Clearly he loves me


I just realized the depth of Kris' love for me.

For whatever reason that I haven't quite determined yet, when I play ulitmate hard, I lose my toenails. They fall off, I can play pain free for a while. They grow back, get jammed, and fall off again. It's been the cycle for several years now. Annoying, but I deal with it.

Usually when they start to fall off, I'll trim them as close as I can, because they rarely come off cleanly.

This last time, however, the toenail from the big toe was fully jammed, and after a couple weeks, came cleanly off my toe. I was in Kris' bathroom when I pulled it off, and left it on the counter. Yeah, yeah, yeah, normally I throw them away, but the trashcan in Kris' bathroom is in an awkward place, and I, no doubt, was distracted by the topside of my new toe.

When looking for something this morning, I looked on Kris' shelves. Much to my surprise, I found that last toenail, all shrivelled, yellow and icky.

Kris had moved it from the counter to some place safer in case I wanted that toenail. He had saved it for me, in the midst of cleaning.

Clearly, I haven't begun to probe the depths of that man's love for me.

So that you don't?


"Why does burned hair smell so bad?"

"Maybe to tell you not to burn it?"

Yes, I have witnesses


Last night, Kris and I journeyed north to the City to have dinner with Cal and Elina. The two of them have been hot for Ariel's family's tortilla recipe ever since they were over for communal dinner a couple months ago. Not that I blame them, they're tasty little things.

We showed up, and Kris was immediately as mesmerized with the view as I was the first time I went. Not that I blame him, it's still impressive.

The evening was awesome, as Elina and I made the tortillas, and the four of us talked about this and that and other things. I failed to follow my number one rule about teaching, though, and that's to let the person learning do all the work. I think Elina had enough hands on experience to do fine the next time she makes them. The goodies inside the tortillas were amazingly delicious and I'm hoping she'll send me that recipe back.

During dinner I had asked about Elina's first term at school, so after dinner, I asked if she had any work she could show-off to us. She did, and showed them to us on her really amazingly cool, really big monitor (one of those nice 30" Apple monitors that you just want to lick). When I said to Kris, "I want," he responded, "If you clean out the office, I'll get you one."

I turned to Elina and Cal, and replied, "You're my witnesses."

Kris is fairly confident he has a long while before he has to shell out the moolah. I can't say he isn't right.

Blah blah blah, not listening!


Kris invited me to play in a ProTrade challenge, ProTrade being a fantasy football meets the stock exchange type of website, where people can buy stock in players and receive dividends. A challenge is a group of people who compete amongst themselves. The main difference between regular fantasy football (or any other fantasy sport) and ProTrade is that only one player can own a player in the fantasy sports, where as multiple players can own a part of a player in the ProTrade model.

So, despite my reluctance to participate in any fantasy sports (Me. Sports. Not so much.), I signed up for the challenge. I, of course, used the "pick my players for me" feature, allowing the site to draft me five players to play.

And I rocked!

I was consistently at second place in the challenge last week. Kris squeaked by me on Monday night, his having players who played on Monday night and my not. No problem.

Well, along comes Friday night (last night), and Kris tells me I should trade my players out for players who are playing on Saturday. These players can earn me dividends, so I'd be throwing (admittedly ProTrade fake) money away not trading in and getting some playing players.

Eying him suspiciously, I listen to him, trading away Peyton Manning and Joe Jurevicius for some lame-o players that not only didn't early any dividends, but actually lost money.

Did I mention that Kris was the one who made these new picks for me?


So, I drifted down from third, to fourth, to fifth, to dead last as the buy-sell fees ate away completely ALL of my fake-dividends.

Weak sauce, indeed. Weak sauce for freakin' listening to Kris. Suuuuuuurrrrrre, you're just trying to help me. Suuuuuuuuuurrrrrrrre, there wasn't the slightest ulterior motive on that "you should trade players" comment.

Another argument for buy-and-hold demonstrated, though the fake market of ProTrade. Those fees'll kill ya.

BTW, you can't post "crap" in the ProTrade forums. It's considered "profanity." Go fig.

When I dream, I dream of myCrap


"I dreamt last night that we were putting a new box into the colo because myCrap was doing so well, the servers we had couldn't handle the load."

