Day 2: The Cliffs of Moher

We decided to not set an alarm and with any luck get some much needed sleep.  It was a massive success!  We woke up at 9 and went to find breakfast.  There was a little place near our hotel called Hatch. The breakfast was great and the coffee was quite mediocre.  Which is becoming a recurring theme. 

After breakfast we set out for The Cliffs of Moher, which is a three hour drive to the west.   Unfortunately our car informed us that we had a low tire. I'm no scientist but the low tire might be related to the curb incidents from yesterday, but we will never know for sure. We will mark it down as an unsolved mystery. 

On our way to the Cliffs of Moher we saw an Abbey and stopped by. 

There were some kids that wandered in and started climbing along the walls. Then their dad showed up and gave them a stern talking to. But everybody had an Irish accent so it worked out great in the end. 

The Cliffs of Moher are really, really awesome. The pictures don't do this place justice. 

(Not pictured: All of the tourists and all of the bugs)

We finished off the night with a really great dinner in Galway and a visit to a bar. It was hard to choose which one to go to. They seem to have a plentiful supply of bars.  

Overall the day was great. We were quite busy with all the driving around though. On deck for tomorrow: NOBODY KNOWS. It's an unplanned day in Galway and the surrounding area. 

Cheers. 

Day 1: Driving, drinking and sleeping in Ireland.

We have arrived in Dublin. Upon arriving we headed to Howth. It was a little wild, Annie was driving on the left side of the road and driving from the right side of the car. It is slightly terrifying to be the passenger in this situation. We hit a few curbs but for the most part survived the  experience. 

Howth is a small city on the east coast.   We got coffee and killed some time. We were supposed to stay in an AirBNB tonight. We were supposed to meet Adeline around 12 and check into our room. None of these things occurred.   Instead Adeline cancelled our reservation at 11. So we had to scramble and get a hotel in Dublin. So that sucks and I wish Adeline the worst.   The good news is that our hotel is real nice and they took our car and parked it for us.  Which was a relief after navigating the streets of Dublin to the hotel.  Then we proceeded to pass out for a couple hours.  

We woke up recharged and set out into the city!  We stopped at the Stags Head and finally got a well deserved Guinness. 

Then we got a less deserved second beer....and and even less deserved round of whiskey.  But it was awesome and I am the worst at properly pronouncing Irish cities, but the bartender appreciates the effort. 

After the Stags Head we walked over to Dublin Castle and enjoyed the scenery.  It was getting late and was pretty much empty which was nice. 

We then proceeded to the Old Storehouse for dinner. It was a basement pub with live music.  It was a pretty great place all around. Especially after we added salt to the meal.  I had a Guinness stew that was excellent. 

We are now exhausted and ready for bed.   Tomorrow is a big day, we head west to the Cliffs of Moher, and with any luck will find out how Guinness tastes on the west coast of Ireland. 

Cheers. 

UK/Ireland Day Zero

9/4/15

We are going to Ireland! The only catch is that we fly to Chicago first and have a quick 7 hour  layover.  Our first flight was alright. I noticed a few things during my flight. First off, does first class get better oxygen than us regular humans?  I hope it's flavored with mango or something.   They deserve it.   The second thing I noticed is that I hate how magazines don't put the page number on every page. As president that will be illegal. Assuming magazines are still a thing when I am president. 

After landing in Chicago we took the train   and found a pretty good place to kill some time. 

It was a pretty eventful game. Especially when it started raining peanut shells. It turns out that there was a void in the deck above us and their shells were being deposited on or around us.   The guy behind us told us that we could complain and somebody would go yell at them.   I feel that this was just part of the experience. So we endured and refrained from looking up.  The game was a lot of fun, and the beer was only NINE DOLLARS. After the game I got a slice of pizza that was smore flavored. So that happened. 

We have now made it back to the airport,  and are about to take off. I'm glad we got in some America recreational activities before going abroad. Balance is important.   Ireland is first up, I'm sure we will be super awake and not ornery at all tomorrow morning when we land. 

