I’ve been about 80% deaf in my left ear for a week now, thanks to some buildup, so cracking open the fortune cookie at lunch today made this one extra special:

“Avoid misunderstanding by keeping your ears open.”

[NBC Video - The Tonight Show, Jan. 11, 2010]

Now that we’re past Thanksgiving, and on to the season of giving, we’re giving UP a couple things that have been bothering us recently.

I’m cutting out the sugar pop. I had my last Cherry Coke at lunch yesterday Hardees in Milbank. My goal is modest — drink water (or diet pop) until Christmas. The benefits will surely be small — health and cost savings — but lately I just can’t bring myself to finish a can. We’ll see how it goes.

Stephanie’s “quit” is much more impressive. She’s cutting the cord on FACEBOOK. (And I just checked, she’s not kidding. Her profile’s already gone.) Now you’ll have to poke her with your finger. In person. And she won’t get your Farmville invites unless you send them with a stamp. In her words: “I’d rather just communicate with people the old-fashioned way. Email.”

Chris took the first one. Second photo, c/o Lane.

I’m mature.

Stephanie is in Kansas City for the weekend, and I made the following promises to the cats:

1) Unlimited running on the dining room table
2) Unpredictable meal times
3) “No one will pick the crusties and goobers out of your eyes.”

Before I forget, here are the other two stories I promised from the wild weekend with the bat. These are much less interesting.

1) I got pulled over.

Driving to Mom and Dad’s to help them price some computer supplies for their garage sale, I turned west onto Hamilton Street right by the Runza on Saddle Creek. There were a couple cars in front of me at the light and as we’re going through the turn arrow, I see the police car. Dude is inching toward the intersection, just laying on the horn as the car in front of me, a cab, turns the corner.

“Haha, that cabbie’s in trouble,” I thought.

Cop turns the lights on and follows us around the corner. I turned into the QT parking lot after the cab, just to get out of the cop’s way. Even the cab driver thought he was in trouble.

But the cop blocks ME in and shines his spotlight right on my mirror. Then hops out and comes up to the window.

“What the hell are you doing? Didn’t you hear me honking at you?”

“I heard you honking, but why was it at me?”

“Last time I checked, they don’t make green lights in two directions at the same time. You ran the light.”

“Sir, I’m pretty sure I had a turn arrow back there.”

“Oh really? Because I’m pretty sure I would have run into you if I had gone when my light turned green. But maybe I’ll just have to call the guys at the city. They might have changed the law.”

(Sarcasm? Seriously?)

“Wow, I’m really sorry if I did run the light, sir. I don’t even remember seeing it change to yellow.”

“Well, like I said, maybe they are turning on green lights in both directions now. I’ll have to confirm that … So, is this your car?”

“MY car? Uh, yeah. It is.”

“Do you have insurance? And a license?”

I pulled out the registration info and handed him my license, which happened to be the temporary, paper version that the DMV hands out now before they mail you the real one.

“What the hell is this?”

“Sir, that’s my driver’s license. I just got it renewed yesterday.”

“Renewed huh? Why’d you have to do that, you get a DUI or something?”

“No. Actually, I just had a birthday. It expired.”

He stared at it for a second, flipping it over a couple times trying to pretend he hadn’t ever seen one. Then, he gave a disapproving grunt, handed me the license and registration back, and walked back to his car. A minute later, he squealed the tires and drove away.

With the spotlight on.

—————————

2) The second story probably involves a whole lot more dangerous behavior than anything I did to get pulled over.

There’s a little group of younger homeowners at work that likes to joke about how we want to do all this work around the house but are a little worried to attempt anything because we don’t know HOW.

Nick wanted to stain his deck and surprise his wife. So, we did what we usually do — assume it can be done in a day and look up some directions on the internet. All we really knew what that staining was like painting. And you have to rent a power washer.

Sara eventually found out about the plan, so the surprise was gone, but she was going out of town for a couple days, giving Nick a free afternoon to get the work done. He dropped her off at the airport and I think her last words to him were “Don’t burn the house down.”

We drove to Home Depot (because Lowe’s and Ace Hardware don’t rent power washers) and luckily ran into a helpful guy named Phillip in the paint department. I think he came over to rescue us — we were standing in the aisle with that “We know we want to stain, but what do we do?” look on our faces.

This guy was awesome. And he was young, so he was helpful in an “I’m happy to help you beginners” way instead of being some grumpy old pro who can’t be bothered by these noobs. First step: Skip the power washer, it’s overkill. Just get the “deck mildew remover” stuff. This is probably a good thing. We avoided the first “high pressure water” drowning in Omaha for 2009. (Anyone who has followed this blog long enough knows that Nick and I have had some, uh, difficulties with water.)

Once we got all the stuff (Final receipt: just over $100), it wasn’t really that difficult. The only setback was a bruised back suffered when, after literally painting myself into a corner, I tried to be a hero and just jump back to an unstained area. I’m no Carl Lewis, though, and I ended up with a red shirt and a section of the deck that needed to be repainted.

We finished just before dark, and Sara was happy enough with the result when she got home that she spared us from having to give it a second coat. Plus, we didn’t burn the house down.

[Flickr -- Deck staining with Nick]

This is officially out of control.

I’m reading an article on the Kansas City Star website (Joe Posnanski’s column on the Omaha Royals pitcher) and I accidentally clicked on their “share this article” button at the top of the page:

48 different ways to share a story over the internet? I can’t decide if that’s awesome or terrible…

From a story about how the recession is affecting New Era, the hat company, comes this pretty sweet chart:

Stitch Count: Major League Baseball caps with the most and fewest stitches in their logos

MOST
Florida Marlins: 10,966
Toronto Bluejays: 9,293
Baltimore Orioles: 8,978
Milwaukee Brewers: 8,392
Cleveland Indians: 8,252

FEWEST
Los Angeles Dodgers: 3,564
New York Yankees: 2,688
Chicago Cubs: 2,574
Philadelphia Phillies: 2,381
Pittsburgh Pirates: 1,881

What’s interesting is that I think teams at the top of that list have more “stitches per hat” than “fans per home game.”

[NY Times -- Baseball cap maker adjusts to fit the times]

I’m getting another sister!

No, Mom’s not pregnant.

Chris lined up probably the coolest proposal in history — surprising Natalie at her parents’ farm (at sunset!) after he got back from a trip — and now I get to help plan the only wedding that could ever top ours on the awesomeness scale.

Congrats, you guys.

This one’s for Sharon, who loves stories about how interconnected we all seem to be.

Chris was in Iowa City last week for a photo shoot at some hospital. He mentioned to one of the photographers how we just bought a house in midtown. The photographer, who lived in the area, I think, asked about the location.

“It’s close to 45th and Center.”

“Hmm, I know some people over there that just sold their house, too.”

“I think their address is 4535 Shirley.”

“No way! That’s Tiffany and Donnie’s house. I know her. She drives the crime van now but she used to work here!”

Turns out, and I’m sure Tiffany can confirm this in the comments, the guy Chris is working with at Malone and Co. knows her from her previous life when she was doing commercial photography.

Related small world news: When we had the Pod delivered two weeks ago with all of our stuff packed inside, the driver didn’t even need directions. He was already familiar with the address. Turns out, it was Donnie’s brother.