It seems that, thanks to a rather nasty bug or two of some sort, I have been asleep since late Saturday night until 2:30pm this afternoon, only waking periodically to drink more orange juice or take another dose of NyQuil.

That was fun.

That was a nail-biter last night!

Overlooking, for the moment, that the Tide gave up a 21-0 lead to be losing in the final seconds, the game had a beautiful ending.

The Alabama offense raced out to a 21-0 lead Saturday against Arkansas and scored a game-winning touchdown with eight seconds left in the game to cap a come-from-behind shootout win against the Razorbacks (1-1, 0-1 SEC), 41-38, at Bryant-Denny Stadium.

I watched the game with the local alumni group (and a British friend of mine who likes football and beer), and the place just erupted with the win, thoroughly annoying the natives who don’t get Southerners and their college football (honestly, Hughes Stadium, where the CSU Rams play, looks like something one of our high school teams might call home).

Ending the evening with more beer, two plates of chili cheese fries, and a Latina whose assets kept wanting to tumble out the top of her dress was a nice bonus.

Update: You can see the game winning play here, for the time being.

They really suck.

And hurt.

A lot.

You know?

Well, that was odd.

Not that I quote Jonathan Waite lyrics, although that qualifies…

No, there’s a brilliant storm raging across town tonight.

Loads of rain and thunder and lightning.

Usually nothing to worry about, but the thunder was getting loud, the lightning intense. It woke up the wee Fiona, so I went to her room and we had a talk about lightning and thunder. I was in the midst of explaining how the hot lightning makes the air in the sky rise like a cake, and when it cools, the cake collapses, sounding much like how when we clap our hands together. She was totally on board, nodding in ready agreement that there was nothing to fear, that it was - in fact - pretty cool to experience.

That was, at least, until a strike near our house.

I don’t know if it hit the house, or something near the house, or just did a little jig in the sky nearby.

No matter.

Big flash; bigger bang.

And, with that, all sorts of battery-powered devices sprung to life at 1am in the morning. All of our fire alarms did their “battery dying” beeping song de la muerte. In Fiona’s room, a number of her toys started talking, flashing, whatever. In our bathroom, Fiona’s toothbrush, which has a flashing light to tell her how long to brush, began to illuminate the room. And the hair on my calves stood on end.

Fiona screamed (sky clapping be damned), as did Ewan, and now they’re all in bed with Mommy, while Piers and his infant brain are far too busy to care about dumb things like lightning and thunder.

I’m about to go make sure there’s no smoldering fire on the house, and then off to bed.

Weird stuff.

Oh, Peter Wolf, thou hast cursed me.

Here I sit on the back patio of WWR HQ, cloaked in the darkness of the night, enhanced all the more by the fact that our power has gone off twice since 6pm.

And remains off.

It’s actually quite calming: the wind through the Aspens around me, the distant sound of a dog (or two) barking, the flickering light of the candles I lit inside the house. All of this is, of course, offset by my 21st century ability to latch onto some neighbor’s distant wireless network in order to write and post this.

How I love me some technology.

Now, c’mon, Xcel Energy, love me back.

Update: Wow, it’s dark. This is just the kind of atmosphere in which Mr. Lady would be all a-gropin’ and stuff. I know it.

Except, of course, unless I am completely mistaken.

Entirely possible.

I guess.

Update 2: And as if to prove me wrong, the power returns.

Curse you, energy gods!

Update 3: Yes, sometimes I write posts that have no real point.

I prefer to call it “art,” whereas former WWRanter Tom refers to it as a “debilitating aneurysm.”

“Art,” you will note, is easier to both say and spell.

How is it that I missed being quoted in that last bastion of great intellectual power, WorldNetDaily?

Apparently, just because I wrote a negative post about a woman who died from complications while attempting to get an abortion, all because she didn’t pay heed to doctor’s orders, I hate women and love abortion.

I suppose if I write a negative post about a smoker who dies from lung cancer it really means I love big tobacco and hate the pulmonary system.

Or if I wrote about someone reading WorldNetDaily for its rich insights, it would mean… oh, who am I kidding? Since when has WND had “insight” beyond “God said so?”

I feel all dirty now, and not just because I’ve been cleaning poopy bottoms.

While furiously cleaning the house today, as we have a number of guests coming to entertain Child 1 and Child 2 while we’re off having Child 3, I took a whack at the laundry room (also home to our second pantry and a closet full of junk that just hasn’t found a good home elsewhere).

Being industrious - and a bit of a mop-wielding masochist - I decided to move the washing machine and give a good scrub under there, as it hasn’t seen daylight in several years. Upon moving it, I came upon:

• A crisp one dollar bill - my lucky day!

• A large patch of what was either dried up dog puke or dog pee, although were I a betting man with a crisp new one dollar bill (hey, wait…) I’d wager on the puke aspect, given the chunky bits. Adding to the esophageal ambiance was a metric ton of dog and cat hair fully caked into the former morass of goo that was now solidified nasty-ick.

Perhaps they were signs from above… the dollar to help me out with the avalanche of medical bills that will follow from tomorrow’s procedure (I picked a fine year to scale back my medical insurance to the cheap plan) and the goo as my own personal warm-up comedian preparing me for the hilarity that is those first few newborn diapers.

See, and that’s why I don’t believe in God, because, dude, that’s just mean.

We’re off to the hospital in the morning. Should have babydom by early afternoon. Updates then.

Out. Yo.

Oh, man.

I bought a minivan.

Unfiltered blog aggregators can be dangerous things.

I might be one of the few “writers” to manage to get the word “shit” displayed on a CNN news article webpage.

Just another notch in my blogging belt.

And the ladies say “Awwwww yeeeaaahhh.”

Or whatever.

We went to test drive some mini-vans today.

Mini-vans.

Man.

This whole “family” thing, they don’t warn you about the mini-vans, do they?

I’m on a mission to make the minivan all kinds of uber-cool.

I suspect better men than I have failed.