Why So Fucking Serious?

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If you ever want trouble, come between an addict and her coffee. If you ever want to witness a coffee meltdown, fuck up my wife’s order at the local coffee chain outlet near our home. Oh yes, it happened, and I write today to maybe help myself understand why coffee zombies, my wife included,  go from zero to ballistic in .000001 seconds when their overpriced coffee crack is not prepared in a manner of perfection fitting for their standards. But, before I tell you a little story, let me just re-address the fact that there are a handful of places I absolutely refuse to go because I can’t fucking stand the mere thought of going inside. I don’t go with my wife or for my wife, hell no, fuck that shit, the people that work in these places are fucking rude, anal, and have lost their damn minds. I tend not to promote things or places I detest, so we not say the names of a national chain of make-up stores, the mall, or the national chain of coffee stores be written about today. Y’all are smart, figure it out. Let’s just say I have almost been divorced twice for my refusal to enter particular places of business.

Anyway, my wife has a ritual, on paydays each month, she pays the coffee monsters big bucks so her cravings can be satisfied. This means she gets high dollar coffee crack four times a month and on other special occasions. The rest of the month she fakes it with the little brew cups and different flavoured creamers. So, I get looking forward to something. We all have things we like and look forward to having, but coffee drinkers are fucking different, very different. I know the week is drawing to a close because her claws and fangs become more pronounced. So, let me explain what almost sparked the spring skirmish of 2017.

Yesterday my wife is on her way to work, making the ritual pitstop to get her blah blah blah mocha fucked up size name coffee. After waiting behind 12 or so cars she tells the speaker box the kind of coffee she wants. She says it in a fashion to which one would believe he is witnessing a line from a foreign film being spoken. It’s almost erotic in a way, especially coming from a person who lives in southeast Texas and can neither speak or understood one word in Spanish. Needless to say, after money has exchanged hands and she goes to take her first sip, it the wrong coffee. These fools have given her a cup of coffee with another person’s name written on the side. Bastards! How dare they do this inconsiderate and uncaring thing to her. Instantaneously​ mad now, she wants the blood, the balls, and this motherfucker’s first born for this fuck up. The nerve!

Of course this has to be resolved in a lady like, very polite manner, and she is in such a big hurry that she returns to the line of cars which is twice as long now. It’s the principal I’m told, she should not have to go inside to unfuck their overpriced coffee mistake. I’m, okay then. Here’s the kicker, when she finally arrived at the window, the spoiled little cunt sees the cup with my wife’s name on it sitting there all lonely and actually tried to hand it to her. How dare this bitch try to give her a coffee that was carefully crafted a mere 23 minutes ago, I mean, really bitch? All sarcasm aside, that girl is lucky their hands never touched because my wife would have dragged her out of the little window and gave her a stern talking to. Now a manager has arrived on scene to diffuse the “altercation”. She solves this entire thing buy re-making her coffee, up-sizing it for her, even adding sprinkles and whipped cream, and the refunding her $6 plus dollars. To top it off, since she knows my wife is a long time loyal patron, she gives he a gift card in equivalence to 30 days of free coffee made in the manner she prefers. That’s the equivalent to just shy of a $200 value for those of y’all counting at home.

So, it’s all been taken care of, right? Wrong! Why? Because I get to hear about the whole fucking thing for a second time once she got home. Also, had to listen to her talk and angry text on her phone the rest of the night. Now, I know it seems as though I am petty and don’t care about her problems, but it’s just fucking coffee. Don’t ever try to tell a coffee person it’s just “coffee” and expect to survive. Now I get to fight with my wife because I failed to take all of this bullshit serious one little bit. Oh, trust me when I tell y’all that it has escalated beyond an “I’m sorry” at this point, there may be big trouble brewing now. I know I’m a bastard for not taking this seriously, but how can I?

The image above was borrowed from the internet, a Google search more specifically, and do not have permission to use it today, tomorrow, or any other day. Oddly enough, I Googled “coffee zombie” and it was one of the results. I liked the look and decided to use it. If it belongs to you and you can prove it in writing I will gladly give you credit or remove it upon your request.

