Author: Josh

Kids, here’s a surefire way to get your parents to buy you that PS2 for Christmas.

This past weekend was great. Last week was very stressful at work so I decided to destress on Friday night by watching Ultimate Fighting Championship 47: It’s On! Watching grown men beat the hell out of each other in an octagon-shaped ring made me fell a lot better for some reason.

I slept until 12:30 on Saturday. I slept and slept and slept. I would wake up, roll over, look at the clock and say to myself “Nope. Not yet.” And fall back to sleep. That felt great. I haven’t slept that late into the day since last I was stricken with the Ebola virus. Or was that the day after my 21st birthday?

I greeted the early afternoon by running a few errands. I got my ears lowered, returned some Christmas lights to Wal Mart, office supplies, Christmas shopping.

Elise got home from her catering around 6 p.m. and we were off to the company Christmas party at my boss’s house. We had a lot of fun. The food was great as was the company. My boss also owns a pharmacy so I was able to meet most of his staff from there. After a brutal white elephant gift exchange where Elise’s gift was taken four times, the party started livening up. Someone brought out the Patron and shot glasses – that’s when my boss and I ducked out, went downstairs and played old Neil Young songs on the guitar.

Late came quickly and it was time for Elise and I to head home as we had the furthest to drive.

I woke up early on Sunday and played with Annie out in the backyard. Elise got up not much later, we suited up and headed out. By suited up I mean shorts and flip flops. It is mid-December in Texas. We had hot wings at Pluckers for lunch. My stomach is still killing me. I don’t know why I do that to myself. Unlike a lot of other wings restaurants, the hot wings at Pluckers are actually hot. And good.

We did some more Christmas shopping in north Austin until Elise’s kidney spontaneously combusted. I vaguely remember receiving a kidney recall notification for the 1975 Elise, but haven’t had the time to make an appointment to take her into the shop. That and I know if I took her in, the mechanic would probably sell me on some noise reduction muffler tip and a set of Yosimite Sam mud flaps.

Instead we went to Whole Foods and picked up a $9 bottle of cranberry juice. Apparently expensive cranberry juice is supposed to cure kidney ailments. That or induce wild hallucinations.

One of my oldest, nearest and dearest friends posted a comment on Janicek.com the other day – letting me know that the wit has ceased and I have basically sold out. I was pissed. I was pissed so much that I deleted his comment. I was pissed because someone called me on it.

I’ve been having a hard time recently. Work has really gotten to me. I’ve been stressed. I question Elise’s and my future. I question my place on this Earth. I question why diet cat food makes the litter box stink like all hell.

I’m really upset and stressed that I spent hours on the 3rd annual Christmas newsletter and it came out like crap. I went so far as to ask Elise just last night: “When was the last time you laughed at something I said or did?” She went on to say “Oh, there was something not too long ago…” Nothing.

I find myself waking up, brushing my teeth, taking my vitamins, taking a shower, shaving, underwear, shirt, pants, shoes, breakfast, glass of water and in the truck on the way to work with one eye still trying to wake up. The work day usually starts with “So and so called, wants you to call him back. He sounded upset.” Lather, rinse, repeat. Then something breaks. We run out of something. I don’t want to relive it right now.

I drive home, somewhat enthused because the work day is over. An hour commute home leaves me with finding something to eat, paying bills, fixing something, maybe catching some TV and hopefully some time to hear about Elise’s day.

Keeping up with the Jones’. I don’t even know any Jones’.

I know, it’ll get worse after a kid. I know. Time isn’t the issue. I can make time. I just need more active dry yeast. I think I just lack motivational experiences in my life right now. Six months ago I was riding my bicycle to work every day. That was a varying experience. Work wasn’t as stressful because I managed only a small amount of tasks. Now my job leaves my brain a tepid bowl of grits at the end of the day. I need something to clear my mind. That or a new job.

I’ve chosen the latter. I’m going to quit my job, move to Barbados and become a cattle flatulance analyst. This job is beneficial to society as it has been proven that cattle flatulance is a leading cause of ozone depletion. That and the job would probably give me better things to write about on the website – not iPods and cars.

Mom always said it’s not the things that make you – it’s how many platinum tooth caps you can fit up in yo mowf.

It’s you who makes you.

So I wrote my friend an e-mail and told him he was an asshole and should die. He wrote back and said it like it was. He told me he was concerned that I was becoming too wrapped up in a job, a house and “things”. All very true. I’ve started on a path that leaves me with little time to find the more important things in life. Like cow farts.

So I’m now going to make a conscious effort to live life for what it is, take in my surroundings, ride the spiral, keep one foot in the gutter and find the dude who stole my wit and down his throat I’ll take a…

I’m keeping my current job. I honestly love my job and am learning everything about running a small business. Just yesterday my boss gave me yet another title: Comptroller. Short-term goals: find out exactly what a comptroller is and enroll in an accounting class at Texas Tech’s satellite campus in Marble Falls.

