MeSoFun Blog

For those that missed them, here are Parts One , Two , Three , Four , and Five . Last one. Then, because I believe in the power of dreams, I'm going to take my shot at being a NASCAR driver and blog about it. Let me know if you need cigarettes or chewing tobacco. I lied to you. Right there in the final paragraph of Part V. I made it sound like, on a drive back from Los Angeles, I waited until Cedar City, Utah, to call Amy. Not true. First, I called her outside of Las Vegas. That call was just to satisfy the voice in my head saying, "Call Amy" over and over again. It was 9 a.m. Central Daylight Time. She was at work and I knew it. Voicemail. No need to leave a message. Done and done. She didn't have my Utah cell phone number. She would have no idea who had called. Take that, voice inside my head. Then, as previously mentioned, the voice got incessant. "Call Amy. Call Amy. Call Amy," it said. Fine, I decided in St. George, Utah. I'll wait until Cedar C

For those that missed them, here are Parts One , Two , Three and Four . Only two left (with an epilogue). Then, as suggested by a reader, I'm going to take up a Sister Wife , to promote more rom-com blog posts. So stay tuned for that. The canine weight loss plan. Available at www.petfinder.com Some people go into a tailspin after a breakup. To an extent, I fit that profile for a couple of months, but it turned into a wonderful positive. I lost all appetite. Which was actually great. I capitalized on the lack of appetite and joined a gym. I lost 40 pounds in three months. It helps that I had a spaz for a chocolate lab, named Duke. He is fondly remembered by our new puppy, Daisy. But you know that already. Something snapped in me when Amy and I broke up. I started eating right. I attended an awesome church in Duluth, The Vineyard . I started writing. I do that when I need an outlet. Perhaps you've noticed. Most important, I matured. Instead of wanting acceptance from wo

Welcome back. If you missed it, here are parts One , Two and Three . You'll most likely want to start at the beginning and work your way forward. But who am I to tell *you* how to live your life? For those of you waiting to hear about Paul Tschida, hang in there. He's coming back. If you're reading this blog just to see your name, it's possible that will happen as well. I have a funny memory for details. I was about this mature. And I still wear this jacket. I'm not going to tell you much about the six months — from August, 2002 to February, 2003 — that Amy and I dated. We were a couple. And not always a successful one. Ever spend six months trying to put a square peg in a round hole? I hate geometry even more now. Amy was rather prim and proper during this period of her life. More so than she is now. More so by a factor of 5. She went to a church that was fairly prim and proper, Lakeview Covenant, up on the hill overlooking Lake Superior. People there wore

If you're just joining us, here's Part I and Part II . "I'm crazy about you and I want to be your boyfriend." I've never thought about getting a tattoo with those words, but it doesn't sound half-baked, entirely, now that I'm thinking about getting Tattoo No. 3. The existing two are ill-conceived Hanson Brothers tattoos. Bygones. I hate ending on cliffhangers. You sort of have to wonder, especially if you're female, what did Amy say when I offered up that line? Nothing, really. Nothing I remember. She smiled. I smiled. We talked more and, after an hour in her apartment at 2020, we said our goodbyes. No kissing. Still . She smiled a lot but agreed to nothing. As far as I knew. I retreated to my shared/rented home in Duluth with one Kelly Rajesky. Over the ensuing hour, Amy hit the phone lines. She called her Mom. She called her best friend, Kate. Eventually, she called Joe, the guy she was supposed to be attending wedding festivities with ove

Welcome to today's edition of Delila After Dark. Love someone. For those of you who missed it, here's Part One of the most random, mismatched and wonderful couple. In the spring of 2002, I was giddy about moving from Vermont back to my home state. My career was advancing. I had a job in Duluth. I would be near friends and family. These were all very good things. An old friend, Paul Tschida, put me in contact with a girl in Duluth who would help me find an apartment. msamj2001@ was about all I knew of Amy. Setting the scene in Morris. Paul had met Amy at the University of Minnesota-Morris. He was visiting a friend of ours, Mark Strege, who attended the school with Amy, though she didn't know Mark. On a Friday night, Amy decided to do laundry. That's where she ran into Paul, who was shooting pool in the vicinity of the washing machines, which is pretty unlikely, if you think about it. You go to visit a friend at a college campus and you end up doing shooting pool on a F

