An Ode of Praise.

As I was in Food Kitty yesterday, I happened on a near miracle. "But what was it, Fat Rock?" you ask. An act of unselfishness? A story of bravery? A really really fat guy with a hot chick? (Well, besides me and Lemur Queen)

NO! None of the above. What I heard first was actually a loud burst of yelling. "I don't believe this! This is BULL!" Then I heard a low mumble that sounded like "Sorry, I'm not doing that", and then I saw a woman with a big ass cart FULL of groceries wheel angrily out of a checkout lane. As I walked by with my purchase (candy bar and a diet coke. Yes, a diet coke, although I don't know why I even bother. I mean, I'm buying a freaking candy bar, and it's not like they cancel each other out.......) I saw that the same lane was open, with a SMILING cashier staffing it. I walk up, and set my items on the belt. It's at that second I realize that I'm in an express lane, with the cutesy and often ignored "12 items or fewer" signs. Well, this cashier COUNTS! And if you have more than 12, you are kicked out of the line! A-FREAKING-MAZING!!

Tanya was her name. And upholding the sacred trust of Food Lion was her game. I was astounded. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Haven't you been behind those jerks at Wal-Mart who stand there in the express lane with a full cart and then squable with the cashier and hold up the line. Also, I hate the mexicans that pretend not to know english and push two full carts down your lane when you work at K-mart and are yelling "hey you! you can't use this line!". But this cashier actually followed that rules! I was so impressed. It's a miracle!


Fat Rock.

Christmas Whimseys....

Hello all. Fat Rock, back again. I was pretty pleased when I snagged my wife, the Lemur Queen. She's a gem. One of the many reasons I love her is that she doesn't take for freaking ever to pick out a Christmas Tree. When I was growing up, my mother Barbie would spend HOURS dragging my father and I from lot to lot to look at frickin' trees. It got to the point where the tree sellers at the local farmer's market would recognize my dad and point out all the new tress they had brought in for the day. But buying the tree was ony half the pain. THEN we had to get it home, and my mother would come out with a tape measure and delineate exactly how many inches we were allowed to cut the lower branches off. Then we would cut exactly 1and 1/4" off the bottom to allow the tree to suck up the special water my mother had prepared.

THEN we would take the tree inside, and prop up the tree and move it around the room to the spot my mother wanted. Once we had the spot picked out, we would rotate the tree in the base(not tightened, of course) untill the "least bald" side was facing out. Then we would tighten the screws, and begin to maneuver the tree to the appropriate angle. And then we would often repeat the process as mom changed her mind several times. All this took several hours. And we haven't even started decorating the tree.

Oh, and a word on my mom's secret tree formula:

6 cups of unfiltered water

3/4 cups sugar

10 grains (650mg) of aspirin.

1 teaspoon sea salt

Optional: 1 to 2 pellets of Miracle Grow (use only after tree has been in house for a week)

And she would make this up OFTEN and pour it into the tree base.

So last year, I was working at a hospital, and didn't have time to get a Christmas Tree with the Lemur Queen so I sent my beloved father, Major Rock, to assist her. We were expecting a death march like what my mom does, but boy were we surprised! She took 10 minutes to find a tree. Lemur Queen had basically three requirements for a Christmas Tree:

1. Green

2. Tree Shaped

3. Not too tall for the apartment.

And Boom, Major and Queen had a tree. Then they brought it home. "How much to cut off?" says Dad. "Whatever you think is appropriate", she says. Dad has the tree up in less than 10 minutes. My future wife compliments the job dad did, and talks about how nice the tree looks.

Fast forward one year.