"Really? Cool!"


"So, what's our business model?"


blink blink


Tuning out the screaming


Kris often tells a story of his high school baseball coach. Actually, he tells a lot of stories about the guy. Enough that there might have been more than one coach, and I just blur them all together.

The most entertaining of the stories is the one that ends with his coach commenting to Kris, "McQueen, I time you running to first base with a calendar."

But, the one relevant to me at the moment is the one where he talks about the coach's yelling. When the coach became frustrated (usually because the team wasn't winning, as in not-winning so well, they were on a losing streak that stretched across half the county), the coach would start yelling. As Kris puts it, he was mad from the beginning.

Eventually, where that "eventually" amounted to the second day of practice, all the players would ignore the coach. Let him scream, no one's listening.

I recently experienced much the situation. A message I received contained LOTS and LOTS of CAPITAL LETTERS, indicating annoyance, perhaps anger, directed at me.

My first reaction was complete stress. My heart rate shot up, my limbs flooded with adrenalin, my blood pressure jumped. My second reaction was one of, well, resignation. The issues being YELLED SO LOUDLY weren't any I COULD FIX, nor were they that much of A BIG DEAL.

The whole thing kinda annoyed me. The best thing was that it helped me make a decision to end my relationship with the sender of the message. I'd been unable to decide for a while now if the relationship was worth saving. With the YELLING message, I've decided it's not, and have begun the split.

I should have learned how to tune out the noise sooner.

When do we get lost?


"See? We'll be there by 2:40. Didn't I tell you?"

"Sure, unless we get lost."

"When do we ever get lost?"

"Uh... When you're driving, and you ask me for directions, and I give you them, and you listen."

"Oh, yeah. We do get lost then."

Kris on his poker prowess

Kris: I win! I win!

Me: In the poker tournament?

Kris: Yeah. I'm good, you know.

Me: Sure, when you beat up on the beginners.

Kris: True that.

A typical night

"You know, people are going to read my blog and think the only thing we do is sit around and fart at each other."

"I know!"

Kris calls out to the world, "I QUIT!"

Well, if "the world" is defined as "Oracle" and "calls" is equivalent to telling his boss, then, sure, he did.

After 9 years (nine years. NINE YEARS!) at Oracle, Kris finally told them he was done. He finally let me push, prod, cajole, nag, encourage, insist and bully him into leaving the job that was slowly but surely sucking him dry.

And we don't like dry husbands. We like them lively.

Okay, Kris just read that and said, "Ooof."

To which I explain "sucking him dry" to mean "giving Kris a wonderful, dynamic, exciting, fulfilling means to satisfy his disc habits, where he is challenged in delightful and interesting ways on a daily basis."

Of course.

Seven years ago, I was complaining to him about how much I hated my job. In reality, at the time, I didn't hate my job, I hated the politics of the workplace of my job. The work was unbelievably exciting and interesting. The people I worked with were amazing, fantastic people.

The people above me, perhaps less so.

The culture of the company? Ick.

The pay? Pay? What pay?

So, Kris encouraged me to quit my job. He would take care of me while I worked on my own projects, found my own calling, became happy. We would move into an "affordable" apartment and live happily ever after.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Didn't work out that way. I didn't really know how to properly quit a job that time. I didn't realize that keeping in touch with friends and ex-coworkers was vital to one's sanity.

Sure, with a little practice, though, I became much better at it (well, except leaving VA, but that was difficult for much different reasons), and began enjoying the time off between work engagements as a chance to relax and look around.

Kris has since allowed me that luxury twice again.

I took the opportunities gingerly, realizing that I was taking his turn. He seemed willing, if not also a little humoured, to let me quit (again!), so quit I did.

But now it's his turn.

Thank you, Kris, for finally taking that step. For leaving the comfortable world of guaranteed paychecks, underwater stock options, affordable health care, and cushy hours. Welcome to my world of uncertainty, change, excitement, adventure and expensive health insurance.

Thank you for finally realizing that the deleted projects were no longer interesting and that it was time to move on, time to see what else is out there.

Thank you for holding my hand and jumping.

You missed the last boom. It was quite the ride. Catch the front end of this one, love. It's going to be another fun ride.

You cannot fail. You have me. We're a team.

I love you.