A tough trimester, killer bees, and the bachelorhood loses one of its own

It's been a banner week in the life of Bone. A banner ten days, actually.

The second trimester, if you will, of July had a quite inauspicious beginning when I discovered I had left a virtually full pack of gum in the pocket of my shorts. That would have been fine, except that at the time of this discovery, said shorts had already gone through the washing machine and had been in the dryer for about forty minutes.

So there I was at 11:30 on a Friday night, on my knees using an SOS pad to try and scrub copious amounts of melted gum from the inside wall of my dryer. Fortunately, I was able to get most of it off, but my fingers smelled like Stride Spearmint for two days, which turned out to be sort of a pleasant surprise whenever I'd accidentally catch a whiff of them. It's quite the bachelor's paradise I have created here, don't you think? A veritable Eden of singledom.

Then on Monday of last week, I was taking out the trash when at once I found myself in the midst of a swarm of ginormous killer bees. The largest bees I have ever seen. There must have been twenty or thirty of them. I never even made it to the dumpster, instead turning tail and running the other way, trash bag still in hand. It was one of the most harrowing experiences of my mostly sheltered life.

As I sprinted, all I could see was Brian Williams on NBC Nightly News doing the lead story: "Killer bees have returned to the United States." Run, Bone, run! I don't want to be a statistic! I narrowly -- and I thought somewhat miraculously -- escaped without a single sting.

As luck would have it, there was a lady nearby who kindly informed me that I had just been "attacked" by a swarm of June bugs.

Oh... um... do they sting, too?

The week progressed, as weeks are wont to do. On Friday, tidings arrived by way of the text message that Wolfgang had gotten engaged. Yes, you heard it here first (unless you happen to be one of his Facebook friends): Wolfgang is getting married!

The engagement consummates a whirlwind five-month courtship, which is like light-speed to me. I prefer to plod along at a snail's pace, slow and steady. No one's in any hurry. Nobody's going anywhere. Let's not make any sudden movements. I'm like the tortoise in The Tortoise & The Hare, and I think we all know how that turns out.

More importantly, this is the end of the three amigos as we know them, and I feel... a bit odd. It's going to be strange with only one Darryl around. Do Remaining Darryl and I try and find a replacement Darryl, or move on just us two, Bosom Buddies-style? Neither of the Darryls ever got married on Newhart, so it's really hard to know for sure what to do. There is no guidebook.

I guess this is what comes from basing too much of my life on a TV show. I feel disillusioned.

And I always thought the second trimester was supposed to be the easiest.

"I got ketchup on my blue jeans, I just burned my hand. Lord, it's hard to be a bachelor man..."

Pride goeth before (and after) a fall

The improbable sequence of events that led to me googling "how to get blood out of clothes" is unimportant and rather unremarkable. Nevertheless, before the blog paparazzi buries me beneath a mountain of rumor and innuendo, allow me to elucidate.

I went to a basketball game. Walking up the bleachers, I banged my head on an unfortunately placed electrical box which was mounted to the underside of one of the support beams that runs across the coliseum. Not wanting to cause a scene (read: suffer any further embarrassment), I shook it off and sat down.

Well, I evidently misunderestimated the severity of the blow. An hour later, noticing it was still hurting, I rubbed my head and felt something wet. I'd run into a friend at the game, so as we were leaving I took off my cap and got her to assess the damage. At the time, I wasn't quite able to place the look on her face. But in hindsight, I now know it as the I'm-really-trying-not-to-alarm-you-but-how-are-you-still-standing-because-there-is-blood-spurting-out-of-your-head look.

Oh, I exaggerate. A little. It was just a tiny lava-like trail of blood streaming down my head. I felt like Rocky. The worst part was that I had quite a bit of blood on my cap, which was white. If it had been a shirt, I wouldn't have cared, I would have just thrown it away. But this was my favorite Bama cap. This was serious.

By the way, you come across some odd and interesting things googling "how to get blood out of clothes." Things you would rather not have known. Things like, "Karen and I opted to have our children born at home, so naturally we have had to deal with a lot of blood." Ugh.

The next day, as fate devilishly licked her lips, I was scheduled to run a 5K in Nashville. Not knowing much about head trauma, but seeing that the bleeding had mostly stopped and there was only a little seepage now, I just assumed I'd be OK. And I figured if I did pass out, I'd at least have my weekly blog entry whenever I did finally regain my facilities.

And so, I ran. With a bandage on my head, I ran. I felt like Rocky, again. Not for any particular reason, mind you, I just always kinda feel like Rocky.

In other running news, I think I've just about talked myself into doing a half marathon at some point this year. And I figure if I put it on my blog, it will be more likely to happen, because everything I put on my blog happens. Well, except for that year-end post that I never quite got around to. And the decade retrospective...

I know some of you are probably saying, Bone are you crazy? Whatever would possess someone to run 13.1 miles voluntarily? Is it some deep-down, burning desire to push myself to the very limits of what I am physically and mentally capable of, and beyond? Child, please!

I'll tell you what it is.

When I got home from my 5K, I was feeling pretty good about myself and my time of 23:03. Then, the next day arrived... as days are wont to do. And one of my Facebook friends posted that she had run a half marathon.

