Janet, I could not be fooling you less

In life, I have two things: (1) a woman and (2) a pizza stone. A few days ago, I decided to introduce the two things to each other.
And then blog about it.

This is what I looked like. I looked this way because when Lisa came over, she woke me up from a nap. A fellow needs to sleep. He also needs to wear Hawaiian shirts.


These are a few of the role players.


This here is the star player, the Larry Bird of my making pizza for Lisa.


This little fella is Lisa's pizza. She believes in a gluten-free lifestyle, so I bought some pre-made gluten-free crusts from the grocer in my neighborhood, Harmons. I packed it with olives and mushrooms, because apparently Lisa also believes in a meat-free pizza lifestyle.


When you make pizza, you have to cook it in an oven, like so:


While that cooks, I will make my pizza. This time the crust isn't pre-made, although, it is just one of those just-add-water deals. I'm starting easy and working my way up to making my own crust. That will probably happen soon because the just-add-waters are kind of gross.


"Here is your pizza, Lisa."
"Thanks, Giant."


And here is my pizza. If you are the observant type, you might be asking-slash-thinking, where is the pizza stone, man? Well, I will tell you.

So, when making pizza on a stone, one is supposed to roll out the dough on a cookie sheet or something of that ilk. First, one must dust the cookie sheet with corn meal to avoid sticking. I do this, but while shaping the dough into pizza-shape, the corn meal gets pushed to the outside edges of the pizza. This causes the pizza to stick to the cookie sheet. I tried to slide it onto the pizza stone, and even asked Lisa for her expert help, but nothing doing. There was no way to maintain the integrity of the pizza and cook it on the Stone. Being a man of integrity, I decided to just cook it on the cookie sheet and consider better options for the next time.


After the pizza, Lisa and I watched Singles. The cool part about it was this guy was in it:

Pryzbylewski.

Morgan Freeman dies

Morgan Freeman isn't really dead, slikk.

(joke)

You know what's gross?

Vegetables.

These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade in the Los Angeles underground.

There's this episode of The A Team where Murdock gets kidnapped from an insane hospital by bounty hunters who want to cash in. They call him crazy, and he says, "Well, you took me from the insane ward." He escapes. While running from the bounty hunters, he sneaks into the back of the van of a veterinarian. The bounty hunters soon pull her over and search her car, but a dog in the back barks at them and they end their search there. One of the bounty hunters wants to shoot the dog, but the bounty hunter in charge says, "I don't want anymore shots fired around here." A few minutes after being spared, the veterinarian pulls over and opens up her van, pointing a gun at Murdock. She says, "I don't want to shoot you," and Murdock says, "I can tell you don't want to shoot me," and goes about his business. The girl then says, "What are you doing? I am pointing a gun at you." Murdock then cracks a joke about how it is a cap gun. He knew it all along. Him and the girl share a laugh. She asks who he is and who the bounty hunters are. Murdock answers and asks her why she didn't tell the bounty hunters he was in her van, since she knew before they even pulled her over. She tells him that it is because the dog didn't bark. "I've always found animals to be amazing judges of character." She takes him back to her house so that he can find a way to get in touch with The A Team, since their mobile phone antenna got shot out by the military while they were trying to find and save Murdock. Murdock is at her house listening to AM radio because one time Hannibal got separated from the unit in 'Nam, and he went straight to the local station and the unit heard his broadcast while driving in the jeep and saved him. The girl gives Murdock some tea. When he drinks it, she says, "I know, it is so gross." Murdock, referencing the music on the radio, says, "What's with this music? What ever happened to Van Halen, Boy George, and Frankie Goes To Hollywood?" The girl says, "Frankie Goes To Hollywood?" Murdock says, "Yeah. You'd really like them. Great beat." The girl says, "I'm embarrassed to say, but I don't really like that kind of music." Murdock replies, "What about the Rolling Stones?" She says, "Oh, I've heard of them. They had this one song I liked." When Murdock asked her which one, she said, "Norwegian Wood." Murdock corrects her, "That was the Beatles." Sensing the girl's embarrassment, he quickly changes the subject, "What do you all do for fun around her? Where does your boyfriend take you? Any nice restaurants you like that he takes you to?" The girls sheepishly tells Murdock that she doesn't have a boyfriend. "Sure you do. You have to have a boyfriend. You've got to...." Murdock stands up and sips his tea (which might be coffee -- I'm not good at telling which is which) and takes a few steps. "You should have a boyfriend....you're a really pretty girl." The girl, who is a babe, says, "I've never thought of myself as pretty." Murdock sets his hot drink on the mantle, grabs the girl, and pulls her up to the mantle, where he takes down a mirror and puts it in front of her face. "You're beautiful. I know it, and now you know it."

