First of all, forgive the randomness of this post, as I only slept about three hours last night and it’s getting to that part of the day where things stop making sense.

So, last night down at the Gospel Music Channel’s studio in Atlanta, (thanks Carlos for not coming to visit even though it was in the middle of the Presidential Debate) there was a ridiculous amount of snacks and beverages laying around for everyone to take part it.  And what does one do in between taking pictures, talking about blog stuff, and watching video performances over and over?  They drink stuff.  They drink multiple bottles of water, Sprite, Diet Coke, more water because they can’t handle any more Diet Coke, and even a little coffee for good measure.

Here’s the problem with being a four hour drive away from home and having an entire day of sipping on selected beverages.  Nature takes it’s course and one might find themselves in need of a restroom more than once on the late night drive home.  Now, if any of you have driven the stretch between Atlanta and Nashville you know, that aside from Chattanooga, there’s not many spots to pull over and take a stop, and I for one am horrible at choosing the right place to take these stops.  I look for things that seem decent but always end up in places that I’m afraid I am leaving with a disease.

So last night at our second attempt to stop at a decent restroom, I had the choice between two gas stations.  One on the right, and one under the freeway to the left.  The one on the right looked a little dark and gross, so I decided to go to the one on the left.  As I pulled in I noticed the sign informing me that the restrooms were, in fact, outdoor restrooms.  Strike one.  I walked around the corner to find two doors.  ”Women’s” and “Men’s”.  At first I debated just going straight into the women’s knowing that typically women are cleaner than men and since it was after two in the morning there was sure to be vacant.  Locked.  Strike two.

As I opened the next door I noticed, first that it was unlocked, and second that it was occupied.  Not only was it occupied but it was occupied by a guy maybe in his early twenties, standing there with his back to me.  This particular guy was not only not facing me, he was also not facing any sort of toilet.  He was, however, doing what one would typically do when they are facing the toilet.  This guy was literally turned completely to the side and was peeing on the wall and directly on to the plastic mechanism that dispensed the toilet paper.  The floor was pooling and the toilet paper was now saturated with what I can only assume was at one point large amounts of alcohol.  

I took a step back and closed the door, and started to walk back to the car as the door opened behind me and a loud “Whaaattsssssuuuppp” came from behind me.  I turned to see now the front of this guy who was clearly under the influence of a different sort of beverage.  A slight nod and I was headed back to the car to look for a third option.

So, I got this email the other day from a church I visited one time.  I must have filled out some guest registration thing and ended up on someone’s list.  So far they haven’t abused it so I’m not regretting giving it to them or anything like that.  In fact, I’m actually pretty glad I got an email from them stating that today a bunch of guys were getting together to play some softball, and if there was enough interest they would talk about starting a church team in the county league coming up.  I played baseball in high school, and softball when I lived in California, so Randy and I decided to give it a go.

Here’ the weird part.  I’ve never actually met any of these people.  I literally visited the church once because a friend asked me to.  I really liked the church, but with gas prices and me playing guitar at our church it hasn’t really worked out for us to visit again.  I am, however, not opposed to playing softball with guys from the church…. once we meet.

Anyway we show up at this complex thing, and there are people on three different fields so we just stood in the middle and tried to guess which one looked like a church.  I guessed the field with the least amount of people and was wrong.  Randy guessed the field with the lady and the baby and guessed right.  

Today was basically one guy hitting the ball and everyone else running around trying to catch it and not look stupid.  At first I thought I was doing okay, until the sweat started dripping into my eyes and making me blind.  Then it was my turn to hit.  Now, I haven’t played any sort of athletic anything since I have lived in Tennessee, but hitting a ball is sort of like riding a bike right?  Anyway, I think we got like twenty pitches or something, but about halfway through I could feel my hands really starting to hurt, but the guy just kept pitching the ball, so I kept swinging.

Eventually my turn was over and I walked back to put the bat away and looked at my hands.  No good. One blister had already ripped off, and the other was just forming.  Turns out you don’t get many calluses typing on computers or keeping track of musicians.  So now, next week I will be the dork with the two batting gloves looking like I’m taking things way to seriously.  Hello Softball.

Dear Apple. 

Your iPhone is neat.  It’s been neat for a while now.  

I do have one small favor to ask.  Can you please make sure that when you do updates for your neat iPhone that there is enough room on your server for people that are going out of town for the next two days to be able to update.  It’s a little frustrating having your entire phone cleared off and then getting an error message saying that your iTunes store is having “unexpected errors” moments before leaving town.  It would be awesome when you tell me that something is “ready for an update” to actually be ready for an update.  

I still like your phone, but I wish I could use it as a … you know…. phone… instead of a fancy piece of glass and metal.  I know it’s a lot to ask, but I hope that you will take this request into consideration.

Your fair weather friend,
brody

Today I picked up the baby and then wanted to fall on the floor and cry.  Something bad happened.  It’s been bugging me a little today and then I put the baby in his highchair and BAM, I was broken.  Broken to the point of being short of breath and wanting to cry like a baby.  

I wish we had a chiropractor that lived with us.  Maybe under the stairs or something.  Somewhere not really in the way or anything but maybe we could go to a closet unhook him from a hook and he could fix me.  Then I could hang him up again for next time.  Though I imagine if I had to hang him up, I run the risk of hurting myself hanging him up, causing me to need to get him down again and that could get annoying.  I’d be willing to buy him a step stool or something so he can do get up there himself though.  That’s the type of guy I am.

I’m broken somewhere between the middle of my shoulder blades all the way around under my arm and into my chest.  Like that picture only I have more hair and the man boob makes it awkward.  

Do you ever wish someone would swing you by your feet from the roof and stretch you out?  I do.

Remember my disorder that many of you admitted to sharing with me?  Well today it flared up bad and attacked me when I was vulnerable.  Here’s how lunch went down.  

First off we ended up in a very crowded Puckett’s Grocery for lunch where we juggled the three boys for fifteen minutes while waiting for a table.  Once we were seated I didn’t have much time too look at the menu and all of the sudden my stupid allergic to everything face decided to have a nose bleed again.  Neat.  Here I am in a crowded restaurant scrambling for napkins and looking around for the bathroom.

After that fiasco I got back to the table just in time for the waitress to show up and ask what I wanted.  Crap!  Now what am I supposed to do?  I looked at the menu and since Puckett’s is sort of a “meat and three” place, that’s what I said.  

“Meat and three.”

She pointed at a chalkboard across the room and asked me what kind of meat and what kind of three.  ”What? No Fair!! A second menu?!!”

I started reading the chalkboard and said the first things that I saw.

“Smoked chicken, turnip greens, mashed potatoes, and squash casserole.”

What the crap?!  Why would I ever eat any of that?  Ever since I was old enough to eat chicken I have never been able to eat meat off of a bone and this particular cooking style (smoked) made the chicken taste like it had been dropped in a campfire for ten minutes, then pulled out and then given to me on a plate.  I politely ate my mashed potatoes and then shared Kristin’s salad.  

I think we have decided that Kristin is ordering for me from now on.  I’ve had better lunch experiences.