Turn away!

Mr. Cold Sore, the wicked stepbrother of Honda's Mr. Opportunity, is paying a visit to the island of Ryan's face. He's early; he usually doesn't throw his bags at the foot of the stairs until October. And he's here at a bad time. We had family pictures this morning, and I have a meeting with a client tomorrow afternoon. Darn you, you evil, non-curable, starving for attention little virus!

As I said, family pictures were this morning. It's a family tradition to take our picture on Labor Day. We had been planning it for weeks. In early August Chanel, Pantone chips in hand, went searching for the perfect pink and brown shirts and pants for all of us. We were good to go. Until He Who's Name Cannot Be Uttered (aka Mr. Sourpants Cold Sore) showed up last night. It wasn't too bad at 10 p.m., so I dabbed some Vaseline on it and went to bed thinking it would disappear, would go back where it came from, would leave me alone for a season.

No such luck. I woke up to Mr. CS's alarm clock. He wakes up at 6 a.m., and his alarm clock is always set to some contemporary light rock station. I knew I was in trouble when I was asked the rhetorical yet poignant question, "How can we make love when we can't make amends?" I'm not sure Mr. Bolton. I'm not sure.

I was pretty upset that we'd have to postpone our photo until Cold Cut Sore left the building. However, Chanel, ever the optimist, said, "Oh, no worries. We'll just use make-up."

Huh?

Make-up?

Dude, I'm a dude. 100% male. I make Fonzie looks like Boy George. I'm a man's man. I'm the guy Colt Seavers calls when he's having trouble with his lady friends. I'm so tough Hulk Hogan takes two vitamins and says three prayers before we play racquetball at 24 Hour Fitness every Tuesday at 5:30 a.m. I'm hard core. When I go through metal detectors my metal heart sets the alarms a blazin' every single time.

But it was our family picture, yo. You don't mess with our family picture. So I agreed on one condition: I got to pick out the mascara.

Chanel did a Glamour Shots meets Macy's make-up lady job on me. When she was done, the cold sore was gone. You'll have to see the family picture to believe it. Seriously, Chanel should send her portfolio to Wes Craven.

I'm debating whether or not I should enter the make-up trailer again tomorrow so I don't scare my client. Thoughts? You're free to leave a comment to cast your vote, or simply to make fun of the fact that I have yet another cold slaw sore.

Well, I have to go now. I arm wrestled the Cold Sore to see who'd have to do the dishes, and I lost.

I need help

Calling all blog-dwellers:

I am making a short film, and I need your help. If you, or someone you know, lives in any of the following cities, please let me know ASAP:

Salt Lake City
Los Angeles (preferably near Hollywood, or a beach)
San Francisco
Portland (most important, need the most there)

I cannot reveal the premise of my film, but I guarantee that it contains no nudity, drug use, or squirrels.

Also, I have come to learn that essentially every time I open my mouth, people cannot tell if I am serious or not. I am serious. I'm so serious. I'm super-serious.

Seriously.

Thanks everyone!

31:06

Yesterday morning I ran my first race since becoming a born-again runner. It was the Castle Rock Stake's 6K, and a great time was had by all that survived.

For those of you unfamiliar with running terms, 6K is short for 6 Klondikes. Back in the gold rush of the late 1800s a group of 100 unshaven, unbathed men headed towards California with one goal and one goal only; to create a new running race. Only six survived. Actually, all 100 survived, it's just that faced with the decision of either creating a new race or becoming millionaires, 94% followed the money.

There were about 40 of us at the race, including three streakers. I was surprised by the level of runners our stake has. Bro Pyfer, his wife and their nine-year-old son were there. Bro Washburn was there, too. I'm terrible with names, so I couldn't name another person that was there, but I do know the guy in the high council that always talks about baseball was the organizer. A young guy won the race. He just moved here from Vegas a few weeks ago.

I'm looking forward to my next race almost as much as Chanel was looking forward to the next Harry Potter. She was one of the devoted fans that bought the book at midnight, and she brought Julia with her so she could be exposed to the thrill and excitement that surrounds HP. She rushed home, blogged about the book-buying experience, then read until a crazy hour of the evening/morning. When I got home from my race this is what I found:

My exhausted readers. I love them.

I think that the Founders Ward Elders Quorum is the best quorum I have ever been in. Everyone is really excited to be a part of it. The lessons always have a lot of interaction. It's great to be a part of this quorum.

Today when we got home from church Julia put a pajama shirt on. Then she said to me, "Dad, I have to take my skirt off now, because people will think I'm a jama-pickin' girl. That would be so embarrassing." I used to love the fact that she didn't care about her hair and how it looked. Now she doesn't want to be associated with kids that select pajamas as their primary articles of clothing.

Back for real this time

Hello dear reader, if you still exist.

I'm back.

For real this time.

I'm going to actually post more than once a quarter.

And I'm going to write really interesting things.

Like this: this evening I helped a new family move into the ward. They were very well organized. I am considering awarding them the "Move of the Year" award. It's a coveted award, so I should probably wait until the end of the year. But they are on the short list.

I'm currently reading Bushman's biography on Joseph Smith. I am developing a deep respect for Joseph Smith and all that he did. The book is well-written. It gives accounts from both members and disbelievers, so I feel like I'm getting a thorough overview of who he really was, blemishes and all.

I haven't been running lately, and my body is fully aware. It's a little perturbed with me. I'll be running tonight around 10 if anyone wants to join me. I'll be the one in the short shorts and the tiny socks.

I wish my friend Dylan wore short shorts and tiny socks. He'd look so handsome.

That's about all for now. We have quite a few meetings to get ready for at work, so as long as I survive (in my mach 5) I'll post regularly.

I'm so stressed!

No, this is not a mirage. The Castle Rocker is back. He's back in black. He's back in the saddle. He's back to business. He's got his back against the wall. He's back to back national champions. He's getting his back waxed. He's got bacne. He's going back to school, to show dad he's not a fool.

(Sources: AC/DC, Aerosmith, cliche, cliche, what UNLV should have been in 1991, a person who doesn't like body hair, me, Billy Madison)

I have decided that what the world needs now, is blogs, sweet blogs. I haven't updated this bad boy since November. A lot has happened in my life. But because I neglected to blog about my life's special moments, I am doomed to forget them. Well, no more.

The real reason I am blogging is because I am very stressed out. My life can't be simple, can it? I need advice from you. Please help me solve my stressful problems.

1. I have a free ski pass for Vail on Saturday. Augghhh!! Why me? As if that wasn't stressful enough, I'm faced with a difficult decision: ski or snowboard?

Do you see my point about my stressful life? Wait, it gets worse.

2. Holly (or as I like to call her behind her back, Holland, or Holly-wood) has a sister in Carson City, or Reno, or some place in Northern Nevada. This sister has invited me and my family to Thanksgiving dinner. I can't decide if we should bring sweet potatoes or yams. Augghhh!!

3. My friend Spencer's wife's son Bryton is almost potty trained. I can't let him beat me! I'm almost there!

4. Some dude named Assumptuous is stalking me. Big time.

5. Ashley Mofat can totally out-surf me.

6. I'm not related to any type of baseball player. No big leaguer in my bloodline. Not even a Single-A batting practice pitcher. But, then again, Heather Abbott's not, either.

7. My buddy K.C. Black saw Krueger cut down the net, and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.

8. My good buddy Dylan landed a dream job, and I had nothing to do with it! I can't take any type of credit for his success, and it's driving me crazy!

9. I'm trying to include everyone in Chanel's blog world, and I'm stressing that I may have forgotten someone!

Thanks for reading. See you again in four months.