Not Very Handy

I went to an Indian restaurant for lunch today and saw the most amazing thing.

When camera phones were first introduced I asked myself, “What’s the point?” Rarely have I found myself out-and-about and felt the immediate need for a camera; certainly not often enough to warrant the need for one in EVERY cell phone. Now some people feel the need to snap shots of themselves doing every day things, but I’ve never felt important enough to post pictures of myself shopping for flip-flops or pumping gas. If I go somewhere special I remember to take along the camera and that’s that.

Today I learned what camera phones were for. Attached is a real picture I took with my “phone” earlier today. This shot was taken in the parking lot of the afore mentioned restaurant where I had lunch (I will not divulge the name incase there are lawsuits pending). While enjoying my chicken tikki marsala I did not notice the dearth of wheel chaired patrons, but since I don’t often see a lot of wheel chairs around that makes sense. In hindsight I think there might have been something more sinister going on here…

Here is what the front of the building looks like from the parking lot. I added the handicap symbol in order to demonstrate where the handicap parking spot is located. The ramp is a not well maintained and some of the concrete is crumbling making the ride bumpy. And there is a random electrical tube poorly located at the top of the ramp…but I think that these problems can be overlooked once you take into account the obstacle waiting at the top of the ramp. In case it’s hard to tell (I’m no Ansel Adams) there is no gate at the top, just solid fence. This is a real picture.

I laughed and I cried, funny and sad all at once.

Twitter?

I'm on twitter now though I have no idea why. I will endevour to use twitter for purposes it was not intended as soon as I figure out what it was intended to do.

Follow me, if you dare! I should be fairly easy to find since I selected the very creative name: Brian_Kling

The Preacher Man

I know I’ve been remiss in blogging. My fans, both of you, have sent me e-mails letting me know what a dirt bag I am. Well I will try, once again to be more consistent.

Today’s blog takes a page from Casey Casem and features a long distance dedication. Recently I received encouragement from an old friend of mine who enjoyed the blog. As you will read he lives over seas now, and is diligently trying to spread the good word of the blog to unwashed masses. At least that’s what I understood him to be doing, maybe he meant “spread the Good Word” and I just got confused. Either way, this blog is dedicated to you my friend, The Preacher.

The Preacher befriended my way back in high school. He and I were kindred spirits, with a keen eye for lazy times, slacking off, underage booze and easy dates. But The Preacher had every high schooler’s dream situation. You see his best friend (a fella who would eventually become one of my college roommates) was a year older than us. In high school one year makes a big difference, especially when we were seniors and our buddy was a freshman in college. This older guy’s parents moved away from Baton Rouge our senior year and left their son a house to live in while he attended LSU. This meant that for all practical purposes, we had our own party pad for our last year of high school. The Preacher grew up spitting distance from this house, so about half way through our senior year, he moved in.

Fast times ensued. We threw party after party in that place. I remember one night, inspired by Belushi and the gang’s antics, we threw our own toga party. A house full of high school kids with kegs and bed sheets. Yours truly had an exceptional arrangement with Budweiser sheets and a full crown of laurel (I think the foliage was a classy touch). Sometime during the night we were inspired to carry on the Roman theme and hold our own Roman Marathon. Yep. Roman Marathon. High school kids obviously don’t study the Classics so one ignorant kid’s Greek is another ignorant kid’s Roman. Anyway The Preacher lead the throng of two dozen drunk high school kids in bad imitation 1200 BC garb in a drunken stumble around the block of his neighborhood. I do not remember who won the race, but I do have vague memories of dogs, someone running into a parked car, a couple getting “lost”, and a casualty or two. It’s foggy and I’m not sure if that’s because of Time or Natural Light. I do remember it was nights like this that helped make The Preacher and I close friends.

We remained friends throughout most of college (a six year event for your friendly blogger). But somewhere along the way The Preacher started to lose his way. While most of us could handle the usual college party scene, there are always a few who take their freedoms in the wrong direction. It’s the same old cliché that has probably touched most of us at some point in our lives. Once close friends fall in with “the wrong bunch” of people. Soon they grow distant, and when you do see one another it’s uncomfortable and awkward. Before you know it you’re being asked for money, “not much, just enough”. Next thing you know you’re also being asked if you want to buy a little here, or make a small “purchase” there, then you’re even recruited to help with larger deals or asked to get friends of friends involved. It doesn’t take long before the wedge is too much and you have to break the friendship off completely. Luckily it never got to that point between me and The Preacher, but it could have if he had stayed on that dark path. I tell you I’m always saddened when I hear that good people have turned to Amway. Swimming in a sea of detergent, paper towels, and “household goods you would have bought anyway” is no way to live. Like so many Coronado’s searching for the Seven Cities of Residual Income, you see them shuffling to meetings and striking out at any pyramid shaped form they happen apon. Shameful and saddening when it happens to someone you care about.