I played softball this year

The Beekeepers season ended the way it didn't start: with a loss. We lost to the only team we had defeated and the only team that had a worse record than us. Still, though, it was a lot of fun. I was the king of getting on base due to bad fielding by our opponents. My highlights of the season were catching a ball with my bare hand that had missed my glove and making a mad dash for second after a shortstops throw to firstbase was offline. The low point of the season was missing an easy infield fly and realizing that any natural athleticism that I had has disappeared.

Beekeepers: 1-13.

Pie, oh near

Here is how I celebrated (Kind of, that is. I spent most of the the day working, then trying to figure out why I couldn't set the store alarm even though I knew why, I just had to help somebody else figure out why):








(credit to the last photograph goes to Emily the Cliff)

Also, I ate a lot of delicious food.

Pep Talk

I got my first massage from a man. Well, the first one that I paid for. Which, uh, makes it my first massage from a man still.

Lisa and I had the great idea of getting a pre-Project Runway massage last Wednesday. Maybe we hoped it would make us cool customers like Timmy Gunn is. Or, maybe Project Runway had not much to do with our massage, it just happened to be on that night and not start until 10 p.m..

We found that one of the mooses (what we here at You Know How I Do call them because we don't know how to spell the real word) was certified, and one was just a student. The certified mooses charge $10 more, but also give better massages. We also found that one was a girl and the other was a dude. We were trying to figure out which of us was willing to pay the extra cash. I offered, but we decided to let the gender of the certified moose be the ultimate deciding factor. If it was a boy, Lisa went with him, if it was a girl, I would.

Well, when we showed up, we didn't really have an option. A dude and a girl came out and looked at the schedule. It looked like they would decide. I had been moosed by the girl before, and she did well, so I was hoping the cards would fall that way. Alas, they did not, and I got stuck with Lars.

I wasn't totally bummed, though, because I am massage bi-curious. I have had short, 10-second man-mooses before. They didn't feel bad at all. Totally professional, you know? So, I approached my hour with Lars in a professional manner (while also repeating to myself, "Don't get a boner. Don't get a boner.").

Lars led me to my room, and attempting a soothing voice, he said, "So, uh, have you been here before?"
--Yeah.
--(looking at the body chart of what I wanted "worked")You want you legs focused on?
--Yeah, they're kind of sore.
--From riding a bike or something? (don't forget, he is using an ungenuine soothing voice)
--No, playing softball.
--Okay, well go ahead and get comfortable and we'll start you out face-down.
--Okay, thanks.

Lars was great at asking me if the pressure he was giving me was acceptable. "Yes," I would always respond. He started "working" around my armpit, and I almost started laughing. Then, I did start laughing. "A little ticklish there, I see," he said. I concurred. For some reason, he started working the other side in the same spot, probably even deeper into my armpit. The more I thought about not laughing, the more I wanted to, and finally, I did one of those loud laughs where I spit out the moisture in my mouth. I apologized, and jazz-voiced Lars responded, "It's better than screaming in pain [huh/eh/right]?" Again, I concurred.