Cheers. 

Nick

One Night in Idaho

     Oh hello there!  I'm in a hotel in Idaho, it's called the guesthouse and I am just a little bit drunk.  I am, by scientific terms, three beers drunk.  You are probably wondering how I got so drunk, well let me tell you my friends.  Pull up a seat, or a chair on wheels while I tell the tale.
     I'm working in Rexburg, Idaho.  It is well documented how much I hate Rexburg, so I am staying in  St. Anthony for the first time.  St. Anthony is about 15 minutes outside of Rexburg and there isn't an Applebees in sight.  Unless you are up high, then I guess you could see the Applebees that is in Rexburg.  Whatever.  I just got off work and I am dead tired, I need food.  Last night while eating at Applebees a drunk lady was going on and on about this amazing restaurant called Chiz, located in St. Anthony.  How convenient!  I am temporarily located in St. Anthony!  Off to Chiz we go.
     I'm pretty excited, this place sounds legit.  I pull out my iPhone and try to navigate to this mecca of awesomeness.  Then I laugh because I opened up the Apple Maps program, which is kind of like when a small child draws America and they think they did a good job.  Silly Apple, you suck now and I find that funny.  I close Apple Maps and open Google Maps, which leads me directly to Chiz!  I park and read the sign out front, "Chiz:  A Cougar Bar".  Whoa, the drunk lady did not say anything about cougars.  Shit is getting real,  this is going to be good.  Then I see another sign, "CASH ONLY".  Bullshit!  Typical Cougar cash only sale.  I'm not going to put up with this.
     I drive two blocks back to the hotel because I remembered the front desk had a binder full of local restaurants.  I walk in and the lady at the desk immediately tells me to go to Adams Kitchen.  She says everything is amazing.  She has had the burgers, steak, sushi.  Loves it all.  Ok, not sure why you just said sushi but I'll bite.  We drive to Adams Kitchen.
     Adams Kitchen is on the side of the highway, it's in a log cabin.  There is a large sign out front with a knife, a fork, and chop sticks.  Ok.  It's 2014, there is nothing wrong with mixing things up a bit.  We go in and meet our server, a japanese lady by the name of June(lie?), that is the most awkward human being I've ever met.  I ask for a beer menu and she comes back with a small tablet with 6 beers handwritten on it.  She says she doesn't drink beer so she has this list.  Ok.  I order a Mirror Pond.  June comes back a few minutes later and pours me my beer.

     I knew that this was going to happen and I did nothing to stop it.  When June walked up holding a beer mug that clearly holds 20 oz. and not 12 oz.,  I suspected something was amiss.  June set the glass down, then proceeded to turn the mirror pond straight up and down above my glass.  It was awesome, I just watched it with a smile.  I thanked June and she went on her way.
     Two more coworkers showed up and took their seats at the table.  I advised them that they might want to consider pouring their own beer.  Andy took it serious.  June brought Andy a Kirin and went to pour at the same time Andy reached out to take the beer.  He informed June that he would be doing the pouring this evening and she left.
     We begin to get settled in and I take a look around at the house decor.  Their is a sign that says "Paris", a picture of a duck above a picture of a hamster and some sweet lighting that puts me in the mood to hang out awkwardly in a cabin and feel like an asian.  The lighting is super informational, it says "Sushi" on them.

   
     Andy went to the bathroom and found some interesting writing on the bathroom door.  I had to inspect it for myself.

