...And for 43 year olds

What can I say? I'm childish to a fault sometimes.

The Same is the Aim of this Game

Hey, did you know that this Saturday will be Mr. & Mrs. Gressel's 11th anniversary? Cool, no?

Yep – the Lovely Mrs. G. and I have been married (officially) for 11 years this weekend. We were technically married on Thursday the 12th, thanks to signed and notarized paperwork at the Missoula, Montana courthouse, but the ceremony was on Saturday the 14th, so that's the day we mark every year. To-ma-to, To-mah-to, I know.

What's the secret of our marital bliss? Well, other than paying attention to most of the 10 Commandments and the usual "biggies", the lovely Mrs. G. and I really don't have that many hard-set rules in our marriage. There's the usual suspects: Don't drive home stinking drunk, don't smack each other around, no messing around with other people, don't wear my underwear, thou shalt pick your crap up off the floor every now and then.

But there's one rule of Mrs. G's that I proudly obey – 11 years ago this Saturday, I promised my lovely bride that I would never, ever, EVAH…make her dress up the same as me.

You know – matching t-shirts and the ilk? That's strictly taboo in the Gressel home.

Ah, but I recently stumbled across a website that not only embraces this "dress alike" policy, they actually profit from it! Check this out – http://www.matcheez.com/

Matcheez, according to their site, "specializes in coordinating outfits in sizes from infants' newborn size through adults' size 6XL!" Yes, as sick and wrong as it may sound, you, your spouse, your kids, the dog, and even your Fat Aunt Blabby can all dress alike! Doesn't that sound soooooooo cute?

Excuse me while I shudder uncontrollably at the mere thought.

Now, the nice people at Matcheez must realize that for some of us, dressing the entire family alike is akin to blasphemy and/or armed robbery on the Sin-O-Meter. It's just something you don't even dare suggest, out of fear of being laughed right out of the family tree. So it was considerate of them to include the following on the top of their FAQ page:

Why would our family want to dress alike?
Get into the family spirit! It can be fun and practical to dress alike. Matching outfits help keep track of your children at the zoo, on field trips, during vacations or on other outings. Family portraits look better when everyone co-ordinates their clothing. Little girls love to get matching doll outfits for their birthdays. School clubs and teams can show their school spirit by dressing alike. Holidays and family events like Easter Sunday, Christmas morning, engagements, family reunions and weddings provide the perfect opportunity to dress in matching clothing. Whatever reason inspires you, let matcheez.com help you show your family unity to the world.

Sick, sick, sick.

Time has of course marched on, and sometimes opinions change. Just to make sure that Mrs. G. hadn't changed her mind about dressing exactly like me (and the cats, if we so choose), I recently sent her the Matcheez link, asking if this was her own private version of Hell. Her reply? "For families who love to match?!! Who are these families? And why hasn't someone run over them with a car?"


(And for the record, nobody is suggesting that you actually stomp on the gas and mow down an identically clad family the next time you see them crossing the street. Mock them if you must and pity them if you will, but please – don't go out and get a bunch of matching t-shirted kissing cousins stuck in your grille.)

But you do have to wonder exactly how "fun and practical" it would be to dress the same as your kiddies, your pet goat, and/or your drooling grandfather. People may look at you and say "Aw, ain't that quaint." Or they may look at you and say, "C'mon, kids – stay on our side of the street, and don't make eye contact."

Besides, no matter how much "family spirit" there is, you just know that there will be at least one sullen teenage girl in the family who'd rather wear a paper bag over her head than risk being seen dressed just like her slob of a Dad by any of her friends. I mean, as if! In this age of camera phones and MySpace pages called "Check It Out -- Ashley Dresses Like Her Mom!", it'd be social suicide, wouldn't it?

Yep – publicly wearing the same clothes as someone else is okay if you're a twin, and you're either 5 years old or you're filming a Doublemint gum commercial. Other than that? I'd probably have to think twice, and change once.

So there you have it – one great big vote of "NO" to matching clothing, from the happily married (and still uniquely individual) Mr. & Mrs. Thomas J. Gressel. Mrs. G. will remain lovely as ever in her professional ensembles, and I'll go on wearing my old Disney World t-shirt with the hole in the armpit.

Happy anniversary, Mrs. G. I love you millions.

Now, how do you feel about matching tattoos?

Auntie Em! Auntie Em!

It was a wild night here last night.

2:29 AM. I’m fast asleep, dreaming of something really important (I’m sure). Dixie Cat is between The Lovely Mrs. G. and I, tucked in tight. All is fine.

And then I start to hear it. The high pitch whine coming from outside. Louder and louder, then softer, then louder.

It’s the tornado siren.

Well, lemme tell ya: Nothing says “Good morning, Omaha!” like being jarred awake by the tornado sirens.

I can see the lightning flashing through the bedroom window, and the thunder is loud – and short. It sounded more like cannonballs being fired than thunder.

So I lean over the cat and shake Mrs. G., who is starting to come to (the noise of the sirens was doing what it was supposed to), and off we went to the basement.

In 13 years of living in the Midwest, this is only the second time we’ve been woken up by the tornado sirens. The first time was about 12 years ago, when we lived in a crappy 2nd floor loft apartment in Cowtown, USA. We weren’t sure where we needed to go for safety, so we just hung around the bathroom area (no windows there) for a while until it passed.

