Prince Dreamy?
My wife told me about a dream that she had the other night. She dreamed that she was dating the Prince, and they were at a water park with one of her coworkers. At the end of the date they jumped on a motorcycle and rode off into the sunset.
“Let me get this straight,” I teased her. “You dreamed you were dating Prince William, and all y’all did was go to a water park? I’m not buying that one.”
“Well, not exactly,” she said. “It wasn’t Prince William. It was the dad, Prince Charles.”
The only word I could come up with was “eeww.” He’s old, has terrible teeth, and by most accounts is a jerk. Why in the heck would she dream about him?
But hey, I know that dreams are sometimes weird. I’ve had a few dreams myself over the years that didn’t make much sense.
I remember one Easter morning when I was eight or nine years old and I had a dream that I saw hundreds and hundreds of rabbits in our back yard. It was so real that I swear I could reach out and grab one of those rabbits. And the disappointment when I woke up was staggering.
Years later I dreamed that Don Johnson (from Miami Vice) and I had a shoot-out with a couple of bad guys on the East side of town here. I can still remember that dream as if it happened last night- from the cool clothes and shoes without socks, to the guns used, right down to the guys we were trying to take down.
The last vivid dream I can recall came about five years ago. It involved Katie Couric (back when she was still fun and bubbly), a Sexy Santa outfit, and the Wall Street Journal. Of course, telling you about it would be stupid because it’s too cold for me to sleep outside.
Anyway, I got to thinking about my wife’s dream. I knew there were websites dedicated to interpreting them, so I took a stab at finding out what this one could mean. Kind of wish I hadn’t now.
The website I found had this to say about her episode:
To see a prince in your dream signifies your association with honor and prestige. You will be recognized for some task. Alternatively, it indicates your desires for romance. Perhaps you are waiting for your Prince Charming.
Uh oh. Although I am one romantic devil, I’m not exactly Prince Charming. In fact, you want to know the only thing I have in common with Prince Charles?
Big ears.
Like the column? Hate the column? Have a new idea for a column? Contact Shannon at news@robconews.com or shannonscasta.blogspot.com and leave a comment.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Rent-A-Kid
It just occurred to me this week that I’d better start saving up for Christmas presents. I didn’t realize that December 25 was so close until all the pages from Toys-R-Us catalogs started showing up in my sock drawer, on the bathroom mirror, and in my pants pockets.
I can’t find anyone to bring me my phone when it rings, but let a toy commercial come on t.v. and my living room resembles Gattiland with all the kids that pop up.
In fact, the holidays have snuck up on me so fast that I don’t think I have the money put back to buy much, so I’ve devised a plan to make the kids pay for their own presents. You know, like men do for Father’s Day, birthdays and Christmas.
What I’ll do, I’ve decided, is start a kid renting service. Listen, you might not think so, but a kid or two comes in pretty handy from time to time. I think I might make a little change here. Enough to get them a toy or two at least, and maybe even make a little profit when it’s all said and done.
Tell me what you think:
Rent-A-Kid.
All kids are current on their shots, and in great shape due to playing sports. We have three models to choose from, so take your pick and enjoy.
Rheagan- Eleven year old female. Pretty as a picture, and eats like a bird. Great for light duty house cleaning, babysitting, and spelling of words (sixth-grade limit, please).
Need a top-notch tattle-tale? This is the one for you! Send Rheagan along with your spouse or teenage child, and get a full report upon return. Also great if you have excess money in the budget that you need to get rid of. Just take this little angel to the mall and watch her go!
Renters of this model may want to wait until at least 10 a.m. to pick up. She’s not a morning person.
The going rate is $10 per hour Monday-Friday, or $15 per hour on weekends.
Trevor- Nine year old male. Great chick magnet for teenaged boy to have. Whether you are at the big game, church, or just hanging around town, take Trevor with you and watch the girls melt (only works if you are young enough not to be the father).
Also good for outside chores, such as sweeping the sidewalk, bringing in firewood, and even mowing the yard. Push mowers only, folks. He isn’t quite tall enough to reach the pedals on a riding mower yet.
Renters of this model must show proof of ability to use Google, in order to answer the gazillion questions per hour that Trevor will ask.
The going rate on Trevor is $10 per hour Monday-Friday, or $15 per hour on the weekend.
ACT NOW and get Rheagan and Trevor both for just $15 per hour Monday-Friday, and $20 per hour on the weekend.
Jenna- Eight year old she-devil, I mean female. Gorgeous curly hair with big blue eyes. Make Jenna mad and see those big eyes actually turn blood red and spin like a slot machine!
Jenna has extraordinary copy-cat skills, and is absolutely fearless in the face of danger. She is our only model that has already had stitches, so she is well battle-tested.
Hard of hearing? Not to worry. This model screams everything she says, so you’ll never lose track of her in a crowd. She’s also an animal lover, and doesn’t mind sharing a snack with the family pet from time to time.
Renters must have plenty of cash (she likes fashion) and never, never look her directly in the eyes (she takes it as a challenge).
