetic inefficiencies of the bureaucracy. I worked well, within my own team of programmers and technical architects, but did not play nicely with the overly-officious pencil-pushing knobs that littered the department.

You know the type: so concerned about covering their own asses that they would follow the documented procedures regardless of how inappropriate or inefficient. Thus, I found myself mired in a position I hated, without any prospect of moving forward in my career.

In short, I refused to be a brown noser.

A GTEC (Government in Technology) conference was underway, and I took the opportunity to get the hell out of the office for a few hours to attend it. I explored several booths, picking up the sort of geek-desired toys one would expect at this type of event. In one of the side-rooms a gentleman from a local private firm was at the podium and a small crowd had gathered.

Burdened as
I
was with
a bag of
geeky goodies,
I grabbed a
free coffee, plopped myself
into a chair, and pretended to listen.Burdened as I was with a bag of geeky goodies, I grabbed a free coffee, plopped myself into a chair, and pretended to listen. All I remember of his topic was that it was incredibly dry and technical, and held nothing of interest for me. After about half an hour, he finished and took questions from the floor.

Again, many questions were dry and technical, but one caught my attention. Someone asked him how difficult it was to do business with the government that had so many layers of bureaucracy which serve to slow down any process.

The speaker paused for a second, and stated that while working with the government could be lucrative, it did have its downsides: particularly in its inbred inefficiencies and lack of adaptive abilities.

He spoke about agile tech firms that had to change as technology changes or they would quickly become extinct; about how governments had to learn to be adaptive in the face of technological advances or they would quickly become understaffed, or at least staffed with under-qualified employees, as the skilled employees left for more challenging and lucrative opportunities.

He also mentioned how working for the government could help in providing a person with training and experience, but he could not understand why anyone would remain there in the face of so much demand from the private sector. He agreed that almost iron-clad job security is certainly appealing, but it paled in comparison to the possibilities being offered in the private sector.

It was something I needed to hear!

I went back to my office and put my resumé online. The next day I had a call from a headhunting firm and they set up an interview with a private tech start up.

Within three days, I had a new job and put in my two weeks notice. I haven’t looked back since.

I’m where I am now because of some guy wearing a poorly fitted suit who spoke honestly about the job market and emerging tech firms at the time.

Friday is The Book of Questions Day around these parts.

Today’s question comes from the aptly titled book “The Book of Questions” by Gregory Stock, Ph.D.

And here it is, Question 63.

Assume there were a technological break-through that would allow people to travel as easily and cheaply between continents as between nearby cities. Unfortunately, there would also be 100,000 deaths a year from the device. Would you try to prevent its use?

In the mid 1800s, had you been able to look into the future and see that the automobile would cause five million fatalities in the next century, how would you have felt about this new device? Is there scientific knowledge that is best left undiscovered? If so, what areas of research do you feel should be restricted?

Homey ain’t a protester; no, I would not try to prevent its use.

When I read this question I immediately thought of the disclaimers that are provided for all of the prescription medications out there. I do believe those disclaimers are necessary. But let’s assume there was a medication out there promising 100% health however it listed no side effects.

I wouldn’t take it whether the folks who did had awesome results or tragic results. I’m not much of a risk taker. Slow and steady wins the race, gingah.

Further, I would not join a cause to ban its production or use. In that scenario no one is forcing another person to ingest that medication. It’s a personal choice. And I choose no.

Anyway, it never occurred to me that technology — such as PDAs, computers, cars, airplanes, etc. — could or should have disclaimers. It strikes me as odd to consider a disclaimer coming with my mp3 player.

I can’t imagine what it would say beyond, excessive use at high volumes may cause loss of hearing. Okay, I’ll take that chance. I like to rock out on the elliptical machine.

Now to the past. If I saw those statistics regarding the automobile I would be totally freaked out and I would try to convince my family not to use that steel stallion.

In black and white, five million deaths is pretty staggering. But considering the population I suppose it’s not that excessive.

