Hate to Date? You Will Now!

As I begin to venture back into the dating world, I thought it would be a good time to share some of the top dating stories I've written on my blog over the past few years.

So here we have a collection of funny stories brought to you by the world of dating as a single old dad!

First, we have my top 5 online dating tips. This is a collection of what I felt, at least in 2009, were the top 5 things to know if you are deciding to venture into the world of online dating!

Second, a little tale about how I ended up at Golden Corral for my first New Year's Eve date with my former Lady Friend®. Relax, it wasn't her fault - her step dad picked it out!

Next up, we have the bet I made with yet another former girlfriend, on whether we'd end up alone or not. The winner, er, loser, gets steaks!

And we can't cover that former girlfriend without the story of how I had to really go # 2 on my date #1 with her, and the situation that prevented me!

The final two blogs I'm sharing are my two personal favorites from my dating days. The stories, NOT the women I went on the date with.

The first of these, The Tongue Ring Girl, wath jutht purely epic!

But if you want to read what is to this day probably my post popular blog entry, revisit the night I had with The Hickey Girl.

Happy re-reading, or reading for the first time for my newer fans, and beware the world of dating!

Just Like the Dinosaurs, This Too Shall Pass

A good friend of mine once asked me how I did it.

He watched as I was going through one bad thing after another, and he couldn't figure out how I kept moving on.

Because I don't have a choice.

When I went off to college, grossly under prepared for the academic rigors of Grinnell, my dad pulled me aside as they were getting ready to send me off into adulthood.

He reached out his closed fist and said "Here, take this."

As I opened my palm, he dropped a small rubber dinosaur into it.

"What's this?"

My dad then gave me one of the best pieces of advice I've ever received.

"When I went off to college, my dad gave me a toy dinosaur, too," he explained. "He told me I was about to embark on a path that would include tough obstacles and no map to navigate through it.

"And he wanted me to know that when I was in the middle of facing those obstacles, to remember that just like the dinosaurs, this too shall pass."

I don't know if I ever properly thanked my dad for those words of wisdom.

But I can tell you that I still have that dinosaur. And someday I plan to give it to my sons as they venture down the broken road of life.

This too shall pass.

Life as an EastEnder

The last two weeks or so, I am now officially an EastEnder.

It's been a bit of a culture shock, but in a good way.

I have been very happy to drive down the street and see stores and shops owned by moms and pops, and not a major corporation.

It has been refreshing to see the diversity - economically, socially, racially - in my former western burb, everyone pretty much was 1) rich, 2) white, and 3) Republican.

I have nothing against rich, white Republicans. I used to be one (well except the rich part). But I do have something against my boys thinking that's the reality of the world.

This new world I'm living in, just 30 minutes from my old world, is like a clean canvas waiting for the boys and I to paint our own masterpiece upon it.

We're already developing some new traditions. Trips to The Clemcuzzi©, grabbing a bite to eat at a Mexican restaurant without the word "Bell" in it, or just sitting on our first floor patio instead of our third floor balcony, putting our bare feet in the grass and enjoying the weather.

And even our family cat has adjusted. She went from a wide-eyed wanderer, sniffing every last corner, to now lounging near the open screen door, letting the sun beat down on her while the birds land nearby to unsuccessfully taunt her.

And the gas station attendant near my apartment already knows me. Tonight I pulled in to fill up my tank, and had already started pumping when I read the sign that says "Please Pre-Pay after 5 p.m." Whoops!

I went in to pay and grab a few snacks for the boys, and apologized to him for not pre-paying. "Oh no, sir, I know you! You can do that anytime, anytime. No problem."

This isn't a slight of my old digs. I have plenty of great friends, as do my kids, back that way.

But right now, it feels pretty damn good to be an EastEnder.

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way To The Dunes

Earlier this month, when I returned home to help my parents load up their entire life into a semi- trailer, I had a major epiphany.

I need to be back in the Siouxland area sooner rather than later.

I'm overwhelmed when I think of the family, the friends, and the complete strangers who came together to help out two families overcome a very disheartening event.