Let me tell you about Paul Tschida, the only reason I am married to The Wife. We met in seventh grade. He's the smart guy in the math class that I'm drowning in, taught by Mrs. Duberstien. Luckily, he had no problem helping me. And by "helping me" I mean letting me copy his homework. Sorry, Mom. We were fast friends. Decidedly in the "nobodies" group in junior high, we hung out a lot. Entering 10th grade, the start of high school in our school district, we began playing basketball every day during summer. There were a couple other regulars. Emmerson Ward and Mark Strege were the usual suspects. Mark had a car, so that was nice. Chuck Ressler and, I think, Dan Englund joined the crew. It was a great summer of hoops and ice cream at Selma's, a tiny shop in Afton, Minnesota.  Hmm. I wonder how it all ends. Once high school started, we drifted. I drifted, rather. I was more concerned with being cool than with hanging out with old buddies. Not that I

Always looking on the bright side, here are a few highlights. BEST THING I READ This is my kind of science story. People who attend church regularly are vastly more likely to be obese than people who don't attend church. Faulty science, right? Just ginning up the numbers? Well, the story says the researchers factored in things like race (African-Americans are more likely to be overweight) and age (the older ya get ...) and here's what it boils down to: If you go to church regularly, there's a 32 percent chance you will be obese. If you do not attend at all, there's a 22 percent chance. That's a 50-percent increase for the unholy. Read about it here . BEST NEWS OF THE DAY The MLB season opener is Thursday. THURSDAY (Twins start Friday). Granted, the games are pretty terrible . Still. Games they are. The Masters? That's 12 days out. The Wife just got excited and she doesn't know why. Big golf fan, The Wife. Buckle up for Jim Nantz prattling on about something.

That is all.

It was a little cute at first. All the plays on our state's name. Mainely Property Management. Oh, I get it. That's not bad. It's the other businesses — nay, it's the volume of Maine businesses that abuse our state's name that have me trying to use the word "primarily" more often. I am deadly serious. The problem is that we, the good people of the state of Maine, like to beat a good pun to death. Quite literally, in the case of Mainely Urns . No, I'm not kidding and yes, I'm sure those related to the recently dead will see the humor in it. It's punny!! Believe it or not, this joke gets old. After a while, you start to retort when you see a business name. Like Mainely Wireless. "Oh really?" you'll mumble as you drive by. "What's your secondary business function, frying chalupas?" Don't get me started on Mainely Rat Rescue . My web browser at work won't let me open that website. That's probably for the bes

I did it for you, dear reader. You can see that from the picture at the bottom. For the past two mornings, I have skipped my regular two cups of coffee. It wasn't forgetfulness and I'm not out. For the purposes of this blog, I'm trying to quit caffeine. Mainly just so you can see how terrible of an idea that is. Trying being the operative word. Tuesday, there was a headache that developed over the course of an afternoon. For those of you familiar with migraines, it's not a dissimilar sensation. The head-in-a-vise, don't-want-to-move-because-it-might-hurt sensation. That resulted in some 50/50 coffee (half-caf). The first time I felt that crushing, screwdriver in the brain headache was the spring of 2004. I had torched my retinas skiing — sidenote: do not ever, ever get sunburned retinas — and went a day without drinking a diet soda, as was my custom. I didn't drink coffee regularly again until about a year ago, when I took it up again to cope with 14-hour work d