Somewhere in the depths of that direct selling hell, The Preacher found God and turned his life around. How it all happened is shrouded in mystery to me. Maybe he was riding a horse and was struck blind, maybe he was taking a little siesta under a bodhi tree, or maybe he just remembered all of his good Catholic upbringing, but whatever it was my hedonistic running buddy was gone, and The Preacher took his place. Before I knew it The Preacher had graduated from Jr. Preacher to Sr. Preacher and was ready to take on his own flock. I left Baton Rouge for the Army and while I was gone I received word that The Preacher had gotten himself hitched to, by all accounts, a wonderful woman. At last count The Preacher and Ms. Preacher had something like seventeen kids (or four whichever comes first).

But that’s not the end of the story. It seems when God taps you to do something He rarely makes it something as simple as taking out the garbage. Sometimes He asks you to build a big ole boat. Sometimes He asks you to build triangle mausoleums that last hundreds of thousands of years. In this case He asked The Preacher to pack up, move his family to the other side of the world and convert the heathen masses. He calls people to do this a lot but there’s a wrinkle, there’s always a wrinkle with Him isn’t there? The Preacher was sent to preach to peasant Chinese people without the benefit of government sanctions, the ability to speak a lick of Chinese, little formal experience with local culture, or anything other faith in Him. And away The Preacher went just like that. I don’t go to the grocery store without more information than he had, I guess that’s the power of faith for you.

The Preacher has been over there for a number of years now. His Chinese is better, and it appears that he had some success thwarting their godless commie ways. I’ve never told The Preacher this, but I respect him greatly. I can’t imagine moving my family to a foreign land on faith alone. The Preacher has a strength of belief that I envy and a courage of conviction that I aspire towards. You were a good friend Preacher and you are a model for spiritual strength. For that reason you are the subject of my first blog dedication.

If you would like to learn more about The Preacher, or you’re just curious and/or bored, check out his page http://www.chinesegumbo.com/.

Chasing Windmills (a.k.a. Bluebonnets)

I currently live in Houston. The Misses and I moved the family here in May of 2006. We like it here. But we’re not native Houstonians, for that matter we’re not native Texans. Close, but not quite; she’s from Oklahoma and I’m from Louisiana. Texas shares a regional culture with our home states, but if you remember the Texas tourism slogan, “Texas, it’s like a whole ‘nother country.” So The Misses and I are learning what it means to be “Texan”. Aside from the obvious things like chewing tobacco, wearing hats measured by liquid tonnage, and buying a six-shooter or two there are some subtle rites-of-passage that make you an official Texan. One of these rites is a pilgrimage to the Bluebonnets.

Since the first spring of our arrival in the Lone Star State we’ve heard about these bluebonnets. “It’s bluebonnet season,” “The ‘bonnets are in full bloom,” “Have you seen the bluebonnets?” and so on. There are news stories about the bluebonnets, there are websites devoted to the bluebonnets and whole regions of the state that devote their economy to catering to horticultural pilgrims. Texas takes this flower seriously. So seriously they made the bluebonnet the state flower. But that wasn’t enough, so they teach kids in school that it is illegal to pick bluebonnets in Texas. (It’s not illegal, but they propagate the myth via school taught urban legend in order to instill reverence for the bluebonnet at a young age, or maybe further the Cult of the Azul Head Covering or something nefarious like that)

This is the background for an adventure I launched the family on a few weeks ago. It was only a matter of time before I had to find out what the big deal was about. I mean it’s a flower. A wild flower. Growing on the side of the interstate. Sure that’s nice and everything, but really is that all there is to it? Can’t be. If I stop cutting my grass a few weeks I get some pretty pink flowers that pop up, but no one drives slowly past my yard with camera in hand. No, I get a nasty-gram from the HOA complaining about growing shrubbery without a permit or something. So one Saturday night after watching the 15^th report about pretty weeds in a field outside of Houston, I decide the time is right to see this for myself.