The epiphany I had was simple, really. I need to find a way to move back home. I don't know when or how it will happen, but it's now a goal of mine to figure out a way to make it happen.

And despite my blog title, and my general opinion on my life in the tundra, I don't state this goal of mine as a slam on my current living situation.

It's more a response to how amazing it felt to know there were so many people there who had my back.

Who would do what needed to be done. Who would listen to me bitch and moan when maybe I should have been getting things done. Who understood when I said I had enough, and had to go home.

I miss my peeps, plain and simple. I miss the friends who have been there for me, lost contact for decades, and reappeared. I miss the friends who never left. I miss the people of a place that prides itself on hard work and compassion, without an interest in being recognized for that hard work.

My family is so indebted to the people who came out and gutted their home of everything that wasn't nailed or glued down.

And I am so indebted to the people who helped me, as well. Whether it was lifting furniture, giving me a bed to sleep in and a hug to comfort me, or letting me have a temper tantrum over something random and minute.

And anyone who grew up in Sioux City is indebted to all the people who have ever called it home, and are still proud to call it home. We may not be flashy, but we got your back. See you ASAP, 712.

xoxox,

Clemmy The Clemster

"Never Forget Where You Came From"

If you were fortunate enough to know Walt Fiegel, the late football coach/ teacher from Sioux City East High, you'd most likely know two favorites among his many favorite sayings.

"Never forget where you came from," was one. "Tough times don't last, tough people do," was the other. (He had many!)

Well old Walt is looking down smiling right now at the community he called home for 40 years.

As thousands of people in the Siouxland area are dealing with the rising water levels of the Missouri River, those two phrases are living and breathing in the bodies of thousands of volunteers helping people out.

People drove from Omaha, Sioux Falls, Minneapolis, Chicago and beyond to help out their hometown and their friends and family. That's a whole lot of remembering where you came from going on.

As the people in Dakota Dunes, South Dakota loaded all of their life possessions and memories into semi-trailers, pick up trucks, or whatever vehicle they could find (rumor has it one man was seen riding a Segway down Dakota Dunes Blvd for a box of garbage bags), it was very clear that these were tough people that were going to outlast the tough times.

As I helped my parents load up their entire life into a 53' semitrailer, I found myself running on adrenaline. Just keep going, there will be time to rest later. And then I had moments where I knew a short break would be worth it to make sure I had more energy built up to keep moving on.

There were moments of sadness, like watching my friend Jill Dodds crying while she struggled to get her parents moved out of their home in the dunes. There weren't enough hugs or words of encouragement to go around with the group of people shuffling between the two houses.

There were also moments of humor, like during a break, when the topic of conversation turned to my left foot, which I was unwrapping my ace bandage to put ice on it (new rule, don't play basketball against my oldest mini-me ever again). "Hey man, that's a pretty ugly foot, you probably need to go get another pedicure."

There were moments of anger. Like the frustration of knowing we couldn't load up the Dodds belongings for over 6 hours because the state patrol had shut off access to the neighborhood to all traffic other than the large dumptrucks bringing dirt to build the levee. Yes the levee was the most important piece of the puzzle, but if it ends up failing, God forbid, that is valuable time lost in getting people safely out of the dunes.

There were moments of gratitude to the core, like when I couldn't keep up with the text messages from total strangers who were trying to come help us out. People who didn't know us from Adam showed up and worked their asses off. For us. For nothing. Because that's what you do.

And there were moments of guilt. Like when I left last night at 8:30, knowing that the Dodds house wasn't completely done. But I was. My body and my brain and my soul couldn't take one more minute.

After experiencing this extreme range of emotions, I realized that it was a little bit like deja vu all over again. I worked at the crash site for United Flight 232 back in July, 1989. This was the same exact feeling, only 22 years later.

And in both of those instances, I found myself feeling so damn proud of my hometown. And if you are from Sioux City and don't feel that pride, I feel sorry for you, because it is something that doesn't just happen anywhere.

