National Bean Bag Day

I’m feeling like a walking tub of lard lately. This is not what men are supposed to talk about, but I’m needing to vent a bit. Che Che says it’s got to be the beer because my food portions are equivalent to that of a premature baby.

So earlier, I was sitting innocently at the computer after running uphill on the tread mill for three miles. Shirtless, of course. This is a prerequisite when a post-workout heat is pressing in on all sides. Plus, I felt strong and powerful. Then, the moment Richelle came home she walked straight past me, poked into the flab of the spare tire hanging meekly over the sides of my pants.

“That makes me feel better," she said.

Nice.

Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco

In San Francisco, we came across the crab and that was all she wrote. I was grateful that we didn't have to see them fighting for their lives before we ate them. That's just too depressing.

So We Never Found the Subway

I'm pretty sure I was blocking my nose at this point, but Che Che was acting like she'd reached Nirvana. This was honestly the first time I had ever liked crab. It tastes really really good in melted butter. Then again, as my friend Pete says, "old shoe tastes good in melted butter."

Love at First Sight

Total Nonsense Blog- Please Do Not Read

This is a total nonsense blog. Quite different from all of my other nonsense blogs.
I have been bad. I think this is three or four months of total silence in terms of journaling or blogging. I’ve been remiss. In fact, I’m sitting down right now and typing out words just to see if I can still do it.

A former student of mine (here’s to you, Stephy) keeps coming by to remind me that I haven’t posted anything on my blog forever. I think if it wasn’t for her, I would’ve forgotten that I even have a blog. Actually, that’s not true. This thing will always stick in the back of my mind.

Like a guilty conscience, it pricks at my brain.

“Not writing today. Just like yesterday, you bastard. Don’t give me busy. You always try to slide busy by me as though that’s supposed to mean something. You get the same twenty-four hours as everyone else.”

But, somehow, I’m able to fight past the voice and continue to not write anyway. And eventually the voice starts to weaken and grow dim like a fly caught between a window and a screen.

But, thank you, Stephanie. I’m back.