But this time we were as ready as we could be. Mrs. G, the two cats, and I all huddled around the big screen, watching the storm’s progress on TV. Everywhere around us they were telling people to seek shelter, because “trained spotters” (i.e. guys who aren’t supposed to B.S. you) were saying that a tornado had touched down around South 132nd St and L St, which is about 4 miles NW of us. There’s a new Target store and a Wal-Mart on that corner that apparently had lost their roofs, and while that storm was marching east, another tornado was reported near 140th & Harrison.

Oh, shit.

Now, to put us in perspective of where these tornadoes touched down, take a look at this graphic I swiped from the local TV station.

The big red circle? That’s what took Dorothy and Toto away. Just to the SE of there, the corner of 84th & Giles Rd? Yeah, that’s us. See me waving up at you?

Fortunately, the tornado fizzed out somewhere around 120th St. We saw a lot of lightning through the basement window, and a pretty nasty heavy downpour, but that was about it. No damage, no injuries, nobody killed. Thank God.

This morning they’re still trying to figure out where exactly the tornadoes hit, and how much damage was done to area homes. But this is the third time this week that Mother Nature has given the middle finger to the Omaha area – several of my co-workers had their homes and cars damaged by tornadoes last week. Hail the size of baseballs slamming through your roof and windows will do that.

So I’m glad to report that all is fine in the Gressel household. We got back to bed around 3:15, after the sirens stopped and the storm moved on to the east. I’m groggy today, but I’m sure that’s mostly from my nerves being on edge last night.

Like many things in life, there’s not much you can do to stop a tornado. You just have to find a safe place, say a little prayer, and make sure you have your insurance premiums up to date.

And the next time they want to raise the taxes to improve the tornado siren warning system, smile and happily pay it. It’s worth it.

It's a Road Hazard - AND a Tourist Attraction!

I had a flat tire last night. Bummer, ain’t it?

I was pulling out of the parking lot from work, and I knew something was wrong – you step on the gas, and the car goes, right?

Not this time. It was more of a “drag” than a “go”.

So I pulled over on a little side street, and there it was: a big silver nail, smiling back at me from the inside tread on the driver’s side rear tire.

Oops.

So no big deal – I’ve changed dozens of tires in my life. In fact, my Dad insisted that I know how to change a tire when he was teaching me how to drive. It came in handy, too – about a month after I got my license I had a full-blown blowout at around midnight, and that skill came in handy.

Anyway, I manage to get the car jacked up and the lug nuts off, but for some reason the tire won’t come off. What the hell? All of the lugs were off – there’s no reason why it shouldn’t just pop right off, like all of the other tires in this world.

So I did what every guy does as a last resort – I read the owner’s manual. It said if you have steel wheels, you need to remove the hubcap one way, or if you have aluminum wheels, you need to remove the hubcap another way.

Well, I have the factory original wheels – neither steel or aluminum. In fact, if I were a bio-scientist, I’d probably end up calling them “plasticus cheapus.”

So there I was – stuck with a flat tire that I can’t change. So I went to Plan B: I called AAA.

The nice people at AAA were very sympathetic, and said they’d get someone out there ASAP, which meant about 90 minutes. (Hey – I’m not complaining. It was primetime rush hour, and I was dead in the water without them.)

So I sat back in my jacked-up car, rolled the window down, and did my homework while I waited.

Now here’s the point of my story. (You knew that there’d be one, right?)

I sat out there on S 123rd Plaza in beautiful downtown La Vista, Nebraska for almost 90 minutes, and not one car that went around me stopped to see if I needed help. I didn’t really expect anyone to stop; heck, I probably wouldn’t have stopped, either. You never know what you’re getting in to these day when you stop to help a stranger.

Nobody stopped. But you wouldn’t believe how many people drove past, SLOWED DOWN, AND STARED.

Yes, apparently I was a big tourist attraction. They’d pull right alongside my disabled vehicle, slow way down, and stare at me and my wounded Sebring, as if we were some sort of broken down freak show. They’d then drive off, hopefully going home to share the lurid tale of the “mysterious car with the flat tire” with all of the other townsfolk, who were busy sharpening their pitchforks and lighting torches to go kill the beast.

The saddest part of this story is that about half of the cars that slowed down to stare had Iowa license plates. (Yes, after a while I began to notice.) Since we were in the heart of Nebraska, that makes the story twice as interesting.

Do you suppose all of these rubberneckers were calling each other? “Hey Ethyl – git yourself over yonder to Nebraska land. There’s this strange thing out thar – a car broken down!” (I’ve been to Iowa many times – believe me, broken down cars aren’t a rare sight.)

Long story short, AAA showed up, the driver got the tire off (turns out it just needed a good kick), and I was off and on my way about 3 minutes later, driving on my incredibly cool mini-spare tire: The Weenie Wheel.

I’m surprised nobody followed me home with an old 8MMM movie camera.

Happy Blogday to Me

It was 3 years ago today that I started this blog. My, how times flies.

A lot has changed in those 3 years - new jobs, new family members, new houses, a new state... but the one constant is still there. The one thing that I mentioned in my first post, 443 messages ago.

I'm getting old(er).

I've come to embrace my fortysomething-ness, because it's kind of nice to no longer be seen as a punk kid. I no longer get carded, which is nice, and I no longer have to buy expensive jeans and tennis shoes to impress anyone.

Of course, that doesn't mean I have to grow up anytime soon. I still love my Disney time, and I'll drive a convertible forever, if I can. And having a young grandchild in my life helps keep my youthful spirit kicking.

So happy 3 years of blogdom. Not many of these things last that long, I suspect.

And here's to another year of mocking, bitching, ranting, and generally having fun online.

Cheers!