Overall, the massage was nice. I now have a theory that men don't have to be as skilled at giving massages for it to not be a bad one. I don't know if it is bigger fingers or stronger hands, but they aren't as bad as a girl who is bad. But, a girl who is good is immeasurably better than a man who is good.

When Lars finally got to my legs, he started slapping my calves really hard. It was loud and made me laugh. It was so loud that Lisa could hear it. She said it sounded like the bation of masturs.

When the massage was over, and I was no longer naked, Lars handed me a glass of water.

--I want you to drink a lot of water after this.
--Okay, I will. Trust me. (I don't know why I needed Lars' trust, but apparently I did)
--and keep swinging that bat.

Thanks, Lars.
I almost lost it and had to turn around and load my mouth with water to keep from laughing.

I wonder what other kind of motivational snippets he hands out after moosing people.
For people who are sore from running: "Take it one stride at a time."
For those sore from their jobs: "Take a break every now and then, okay?"
From basketball: "A gentle push and a mild arch....the ol' cowhide globe will hit home."
That's all I have for now.

That girl is like a sunburn

Is it safe to admit that one of those moments where a person finds out who they are happened to me because of a Third Eye Blind song? Probably not, eh, music snots?

I heard my friend Mark say, about ten times during a span of a year or so back in the early '00s, that he wanted to get in a fight. He knew that his chances in the fight were slim, and that he probably wouldn't inflict much damage on the other person's face or guts, so why even bother? "I figure I'd learn a lot about myself," he would say. He was too much of a sweetheart for any of us to offer to kick his crap in, and I reckon the rest of the world felt the same way. so, as far as I know, Mark still hasn't learned what he wanted to. But, I can see what he means.

Black eyes and broken ribs aren't too shabby of way to learn about yourself. I mean, there is the pain, and the re-and-re-telling of the story when people ask what happened to your face, but once the wounds heal and you look less pathetic, your story could get a lot better, and perhaps you would make a few more friends. Plus: lesson learned. You'd know how many punches you can take before you can't take anymore without crying and what kind of noises you make when you're getting your crap handed to you.

But....Third Eye Blind, sometimes abbreviated as 3eb according to Wikipedia? Kind of a completely shabby way to learn who you are.

I hated Third Eye Blind from the first time they entered my ears. I remember the first time I heard "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life". We were in my friend Doug's older brother Bob's car, a Geo of some sort, towards the end of the summer of 1997. By the way, have Geo's been outlawed in the lower 48? I haven't seen one since my little sister sold her Metro. I digress. So, we heard the song on the way home from watching Con Air at the theaters (Bob was our rated-R movie hook-up), and I said, "Stupid song." Bob was pissed. He'd yell at me sometimes. Like when I called Seinfeld overrated. And another time when I said something while we were watching Die Hard: With a Vengeance. Anyway, he was mad because he has been singing along. Not during the Doo doo doo, doo doo-doo doo part, but the rest of it. So, my tact was a bit off. Or, perhaps my adjective was too strong. Whichever, I was right. And Third Eye Blind (3eb) is a dumb name for a band. Their other hit songs over the next year were even lamer. I also remember Doug getting in a fight with our friend Brian later that day. It made everything with that group of friends awkward and things were never the same (which turned out to be a good thing, at least for me).

Minutes turned into hours, hours turned into days, days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into years, and in the summer of 2002, I took a job as a delivery driver for a construction supply company. For the next almost two years, I listened to a lot of Jim Rome and a lot of radio. I tried playing tapes in the truck, but tapes didn't play as loud in that big truck and the music would be drowned out by the loudness that it took to operate a ride like that. So, radio it was. It was while listening to that radio in that truck that I heard the news of Elizabeth Smart being found, and where I realized that I had seen her and her crew less that five minutes before the cops stopped them. I also stayed abreast of top-40 radio. Ashanti was huge then. I loved those rap songs that included a girl with a nice voice spitting the chorus. I also loved the easy listening songs. My favorite song, though, was one that started off with a guitar strum, then a sythesizer, then a "Woo!". I knew it was an older song because it played on those stations that don't only play the latest hits, but I didn't know who sang it. For more than a year, I was left in the dark, because the deej would never announce who played the song after it aired.

