Not sure how your weekends are, but with two young kids at home I am ex-frickin-hausted by Sunday night, and actually excited about work on Monday.
Yeah, I know. Father of the Year.
Youngest is in the throes of potty training, and quite excited about it, so we made 783 trips to the potty this weekend, ate 286 jelly beans, and washed away 177 gallons of urine.
Took my ravenous dogs to Starbucks not once but TWICE for breakfast this weekend, and used multiple parks and fountains to fill time and keep them from killing each other, and in turn, me. Mom got to sleep an extra hour, and my life was shortened by at least that much.
Told you recently about my Twitter addiction, and yesterday decided to create a vehicle to help young Twits like myself develop more of a following. A couple of you with more followers than the Jonas Brothers laughed at me.
But I picked up 18 followers in one day. So you can pretty much chomp a steamer.
Of course, 18 a day is probably still small beans to you. If it is, well...you can still chow down.
Don't mess with me this morning. I'm covered in kiddie urine.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
I met a very nice woman at Starbucks today who was kind enough to read this post, and then be the THIRD person this week to already know what I learn below. If you read this ma'am, it was very nice to meet you, and thanks for critiquing my silly passion.
Last week some really wonderful neighbors had us over to gorge ourselves on their fabulous food, drink all their expensive champagne, wine, vodka and port, and allow our children to destroy their lovely home. Oh, and then stumble out the door without even offering to help clean anything.
They said that they want to come over to do a repeat at our own home, but we know better than to let hungry, angry, ungrateful strangers into our home. I mean, that's just dumb.
Now during the course of this fantastic evening, as we stood admiring the brand new fence at the back of their property, the conversation became...enlightening.
"Why did you decide to go with an 8foot fence on the back and not on the sides? is there something wrong with that neighbor?"
"We didn't get the 8foot fence, they did. And there's a LOT wrong with that neighbor."
"Why?"
"They swing."
I am only just hip enough to know that he didn't mean they have a very large playset back there. Or maybe they do, but not for the kids.
They further explained that our lovely suburban mecca has a high concentration of swinging couples, and that often the sounds of their...events...would waft over the fence for the kids to enjoy.
""All right ladies...change laps!""
Now, we have been residents of this neighborhood for five years, and have lived in this city for nine. And in all that time, this was our first ever exposure to this subject. And then not two days later, I hear someone else make a similar comment about our ferociously swinging suburb.
Where the hell have I been? And where the hell have you people been doing all this? And most importantly,
Why the hell have we not been invited??!!
Ok...I know there are some things that may have kept you away. I mow the lawn with no shirt on. I only leave the house after having shellacked my pasty, doughy, translucent form with factory SPF 50. I don't lift weights. My wife and I have a standing date to mow my back. I rarely bathe. Ok, that last one isn't true, but you get where I'm going here.
So I can see why you may not have wanted me... But every news story I have ever seen about swingers showed folks that, well, I don't really care too see...swing. And surely I bring more to the Mazola pit than some of those guys?!
Or not?
I would have thought that the fact that my wife is attractive might have had some guy making advances before asking his wife to approve ol' Halftime Jay?
Well, regardless...we're insulted. And we aren't interested. We aren't swingers, nor are we willing to learn. Each to their own, but not for us.
But would it have killed you to ask?
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
We played "Moose in the House" with our Kindergartener.
Mom planned Day 2.
And everyone went to bed. Except me.
She's going back tomorrow.
She's fine.
Mom's fine.
And I'm....strong.
more Wordful Wednesdays, please go visit my friend Angie, who is a tiny redheaded package of AWESOMENESS.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
We cast a shadow on something wherever we stand. - E. M. Forster
SuperStar!
Welcome to Sunday Citar! This blog quote meme was created by Tabitha @ FreshMommy. You can stop by her blog to see the quotes and photos that she and everyone else is loving right now.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
MamaKat's Writer's Workshop has prompted: "Hi, my name is ______ and I am a _______." ...so here I go. Please also go visit my friends over at DadBlogs this week for FatherHood Friday. Daddys are awesome. We help make Mommies. Most of the time. By the way, this post is dedicated to Holly. I had the revelation for this idea minutes after meeting her. Read into that what you will.
