Word Fun

Every group or clique tends to have their own set of insider words and phrases and the business community is no exception. Each of my three brothers belongs to this business world as do each of my three brothers-in-law. I don’t and while I’m comfortable talking shop, I’m not always comfortable talking with the same shop lingo. I’ve tried from time to time but the words just don’t feel right in my mouth and end up sounding forced. It’s like when hear suburban white kids using rap lingo in their conversation, they know the words yet still, it just doesn’t feel quite right.

My business world friends use terms like, “Hey man, I gotta bounce so I’ll talk to you later,” or maybe, “I hear you but do me a favor and just shoot me an email on that.” These are insider terms reserved for those inside the business community.

I was visiting one of my brothers a while back and we were sitting around enjoying a casual conversation. This was late in the evening but the air outside was still warm so we had all the windows in his home open. His wife had two of her sisters in town as well and they, along with two additional friends rounded out the company. The conversation was casual and light, moving from updates on children to the latest news at work. At one point we even discussed the reason everyone should own an iphone. I think it was one of the sisters that brought it up saying, “I just don’t know how I lived without mine.” She decided everyone should own one and half the room agreed while the other half was definitely against the idea. We were at a standoff and the conversation moved on.

Later in the evening the other sister turned and said, “I know, we totally shouldn’t - we just can’t help ourselves.” I missed the point of the statement but when dirty little secrets come up in a conversation like that, it grabs ones attention. Then she turned her head to the side a bit and mouthed the words, “It’s a little ‘WT’,” and then she giggled. I’d never heard the term ‘WT’ and wondered if it was an abbreviation carried over from text messaging. She said it in a way that suggested a guilty pleasure so it took me awhile to figure out it’s meaning.

A few weeks later my neighbor used the ‘WT’ thing while referring to some toys strewn across his front lawn. As in “Look at my front yard. We’re totally ‘WT’.” While his use of the term was more obvious in it’s reference, by this time it wouldn’t have mattered, as I was already hip to its meaning.

I’ve been keeping my eye out for ways to throw this newly found term into a conversation and sometimes practice it to myself in my car on the way to work. I can’t quite make it come out right and worry it’ll come across sounding forced or contrived. “Do I mouth it like my brother’s sister-in-law turning my head for effect or do I just throw it out like it’s no big deal the way my neighbor did? I wonder.” I think I’ll have to practice it a bit more but for now, brother, I gotta bounce.

Any terms you find funny?

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Toaster Oven Research and Derailment

So Linda has decided she’s interested in a toaster oven and wondered if I could do a bit of research to figure out which one to buy. We already own a toaster but due to her celiac disease she can no longer use it. She likes the idea of a toaster oven, which can remain dedicated to gluten-free cooking as a way to further avoid cross contamination.

Generally I start my research in one of two places, the internet or Costco. I discovered this week we no longer keep a Consumer Reports account so I was forced to dig deeper into the net looking for information. This site listed Cuisinart as their top pick and it seems most other sites agreed that Cuisinart is the brand to beat. They offer a wide range of models to choose from leaving the consumer the freedom to select the features they’re after. Personally I like the idea of the appliance doubling as a convection oven and will look for one of their models offering this feature.



Deciding it was time to check what Costco had in stock I pulled into their parking lot alongside a taxi cab mini van. While Portland has it’s share of cabs its uncommon to see one over in Beaverton where I work let alone in the Costco parking lot. What I saw next was even more remarkable. The taxi cab driver was just getting out of his car as I pulled up, he was dark complected, tall and dressed in a long sleeve black turtle neck and Levis. He wore a thick gold chain over his shirt which had what looked, to me, like a large gold coin dangling from it and a toothpick stuck from the corner of his mouth. All this was more or less normal but what really caught my eye and then my entire attention was the fact that his pants hung unbuttoned down around his hips. Our eyes met and he gave me a nod, switching his toothpick to the opposite corner of his mouth, then shrugged as if to suggest, “What? I like to be comfortable when I drive. You got a problem with that?”