I finally found out that the song was by Third Eye Blind. "No way," I thought. "That doesn't sound anything like "Semi-Charmed Kind of Life" and there are no hints of that 'will I GRADUATE?' song. I just can't be. The deej messed up." Soon after, I found out that it was, in fact, them.

--I can no longer like that song, I guess.
--But wait, you like(d) that song so much.
--Yeah, but 3eb.
--Still, man, you REALLY liked it. It was your favorite radio song. You even admitted that to yourself. I'm calling you on it.
--But, I like punk rock.
--You were thinking about buying whatever album that song was on.
--That's because I thought the rest of the ablum might be cool like that song is cool.
--Me too. Just because we now know that it probably isn't, though, doesn't mean you can all of the sudden hate that song.
--It doesn't?
--Nope. Not if you want to keep it real.
--Ouch.

So, on that day, "keeping it real" started to mean something. What I like is what I like. Just because stupid people or a the majority might like something, doesn't mean that I can't. Disliking something doesn't make me more interesting.

It may sound dumb, but this realization changed a lot about me. It broadened not only the music I like, but also other things like movies. (Joe Ghiz: I still think Minority Report was boring and Bourne Identity was great. I was being real that weekend.)

So, here's to you, "Never Let You Go" by Third Eye Blind. You made me better people.

"You say that I've changed. Well maybe I did. But even if I've changed. What's wrong with it?"

(sidenote: maybe Third Eye Blind, lame name and mostly lame music aside, aren't totally lame. From wikipedia: The band gained major label attention after their second demo was released in 1995, including that of Clive Davis, who invited the band to perform a showcase for Arista Records in New York City.[1] During Third Eye Blind concerts at the time, it was customary for the band to have a piñata release candy above their mosh pits, yet at the showcase for the record executives, lead singer Stephan Jenkins released live crickets from the piñata instead.

"Your attention please I've got something to share

So feast your eyes upon my brand new hair
If your eyes can adjust
To the neon glare and my look of disgust

What are you seeking validation for
At the character assassination store
Their shelves are full but nothing's cheap

So pick your ego up of the floor
And inch or two but nothing more
It's a crutch you want not what you got
You're falling all over the looks you bought

The best are brought down by degrees
The rest are curiosities
Attention please! is all they understand

Drawing a crowd for some meager pay
Drawing a bead down on the weakly pray
Got to throw in your hat
Win, lose or draw you're a diplomat

You pull the act out on demand
And always have the upper hand
Be prepared for reprimand
Attention's all they understand

The best are brought down by degrees
Or killed by curiosities
Attention please! is all they understand"
-Sicko

I did get a new haircut, that part isn't bull. I also got a new camera, a Cannon Elph. I need to learn how to charge the battery, though. Maybe I should write a whole blog about buying it. I have started cooking on a George Forman Grill (the Next Grilleration, they call it [or maybe just George calls it that]. which reminds me, my friend Judy wrote this funny bit about her Grill: "I named my George Foreman grill - George. He is just a little guy, but packs a punch.").

Since I last wrote, I have been to Oregon. I know, I know, I need to post pictures. I'm getting to it....right after I get to posting pictures of searching ghost towns (or, rather, half-ghost half-pre-ghost towns) on my birthday. I have also been to Lagoon thrice. Once with Bryton, once with Nathaniel, once with Damian and Danny (roommates!), and thrice with Lisa. This weekend, I and my woman are taking a much needed restcation to Mesquite/St. George/The Vegas. Maybe my Elph will take some pictures.

But, whatever. This blog has become too much about pictures. That whole trip to Seattle thing took too long to load all those pictures on my computer, then took too long to upload on here, and now makes this blog page takes too long to load. It's bull. But, this blog also realizes the importance that pictures play in its life. Me and it have decided to just be more discretionary with the pictures.

