Tough as leather

So a great grandma is pretty impressive right? Think about they went thru there life lets say 20 years before they had their own kid, think about your first 20 years of existence, alot went on right, then they watch their own child grow up. The fights, the good times the Christmas's, again think about your first 20 years with your mom, alot went on right? Then lets say around 30 the kids have kids, and the cycle continues, think about your first 20 years with your grandparent, according to this analogies this said grandparent has gone thru his/her own adolescence, then raised a kid, then watch a grand kid arrive. Add another 25 years and another kid comes, that is three births, like 50 years of child/grandchild growing up, an then another dang kid., that is pretty amazing, that is alot of wealth in knowledge and experience, its kinda crazy.

My own grandmas, 91 and 75 respectively, will be great greats for the first time. My grandma Teresa wants to be called GG and my grandma Josephine wants to be called...well all she is really concerned about is Sarah wearing a lead apron around computers. Sarah's Gma, 81 will be a great great for the 67th or the 68th time, not sure, but she is equally pumped.

I think about my 26 years and all the stuff that went on and I am kinda intimidated by this great great parents, they are kinda like the shogun or Daimyo to my Bushido warrior, and speaking of martial arts, I got hit by a car yesterday. I was minding my own business walking thru a gas station parking lot, when out of the steam and smoke erupted a fiery Chrysler 300M hell bent on my demise. Acting quick, I did a little hop and 90 degree turn to protect my knees, I crashed on the hood full force and was forced into a little roll onto the windshield, I grasp at something to keep me on the hood, like some bad ass in a Saturday morning movie, but I only grabbed the windshield wiper. I was spun off the drivers side of the car only to land in a crouching position with a wind shield wiper in my hand like some Shaolin Monk after a bad ass wind mill kick.

The dude screeched to a halt and ran over to the demonic lumberjack holding his wiper blade crouched in a mantis style attack mode. I stood up and yelled profanity's at him, go his insurance, had him fill up my gas tank in my car and went my separate way. My calf is pretty sore, but I am fine. I guess I could have tried and put my kid thru college thru this adventure, but i figured the 30k millionaire would just file an insurance claim and we would all pay for it eventually thru insurance premiums.

Sarah was upset, as she should be, and I totally got out of having to give a massage because I had been hit by a car earlier in the day. Sarah has been battling a the start of a cold for the better part the past three days and is especially sore. She has been spending time with her grandma and has cute stories I implore her to share here, but apparently I am the better writer (she obviously hasn't read this blog). Her grandma wants us to name the kid either Britney or Kevin, I blame it on ET being on after Jeopardy, Sarah claims it is because she likes those names, the jury is out until my private investigator returns with the results.

So long for now...

Everyone has his day and some days last longer than others.

How much can you take? Of anything, how much can you cram into your life? When is there too much to do, too much on your plate, when is the reservoir full? Sarah and I went to an Arizona Cardinals football game yesterday, drove 50 miles round trip, spent $14 on soda popcorn and the worse nachos ever, hiked the highest peaks of University of Phoenix stadium, Sarah on an oxygen tank to stabilize her breathing, and left after watching about 30 minutes of real time football. We sat down, adjusted our snacks, took off our layers of clothing, did a panoramic high aperture mental picture of the cavernous arena, watched a touchdown, raised eyebrows to the "fans" and their hottin' and hollerin' and went home.

I list of things me and Sarah are currently into: sewing, bicycles, guitars, House M.D., basketball, specifically the Western Conference and the Phoenix Suns, painting with acrylic paint, cake making, whiskey, energy booze, reading our books on: baseball, The Presidency, Pirates, roller coasters, fairy tales simultaneously, architecture, baseball stadiums of the nation, feeling our baby move around in its aquatic sack of a world, and growing grass. Add working, playing in a band, visiting grandparents and we have sorta full plate, but I suppose it is defiantly full when it comes to football and Glendale.

If you think about,the two professional Football and Hockey teams play in Glendale, the wife and I can care 1/3000th of a crap about either of these sports, and we have an open and deep hatred for the world of the avenues, especially west of the i-17. the Westgate area, is actually our 4 layer of hell, the reason we cared not for the exciting western conference title winners or whatever the cardinals are, and one of the newest and advanced arenas in the world, is because we had entered some sort of zombie like status were we where void of any kind of emotion or senses. Or it was a long weak and really not a good capstone. Who knows/cares.