The grocery stores in Utah have what I believe to be the best deal in all grocery shopping. In the week leading up to Thanksgiving, they have a deal: Buy $25 worth of groceries and you can get a 20-pound turkey for $7. For $85, it better come with a happy ending. Too good to pass up, right? That's how we ended up with five, count 'em, five turkeys in our freezer one year. The Wife was not pleased. "Never again," she mutters every time I bring it up, as if I am somehow unclear on the issue. The little neighborhood grocery store around the corner from us has pretty much the opposite of a good deal. I won't name names because I am trying really hard to be a yuppy/good person. I walked in last fall to get a turkey because we had some guests coming. We like to make a big meal, on occasion, when we have guests come to town. "Yeah, we can get you one," the butcher told me. "They're not usually in season yet, but I'll make a few calls. It'll be

That's it right up there in the headline. Mormons and lobster. That's my sense of humor. This post has nothing to do with Mormons or lobster, per se. It's that those two posts have been the most popular on this still-in-the-fetal-position blog. I thought it would be interesting/funny to make that the headline. But at some point, I intend to write about Utah again. And lobsters again. My name is Jim and I'm a male blogger. We're in uncharted territory, as far as my blog knowledge goes. I have several friends with sports-related blogs (one here ). I enjoy a baseball-related blog and a sports website that's basically a blog . But this blog has nothing to do with sports. As I put it to The Wife recently, all well-known bloggers are women. Conversely, it's also possible that the only blogs I am exposed by are through my wife, and therefore geared toward women. Either way, I'm a male blogger and this blog isn't about sports. This fits well with my role

A buddy of mine was in town this weekend. That meant I played tour guide. That does not, however, mean we're in for a flighty Monday travel guide as I bring you along on our touristy, beer-soaked weekend travels. Not the fare you're looking for this morning? Look away . I'll be back to frivolity tomorrow, surely. I appreciate it when somebody takes the time to speak honestly (and seriously) about something with me. I don't want to be someone who floats through life without at least being aware that I'm floating through life. A very good friend was in town this weekend and questioned what I was doing with my life. Which, in short, has involved playing a significant amount of PS3 games, exercising and blogging for the past 12 months. This did not impress my friend. "You're a bright guy," I paraphrased what he said. "You could easily be making a lot more than you are now. And you don't love working evening hours like you do at your current job.

Links and accumulated information from the week: Best blog of the week No contest here. Jim vs. the Mormons was the best thing I wrote. Clearly a few days off and religious conflict are the way to go. http://mesofun.blogspot.com/2011/03/lost-cause.html Best thing I read Normally I read a lot of random things on the Internet. I don't have much of a life. Though this was a busy week, I found time to spot this gem. A writer took all the comments on a Fox News story about Barack Obama choosing his brackets. Said writer turned the comments into one continuous editorial. Hillarious. http://deadspin.com/#!5783412/barack-obama-is-an-irresponsible-anti+american-frat-boy-according-to-pro+american-internet-commenters Best website you haven't visited www.furnitureporn.com I think it's OK for all ages, but I'm pretty liberal. Best thing about next week The Sweet 16 is coming, but I'm looking forward to a blog post wherein I explain myself. I'm Jim and I'm a male blogger.

My wife and I are annoying. This is a welcome admission to those that know us well. We raise our hands as though we are on a roller coaster every time we drive over train tracks in our car. And we often say "wheeeeee" in the process. It gets worse. For about a year, before we moved to Maine, we had a theme song. We would often burst into song while driving in the car. There was pretty much only one song: "Augustana's Boston ( slow version, fer the kids )." OK, we weren't moving to Boston, but we were moving somewhere. It turns out, we moved 100 miles up the road from Boston. Until yesterday, we might as well have moved to Portland, Oregon, for how often we visited Boston. Outside of a few visits to the Boston airport and a Cape Cod run in May, neither the wife nor I had stepped foot in Boston. That run of shame came to an end this week as The Wife had spring break time on her hands. We drove down, hopped a subway north of the city and 15 minutes later were s