Sunday afternoon I load The Misses and three kidd-o’s into the car and sally forth to see Lupinus texensis. The Misses was not amused, because I didn’t have much of a plan. (The Misses NEEDS a plan, clearly written, all possibilities and solutions accounted for, an emergency contact number, a notarized signature, and an updated will) I didn’t have any of that. All I had was a full tank of gas, a digital camera, a sunny day, a carload of uncooperative family, and a compass point [West]. The latest news report made it sound like all of the land west of Houston was awash in what John Lennin would have described as Bluebonnet fields forever. So I told The Misses we would simply get on I-290 and head west toward Austin, we would find a massive patch of flowers on the side of the road, plop the kids in the middle, take a few shots and be home for dinner. Simple as pie.

Forty minutes later things we’re not coming up roses (or bluebonnets), and the natives were getting restless. We found nothing but brown grass and weeds. Here I was, driving 45mph on the highway staring at the side of the road. “Look there is that a flower? Nope that was a blue dixie cup.” “What about that? Nope that was an abandoned tarp with a human leg hanging out of the side.” I never paid that much attention to neutral ground in the absence of a Mardi Gras parade in my life. Eventually The Misses found something. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a whole field of blue off of the feeder road on the right. I cut three lanes of traffic, cause an 18-wheeler to jackknife, and tip over an old lady in a walker and exit the highway. It took about 15 minutes to backtrack to the spot. We pull over and survey the landscape of blue. Blue yes, but not exactly what we expected. Despite a month without any rain it was wetter than we expected. What The Misses saw out of the corner of her eye was actually a very large pond reflecting a pretty, cloudless, blue sky. We had found the Blue, but not the Bonnet part of the equation. Everyone, back in the car!

Twenty minutes later we had a success in patches of flowers on the side of the road. Not the fabled bluebonnets, but at this point we were going to take some pictures of something floral even if we had to find a florist shop to do it. We pressed on. Soon small patches became larger patches, and a few blue patches could be seen. Eventually these patches of flowers turned to patches of bluebonnets. Little groups here and there, pretty, but not enough to fill a picture. As the patches get bigger crowds start to gather. At each group of bluebonnets there are a half dozen cars pulled over on the shoulder of the highway. Adults kneeling around smartly dressed children angrily shouting, “Look happy, damn-it!” We must be here.

The Misses and I spy a large vacant patch of bluebonnets, conveniently located in the grassy section of a highway cloverleaf. Perfect place for children to frolic, let’s go! We pull over and kick the children out of the car as trucks and cars wiz past like a blurry, metal version of a dark robed skeleton carrying a scythe. “Go play” we tell them. And out they ran, cooped up for an hour and a half in the car was motivation enough for them to have played in a broccoli (aka children kryptonite) factory. We managed a few pictures before reality set in. “Is that poison-ivy?”, “Are those bees gonna sting me”, “I itch”, “Wow, how many ant piles are out here?” With uncut grass up their waist, dangerous flora and fauna buzzing, crawling, and creeping all around, and the wind blown wake of high speed death tussling their hair, being cooped up in the car seemed like a good idea. “I wanna go home,” they cried. “No you’ll sit in the grass and enjoy yourself.” We took as many pictures as they would let us. I lasted a little more than 10 minutes then we retreated to the car.

We have seen the elephant, and it was a good day. But it was a late day, and dinner was nearing. We had an hour plus drive back to Houston, so The Misses and I decided to give the good people of Bluebonnet Mecca some of our hard earned cash. We would get something to eat in the town just up the road. So we journeyed father west into The Heart of Blueness. Soon we became aware of our rookie mistake – pre-mature bluebonnet elation. The world around us slowly faded into a deep blue hue. What we had previously believed to be a field of bluebonnets was a nothing more that a scattering of wild flowers compared to what we saw here. It was like mistaking a swollen drainage ditch for the Pacific Ocean. Here we found seas of blue fields that would have had made Captain Nemo homesick. It was truly amazing. Stones had been removed from my eyes and I now understood what the bluebonnets are all about. These fields make me want to threaten bluebonnet pickers under penalty of law, check the message boards for blooming reports, tune in to watch the umpteen news reports of wildflowers, heck, I might even put a tin pot on my head and jaunt around the land in bare feet, throwing bluebonnet seeds to the wind. I do like blue flowers and ham, I do like them, Sam-I-Am. These flowers were nothing short of amazing. It was as if the Hand of God ran out of yellow paint to mix with blue for a landscape, but He decided to finish the painting with what He and available. A truly moving sight.

