Into a cup, in the middle of the day

It's the continuing saga of the struggle of one blog to survive. I think I'm ready to proclaim next month Blogust. I just hope we make it that long. In other news completely unrelated to my lack of blogging, my current FreeCell record is 353-28, while my most consecutive games won is 44.

In attempting to recreate the 4th of July this year, I severely misunderestimated the difficulty in finding fifty-six people to wear powdered wigs. Actually, you could have ended that last sentence after "people" and it would have been just as true. So instead, we decided to try and recreate last year's 4th of July celebration: canoe ride, small-town fireworks display, etc.

Well, that went about as well as a Kanye West awards show improvisation. I think I may have been a bit overconfident in my canoe skills after last year's five-hour virtuoso performance, because we hadn't been on the water fifteen minutes this year when we tipped over.

Fortunately, we were able to salvage two left flip-flops, two now-completely-soaked-and-therefore-useless towels, my Gilligan hat (it refuses to die!), both paddles, and most importantly, the cooler. Because honestly, the main thing getting me out on that river was the promise of a sandwich, a snack and a Sun Drop.

Turning the canoe back over was a bit of a challenge and took me four or five tries. But I refused to give up, because all I kept thinking is how embarrassing it would have been to have to call the canoe guy to come and get us. That would be quite emasculating. And if there's one thing I am, it's masculating.

Anyway, I can officially cross "tipping a canoe" off my bucket list, although it wasn't actually on my bucket list. I guess I can go back and add it... posthumously. I don't think that's the right word.

It had started to rain the last hour or so of the canoe trip and it continued to rain until sometime the next day, forcing them to postpone the fireworks show. So we went home and watched the fireworks on PBS with Reba McEntire and some actor I didn't know who looked a little bit like a taller, more serious Rob Schneider.

I entertained myself by reading the hometown gazette. The sheriff's report (blotter?) was particularly interesting. It included, among other things:

"There were twelve deer/vehicle incidents reported in the past week."

"Mrs. Carolyn New called to report that a turkey flew into her windshield on Highway 80 Tuesday evening. She wasn't injured but her windshield will have to be replaced."

"Someone reported several cows out off of Highway 11 Thursday evening."

The next day when we came up on a horse which had apparently become detached from an Amish buggy, I said that we should call the sheriff to report it. But I was outvoted, 1 to 1.

There was one final highlight to my Independence Day weekend. A personal milestone, if you will. For the first time in nearly four years, I peed into a bottle, in the car. Apparently I feel compelled to document each time this happens, as I wrote about it the last time, too.

I'm going to pretend that twice in the past four years makes me a bit of an expert on the topic of in-vehicle evacuation, at least among this focus group. So I would like to close today with a few tips I think you will find quite helpful:

First, you want to make sure you have plenty of hand sanitizer. And a good-sized container, large enough to handle the, um, output. I don't have to tell you that it is both nearly impossible and excruciatingly painful to try and cut off the faucet midstream.

You might also want to move to the backseat, or make the other person or persons in the vehicle promise not to look, lest you suffer stage fright and be unable to perform. Been there, was unable to do that.

Next, you want to make sure that the outlet is entirely above the receptacle, and that the receptacle is as close to straight up as possible. This might require some awkward body positioning, but will ensure that you are able to use the full capacity of the receptacle, and it should also make aiming easier. Trust me.

And finally, what if you're not a male? Well, I imagine that could be a tad more difficult.

"And when that summer sun starts to beatin' down and you don't know what to do, grab your swimming trunks, ice up that old Igloo, and drive until the map turns blue..."

The Great American Coke-Out

I was listening to another provocative edition of the John Tesh radio show recently. Yes, I know I said Wikipedia had surpassed Tesh as my #1 source of information, but it's not easy to Wiki while driving. You get lots of honks and odd gestures. Which reminds me, my Mom used to have a "Honk If You Love Willie Nelson" bumper sticker on her car. And sometimes people honked! But I digress.

One particular statement from the disseminator of useful information caught my ear. Tesh said drinking just one sweetened soda per day increases your chance of developing diabetes by 75 percent.

Gulp.

My first thought was, I drink like five a day. And that's the conservative estimate.

Like a Mexican TV dinner, Tesh's words stuck with me for a couple of days. When I mentioned my five-a-day habit to a co-worker, she looked at me as if she were surprised my head hadn't yet exploded from the massive consumption of delicious high fructose corn syrup. In other words, blog friends, I'm basically a walking miracle.

I did some checking and found that the 12 ounce Sun Drop, my usual drink of choice, has 49 grams of sugar in it. Which means I was getting 245 grams per day. That's over half a pound of sugar from soft drinks alone! I might as well just spoon feed it to myself straight out of the bag.

I had a problem and I decided something must be done. Therefore, I proclaimed last Wednesday the start of Bone's Great American Coke-Out. That's coke, lower-case, which as we all know refers to any variety of soft drink. Kinda like q-tip, band aid, or K-Y.

The first day went well. I was coke free. Kinda like Lindsay Lohan. Well, kinda like Lindsay Lohan once in awhile anyway. Then Thursday morning, I woke up with a splitting headache. After conferring with some members of my inner circle--which pretty much consists of family, co-workers, and the cute checkout girl at Kroger--it was determined that I was going thru caffeine withdrawals.

I rushed home, drank a Sun Drop, took two Advil, and my headache was gone within twenty minutes. After only 36 hours of the Great American Coke-Out, I was already off the wagon. (Will the Lohan similarities never end?)

Figuring it would be better to wean myself off the caffeine, I decided to have just one coke per day. Surprisingly, it hasn't been that difficult. The headaches haven't returned. And I've stocked up on water, skim milk, fruit juice, and Crystal Light on the go packets.

I'm not sure what's next. Perhaps it's time to analyze my intimate relationship with Little Debbie. Zebra Cakes, Fudge Brownies, Swiss Rolls. And those are just the varieties that are in my kitchen right now.

Geez, I hope Tesh never decides frozen burritos are bad for me.

"I'm hot, sticky sweet, from my head to my feet, yeah..."