Hi. My name is Jay, and I am a Grossophobe.
I've never eaten a booger. This being my blog and not needing to impress to any great degree, I can tell the truth. I've never eaten a booger, but I saw friends do it when I was younger, and they didn't seem to think anything of it. When I saw a classmate in high school do it, however, I immediately knew there was something not quite right with the lad.
I had a recollection and a revelation recently, about Gross, and it's evolution.
When I was in college, home was a small town in Colorado for a number of years during the '80s. Money was tight, so activities consisted of a $5 pizza from Blackjack, trying to impress the freshmen at the local dorm, or...one last one...that I now shudder to recall.
It was called My Tubbery. A business. A small building filled with individual rooms that contained hot tubs to be rented. By the half hour. I can think of multiple dates, and girlfriends, that My Tubbery entertained. And I think back to those blissful, bubbling tubs, and my ignorance.
I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. And I may again.
I'm sure the chlorine killed some of what we luxuriated in, but today I'm pretty sure I would have a problem partying in a used condom.
It's one of life's great ironies...by the time you realize how profoundly terrible something is, most times you've already done it, stepped in it, eaten it, or worse. I've spent a thousand nights in hotels, from the hi-falutin' to the hovel, and yet it took the majority of my life before Dateline thought to take me on a tour of one with a blacklight.
I'm considering boiling myself in acid.
Ignorance really is bliss, my friends, and a helluva lot more fun than the sanitizer-toting obsessive compulsive I see in the mirror today. Early adulthood taught the "5-second rule". Kids have an "infinite second" rule, which I continued in college. Today when I see my son eat something from the floor, knowing our beagle has been marching there minutes before on her poo-dipped paws, I have to resist the urge to take a wire brush to his tongue and make him gargle with Clorox.
Ultimately, though, the evolution itself is killing me much more than any airborne carcinogen. I miss that ignorance, and there is no going back. My destiny is to finish out my days in a level 5 biohazard unit having friends and family push my favorite soaps to me through the airlock.
I've evolved, you see. I grew up. And it sucks. Hard.
As I write this, I sit on a flight with my exponentially more hygienic wife winging our way to one of the dirtiest cities (figuratively and literally) in the US, Las Vegas. I note the airline blanket I thoughtlessly draped across my legs as I sat down. As soon as I did, my pretty wife kindly pointed out how disgusting I was. And I now wonder, despite the fact that the blanket is touching the skin of my legs, if I will have the courage to use two fingers to drop it to the floor.
Maybe I could use my elbows.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
This article (pictured here) was just published on Friday in DFW's NeighborsGo publication, and today on BurbMom.net. Holly, Bianca, and Shauna, you fiery rockin' sirens, thank you all for helping me publish something on actual paper for the first time since college. And if I haven't said it enough yet... I'm ecstatic to be a BurbMom...er...Dad.
Hey, sweet girl.
Your mom and I have thought about this day for a long time. And been excited. And worried.
The thing is, we can barely remember us without you anymore. We know we were happy before you came to be with us, but the crushing love and pride we have for you makes it hard to remember a picture without your magical eyes, and infectious smile.
Today we realized that you have been moving away from us for a long time. You’ve been collecting pieces of us to pack in your pink backpack… and as you take the steps of your life, the story of us will, in part, be written by you.
You’ve learned so much already, big girl. What’s right, and mean, and what’s sweet, and fair. We need you to remember those things now. There will be a lot to think about, we know. Teachers, and friends, manners, and strangers. And we know you can do it.
As much as we want to hold you here forever, we know you have places to go. Daddy had a great plan to keep you here until you were 30, but I’m learning that my happiness won’t always be your happiness. A doctor, a teacher, or a princess still need to learn everything they can. So listen close, and always be smart.
And today if you see Mommy crying, or if you see Daddy trying to be strong, just give us your best smile to light up our hearts. We’re a little sad, but we’re mostly proud. Of you. And us.
We’ll be here when you need.
And please. Come home soon.