You knew this was coming. I'll try to keep it brief, for the dog haters out there. This one goes out to all the ladies. You know who you are. For those of you who currently aren't breaking into our house, located here , and trying to steal my coveted PlayStation, you're probably wondering about my beloved dog, Daisy. She's a 9-month-old chocolate lab. Where does she go when TW and I go to Boston for 27 hours? Camp Bow Wow. God, I wish it wasn't called that. I would invade various countries for this animal. I point this out because I won't be able to provide any cute pictures of my fur ball for a full 27.25 hours. What to do? Live webcams at Camp Needs A New Name! I'm not sure what to tell you mobile phone users. Perhaps I can just text you with a steady stream of dog pictures? Up next: Spending 3 conscious hours in Boston on St. Patrick's Day. What could possibly go wrong?

Today's topic: Beer. Tomorrow: Dogs. Something for everybody! My earliest memories of beer are not pleasant ones. No, not for those reasons (see video below). I just didn't like the taste. It didn't help that we were drinking some of the worst beer on planet Earth. What were we thinking? Simple. A keg of Worst Beer on Earth was $33. A keg of Miller Lite or Leinies was $38. That's five whole extra dollars you make at a college party — while charging $3 or $5 a cup. I was never an advocate of this business model, but I was outnumbered by about 1,000 to 1 in this belief. Then, around the age of 27, I discovered craft beer. Specifically, Dogfish Head 90 Minute IPA. Then I bought a house down the street from a decent craft brewer in Utah. Then I lived near the Beerhive, my favorite in Salt Lake. They have a freaking ice rail in the middle of their bar. A literal sheet of ice to you can put your drink down on to keep it cold. Awesome. To clarify, I drink between six and eigh

Pre-text: People ask me often what it was like to live in Utah for six and a half years. I'll get to that today, and I predict I'll do it without offending anybody. No, I am not interested in buying whatever you are selling. Not only do I dislike stuff — an all-encompassing term for vacuums, widgets and lawnmowers — I dislike the people selling stuff. You probably have your own stories about people and their stuff. My favorite might be the guy who tried for 10 minutes to get me to subscribe to a newspaper. Not the newspaper I worked for. The rival to my newspaper. I had to hang up on the guy while he was still talking because he wasn't taking no for an answer. So, I'll say it: Never buy the Manchester Union Leader. No, it wasn't a Dyson. But the guy kept talking about sucking power. Tee hee. Then there was the vacuum salesman. I was out for a run and came home to a 20-year-old vacuum salesman trying to sell my wife on a $2,000 vacuum cleaner. Nevermind that we mostl

This is the first time in a long time that I am completely indifferent about the NCAA tournament. As a rule of thumb, one of two things always happens: 1. I fall in love with Duke, pick the Blue Devils to win the national title, and they lose in the second round. 2. Spiteful of its losses, I choose Duke to lose in the first or second round and the Devils go on to win the national title. I recommend checking out the Wall Street Journal's site, which strips away team names and forces you to choose by team descriptions. I chose Pittsburgh, apparently.

It takes me 3 minutes to walk to work. Not 3 minutes and 10 seconds, not 3 or 4 minutes. It takes 3 minutes. I've timed it. Like I always say, we are our parents' children. My dad is a retired 3M engineer. It will not shock my mother to read that I've timed my walk to work (as well as variations on the drive to work, to find the most consistently fast way to get here). I put a picture display at the bottom of this post. It's easy to take the walk for granted. Usually, I'm thinking about going to Dunkin' Donuts for a decaf coffee or getting a bowl of soup (Sidenote: Lookout for a blog on fun business names. This place is called "Karmasouptra"). Rarely am I paying attention to all the cool stuff along the walk. Recently, kitty corner from where I work, I discovered a little plaque. Newspapers rule! It's easy to miss. The granite slab can't be more than 12 inches square and 3 and a half feet tall. It commemorates an African-American who distribute