After a few miles The Misses and I turned off of the main highway. We randomly picked a side road and went to see what we could see. Luck was with us and we happened upon a huge open field of flowers that we had all to ourselves. Unfortunately there was no way to convince Number One and Number Two Sons to get out of the car again. They had been tricked before and wouldn’t budge. But the Little Princess was too young to refuse. With daylight fleeting The Misses, the Little Princess, and I frolicked in our own personal Blue Heaven. It was a great day, and I look forward to going back next year.

Lent

Lent is here.  Lent is here and I’m a Catholic.  Lent is here, I’m a Catholic, and now I’m sort of required to give something up for 40 days.  You see we Catholics have a strange tradition in that the 40 days (not including Sundays – Don’t ask, it’s something to do with the early Church policy of burning anyone good in math, just ask Galileo) before Easter we give up something important to us in order to reflect on the sacrifice we believe Jesus made for all humanity a few days before Easter.  Don’t worry this isn’t a theology blog, you just might need some background.  Every year Catholics suffer with a mid-year New Year’s Resolution type crisis; what to give up.  You see we’re torn in two different directions; we want to give up something that we won’t miss so we can say we did it, but we also can’t get off too easy or our Catholic-guilt will get us for taking the easy way out.  Now I’m sure eternal salvation of the soul should be motivation enough, but man is it hard to pass up a free donut when you gave up sweets.  So every year the thought process goes something like this: 

Ugh, Lent is here already.  I need to give up something…hmmmm.  What did I give up last year…oh yeah, goat cheese.  Don’t think I can get away with that two years running…hmmm.  What about fennel?  Is fennel in a lot of stuff I like to eat?  No, won’t work, I’m not sure I know what fennel is?  Plant or seed or something?  What about cake?  No good, The Misses’ birthday is during Lent.  There’s got to be something…

Yeah I go through this every year.  And for the last few years it has been even harder.  You see the Misses has gotten involved, so now I have a Lenten Sacrifice Gatekeeper with veto power.  “You can’t give up talking on the phone to your Aunt Wendy, that doesn’t count.  She doesn’t like you anyway, pick something else.”

When I was in college I used to give up meat (all meat except fish) for the full 40 days.  That was tough, but I managed.  Growing up in South Louisiana there was always good seafood to be found, and in a pinch peanut butter and jelly ain’t that bad.  For the last few years I’ve gone in the totally opposite direction.  The added pounds of a slower metabolism led me to only eat meat for 40 days (strict Adkins introduction phase diet for all of Lent).  Truth-be-told meat only is harder than no meat at all.  But I drop some pounds and get a few day pass from Purgatory, win-win.  I planed to “meat-only” again this year.  Then I got the bad news.

Just before Lent I received results from some blood work I had done.  Elevated cholesterol and blood pressure.  Not enough to panic over, but something that bears watching.  The Misses read the results and decided to use her Lenten veto.  A 40 day exclusive diet of fatty meat and grease galore was not a good idea given the test results.  So back to the drawing board I go.

I needed to get creative, I needed to get serious, and I needed to hurry.  Lent was only days away and unless I thought of something quick The Misses would have to pick for me, and I didn’t want that.  Finally it hit me.  This year I will try and give up weight.  Yep, you heard right, gross tonnage (pun intended).  Admittedly it’s unorthodox, but it might be just crazy enough to work.

First I need a diet.  But it can’t be overly restrictive or I’ll never make it through.  So I’ll invent one on my own.  I’m a smart guy I’ve seen the food pyramid, I know the evils of chocolate cake, how tough can it be?  So this is what I’ll do, no fried stuff (good start).  I can have red meat or pork no more that twice a week.  Focus on grilled or baked chicken and fish.  More vegetables and fruits (that’s easy, every number is more than zero).  And for God’s sake (pun again) eat less, aka smaller portions.  Then all the obvious things, no candy, sweets, Cokes, all of that stuff.  Good.  Simple.  Done.

