Got a Plunger?

Last night I was perusing KSL and stumbled across a story about how this guy had been charged with 10 counts of Rape of a Child. My wife saw the headline over my shoulder and gasped. Tyton and Boston overheard her profane, muffled exclamations and asked what we were reading. We explained how this guy was a really really bad guy. So bad, in fact, that other bad guys in jail would probably beat him up.

Tyton started asking follow up questions about what he'd done that was so bad. I sat down on the kitchen floor and told my boys that he'd done very mean things to children. I also explained how if he'd done anything to MY kids I'd cut off his ears and shove them in his mouth. My boys started laughing hysterically and then started trying to come up with more creative punishments... which wasn't exactly what I had in mind.

We ended up deciding that the worst punishment of all would be if we all went poo and pee in our upstairs toilet and then we could put him into the toilet head first and all take turns flushing the toilet and jumping on him until he was completely flushed. Boston laughed and said, "But he's too big." Then Tyton said, in all seriousness, "He'd clog it up for sure. Then we'd have to use the downstairs toilet." Good point, buddy. Good point.

Live Animal Trap

Ever since we've gotten rid of our dog, we've had a wild cat infestation in our backyard. I've seen 3 cats at the same time in our backyard. My wife thinks they're cute for the most part, but I step in poo a couple times a week. For a while I thought it was raccoon poo. Then someone told me that wild cats don't bury their poo cause that's how they mark their territory. I don't know why they can't just pee. Obviously, no wild cat has ever moved into a rental property where the previous owner had cats. If they had... they'd know how strong and offensive their own pee really is and maybe they'd decide that was good enough.

I went to Smith and Edwards and asked the lady working in Sporting Goods if they had a Cat Trap I could purchase. With a look of shocked disgust, she replied, "A CAT trap? Um... no. But we DO have a Raccoon Trap right over there." I was a little confused over why she'd respond with such disgust. I figured she was simply a cat lover. When I saw the device, I noticed it was actually called a Live Animal Trap. Funny enough, there were three animal photos on the side of the box. A photo of a raccoon. A photo of a cat. And a photo of an armadillo or aardvark or something. I'm actually not sure what the difference is between an armadillo and aardvark. So apparently, the name of the trap changes depending on what it is you're looking to trap. The lady didn't want to think about the raccoon trap accidentally catching a cat... even though that's exactly what I was trying to catch. And since the makers of the trap decided to include the photo of the armadillo, I suppose those animals are a nuisance somewhere in the world.

So over the last three weeks I've put out this cat trap just to see if any animal would be stupid enough to walk into a metal cage just to get a chunk of hot dog. So far, 12 cats and 2 raccoons have been dumb enough. I heard two cats fighting earlier today so I know there are still at least two more up there in my trees.

Yes. It is.

Telephone conversation I had three minutes ago:

Offender: Hey Daley. I'm gonna be a few minutes late for our appointment.

Me: Did you talk with that detective then?

Offender: Yeah. I just got done.

Me: So he didn't arrest you, I take it. Are they still gonna charge you with Rape?

Offender: I don't know. He said it sounded like it was consensual.

Me: But she was your half-sister. They might charge you with Incest.

Offender: Is that a crime?

Me: (pause) Yes. It is.

Offender: Well, I guess they could then.

Me: How about you come into my office and talk with me.

Anomaly?

I worked for Layton City Police Department for a little while about seven years ago. Ultimately, I quit and came back to work for Adult Probation and Parole, but I learned several valuable lessons while I was employed there and I learned a lot about myself, as well. The biggest thing I learned about myself is that I have absolutely no idea (nor do I care to learn) what the makes and/or models of cars look like.

At the end of my first month with Layton PD, I was driving around with my trainer and he started to quiz me on makes and models of cars. I honestly had no idea. The best I could do was tell him the color and how many doors the cars had. That was the extent of my vehicular knowledge.

My trainer seemed surprised at the time... especially when I showed him how awesome I was at The Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon game. He kept telling me to forget all the useless crap about actors and actresses and replace it with car information. I kept trying to explain to him that I felt like car info was "useless". I mean, honestly, who else besides law enforcement people even CARE about the makes and models of cars?