 

I Was Walking In A Circle

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I realized that my feet felt as if they weighed a ton a piece, looking down I see that I’m wading through a foot of thick mud, going towards what appeared to be the direction I was drawn to head. The closer it seemed I would get to my destination I would notice the distance increase. I was carrying a bag which seemed to get heavier by the step, I wonder what I could be carrying that could weigh so much, I wanted to open the bag but in the darkness I don’t know how I would see inside. Hearing the loud crashes of thunder I wanted to move faster, I wanted to find shelter, as I watched the flashes of lightning in the distance I wanted to get away from the tall trees, but the flashes got brighter and the thickness of trees only increased, the more I pushed the more trees I can see. Hours seem to pass before my surroundings begin to seem familiar, I’ve been here before, and before that I was here also, but where is here, why do I keep coming back, I keep finding the same path, leading me to the same damn place, I’ve been here but this place is not familiar, it’s darkness reminds me of having my eyes closed, unable to see, only being able to hear, to feel, and smell the rot in the humid air. What is that familiar smell, why do I know the soothing scent, it is pleasing to me, it makes me feel secure in a place I should know but don’t recognize. As I rest I feel each drop of the rain touch my face, rolling down the skin like warm tears. In my mind I hear Freebird, it’s loud and I hear it echo in the trees, I need to start moving now, I need to get to a safer place, this place smells of death, it smells of rotting corpses, there are thousands of them. As the light of day breaks I can see the bodies I’m walking on, wading through like mud, the blood is over the top of my boots, it’s weight is increasing with every step, I look down and see the faces, faces that didn’t see what had killed them, I know what killed them, I know what the thunder is, I know the lightning flashes, I know what has happened.

As I sit in my recliner with my eyes closed shut, telling my wife for the first time ever what it was like to see the destruction as a result of what I did while in the Air Force. The reality of it is that it isn’t a forest, it is a desert, it is a place I never want to return to, and rarely, if never, talk about it. I’ve been married for 16 years, to a wife that came along after the Air Force, she just doesn’t want to understand, and I’m okay with that. The mere fact that I’m writing about it amazes me, it still hurts, it is still fresh when I close my eyes, and I fear there are not enough pleasant memories ahead to knock it the fuck out. I spent years detached from the reality that the weapons I helped build destroyed life and property, it wasn’t me pulling the trigger, it wasn’t me hitting the target, but a simple walk down a deserted street after a carpet bombing the night before let reality set in, no longer was I detached, no longer was I innocent, and I knew then changes needed to happen or I would lose my mind. Like a good soldier I pressed forward, putting behind me horrors that cannot be unseen or forgotten. What gets seen cannot be unseen, unfortunately it is very true. My wife wants me to talk to a headshrinker, I opted out. And now I see, once again, talking about it isn’t worth a fuck, I just leave more out each time. I hope that in time, preferably before my wife has me cremated, that I just forgot about the shit and everyone else forgets it as well.

When I talk about Desert Storm and later The Liberation of Kuwait it is to educate myself and others about how the real world is, beyond the news, beyond the media, beyond what the politicians think they know. There is zero reasons I should feel guilty for being a part of the machine which is called the military. I took responsibility for my personal contributions while in the Air Force, I do not blame others, there was no gun to my head, I served, fuck it, I’m a proud veteran, I can’t ever take it back. Some of y’all understand my pain, the rest of all will never have a fucking clue, y’all are the lucky ones, the innocent ones, the ones who close their eyes without fear. Anyway, to my wife who is reading this post, I hope this has helped you, at least a little. I never asked to be anyone’s hero, I never asked for people to thank me, I never asked for people to want to take a picture with me if they find out I’m a disabled veteran, I just joined the Air Force because I wanted to serve my country because I thought I could and would make a difference. But, I can’t fix stupid and stupid wanted a robot who didn’t care, that person is not me.

Before I go, let me tell you about the one and only time my ex-wife was able to pry out of me what I didn’t want open. Y’all see, she was studying to become a sociologist and well on her way to being a social worker, she thought we could talk about it, that I would be comfortable knowing that she, of all people, would not pass judgment. When I was done talking she was in tears, she was appalled that I was part of the organization which promotes peace through the use of violence, she told me she was ashamed to be in the same room with me, ashamed to share a last name with me in marriage, and that one day I will pay for my sins of being a baby killer in the deepest, darkest parts of hell, a place reserved for rapists and paedophiles. At first I believed she was right, it matches how I feel, but soon I realized that I am a simple person who was not looking for redemption or forgiveness, I wasn’t even looking for understanding, I just wanted to know if the words I would speak would or could sound like the thoughts in my head or the memories I have or how I feel deep down in that part of me nobody gets to witness, ever. Shit goes there to be buried and forgotten, it takes time to dig it up, nobody quite understands that, scratch that, some do understand, those are the people who don’t have physical scarring but are somewhat fucked in every other way, we know what each other are thinking, not even we understand so we don’t expect others to either. We don’t look for eyes or words if pity, we do appreciate it when others respect us enough as human beings just to let things be.