Now I need a workout routine.  Remember it’s got to be simple and easy enough that I will actually “do” it.  That eliminates just about all of the realistic and proven methodologies.  I don’t want to involve myself with anything that a professional trainer would approve of, that wouldn’t be in the proper spirit.  Luckily, I live in the internet age, where anyone with a crack-pot idea and a keyboard can post his crazy ideas to the world (i.e. this blog).  So it’s to these people I turned, and read, and searched for an interesting, low impact method of losing tons of weight.  I interviewed a number of plans, with a number of promises.  Finally I settled on a semi-reputable scheme with a stormy name, Turbulence Training.  Oooh, that sounds scary, the pounds with get thrashed right off of me.  I went with this one for a few reasons:  1) He has a book.  This will help sell it to The Misses.  2)  He only requires me to workout three times a week and for less than an hour.  That’s it, three times a week.  YES!  I think you can smoke while you work out, it’s just that simple.  3)  No diet.  Now you know he must be reputable.  But this way I won’t feel bad when I slip up and steal a cookie from my children, because technically I’m not breaking the “system”.

I know you are sitting at home/work/in traffic or wherever you read this blog thinking, “I want to know how this all works out.”  Well never fear.  I promise updates.  I’m even going to post some before and after pictures and occasional workout updates over the next few months.  By Easter Sunday I expect to be in fighting shape.  This is gonna rock!

On a completely unrelated note, does anyone remember the name of A-Rod’s personal trainer?  I might need a “B-12” injection or two.

25 (+5) Random Things About This Blogger

So there is this thing going around Facebook called 25 Random Things.  The jest of the thing is to post 25 random things about yourself.  This way you get to show everyone who you know how important you are.  Well I’m pretty important.  So important I have my own blog.  So I’m gonna spend this week’s blog posting my own 25 random things.  But to be different, and because I’m so important 25 just won’t do, I’m going to post 30 random things about me.  Although I frequently lie in this blog, I’m going to take a break from that habit this week only.  Everything listed here is actually true. Enjoy the read.

 1. When The Misses tells me to do something (like bloging) I usually do it. About 99% of the time I find I’m better off for it.

2. I can’t stand income taxes. I’m an avid supporter of a flat tax, fair tax, consumption tax, or anything that is not an income tax.

3. I have a job that very few people understand. Doesn’t everyone see the inherent value of a properly drawn box-and-arrow diagram? Because of the first sentence only a handful of people get the second sentence.

4. I have friends that go back to high school and even kindergarten. I’m not sure what this says about me. I must not be able to let go of the past or something. Maybe if I could just get a few of them to remove those restraining orders…

5. I was in the Army for four years. I joined to see the world and play outside. The Army caught wind of my desires and locked me in the basement of a building with no windows in Maryland. So much for my plans.

6. I don’t believe in ghosts.

7. When I was in college I drove my dream car, a Jeep Wrangler. When The Misses got pregnant with our first child I sold it. One day I will have another Jeep.

8. I’ve had a job continuously since I was 15 years old.

9. My eye color confuses people. My eyes are hazel, but that’s not a real eye color. My eyes are really brown or green depending on what I’m wearing and, strangely enough, the weather. Sunny days tend to make my eyes green and rainy days tend to make my eyes brown. I haven’t figured how clothing figures into the equation because I can only see my eyes in a mirror and the mirrors are mostly inside the house. That makes testing my eye color is tough to do outside without a partner. I wonder if I should file for a grant? The government seems to be giving away money willy-nilly these days.

10. When I went to LSU I lived in the apartments behind the Tiger Bar (Tiger Plaza). No, I mean the apartment DIRECTLY BEHIND THE TIGER BAR. When you stood in the parking lot of the Tiger Bar and looked at Tiger Plaza, you were looking at my apartment. You can imagine the implications of this location. We didn’t even bother to lock our door at night.

11. I’ve stood in six weddings and been the Best Man in four. People I know don’t seem to understand the meaning of the word “best” and confuse it with “you’ll do”.

12. I’ve never considered myself to be smart, but I know I’m good at Jeopardy.

13. I’m surprised how different it is to be the father of a daughter compared to being the father of a son (or sons [plural]). After having two boys I pretty much thought I had father-ing figured out. But then The Princess was born I realized she and I are playing a completely different game.