Jay Lessons is a novice ‘burb daddy, a husband-in-training, and a sarcastic elitist. You can find more of his reflective rants at HalftimeLessons.com.
For more Wordful Wednesdays, please go visit my friend Angie, who is a tiny redheaded package of AWESOMENESS.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Giving people only 140 characters to give the masses a short status update like "I am the worst parent in the world", or "My worthless husband just killed the toilet". Or my personal favorite, "Mmmm...Donuts".
Like you give a crap whether I am driving, or eating, or worse.
Sigh.
And yet, I am addicted to this Literary Lolita like she is covered in blow.
Maybe it's not Twitter I am addicted to...maybe it's you.
Am I following you yet? Maybe you wouldn't mind going here to follow, so I can follow you right back?
And while you're doing that, I'll be in search of a good vein...they are getting a tad difficult to find. (And thank you Em, for Tweeting sound advice about using the space between your toes...I owe you a clean needle.)
And yes, this has been a Tribute...to a scab-covered prostitute named Twitter.
Ah cain't quit youuuuu!!
Go see my friend Angie for more Tributes today!!
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Vegas is on sale...that's what they say. The economy has taken a squeegee to Sin City, and they are practically giving away flights and hotels. So this experienced traveler and his bride recently took it upon ourselves to find the true cost of 4 days and 3 nights in Las Vegas.
It came down to either an all-inclusive in Cancun ($1400), or an above average hotel in Vegas...and ultimately the winner was Mandalay Bay. Less travel headaches, plenty to occupy my ADD head, beautiful pools and a more reasonable price tag of $900.
Now, it is far too easy to stop comparing at that point, and it would be wonderfully naive to leave it there. But vacations cost you, and in more ways than one, so lets look at how daily activities affect the human condition to the soundtrack of slot machines.
Arrived at the airport. Taxi, $15. Checked into the Mandalay, where they upgraded us to a mini-suite either due to my boyish charm, or to the fact that I have a friend who is considered a "whale" at Mandalay Bay. He maintains he did us a favor on the room, I maintain I had the nice lady at the front desk drooling over me despite my wife's presence. I know what you're thinking here, just let me have my pride. gorgeous room, complete with freaky little hangout couch for "chatting", and a view of the Hotel's seven pools.
Walked throught the casino to our suite, ingesting an entire pack of secondhand smoke along the way. This is not a criticism of Mandalay, mind you, this is simply a fact of Vegas. Part of the cost of your trip will be shaving an entire year off your life due to the smoke. Plus, I learned that a pack of cigarettes these days is nine dollars. NINE DOLLARS. This next statement comes directly from the empathetic, previously charred lungs of this long time ex-smoker....WHAT in the HELL are you people thinking??!!
Get to the suite...FAN.FRICKIN.TASTIC. The Mandalay Bay is a wonderful hotel, truly, but I had never enjoyed it from the comfort of an upgraded room overlooking seven world class pools. My wife and I were absolutely BEAMING as we unpacked.
5pm. A swim before dinner, and a chance for my beautiful girl to put her toes in the sand as she had been longing to do for upwards of two years. Two margaritas, $20. Ouch...Really? It's been a while since I have been a vacationer here, and not throwing drinks on a business tab suddenly became real. I often forget as a married man living in the central US what has happened to the cost of partying while I've been starting my family. And I thought you said this city was on sale? How 'bout throwing a gift-with-purchase on my drink bill, pal? Maybe a two-fer?
Dinner. We had a sushi craving, and Mandalay Bay willingly provided raw fish in the desert. You bet it's fresh, pal. Just flew it in from the "coast". (Hoover Dam) Spicy yellowtail, California Roll, Las Vegas Roll (because it's state law), one vodka, one nondescript white wine, $110.
Holy. Schnikeys.
"Say honey, you know that downtown tends to be a bit cheaper, why don't we head down to Binion's and the Fremont Street Experience and have some fun tonight?"
Cab, $25. Two yard dogs of Jungle Juice, complete with extra shots, $35. But then with the exception of the $25 cab ride home, we simply walked around, enjoying the lights, people and music of Fremont Street. And one hot showgirl. Great time.