Lemur Queen and I are standing in the tree lot that a buddy from work has a stake in. What kind of tree do you want honey? Her reply:

1. Green

2. Tree Shaped

3. Not too tall for the apartment

4. Doesn't cost too much.

We have a tree in 5 minutes. We get the tree home. I trim the bottom branches off and the bottom of the tree is cut whatever way I jolly well chosse, because she doesn't have an opinion on it. At this point I'm falling in love all over again. Then we move the tree into position. Fine, tighten the screws on the base. Fine. Straighten the tree. Fine. "Tree looks good honey" From the way she was standing, it did look good.:

She was happy. I was happy. I went into the kitchen to make holiday Rum and Cokes. Then I saw the tree from the side:

Yowsa. We're going to need a LOT of Rum and Cokes before that starts looking straight. Well, my wife has a solution. She digs down into the big delicious brain of hers and remembers something from our preparation for marriage
Yep. We shoved our "Dummies" book under there. I mean, WE wouldn't use it. Right? Who's crazy enough to have a SECOND freaking wedding? I mean, the first one was frazzling enough, but could you imagine getting all those relatives together again? *shudder* So anyways, Lemur Queen held the tree, and I shoved it under the base. We really liked the result:

By the way, this holiday is being made bearable by Gosling's Rum

Fat Rock Holidays

Ok, Lemur Queen's turn.


Thanksgiving with the Fat Rock clan. I come from a small family. Most holidays are just Frank, Marie, Robert, and myself. We may be loud, we may be annoying, but it's safe, predictable, and calm. Well, as calm as the Queen Family gets. No cousins, no aged grandparents, no long car trips.

Then I married Fat Rock.

I should have known it was coming. At our wedding, we had 50 guests. 25+ were Fat Rock family members, 5 of my guests were family members. They are kind, welcoming people, but there are SO MANY of them. Uncles, cousins, grandparents, and various hangers on. And they are POLITE. What's their angle? I can interact with people on a professional level, which is a little cold for family, or I can interact as we do in the Queen household. At volume 11, speaking in insults and rude jokes. I have a feeling that this is equally inappropriate.

Back to Thanksgiving. Fat Rock's family lives in northern Florida, in a small resort town. We would be sleeping at the grandparents. So far, so good. I'm quiet and polite, and think that I can keep it up for another 3 days. Thanksgiving dawns, and we head out to the Turkey Trot. Yep, a Holiday is no reason to miss out on a 5k. One of the numerous cousins is also running the race, and I am pleased to announce I kicked her ass. Than it was off to find coffee.

You see, Fat Rock's grandparents are older (of course), and not in the best of health. This makes entertaining difficult, but as they are fine southern folk, they want to be good hosts. So for us, this means crappy coffee. I NEED coffee, it is part of my DNA, my rason d'etre, my only means of waking in the morning. We couldn't bring coffee in the house, as we may hurt grandparent feelings. So there we were 9:00 Thanksgiving morning, driving through a mostly-deserted beach town, desperately looking for a Starbucks.

"Don't they have coffee in this God-forsaken town?" Apparently not. I guess vacationers just drink all day, and sleep off the caffeine headaches on the beach. Finally we find a Starbucks, and pound down that lovely nectar. Thus re-energized, it's back to the house to prepare for the BIG event.

Thanksgiving dinner. With 20 people. And they watch football. And don't drink. Holy crap. I am doomed. I spy cousin and cousin's wife, and their new baby. Relief, that will take the pressure off. Oh no, now everyone is asking ME when we'll have a child. Briefly, I toy with the idea of saying "actually....." and patting my stomach, but decide that is a class A BAD IDEA.

Time for dinner. On the menu: Turkey, Ham (yuck), Shrimp (double yuck), Okra (ugh), Mashed Potatoes (yay!) Corn (yum, carbs!) Salad (good) Gravy (ok, or so I thought) Stuffing (ok #2 or so I thought) A little different than the Lemur Queen house, but I'll manage.

Turkey, mashed potatoes with gravy, veggies and salad. Hmm the dressing is thicker and chunkier than I'm used to. Oh well, I guess not everyone uses the canned Peppridge Farms gravy.

Then I find out the truth. GIBLETS. Freaking GIBLETS. Turkey parts. I won't even even eat chicken with bones. AND it had an egg. With the yolk and everything. shiver. Thank goodness I didn't find out about this atrocity until after dinner. And luckily, I didn't have any of the stuffing. Which contained sweetbreads. Which have have on good authority, are COW parts.