Keeping that in mind, 100,000 deaths in the other example seems sort of tame by comparison. Regardless, it’s not enough to get me walkin’ the line with a picket sign in my hand.

Now what areas of research do I think should be banned? Cloning. That’s just too bizarre and I cannot wrap my mind around that. But what if cloning was approved? It would freak me out but I can’t see how cloning would impact me personally.

Here’s the only way I can see that cloning might affect me personally.

If I were 70 and slingin’ hash because Social Security crapped out on me, I would be really freaked out to find my own clone as my boss. I guess, since I’m now 41, my clone would have to be younger than 29 in this scenario. I’d have to quit and find another job.

Or maybe I’d have a heart attack upon seeing my clone and then that problem would be solved.

p.s. Don’t forget to play Spot the Low Top in the VIP Lounge. Look for the line, “I got the low top” somewhere in the comments. When you find that phrase, you will discover who’s It today.

And then we will have fun and experience much joy.

I like statistics. I like seeing the fruits of someone else’s labors because I am math-challenged except when it comes to money.

That’s why Google Analytics works very well for me.

I like to lean back in my chair, prop my feet up on the desk and review the statistics on my blog while I chomp on a bubble gum cigar. I have a tad more than a basic understanding of how the charts work and what they can do but I discovered an awesome feature courtesy of Swistle.

It was there that I learned Google Analytics can drill down to the countries — and even further to the cities — from whence my readers reside. Well that’s a bit of an overstatement.

I’m sure there are folks reading from work, from Starbuck’s or from the library near their house because their boss is a real deck who gives them last minute jobs and then acts like he mentioned the deadline a week or two earlier even though he didn’t. Or so I imagine.

As you may have guessed, I’m always looking for a good topic on which to obsess. So when I find something that fits the bill I rejoice heartily. And it’s time to rejoice, gingah.

I can now place the cavalry on my Risk board game so I have a tangible visual of which part of the world I have invaded with my cyber army.

Even if it’s only once and only by accident.

I’ll never know how that chick from The Hague found me but it’s still exciting. As you may know, The Hague is also the de facto judicial capital of the United Nations. The UN!

And then there’s that person from Casablanca. We only met once, but it’s still very exciting to me. I wonder if that person was on a laptop at Rick’s Cafe.

The bulk of my crew comes from the US (naturally), Canada, the UK, Germany and Australia. After that we’re talking low numbers — just one to three visits.

Of the one-time visitors, I am most intrigued with the city of Bobruysk in Belarus because it “is located at the intersection of … roads to Minsk.”

And anyone who’s anyone should know that Minsk is referenced in the fictional movie “Rochelle, Rochelle” which was featured on Seinfeld. You may recall the tagline, “A young girl’s strange, erotic journey from Milan to Minsk.”

Perhaps I could be that young girl, but I don’t want my journey to be erotic just strange.

Have low tops, will travel.

p.s. Don’t forget to play Spot the Low Top in the VIP Lounge. Look for the line, “I got the low top” somewhere in the comments. When you find that phrase, you will discover who’s It today.

And then we will have fun and experience much joy.

Apparently my kid knows me well enough to anticipate some of my behavior.

The other day I had to ask Katie, my 9-year-old, what that Jonas Brothers song with the slammin’ beat is called.

It’s “Keep it Real.” I did try to search for it before she woke up and produced bupkis. I don’t listen to the lyrics of a song. Either I like it or I don’t. I’m not into social commentary I’m into a good beat — a mood if you will.

If I did pay attention to song lyrics I would have realized the hook is “Keep it Real.” They sing it quite a bit in this song. But I don’t listen because my brain is too busy finding side notes in everyday life. I don’t have time to listen to lyrics, jack.

Anyway, I told her I really like that song and I’m thinking about buying the mp3 so I can listen to it while I work out.

That is when she said, “If you do buy it can you please, please not listen to it on the computer over and over again all day long? I still like that song, too.”

It is true that I play a song I like repeatedly while I’m at the computer. Yes, I’m actually listening to “Keep it Real” on repeat at Grooveshark right now. It’s a good song and everyone else is asleep.