The morning brought about the need for strong coffee, several lifeforce-sustaining Advil, and a greasy breakfast to enable transition back to the land of the living. Starbuck's Coffee and banana, $6. Two breakfast buffets and tip, $40. Twenty toes back in the 300 degree sand, 3 bottles of water, a true necessity in the desert, 3 bucks apiece, $9. Didn't bring nearly enough sunscreen, one bottle of waterproof SPF 15, $14. And finally, a $40 lunch brings the first 24 hours to a close.
The next logical step would be to add it all up, and do some apples-and-oranges comparison...and I am NOT going to do that. Because there is one more way that Vegas costs some of us who have less-than-average restraint having paid $20 for an all you can eat buffet. Inches on your waistline.
I gorged myself. There. I said it.
Months of exercise and restraint came to a sudden and abrupt halt when presented with endless entree options and oceans of desserts. And I mean, I ATE. And Drank. And then showed several hundred people at the pool what over-intake of salt, fat and alcohol does to the human form.
It would be far too depressing to sit here and actually tally up calories, so I will just let it lie.
The good news is that we barely gambled.
I was too busy eating.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Mix a little foolishness with your serious plans. It is lovely to be silly at the right moment. - Horace
On this particular day,however, there was no shortage of silly. Or silly fuel.
Welcome to Sunday Citar! This blog quote meme was created by Tabitha @ FreshMommy. You can stop by her blog to see the quotes and photos that she and everyone else is loving right now.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Hung by the pool till 7pm, which is a fantastic time of day to be sitting in the Vegas shade blogging on your phone. Until your blushing bride starts tapping her foot at her date for blogging at the pool.
Ill say it again,
Some people don't get blogging, or Twittering. Those of us who do get it that new places and experiences are meant to be shared with the world. And the nosy. Or both. Whatever.
Had a big plan to grab food at the Bellagio, enjoy the fountains, then head on back for our special nightlife surprise.
The thing is, you don't 'grab food' at the Bellagio. That place is a frickin SEA of people and lines, even during an economically slow Wednesday night.
Finally decided on a reasonable meal ($100) and headed outside to catch the fountain show, which I just love. A beautiful display of choreographed smoke, dancing water, and music.
Only the last time I saw it I was entranced by a show designed around Andrea Bocelli, and last night I got stuck with Celine Dion. Ugh. Still, beautiful...we enjoyed the show shoulder to shoulder with a few thousand pickpockets.
Finally, back to the Mandalay where we had been blessed with VIP passes to a fantastic club 43 floors up, overlooking the strip, called The Foundation Room.
A really fantastic place.
Even though the Wednesday crowd consisted of us and 10-12 people who made us question exactly how exclusive this club is, we still felt like royalty. Great music, ambiance, and big cushy couches for the wife and I to sink back and enjoy adult noise for a change. And the view...
Having fun here...off to bake my english/irish ass some more this morning.
Hope you are all well, and if you haven't been following me on Twitter, make sure you find the link above...Ive been tweeting pictures from time to time. Minus the two french guys who insisted on putting lotion on each other while blocking our sun.
I can't believe we bailed them out of two world wars so these guys could lube up in my eyeline.
And all this week I will be posting and Tweeting updates (and TwitPics)and clues as to where I am. Hope you'll come along for the ride.
So here is your first hint...it rhymes with Has Begas.
Oh......shit.
PS - Been meaning to thank MamaBear Mills for the award she gave me. I don't generally do the awards thing, and she must have been desperate to throw me on the list, but I wanted to thank her for thinking of me. Go see her. She's hot. Actually, that's a reason I would go see her, not you...go see her anyway.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Time once again to take you into the unrelenting heat that is our private chamber, and share with you some of the dialogue that keeps our chambre d'amour so damn spicy.
Wife: What are you eating?
Moi: Nothing.
Wife: You smell like mints.
Moi: Do I?
Wife: Yes... you smell like mints a lot lately.
Moi: I've been eating a lot of mints lately.
Wife: You have?
Moi: Yes. While I drive.
(silence)
Wife: What kind?