My wife hugged me, long and tight, not a word spoken, with tears down her face, she told me I’m home, I’m with people whom I love and that love me, support me, and care about me. That was the best hug I have had to this day in my life, a memory I will forever cherish. My message to my wife and to my son who will read this post later is that life happens every minute of every day, take time to see the scenery, smell the rain in the distance, we only have one shot at this life so we better live it to the fullest. My daughters give me their support as well, still I wonder if they really understand or if I just get the nod. This, unless something snaps again, will probably be the last time I discuss any of this on a personal level, this shit sucks to remember, to relive, and to talk about. Some call blogging “therapy”, and it is, but not today, today is more like anger management for me. Remember, no pictures please, ever, for any reason.

Best Friend Or Worst Nightmare

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I’m home alone, bored, and decided I wasn’t done talking in my last post about my wife’s big question. But wait, there’s more. Have you ever just bumbled around the house, bored, nothing really to do? I sat down this morning to write my other post, a tedious event since I do it on my phone, while I was deleting some music and downloading more, yes, I always want more music. But as I got a slab of meat ready for the smoker I wondered what I was going to be doing next. I already ran my errands and knocked that shit out. I realized while writing the last post that over the years as I’ve aged I have changed, both mentally, physically, and emotionally. Not that I miss my youth, but I do appreciate it now where I didn’t then. We all, I guess we all do, find a path in life and pretty much stick to it, mostly out of habit I think. Some call it a “routine”, I call it what it really is, and that’s a habit. Life happens, shit happens, and we roll with it or get rolled over by it.

I’m a pretty relaxed person, some say to relaxed, and I tend to roll with the punches instead of getting into the fight. I realized recently that I have become an asshole to people I don’t know and to those I wish I didn’t know. I suppose this happened over time and becomes more evident the more I get out in public. Seems like every time I open the front door I hear ” welcome to Walmart motherfucker” simply because in the course of my day I will inevitably be forced to interact with people, strangers, other people’s children, and people who definitely should not breed, ever, there dads should have had the common courtesy to just pull out. But noooooooooo, now people with common sense have to deal with your fucking problems because they never did. Anyway, this has nothing to do with the people of Walmart nor is it me thinking I’m better than others, it goes deeper, I’m the problem. I admit it, I’m the problem, or I’m the one with the problem. People are needy little fuckers that just suck the everloving life right out of me. There are many qualities I despise in people, the top two are being lazy and being a liar.

My wife says I have a strange gift, my ability to watch people, read people, and get just shy to understanding them before a word is ever spoken. You’re right, it sounds like I judge them before knowing them. Or I just don’t have time for bullshit and I just cut to the chase. I don’t want my son turning into me, he has a kind a loving heart that never stops giving. The world needs more people just like him, that is of course my biased opinion. I have a crude way I look at life in general, not that I’m special and I’m not the only one life has fucked without any lube, I just learned from it. I don’t want to be a repeat offender at the mercy of others to decide my fate which is decided with a thumbs up or thumbs down. Life has snuck in her fair share of surprises but looky here bitch…… I’m still standing. In people’s defense, I know I don’t give them a fair shake. Honestly, I see no reason to trust a person who has not earned my trust first. Maybe living in the big city has tainted me. I see what Christians call the “7 Deadly Sins” in almost every person I meet or know. No, I’m not perfect, far from perfect, but I do pay attention and I do have a considerable amount of common sense. I learned, and try to explain, the value of one’s life, it only holds value to yourself, only you value you. I spent a considerable amount of my life trying (and failing) to please others to feel as though I have self worth, something frowned upon by Christians, well Catholics, and it took some hard knocks to the head that made me realize I’m more than just a cog in a machine, my life matters to me, and that is what is important.

Getting divorced, divorcing the Air Force, and getting disowned by my family (parents and sisters) all within a few months of each other does wonders for my self esteem. However, I got mad and I stood the fuck back up, giving life the two finger salute she deserved and I got over it. Fuck it. Divorced? Yes, she needed other men in her life, I didn’t want to share. Over, 13 years in the toilet. The Air Force divorced me, I was no longer fit to perform. Over, 12 years in the toilet. My family, with exception to my mother, disowned me after the found out I was not only looking for my biological parents, but was in communication with my biological mother and the family of my biological father since he was already dead. Want to know more, search this blog, I’ve written extensively about being adopted. In their eyes I was wrong for wanting to where I came from. But, slowly, I got them to understand. Now, we all have a pretty nice relationship, except my oldest sister (also adopted) who still despises me all these years later. Fuck, I just wanted to know where I came from and why I was discarded. Anyway, as I said, I got mad, packing, and off to live my life on my terms.