The answer to that question, according to my friend, John... is "everyone". John seems to think that 90% of guys between the ages of 18 and 35 could look at five cars lined up and be able to tell you the make of the vehicle... and in most cases... even the model.

It wasn't until a few years ago that I even knew the difference between "make" and "model". I'm so extremely ignorant about cars that I have a hard time believing that 90% of men would care as much as John seems to think they do. I think a more accurate number would be 50-60%. I think it's fair to say I'm not as much of an anomaly as John claims. There's no way I'm a 1 in 10. I'm more like a 1 in 3.

I've been asked this question a lot as well: "If you could own any car in the world, what would you want?" My answer is a Honda Element. Why? Cause they look pretty cool, I guess. The funny thing is, if you were to line up a Honda Element with 4 other similar looking SUV's... I'm only KINDA sure I could pick it out.

By the way, John... I may not be able to tell you what the make or model of a car is, but I'll always be right more often than you if the question comes down to the color of the car.

"Just Don't Be Mean..."

Tyton is in kindergarten. He has about 20 or so kids in his class and Tyton is one of the smartest and funniest kids in his class. So... pretty much the complete opposite
of me when I was in school.

He's enrolled in a Charter school and it requires a certain number of volunteer hours each month by the parents so I've had the opportunity to get to know his classmates more than my parents ever got to know my own classmates when I was little.

The other day I went with Tyton to one of his extracurricular activities with his peers. Every time we saw one of his female classmates, I'd hear them yell, "Tyton! Hey Tyton!" We'd both look toward them and she'd wave with a huge smile on her face. Nobody smiled at me like that until I was 17. Tyton would smile shyly and wave back. A few times I actually sensed the girls fathers glaring at Tyton and I... kinda like they were mentally preparing for 10 years from now when Ty takes advantage of his daughter.

The saddest and most entertaining part is, every time this would happen I'd lean down to Tyton and whisper in his ear, "Who's that?" Every time he'd answer, "She's in my class." Then I'd ask, "What's her name?" He'd shrug his shoulders every single time. He has no idea who most of the girls are in his class, but I got the distinct impression that they ALL know who he is. What a stud.

So now here's the dilemma. Tyton has a kid in his class who is very very slow. My wife and I helped out with P.E. a couple of weeks ago and it was the first time I'd seen this kid in action. The students were doing somersaults on a color mat and when it was this kids turn he would do one somersault and then rest for 15 full seconds before doing another one. I thought maybe he was just dizzy and needed to reorient himself, but even if that was the case... it's still sad. He's worse than Paul Pheiffer on The Wonder Years. Betsy and I have been wondering what kind of advice to give to Tyton.

Last Friday when I picked Tyton up from school, he told me about how this classmate of his was standing in front of the class doing his show-and-tell (which, sadly enough, was a McDonalds Happy Meal toy) when a different classmate yelled "It's leaking!" referring to the toy. Well, unfortunately, the toy wasn't leaking. The boy was wetting his pants.

Geez. That poor kid. Ultimately, Betsy and I have told Tyton that he doesn't need to try to to be his best friend or anything as long as he's never mean to him. We've just been trying to stress to Tyton that it's important to never ever be mean. We thought briefly about trying to get Tyton to befriend him, but I don't think six is old enough to feel that kind of pressure. But maybe it is. Maybe he's old enough to accept that much responsibility. But I, personally, think Tyton should first be able to swim, do a front flip on a trampoline, or at the very least open his own GoGurt without help before he's burdened with trying to be friends with someone he isn't naturally drawn to.

The Shocking Illegible Conclusion

Again... I apologize for my choice to write in cursive for the last few pages. If you need any help translating, let me know what you're struggling with and I'll tell you what it says.

Also, plan on this post taking you at least twice as long to read as the other ones. Yup... it's THAT hard.

Lucky or Unlucky?

I remember my first physical when I went to scout camp at age 13 or so. I was pretty nervous. My older brother Ryan had tried to prepare me for the "turn and cough" portion of the exam. His words of comfort included a description of the hernia testing process. He claimed that it included jumper cables and a car battery. I was old enough and familiar enough with Ryan's so-called "words of wisdom", that I knew he was lying. At least I really really hoped he was.

