Will Work For Paycheck

I've been looking for a job. So far, I've applied to three different places with two more prospects on the horizon. I should note that I haven't had a formal job in eight years. Yes, I've been out of the rat race for nearly a decade and my, how things have changed. Only one of the three places I applied to asked for a resume. I offered my resume to the two other places, but they don't accept them. What?! When I worked before, resumes were the backbone of the hiring process!

Not only that... Okay, when I went to interview for Gallagher-Bassett Insurance in Chicago, I had no fear. Attribute that to youth, attribute that to whatever you like, but for some reason, I had butterflies, today. Maybe it's because I haven't worked for so long. You know what I think it really is? I didn't have as much fear before, because applying to work at huge companies in Chicago around the age of twenty -- well let's just say that you can expect a few rejections. Or at least I did. It just so happens that I didn't get rejected, I was accepted immediately. But it's different now. Applying to work at Staples and getting rejected by THEM? Wow, that's a jolt to the ego. I'd like to think I'm more than qualified, thank you very much. I think that's where the nerves came in. Then I sat down to fill out the application, only to be served with a personality/morals test. And that's fine, I don't mind. But some of those questions were worded a little strangely. For example: An employee steals money. The employer fires him. Do you think the employer should NOT have fired him? Check yes or no. Wait... so do I check yes, meaning that I agree with the sentence, or do I check no because checking no means a double negative, therefore meaning that I agree with the sentence? Who writes these questions!?

There's only so many jobs in this town. I'm not prejudiced by any means. My favorite job to date was one that would probably be considered lowly. I was once sneezed on by an elephant. People always give me horrified looks when I tell that story. I don't care. Everyone's job is important. None are better than the other in my eyes, with the exception of telemarketers. (Because I did that job a few years back and I have to say, I don't envy anyone that does that job. I'm so sorry for them. It's very difficult. Be nice to telemarketers. I know they are interupting your time, but they need to do their job, too. The nicest thing you can do if you don't want to talk to them is to hang up. Don't get mad and be all bitchy. No one likes that.) So I've applied to a bank, Staples and a game store (teeheehee). Guess which one I really want. Truthfully, I'd be most happy at the game store, although it doesn't pay well. The bank probably pays the most, but man if you make one friggin' mistake... The other two prospects are gas stations. Meh, easy job. Except for that whole being held-up at gun-point thing. But really, how often does THAT happen? (Don't answer that.)

The Gold Star Mothers

As I've mentioned before, I often compose entries in my head, memorize them, then type then out the first chance I get. Tonight on the long drive home, my husband looked to me and said, "I'd like you to compose something from today." My response to him was something about my brain being mush. When I realized that my only other option was listening to Kade's attempts at yodeling (and he did, all the way home. Did I mention this was a five hour drive?) I changed my tune. Somehow my brain coagulated to form a few thoughts that I'd like to share.

We sat in a hotel room, readying ourselves for the next day. My Chris put cards in order so that I could put them in individual plastic sleeves. As I started, I decided that I should read each name on each card. I did it more for myself than anything. I wanted to remember each name, to reflect on each name. I guess it was my own little way of honoring each of them. And so it began, one hundred and thirty-six names in all, from different places in Illinois, all of them fallen soldiers since the beginning of the war. Each of them would be worn by a PGR member, who would honor that soldier for the day. I read them, the names flowing off my tongue. It seemed so right to acknowledge them in that way. And I was fine until about the one hundred and thirtieth card, then my tongue seemed stuck. This one I remembered. This one brought it all home for me. My Chris, I think having caught on to what I was doing, finished reading the last of the names for me.

I think that each mission is like that for a rider out there. It is different for all of us, but we each have one or maybe even a few missions that we keep close to us. I don't know how to explain it, but it seems like each rider has that one mission that is special to them. Today, I passed out those badges. Some riders requested certain ones, and you could tell that it was because that mission was special to them. One rider came close to tears when he pulled out the very badge that he had ridden on. It was amazing how that worked out. In the end, I had six badges left over. We just didn't have enough riders there to represent each soldier, but I was determined that each soldier WOULD be represented. So a couple of Soldier's Angels, Rose and I all pinned the remaining badges on each other. I was so happy and grateful that they were willing to do so. (And might I add, while I have the chance, that I think all of the ladies of the Soldier's Angels are the sweetest and most generous ladies you will ever meet. I am so glad they were there today.)