But, damn, my future wife had (and still does) an ass that commanded my full attention. Women, eventhough they’ll never admit it, are tricky crafty creatures, they play coy but know they are the black widow. One can search the blog for more on her as well. I have a favorite story I’m going to share with y’all, which in my opinion sums up people’s selfishness and how self preservation is more often than not compromised because of being closed minded. The moral of the story you ask; don’t tempt fate.

One day, a scorpion was walking around on a riverbank wondering how to get to the opposite bank. He saw a crocodile basking in the sun. The scorpion went up to the crocodile and said “Crocodile, can I please ride on your back across the river?” The crocodile was taken aback with this said. “Why would I do that? When i am swimming, you will sting me, and I will die,” The crocodile said. “Well, if i sting you, you will sink, and i will drown, for I cannot swim,” the scorpion said. With that, the scorpion climbed on the crocodile’s back, and the crocodile swam across the river. In the middle of the river, the scorpion stung the crocodile. “Why? Why would you do that scorpion!? You too will die now! Why!?” “Because… it is in my nature,” the scorpion replied sadly, and with that, they both sank deep into the water.

I don’t recall where I read or heard this story years ago, but as I aged many things rang true in the story if you relate it to the people in your life. Everyone wants to trust everyone all the time while not being worthy of being trusted. Or let me say that in modern terms, we all want full disclosure but are not willing to provide full disclosure in return. With that being said, y’all can think how you will think, its not my choice. But, I do have trust issues outside of my immediate family, for two reasons, in my opinion, two damn great reasons. The two reasons I don’t trust people are because I don’t know them and becomes I do know them. Simple, right? My wife will tell you I trust only a few because it is part of who I am, part of being a Scorpio (either the best friend or the worst enemy), and partly because of fear. My lack of trust, I suppose, has many contributing factors, gathered throughout my life, and resulting in the current me. She tells me that she likes the fact that I write on my blog, she thinks I need to write a book full of the stories I tell here as well as ones in my private life. I tell her just like I tell y’all, this is just a place for me to “talk”. I don’t consider myself a person who writes, I consider myself a person who likes to share stories, I like it here, I share things I like here, I don’t want it to become ” work”, besides, it’s fun this way for me.

I will never see a day without sheeple being herded into conformity. I don’t want to be one of the sheeple. I’m only sure about one thing in my life, one day I will die, but life will continue for the living. I think on that note I will close this out, I expected it to gradually go somewhere but as we see it never really formed into anything. Like I said, I just wanted to talk. I do know one thing tho, the only alternative to being my friend or enemy is not to exist in my world. But, that would be allot like having a cake and eating it alone.

Worst Conversation With My Wife Ever

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Over the years I have made it a point to keep my relationship with my wife and our marriage off of my blog and definitely off of Facebook for sure. Granted, looking back through the years and lifespan of my blogs I see that I’ve scratched the surface enough for readers to know that I am indeed married to a wonderful, caring wife. I don’t just say that here because she reads my blog, it is said and conveyed daily in our private lives, just so y’all know I’m not looking for brownie points from her. My wife and I have a “bad” habit, we talk with each other all the time about things that actually matter, we go beyond talking about work (which is actually forbidden by both of us), the children, or the bills that pile up. Yes, we do talk about those important things but they are not allconsuming to the point where that is all we talk about. We are different in how we talk, I like to talk in a long winded manner, telling stories, and bringing the details to light. Yes, we have talked about that as well, seems to get worse as I age. My wife on the other hand is more emotional about things, eventhough she tries to be short and sweet, she suffers from a similar affliction of not being able to get to the point. She considers it a fault of hers, but I admire that she trusts me with her emotions. The other day we had one of those “out of the blue” conversations that she likes to start on occasion. Out of the blue for me but well thought about on her part. Just know this, I will be 47 next month and she just turned 40 this past June, so I personally understand we are not the same age we were when we got married 17 years ago. We’ve put on a few miles, a few pounds, a few wrinkles, and much gray hair for me personally, we don’t talk about her one or two she has pop up, we just color it and move on.