I’m also listening to “Jerk It Out” by the Caesars. Those two songs are on repeat on my two-song playlist right now.

And before you ask, I have no idea what the song “Jerk It Out” is about either, I just know the hook. It’s probably something sexual but I like it and the fact remains that it is a good workout song.

Regardless I thought maybe it was a fluke — her noting my obsessive love of the repeat function — so I noted it and moved on. I’ve also attempted to modify my behaviour* around her.

But it wasn’t a fluke because she accurately called me out the other day without realizing it.

I was asking her what Student of the Month is all about at school. I asked her in a sneaky way because she IS Student of the Month and she will find out today at the school assembly~!~

The school secretary called me last week to share the news while swearing me to secrecy and I will be in the gym watching her at 12:40 today, jack.

But back to our conversation. I was asking her what happens when a kid is chosen Student of the Month. She said that person gets to go in front of the assembly to receive accolades and a school bumper sticker.

I said, “Huh, that’s interesting.”

And she said, “You know you want a bumper sticker.”

It’s true. I do want a school bumper sticker.

In fact I proposed the idea to the principal last year and he said they would start working on it, but I haven’t seen jackola yet.

So I told her, “I guess that means you need to start working on becoming Student of the Month so I can get my bumper sticker, eh?”

And she rolled her eyes.

But that doesn’t matter because tomorrow, while she is at school, I will be tooling around town proudly displaying my bumper sticker on the Mystery Mobile while the Jonas Brothers are keeping it real via the speakers.

Boo. Yah.

*Did you see what I did there? I got my Canuckian/Brit on and used a U in the word behavior. I love that Euro feel even though spell check is adamant that it’s wrong. Kick rocks spell check.

p.s. Don’t forget to play Spot the Low Top in the VIP Lounge. Look for the line, “I got the low top” somewhere in the comments. When you find that phrase, you will discover who’s It today.

And then we will have fun and experience much joy.

I think I made a big ole mistake when I wrote about the dude with the klavier.

Initially I was impressed with his jovial manner and his catch phrase, “Th@nks he@ps,” but it’s getting out of hand now. It’s like the signs at the zoo that say, “Do not feed the animals.”

As soon as I hit publish on that post I began to receive a huge increase in spam from him. I assume it’s a guy since he can’t take no for an answer. Yes, that’s a generalization. Deal with it.

The increase itself is not such a big deal since he gets caught in the spam filter but he’s adapted his approach.

Now he’s linking to my posts. In droves. Like every day there are ten links to ten different posts but they all say the same thing.

Get off of me Iano-pay an-fay. You are all up in my junk and I do not like that.

The only person who should be up in my junk is Mr. C. I might have to send my hit man Jules over to your place to put a cap in your ass.

I’m pretty sure the conversation between you and him will go something like this:

Jules: Describe what Cardiogirl looks like!

Iano-pay an-fay: What?

Jules: [points gun at IP] Say “what” again. Say “what” again! I dare you! I double-dare you, motherfucker! Say “what” one more goddamn time!

IP: Sh-she’s got a brown ponytail.

Jules: Go on!

IP: She always wears bitchin’ Converse low tops.

Jules: Does she look like a betch?

IP: What?!

Jules: [shoots IP in the shoulder, IP screams] Does she look … like … a betch?!

IP: [in pain] No-o!

Jules: Then why’d you try to eff her like a betch, IP?

IP:[faintly] I didn’t!

Jules: Yes, you did! Yes, you did, IP! You tried to eff her. And Cardiogirl don’t like to be effed by anybody except Mr. Cardiogirl.

Word to the wise, IP. If Jules says, “The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men,” you got yourself some big, big ass trouble.

p.s. Don’t forget to play Spot the Low Top in the VIP Lounge. Look for the line, “I got the low top” somewhere in the comments. When you find that phrase, you will discover who’s It today.

And then we will have fun and experience much joy. (Begins to sing, “Happy, happy, joy, joy…)