The going rate for Jenna is- well, we’ll pay you $10 per hour Monday-Friday, or $15 per hour on the weekend.
It just occurred to me this week that I’d better start saving up for Christmas presents. I didn’t realize that December 25 was so close until all the pages from Toys-R-Us catalogs started showing up in my sock drawer, on the bathroom mirror, and in my pants pockets.
I can’t find anyone to bring me my phone when it rings, but let a toy commercial come on t.v. and my living room resembles Gattiland with all the kids that pop up.
In fact, the holidays have snuck up on me so fast that I don’t think I have the money put back to buy much, so I’ve devised a plan to make the kids pay for their own presents. You know, like men do for Father’s Day, birthdays and Christmas.
What I’ll do, I’ve decided, is start a kid renting service. Listen, you might not think so, but a kid or two comes in pretty handy from time to time. I think I might make a little change here. Enough to get them a toy or two at least, and maybe even make a little profit when it’s all said and done.
Tell me what you think:
Rent-A-Kid.
All kids are current on their shots, and in great shape due to playing sports. We have three models to choose from, so take your pick and enjoy.
Rheagan- Eleven year old female. Pretty as a picture, and eats like a bird. Great for light duty house cleaning, babysitting, and spelling of words (sixth-grade limit, please).
Need a top-notch tattle-tale? This is the one for you! Send Rheagan along with your spouse or teenage child, and get a full report upon return. Also great if you have excess money in the budget that you need to get rid of. Just take this little angel to the mall and watch her go!
Renters of this model may want to wait until at least 10 a.m. to pick up. She’s not a morning person.
The going rate is $10 per hour Monday-Friday, or $15 per hour on weekends.
Trevor- Nine year old male. Great chick magnet for teenaged boy to have. Whether you are at the big game, church, or just hanging around town, take Trevor with you and watch the girls melt (only works if you are young enough not to be the father).
Also good for outside chores, such as sweeping the sidewalk, bringing in firewood, and even mowing the yard. Push mowers only, folks. He isn’t quite tall enough to reach the pedals on a riding mower yet.
Renters of this model must show proof of ability to use Google, in order to answer the gazillion questions per hour that Trevor will ask.
The going rate on Trevor is $10 per hour Monday-Friday, or $15 per hour on the weekend.
ACT NOW and get Rheagan and Trevor both for just $15 per hour Monday-Friday, and $20 per hour on the weekend.
Jenna- Eight year old she-devil, I mean female. Gorgeous curly hair with big blue eyes. Make Jenna mad and see those big eyes actually turn blood red and spin like a slot machine!
Jenna has extraordinary copy-cat skills, and is absolutely fearless in the face of danger. She is our only model that has already had stitches, so she is well battle-tested.
Hard of hearing? Not to worry. This model screams everything she says, so you’ll never lose track of her in a crowd. She’s also an animal lover, and doesn’t mind sharing a snack with the family pet from time to time.
Renters must have plenty of cash (she likes fashion) and never, never look her directly in the eyes (she takes it as a challenge).
The going rate for Jenna is- well, we’ll pay you $10 per hour Monday-Friday, or $15 per hour on the weekend.
Play as long as you can
I had a pretty amazing weekend, and it didn’t have much at all to do with Thanksgiving. Or did it?
Thursday was great. We visited my wife’s family, and everything I put on my plate was tremendous as usual. And also, as usual, I ate way too much.
Friday was spent watching football, eating leftovers, and trying to forget about Thursday night’s game with A&M and Texas. Saturday we cut our Christmas tree before my son and I joined some friends to cut and split some fire wood for the winter.
Sunday? Well, Sunday I got word that this guy I knew died. His name was Jimmy, and he left behind a wife and daughter. He never even got the chance to be a grandfather, and he would have been a good one. We weren’t close or anything but when we saw each other we always shook hands, shared a laugh or two, and asked about each others’ families. So I spent all day Sunday and Monday trying to figure out why I couldn’t get this guy out of my mind. Like I said- we weren’t best friends, I just didn’t expect him to up and die all of a sudden. And this is what I’ve come up with:
Are you familiar with the Chicago Bulls of the ‘90s? They won six NBA championships, and were led by Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player of all time. You can argue that if you want to, but you’d be wrong. Anyway, like any other team or business they wouldn’t have been great with just Jordan. He had a lot of other guys helping him out.
There was Scottie Pippen, Steve Kerr and Dennis Rodman (Rodman was the crazy guy with colorful hair). Chances are you’ve heard of them. Then there were the guys that only basketball fans remember- Ron Harper, Horace Grant, Will Perdue, etc. Role players, we call them.
Each of them played roles in the championships and were all part of the team, but when it came down to it they were really just interchangeable parts. The show went on without them when it was time.
Jordan, Pippen, Kerr and Rodman got most of the glory or the heat, depending on their record. They had the responsibility that I’m sure most of the role players would have loved to have.