Also, I am trying to stop swearing.

Basically, what I am saying is that I am committing myself to write more blogs. I need the writing practice. Don't believe me? Read this travesty that I dropped last week.

My girl is entrepreneur

Lisa's etsy shop got featured on a Salt Lake blog that highlights hip stuff about The City. Hers are the lemon drop earrings. This link might get updated in a few days and her recognition will no longer be on top.

I can't help but feel like a proud poppa.

(Lisa explains it all better here)

"We were past the point of debating the wisdom of this move; it was already done and our only hope was to get to the other side."*

Here are the pictures of my March 14 to March 17 trip to Seattle to spend dude time with Nathaniel. I know, finally, right?














The above pictures were taken with Nathaniel's camera, the below with my camera, which is really Lisa's camera. The following pictures are in alphabetical order. For more on this trip, look here or lend your ear here.





























* = Hunter S. Thompson, from "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas"

Lloyd, Lloyd, null and void

I don't really think you understand what I meant when I said what I said

This is the end of an instant message conversation I had with Lisa (aka me) on Monday night/Tuesday morning. It ended badly.

leland: I thin,
I'm falling aslweep
I better go to bed.
me: yeah, me too
did you read my bwog?
you don't have to if you're tired
it's all stuff you already know
leland: no
I am too tired.
me: ok
goodnight
leland: I keep falig aspee
me: aspee
leland: good night
me: bye
leland: I know, sorry.
bae wor
dab
ad
bad
bad word
me: what?
leland: goog night.
good night.
me: goodnight
leland: I keep spelingi sutff
FFFFFFFFF
me: you are funny
leland: I keep spelling tsuff woring
me: go to bed
leland: RRRRRRRRRRRRR
I can't to thids right
RRRRRRRRRRRr
me: poor tired wittle guy
leland: Good night.
bye
me: bye

(Lisa saved the convo and emailed it to me the next day)

We could do more outdoor things if we weren't so busy getting busy

So, how was my trip to Seattle? Nice, thank you for asking politely. I really wanted to blog about it, and will eventually post at least pictures. See, school's just been really busy lately. And when I am not busy with school, I am getting busy with Lisa.

Anyway, until I post pictures, listen to this here. It tells most of my weekend in Seattle, anyway. (also, feel free to subsribe to that there podcast)

Quit your job and run away

Me vs. Seattle, part three, starts in about an hour. This time, no girls allowed.

My girl is hip-hop

I can feel it coming in the air tonight, oh Lord

I wrote this on 30 March 2005, back when I blogged exclusively on myspace. Some folks have been saying unfair things about Phil Collins lately, including her. It reminded me of this blog I wrote almost three years ago.

I had what I like to call an "Easy Listening Day" on Monday. On these days I don't feel like listening to any of my albums or sports radio, instead I want to listen to the radio. And not those hip stations all your friends are talking about. Those stations that people that work in offices play. FM 100, Kozy 106.5, 97.9 The Breeze, a little bit of the B98.7. I just feel like some easy listening hits. I recognize on Monday how hard it is to listen to these stations without hearing a Phil Collins song. That dude has a lot of hits out. Some good, some bad. Interesting character. He is a short bald guy with a big head and the face of a child molester and the demeanor of a serial killer. Yet, he cranks out the hits. Oh, and he can't dance. Has anyone seen that movie he was in? He may have been in more than one, but the one I am talking about he was a criminal/family man in Ye Olde Country. It was a bit of a dark film. His wife was begging him to stop his thievery, but he felt some kind of obligation. I don't know exactly, I missed the first part and I didn't quite get it. Then one of his hits played at the end as he got arrested or escaped or something. I watched the end of this with my exgirl about a week after we broke up officially and a day before she went away for the semester a few years back. After the movie ended, we madeout for the last time. [You Know How I Do editor's note: this last part isn't supposed to sound as sad as it does. It was written as kind of a braggadocio moment. I thought about rewriting it to make is sound like I should have, but that wouldn't be fair to my 24 year-old self (and I found it hard to phrase it differently).]
Anyhoo, these "Easy Listening Days" are some of my favorites. So peaceful. You can't force a day like this, though. It has to happen.