Moi: Altoids.
(silence)
Wife: Why?
Moi: Because it's either that or tacos.
(silence)
(silence)
That's all for today. Harlequin Romance is here to pitch us a book idea and get some pictures, so I need to do my push-up. For more bedroom banter, Go Here.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
My friend Em (Life, Liberty and the Pursuit) is one of the most politically savvy people I have ever met. Each Friday she harnesses some intellect and attitude, and provides truly thought provoking opinions about key issues, many of which from the political arena. I am joining her for her F.F.F.T. (Friday's Food For Thought) today, if she hates this post I promise not to intrude on her again.
I Miss The West Wing.
It is my favorite show of all time. In fact, I own every episode of every season, and have seen each at least 4 times. My brother called me shortly after having watched the first few episodes and recommended that I turn it on, and I did. And from that day, he and I would call each other and debrief on the episode that had aired the night before. That may make us the dorkiest brothers around, but my heart loves that the West Wing helped to amplify our relationship.
The West Wing was not for the meek. In many instances, the banter or humor was so fast and subtle that you really had to pay attention to catch all the nuances. I watched each episode repeatedly because the more I concentrated, the more I understood what the writer and director were aiming for.
There were humorous episodes, some quite serious, and ones with uncoincidental ties to current events. The show proved to be a showcase or launch pad for many wonderful actors like Bradley Whitford, Allison Janney, John Spencer, Rob Lowe, and of course, Martin Sheen. President Bartlett is now the bar that actors aim for when portraying the President.
And even moreso than the speed of dialogue, or its Sahara-dry wit, the one thing that I loved most about the West Wing was how it ultimately enraptured me with something as potentially dull as government. It spoke of our nation and values in terms of what is right, and just. And reminded us what the framers intended, rather than one party's spin. That and the fact that it wasn't a reality show.
Two days ago, I walked from my car to an office building with the intention of visiting with one of my doctors. As I passed the car that was lazily parked in the building's circular drive, I noticed its rear fender.
Someone had taken the time to not only deface someone's automobile, they had PREPARED their work. They had found a picture of President Obama. They had Photoshopped and altered it, taking their time to create the desired message and theme. They had printed copies, and had packed those copies in their car with a roll of scotch tape, ready to move when they found any available Obama election sticker without an accompanying security camera.
You may remember, I didnt vote for President Obama.
That being said, I do not agree with his idea for nationalized healthcare. Nor does the doctor I visited with today who is so angry about the details of the proposal that she has made a poster that hangs in her patient waiting room.
But this particular rant is not about healthcare, it is about the person who defaced the picture of our President, and then used it to deface someone else's car. And living in a democracy, instead of spending their time calling senators or lobbying their congressperson, this individual chooses civil disobediance and immaturity instead. You could be doing something constructive other than your childish pranks, and instead, all you are accomplishing is putting YOUR face on those of us who object to the policy instead of the man.
One of my favorite scenes from the West Wing involved the quirky Debbie Fiderer(played by Lily Tomlin), who had been hired as President Bartlett's Executive Secretary. It was later discovered that she had sent a letter to the President years before suggesting that his drink be laced with poison in an effort bring attention to human rights crises. The President, although angry at what a nutjob she was, allowed her to keep her job as she had referred to him not as "Bartlett", but as "President Bartlett". She respected the office, even if she wasn't thrilled with the man.
Our system of government may be horribly flawed, but it is arguably the best thing going. And the "Presidency" is bigger by far than any one man.
Democracy is the form of government chosen when people are ALLOWED to choose.
Millions of you voted this President into office, and I hope the resulting nation is what you had hoped at the end of his term.
But in the meantime, to ALL who would oppose him, respect the office even if you don't respect the man or his values.
And to you, Scotch Tape Boy... GROW UP already.
"This country is an idea. An idea that has lit the world for two centuries...The last full measure of devotion."
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
MamaKat's Writer's Workshop has prompted: "What are you afraid of?" ...so here I go. Please also go visit my friends over at DadBlogs this week for FatherHood Friday. Daddys are awesome. We help make Mommies. Most of the time.
