My Knight in Shining Armour
Who could ask for more?
Have you missed me?
Times, they are a’changin’! Sorry it’s been so long since I’ve written, but trust me, if any of you knew what the FUCK was going on, you’d understand my silence.
You’ll all know in due time, but until then you all can speculate. Maybe I was offered a job by the CIA, maybe I’m moving to Alaska because Trent got a job as the captain of a fishing boat, mabye I found out I have a disease that causes me to grow a moustache every 12 days…maybe not.
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK!
I could live without…
The pants. In every room of the house. Do people (and by people I mean the man I love so much it makes me want to sing Luther Vandross songs in the shower) just walk into a room a say, “I don’t think this room requires pants?”
Jeans in the dining room. Kakhis in the living room. More jeans in the basement. Shorts in the bathroom.
Somewhere there is a very cute, bearded man walking around with no pants, wondering, “I know I dropped them right here…or were those my kitchen pants?”
Just to clarify
I know my most loyal readers are waiting for a 3 page novella on this weekend’s Floating Bonanza, but you will have to wait. Work calls, and unfortunately, it’s calling rather loudly and frantically.
But I would like to add a little note for some of my newest readers, those who work with my very own Bearded Wonder. This site is supposed to be a satirical, exaggerated tale of my life. There are numerous things that I wish I could write about (the mama stories come to mind), but out of respect for my family, and fear for my life, I don’t write them. So when you see things I’m writing, whether it be about frequent use of alcohol and/or my underground life as a spy for the Russian Mafia, please take it with a grain of salt.
I never meant this site to be a place where co-workers can bone up on negative info about me or anyone in my life. That’s why I don’t broadcast my site to anyone who I think wouldn’t appreciate the humor. I will make fun of anything and everyone, you’ve been warned.
I forgot to mention…
THE SUNBURN.
The firey, uncomfortable, painful, scary truth of being a redhead (or in this case, a Red Beard) or an albino. If we ever have kids they’re going to be the ones that are allergic to the sun and have to wear special, floppy hats if they dare venture out into the world with the real people. Thank God, if they’re our spawn, they probably will be techno-geeks who would rather live in the Internet world of make-believe anyway.
The sunburn didn’t seem too bad on Sunday. Once again, I was foiled by the tan, summery onlooker saying, “Oh, you look a bit pink in the shoulders, but not too bad.” Thanks, DAD! Just because I didn’t inherit the tanning gene dosen’t mean you should sacrifice me to the Sun Gods! You’d think will all the professor-ness and NASA training you could diagnose a simple case of sunburn.
Sunday night Trent and I slept with two fans and the air conditioner blowing on us, along with frequent applications of Soothe-A-Caine. Again, thank you God for Soothe-A-Caine. You truly are a loving God, amen. Yesterday, we didn’t fare much better. And when my sleepy ass rolled over mid-dream this morning to give Trent my early-morning bear hug/strangle move, we both screamed out in pain. At least he doesn’t have to wear a bra. Bras are tools of Satan in normal, everyday life, but add in a scortching sunburn and bras are like living forever as an immortal in HELL!!!
Also forgot to mention the constant expulsion of gas this weekend. We thought the dog was so sweet to sleep the whole way home, but I think she may have passed out. I actually had a fart wake me up in the middle of the night. I won’t tell you who’s. That would be gross. And shame on you for wondering.
