The Ultimate Ninjas

It wasn't until college that someone told me I wrote well. It was my English 1010 teacher. She read a couple of my assignments to the class because she thought they were so good. It was shocking to me. She even told me after class one time that she thought I should write for The Signpost, Weber States Student Newspaper. I was flattered, but I never pursued it.

It was always my older brother, Ryan, who was the writer in my family. He wrote short stories all the time and I always thought they were so awesome.

I would have been held back in several grades in Elementary School if it wasn't for the Junior Authors Fair. Most of my teachers offered extra credit to any student who submitted something to the Fair so I always did... just to ensure I could progress to the next grade.

I wrote several of these books when I was growing up. I wrote a book called Friday the 13th about my best friend, JB, and how we'd explore haunted houses during sleepovers. I wrote a sequel, conveniently titled Friday the 20th. I even wrote a Friday the 27th. I stopped there, though, cause I could never figure out what the title of the next book should be. It would depend on what month Friday the 27th fell in and it really wouldn't make very much sense... and I'd probably have to explain it to people so I just didn't bother. Instead, I abandoned the "Friday" series and moved on to The Ultimate Ninjas.

I remember when I turned this book in to the Jr Authors Fair I was excited that someone besides by best friend would be reading my book. When I got my book back and it had the gold, embossed sticker on the cover, I thought, "Awesome! A judge read my book and liked it enough to give me an award."

When I found this book in the garage the other day, I was still excited about that stupid gold sticker. I decided to read the book and try to take an impartial, neutral stance... much like the judge who read the book and gave me the golden award on the front cover.

As I started reading it, I started to blush a little bit. My story was grotesque. My friend, JB, and I were slaughtering our peers with our sweet ninja skills and blowing up schools and ripping our teachers to pieces. But that's not what made me sick to my stomach. It was the realization that the judge never read my story. There's absolutely no way any judge could have read my story and not expelled me from school.

Looking back, I wish the judge would have actually read my story... even if it ended up resulting in my expulsion. After all, this is a sweet tale of adventure, deception, and the ninjatastic relationship between two friends... written by a 12-year-old using an old school mixture of black pen, blue pen, and pencil as well as a creative blend of print and cursive... sometimes varying within the same word. All of this literary genius has been bound in an upscale brown folder provided by my dad, Brandt Daley. How could any judge not be completely enthralled before even opening the folder/book?

Whether you spell it "Ninja" or "Ninga" didn't matter to me then and it doesn't matter to me now. Here are the first six pages of The Ultimate Ninjas.

Throat Chunks

Tyton suffered through Round 2 of this crappin' Tonsillitis. He had a pretty severe case about 2 months ago and it kicked his butt, as well as our own. On Christmas Eve he got it again. We thought it was odd that he'd get it twice so close together so we took him back into the specialist.

The doctor said that he wouldn't suggest getting his tonsils out as long as we could keep his fever under control. I told him that we couldn't ever get it under 102 with medication. The doctor decided that was a good enough reason to have them removed.

So on the 7th of January, Ty went in and had his tonsils out. He was a pretty tough kid. I'll admit, though, that I had a hard time concentrating on anything while I was at work on the day he had them removed.
I wish I could have been up there, but it was impossible on that particular day. Anyone who knows me should know that my work ethic is about ZERO. I can always excuse my laziness... in fact, I've gotten pretty good at it over the last 10 years. However, I just happened to have scheduled over 30 appointments a month earlier on the exact day Ty was scheduled for his tonsillectomy. So I was at work all day.

I was pretty stoked, though, cause I was telling Tyton about how he could take his tonsils in for show-and-tell when he goes back to school. He was pretty excited for that, as well.

I guess things have changed since I was growing up, though, cause they don't let you take your tonsils home anymore. I'm not sure why. Maybe because they're choking hazards or something. Some white trash kid in West Valley who decided to eat his brothers tonsils ruined it for the rest of us.

Looking back, though, I think it's good that he didn't get to bring them home. I still remember the one kid in elementary who brought his tonsils for show-and-tell. They were soaking in some greenish-yellow juice in a mason jar. I remember being extremely grossed out by them. So much so that I decided I never wanted to talk to that kid again. And I don't think I ever did.

Luckily they let us take a few sweet photos of his tonsils... complete with clinging chunks of throat flesh and blood splatters.

Judging by the sheer mass of the gooshy throat matter, I'd say Tyton is about 5 pounds lighter than when he went to the doctor.

Cosmectomy

My wife doesn't care for me as a bald man anymore. I was bald when we started dating and when we got married, but when my hair grew back in and she realized it wasn't falling out or thinning, she was pleasantly surprised. She has since told me she prefers it longer and has continually instructed me to grow it out.

As if my wife wasn't cool enough, on my birthday last year she bought me a gift certificate for a haircut at Bikini Cuts as a reward for growing my hair out as she'd requested. In case you didn't know, Bikini Cuts is the establishment that requires their all-female staff to be dressed in a bikini while cutting your hair. Awesome! Even though I can't help but wonder how the girls can handle being itchy all day long in places where customer hair shouldn't normally end up.

I'm sure there are plenty of people who would never think to patronize a business such as this, but at the same time can't help being curious about what actually goes on during these so-called "haircuts". Well, that's why I'm here. To tell you about my experience so you don't have to experience it yourself... unless you want to.

First of all, the place wasn't busy at all. That was a good thing. The last thing I wanted to do is run into someone I know at a place like that. Also... the girls weren't very cute. When I was on my mission in England, I used to LOVE getting my haircut. It was the one time that I could have a cute girl run her fingers through my hair and not be breaking any mission rules. But the girls at Bikini Cuts weren't attractive. I wouldn't go so far as to call them RMC's or anything, but they were pretty far from hot.

I've never cared much for the forced small talk that happens during haircuts. I just want to sit there quietly and get serviced (no pun intended). I don't want to answer questions about what I do for a living or what I did over the weekend. It was worse at Bikini Cuts. It's like they assumed I wanted them to flirt with me. I mean... why else would I be paying extra to have a half naked girl cut my hair, right? So I did my best to be nice and flirt a little with the uglies while they pampered me.

"Pampered?" you might be asking. Well... kinda. The cuter of the two (who also happened to be the one who looked a little more "used" if you know what I mean) gave me a hand massage. Yup. A hand massage. I wasn't expecting it, either, which made it a little extra awkward.

The uglier one was shampooing my hair before the cut (by the way... I wish they saved the wash for AFTER the cut. I can't stand having hair all over me) and the other one was just hovering around my torso like a hardened, tattooed, bumble bee. She told me to close my eyes and relax which I was trying to do already. Then I felt something warm and wet fully engulf my left hand. I pulled away instinctively cause I'm married, you know. Then they started laughing as she yanked my hand back and re-wrapped it in the hot towel.

After I realized what she was doing I was able to relax a little more and the hand massage actually felt pretty good. By the time she got to my right hand, though, she was telling her uglier co-worker (who was washing my hair) about how she was still hung over from the night before. I started getting a little grossed out as I wondered if she'd washed her hands since her playful romp with several guys the night before. The hand massage became a lot less enjoyable.

The haircut itself was mediocre at best. I'd much rather have my wife cut my hair while wearing a bikini. At least then we could both rinse the hair off our bodies together... and I wouldn't have to worry about where her hands had been.