It is with great sadness that I announce the death of my beard. After a brief, yet courageous fight, my beard succumbed to the blade, at the direction of the executioner. Alas, we didn’t have enough time to conquer the world and make it the awesomely awesome place we knew it could be. Goodbye, my friend.
Archive for Sep, 2007
So a few weeks ago, I had not shaven for a few days and decided I would let it go until my wife called me on it. By the time she complained, I was sporting a respectable beard. It was still young, but established, so I continued to grow it. Last night, I augmented it; partly to tick her off over an argument earlier yesterday evening, and partly just for fun. I shaved just one razor’s stripe down my chin, resulting in some odd pseudo-redneck-fu-manchu. The results were exactly what I was looking for. She was ticked, and I looked awesome. By Kati’s bedtime tonight, Leigh Ann put her foot down and told me she wouldn’t be seen in public with me until I shaved “that stupid beard”. So, I acquiesced. Kinda. I promptly went over to the sink and began shaving. Little did she know, I was only unleashing the full power of the fu. Now, my awesomeness is impossible to calculate or comprehend.
So, Friday night we went to Lil Burro some good Mexican feasting. I had planned on getting a light meal, maybe some jalapeño poppers and one taco. When we get in, there’s a note on the message board about the new Fire Jalapeño Poppers, and a list of people who were able to eat some. The guys up there when I come in had done three and five. I think to myself, “Poppers? Come on, you just toss them back. Five is nothing!” So, we settle down into our booth and order some nice spicy cheesy-salsa dip and chips. It has a little bit of a kick, but I’m not worried about overload. If anything, it’ll get me accustomed and help, right?
When they arrive, I discover what I’m in for. They aren’t poppers. They’re full Anaheim peppers, grown on site, not crap peppers bought at a grocery store. Originally, they looked like these:
They look like this upon arrival:
Up close, they look like this:
Now, I get a little worried. Surely, they can’t be that bad though. I’ve had the Chile Relleños there before and survived intact.
The server had warned, “They’re okay at first, but after the first two or three bites, you’ll really start to feel it.” LIAR! I took one bite and knew I was in serious trouble. Immediately, I went to the iced tea for help. (It didn’t.) Now, I was presented with a serious quandary. Do the smart thing and move on to the taco, swallowing my pride, or trudge onward in a vain attempt to get on that stupid board? You guessed right, I went for the glory, determined to eat all five on my plate and attain honor.
The ensuing half hour was a battle of epic proportions. I valiantly fought bite after bite. Of course, there was a good five minutes between each bite, during which I consumed vast quantities of iced tea, sour cream, ranch dressing, chips, straight sugar packets, and anything else within reach I thought might soak up some of the demon sauce assailing my tongue. In the end, I believe that is what did me in. Peppers + an entire gut full of iced tea-soaked dairy = defeat. With my last ounce of energy divided between taking the last bite and fighting the urge to hurl all over the table, I took the last bite of the third pepper, at which point I literally tossed in the towel (napkin).
After paying, we get up to the front and I put my name on the board with a marginal amount of pride, having not died at the table. Then, I see it. Whilst I was barely surviving a nuclear assault, some guy had apparently done ten, or come back on the same day and did five twice. I was humbled, yet still proud to have my name up there for a few hours until they reset the clock.
I spent the rest of the weekend fearfully waiting for my large intestine to spontaneously rupture; yet, it never happened. For that, I am thankful.
Every so often, God takes me by surprise. I set out for my nightly run last night and decided to go a new way on a whim. Instead of sticking to the neighborhood, I cut down half a block and went down the back road that runs behind my neighborhood. (This is going somewhere, I promise.) There’s no street lights and it’s a fairly steep hill on either side. All I can do is keep looking the 4-5′ in front of me that I can see and hope for there to be no cracks/rocks/errant skateboards. I barely saw the mud patch in time to prepare for it. I was going at a decent clip and there was no way I was going to be able to stop, but I was able to adjust for it and not get caught off guard. I scrape the mud off the best I can and keep going. I get past the bottom of the hill and go another half block or so before I decide to turn around and head back home. I don’t want to tackle the upside of the hill with slick shoes, so I scrape them off some more and bend down to tighten the laces on one of them. When I get up, something catches my eye. The sky is lit up in a spectacular show. Where I’ve stopped is just on the other side of a golf course and the course is elevated about 16′ above the sidewalk is, completely obscuring the northern horizon. With no street lights, and the light pollution from the north removed, the sky is completely opened up to me. I can see all the constellations, and even the faint band of the Milky Way streaking right over my head. God was speaking to me through his Creation. He was saying, “STOP! Hold up a second. Stop running every second of the day and look around. Look at what I made for you.” He’s right. I need to relax once in a while and quit rushing along head first all the time and enjoy the blessings He’s given to me.
It’s humbling, yet amazing, to know God loves me so much, he’d tap me on the shoulder late at night on a dark road just to hang out with me for a second.