We stood in lines on each side of the hall, flags saluting. The Gold Star Mothers walked with their families in between the two lines. When the ceremony began, we all formed rows of Honor Guard. Lt. Gov. Quinn spoke, then they began giving out Gold Star Banners for the families of the fallen. Each were honored. Tissues were definitely needed, but none more so than when they honored Justin King. Having gotten sick with cancer after having joined the military, PFC Justin King refused to be discharged. He passed away a soldier, just as he wanted, just as it should be. It was so awe-inspiring to see him honored in that way.

It is said that under tragic circumstances, people can bond together easily. I think that is true for Patriot Guard Riders. When we see each other, it is usually for a funeral. We continue to meet under a tragic backdrop, so it is only natural that we gravitate towards another. Faces become familiar, we form bonds. We not only form bonds with each other, but with the families, as well. After the ceremony, Chris brought me to Kyle Wehrly's mother. He removed Kyle's badge from my chest to give to her. I had never met her before, but it seemed as though we had known each other forever. Tears formed in her eyes and then mine. We hugged that way, both of us in tears. If I had given her a little bit of comfort, I am happy. As I looked around the room, I found we weren't alone. Families and PGR comforted, hugged, spoke to each other much in the same way. Later, I would hear of the mothers realizing that each soldier was represented by a PGR member, only to seek that member out. In reality, we are complete strangers, but the truth is that there is a bond there.

I think that if we can give comfort to the families of the fallen, then we have done good by them. But what they don't realize is what they have done for us. For each mission that goes by, we wear those badges close to our hearts. For each mission that goes by, we keep a little piece of them close to our hearts, as well.

Don't you know? It's Survivor night!

My husband's assistant manager makes roasts in a crockpot on Thursday nights, just so she won't have to cook on Survivor night. It's a damn good idea; one that I haven't employed, yet. I might have to start using these strategic tactics, because the whole world connives against me on Thursdays.

Let us look at how this day went:

Thursday, Sept. 21, 2006

7:15 woke up and took kid to school

7:30 surfed the internet, went to goldrush, lamented that no new challenges were open

11:30 began a vigil, waiting for that damn challenge to open, only to realize it doesn't open until two in the afternoon.

11:31 gave up on vigil

2:15 picked kid up from school, only to have another child situate himself in the back seat. Damn... I totally forgot about that playdate. It's okay, it's okay, I can still do this.

2:30 ran over to Missouri to pick up cigs, only to find that they no longer carry my hub's brand. I called him from the tobacco store. He actually asked me to check three other places. It's okay, it's okay, I can still do this.

2:45 somehow managed to wrestle the last carton away from an ornery truck driver in the gas station. I beat you, buddy, fair and square.

4:00 get a phone call from mother of the other child, asking me if it would be all right if he stayed longer. How much longer?! Until 6. Okay okay, I can do this, it's still before Survivor.

4:30 call mother to do the every-other-day-gossip, only to get her answering machine.

5:15 started dinner.

5:30 hub tells me those are not the right kind of cigs. I tell him he can either enjoy those or lose out, because they don't make his kind anymore and I'm not about to go over to Missouri again!

6:15 check my son's school bag, only to find a note from the nurse telling me he'd broken his glasses and she'd DUCTTAPED!!! them back together. After checking the arm of said glasses, I found that sure enough, they were broken.

6:20 called the optometrist to see about new glasses. They ask if I can bring them in before eight tonight. Crap! I only forty mins til Survivor, the food is still cooking, the mother has not come to pick up her son... It's okay, it's okay, I can still do this. If I hurry, I can make it.

6:23 mother calls back, I tell her I can't talk now.

6:30 arrive at the optometrist, only to have her tell me she needed to order new frames. The lens were fine, but she realized she didn't have any of his frames in stock to switch them out. Thanks a lot, lady.

6:45 arrive home, check dinner, inquire as to the whereabouts of the other child. They assured me his mother had come to get him, but knowing my hub and my son, that kid could be in Cuba right now for all I know. But you know what? I'm not even going to worry about it, I have fifteen mins until Survivor!

7:00 finish cooking dinner, hurry the boys through prayer, rush into the living room, plop down ready to watch my favorite show...

7:01 "Mom, I have tons of homework tonight. Three pages of math homework and a spelling test to study for." Are you kidding me!?!?!