So this post is pretty random and directionless, so let me leave you with the plans for our quest bedroom. In order for us to save some money, pay down debt and me to get Internet phone, we are canceling the cable and upping the netflix/reading. So we have begun setting up an arts and crafts room in one of our spare bedrooms, we have a table for Sarah's sewing machine, an easel, and a noose for me to hang out on, it is going to be great. Sarahs belly has begun to do weird things like in alien right before the creature burst out that dude, so if we aren't heard from in a couple days, send a re-con team to our house, but don't send the android Bishop, he always gets killed and that white stuff they use inside him is really gross looking, and I have a new rug so yeah, that would be great...
Thanks.

Machismo y Bigote

About 84% of people I know, who know who there father is, have baby photos from a land of hair follicle covered upper lipped dads smiling with glee and joy over there newest tax right offs. It feels that the kids who dads didn't have a mustache in their baby photos were kids who ended up roller blading or buying those shoes meant for aggressive walking. So, as to save my child of the social stigmas of doing un-cool things, I have for the past 7 weeks been growing a beard, a beard for baby. I will shave off the rest when the chap/gal comes, so I will have a Sam elliot/Wyatt Earp/Kaiser Wilhelm style mustache to proudly embarrass my children when they see old photos of the care-er and provider.


To the expected chagrin of Sarah, I have increasing met resistance to this mustache during the holiday season. The main culprit being the wife herself. With the acreage of the mustache I am capable it is a shame that in the eleven years of knowing her I have never be able to fully unleash the potential wrath of my mustache. She claims she is feeling especially disconnected during the holiday season as in her word "there is a mustache between us". Apparently cozing up to a thick amber patch of hair on ones upper lip doesn't co relate to an emotional bond people (Sarah) seeks.

I have also be getting crap from family members who A) note that I have a red beard and brown/gray hair, and apparently that angers them; and B) I look like a long shore men, which doesn't fly in the desert southwest because of lack of a shore and any type of deep sea fishing industry. I say nay, a mustache, like fatherhood and risque situations involving animals and or guns, is a right of passage for a man. Where do you think dad strength comes from, where does that look in a fathers eye when you are mis-behaving come from? The source of power is the mustache, clinical studies have proven this. I will hang tough and welcome my child with a whiskery, salty, whatever I ate that day kiss from my mustachioed lip, this I declare.

So me and the wife, who apart from my facial hair, is especially annoyed not being able to have wine or beer during the holiday festivities, are going to experience the 1.4 billion dollar train ride that takes us from no where we live near to no where we need to go today. It should be a gas, we went to a Hot dog buffet surprise party last night for Ben, which aside from local folk rock icons kicking holes in our friends wall, was a great time, and we suggest hot dog themed party's replace Bar Mitzvah's and Flag day. So we are going to (I am) drink away he whisky-krought (I will explain later)hangover with water and a lunch downtown.

Til next time.

The Saga Begins aka It is all down hill from here.

So...cute, tear jerking tales of pregnancy struggles, merry yarns of birth, elegant regaling of child stories that only a grandmother really cares about...correct. If you are reading this who have begun the chronicle of a very boring (save to perhaps a mid-wife or a sensitive relative) a pregnancy, a birth, and all the comical hijinks that will occur.

The Corey Patrick Rials currently consist of one before mention Corey: A dashing and stylish fellow in his mid 20's mainly working for the weekend, and his beautiful wife Sarah Janice: also in mid 20's and playing for keeps...oh and who is currently incredible uncomfortable and with a swollen belly she has been claiming is our first child. The sex has not been determined and we are planning on finding about about 2-7 years after the birth, we have names, no one likes them, we aren't even sure if we like them and will probably call the little one Dinosaur for lack of better nomenclature.

So, there it is, the writing will get worse, the pictures will get blurry-er. the post will become increasingly less frequent, and we will eventually sell the rights to this episode to Fox for a pilot that will never see the light of day. I think they should have Jon Hamm play the older me and for the younger me they can cast one of the Savage brothers, for Sarah they can fix Anne Hathaways horse mouth and nose and she could play her. But I digress....til the next episode.

Happy Holidays From C.Patrick and SJ Rial