So, she asks me if I think she is turning into her mother as she gets older. I will explain my answers here as I explained them to her. A husband who pays attention to his wife sees changes over time, sees the different moods and generally knows what causes them and what cures them, he listens not only to what she is saying but what isn’t being said as well. I like to think I have a good handle on “reading” my wife and she has a great flare for doing the same to me. We have learned that there is a time and place for everything. I don’t know about other marriages but I consider ours healthy in many ways, the main one being we still love one another, it not tolerating each other, it’s wanting to be with each other, needing and depending on one another to get through each day and night. The answer to the question is no I don’t think she is turning into her mother. But, and this but raised an eyebrow with my wife, as we get older, as our children get older, I see her professional life taking over the mother and wife life. Meaning, she puts in long exhausting days at the office being a manager and being in charge of people, money, and property all with the goal of turning a profit. Most people don’t think of a doctor’s office as a business and the goal of every business is to make money. She has been an office manager there for 14 years, she knows her shit frontwards and backwards. On top of that, she does it all with just her high school GED. (Life happened, that’s all I want to say). But when she gets home she doesn’t need to be in charge, everything at home usually runs like a well oiled machine, thanks in no small way to my own personal efforts. You see, I work my 40 hour work week in three days over the weekend, so I am home all week long mostly.

Yes, I have seen her go from her early 20s to now 40, yes the body I knew for her then has changed, yes her mind has matured as well, and yes I do see the start of the crows feet wrinkles and the occasional gray hair or three. Big deal, we’ve gotten older, it was expected, I knew it would happen, her problem, in my opinion as told to her, is she has yet to accept the fact that she has now turned 40. Women, in general, in my opinion, treat 40 like a death sentence or something that is so feared that when it happens that they magically are going to change and not be wanted any longer. I have never, nor will I ever, tell my wife I want to trade her in for two 20 year olds. I like where we are in life together. Does my wife wear a moo-moo? No she does not. She does wear sweats and my old t-shirts around the house. When not at work she has her hair up in a pony tail and isn’t wearing make-up, which is what I like. I don’t like all the make-up and bullshit, but she does, so I shut up. But what she really wants to know is if I think that she is mentally, or the way she speaks, or how she acts, or how she thinks, or is anything she does show signs of her turning into her mother. This ultimately could be the question of death for me. I might need to sleep with one eye open, she does spend a good deal of time watching the I.D. channel. My fate has now come crystal clear to me, it has all been a dream, now I get to die a horrific death that nobody will ever be able to blame on her. But does it have to be so bad? I think not, and here’s why.

I explained to my wife that she need not worry about her own personal growth, evolution, and development because she should be happy that she remains her own person. It’s true, she’s changed, I’ve changed, we all change for better or worse for whatever the reason may be. I tease her a bit though, and tell her I like her mother, she has some great traits and qualities which I really admire. At the same time, I enjoy who my wife is, how she acts, how she speaks, how she thinks, how she moves, how she dresses, and especially how she makes me feel every single day, which is loved. I unfortunately do not think my answers are well taken or understood simply because I can only give likenesses and observations, because in my opinion, the only person who truly knows the truth is her and how she feels. Yes, I am her partner, but no I don’t read minds, a person can only learn by what he is shown or told when it comes to a relationship such as marriage. Is she the same woman I met all those years ago? Yes and no. But here’s the catch, I like who she is and how she represents herself, she is her own person, I feel lucky to be allowed to be with her through the best of times and the worst of times.

To sum this all up, we all change as we age, we all make a choice to either accept those changes in our partner or to not, and sadly that is why we see marriages fail, failing because people don’t think long term, they don’t consider that maturity makes us different, and we don’t prepare mentally for those kinds of challenges. Why? Only reason I can think of is it is because we are selfish. But I’m no marriage counselor, I’m no expert in the field of relationships, I just a married man who still enjoys the company of his wife. I offer only one piece of advice, find what works for y’all and nurture that entire process and live life like there is no tomorrow, because, you know, shit happens when we least expect it to happen. I look at my late grandparents, married 83 years at the time of his death and she died of a broken heart 2 months later. That’s love, that’s needing the other person to be in your life, that’s being heart-broken when a part of you is missing.

Okay, I’m done with my story, my peak into my private life, and I hope y’all understand that our marriage is not one of tolerance but one of acceptance. We are who we are, it is what it is, and we all just need to relax and be who we are comfortable being. Or be like me, an asshole tainted by my dislikes for people in the general population of our planet. Yes, I have a low tolerance for most people, but at the same time I have compassion towards those I care about, more often than not there is no middle ground, and I don’t play well with others. With that being said, I end this post, but fear not, there will be more, much much more.

