Scott Rader again joins us as a guest writer, giving you every last minutia of his week. Once again, any complaints should be given right to his face. -ed.

Monday

Maybe it was the death of the peace lilly last week or maybe it was other glancing happenings of the week, but I spent Monday feeling awfully nostalgic.

I spent hours on YouTube looking for video clips of My Two Dads and Parker Lewis Can’t Lose. I started thinking about that time I was watching Who Wants to be a Millionaire and that guy called his dad and said, “Dad, I don’t need your help. I was just calling to tell you I won a million dollars.” I thought about crying while thinking about all these things, these things that no longer exist, not even on DVD. But I didn’t cry.

Instead, I continued to stay nostalgic and thought about meeting my wife. It’s actually a sweet story. It’s even sweeter with firecrackers.

We met at a local work place, where we were both employed.
“Hey future wife,” I said, holding a sparkler and spelling out my name.
“Hey,” she said throwing a Black Cat at my feet.
“Do you think I could have your phone number?”
She grabbed the sparkler gently from my hand and wrote out her number delicately in the air.
Later, while watching a KU basketball game and shooting a roman candle out my dorm room window, I called her. I could hear her on the other end, giggling at my jokes and lighting the fuses on Saturn rockets. They exploded with their piercing screech and we were in love.
That week, we kissed for the first time, aerials bursting all around us. It was extraordinary.

Tuesday
Tuesday I usually do other things. Like clean my guns and milk the cows and get the eggs from the chickens.

But this week was different. No this week, an old friend exploded in clouds of steam. His name was Billy, a stout, blue, iron workhorse from 1959, that has driven me around for the past 12 years, but finally met his match in the mid-afternoon heat of Kansas. Yes, Billy was the name of my pick-up truck, and Tuesday, a hose popped from the throat of the radiator and sprayed hot, hot heat around the engine.

He’s been replaced with Jummy, my brother’s ex-1988 GMC. You know, since he’s been horseback riding to save money on gas.

Wednesday
Awww . . . Wednesdays are the days I talk about adventures. Like I said last week, I work as a librarian, which is really an incredible job that never ceases to amaze, because it is always filled with adventures. Being a librarian is kind of like being a cross between Indiana Jones and James Bond and Ted Danson.

Anyway, basically, everyday we have adventures at the library, and then I relay them to you, so you can live vicariously through me.

This week, there were a lot of patrons complaining about ghosts scaring them in the basement. I told them there were absolutely no ghosts down in the basement and they should stop being such fraidy cats. Of course, I realized this was rude and that I shouldn’t call patrons fraidy cats even if they are acting like fraidy cats. So I grabbed their hands patronly and led them to the basement so they could face their fears. Well, it turns out that these people were neither liars, nor fraidy cats, as the basement was swarming with ghosts.

“Oh, heck,” I said. I pulled my laser from it’s sheath on my belt and shot at the ghosts like pew pew pow kerang pew pew kerang pew pow!

Thursday
I spent all day thinking about how awesome last night’s episode of Pushing Daisies was. Then I talked with Adam about how much he loved it and hated The Big Bang Theory. We, Adam and I, get along like two peas in a pod, except he’s like a mean black belt pea who always karate kicks me, the younger little brother green belt pea. And then we hold hands.

But now Adam lives in another state and we no longer get to karate kick or hold hands, instead we just talk about stuff, like television shows, which is the only way we can connect with each other. Well, that and email and telephones, but also television.

Friday
Some terrible things happened in my town Friday. Some things that I do not want to talk about, because they are horrible. But these things got me thinking about my Grandpa.

Some people think Chuck Norris is a total badass, but not as bad as my Grandpa. No! My Grandpa invented adventure and would cannibalize Chuck Norris just for squeaks and gigs. The only thing that Chuck Norris could beat my Grandpa at is probably MarioKart, but that’s just because Chuck Norris is notoriously good at MarioKart, but my Grandpa would put up a good fight.

Also, my friend Bo came to town. Bo has a beard and like anyone with a beard, me included, his beard houses birds. It’s like a beard house! Well Bo had recently added a new baby bird to his beard brood, a young robin, who he had yet to name. He let me name it and I decided on the name Campbell. Campbell chirped as soon as I said his name for the first time, because he was in love with his name. Why wouldn’t he be?

Saturday
Now, being a boy/automatic fan of sports, makes for an interesting time living in Kansas. You see, Kansas does not have professional sports teams. It has plenty of minor league teams, but no actual professional teams. Now I know what you’re thinking, “What about the Kansas City Royals?” Well, 1.) no self-respecting sports fan is a fan of the Kansas City Royals, 2.) or of baseball, 3.) Kansas City is in Missouri, not in Kansas. Reasons 1.) and 3.) also apply to The Kansas City Chiefs. Instead, I pledge my loyalty to one Kansas team and one Kansas team alone . . . The Kansas Jayhawks.
And for those from other states who wonder what I do during football season as a KU fan, the answer is, get excited for my ‘Hawks who are now the 20th ranked team in the nation.
See imaginary birds can play football.

Sunday
I read and watched football. Living in Kansas means I generally have to watch the aforementioned Chiefs. This makes me mad every week, as the Chiefs are terrible, but also hilarious because the Chiefs are terrible.
It also rained all day in my hometown. Rain in Kansas is caused by low pressure movements. It is also the only rain in the whole world that can fix broken electronics. So I sat a T.V., a V.C.R., and a radiator outside into the rain and they sprouted legs, like young children and swam through the muddy waters of my alley. I tried to chase after them, but breast stroke beats chubby kid running. I hope they find a better home and don’t get captured by the evil conglomerate runaway electronic machine known as The Pawn Shoppe.

Well, thanks for coming back. Until next time . . . remember this, “Meow!”