7:45 Okay, we got the homework done. I got to watch most of the show through intermittant glances at the television. Now I can enjoy the last fifteen minutes in peace.

7:46 "Did you do the laundry? Because you know we're leaving this weekend and I have to have clothes to pack..." Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him, ignore him.

7:47 Whimper, moan, growl. Sasha is not getting in this room for another thirteen mins. Deal with it.

8:00 Survivor is over. I can be all to everyone now!

8:01 "I'm tired, I'm going to sleep," says hub. "I'm gonna play before bed," says kid. No one wants to snuggle, so I let Sasha in.

8:10 Sasha is bored of me and wants back outside.

I give up, people. They only want me when I am busy with everything at once. I give up. I need to get Tivo.

Ice Queen

I awoke yesterday freezing. It was like a sliver of ice had lodged in my spine and refused to leave the entire day. No matter what I did, I couldn't get warm. I know it's autumn and that it's supposed to be colder, but I guess I wasn't expecting it to get cold so quickly. Especially since last weekend, I got burnt being out in the sun. So I'm freezing with a sunburn. Makes no sense.

When Chris came home, I gave him a hug. My arms wrapped around him, my fingers grasping against his back. He jumped about two feet.

"Your hands are like ice!"

Heh, sorry. Later we snuggled under the blanket. For some reason, we always have to have a body part touching. When we sleep, we either spoon or make sure the other person is there by touch. Usually, it's our feet. So I moved my foot over to his. He jumped again.

"Your feet are cold!"

Yes, yes they are. I put socks on. I made a giant cup of coffee. I got out a blanket. I still froze all night long. My son wore shorts. Not once did he complain. The boys are radiators and I'm an air conditioner. Unfortunately, no one wants an air conditioner lying next to them in the cold winter months.

I'm so not ready for winter. I just want to be warm, again.

I got tagged, even though I thought I was on base...

Heather tagged me. Actually, I'm happy about it, because I've been seriously busy and could use a mental break.


1. You can press a button that will make any one person explode.Who would you blow up?

Don't even get me started.

2. You can flip a switch that will wipe any band or musical artist out of existence.Which one will it be?

Paris Hilton.

3. Who would you really like to just punch in the face?

Paris Hilton.

4. What is your favorite cheese?

Paris Hil--- No, just kidding. Ummmm, I like all kinds, really. I guess cheddar.

5. You can only have one kind of sandwich. Every sandwich ingredient known to humankind is at your immediate disposal. What kind will you make?

Number 11 King at Hungry Hobo's. If you've never been to the Quad Cities, you just don't know.

6. You have the opportunity to sleep with the movie (porn counts) celebrity of your choice. We are talking no-strings-attached sex and it can only happen once.Who is the lucky celebrity of your choice?

Wentworth Miller. I love his eyes.

7. You have the opportunity to sleep with the music-celebrity of your choice.Who do you pick?

Uhh... Sting? Yeah, we'll go with him. He's kind of old, though.

8. Now that you've slept with two different people in a row, you seem to be having an excellent day because you just came across a hundred-dollar bill on the sidewalk.Holy shit, a hundred bucks! How are you gonna spend it?

Games.

9. You just got a free plane ticket to anywhere. You have to depart right now.Where are you gonna go?

Japan.

10. Upon arrival to the aforementioned location, you get off the plane and discover another hundred-dollar bill. Shit! Now that you are in the new location, what are you gonna do?

Raise hell.

11. An angel appears out of Heaven and offers you a lifetime supply of the alcoholic beverage of your choice. It is...?

Fucking alcoholics and their alcoholic questions! Yuck. I guess Singapore slings. It's the only thing I can tolerate.

12. Rufus appears out of nowhere with a time-traveling phone booth. You can go anytime in the PAST. What time are you traveling to and what are you going to do when you get there?

This one's easy, 'cause I already planned this shit out. I'm totally going to medieval times, where I shall learn to use a broadsword, buy myself a kickass steed and ride around getting into battles. Hell yeah.

13. You discover a beautiful island upon which you may build your own society. You make the rules. What is the first rule you put into place?

Worship me.

14. You have been given the opportunity to create the half-hour TV show of your own design. What is it called and what's the premise?

Hehehehehe.. oh man. The world ain't ready for me. I shall call it Celebrity Bash. Basically, all the celebrities/public figures I don't like will come on my show where I will beat the shit out of them for the sheer sport of it. And then we all eat cheesecake.