14. I’m streak lucky. I’ll go months where nothing ever goes wrong for me, and months where I can’t catch a break.

16. I think that people who type out 25 Random Things and reference one of their previous answers do not fully understand the concept of “random”.

17. In elementary school I used to pull my pants up to my bellybutton. I have no idea why I thought this was a good idea. Couple this with my braces and Alfred E. Newman classes and you can believe I was really popular with the ladies!

18. I hated living on the East Coast, and couldn’t wait to get back to the South in general, and Baton Rouge in specific. Now it doesn’t look like I’ll get to BR, but I really like living in Houston, so that’s OK.

19. My father is my hero, I try to be like him now that I am grown up.

20. I plotted and help execute the systematic destruction of at least two foreign countries.

21. I do believe in God, but I’m not sure it matters much by itself. It’s kind of like whether or not you believe in polar bears. I think it’s how you live your life that counts.

22. I have a goatee because it makes me look older. As a consultant clients expect a wise old sage to walk in the door. I don’t look like a wise old sage. For some odd reason the goatee makes me look older and provides me with more respect at work. Now if I can just find the facial hair combination that forces people to throw money at me. I guess you could say I’m a follicle alchemist. Does that make me a folliclemist? 

23. I’m a natural storyteller. I don’t let things like truth get in the way. If it helps make the story better I have no problem inventing details. This quality is wonderful at cocktail parties, but has its drawbacks at depositions.

24. When I see people with a flat tire on the side of the road I almost always stop and help them change the tire. I have changed about 50 tires. I do this with the hope that if The Misses ever needs help on the side of the road some nice, non-psycho person stops to help her.

25. When The Misses was pregnant with Number One Son we bought a glider. While shopping for the glider at the Babies-R-Us store we met an elderly lady that was also shopping for a glider. She needed it for her invalid husband who was given only a few weeks to live.  After making our selections we all went to the checkout counter together and the clerk said it would take no less than four weeks to deliver the elderly lady’s glider. No way could we let that happen, so The Misses and I loaded her glider into my car. We drove it to her house and set it up that day. We found out later the man got to use his glider but died two weeks later. I think this incident may have bought me a two week pass from purgatory.

26. I have punched and been punched in the face, and I’m not afraid to do either one of those things again; although I prefer the punching.

27. I’m lucky to have In-Laws that I get along with very well.  They are dear people whom I respect greatly. 

28. I’m surprisingly good at karaoke.

29. The Misses is an amazing person, and I’m lucky to be a part of her life.

30. I enjoy blogging and I’m amazed every time I hear that someone has read what I put up.  Thank you for taking the time to peruse my rants.  I’ll do my best to keep up my self-imposed at least once a week post.

Attack of the Minjas

A few nights ago the Misses and I were sitting around the house enjoying our children.  It was a nice evening.  All three kids were getting along and playing nice so we turned off the TV, unplugged the phone and played together in the living room.  Laughing and joking with each other eventually turned to dancing around and acting silly, as you would expect with six, four, and one year olds.

 

Then things got a little crazy.  Son Number Two had a flash of inspiration and ran to his bedroom.  He had been gone a while so the Misses sent me to check on him.  Not wanting to walk the 20 feet down the hall to look into the bedroom, I called down the hallway to see if Son Number Two was alright. 

“Yes,” he shouted back.  Now “yes” with a four year old can mean many things ranging from “yes” to “no” to “maybe”, but it can also include “I’m not really OK, but I messed things up so bad I don’t want you to come in here and see what I have done”. 

Armed with this knowledge I decided to ask a follow up question, “Do you need some help [with your clothes, with your toys, getting out from under the dresser, cleaning that up, getting that chalk out of you ear, ect…]?” 

Number Two Son then announced he was fine, he was just getting ready to be the “Awesomest Minja (not a type-o) in the World!”  I didn’t want to mess with that so I retuned to the fun of the living room.  A few minutes later he re-emerged from the bedroom and I just had to document it for posterity.  If there was any doubt about what the “Awesomest Minja in the World” looked like here you go.

I wasn’t long before Number One Son got into the act.

 

With two Awesome Minjas in one house it wouldn’t take long for a battle to ensue.

The Misses and I were lucky to grab the Little Princess and escape with our lives.  I did promise to show these pictures at their weddings.