A girl!!!

And so, I am going to do the half marathon for the same reason that many men have done things that didn't always make good sense down through the ages: pure, old-fashioned stubborn male pride.

And please pray for my sake that she never decides to run a full marathon.

For now, I'm off to find some baking soda, hydrogen peroxide, and meat tenderizer. Hopefully, one of these tips works. I guess if nothing else, I'll be all stocked up for the next science fair. Or home childbirth.

"I just need some time, some time to get away, from all these rumors. I can't take it no more. My best friend said there's one out now about me and the girl next door..."

Bacheloronomics

I hope and trust you are all having a grand Columbus Day. If you're like me, it's not much different from any other day. No day off work. No parades. No TVLand marathon. No delicious sugar cookies shaped like the Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria.

Columbus Day is sort of the Tito of holidays. Not all that remarkable. Nobody's favorite. But as far as we know, it is still technically a holiday. Oh well, I guess that's what happens when you discover a continent by accident.

I considered recapping my week for you today. For instance, last Wednesday I got spit up on for the first time ever. Then Thursday, I sank a 45 foot putt, the longest of my career. But I figure you've had enough baby and golf stories, at least until tomorrow.

Instead, I want to share with you some tips for saving money in these uncertain economic times. Things I've practiced that have helped me to scrape by for umpteen years on my own now. Not obvious things, like selling your plasma. But more subtle ideas that you can use, say for instance, if you've already reached your 12 times per year plasma donation maximum.

Tip #1 - Ignore expiration dates

We are taught in this country, likely by the biased media, to throw food away if it has expired. Well that's fine if there's a money tree growing in your front yard, or if you go to the grocery store more than once a month. But what about the rest of us?

Expiration dates are nothing more than a way for food companies to get you to buy more often, and probably to avoid litigation as well. An expiration date is like a little ultimatum saying, "Eat me by this date or it is so over!" You wouldn't stand for that from your significant other, so why stand for it from your dairy?

This weekend alone I had a hot dog on buns that were six days past expiration and cereal with milk that was two days past expiration. My rule is, the nose knows.

We all have five to seven senses. Use them! When we're injured we feel pain and curse. When we need to communicate, we open our mouths and speak or grunt. When we hear Celine Dion, we feel pain and curse. And when food has gone bad, we can smell it.

Tip #2 - Do a supper scavenger hunt

How often do you find yourself in this situation? It's 8 or 9 o'clock at night. You don't feel like putting clothes on to go get something to eat, but you haven't been to the grocery store in a long, long time so you figure there's probably nothing to cook.

Well, you just might be surprised. By scrounging around in the cabinets, I'll bet you can come up with a decent meal from things you already have. It's kinda your own personal episode of Survivor. Or maybe not. I've never actually watched the show.

For example, in my cabinet right now (I just went and looked), I have some penne, a thing of syrup, a few sunflower seeds, some unopened Valentine's candy, some peanut butter that "expired" February 23rd, and some corn.

Now, from this... let's see... I could easily make... hmm... Well anyway, you get the idea, I'm sure. Let's move on.

Tip #3 - Never turn down anything from your parents or a free meal from anyone

In my early bachelor days, some of my favorite memories are when I'd be looking thru mostly barren cabinets containing only peanut butter and corn, and Mom or Dad would call asking if I wanted to come over and eat supper.

I learned early on to never turn down a free meal, and here's why. By eating one free meal, you have immediately contributed to a fiscal surplus. Even if it's not the best meal, or not particularly your favorite food. You can eat better food another day, but you can never get back the money you just saved.

As a general rule, parents want to help us. No, they need to help us. Giving makes them feel good. And we should not be so selfish as to deny them that good feeling by not accepting their gifts, or monthly allowance.

So never turn down anything from your parents. And never turn down a free meal from anyone. Ever. Unless, of course, the person preparing it has some sort of massive germophobic violations going on. No amount of money is worth that.

Tip #4 - With laundry, less is more

I do laundry as infrequently as possible. Basically, as long as I have clean underwear, I don't see a reason to do a wash. I'm all about wearing jeans two or three times. And while this has more to do with laziness than frugality, surely there are financial benefits as well.

Do you have any idea how much electricity it takes to run a dryer for one sixty minute cycle? Well, me neither, but it's probably a lot. My suggestion would be to buy up as many pairs of underwear as your drawers will hold, and let everything else go.

Of course, you might occasionally run into minor problems down the road, say if a shirt you want to wear doesn't happen to be clean. That's why I also suggest leaving laundry you think you might wear again lying around on the floor. That way, it doesn't get that musty, stinky hamper smell in it. Because once it's buried in the hamper, all the Febreze and Drakkar in the world won't get that out. Trust me.

Less laundry means less electricity, less costly detergent to purchase, and also less folding and ironing. And that means more fun for everyone.

Also, in the future when you see the bachelor, don't be so quick to judge his fashion sense. Most likely, he's wearing the only thing he could find that was clean, or had only been worn once.

"I ain't goin' down on the border with you tonight, drinking tequila and taking chances on our lives. All the women are crazy. They like to party 'til daylight. On second thought, if I can find a clean shirt, I might..."