     I didn't expect to find a better bathroom door lock in Idaho but I did.  Sometimes magical things just happen.  I order my second beer, I pour it all by myself.  We finally get around to looking at the menu and deciding on food.  This place has edamame, prime rib, steak and sushi.  Ok.  Chris orders the Prime Rib, June tells him he gets to eat at the salad bar.  I order steak, I do not get to eat at the salad bar.  June doesn't ask me how I would like it cooked.  As an afterthought, I recommend that maybe they cook it rare.  She gives me a look that kind of felt like she was saying, "fuck off".   Chris goes and helps himself to the salad bar full of Prime Rib eaters.
     June comes back.  She asks Chris if he wanted the Baby Back Ribs, he says he wanted the Prime Rib.  She says the Baby Back Ribs are the special and come with a salad bar.  He says he wants Prime Rib.  She leaves disappointed.  Chris eats his free salad.
     One of the guys in the booth close by pulls out his phone and starts playing a motocross game on it, the volume is at the max.  The restaurant becomes an intense race for a few minutes.  I start laughing and can't stop.  I start thinking about beer number three.  (Full disclosure:  On work trips, company policy is that they will pay for two drinks.  Anything after that you have to pay for yourself)
     Ten minutes go by.  I want to order another beer but I'm pretty sure starting a separate tab is out of the question.  I don't order.  Ten minutes go by.  I am going against company policy,  I order another beer, June totally judges me and says "Another?".  Later I find out that June had already written up our bill and I made her cross out my beer total and redo the entire totaling process, BY HAND.
     Andy Orders another beer.  June brings him the beer and it gets real awkward.  She tries to pour it, he says no, then he takes the bottle, then he says "Well if you really want to".  June doesn't pour it.  June leaves.  It gets really quiet and we wonder if we will ever eat again.  I talk about how excited I am to bring other employees to this place.  My employees act disappointed that I would do that.
     Everybody's food shows up except for Chris's.  Everybody's food sucks pretty good, except for Chris's because it doesn't actually exist.  My steak was cooked the average amount, which is what I suspect all of their steaks are cooked like.  About halfway through the meal we realize that Chris is still hungry and isn't eating.  We all have a good laugh because we are no longer hungry because we have food.  The prime rib finally shows up, it comes with "mashed potatoes", which were clearly made in preparation for Y2K in a bowl that could be microwaved.  I wonder aloud how many individual bowls of mashed potatoes they have frozen in the back room.  I ask for the check.
     I give June my credit card, she asks if this is our first time coming to Adam's Kitchen.  I laugh at the thought of a repeat customer, then I remember the lady at the hotel that told us to come here.  Maybe she is friend of Junes.  I don't know, something isn't adding up.  June brings back my card and gives me a present!

           Now I have to come back here!  I thought June hated me, but it turns out we are best friends.  She decarbonates my beer, I tip her 20% for horrible food and service because I'm gutless, she gives me a card that doesn't fit into my wallet for 10% off.  I modify the card so I don't lose it.

   
      We leave the restaurant and I am sad to go.  I made a lot of memories there and I will miss June.  We pull into our hotel parking lot and I get out of the truck.  As I'm walking to my room I pass the front desk lady that recommended Adams Kitchen.  She looks so happy and excited to hear what I think.  I LIE.  I look her in the face and tell her that it was great.  Which, in a way, wasn't a lie at all.

   

What I hate about Mexicans.

Hey, you clicked!  Alright!

So what I did there with the title of this blog is called "click bait."  You make something huge and controversial and people can't stop themselves from clicking.  You were scrolling down your Facebook feed and that is what happened. Don't dispute it, I know.

The following is a direct account of your typical Facebook News Feed:

Facebook, Facebook, lets see what's going on in the world today.  Hmm, my old friend from high school seems to be going through a hard time.  It's hard to know for sure but her status says, "Oh wow today is my worst day ever....".  

Okay, don't click that shit!  That is also a form of click bait, but it's a totally lame form that involves sadness and misfortune wrapped up into some sort of scavenger hunt where the person doesn't tell you what happened but they do want you to be concerned and to console them.  It's called vaguebooking and it's vile.  What do they want from me?  Well, I'll tell you what they are going to get from me.