And live.

This holiday season has been less than magical thus far. I went shopping for lights with which to decorate the house this past weekend. That was stressful. I’ve never been so compelled to drop kick frenzied holiday shoppers. I had to stop, take a breath and carry on. I think next year I’ll lose it.

Anyway – the house is covered with lights now.

The most recent bah humbug: the annual Janicek Christmas newsletter. I’ve spent a few hours on it so far. I read it to myself a few times and could barely muster a chuckle. Elise came home tonight, read the newsletter and I could have sworn she was reading insurance paperwork.

I’ve been sucked dry of all creativity. It’s not looking good.

I worked from home this morning and made my way towards Marble Falls at around 11 a.m. this morning. Upon passing the Burnet County line, I witnessed a brand new Lotus Elise driving on the other side of the highway. Quite an impressive vehicle.

Trust me, it’s hard having a wife by the name of Elise and a car, which was recently introduced to the U.S. consumer market, by that same name and not wanting to run out and buy one. I want to at least test drive one. I don’t think that would be too hard to arrange. I’ll find a dealer in Austin who sells them, Elise and I will visit the showroom, I’ll have Elise show the salesperson her driver’s license and I’ll tell the saleperson that I’m going to buy my wife, Elise, a Lotus Elise. Eventually. In 2020.

Back to my drive to work. Upon reaching the Marble Falls city limits, I saw a bumper sticker that read: “Rock is Dead. Long live paper and scissors”. I chuckled. As I grow older (note I’m not following that with ‘wiser’), I’ve noticed that I don’t listen to the radio as much. I could attribute that to a portable digital music player. But 95% of the music on my iPod is older music that I grew up listening to. If I’m not listening to older music that was good ‘back in my day’, I’m leaning toward NPR or other talk radio.

Back when the only worry I had in the world was how to strategically sneak out of my parents’ the house at night, every rock band was golden in my eyes. Every lyric had some meaning. Every note, every riff meant something and it was cutting edge and inspiring. Even contemporary music was inspiring.

I drove home from Tae Kwon Do tonight. The iPod was set to shuffle all songs. Breathe by Pearl Jam played. That was, and still is, a good song. It’s probably a ten-year-old song. It doesn’t seem like ten years have gone by. I tune into the local ‘alternative’ station every once in a while. Some new-fangled noise is being played. I almost break my hip trying to lean over and change the station to NPR.

Long live paper and scissors.

Elise and I bought a garage door opener a month ago for our mutual Christmas present. On Tuesday, a contrator came over and installed said garage door opener. Tonight I strategically rearranged the garage so now the Jeep, Expedition, Shadow, lawn mower and an array of dormant plants and other miscellaneous items allow for the garage door to close.

It’s a tight squeeze, but I’m happy.

Elise and I left Friday afternoon and drove the 494 miles to Okeene, Oklahoma for the annual Thanksgiving weekend at Grandma Boeckman’s farm house. Elise’s dad is the oldest of nine siblings. That makes for a lot of people under one roof.

Friday nights at Grandma B.’s have been consistent in the five years that I’ve been spending the weekend with Elise’s family. The women are inside, catching each other up on the happenings of the past year, talking about life, love, families and developing plans to end famine in poor countries.

The men spend all night in the basement drinking beer, smoking, farting, exchanging crude jokes, falsified hunting stories, farting, drinking, playing darts and farting. Darts weren’t the game de jour this year…

This year, it was ‘Balls’. It was decided to call this game ‘Balls’, instead of ‘Ladder Golf‘ because, well, better jokes come out while playing a game of ‘Balls’ where players throw two tennis balls linked together with a nylon rope onto the rungs of a furnace safety cage. No punches were pulled. All ball jokes were told. Dirty balls. Blue balls. Whacking balls. Balls on the floor. The game is called ‘Balls’.

Our game of ‘Balls’ turned into a late night tournament. The elder team was named ‘The Old Farts’, the younger team was dubbed ‘The Teeny Weenies’.

It was one of the more interesting experiences I’ve had during Thanksgiving in Okeene.

My boss’s 10-year-old stepdaughter comes to the office every day around 4 p.m. after school lets out. I make it a point to visit with her for a couple minutes because she’s a really sweet kid. Except for today.

I hadn’t seen her in a while and when I did today, this was our conversation:

Alexis: “Hey, you grew a goatie!”
Josh: “Yes I did.”

[There was a brief pause while I helped her hang her school award on her cubicle wall]

Alexis: “I think you should shave it off. It makes you look old.”
Josh: “But what if I am old?”
Alexis: “You’re only like fifty… and that’s not that old.”

[I walked away feeling old.]

I’m laying on the couch, one eye is trying to go to sleep, the other is watching the Bears and Cowboys game.