If you are going to force me to endure a major tragedy, Lord, please make sure I'm in Sioux City, Iowa when it happens. Because those tough people, they're the reason why I'll never forget where I came from.

Oh, and Walt, I did hug my mother before I left town.

Dear World, It's Been a Good Run

May 20, 2011

Dear World,

Hey, just wanted to thank you for a cool time.

I mean, I'm not just talking about the good times either.

The bad times you gave me made me a much stronger person.

I tried to not take you for granted too much, in case you were wondering. I did really love it when you gave me lots of sunshine, but let me say, this last winter in the tundra, I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive you for that yet.

Also, and don't take this the wrong way, but I would have stopped recycling YEARS ago if I knew that things were going to come to an abrupt end like this.

I know that we all eventually are supposed to leave this place, but I guess I wish I maybe got the memo more than a few weeks before The Rapture begins the End Times.

But really, it's my own fault. I wasn't attending enough meetings at the Tin Foil Hat Church, apparently.

Listen, I just want you to know that I know where I'm going. It's alright. You don't have to feel bad for me, because I've known my fate for quite awhile, now.

But yeah, outside of that, I wanted to also thank you for starting this whole thing while I'll be in my hometown for my nephew's HS graduation reception. At least I'll be with family when meteors start hitting the earth, and hail the size of elephant dung begins to fall.

Oh yeah, and one last question...why the hell did you let people settle in Minnesota?

Hope you enjoy your time as a comet field, buddy!

xoxox,

Steve

A Salute to General Jean

I love my mom for so many reasons.

I love my mom because she taught me to tie my shoes (it was hard on her, I hear, since I was not a fast learner).

I love my mom because she was always there when I was hurt, whether by falling off my bike, or a fifth grade girlfriend, or when I was scared that I wasn't going to make it through college during my first semester away from home.

I love my mom because she taught us that we could always do better.

I love my mom because she taught my brothers and I at an early age to be self-sufficient and responsible.

We did our own laundry by junior high.

I remember learning how to make my own breakfasts (a hard boiled egg) and after school snacks (PBJ and hot chocolate) by third grade.

And we were regularly reminded of the things we had to do on a daily basis, whether it was at school, home, or elsewhere.

Chores were not an option.

So it shouldn't be a surprise that my mom's nickname was always General Jean.

Some families have matriarchs. My family had a military dictator.

But make no mistake, the mutiny runs rampant in the Clem Corps.

My brothers and I (perhaps or perhaps not learned through informal tutorials led by my dad) have tormented my mom for more than 35 years.

She's down with OCD. So we have fun rearranging her knick knacks and furniture.

She's not one for someone changing up a schedule. So we'll arrive late and leave later.

She doesn't like chaos. So we do what we can to create it.

Yet she still loves us unconditionally.

And that might very well be the reason I love my mom the most.

Happy Mother's Day to every mother out there tonight!

The not so United States of America

For a brief moment last night, the days following 9/11 began to reappear before me.

During the post 9/11 days, people seemed to put our differences aside.

What a proud moment for our nation.

Despite the controversial presidential election of 2000, less than a year later we were all united in our disgust at Al Qaeda's actions.

And last night, as the news broke that we had finally found and killed Osama Bin Laden, there was a very short time we were together again.

Sure, it was odd to be uniting at the death of this evil figure. It was strange to see kids who couldn't have been over the age of 8 on Sept. 11, 2001 chanting "USA! USA! USA!"

But there was something right about it. Like finding out a criminal has been caught, tried and convicted for his crime.

And then by this morning, the unity was gone.

Fragmented by people who had to turn this into a political story: "Bush deserves the recognition for this, not Obama, because he started this war."

"Obama couldn't have done this, because he wouldn't want to hurt his brother or cousin in Pakistan."

"I thought they said Obama died. What's the big deal?"

And just to be fair, there were those on the left who disgusted me, criticizing former President Bush on a day when we should be patting him on the back for his role in helping make this happen.