"Dear friend from High School that I don't have any interaction with: congratulations on your ability to procreate at a remarkable pace.  I always knew that you had taken it hard when you didn't make the basketball team.  It's good to know that you have created your own in-house team.  Good on you.  I don't know why you are sad, mainly because you didn't say why you were sad.  I can only assume that your children have surpassed your basketball abilities and have gone out-of-house to bring in more talent.  That's rough, but look on the bright side--you can still make babies.  Unless you are double-sad because your children replaced you on your "home-grown" basketball team AND you got your tubes tied.  Or whatever it is when they do it go a guy.  Tubes tied, unscrewed the hose, whatever.  Anyway, if that happened then that TOTALLY sucks, man.  So in closing, I'm sorry for the fact that you still suck at basketball and you can't get girls pregnant anymore.  Which TOTALLY goes hand in hand with your dream of being in the NBA."  

Zing!


Moving on:

Oh hey look, my old college buddy has posted an article about how (insert political affiliation) is trying to destroy (insert something you enjoy), and he can prove it with a link to this (insert some extremist political affiliation) website.  Wow.  This seems totally legit.  I totally trust the guy but just for fun I guess I will go to Snopes.com and check this out. 

(10 seconds later)  My college buddy is a stupid moron.

Onward, ever onward.

 ^That is a mormon reference

Okay, what do we have here? 

If one hundred thousand people like this picture of these ugly kids holding a shitty sign then their shitty parents will buy them a dog.  

First of all, I love dogs, and I hate these kids and their parents, the dogs don't deserve to be involved in this and dogs getting a home shouldn't hinge on stupid Facebook likes.  No thank you, get a basketball, start a stupid team.


Scrolling:

Lets see here, apparently Nick has posted to his stupid blog again.  "What I hate about Mexicans."  Whoa.  Holy shit, Nick has completely lost it.  I've gotta read this, then I'm gonna share it and get so many likes!  This shit is going to be trending.  #thelastsonofbobhatesmexicans  

CLICK.



WELCOME BACK.  That was quite the journey and I'm glad that I can be the high point of your social networking day.  What?  Nope, definitely meant to say high point.  Stop being weird.  Anyway, you came here to find out why I hate Mexicans and I am not one to disappoint.  (Disclaimer:  I am one to disappoint while playing Catch Phrase, Basketball, Baseball, Football, shoulder strength tests, hair free competitions, prohibition law-following, talking quietly while drinking, dressing fashionably, dressing myself in an acceptable way at all, making the bed with all those god damn pillows, folding fitted sheets, being organized, filling up my car before it is dangerously low on gas, making my sideburns line up with each other, shaving, finding things at the grocery store, finding things in my house, remembering to do something tomorrow if you tell me today, remembering to do something tomorrow if you tell me tomorrow, navigating to a location and not passing it, not throwing up while in Texas, driving any vehicle smaller than my work van.  End disclaimer)  My hatred of Mexicans really boils down to one simple thing.  The hard-shell taco.

Seriously,  people willingly eat these things?  Have they met the soft-shell?  The hard-shell taco is designed in such a way that if you touch the damn thing, it explodes into shards of glass.  By DESIGN that is its purpose.  You take your little hard channel of death and put meat at the bottom because it's the heaviest. That makes sense.  Then you layer on all of your cheese, lettuce, guacamole, salsa, etc.  When you are done you have a beautiful piece of food that nobody can eat without getting completely stressed out.  Every time I take a bite I'm scared that this is the time it will explode, sending shards of hard shell into my gums and launching meat and condiments across the room.  Taco salads were created by people that got tired of stressing out about that shit.

"Can I get a hard-shell taco? Oh, and will you just put it in a big ass bowl?  Thanks."  

The worst part about the whole situation is IF you do successfully take a bite you get to eat one of two things.  A bite full of just taco meat, or a bite full of lettuce, cheese and salsa.  It's IMPOSSIBLE to actually taste what you created as it is intended.  It's too damn wide.  I'm no porn star.