15. What is your favorite curse word?

All of them. "Fuck" comes out most frequently.

16. One night you wake up because you heard a noise. You turn on the light to find that you are surrounded by MUMMIES. The mummies aren't really doing anything, they're just standing around your bed. What do you do?

Practice head shots. They're already dead, anyway.

17. Your house is on fire, holy shit! You have just enough time to run in there and grab ONE inanimate object. Don't worry, your loved ones and pets have already made it out safely.So what's the item?

A locket my Chris gave to me on my birthday.

18. The Angel Of Death has descended upon you. Fortunately, the Angel Of Death is pretty cool and in a good mood, and it offers you a half-hour to do whatever you want before you bite it. Whatcha gonna do in that half-hour?

Flip the Angel of Death the middle finger and go skydiving without a parachute. If I'm going out, might as well be my own way.

19. You accidentally eat some radioactive vegetables. They were good, and what's even cooler is that they endow you with the super-power of your choice! What's it gonna be?

The power to tell the future, so I can go gambling and make lots of money. After I've paid off any debt I have, I will then donate to charities. And then gamble some more, then donate even more. I could singlehandedly save the world with enough time at a blackjack table, I figure.

20. You can re-live any point of time in your life. The time-span can only be a half-hour, though. What half-hour of your past would you like to experience again?

Nov. 1st, 1997. 7:00 p.m.

21. You can erase any horrible experience from your past.What will it be? (the answer "nothing" doesn't count)

Erase? Sheesh... okay. A fight my Chris and I had way back when. That was ugly and dirty. The sex afterwards awesome, though, so I'm not erasing that part.

22. You got kicked out of the country for being a time-traveling heathen who sleeps with celebrities and has super-powers. But check out this cool shit... you can move to anywhere else in the world! Bitchin'! What country are you going to live in now?

Oh for crying out loud. What an annoyance. Scotland, I guess.

23. This question still counts, even for those of you who are under age. Check it out. You have been eternally banned from every single bar in the world except for ONE.Which one is it gonna be?

Who cares? I still wouldn't go to it, anyway.

24. Hopefully you didn't mention this in the super-powers question.... If you did, then we'll just expand on that. Check it out... Suddenly, you have gained the ability to FLOAT!!! Whose house are you going to float to first, and be like "Dude, check it out... I can FLOAT!"?

Whoever happens to be at the top of Mt. Everest. Wouldn't that be a bitch? Dude climbed all the way up there and I just floated. Ha ha!

25. The constant absorption of magical moonbeams mixed with the radioactive vegetables you consumed earlier have given you the ability to resurrect the dead famous-person of your choice. So which celebrity will you bring back to life?

Einstein. Because man, then I can be all "Hey the other day, I was kicking it with Einstein..." Any story after that would automatically be hilarious.

26. The Celestial Gates Of Beyond have opened, much to your surprise because you didn't think such a thing existed. Death appears. As it turns out, Death is actually a pretty cool entity, and happens to be in a fantastic mood. Death offers to return the friend/family-member/person/etc. of your choice to the living world.Who will you bring back?

My son. Whoever made this questionaire has serious issues with death.

27. What's your theme song?

A Thousand Years


I shall tag Char, Charles, and then I shall tag Jeff, Bobby and Chelle (MizRed2u), since they are the newest people on this blog that I haven't pimped properly. Btw, Chelle, which blog would you like me to add to my blogroll? Let me know!

Patriot Guard Riders Day

As it turned out, we couldn't go to the awards ceremony, due to the fact that a mission came up for Chris. Missions take precedence. So we didn't get to go, Chris didn't get to be up there on the stage, but Ed was. And that totally rocks! Ed is a great guy and a fabulous Patriot Guard captain. (He's in the yellow shirt.)

Watch this video!

One of the fallen soldier's fathers (Phil Martini) speaks out. So moving. I am told this plaque will be hanging on my wall.

A Chink In The Armor

I hate it when people go out of their way to be mean to another just for the sheer spite of being mean. If a person deserves it, I may not mind as much. But when someone does something to mess up another's life just so they can sit back and laugh, that is disgusting. It is disgusting and vomitous and makes me want to beat the living shit out of them. One of these days, I won't hold back. The only difference is that I'll be justified in my assault; I am far more cunning and malicious if need be. (Nothing to do with blogland, just venting.)