It turns out Costco does have the Cuisinart toaster oven I’m after but I was too distracted to buy it.

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Share and Share Alike

I called my brother Cameron the other day to see if I could send him a pair of socks. Specifically I was wondering if he’d ever wear a pair of used socks, as I know some people have issues with wearing used clothing. Sure I understand avoiding, at all costs, a pair of used underwear but beyond that, for me, pretty much anything goes. Still, I wanted to be sure before sending the socks.


Cameron has recently suffered an injury to his leg followed by surgery and now nears the end of a two-week period in a cast. “Get yourself a nice straight coat hanger and cut it down to a manageable length. You’re gonna need to scratch.” I know because I’ve done the cast thing. This will be followed by a month or so in a removable boot, which I too have endured. Unlike a cast, the boot brings a newfound freedom by introducing the ability to gimp along without the aid of crutches. It also allows one to remove it periodically and air things out which is where the socks come in. During my orthopedic boot wearing days I found a pair of compression type soccer socks which work wonders in keeping the leg comfortable. This particular pair is made by Nike and also boasts dri-fit technology, which helps keep the boot dry, which, in turn equals a less smelly boot and a less itchy leg. Wanting to do something nice for my brother, you know, show him I care, I searched high and low for a pair of these socks only to discover they no longer make them. Hence the question about the used pair.

A few years ago Linda and I were visiting Cameron in Southern California when the discussion about sharing came up. Actually, it was about the dangers associated with sharing. We were sitting around the island in his kitchen while his wife Melissa demonstrated a new blender my brother had recently purchased. It seemed its greatest selling point was it’s ability to take everyday ingredients straight from the refrigerator and blend them at speed high enough to actually boil them. “And why do you need a blender to boil soup,” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be easier to use the stove top?”

“Well maybe,” she guessed, “but it’s just the fact that you can that makes it so great.” Her point was lost on me, their son Kyle’s, however, was not. He was maybe 10 at the time and had come into the kitchen complaining about sharing his sleeping bag with his younger sister Paige.

“C’mon dad, sharing a sleeping bag is just gross,” he complained. Melissa, my wife Linda and Paige disagreed while Cameron, their oldest daughter Sarah, and I agreed with Kyle. We were a room divided and began constructing a list of other things that should never be shared.

Socks never came up but I thought I should ask.

Where do you draw the line?

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My wife Linda has been asking me if I’d be willing to do a research and review on toaster ovens. About six months ago she was diagnosed with celiac disease, which has forced her to live quite differently. The short of it is her body cannot tolerate any gluten and the long version is, well, very, very long. Even the smallest of bread crumbs can make her sick for days which is why she’s in the market for a dedicated toaster. Traditional bread toast is out of the question but it’s replacement - a delicious white rice flour bread mix sounds better toasted. Seemingly innocuous things like Mentos have gluten along with soy sauce, pizza, and burritos. Reece’s sticks contain gluten while, thankfully Reece’s cups do not. Linda now shops armed with “the safe list” a 3 page single-spaced, two column affair clarifying whether all those odd, never before seen ingredient items will make her sick or not. I still don’t know what lecithin is but have come to know it as “safe”.

We’ve already established I have eating issues and can’t imagine what I would do if I had been the one with this new diagnosis. Linda in general is an extremely healthy eater while I am not. “What did you eat for lunch?” she asked me yesterday.


“Jack-in-the-Box,” I answer, mumbling because I know what she’s going to say.

“Nice. Sounds yummy.”

I like their tacos, though and can’t help it. It's a dirty little secret I satiate every so often hoping Linda won't think to ask what I've eaten for lunch that day. So while I definitely have my eating issues I’ll admit that I’m quite comfortable dipping down to the bottom of the barrel of the culinary world where I’m also comfortable peeling back the crust collecting and the bottom of said barrel and licking up the leavings.