This is an outrage and I don't believe for a second that the people in Mexico actually use hard shells.  You want to know why?  Because the soft-shell taco exists!  The soft-shell taco takes all of the hard-shell taco's faults and fixes them!  You take a soft, pliable, delicious... circle thing (Disclaimer:  I don't actually know what a soft shell is, I mean I know it's a tortilla, but if you told me to define a tortilla I'm pretty sure I would say it was a soft-shell taco creation device).  Anyway, you take this circle and you evenly distribute all of your meat and fixings in an organized line, marching down the center of the tortilla.  Everything is stacked on top of the previous food item.  Then you roll up the tortilla and it all mixes together and is evenly distributed throughout!  Your first bite and all consecutive bites are all equally amazing!

My detractors will probably point out that they like how crunchy the hard-shell taco is.  First of all, a hard-shell taco is a Dorito before they make it good.  Go buy a bag of Doritos. You're welcome.  Second of all, can't you just break off chunks of your hard shell and place them uniformly inside your soft shell with all the other things you want to eat?  It's called a soft shell taco crunch.

And that, my friends, is how soft-shell tacos made me love Mexicans.

Shopko Chronicles Vol. 1

    In high school I worked at Shopko.  Typically you would get hired by a company and have to train on the job and spend months and months working up some credibility.  Not so at Shopko.  What happened was me and my good friend Steve got hired on as MST.  That is what they call the crew that unloads trucks, stocks the store and brings furniture etc. out to customers.  It was the fall, leading into the Christmas season and me and Steve were super excited to be working together.  I showed up on my first day and started working with one of the other guys that works there.  After about 5 minutes of this I hear his name, along with four other names get called over the speaker.  He has been summoned to a meeting upstairs.  Weird.  Ok. I'll be down here not doing anything.