When our troop got to the Dr.'s office, I remember being escorted back to an exam room by an older, unattractive female nurse or assistant or whatever. I noticed a hotter nurse that was busy doing something else and I wasn't sure if it was good or bad that I got the ugly one. Either way, MY nurse led me into the room, asked me a few questions and then, as she was leaving, she instructed me to undress but to "leave your underwear on". I instantly felt gratitude that I got the ugly one. For some reason I felt the idea of an attractive nurse telling me to undress to be extremely embarrassing. She closed the door and I proceeded to strip. After I did as I was instructed, I found myself standing in the middle of the freezing cold exam room unsure of what to do next. I felt extremely vulnerable with my tighty whitey's wrapped not so tighty around my exposed 90 lb frame. I felt another wave of gratitude that IF a nurse were to accompany the doctor for the actual exam... at least it would be the ugly one.

Just then I heard the door handle start to jiggle. I looked down at my pasty skin and felt myself start to blush a little bit. Then the door opened and the hot nurse stuck her head into my exam room. "I'm just checking to make sure you... Ok... great. Looks like you're ready to go." Then the door closed. All of a sudden, the air in the room didn't seem quite as cold. In fact, I was pretty hot... standing there practically naked and bright red from the neck up.

Fast forward 10 years. I was told I needed a physical before starting my job working with Layton Police Department. I arrived at the Work Med and I was feeling pretty confident in my health and wellness. I had pretty much forgotten my mid-pubescent experience ten years earlier.

I was escorted back to my exam room and, again, told to strip down to my underwear... only this time I was provided with an open-back gown to hide the majority of my lack of muscle tone. As I was waiting for the doctor to come in, I noticed a sign on the wall. It said "If you feel uncomfortable and would like another member of staff present for your examination, one will be provided".

I thought to myself, "What kind of female wussies feel uncomfortable with their man doctor? Aren't they used to male doctors checking out all of their private parts by now? Geez."

Just then the door opened and a female assistant carrying a clipboard came into the room. She sat down across from me and asked me a series of questions from the paperwork she had clipped to her board. I answered them all honestly and politely while silently wondering who my doctor was seeing and what was taking him so long.

Then the assistant asked if I was familiar with testicular self examinations. I told her that I was pretty sure how to do them and what I was supposed to feel for during the self exam. She started to explain in glorious detail how the exam was supposed to be conducted, what was considered normal with testicles and what sort of lumps, protrusions, and sensitivity was considered abnormal.

I started to get a little uncomfortable. I mean, I'm cool with talking about my balls in almost any situation, but this doctor was significantly older than me... like, about my moms age. She was kinda cute for a 50 year old, but I really just wanted to have the conversation with the doctor.

Then the assistant pulled out a stethoscope and listened to my breathing through my back. She had me sit on the edge of the exam table and tested my reflexes. Then she had me lay back as she applied pressure to different parts of my abdomen. I thought to myself, "This is a very thorough pre-examination. I guess this assistant is only going to be leaving the turn-and-cough part for the actual doctor."

Then she told me to stand up and she rolled backwards in her little rolling chair until she was on the other side of the room. Then she said something I wasn't expecting... "Ok, Cameron. Walk over and stand right here (pointing to the ground in front of her) and pull your underwear down for me."

Uhhhhh. Apparently she'd decided not to leave anything for the doctor. Then I remembered the sign. I'm not exaggerating here. It took me all the way to this point to realize that she WAS the doctor.

I'm glad I couldn't see the look on my face as I did what I was told to do. I'm sure she could tell how uncomfortable I was. What baffled me the most is how long she seemed to drag out this part of the examination. I mean, I don't think I was molested or anything, but she went through a step by step tutorial on how to conduct a self-examination. I've blocked most of it out, but I remember hearing her say "THIS is how you do the self exam. You need to roll-" That's where my memory stops.

To be honest, I have no desire in recovering the memories that seem to have disappeared.