Celebrating 4 years

Today marks the 4 year anniversary of my blog. A lot of things have changed in my life, some directly because of this site.

That's all I got.

Starting Next Monday on Twitter

If anyone ever still checks this blog you know that I am shitty blogger. I still have some funny stuff to say, I am just too lazy to post. Sorry, not really. Did I a mention that I am a fat fuck? Yep. I am back to my "unable to ride the rides at an amusement park size". I am moving closer to the "excuse me Miss, can I get the seat belt extension?" size. Cross your fingers, as I am unable to cross my legs.
So to prove how lazy I am, I am tinkering with Twitter. Most of this will happen from my phone. That is right you can follow The Big Cheese as I am literally standing in line at the All the Eat buffet. Nomm, Nomm, Nomm. I will promise to blog/tweet about my and during my poops. I will attempt to get 80% of the words spelled correctly without a spell check. Short bursts of info regarding my newly found patches of back hair, and why the mole that used to be in the middle of my back is now on my side will likely be topic covered.
If you want to follow you will need to sign up at www.twitter.com and add me @StartNextMonday.

Anyone know where I can get a really good bra fitting?

co⋅hab⋅it

[koh-hab-it]

–verb (used without object)
1. to live together as husband and wife, usually without legal or religious sanction.[Yes]
2. to live together in an intimate relationship. [Oh, yes.]
3. to dwell with another or share the same place, as different species of animals. [Nail on the head.]

source: www.dictionary.com

As in cohabitation. On paper, it always looks like a good idea. Things are going good, everyone loves each other, the laundry is all in the basket when the other is around, she still thinks the sex is good and the penis looks big (under the right light and magnifying glass, with one eye closed). The loves stays, the laundry finds it way onto the floor and the magnifying glass is put in the nightstand.
Don't get me wrong. This she the best thing to ever happen to me. Megan. The thought of my life without her on the other side of the bed, room, or phone is unthinkable. But it would be nice to pull out the old secret file on the computer every so, now and again...if you don't keep up on that European Reverse Grip you lose it.
The tag line from the Real World where they say, "...when people stop being nice and start being real." Well, the gloves are off. Not the love gloves (Thank you E.P.T. )
For example, last night I was told that I am moving around in the bed to much. Tossing and turning.
"Could you take your fucking knee out of my back?" she politely asked.
"Sure." I said as I rolled over to face her to make sure she wasn't dreaming. We spent the next 10 minutes trading barbes over nothing, just taking sniper shots about stupid shit that neither of us really care about, but neither wanted the other person to go to sleep thinking she/he had gotten the best of them in our 3am brush. It was a draw. Army's retreated to quarters.
The wedding planning for two control freaks is going about as well as you could hope. As far as I know she does not have a license for a conceal and carry.
We have settled into a nice routine of TV watching, internet surfing, sidebar discussing evenings. I do my own laundry, so that she doesn't see the diaper loads of excrement in my underwear and lower half of my shirts.
And so it the cohabitation. Bliss.
That isn't a joke. I love living here, with her. There isn't one other person that I trust more then her. She doesn't laugh at all my jokes, just the funny ones. She looks better at night before bed and in the morning after bed, then anyone. She doesn't judge me for my love handles, or at this point safety railings. No one sees me at my worst, or just a state that is less then public ready, and always tells me I am loved, special, handsome. And I have carte blanche with my flatulence. That is a big one. Although I think as bad as they are they are kinda like black liquorish. If it is all you have, and you are contently forced to eat it, then you kinda start to like the taste of it...which makes me think, "Does black liquorish taste like shit?".

Definitely #3.

Grammar

An example of how a comma can change everything.





Man, sex feels good.

Talley whacker

It doesn’t make you gay to look at your dad’s dick. Once. I think if you ask any guy out there they can tell you the story about how they saw their old man’s meat throbber while fishing, swimming, camping or for some while sitting on his lap. I myself remember seeing the business end of my beginning when I was about five.

I’ll never forget it.

It was around that time when as a kid you only had to take a shit when someone else was in the bathroom. No? I am alone on this one? As soon as my poop cutter heard the sound of the muffled shower…I would start getting the poop shivers. Culminating in me doing the poop dance outside the bathroom door begging to be let in.

This particular time my dad let me in to go and before I was done he finished his shower and pulled the curtain back. Now listen, up until that point I had never seen a full grown wiener before (I wasn’t raised catholic and the internet hadn’t been invented yet) and for the fleeting moment that I saw it, it left a mark in me. For the next 15 years I would spin the story of how my dad had to tie it around his waist while showering so that the drain wouldn’t clog. I spoke of a sort of scrimshaw that I saw in it, chronicling my father’s life. I think there was a sunset and a wolf on there or something… I would tell my friends that if you could sneak up on it while it rested you could count the rings to see how old it was. Compared to the thimble I was (am) sporting around it might as well be the same bat that George Brett had too much pine tar on. At that time my nub was so tiny I would have to lay across the toilet set, stomach down, just to make sure the urine stream would hit the water and not my tiny balls. It was sad then and sad now…do you have any idea how hard it is to balance on that seat when you are as big as I am?

My father was a genius. As a rule, a father should only let his son see his shovel head once. That’s it. And you do it while the son is still young but old enough to remember. At that point when relativity has no meaning to a boy, the father-pecker is huge. And that is what you want your son to remember. You are the one with the big dick around here.

Just don’t ask your mom about it. She kisses you with that mouth.

I'm Getting Married!

A fine mess

Houston, TX
Coming off of back to back weeks of 100 plus hours of work, hearing on a near daily basis that I am a crook (not in so many words, well sometimes in more), having more palms turned up motioning "gimmie" rather than patting me on the back for the services I have provided, missing the people that I love and that love me, and don’t let me forget that fact that I haven’t watched one football game this season. It sure is easy for me to complain…and I do, a lot.

It isn’t until I take a step back and see that I have so much to be happy about. I could be unemployed, not have anyone to miss or that loves me, and…well really nothing matters after that last one. It’s funny how when you’re down, and when you look up all you want to see is the faces of the ones that love you with a hand ready to pull you up.

I have always been blessed with great parents. Although I never knew it until my twenties how great they are. I have friends that would jump into any hole I am in and help me dig my way out. I have a job that aside from the good pay, does allow me to HELP people when they need someone to offer them that hand (I forget about this part sometimes). I have been afforded more chances, second chances and opportunities then I deserve. I have lived a life of privileged poverty and restricted relative wealth.

I have a real partner, someone that despite of me, accepts me…all of it, even the parts neither of us like, and there are a lot of those. She is someone that has been willing to carry more then her share of the load. She teaches me, she makes me laugh, she loves me, and she makes anything worth going through if it means in the end I get to come home to her and a frogcrawl.
We all need a light house in the dark.

Yep, I am pretty lucky.

Seven days, one hundred hours on the clock, forty claims, and one plane ride home to a frogcrawl.