By the way, I’m pretty sure down at the bottom of the barrel, underneath the crust that has formed is where Jack-in-the-Box harvests the grease they use to deep-fry the tacos I love.

What sick thing do you love to eat? And don't lie, everyone has a dirty little secret they love to eat.

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Mac Tech Support

As a fashion designer I generally tend to consider myself in pretty good touch with what’s going on. You know, up to speed pop culture-wise and stuff. I’m also a bit of a tech geek, keeping up on the latest gadgets and technology as it relates to my work and stuff. My knowledge is really just a half step above being pure pedestrian but it’s this half step that keeps a small army of friends and relatives calling for support. Last week it was Linda’s sister Janet, “Christian we just bought our first Mac and I can’t figure out how to do anything with it. Can you help?” she asked.

“Sure, what is it you’re trying to do?”

“Well the screen is just blank so what do I do?”

When I asked if she’d turned it on there was a pause followed by the realization that there might be slightly more to a Mac than simply “plug and play.”

Earlier in the week my daughter Gretchen received a text message then complained, “I’m so tired of getting forwards from so and so. All she does is forward stuff all day long. She never actually sends any real texts to me.”

I had no idea one could forward a text message, believing this feature was limited to emails. I mentioned this and there was a pause followed by my realization that there might be slightly more to texting than simply texting.

Like I said, slightly above pure pedestrian.

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Patrick Swayze - A Review

I have four daughters and they, along with their mother, love everything dance. ‘The 5 Ladies’ as I refer to them, have weekend dance sessions in the kitchen while I either stand on the sidelines waving a flashlight during the “lights out” portion of the session or I make myself scarce. It’s not that I dislike dance, I just don’t love it the way they do. For the past year or so, they have also watched the television show ‘So You Think You Can Dance’ during which, again, I generally make myself scarce.

In the dance movie category there seems to be one that stands alone - ‘Dirty Dancing.’ Ask Linda and she can tell you the time and place, what she wore and how her hair was done the first time she saw this movie. “Oh, I remember I was in junior high and. . .,” but by then I’ve drifted off. I’ve never seen ‘Dirty Dancing’ and really have no interest in ever seeing it. I realize I might be the lone citizen of these United States who hasn’t seen this dance classic, but that’s fine by me.


In my mind I will always remember Patrick Swayze for his classic sketch with Chris Farley while they ham it up on SNL as Chippendale dancers. To me there’s nothing better than stretching out on the couch turning Saturday afternoon and finding ‘Next of Kin’ or ‘Roadhouse’ on TNT. And for that I can even overlook his sweet hairdo from the Chippendale thing.

So while Linda will remember Patrick for his work in ‘Dirty Dancing’ and I’ll remember him alongside Chris Farley and kicking butt in the Deep South, what will you remember him for?

I give Patrick 5 out of 5 stars. (As a bonus, here’s a reminder of what we’ll miss tracked with Linda’s favorite song.)

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7-11, Pepto Bismol, and Ugly Americans

I’ve traveled a fair amount, maybe a little more than most. China, Spain, Vietnam and Germany along with Japan, England and France are just some of the places I’ve been; each with it’s own cultural nuances. We’ve all heard the term “ugly American” and unfortunately I’ve witnessed this first hand. Recently while traveling to Hong Kong with some co-workers I was surprised to see the biggest single piece of luggage I’ve ever seen rounding the conveyor belt. This was a hard sided case the size of a large trunk equipped with tiny multi-direction wheels. Made from a hard, shiny plastic it was the color of Pepto Bismol. I was horrified to discover it belonged to one of my co-workers though I can’t say I was surprised. We often travel to three and sometimes even four countries on a given trip so most tend to travel light. A single suitcase and a carry-on seem to work best. “What’s with the giant pepto case?” I asked.

“Isn’t it cute?” my co-worker answered. “It’s so I can sleep while I’m here.”