****************

I fear that I've lost my patience with people. The little things they do... In the beginning, they could be called quirks. After a long enough period, they become annoying bothersome traits that should have been erradicated from the gene pool. Unfortunately, there are enough stupid people left to make sure that that doesn't happen. People suck. And I'm in a terrible mood, today.

****************

On an amusing note, I went shopping for some birthday presents for my son. My adventure led me to an outlet store that had tons of games at reduced prices. I mean, REALLY reduced prices. I walked in, mouth agape, eyes full of wonder as hundreds of games lined the walls. The clerk smirked at his coworker and said, "I think she's lost."

I didn't say anything, but inside I was thinking, "No, son, I'm not lost. I think... I think I might have just found heaven."

A Crack In The Wall

Most of the time, I rarely leave my house. There, I said it. I'm not exagerating. I leave my house to pick up groceries, pick up/drop off my son from school and to go on missions. Otherwise, I'm home. It's not agoraphobia. I will travel outside my home in a heartbeat, if it means going somewhere cool. I just really like my privacy. The doorbell, the telephone, they are intrusions into my world. Most often, I can shrug it off. Some days, it irritates me.

As a child, I might have been a loner. I had friends, but I was very comfortable on my own. I could play for hours by myself, never thinking twice about it. I haven't changed much since then. Social people find this a hard concept to grasp. They think something is wrong with me, or that I don't like them, but that's not necessarily true. I just don't need the constant validation of speaking everyday in order to be your friend. I can go years without talking to my friends, then call them and we pick up right where we left off. There are no "why haven't you called/where have you been?" comments. I like it this way.

I am not a social butterfly. Never have been. I am more laid back and quiet, believe it or not. I don't think I talked to anyone other than family until I was in double digits. Unless you piss me off, then I don't care where we are, I will let you know that shit. I know sometimes I come off as a talkative life of the party type sometimes, but it's not true at all. I loathe social settings. I do like people, just not all at once. That's too much. And to tell you the truth, I can't always follow along, especially if more than one person is speaking. There's only so many times I can ask them to repeat themselves, before both of us get irritated. I should learn to read lips or something. It makes me insecure at times, but I'm too young and vain for a hearing aid.

I don't understand why people talk so much. I don't know why they feel the need to. Most of the time, it's never anything important anyway. What's wrong with silence? Why is there always an incessant need to fill every little moment with noise? You can gain for more knowledge by watching a person, than you ever could by speaking with them.

So I don't go out much. This is my fortress where I gleefully keep myself hostage. In order to get to me, you'd have to get through the black beast Sasha, a yappy Angel, my hero knight Kade and a fire breathing bad-ass that is my husband. And ya know? I really like it this way.

All The Little Things

I'm sure it goes without saying that we all have those little moments. Ya know, the kind that make you feel about "this big". For me, they come with such a frequency, it is enough to make my head spin. At this point in my life, you'd think I'd have rid myself of any shame or humility, but still it rears its ugly head every chance it gets. It only serves as a reminder that, no matter how close I think I am to perfection, I still trip over cracks in the sidewalk, just like any other guy.

Shampoo: Drops of Misery

I don't what it is about taking a shower, but for some reason, I feel as though I am putting on a show. Now, no one sees me in there. No one is watching. Except for ghosts and God. But I'm sure God has bigger plans on his schedule than watching me take a shower. As for ghosts... freaky little pervs, aren't they? Be that as it may, I have no real reason for a performance and yet, in the shower, there I am being all sexy-like for no damn reason. There is no logic to it. Yet, I will soap and lather my body, as if Brad Pitt were there with a peephole.

Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about, ladies. I know I can't be the only one that lifts my arms above my head and stretches there in the shower, because to do such a thing is an instant breast lift. I don't care how perfect you think your boobs are. Lift your arms above your head and suddenly, your boobs are even more perfect. It's great.

So there I was, during one of my daily "performances". I had a notion to shampoo this head of mine. I realize I am not normal. I realize that I have tons of hair, more than the average female. I even wish my hair weren't so thick, but it is. So I must use more shampoo than the average person. It is said that one must use a quarter-sized amount of shampoo to wash their hair. Since I have more, I figure a half-dollar should do. So I squeeze a half-dollar onto my hand. And then I sexily move my arm above my head to lather my hair. It's even more sexy if you tilt your head back at the same time. So I do so.