A while back I shared a tale with you about an experience I had with some snooty retail bitches, and their inability to summon the common decency needed to point out a man's...shortcomings.
It was my hope that in doing so, I was sending a message to the Universe asking for decency to be shown to those of us who could not care for ourselves.
Now a little backfill. Or landfill. Some kind of fill.
You see, I hate buying clothes. As in, with the heat of a Nova, I hate buying clothes. And to slip into a subtype of that statement, I ABHOR buying clothing for WORK. Suits, ties, dress shoes...if it is more than about 6 bucks you have to basically drag me into Kohl's by my nipples to get me to spend on career apparel.
The direct result of hating clothes shopping is that I will wear my clothes until they are essentially...unwearable.
Now fast forward to last week. Hang on, this gets bumpy.
On that fateful and humbling Thursday morning, I stood amongst the screams of my children and "Honey don't forgets" and dressed for work. I donned the undergarments of my trade, the black socks that daily make me feel as though I am 64 years ancient, and pulled on my dress pants for Day 4 of the same suit.
Yes, Day 4.
See, in my line of work, no one sees you 2 days in a row. So I can very easily wear the same suit all week, send it to the drycleaner, and wear a new one the following week. I only have to change undergarments, shirts and ties each day to create the guise of hygiene. It's about economy.
As I had all week, I pulled on my dress pants, admiring how well they were fitting the svelte version of me, and walked into the other room, all the time working on my excuse to get out of whatever it was she was asking me to remember to do. I fumbled my excuse, she shot it to pieces, and I began my retreat to the bedroom to get my dress shirt.
My wife, who undoubtedly is part of a government subsidized program to care for the needy and incapable, suddenly gasps, "Oh my God, honey"!!
I whip around, ready to bat away whatever huge frickin' bug is sitting on my shoulder, or to frantically look for a defibrillator before I slip from consciousness, and I scream, "WHAT??!! WHAT??!!"
"You can't wear those pants."
I don't know how many receptionists watch me as I walk away throughout the course of the day. Probably not too many.
I don't know how many baristas giggle after I get my coffee. Maybe a few.
And I have no idea how many days I have been developing my new Bunner Vent.
But I know that as I beg the Universe for leniency, my pleas are going unanswered. I am only thankful that my wife graciously picks me up after my humiliating stumbles.
So what am I afraid of, MamaKat?
Mostly that my children are watching me, and learning.
To my friends at BlogHer.com: If you invite me to do a Keynote reading at BlogHer'10, I'll totally wear these pants. I'm just saying, the offer is on the table.
COPYRIGHT HALFTIME LESSONS 2008, 2009 All rights reserved. This content may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form, by any means, without the prior written permission of the author.
Listen, I'm just trying to find Dr. Ohman's office... Can you...
I have to admit, I've never been hit on by building before... You're tall, and beautiful, I'll admit... But I'm pretty happy at home...I don't think this could work.
Lady, you are BAD. And I'm over here trying to be good!! What's your name?
Not much for small talk, huh...I like that. Actually, my wife and I DO have an understanding. She goes to the mall all the time, and pretends like it's nothing. Me, I just want to feel like I'm being listened to.
LOL Yes, I know, but if I do that, then it's just pretty much giving in isn't it?
Look. It's only my willpower that's keeping this from happening right now, you know?If you really like me, could you just ease up a bit, and help me through this?
Oh wow...I can't take this anymore... I've got to get out of here... Do...you...maybe want to come with me? Oh. Oh, right.
Look...I can't do this. It's not you, it's me. Just let me go, please? It's better for both of us. Maybe...I'll just hang on to your number, ok?
Oh...and where's your food court?
For more Wordful Wednesdays, please go visit my friend Angie, who is a tiny redheaded package of AWESOMENESS.
To laugh often and love much; to win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children; to earn the approbation of honest citizens and endure the betrayal of false friends; to appreciate beauty; to find the best in others; to give of one's self; to leave the world a bit better, whether by a healthy child, a garden patch or a redeemed social condition; to have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exultation; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived - this is to have succeeded.- Emerson
Posts