Huh? I turned to another travel mate and asked for some clarity. “She shoves a tempur pedic pad in there because she say’s she has a bad back,” she whispered.

Ugly American.


Yesterday I dropped into 7-11 for a drink and noticed they’re pitching a new refillable drink container. Brightly colored in the shape of a guitar these “cups” come complete with a filling port on the back and a long flexible straw protruding from the front. They’re about half the size of a real guitar and even come supplied with a strap so they can be worn over the shoulder. When I got to the counter I asked if they’d sold any and was surprised when the cashier answered with a British accent. Standing about 5 foot nothing and roughly the same size around he shifted his weight back and forth as he gave his answer.

“Oh, yeah we sell a lot of those. People seem to love them and even wear them around their necks like a real guitar.”

“Really? They wear them around their necks?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he continued. “Completely American.”

While he might have been right, can a foreigner cry “American” in America?

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China Can't Come Soon Enough

I’ve heard that people are generally either good at algebra or good at geometry but rarely both. Similarly, it’s been said, people are either good at remembering names or good at remembering faces but, once again, rarely both. In my case these theories hold true as I’m excellent at geometry and never forget a face. And while I’ve yet to find my life wanting in the algebra department; what good is remembering the face when the matching name never makes it out of long term storage?

At work there’s this guy named Mitch, I think. We don’t work together but I tend to run into him once or twice a week in the hallways. He’s about my height with dark brown hair, always wears a genuine smile, and has these unforgettable steel grey eyes with just a touch of blue. We were introduced when he first started with the company about a year ago. This too is a guess as, like algebra, I’m horrible with time. My memory serves me fine for a week or two, maybe three but past that, events might as well have occurred three months ago or three years ago.

Mitch on the other hand seems to have a rock solid memory and never hesitates to show it off, turning a one-time introduction into a great display of mental capacity. “Hi Christian,” he’ll say as we pass in the hallway. Or maybe, “How’s your week going - Christian?” No matter what, he makes a point of throwing my name into every passing. At first I’d just respond with a simple “hey” or “how’s it going?” but it became awkward so I began mumbling his name hoping if it was close enough he wouldn’t notice. Mitch can easily sound like Mike or Matt or even Rich and besides, I was pretty sure his name was Mitch.

Yesterday an announcement was made and sent by email congratulating some guy named Scott on a promotion. It seems he’ll be moving to China and heading up a division involved in manufacturing. There was a picture attached - brown hair, genuine smile, and these unforgettable steel grey eyes with a touch of blue.

Mitch never sounds like Scott.

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A Death in the Family

This past weekend we suffered a death in the family. Well, at least that’s what my daughter Margaret cried. She’s eleven and on Friday found a caterpillar in the road. “He was just on the edge, Dad, by the grass,” she explained. “I rescued him from getting run over and we’re going to keep him until he turns into a butterfly.”

This was after school and she wrangled two of her sisters, Leah and Gabrielle, into helping. They spent the rest of the day arranging a cage including sticks, leaves, and berries foraged from our yard. “We’re making him comfortable,” they said. “This way he’ll turn into a butterfly faster for us.” Then they turned back to feeding him, which to me looked more like force-feeding.

“How do you know that’s his mouth?” I asked.

“Because orange stuff was coming out the other end,” they answered in unison. Then Gabrielle my five year old added, “But I cut it off - because it was gross.”

Surprisingly, Saturday morning found the little green guy dead. Leah, who is eight, asked, “Do you know how to bring a caterpillar back to life?”

“Well, I don’t think pouring water on him will do the trick,” I offered.

“Oh, we know. We’re cleaning him for his funeral.” Leah answered while Gabrielle gently rolled him back and forth across the pavement; her chubby fingers assuring the caterpillar would never, ever return to the living.

I love that my little ones still imagine I’m capable of performing miracles. My oldest daughter Gretchen turned thirteen last week and has begun rolling her eyes at almost anything I do and say. “I didn’t know you could forward a text message, Gretchen,” and her eyes roll. “Since you have P.E. first period, can’t you just save time by wearing your gym clothes to school in the morning?” Eyes roll, arms flail, feet stomp.