Well, in my working career I’ve always been a role player. Sure, I’ve aspired to be Michael Jordan or Scottie Pippen, and I always figured I’d at least be a Kerr or a Rodman (minus the pink and blue hair). Always figured it was just a matter of time and effort, and being in the right place at the right time.
I even preach “not settling” to my kids. “Always shoot for the stars” I say, “and don’t take ‘no’ for an answer”. I want them to treat the word “because” like it’s a cuss word. “It’s usually followed with an excuse,” I tell them.
I’m telling you all this because I got a job offer that has been playing tug-of-war with my mind. It’s a great job with really good benefits and would allow me to come home every night like normal people. And that’s most important, because I can see that my kids really miss me when I travel- especially my son. The boy wanted to hang with me so bad this weekend that he rode with me to visit my mother in the nursing home. Most nine year olds would have come up with a homework story to get out of that.
The problem is that if I take this job, I’m a role player for life. At least ‘till retirement. Not only would I not be climbing the ladder, there is no ladder to climb. From here on out there will always be someone to say “yes sir” to, and it won’t be me.
And so Sunday, while I was right in the middle of walking around the yard cussing busted Christmas lights and pouting and feeling sorry for myself for taking this job, I swear I could hear Jimmy’s voice in the back of my head. “Who cares if you’re a role player or the star of the team? You’re still in the damn game, ain’t you? Play as long as you can.”
And I guess he’s right. Hell, I’m sure Will Perdue is just as proud of his championship rings as Rodman is of his. And he never had to dye his hair pink.
Like the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Contact Shannon at robconews.com or shannonscasta.blogspot.com.
I had a pretty amazing weekend, and it didn’t have much at all to do with Thanksgiving. Or did it?
Thursday was great. We visited my wife’s family, and everything I put on my plate was tremendous as usual. And also, as usual, I ate way too much.
Friday was spent watching football, eating leftovers, and trying to forget about Thursday night’s game with A&M and Texas. Saturday we cut our Christmas tree before my son and I joined some friends to cut and split some fire wood for the winter.
Sunday? Well, Sunday I got word that this guy I knew died. His name was Jimmy, and he left behind a wife and daughter. He never even got the chance to be a grandfather, and he would have been a good one. We weren’t close or anything but when we saw each other we always shook hands, shared a laugh or two, and asked about each others’ families. So I spent all day Sunday and Monday trying to figure out why I couldn’t get this guy out of my mind. Like I said- we weren’t best friends, I just didn’t expect him to up and die all of a sudden. And this is what I’ve come up with:
Are you familiar with the Chicago Bulls of the ‘90s? They won six NBA championships, and were led by Michael Jordan, the greatest basketball player of all time. You can argue that if you want to, but you’d be wrong. Anyway, like any other team or business they wouldn’t have been great with just Jordan. He had a lot of other guys helping him out.
There was Scottie Pippen, Steve Kerr and Dennis Rodman (Rodman was the crazy guy with colorful hair). Chances are you’ve heard of them. Then there were the guys that only basketball fans remember- Ron Harper, Horace Grant, Will Perdue, etc. Role players, we call them.
Each of them played roles in the championships and were all part of the team, but when it came down to it they were really just interchangeable parts. The show went on without them when it was time.
Jordan, Pippen, Kerr and Rodman got most of the glory or the heat, depending on their record. They had the responsibility that I’m sure most of the role players would have loved to have.
Well, in my working career I’ve always been a role player. Sure, I’ve aspired to be Michael Jordan or Scottie Pippen, and I always figured I’d at least be a Kerr or a Rodman (minus the pink and blue hair). Always figured it was just a matter of time and effort, and being in the right place at the right time.
I even preach “not settling” to my kids. “Always shoot for the stars” I say, “and don’t take ‘no’ for an answer”. I want them to treat the word “because” like it’s a cuss word. “It’s usually followed with an excuse,” I tell them.
I’m telling you all this because I got a job offer that has been playing tug-of-war with my mind. It’s a great job with really good benefits and would allow me to come home every night like normal people. And that’s most important, because I can see that my kids really miss me when I travel- especially my son. The boy wanted to hang with me so bad this weekend that he rode with me to visit my mother in the nursing home. Most nine year olds would have come up with a homework story to get out of that.
The problem is that if I take this job, I’m a role player for life. At least ‘till retirement. Not only would I not be climbing the ladder, there is no ladder to climb. From here on out there will always be someone to say “yes sir” to, and it won’t be me.
And so Sunday, while I was right in the middle of walking around the yard cussing busted Christmas lights and pouting and feeling sorry for myself for taking this job, I swear I could hear Jimmy’s voice in the back of my head. “Who cares if you’re a role player or the star of the team? You’re still in the damn game, ain’t you? Play as long as you can.”
And I guess he’s right. Hell, I’m sure Will Perdue is just as proud of his championship rings as Rodman is of his. And he never had to dye his hair pink.
Like the column? Hate the column? Have an idea for a new column? Contact Shannon at robconews.com or shannonscasta.blogspot.com.
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