I’m Baaaaaaack

Loyal readers, your patience has been tested. And, today, it is rewarded.

I have awaken from my slumber. I am back. And you reap the benefits.

So many topics. Where do I start? Well, how about some random thoughts so I can catch you up on things in my world.

After all, isn’t that why you’re here?

Is Thanksgiving really next week? I love Thanksgiving. Why? Because I love cranberry sauce in the can. And here’s the thing about that. It’s not sauce. If it were sauce, why would it be like jello? Don’t you pour a sauce? That’s my judgment on whether or not something is a sauce. Try it. You can’t poor cranberry sauce (the smooth kind, I’m talking about) out of a can. But, that’s the name. And I love it.

I’m sick and tired of the “mid-season” or “fall” finale in TV land. What’s up with that?

I love my son. Can’t love any more than I love him. We’re potty training. (He’s 2 and 1/2.) We’ve got the nighttime thing down pat. So now we’re working on other times during the day. So this morning, I’m eating breakfast, mom’s already at work and he’s playing with his trains in the other room without a diaper.

Next thing I hear is, “Daddy get potty.”

I’m pretty excited at this point. Wow. He could feel it and he told me. He knows what’s coming. Well, almost. I get over there to find him with soaking wet sweat pants, a pee puddle on the rug and big ‘ol smile on his face. “A went potty.” Yes, he did.

I’m 37. I shouldn’t get zits.

I understand why construction guys where hard hats when they are on the site. But, my god, why do they where them all the time — even when they are nowhere near the site? Someone just walked by my window with a hard hat. The site is probalby a half-mile from where he is. Is he afraid of things falling out of the sky and bopping him on the head? Weird.

I’m hungry. Fish and chips at the Portugese Club. Nobody makes fish and chips better than them. Well, except for me when I was the fastest (and best) fry cook in the world 20 years ago.

It’s weird that I can say, “20 years ago.” Makes me feel crazy old. But I don’t feel crazy old. Does that make sense?

That’s all for now, I think.

What else? I got nothin’.

2 Comments on “I’m Baaaaaaack”

  1. Anna S. says:

    What’s this whole “we’ve got the nighttime thing down pat” thing?”

    We do too–it’s called diapers. Are you seriously telling me you have a dry boy in the morning?OMG!!!

    Though, on the same topic, Will did get an outing to Mystic Drawbridge ice cream yesterday for some serious potty accomplishments—I don’t think I have to spell it out for you. But he would if he saw you.

    And yes, completely tired of this fake TV season business. Do they not realize we are the same people who have been watching TV long before we had TIVO, reality programming and online forums to discuss the TV you just saw? It’s like when a soap opera slips in a new actor and passes off the new face as the result of one of those pesky mutilating car accidents. WE KNOW IT WASN’T ALWAYS LIKE THIS AND DON’T ACT LIKE IT WAS!

    True confession–I lived around the corner from the Portuguese Club for five years and have never gone to fish and chips there. Every year I say I’m going to do it.

  2. John Campbell says:

    My Dad gets senior zits so, you’re at that age where you’ll still get them my friend.

    My Daughter in one of her trips to the potty before being fully potty trained.

    One Day:

    Poop # 1: Huge….I mean Huge….
    Poop # 2: Very Big….pretty big.
    Poop # 3: A pile of mud. When she turned around to look at it she said, “Daddy…Look. Turtle.”

    I crapped my pants laughing so hard.

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