Margaret decided to bury their caterpillar mid-day Saturday following tears and prayers for a return to the living. A hole was dug, flower petals picked, and a long rock was placed over the hole on which they gently rested the little guy. It was at this point I suggested they construct a funeral pyre. And then explained it.

Six eyes rolled and I could see my status as a miracle worker fading from their sight.

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Julie & Julia - Review

I’m convinced that at birth I got my wires crossed. Somehow some kind of chemistry soured or maybe my brain sent out a mixed signal during early development because no matter what I do, no matter how hard I try, I cannot stand food noises. Chips munched, cereal slurped, crisp crudités crunched - all of it drives me absolutely crazy. Sigmund Freud might blame it on my mother but when she came to visit last week it was me who suggested we go to a movie.


We went to see Julie & Julia, once again my suggestion, and why not? It came highly recommended by my wife Linda and our good friend Jeff. “Go see it they said, you’ll love it. Meryl Streep is incredible.” And she was. She took the role of Julia Child and filled it so well I caught myself wondering if, in fact Meryl Streep was Julia Child. I mean, she is old enough and while I don’t remember seeing much of Julia Child on television maybe they’re actually the same person. It sounds crazy but she really was that good.

Oddly, though, they never said much about the ‘Julie’ character played by Amy Adams - yuck. And even worse still was the guy who spent the entire film eating Julie’s cooking - LOUDLY. Frankly it ruined the movie for me. What was I thinking voluntarily going to a movie about eating food? Slurping, crunching, smacking and lip licking, it was all just a bit too much for me.


I give Julie & Julia 2 out of 5 stars (it would have been a negative 5 but Meryl Streep really did do an incredible job).

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Surgical Taco

I dropped by the dermatologist yesterday on my way home from work. And while I like to make it sound off the cuff and casual, there was nothing relaxing about it. My doctor and I are not friends. She’s a small trim woman with dark short-cropped hair and she smiles a lot while asking to do unspeakable things. In the past six months she’s carved so much skin cancer off me that when I told my brother-in-law Wade I’d been hit with a shotgun blast he believed me. This was in July while boating on our family vacation. “Really?” he asked. “Did it hurt?” I thought about really running, taking him for a nice ride, but considering the pattern of scars across my chest and arms it’s hard to believe the involvement of anything but a shotgun.

I’m no stranger to injury but, for me, there’s something about laying down and voluntarily being carved like a Christmas ham that makes my head spin - quite literally. Yesterday was my 5th visit in 6 months, I think, yet still every time my doctor asks me to lie down I begin to sweat profusely. “You look pretty good, Christian,” she said with a smile. “There are just two more spots we need to remove. How about we just take care of those right now?” This is a woman who knows my history, one who’s seen me nearly pass out at the first sign of a scalpel and so she tries to make the suggestion of removal sound easy going and optional. “Just roll over to your stomach and I’ll start with the larger one on the back of your neck.”

And it’s at this point that things become really uncomfortable. I try and roll to my stomach but have already begun sweating so much that the paper liner I’m laying on is stuck to me head to toe, wrapping me up like a paper taco. My doctor asks if I’m OK and all I can think is, “I hope Wade doesn’t hear about this, he’ll really run with it.”

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Swan Island Dahlia Battle

This past weekend my mother paid us a visit. She loves to garden and spends countless hours each week working in her yard. The back yard is reserved for vegetables and berries but the front is where she grows her flowers. About a week after she moved in she dug up half her lawn to plant more flowers and her children called her crazy. “Who digs up their lawn?” we asked, pointing at the surrounding neighbor’s lawns. Of course it turned out looking beautiful and she has the whole neighborhood jealous.