Elise and I cooked Thanksgiving dinner for my parents this year at our house. We had a Cajun fried turkey, wasabi mashed potatoes, Monterey Jack green bean cassarole, stuffing, biscuits and butter lettuce salad with toasted pecans, red pear and crumbled goat’s milk feta cheese. Elise and I split cooking duties and didn’t let mom or dad lift a finger. I think we did really well.

We stayed up until 3 a.m. this morning trying to make kolaches. Well, Elise made kolaches. I supervised and told Elise what I would do. I obviously didn’t supervise well enough because we accidentally used baking soda instead of baking powder.

Elise is dead-set on learning to make kolaches. She and my mom are in the kitchen, trying another recipe.

I absolutely suck at baking. I told Elise early in our relationship that I thought it would be cool if she would learn to make kolaches. Six years later, she’s giving it a whirl. These Czech pastries are a comfort food for me. I honestly don’t think I can fit another bite of food into my stomach right now.

We’re off to Okeene, Oklahoma tomorrow morning for the annual Boeckman Thanksgiving festivities. More food and the only way to burn off any excess calories is to drink beer and play darts in Grandma’s basement.

John and Christine came over Monday evening because we try to get together once a week to have dinner. Monday’s get together was thrown together last minute. While driving home from work, I called Elise to tell her that John and Christine were coming over at 7:30. I asked if she would make the Mexican lasagna that we had recently bought ingredients for. She said she would as I had to run across town to get some Christmas shopping done.

I get home at 7:15. No Elise. No Mexican lasagna. I called my wife to find out when she would be home. She was stuck at the office. I had to make dinner. I found two Mexican lasagna recipes on the same page of the cookbook Elise wanted to use. Confusion ensued. I called Elise to ask which recipe to use. You see, Elise is (or was) very ‘by the book’ when it comes to cooking. When I cook, I base the meal on a recipe but improvise a lot.

I became flustered as this meal wasn’t from a recipe that I had chosen. It was a simple recipe but still, one that I hadn’t planned.

Since I thought I had to prepare the meal ‘by the book’ because it was Elise’s choice of recipe, I didn’t improvise (much). I would have made the lasagna more spicy. I did slice jalapenos and served those on the side.

Anyway – the meal was good. Everyone liked it and I took 70% of the credit and left Elise with the other 30% for her choice of the meal.

John and Christine left and Elise and I jokingly bickered about how I became flustered, didn’t improvise and had to call Elise for help with the recipe. She said I didn’t have to go by the book and that she is starting to improvise as well. It was a stubborn, still jokingly drawn-out conversation.

Christine went into labor the next day. It is speculated that the spicy meal from the night before might have helped induce labor.

Since I like to cook, I thought about creating a nice little placcard to hang above the stove that would read something like: “Chef de Cuisine Josh Janicek – specializing in fanciful fare that might induce labor”.

I mentioned this idea to my lovely wife. She then wanted MORE credit for the night before’s meal. Jokingly stubborn bickering ensued. Again.

Elise is a manager who happens to work late nights and weekends. This provides her with the opportunity to sleep in on weekdays every so often. She has taken a liking to the hit television show Dawson’s Creek. I slept in earlier this week because I was up until 3 a.m. trying to patch the leak in our attic. I woke up that morning to Elise watching Dawson’s Creek.

I had the iBook in bed with me so I could catch up on some work since it would be a couple hours before I would be in the office. Elise said she wanted me to download the Dawson’s Creek theme song, “I Don’t Want to Wait”, by Paula Cole. I didn’t download it for her.

This morning I was shopping music on iTunes. Elise walked into the living room, made breakfast, sat down and said “What happened to my Paula Cole song?”

I heard: “What happened to my pile of cole slaw?”

I wondered, for a moment, why my wife would be wanting cole slaw for breakfast but just wrote her off as being weird.

We have an interesting way of communicating.

Elise and I went to the Good Charlotte concert last night. So did a lot of parents. I had no clue GC was a pop boy band. Little girls were running rampant in the Austin Music Hall. By boy band I don’t mean N’Sync – Good Charlotte is more punk/rock but have a large pre-teen/teen fan base. Regardless, it was still a good show. Except when the 12 year old girl came running by, flailing her arms about in a GC crush frenzy and knocked the beer out of my hand.

It was a good show. I enjoyed it as did Elise. She didn’t want to go but did only to support her 14 year old girl-of-a-husband. In the end, she said she really liked the concert and had acquired a respect for Good Charlotte as a band.

Funny thing about concerts – you can’t go to a concert and not spend over $100. I think the 2 tickets I purchased last month were somewhere around $70. I drafted $40 from the bank before the show and have $2 left this morning. I kept having to replace spilled beers due to small flailing females.

All-in-all, good show. We had a lot of fun. Being there made us feel old – but at least we’re still hip. Do cool people say ‘hip’ anymore? Is ‘cool’ even a word anymore? Hang on, I think I have some notes on what’s rad and what’s sad in my Trapper Keeper.