^Box Baler^

     Two hours go by and nobody returns from the upstairs meeting.  I am doing nothing.  Well not nothing.  I stared at the baler for about an hour.  The baler is a remarkable machine that takes 900 million flat boxes and ties them all together with thin wire in one epic cube, but you have to be 18 years old to operate it.  More on that later.  I wander around the back for a bit and kind of get my bearing as to the layout of my new home.  Not bad, the comforter and pillow section is rather nice.  Gotta keep that in mind for later.
     So, as it turns out I wasn't hired at Shopko to be the Holiday help.  I was hired to replace all of the MST night crew that was stealing Playstation 2's.  So to summarize, I got hired and started my first day at the bottom of the night ladder, and by the end of my first shift I was at the TOP of the night ladder.  You've made a huge mistake...
     Some time goes by and I become accustomed to my new job as king of the Shopko back room.  I did learn what it was my job actually required me to do.  I unloaded trucks with pallet jacks and manually carried boxes out of the truck and put them on a conveyor belt.  If a customer purchased a piece of furniture I would find the item in the back room and take it out to their car.  I would put things back on the shelves in the back room and I would bring the shopping carts that were left strewn about in the parking lot inside.  Before I begin the official retelling of events there is one more item of note.  About a month into this job a couple managers left Shopko and they hired new night managers.  Enter Jonathan and Dwaine.  J&D were probably about 30 years old.  Jonathan was shorter and rounder and Dwaine was very tall.  I am not sure about Jonathan's resume but according to Dwaine he was one class away from graduating from law school.  Then,  from what I have pieced together, Shopko offered him a night crew managerial position that he could not refuse.  Dwaine would always kind of stare into the distance when he would talk to me, I just assumed that since he was so tall he was noticing the dust on top of the book shelves or something.
     After about a month I got the feel for things and realized that I essentially had the easiest job on the planet.  My typical shift was 5-10 pm.  If you worked an 8 hour day you would get a 15 minute break every 2 hours and a 30 minute lunch.  Well nobody ever really clarified what that meant for my 5 hour shift so I just came up with my own plan.  I was studying Algebra in school so I knew the importance of rounding, so I applied that as well.  After 2 hours I would take a 30 minute break, then after 4 hours I would take a 45 minute lunch.  I had to clock out for the lunch but I had figured out that the time clock worked on +/- 7 minute intervals.  Meaning that you could clock out for lunch at 8:54 and clock back in at 9:36 and it was rounded to 30 minutes.  For those of you keeping track at home, over the course of a 5 hour shift I was spending 1 hour and 15 minutes of that shift on break.  Thanks math!
     You are probably thinking to yourself "Nick you went to work and only worked for 3 hours and 45 minutes, that is not very efficient."  Just wait though, I haven't even gotten into my high efficiency work ethic.  As I mentioned earlier, it was the job of the guys in the back room to bring the carts in from outside.  Well, it seems terribly inefficient for me to spend my valuable company time constantly going outside for 10 or 50 shopping carts.  How inefficient!  I know!  I quickly learned that the best time to get carts was at the end of my shift when I was supposed to be folding clothes or some shit out on the sales floor.  Honestly, if anybody has seen me fold clothes...they are better off before I fold them.      
     Anyway, so me and Steve head out one evening to get the carts to find that every single cart is outside. I can't tell you exactly how many that is, maybe 100 or 150.  This is a big moment for us.  EVERY CART that Shopko owns is out here.  First of all, we had to pat ourselves on the back for our high efficiency practices.  We can only assume that the last customer that walked into Shopko that evening just happened to grab the LAST cart out of the stall inside.  I never received a bonus at Shopko but looking back I feel like this was a lost opportunity to put up my superior work practices on display. Back to the situation at hand, we had to round up all these carts.  You might be thinking that it would take a lot of trips pushing in 20 carts a trip and I completely agree with you.  We did the smart thing and decided to make the longest cart train ever created.  No cart left behind.  I know what you are thinking "Nick that is a great idea!", I know it was a great idea.  I was there, but thanks for the positive reinforcement.
     Shopko has two entrances, one entrance opens up and has hundreds of straightaway space to push the cats forward.  The other entrance has a jewelry counter display about 40 ft. after the front doors.  I'm sure you can guess which entrance we used.  After about 30 minutes we had finally created our masterpiece!  Every cart had been added to the train, they were lined up 20 feet away from the front doors and ready to enter building!  As me and Steve began to push the 100 ft. line of carts into the jewelry entrance we realized we had made a huge mistake.  Our 16 year old muscles were no match for 150 shopping carts.  NOOOOOO!  Despair!  Then to the rescue came some kids that were driving through the parking lot.  They saw our predicament and respected our high efficiency work ethic and offered to help by pushing the carts with their car into the building.  Who are these genius kids?  Me and Steve step back and they lined the car up behind optimus carts and they hit the gas.  Personally, I would have used less gas but that is a personal preference I guess.
     The carts are now racing out of control into the building at or around the jewelry counter.  We feared the worst.  The friendly kids realized they had used too much gas, they also realized that the more gas they used at this point the faster they could flee the scene.  They fled.  Me and Steve are left standing on either side of this bullet train of carts.  It did not look good.  As it turned out my time at Shopko was not meant to end on this night.  The way jewelry counters are designed is that they are pieced together and occasionally have about a 2 ft. section that is not glass.  It was this section that optimus cart slammed into the counter, coming to an abrupt halt.
     As I clocked out after my 5 hour shift I realized that I really wanted to use that baler...

Shit Finder: There's an app for that

     I am a dog butler.  Day in and day out I see to the needs of my trusty best friend Phil.  I realized this the other morning while standing on my lawn in a robe with dog poop in my hand.  But that's getting ahead of myself, let me rewind a bit.  You are probably thinking, nope, I got the message Nick.  You pick up dog poop and you have equated that to meaning you are a dog butler.  Trust me on this.