Then, last year, she put up an 8-foot fence with thick wood posts and heavy gauge wire. It looks like the kind of barricade one would imagine surrounds Fort Knox. “It’s to keep the deer out,” she insists. “They keep eating all my flowers.” While this might be true, the fence has her children now convinced she’s crazy. She insists the neighbors are jealous of her fence as well but I’m not buying it.

Either way, my mother loves flowers and for the past four years or so has wanted to visit during the Swan Island Dahlia Festival. It’s the largest of its kind, at least in the U.S.; something one of my mother’s neighbors loves to remind her of. She’s a small, fast talking woman who likes to hold her own visit to the festival over my mother’s head. “So,” she might say, “it’s just too bad you didn’t make it out to the dahlia festival this year.” She bides her time, waiting till mid-September, knowing it’s too late for my mother to catch a quick spontaneous flight. “It’s such a shame too because it’s the largest one of it’s kind,” she’ll add as she walks away. “Acres and acres of the most beautiful dahlias you’ve ever seen.”

Well no more, miss neighbor of my mother’s. She’s been to the Swan Island Dahlia Festival and seen the ‘dinner plate’ section. She’s been in the creepy underground display cave and she’s walked the acres and acres of the most beautiful dahlias in the world.

Oh, and by the way, rumor has it this was the biggest most glorious show in the entire history of the Swan Island Dahlia Festival.

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Alden's All Natural

It’s no secret that I love ice cream. I have for as long as I can remember and I like it plain, unadulterated, topping free. While still in high school my mother was introduced, through a friend of a friend, to a black market source for purchasing ice cream in bulk. It came in 1/2 gallon plastic tubs and 2 1/2 gallon brown paper containers and was intended for ice cream parlors, which meant there was a minimum order. The word on the street was that most families would group together and spread the order between three or four homes but in my house we covered the spread single-handedly.

Every month or so my mother would hand me an order form with instructions to fill it out. “Just pick 15 or so flavors in the half gallon size and one or two of the 2 1/2 gallon size,” she’d say. We had two freezers and looking back I wonder if they were simply there to foster my habit. Later that day we’d meet in the garden out of earshot where we’d look from side to side before exchanging the form, X’s carefully marking each of my selections. Then just after dark she’d head to some back alley where she’d knock twice and ring once on an unmarked door and wait for further instructions. The order form would be slipped through a mail slot in the door and she’d be instructed to back the family van up to the loading dock. At least that’s how I remember it.

Since that time I’ve become quite a connoisseur of the creamy stuff. In Texas it was Blue Bell in California it was It’s-It. Any form, any location, I’ve always found the best.

Flavors are important too and in my book mint chocolate chip is about halfway down my scale, at best. For Linda, though, it’s number one - by a mile. Since I do the bulk of the consuming when it comes to ice cream I also carry the most weight when it comes to selecting and usually avoid mint chocolate chip. The other day though, in a moment of weakness I bought her a container of mint chocolate chip. Feeling whimsical I decided on a new brand called Alden’s Ice Cream touting all natural everything. All I can say is I have a new favorite and if you live in Oregon go get yourself some and enjoy the weekend. Their website doesn’t advertise the mint chocolate chip but trust me, it’s on the menu.

I give Alden’s Ice Cream Mint Chocolate Chip a 5 out of 5 stars.

What’s your favorite brand and flavor?

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President Obama, I have a solution

President Obama, I have a solution. Well, truthfully, it’s not my solution but I was present at its inception and it seems these days when it comes to politics, attendance is all that really counts.

This was a few weeks ago while Linda and I ran a few errands. We have a local market across the street from our house and a larger grocery store a mile away, but once a week or so Linda drives to the neighboring town to shop at Winco. Half big box warehouse, half grocery store on steroids, Winco sells produce by the truckload and canned goods by the case. Unlike Costco, this particular grocer offers large quantities of food in bulk and regular sized packages. Employees wear stiff green vests decorated with buttons that say, “Employee Owned & Operated” and work at a pace on par with government offices. Lines form behind back to back registers outfitted with huge self serve conveyor belts. The idea is that if customers unload their own carts then pack their own bags overhead goes down along with the prices.