That blog reminded me how I always like stuff I write about two years after I wrote it. I was given a missionary journal a few weeks before my mission, and I had about three entries in their that were written before the MTC that are bank.

Hurry to Murray. After all, you know this guy.

Blogs these days....you know how they do. Or don't. It seems that just as getting a blog was the bombdotorg a year or so ago, ditching that blog has become the new awesome (not updated since Valentines day, only two posts this year) right now.

But not this blog, no. Don't call it a comeback, not because we've been here for years but because I don't know how great it will become. One blog, though, that has made a comeback is Nathaniel's. Nathaniel is a filthy fellow, of Gentle Tyrants Podcast fame. Which reminds me, if you are looking for a podcast that plays nice music, is funny, talks about Twin Peaks, dagwood sandwiches, movies, hittin' it, and teaches you more about Seattle and features Chris Allman sometimes, then this is the podcast for you. Also, I might be on it in a few weeks. I mean, it has maybe been mentioned in an IM conversation that I might be invited to be on it. It might be a weak podcast that week, but a dream come true for me. For those not good at connecting the dots, yes, I am going to Seattle to dude-out with Nathaniel. The weekend will be a bust if we don't end up at the Lusty Lady.

A blog that isn't so much making a comeback, as it is coming out of the blog closet is my woman Lisa's. Go and see what all my fuss is about. Last May, we decided we needed to answer the question of how long we have been dating, so we selected a date of when we started. We also wanted a day to celebrate every month. We chose March the fifth, which is today. I know I did as much in a text message this morning, but Happy 12 Months, Lisa. You are a total babe all the time.
Oh, and she also has an etsy store. I am a fashion consultant on some of the stuff she makes. It is the stuff that doesn't sell, mostly. Donate to You Know How I Do's treat fund by buying her stuff. The more money she makes, the more cookies I eat.
Oh, part two, send one up to the Lord for Lisa as she is getting plastic surgery this Friday. Not the boob or face-tightening kind (that's not how she do nor how she need to do), but the kind where they take a disgusting (hardly noticable) cyst out from above her right eye.
Lisa's really cool.

Another thing, hopefully my old friend/hair stylist Krista can have a baby soon. I mean, the impregnation has already take place, so has the waiting nine months. It's just the popping out that needs to occur.

One thing that this blog needs to know is that I moved out of my parents house. Last February. If I remember correctly, this was never officially discussed. It was always something I meant to do, but before I knew it, I was back at my folks' home after six months and two houses with two great roommates, one being Jefe, who never updates his blog anymore, but congratulations are in store as he has become engaged.

I digress. So, I finally had the funds to move out again, this time to Murray with Damian (yes, the appendix joke king) and Danny. It's pretty great. It is a bit of a struggle, though, because their jokes are so clearly much better than mine that it puts me to shame. I think I have become the quiet roommate. You know, the one that will snap at any minute, walk out the door in the middle of the night and never come back. Yup. I'll keep you abreast of that.

Again, I digress. Despite my insecurities, the new place has been nice. Me and Damian have taken to watching Band of Brothers at night and Danny and I seem to have a nice conversation every five days or so (he is also celebrating a birthday tomorrow). Oh, and so far the haven't made fun of me for not yet fully unpacking my stuff. Which reminds me, I need to pay rent.

To summarize:
Blogs are back in, haven't you heard?
Lisa: pretty.
Me and Lisa: 12 months of frenching.
Lisa: plastic surgery, not the boob kind.
Jefe, write a blog, quit being so whipped.
Me, Damian, and Danny: roommates4eva.