Just Stop Eating The Crayons

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Throughout my life it’s been an established fact that I don’t mix well or tolerate people of the fucktard classification. As well, I’ve made it no secret here on this blog. From an outsider’s point of view it may appear I interact with more than my fair share of fucktards and the more I look into that sad little fact it seems to be more true than I’m willing to admit at the moment. Eventhough I’ve never, that means not even once in my life, claimed to be smart, educated, or well versed in any one particular area which I could be considered an expert, with one exception, I have common sense. I have learned over the years, and pointed it out often, that every situation and/or conversation should have a basis in common sense but often skips that particular rational part and heads straight down the rabbit hole. Which is where I usually stop, so I can grab my shovel and fill in the fucking hole so the ignorance can’t get back out. It’s a beautiful process I use because most people cannot handle my version of blunt sarcasm and don’t know how to react. However, last night I met a young man who was more challenging to me than I could have ever easily imagined possible.

Strangely enough I was at Walmart, getting some Crayons, watercolor paints, brushes, and a large pad of art paper to box up to send to my granddaughter for her 4th birthday which is coming up. Crayons were what I was on the hunt for because the school supplies have yet to recover from being picked over since the start of school this past Monday. Anyway, I spotted what looked like the last big box of Crayons and this younger guy, late 20s, reached in and grabbed it before me. He had the look of victory on his face, as if by mere inches he had beaten me in his imaginary race, while lipping to me in silence “eat shit you fucker” as he smiles to walk away. Meanwhile, an older lady in her probably late 70s asked him where he had found that box of Crayons because she has been looking for the better part of 25 minutes with no luck. He got real close to her and, while talking extremely loud, I guess he assumed she was deaf, began by telling her, “sorry you old bitch, you and that other motherfucker there are shit out of luck so you two slow losers should just move the fuck on and get out of the way”. In my head it took me a minute to process what this douchebag just said to her, the lady now who looks very scared. As he walked away I put my hand on his shoulder and told this piece of shit, in my most civil tone, that he owed this woman an apology immediately. With this cockeyed look he asked me ” and what the fuck would I want to do that!” Which is where my sarcasm came flying out when I told him that “I’d love to explain it to you but I don’t have any Crayons”. I further explained to him what a grand gesture it would be if he were to just hand her the box of Crayons and then walk away. By this time we have sparked the interest of a Walmart manager who asked if there was something she could help with. The dickhead barked off to her the she could kindly fuck off. C’mon man, its just Crayons is all I can think to myself.

And then this man opens the box of Crayons and begins shoveling them into his mouth, chewing them up with his mouth open and slobbery pieces falling out when he tells me ” if y’all want these Crayons so bad y’all can pick the nuggets out of my shit later tonight. ” I know I was just staring at him in amazement as I watched him walk to the line to check out. By this time he was greeted by our friendly boys in blue who kindly helped him find his way outside the store. Well, shit, I guess I’m done here, I checked out, and was waiting on my son in the restroom when the older lady came up to me asked if I minded if she hugged me as she was hugging me. My son caught the end of the hug and then she told him he was lucky he didn’t have a violent dad, and he replied to her saying “my dad isn’t violent but he hates Crayon eating crazies.” She cracked a smile and walked off. As we walked out we see the Crayon eater in the back seat of the patrol car, I wonder how he plans on explaining his behavior to the judge.

On the way home my 14 year old son, now a freshman in high school, explained to how surprised and disappointed he was in the man’s behavior, and while shaking his head he says “some people’s children”. Of course as soon as we get home he started telling his mother about the Crayon eater, who stood there with her jaw dropped in amazement. She explained the ONLY reason his dad didn’t kick this piece of shit’s ass is because he knows he’s too old to be someone’s girlfriend in jail. I guess that does cross my mind. As I think back on this whole thing I’m still left wondering what would posses an individual to eat Crayons to show his victory. I’m reminded that he has already reproduced, I would assume, or maybe the Crayons were for personal use. Fortunately I will NEVER have the displeasure of knowing. Now I get to add him to the growing list of fantastic fucktards I have met in my lifetime. If it matters, I did find some Crayons for my granddaughter, one day I will have to tell her this story if her mother doesn’t beat me to it.

Speaking Of People Watching ……..