It was here, just outside Winco where I witnessed history in the making. A rusted Ford Pinto had just pulled up coughing black smoke out the back and cigarette smoke from the windows and we witnessed a homeless man tumble from inside. He loudly thanked the driver for the lift then proceeded to unload 12 wheelbarrow-sized bags filled with aluminum cans. Winco is home to the largest can and bottle-recycling center I’ve ever seen. Just to the left side of the entrance sits an entrance large enough to drive a truck through. It’s like a cave, dimly lit, and extends back deep enough to hold a small army of patrons. The cement around the entrance is stained with wine and smells so strongly of alcohol it really did provide a perfect environment for such a brilliant idea.

“If President Obama just started a cash for cans program and paid these people more than a nickel a can, he could probably fix the economy in a month,” Linda said. Winco was our first stop, about 9:00 am, and there was already a large lineup of patrons waiting to cash in their evenings take. Linda kept on saying something like, “Publish this on your blog, Christian, send it to the masses.” But I wasn’t listening, I was wondering how many cans we had back in our garage should this plan go into effect.

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What's in a name?

Today at work while discussing apparel construction techniques with one of our pattern makers, she mentioned taking the train to Seattle over the weekend. It was off the subject, yet still, she continued, “So I was about halfway there when I noticed these four nerdy types larping with an iPhone.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Well, you know, they were using the iPhone in place of dice. You can do that with those things, they shake and all. They’re incredible.”

“Uh,. . . I’m talking about how you just slipped in “larping” like it was no bid deal. What is that?”

She explained that it stood for “Live Action Role Playing” then threw in, “Everyone knows that, Christian.”

I didn’t.

Some of you are probably asking a similar question, “What or who is an Ashmarlin?”

Here’s the thing, it’s just a name, nothing more, nothing less. Back in college a friend and I had this great idea we’d start a clothing line. I imagined we could start small, maybe make a few select pieces and grow from there. He, on the other hand envisioned multiple collections from the start then followed it up with the statement, “We’ll put JCrew out of business.” He said this in a frenzy, the sort one imagines being used when referring to taking over the world and is always followed by an evil laugh. And just like that I lost interest and we went our separate ways. Ashmarlin is the name I came up with for what I imagined would be a quaint little apparel brand and it seemed fitting for my quaint little blog that I hope, someday, will take over the world.

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Personal Sculpting Fitness Program®

Readers,

I have spoken with my sister Megan about this but don’t believe anyone else is aware of a milestone I’ve begun meeting in my life.  Except Linda, who is acutely aware and is in fact reaping the benefits with great joy.  I have discovered an incredible supplement which has turned the fitness world on it’s ear and turned me into the specimen Linda has always dreamed of. I have kept a journal documenting my progress and willingly share it with you now, here in this blog.  Take it for what it’s worth but believe me, this is powerful stuff.  Each Tuesday I’ll send out another day torn from my journal giving you proper time to wrap your mind around the previous entry.

Day 7-
Portions of my personal hygiene regimen have become a bit difficult these days.  But with the incredible results I’m seeing from the Personal Sculpting Fitness Program® I now have a very impressive body and the trade-off is well worth it.  Having muscles on top of muscles however makes it a bit hard to reach things, if you catch my drift.  My arms seem only capable of bending enough to accommodate barbells and these delicious Personal Sculpting Shakes 6 times a day but I’m learning to cope.  This delicious elixir only passes the doors to my new temple by using those little bendy straws, but once again the trade-off is nothing.  I mean seriously, what’s worth complaining about when you look this good.  With such terrific results I’ve hardly noticed the disruptive 4-hour increments with which they must be taken and Linda is willing to put up with the night portion of my regimen on account of the “eye candy” factor.  Her words not mine.  


Until next Tuesday, do your best to stay as fit as me.

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