Married (to sausage fingers)

Blog monster at bravo sierra zulu six niner

I can't seem to get motivated enough to post. This is evidenced by the 14 posts I've been working on that are in various stages of not appropriate to release into the 'sphere. I'm not sure where this blogger's block is coming from, but I guess I have to accept the fact that it's a hairy bugger that apparently means to give me the business if I attempt to post.

When to Use Your Words

I'd like to send a big fuck you to the dick who decided while walking towards me and realizing that I'm a new guy, that he'd put his head down and walk right by me rather than say, oh, i dunno, "hi" or "welcome" or even "eat shit buddy". nice. little does he know that i run this here semi-anonymous blog, and the shit is on him.

In other news, I'm glad to see how much you all care about my dying tree and the pain it is causing me to have to part with it. Really, I'm ok, and I won't be discussing its fate here anytime soon. I did manage, however, to "borrow" one of the neighborhood kids and, well, let's just say that Rob will be impressed.

I do have this exciting bit: I'm using yet another work from home day well, as I'm off to the dentist.

UPDATE

I'm back from the dentist. Truth be told: I hate the dentist. In fact, I think I'll hook him up with sir shit head of the hallways.

File under it's news to me and other useless thoughts

I'm the kind of guy who focuses too much effort on [useless] details. Consequently, I miss much big picture stuff. I like to believe that I am always aware of all things around me, alas this is not the case. Take, for example, my last post.

It has been brought to my attention by those of you who left comments and some who haven't that the post was a tad depressing. While typing, I didn't feel any sadness, nor was I striving to evoke such emotion in readers or elicit sympathy. I simply thought of a few words that, in my small brain, seemed to fit together and tell a bit of a story.

In other news, I've got a new job (week three is well underway). It's the same job I just left with better salary. I still get to write "may cause gas with oily discharge," which is still disgusting and funny (ok, ok, I don't feel badly for folks with this condition, in fact, I'd love to meet someone with such gas, invite them out for fried clams and milkshakes, and watch them squirm from trying to hold it in). The work space is nice and the window in my office is faced toward a wildlife sanctuary, but I don't think I'll find zen anytime soon. The commute sucks, but what commute that ends up at, well, work doesn't (hooker, movie star, band member (not marching), and bar fly don't count). Nice thing is that I get to work from home a couple of days each week. Like today. Although, I must admit that I've done about 10 minutes of work today compared with the two hours of surfing the net for porn and another two hours spent scraping and priming a section of trim above our back door that was ravaged by the winter weather.

In yet other news, the tree in our front yard that we thought was a cherry tree turns out to be a flowering crabapple tree, and it's dying from fire blight.
This is the latest home-owner's bummer we're faced with. Once again, there's no landlord to call to have things fixed and/or replaced. No, I have to have three different companies come out: one to cut down the tree and hall it away, one to grind out the stump (there's porn in there somewhere, I'm sure), and the third to deliver a new tree. We're thinking of putting in either a yoshino cherry tree or a mount fuji cherry tree. Exciting, I know.

Recently, our dishwasher died, we replaced it with a lovely fridgedaire stainless number. Also, the future Mrs. Fondleberries, fell in the shower and got herself some fabulous bruises on legs and arms (I've been telling folks that I beat my old lady, which makes me laugh).

Lastly, I'm told there are now 17 days until I'm married.

Once

I once was young and had a lifetime ahead of me. Everywhere I could see, I was told, there would be doors through which my future lay. I had time to make choices. I had time to do nothing at all, or everything I could. I had little experience and less knowledge, but I thought that I knew it all and was willing to say so to anyone who would listen.

I once was cool and hip and thin.

I once had hair. Long, flowing hair.

I once had only myself to worry about or care for.

It seems that at once all of these things changed.

I am now middle-aged. Most of my hair has decided to part from me. I've gone up at least two waist sizes. I still belt Smiths lyrics while driving, which, I'm told, makes me less than cool (and likely a bit gay). I have a house and bills and a job. And I'll be married in less than a month.

Back in Black

Or back in the States(?), and wearing pink, whichever comes first.

I'm working on the trip review post, but guarantee it will suck (almost as much as I do).

In the interim, here's a bit of conversation I recently had with a work colleague (WC, not the closet, Jesus, pull your head out of your ass):

Lord F: I would very much like to visit France at some point.

WC: France isn't a country, it's a restaurant.

Lord F in Slough

Well kids, I'm taking my nappy head across the pond for a week of work (-ing on hitting every pub in sight). I'll have updates on your love life, pimple-faced toads, and not wearing socks while jumping in puddles when I'm back.

Cheers.