So we survived. One holiday down, one million to go. Christmas will be at the Queen household, so be on the lookout for Fat Rock's interpretation of the festivities.

Lemur Queen

My Addiction

I'm on SMACK! Just kidding. I play a game called World of Warcraft. For those who've been living under a rock or in a cave for the last 3 years or so, World of Warcraft is an online multi-player game where people play as characters and complete quests, raid dungeons, and interact with other players all while trying to build their character/avatar into the bad-assest on the block. I know, "why play the game, when you can interact with REAL people in REAL LIFE". Well, I can't rightly shoot a fireball out of my fingers and roast people who annoy me. Now can I?

In reality, I'm a fat guy. Not really tough. Not really strong. In World of Warcraft (WoW), you know what I am? A big-ass cow. A big-ass shapeshifting cow. A big-ass shapeshifting spell-slinging cow that can put the smack down on any and all! A big-ass shapeshifting spell-slinging cow that can put the smack down on any and all AND rides a GIANT GOAT! A big-ass shape.........well, you get the idea.

It's an escape, and a chance to play with friends no matter how distant they are. Most nights I play with Robert and MC. We run around and yell at each other just like we were in the same room, even though we're hundreds of miles apart. I even play with friends form work, and we bitch about work and what-not. It's an escape, because at my work I have a new supervisor who used to be at my level, and has now been granted the mantle of authority. He used to be a fun guy. Now, he stalks around the plant, punished people he doesn't like by screwing with their work schedule and giving them bad jobs; and a few weeks ago took me aside and told me that I needed to start talking to him with "mo' respek't". We had a disagreement in th way I answered him when he asked me a question. I have been told that "that dog won't hunt, boy". Now, I could cuss at the guy. I could bottle it up and yell at Lemur Queen when I come home. Or I can be polite at work and pleasant at home, and play Warcraft for a bit and let it all out.

I'm sure this won't be the last post on this, as there is an expansion coming out in less than a week, and Lord knows, I can't give up my WoW.

Fat Rock.

Half-Marathon: 13.1 miles, 2 hours, 30 songs

So today was the day. Half marathon day, my fist one in Coastal NC. It went pretty well. Let me walk you through the adventure via my custom made itunes play list, cleverly named "1/2 marathon."

Mile 0-The start
Whoa, that's a lot of people. They really weren't kidding when they said it was the biggest in the state. National Anthem, cheers, and we are off! I hit play. U2's "Beautiful Day" starts playing. And you know? It WAS a beautiful day. Perfect Carolina blue sky, cheering crowds, surround by thousands of runners. All ages, all sizes, all speeds. And we were all running together. Yeah, I almost teared up.

Mile 1-Wait, the crowd hasn't thinned out?
The excitement of thousands of people rapidly wanes as I continue to Army shuffle over the first bridge. I signed up to RUN! Smashmouth's "All Star" pumps up my energy, and I start ducking and weaving through the crowd. They will probably pass me later, but for now, I need to stretch my legs.

Mile 2- Downtown, watch out for the cobblestones!
Yay! The pack is thinning, and more cheering spectators are on the sidelines. Including my husband!! Hi Fat Rock!! My legs are feeling good, it's early enough in the race that the cobblestones don't trip me up. Gwen Steffani and Moby serenade me with "South Side." It seems appropriate for our trek through downtown. Even if it is a peaceful, quaint downtown, with you know, cobblestones.

Miles 3-5 Water stop #1, and heading to the park
This section is pretty boring. First water stop is dodged. I've got my dorky water bottle pack, and I've only been running 20 minutes or so. Just heading down a side street in an industrial area of town. I attempt to entertain my fellow runners with my singing skills. Jimmy Buffett time! Sadly, "Why Don't We Get Drunk and Screw" came on near the waterstop. I think I may have inadvertently caused an uncomfortable conversation between a waterstop volunteer and her young son.

Mile 6 Into the Park!
We hit the park. It is BEAUTIFUL! Big lake with cypress trees, Spanish moss hanging from branches, herons and other interesting birds silently watch our progress from the shore. It seems really appropriate that Harry Connick Jr.'s "With Imagination (I'll Get There)" is playing. It's a scene right out of the Deep South.

