Worse than bunco?

What could be worse than bunco?! Couples bunco. Yes, I was lured in to a couples bunco game. Without my significant other by the way. "Pretty Boy" ended up working and I ended up being the other half of an abandoned wife sandwich. There are 3 absolute truths to bunco.

1. Without alcohol it would cease to exist.

2. It requires absolutely no skill whatsoever.

3. I suck at luck and at small talk therefore I suck at bunco.

To top it all off, no matter how hard I tried I couldn't talk anyone into taking the Patron challenge.

Spirited

I have decided that when someone calls you "spirited" it is their way of calling you childish and irregular. I am usually the odd man out in many social circles, the youngest of the mom's, the tattooed girl with pink hair who is a hard working conservative responsible perfectionist. I am Martha Stewart meets Juno. Being the odd man out makes me want to defend other oddees, especially when being judged by outwardly conservative, inwardly corrupt "normal people". During my defenses it never fails that someone near will reach a hand out to rest on my shoulder and politely tell me, "THEY aren't like YOU... you are just spirited. " I also get a lot of, "You're so funny..." But mostly I am not spirited... I am ME. And I am not being funny, I was totally serious about your pants making you look fat. PS. I got a great shot of the Mother's Day roses that my boss bought me this week.

Dad

On any given day I will have around 500 hundred random thoughts about the meaning of the Universe. My brain can quite quickly shift from turning right at the next light to forks in the road of life. I think it's a great way to keep yourself in check. You can't get too caught up in your own feelings when you're only a tiny insignificant dot in the middle of the universe during a spec of time. BTW that is as deep as this blog will ever get. Self righteous intellectuals blogging is like listening to Lindsey Lohan say she doesn't have a vicodin addiction... bullshit. I had a visit today with my grandfather, who is 90 years old and who is at this moment in the hospital. Visiting him in the hospital does two things to me. #1 Makes me hopeful that I will live a long and fulfilling life, and that my grand daughter will be awesome enough to come and visit me. #2 Makes me relive the long ridiculous journey of watching my father kill himself slowly with drugs and alcohol while sitting at his bedside. Right now I am choosing to sink my teeth into #2 and sit on it for a while. Not in pity, more like in awe. I am the only person I know (siblings not included) that had a fully functioning suburban father that held down the same job for 25 years who was a heroin addict. Not glamorous like Iggy Pop or Kurt Cobain. More like Jessie from Full House. Drinking all day and shooting up in the "kids" bathroom before going to a shitty wedding to play bad cover songs. I don't know what upsets me more? That he did it, or that he seemed to do it with no conviction. On a lighter note I harvested some peas from my garden this week that were outstanding, and got a great shot of just how voluptuous they were.

Today I wore "pretty boy"s deodorant, and was distracted all day at work. Every time I reached up to grab something on a high shelf I caught a waft of manly man scent and found myself aroused and confused. Smells are important. I also spent about a half an hour photoshopping my mother-in-laws picture to make her look young, tight and 20. Really, I just want her to like me. These are both very large accomplishments for a day where the universe was out to get me. Do you ever wake up and feel like every asshole on the road is driving just slow enough to make you want to ram your car right up the back of their car ass? I am willing to take responsibility for having the grumpies, but there were a lot of shitty drivers on the road today, and I was behind every one of them. I felt like Kanye West on the beach in Brazil. I think this week has made me tired. My son has pneumonia, I'm not going to say any more about him because pretentious mom blogs are ridiculous and I have never been fond of soap boxes. And I spent the weekend out of town visiting said in laws. I did manage to get some pretty delicious photos this week though.

Beer

Last night I made my first attempt at a home brew. I use the term "I made" loosely as I have neither the patience nor the attention span needed to produce this fine gold like substance. I imagine that is why I have heard so many horror stories of exploding bottles saturating an entire wardrobe from the closet floor. In this adventure I was merely a sous chef, stirring and holding funnels when necessary. "Pretty Boy" of course had the entire game plan organized from start to finish, sanitized as strictly as advised, and even took the time to take notes in the duration to help him on future batches. This is a man who clearly is about the journey... not the destination. Total brew time was probably around 4 hours. ( kids don't try this at home ) It was midnight before we lay the carboy down to sleep under nice snuggly blanket. Because I get distracted so easily, about half way through I watched a documentary called "No Impact Man" and decided the title was more accurate then I had hoped. At about three quarters of the way through I found my camera and ditched most of the last efforts of beer making, but ended up with some great shots of what will soon fill my belly.