Or my favorite...the conspiracy theorists.

There's one guy on a Hawkeye message board that I frequent that says Osama Bin Laden has been dead for a decade, and this is all a ruse so that we can invade Pakistan and continue bombing.

These actions are not being done by our government, he says, but by the shadow government who actually runs things. Of course he still believes Obama wasn't born in Hawaii.

Enough.

Enough of the "right wing nutjobs." Enough of the "communist lefties." Enough of the tin foil hat brigade.

Nearly 10 years ago, our country was forever changed by a group of young men who were inspired by Osama Bin Laden.

Last night, we finally got the inspirational leader behind the most heinous act of terrorism ever to occur on our shores.

And we couldn't even go 24 hours without it turning into a fight between ourselves. It's sad, really.

So I'm done talking about it. You all can fight until you're blue in the face. I'm going to quietly be proud of all the people who helped last night happen, and be thankful that they are there to protect me.

You can choose how you want to react.

Slower traffic move right you motherloving apple!

This blog should probably be written in at least two parts.

The focus is on horrible Minnesota drivers.

I've been collecting data on this for the last 20 some years. 12 as a resident.

But today, I hit my limit.

Driving home with my oldest (the youngest stayed back for Easter weekend to attend his buddy's birthday party he just couldn't miss), I reached a new low.

My son asked me to promise to stop swearing.

"I'm sorry, Nile. But these *&@#*& drivers are killing me!" I replied.

"Dad, can you promise me you can stop swearing for the last hour of the drive?"

"Yes. Yeah, I can do that.... @#*#!&!#&'n &^%$&!" I lasted less than 30 seconds.

"Really, Dad?" Nile asked with a condescending grin.

So I decided I could do it. I'd stop cussing for one hour.

Even if these drivers don't get the simple things they should have learned in driver's education.

The number one offense of Minnesota drivers?

They don't understand that the left lane is for passing, the right lane is for slower traffic.

I encountered the following scenario exactly 5,032 times in the last 80 miles of my trip home today: Driving in the left lane, passing slower traffic. Suddenly there's a logjam of cars. Two cars at the front are driving side-by-side, perhaps texting each other what they have their cruise control set at so as to make sure they can piss off* the maximum number of drivers.
*(My son doesn't read this blog, so that use of a swear word is hereby declared "ineligible" for review by said son).

And mind you, this is always a logjam set at 61 MPH in a 65.

But, alas I was good for the rest of the trip.

Those motherlovin' apples can kiss my God-amped ask!

They can just shut the front door!

Nard scratchin' sons of beaches!

Spring Cleaning

There's something about when the thermometer creeps up above 60 that makes us turn into "doers" more than "sitters," especially here in the great tundra.

This winter, even the die hard Minnesotans were bitching about the snow and cold. It was THAT bad.

So this past weekend, I did the mother of all spring cleaning jobs.

My apartment had become pretty much a cross between a science experience gone bad and a broken beer bottle shank factory.

Throw in a few mystery spills here and there, and well you get the picture.

I'm lucky, because I happen to have a Lady Friend® who is down with OCD. And she was visiting this weekend.

Within a day of some pretty hard work, my place is renewed. Refreshed. I'm sore, tired, and still a little embarrassed to have let my Lady Friend® see my Mancave™, and by Mancave™ I mean more cave, and less man.

But Lady Friend® didn't bat an eye. She was like Patton if he had faced the battle of "WhyTheHellIsThisLayingHere?"

But truth be told, just as letting go of our mental clutter cleans our soul, so does throwing out a Shit-Ton™ of garbage and old clothes that didn't fit anyone in the house, other than the cat who made them into her own personal tunneling system over the last few months.

And so I share with you my "after" pics of my humble abode. Think of it as the "Prisoner in the Tundra" episode of MTV Cribs. Minus the fancy furniture, exotic artwork, or fancy ass volcano pool in the backyard.

May your spring cleaning include falling asleep on crisp and clean sheets when you are done. Goodnight. And thank you, Lady Friend®!