     It all started a few nights ago, Annie was exhausted and went to bed an hour or so before me.  I started getting ready for bed and Phil knew what was going on so he went upstairs a few minutes before me.  I entered the bedroom and was trying to be quiet.  It was dark and I couldn't see anything but I managed to make it to my side of the bed.  As I put my hands out I felt a furry retriever, on my side of the bed, head on my pillow.  Great.  No big deal, I just need to quietly get Phil off of the bed.  I'm the boss around here, I may not have pants on at the moment but I have been known to wear pants.  I quietly whisper "Phil, get off the bed", no movement.  "Off the damn bed!"  No movement.  I am convinced that my whispering clued Phil in on what was happening.  He knew that I couldn't make noise or I would wake Annie, "your move dad".  I decide that I am going to quietly pick Phil up and remove him from the bed.  I move in for the pickup and Phil, oh so quietly begins chewing on my arms!  No matter how I come at him he always beats me to it and defends against my advances.  I can't see shit and at this point I am tangled in a mess of dog fur, trying to pick Phil up, while slowly being bitten to death, silently.  After about 30 seconds of this I finally wrestle the retriever to the ground.  Victory is mine!!  Take that retriever, I get to sleep in my own bed tonight.  

    

     I wake up early the next morning to go to work, early enough that it is dark outside when I take my trusty retriever outside.  Usually he only has to pee and all is fine, but something has messed up his schedule so more often than not he has been pooping for me as well.  Since I am not accustomed to this early morning phenomenon I have been caught out in my front yard ill prepared for this event.  Luckily the poop bags are just inside the house.  So Phil finishes up his business and we head inside, I take off the leash and he gets this crazy look in his eye.  "What's that dad?  You want to see how fast I can run?"  You see, Phil LOVES to do sprints after pooping.  I can relate with him, I mean who doesn't want to do a few laps around the living room after a successful bowel movement?  The problem is that it is early and I don't want him to wake Annie up.  It is very difficult to convince a dog that feels the need to gallop, to not gallop.  It's like he loses his mind and has gone to a land filled with rivers and meadows to frolic through and the only cure is to see how many times he can run from garage door to front door.  Through slow movements I manage to embrace the race retriever and he takes up his post next to the couch.  Crisis averted.

    

      Meanwhile, poop is outside.  I grab a dog bag and head on out.  Nothing out of the ordinary here, just a dog owner picking up feces.  Except it is dark, and I can't find the poop.  I know the general area, so I have it narrowed down to about a 10x10 square.  At this point I am standing in my front yard, in the dark, staring at the ground.  I take a few careful steps but cannot manage to find the magical gift that my dog has deposited into the yard.  I know I'm on the right track though because I occasionally feel the breeze and get a whiff of dog poop.  I don't exactly have the best sniffer, so I figure I am pretty close to the poop in question.  I'm barefoot though, so it's sketchy.  I can't just go recklessly wandering through this minefield.  

     It's at this point that decisions have to be made.  I know what to do.  I pull out my trusty phone and open the FLASHLIGHT app!  Who's a genius?  This guy.  So just to get you up to speed if for some reason you started reading this blog in the middle(why would anybody do that?).  I am in my front yard, barefoot, crouched over using the light on my phone, scanning for dog poop.  It was mid scan that I suddenly heard a noise.  Which of course was four women going on there morning walk.  OH NO!  I'm comfortable being the guy that uses a light to find poop in the dark, but I'm not necessarily comfortable with people KNOWING that I am the guy that uses a light to find poop in his yard.  I jolt up and turn off my phone light.  Then as if this is perfectly natural, I pretend to be doing something important on my phone as they walk by.  Nothing to see here ladies, just a dude texting barefoot in his front yard in the dark.

     The ladies passed me by and I continued with my feces scavenger hunt.  After a few more moments I found it!  Victory is mine!!  Nothing compares to the sense of accomplishment that you get when finally finding that chameleon poop and you wrap your hand around it.  I was filled with so much pride, until I realized that I could never in good conscience tell anybody about the event that had just transpired.  If only I had a blog for just this kind of self ridicule.