If there’s one thing this world isn’t short on, it’s attractive women. Seriously, mature females are the most aesthetically pleasing things to look at. Heck, even girls can’t keep their eyes of each other.

But there’s a big difference between appreciating beauty and lusting after it. Which is why some dudes are unfriending attractive females on Facebook, in an effort to stay Marriedbook (crash cymbal please).

“I deleted an old high-school girlfriend,” a colleague told me recently. “She was posting some pretty racy photos of hereself, and I realized I didn’t need to be seeing that as a married man.”

In similar shoes, I felt empowered upon hearing this. Indeed, before quitting Facebook, I had to remove a couple of contacts from my account for similar reasons. But it’s encouraging to hear other married men fighting to stay happily married. It gives me hope.

On that note, do you have any electronic relationships that need deleting?

I snore—loudly, I’m told. My wife knows this. Anyone who has ever roomed with me knows this. This is my story.

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I like running.

With exception to an injury hiatus, I ran several times a week over the past two years. And since reading Born To Run, I do so enthusiastically (not begrudgingly like I once did).

I normally run continuously for 45 minutes to an hour. On occasion, two hours—whatever I feel like really. I don’t time myself or track miles—an act that makes running feel like work—I just run.

Two weeks ago, I was feeling especially light on my feet. When I left the house on an empty stomach that Saturday, I didn’t plan on running for three plus hours, but I did. I also didn’t take water or food with me, and nearly put myself in the hospital as a result.

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It’s called Flight Control. You can download it on either iPhone or Nintendo DSi. And it’s awesome. My current high is 58.

True to chain letter form, Lindsey emailed me the following “friend survey” today. With exception to nos. 23 and 41, her responses made me proud to call her my wife—especially with Valentine’s around the corner. They also make me look chivalrous, which is always a good thing.

Warning: some of her answers are a little sappy. But this is my blog—not yours. You can get lost if you have a problem with that! (more…)

I’m not the kind of person to relate my past dreams to others. In fact, I never do. They’re usually boring, meaningless, and nonsensical—merely the brain recalling past memories or feelings as it tries to get some shut eye. So I only share the following dream because it’s pathetic and telling:

Since my two-year old drinks milk like nobody’s business, I go to the grocer to buy some more. Unsure if we have any remaining at home, I purchase four gallons. Upon my return, I notice there was a full gallon discreetly placed in the fridge door. Gasp! I’m now sitting on five gallons of milk and freakin’ out. “What are we going to do with five gallons!?” I ask my wife. “How are we going to drink all this milk before it expires!!??”

That’s the dream. My worst nightmare: too much milk. Doubting reality, I drank an extra tall glass of the good stuff this morning just to be sure.

OREM, Utah — After four convenient but usually bad-habit forming years, I canceled my Blackberry email/data plan with T-Mobile last week. To my surprise, I was amazed that my email would actually wait for me on the computer, as opposed to following me around wherever I went. Now, if I’m away from my desk, my email will tell me how many unread messages I have upon my return, so as not to overlook anything. (Some fancy email programs even support audible alerts, such as “You’ve got mail!” Really neat stuff.)

In a flurry of discovery, and in search of more answers, I asked a representative of ARPANET, the inventor of email, for comment. “The great thing about email is that it’s free, provided you don’t give money to your cell phone provider for the same service,” the spokesman said. “And unlike the Post Office, you don’t have to put a hold on your mail if you’re away, say on nights and weekends. If it fits, it ships—which is all the time.”

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Prior to graduating in 2004, I played drums in a trio band. We mostly played Killers, Interpol, Franz Ferdinand, and Led Zeppelin covers in our bassist’s basement. We maybe played once a week for a month or so and didn’t even have a proper name. But we still wanted to rock.

Anxious to play a live set, we caught wind of an “Acoustic Battle of the Bands” to be played at BYU’s 22,000 seat capacity Marriott Center. I remember thinking, “Who says we can’t rock that? It says ‘acoustic,’ not low energy or slow tempo.” So we traded our electric guitar for an acoustic/electric and proceeded to tryouts that were being held in some small theater room in the English building.

Upon arrival, we were clearly out of place. As we lugged our full drum kit, half stack bass rig, and guitar amp down the hall, dozens of Dave Mathew wannabes practiced three chord love songs in squeaky voices to admiring girlfriends. My opinion of humanity worsened a little that day. But I digress. Our name was called, we entered the room and setup stage.

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