Okay boys and girls I have a little adventure to tell you about. Very recently I found myself at the mall with my wife, my birthday present to her was not actually a present, it was a trip to her favorite stores to pick out clothes she has wanted. The longer we are married the harder it is to get gifts for special occasions. Some of y’all might actually feel the same way, plus giving someone a gift blindly is very hit or miss, what they liked yesterday may have very well changed overnight. So, I have a bad habit, I don’t buy gifts, we go places or do something or in this case we made a special trip to the mall. In general, my wife was a little confused, for the first time I wasn’t clear about the budget, sure I had one in mind since going over the budget would have cut into the bill paying. Nevertheless, I told her that she had free reign, she knows the bank account and so forth and I knew she would “shop responsibly” in the end. Plus, as a direct bonus to me, I was there to help pick out new summer attire, that is if she actually buys anything. Usually, whether for work or for street clothes, I always get to go because she wants my “opinion”. Oh well, its just the way it is.

The first place she goes into is Victoria’s Secret, a store in my opinion which has gone seriously down hill because everything is geared toward the “teen” and everything has become tame and lame. I understand business, but I remember the Victoria’s Secret from back in the day when I was dating my ex, and it rivaled Fredrick’s of Hollywood at the time. So, the moral of the story is that if you want “trashy” lingerie you need to shop at Zone D Exotica or buy it online. How can a person buy lingerie, in general, online? Anyhow, we go in because she “needs” (wants) new bras and Victoria’s secret has convinced her over the years that she can only wear their brand bras because of her figure. At least that is the line I’ve heard from them and my wife repeat. Ok, she’s 5’2″, about 115#, where’s a size 2, and sports 36DDDs. I joked with her the other day because she was feeling her age, and in a complimentary fashion I mentioned that I haven’t noticed her age because the boobs are still rockin’ all on their own. She tells me one day they won’t be that way, yea, but that day is not today! In the store she picks out a few sets of varying colors, I know this because she tells me as we go along. I don’t personally care what they look like, however I don’t care for the padded ones since she doesn’t need help squishing the boobs out. I can always convince the employees that I need to be in the fitting room with her because she cant come out to show me and model the lingerie. In 17 years I have been told no only once, and that just turned into selfie after selfie after selfie. Other husbands sit outside, looking very uncomfortable sitting in the pink and white striped boudoir chair, holding her purse, and keeping the small children in line. So, we found one bra and panty set that she was happy with, she tried on 14 sets and some more singles. I’m not complaining, I enjoy the show, in fact I love the show, I was just saying. We wait in line, pay the $72.89, and we exit happily.

She wanted some new jean shorts, tank tops, and a new bikini. I don’t know that all of those things can be purchased in one store, but we were going to give it a shot. She likes Hollister so we started there, not my favorite store, clothes are more for the teen with an assload of daddy’s money. But, she likes their jeans and jean shorts. Being familiar with this store as she comes here allot, I know that when its time to try on everything that is there barely enough room for one person, so I know I will be riding the imitation plastic leather couch, holding her purse and the remainder of the clothes. How do you try on clothes in a 2’x2′ closet anyway? She was put in the room right by the end of the couch, I could touch the door handle I was so close. One thing I hate about this store is the over abuse of perfumes and colognes people wear in a confined space. Makes my eyes water, not good when I wear contacts. Reminds me of the VIP rooms at a strip club, mixed perfumes, mixed sweat in the chairs, spilled alcohol on the floor, it generally has such a musk that it reminds me of a funeral parlor where all of the older ladies feel they must bath in their preferred scent as if to compete with all of the others. I like a lite pleasant smell, one you don’t notice until you are close to the nape of the neck, y’all know what I’m talking about. Then, BOOM, she walks out in a pair of these jean shorts that are very tight, very short, yet still tasteful enough because her vagina isn’t eating them and spilling out the leg holes. Impressive! My wife does not get into the whole “if it zips it fits” craze. She prefers comfortably snug. She tries on a few more, same style, different colors, they all look fine enough to me, but that’s not the answer we are looking for and I know it, so I go for the white pair and the blue jean pair, both show off her tanned legs nicely. Holy fuck! Two pair of shorts were $93.89 and we still weren’t done, off to the Guess store, a personal favorite of mine.