Mile 7-8 Still in the park?!?
The park is becoming less beautiful. How long is this freaking trail? That's right Billy Joel, "I'm Moving Out." Oh, wait, the park is ending. And what's that? In the distance? Could it be?

Mile 9 Work?
We are running disturbingly close to my workplace. I like to imagine that work ceases to exist on the weekend. Stop screwing with my magical thinking! Ahh, Barenaked Ladies. Now THAT'S good weekend music. "You can be my Yoko Ono" and "Alcohol" carry me through, back to downtown. Hmm, two songs about alcohol. Three if you count "Piano Man." A scary trend or a suggestion on how to cool down after the race?

Mile 10-12 Into the last 5K
Back through downtown, past the abandoned housing project. These are always the toughest miles. Still several miles from the finish, no cheering spectators. You just want to be DONE. The Dave Matthews Band helps me re-center. First with "The Best of What's Around" and then "Ants Marching" helps me pick up the pace. We're crossing the third bridge! Won't be long now.

Mile 13-The finish is in sight
Just a mile to go! Anyone can run a mile. I start trying to pass people, and hope they can't hear my music. It's The Gourds "Gin and Juice," alcohol song #4 and the least family friendly of the lot. The in love with the world feeling that surrounded me at the start has been supplanted by my primal desire to be done running.

13.1 2:20
Two hours and twenty minutes. Not my fastest time, but the chip time should be about 2 minutes faster, thanks to the crowd at the start. I proudly receive my finishers medal from the Marine, in his snazzy dress blues at the finish line.


I'm sore, I'm tired, and as usual, am slightly unhappy with my time. I CAN'T WAIT for the next 1/2 marathon. Hope to see you there!

Lemur Queen

Forget Iron Man.......watch for back for Iron Heidi!

So, my lovely wife and I were at another race the other day. Last weekend, to be exact. Last weekend and 0730, during my usual sleepy-time. And my wife was actually in the race, I was there to grunt a lot and of course do some freak-watching. This particular race was an 8K race, or about 5 miles. The Lemur Queen is doing several such races as she is building up to run her Half-Marathon shortly. She's been training for a couple months, and she thinks she's almost ready. I think she needs to sit on the sofa with me and have some nachos. 'Cause running for 13.1 miles is just crazy. The farthest I've ever ran was 20 yards, and that was from my seat to the General Tso's Chicken pan at the local chinese buffet. Gotta get it while it's FRESH, people!

So, my wife runs the race. She makes a great time, actually beating her projection by about 6 minutes. I'm very proud of her. Of course, she wanted to have made a better time, but she's satisfied with what she's got. Then we look around. And notice someone who finished about 15 minutes before my wife. I hadn't paid attention previously, as I was looking for the white shirt/red shorts combo that would mean "start hooting for your wife". However, standing about 10 feet away from us was Iron Heidi and her family. She was about 5'8", had blonde hair in two braided pigtails and these stretched the the middle of ther back. She was clad in spandex, as was her husband (also blond hair, didn't get close enough to see their eyes to check for blue). The had a son, about 10, WHO RAN IN THE RACE AT HIS PARENT'S PACE, and a sister who was about 6 and riding her bike along with the family on their run. What really got my attention was the stroller this woman had pushed for 5 miles. It was a two seater (with 2 small blonde children inside it), and it wasn't a side-by-side stroller, it was linear. Also, the wheels......had those plastic covers on them like competitive byciclists have on their wheels. Holy crap. Hence the name: Iron Heidi. You may think I'm joking, but I have pics to back it up.



Fat Rock.

Creepy Work Update

Me and the Lemur Queen love gossip. We both do. It's horrible. When I'm at work, I naturally gossip worse than an old woman at church. Well, today I found out something interesting.

Seems that one of the *guys* I work with is out to make a little money. Working for about $200 an hour. As a male escort. A boy-toy. A man-whore.

Guess where he advertised? Our city's Craigslist. Guess who found it? A female member of our staff.

Scandal Shock Intrigue!

Just thought you oughta know.