And that's when it happens. The half-dollar sized glop of shampoo drops off my hand straight into my eye. It might not have been so bad, if it were a smaller amount, but we're talking a huge glop, here. My performance is instantly ruined, as I blink rapidly, flailing about not sure what to do with my arms (because as we all know, do not RUB your eyes if this happens). Completely stunned, I turn around and put my face directly into the water. It burns. It burns more than the fires of hell. In fact, this is what hell is. The devil is down there dropping shampoo into bad people's eyes. Seriously, this shit burns.

Eventually, I did get around to washing my hair. After my shower, I spent the next forty-five minutes applying eye drops to my eyes. I spent the rest of my day looking as if I had pink eye. Luckily for me, Brad Pitt was absent that day.

The Intricacies of Public Restrooms

We all know our shit stinks, but when we're at home, it's different. After a good bathroom break, we can walk out, feeling proud, thinking, "Yeah, smell me! Smell my loveliness! Smother in my fragrance!" Or maybe, that's just me. In public, it's very different. I loathe public restrooms, because I know that my shit smells like... well, shit. So I refuse to do number two in them. I refuse to subject anyone else to my stuff. I only wish that other people had the same curtesy. Now don't get me wrong, when you gotta go, you gotta go. But let us all try harder to make sure we don't need to do number two in a public restroom, please? If I walk in after you, I will try to be polite, but there really is no polite gagging sound and I can only hold my breath for so long.

But really, I must ask that we all try to be more cleanly in public restrooms. Now I can't speak for the men, as I have never been in a men's restroom (that I will admit to). Ladies, we are pigs. I mean, it's not even amusing. We are nasty, nasty creatures. How the hell does that toilet paper get all over the floor, anyway? Did some chick have one nasty battle with the dispenser? I don't get it. I don't get how we can walk into a restroom looking spectacularly beautiful (as all women are), walk out looking spectacularly beautiful, but somewhere in the middle there, we turn into monsters. We get soap and make-up all over the counters and leave it. Some of us never learned to flush. Others can't aim. Yeah, you men thought only you had that problem. And others think that a public restroom is a great place to pull the feathers off chickens. Who knew?

I can't really explain how it happened, as I wasn't there for the "battle". I think it was a battle. I don't really know. But from the carnage left behind, it had to have been a monumental battle. We stopped at a gas station once. Kade and I popped out to use the unisex bathroom. Kade went in, only to come straight back out, announcing that he couldn't use it. I looked in. Chicken feathers everywhere. How does THAT happen? I don't mean a few feathers that might have fallen off a boa or a feathered coat. I mean, there were feathers covering everything. The toilet, the sink, the floor... the worst part was that they were gooey wet feathers. Nasty. And so I must ask that we all be more respectful to the other people that may walk in behind us. If you have shit that stinks like shit, do a curtesy flush beforehand. If you get soap, make-up or toilet paper all over, clean it up. If you go to the bathroom with a chicken, wait till you get home to pluck it. I don't think I'm asking all that much. I really don't.

Sometimes You Feel Like a Nut

I woke up with a serious headache, today. We're talking the split-your-head-open-with-an-axe type of headache. My first response to such a thing is to ignore it, hoping that it will give up and go away. But no, this one is persistent. Then I think that it must be a sugar thing. If I eat something, perhaps it will end this epic cranium assault. But noooo, that would be too easy. I have a real problem with taking medicine. I don't like to do it. I will go out of my way not to do it. It's not the taste that bothers me. It's the fact that I can't beat whatever is ailing me on my own.

"Take some aspirin," Chris tells me.

No! If I take aspirin, then the headache has won! I must beat this on my own. I try to lay with my feet propped up, but this really only works on stomachaches. I try deep-breathing. Nothing. Finally, I give up and pop a few aspirin. This headache may have won the first battle, but the war rages on. Next time, I will try temple massages...

Kade: The Superhero

On some days, Kade and I can be found playing on the internet together. Our last search involved looking up Ernest Borgnine, then the Pentagon. He didn't believe that the Pentagon was really shaped like one. So the other day, on a whim, I did a google image search on "Kade". Turns out, oddly enough, there are quite a few kids named Kade, which pisses me off, because when I named him, no one had that name.

But the best part of our search was when we found out that there's a comic book named after him. The hero's name is Kade and everything: You can see it here.

I am now in the process of trying to convince him that he needs a black sun tattoo on his left shoulder. He isn't going for it, no matter how much that would rock. Darn child.