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Forgive me
2009-01-07, 8:36 p.m.

Day 1999

. . . father for I have not blogged in far to long . . .

Saw this on Qís blog and just had to jump in . . .

TMI Tuesday #168
1. Would you rather be stranded on an island alone or with someone you dislike/don't get along with? Alone. I like alone. Thereís fewer people to piss off and/or piss me off. Uhhh Ė we are eventually getting OFF the island, right?

2. Would you rather accidentally walk in on your parents having sex or have them walk in on you? I know what I look like nekkid, so Iíd rather have them walk in on me. Stories to follow . . .

3. Would you rather be snapped by paparazzi during a nipple slip or while exiting a car with out any underwear? Neither matters much for a guy, so I guess I donít care, as long as Iím not in a kilt.

4. Would you rather not have sex for two years or not be able to use the Internet for two years? Do they mean sex with other people? Cuz you can find stuff on the innernetz that will definitely float your boat. A little lube and a bit of imagination . . .

5. Would you rather find true love or 1 million dollars? Money honey. Canít buy love, but I can buy pretty damn happy.

Bonus (as in optional): If you had to choose *one* sexual position for the rest of your life, what would it be? Why? Personally, I kinda prefer gal on top, facing each other. Hands are free and there are more toys to play with!!

Now about those stories I threatened you all with in question #2.

Waaaaayyyy back in the day, I think just after Cindy and I got engaged (weíre talking mid-1980 here) we had gone out on the town one particular Friday night. After seeing The Little Trolls perform at the Orange Monkey, we headed back to her (parents) house. Hanky panky ensued on the couch in the family room. Hey Ė it was 3am and her parents were upstairs snoozing. We apparently finished doing the deed and promptly fell asleep. Both of us. Next thing I hear is ďOh my God, get dressed and get out of here!Ē and it wasnít Cindyís voice. No Ė it was her dadís voice. Heíd rambled downstairs around 7am and found us nekkid and entangled, snoring peacefully on his couch. I think I was mooning him pretty good. Boy, did we have a talk later that afternoon. Everybody lived though.

Second incident was a little more innocent. We were in our first house. Kids were in bed, it was late evening. We retired, and in an effort to burn off the last of the days energy, were engaging in a little bumping of the uglies. It was winter time so we at least we had the covers on. This was a very good thing because I distinctly remember turning my head to the right, towards the edge of the bed at one point. Thinking he had my full attention, thatís when Zach piped up and asked for a drink of water. I have no idea how long he was standing there and he wasnít telling. Tell you what else Ė that started a deflation that even todayís magic pills couldnít fix. Talk about a mood breaker!

There was one other time, wasnít exactly a walk in, but we were at it again one evening. (We were young & full of energy, why not?) The phone rang. Expecting a call from her mom, Cindy picked it up figuring she could get by with a quick info exchange and be done. But her mom was dragging things out a bit. Me? I never stopped. Too bad too, because right in the middle of the conversation, the side rail of the bed broke. We went crashing to the floor, mid-everything, laughing like a pack of fools. We laughed about that one for a long time, but never did tell Cindyís mom why it was so funny. (Uh yeah mom, broke the bed. Fucked it to death while I was on the phone with you.)

Aaaaannnyhow. Porch is done. Inspections are done, itís all ours. Come spring we can paint it. Oh joy.

Had this stuff done a couple days ago just never got time to get it posted. Iíll torture you with it now. . .

Did I say Happy New Year yet? Guess I just did. What with taking all that time off work over the holidays and slaving away in the room formerly known as the family room, I kinda forget where I left off sometimes. So Happy New Year. Hope the next 358 days go even better than you hoped.

Snuck in a few more pictures of progress on the fireplace. Iíll have to re-size one or two and get them posted. In a nutshell, whatís been done is this: the entire floor to ceiling brick facing has been removed. The bulky threshold and front step thing have also been taken out. Above the mantel is now drywall instead of brick. The whole projection into the room has been reduced and the overall size has been reduced. Over the last 2 or 3 days Iíve managed to shrink the opening and re-tile the face & floor. Tonight I get to grout the whole mess, then we get to schedule the installation of the gas burner unit.

Hereís the fireplace in all itís nekkidness:

And hereís how it looked pre-grout:

Had a mantel all picked out, but it turns out that when they say itís a 5 foot mantel, they mean the length of the shelf on top, NOT the size of the surface that mates to the masonry. Oops. Silly me thought a 5 foot mantel would fit nicely on a fireplace that was 59 inches wide. Next size up is 6 feet, and thatís going to be a little too big Iím afraid. Iím also a little skeered at the thought of having one custom built.

Oohh - Before I forget, big doings here next week. Itís got me more than a little anxious. As most of you are aware, I had the pleasure of turning 50 last month. (Shhhh, itís true. Nothing we can do about it.) Anyhow Ė Iíve scheduled the one thing all guys look forward to as they hit the big five oh. No Ė not prescription bi-focals, that happens at 45. I need to go find my information folder and make sure I get the right stuff, for this Sunday is the great colon blow of 2009. Monday, I get the good drugs so they can knock me out and see if Iím a perfect asshole. Well, that and probably a foot or three further up too. If itís more than that, I really donít want to know. Actually, that first foot sounds like plenty far enough. Iíve seen things on the innernetz ya know, and Iím pretty sure a foot is well beyond the limit of what, well Ė ok. At least the Dr. wonít be trying to shove a bowling pin up there. I think. One never really knows what they do to you when youíre on the happy juice.

I just hope I recover from the anesthesia quickly. When they did my leg I seemed to bounce back pretty quickly at first. At least my stomach did. They seemed to be all worried about how my stomach was going to react Ė got something before surgery to ďsettle the stomachĒ, wasnít allowed to eat all that much the day before, and they insisted on doing that ďclear liquid dietĒ for the first meal after I woke up. Man. All I really wanted was something along the lines of a Ĺ lb cheeseburger with bacon & onions and a heap of fries. And a beer. Tried to tell them the only thing wrong with my stomach was that it had been empty for too long. Poor lunch delivery girl is lucky I didnít gnaw her fingers off when she left that plate of chicken broth, jello, apple juice and, and, and, I donít remember what else. But the other aspects of the anesthesia wore off more slowly. I remember feeling distinctly fuzzy brained (more so than normal) for almost a week afterwards. Of course, maybe the diet of Vicodin I was on had something to do with that too. . .

Anyhow. Eric has been tapped to drive me to & from. He is prepared to stop at the first place that appears to be selling anything looking like meat. I guess the way itís going to go (and go, and go . . .) is that around noon Sunday I start the laxative treatment. Something like 4 days worth of laxatives in about 2 doses. Nothing but clear liquids down the hatch from then on. Iíve been advised that Gator@de is highly desirable. Fits the ďclearĒ requirement and also replenishes electrolytes some. Probably hit up wally world and get a couple gallons when I pick up the other goodies. Oh Ė and baby wipes. Got it from a good source that baby wipes could be a god send. Sitting on the can every 15 minutes for half a day Ė I have a feeling that could be true.

Tomorrow bowling resumes. Man, these Thursday holidays have been a killer. Itís going to feel like the first week of the season all over again.

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old habits - new tricks