The Guess store was an utter clusterfuck with the summer sale going on, shit everywhere it wasn’t supposed to be, employees talking and texting instead of helping people out. Luckily for us, the bathing suit section hadn’t been raped and ransacked yet, well not real bad in my opinion. She picks out three that she likes and one I was fond of because it was different. She hates all of them after trying them on, looking to old ladyish for her taste. At this point in time she talks me into driving to Galveston, about a 50 minute drive for us, to go suit shopping, she wants to go back to a place she bought hers for our trip to Florida a few years back. Sure, why not, I was done with the mall anyway. We load up her bags in the trunk of the Mustang and head to the Strand, a section of Galveston that has existed since the 1800s, now its mostly shops, bars, and restaurants. While driving through Houston in average Houston traffic, meaning it was steady and thick but moving at about 75mph, my wife slips off the jeans she is wearing, surprise for me, and slips on her new white shorts after cutting the tags off. I didn’t even see her bring them into the car. Ever want to make the women in the car next to you on the passenger side blush? Have your wife changing in the car doing 80 mph passing an SUV with the woman and her boys in the back seat gawking. We arrived safely to Galveston, park, pay, and off we are walking.

She spots a few tanks in the window of the surf shop we were walking by and pulls me inside to go check them out. She was looking for the kind one wears sans bra, its a special kind from what she tells me, got a liner in it so the person wearing it isn’t pointing at everyone looking like she is smuggling raisins. I’m good either way. This is a giant store, there are racks after racks after rack of bathing suits, even the female employees were wearing tiny little bikinis. I like this place already. It was amazing to watch the guys in the store that were there with their wives, girlfriends, friends, or significant others. While watching them watching the tiny bikini clad girls walk around, bending over with straight legs, and stretching to the point that the material of their tops was at the point of failing, which would be catastrophic, boobs everywhere if it happens., I noticed that they also were selling margaritas and daiquiris, bonus. Cheap as well, I don’t prefer frozen margaritas but two giant one’s served in a souvenir style cup with a really crazy straw was only eight bucks. I hand my wife hers and away we go to start the hunt. She picked out one style she liked, only one suit too, and without showing it to me on the hanger she disappears into the changing room. I meandered over, giving her time to wiggle out of her closes and wiggle back into the suit she is trying on. She pulls the curtain back far enough for me to tie the strings on the back for her. She closes the curtain, and we know why, she needs the time to “adjust” everything so there is nothing hanging out that shouldn’t be. The curtain rips open! There she stands, my tanned wife in a white bikini, she is looking slick, she spins in the mirrors outside the changing room, and I guess she decides she is not liking it after all. I’m instructed to stand there and guard her “stuff” while she gets another. Remember I was talking about the guys in the store, well, they aren’t shy about staring, not even a little subtle, but then again, I was pleasantly watching her walk away as well. I see an employee, half her age, helping her out, pointing around and so forth, and then my wife returns. I was told she didn’t care for the first one, the bottoms felt like they were sliding inside her and she feared a very revealing cameltoe. So, she explained she was looking for “cunt huggers” not “cunt eaters” like the one she just tried on. She gets a dirty potty mouth at all the appropriate times, but I saw her point, trust me. She finds one that makes her happy, I never got to see it either, I was told it will be a surprise. While doing a secret check out, hiding it all from me, the same employee who was helping her began talking with my wife again. Apparently she is the manager of the store and thinks my wife has some talents that she would like to employ. Yes, she offered her a job on the weekends. The pay wasn’t bad, $20 an hour plus tips, part time, no benefits, but 80% of clothing in the store as long as she was an employee. Also, she would be able to use my veteran’s discount for an additional 10% off. My wife is actually considering it, she thinks it will be fun, she likes the uniform, and she thinks she would be a help to the older crowd who are a bit shyer in their needs. She has to call her by this Friday afternoon if she wants to give it a shot this weekend.

So now we walk around some more, stopping in at many more island shops, drinking many more margaritas, and finally we got back in the car, not to go home, but to head to the seawall to park so we could go walk the beach for a while. There was a beautiful sunset, we watched the sun slowly but surely descend into the depths of the horizon. Feeling hungry we walked over to a seafood place, I cant remember the name tho for some reason, but we went in, it was very laid back, had classic rock playing relatively load, but it was the coziness of it that made it a cool environment. We ordered, we ate, we talked, talked allot about this summer and what we wanted to do, we are going to San Antonio for the 4th of July weekend, which I already knew, since it is going to be my father’s day present from the kids. To sum it all up, it was nice to go out alone with my wife, something that is very rare anymore, but this is something we both committed to change starting right then. Fine with me, that’s why I married her, to spend time with her, to be able to do things together. There are many more reasons of course, but we wanted a life together to do things together. Also, we discussed the upcoming concerts for the rest of the year, told me to pick three or four so we could go. Has my wife received a headwound? She is volunteering to see rock concerts? Nice. I mentioned our vacation to Florida two years ago, I was doing something with the kids and I get a text from my wife with this picture attached, asking me if I would join her on the beach for a walk. What do y’all think my answer was?

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