Why Can't You Understand That Nobody Likes Turkey Bacon

Oh man this January has to be the worst January ever since that one January when my wife went out on a date with some other guy on her birthday. But to be fair to Abu Halen's wife, it was a work meeting. Also, she was alone in a Middle Eastern country on her birthday, Abu Halen having fled the country to watch pay-per-view movies in a hotel room in America. Work-related. And, in the interest of full-disclosure, Abu Halen is so pathetic that he only watched one pay-per-view movie during the entire two weeks he stayed in a cushy Hiatt hotel, and that movie was The Chronicles of Narnia: Prince Caspian. Can we please not tell anyone else about this.

So what's so bad about this January? Oh I don't know, maybe it's just that my second-favorite North African strongman lost his job this month. My favorite North African strongman is, I'm pretty sure, everyone's favorite North African strongman. I don't think he'll ever lose his job, because he has bodyguards. I'm kind of going gonzo with the links, and even linking to my own blog, which I once mocked my friend Jeff for. But I'm not really above thinking one thing for awhile, and then, when I get bored thinking that, thinking something else for awhile. Like, once, right after I got home from my mission, I met this cute older chick in my ward, and I thought about asking her out for awhile. But then I thought about something else for, like, three days, and she got a boyfriend and they got married. So the moral of this story is only think about one thing unless you want it to get married. So when I met Shannon, I was sort of at an impasse because I wanted her to get married, but I wanted her to get married to me. So I wasn't sure whether I should stop thinking about her, which would lead to her getting married, or keep thinking about her, which had no knowable outcome. Sometimes brilliant logic just leaves you in knots, you know? We got married, by the way. And every day is bliss. Except when she cooks turkey bacon. Seriously. Turkey bacon. WTF. That stands for "What the forrealsifyou'regoingtocookbaconcookthefreakingporkkindmydearthankssmoochespunkinlove" in our house.

Getting back to bodyguards, I think I'd like to have bodyguards someday. You know, now that I'm thinking about it, I kind of already had bodyguards. When we lived in Jordan, a Jordanian soldier with a Kalashnikov was always pacing back and forth outside our house for security purposes. And also to make sure I didn't drink more than three Pepsis per day. And to mostly prevent the sheep from grazing in our yard unless the soldier didn't feel like preventing it. And to bring our kids back home when they escaped. Like once Grace, who was probably 13 or 14 months old at the time, went all Marco Polo on us while playing outside. She climbed through the fence and took off down the street, bound for Petra or something. All the advertising hype really works on kids. Like the awful parents we are, we never even noticed she was gone until this Jordanian soldier strolls up to the door with Grace grinning in his arms, fingering the nozzle of his rifle. The exchange between him and Shannon went something like this.

Soldier: (something in Arabic)
Shannon: Holy crap my kid where was she I can't believe I'm so sorry not a bad mother mopping I love podcasts about the Peloponnesian Wars.
Soldier: (something in Arabic)
Shannon: My husband's in America. Want to go on a date?
Me: I'm actually sitting right here at the kitchen table having a Pepsi.
Shannon: (To the soldier) Raincheck, then?
Soldier: (To me) That fourth Pepsi you drink today. Bad.

So, actually, we've already had bodyguards. We've arrived. And Shannon never really asked them out. I'm just experimenting with rhetorical devices.

The more I think about this January, the more I'm sort of coming around to the feeling that it's actually been a pretty good month. My oldest daughter, who is a raging genius, won this contest thingy for the whole school district for her age group. She wrote and illustrated a 35-page book about fairies, which I swear was not inspired by me. If it had been inspired by me, it would've been a book about scorpions or fake tattoos or video game prowess. Still, the book about fairies annihilated the competition and so we got to attend an awards ceremony where my little girl went up in front of the whole crowd with her head down and her long hair covering her face Trent Reznor-style to accept her excellence award in the category of literature. We're so proud. Woot.

You know what? This January rules. Put your cell phones in the air and sway.