So my doctor says i need to wear compression socks…and they look amazing. NOT!!!! Since my diagnosis with diabetes I have been to the multiple doctors offices…a lot of doctors, and a lot of times. I recently noticed my ankles were swollen. really swollen. I mean Fred Flintstone like swollen.

 Not quite this bad but this is really close.

And they hurt a bit too. The pain isn’t constant, but it is not comfortable to say the least. I cannot recommend Googling leg vein issues. I tried to find a picture like the one he showed me of what my leg veins look like just now and I saw some levels of nastiness I can never unsee. Not grandma porn bad, but pretty close.

In all fairness I have not been kind to my feet over the years. I am a fair bit overweight, in case you didn’t notice. I also have broken toes more than Evil Kenevil broke, well his everything. ok, maybe this is a slight exaggeration, but it has been a lot.

I am not a vain person by any stretch of the imagination, but wearing these silly ass socks today with a pair of shorts I felt like I was the bearded lady at the circus. And I live in Arizona, so not wearing shorts is not an option. Also thanks to my friend Dexter, my sock game was elevated while I was in New York. The bar is pretty high. I Googled “cool compression socks for men” and this is the very first image.

Really Google? That’s the best you got? Maybe I will start a sock company for old, fat, poor leg circulation guys that have been recently diagnosed with diabetes, a complete change to their diet, no sugar beverages, have 7 kids, 4 dogs, 4 cats, 2 ex wives and ho’s in different area codes that do a podcast since therapy is really expensive and are a bit anal-retentive about cleanliness and have a fair smattering of OCD and an aversion to finding something sticky anywhere…ever. Is that too specific a demographic? Maybe I will leave it to Amazon.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

So, when I built out my studio last year by enclosing one of our garages, we decided not to add ducting for the central air from the house to that space. Our thought was, since we didn’t pull permits and have this done “BY CODE”, we are just going to rip down the wall we added when we are ready to move out and call it a day. That ‘day’ is no sooner than 9 years away, but I am kind of a “live in the moment” kind of guy. To start with, I thought a fan would be good enough. I was wrong. Then I bought a portable AC unit and used that and the fan together. It is cool enough on most days (when is is not 120˚c degrees outside). The problem is, I built a recording studio….you know, to record stuff….audio stuff…..like with microphones…and a mixer….and sound software…and, as it turns out…a portable AC unit and a fan are not quiet. And did I mention this is an audio recording type situation? I think I might have, but I am not sure.

 

I present the DeLonghi Portable Air Conditioner 12,500 BTU’s. It is rated for rooms up to 400 sq. feet. DeLonghi says:

Cools Any Room

Window-mounted air conditioners can help beat the summer heat, but their cooling powers are confined to a single room. This powerful unit is wheel-mounted, so it can roll through the house to combat hot, muggy weather in whatever room you’re using. While watching TV or sleeping, switch on the quiet mode to chill rooms without disruption.

 

I assure you, they are 100% incorrect that it “COOLS ANY ROOM”, to say nothing about the “quiet mode”. Maybe it is just not made to cool rooms that are hotter than hell to begin with. Maybe one persons quiet is another persons loud as all F#*K. All that being the case, it worked fine last year. This year is a completely different story.

In Arizona, this year it was hotter than last year. We also have not had rain, as of yet, in the city we live in. The cities around us, all of them, every last one, no exclusions, I really mean all of them, have had rain this year. We had a friggin monsoon the other night that caused flooding in many places. You heard me, flooding.  Here at Casa de Steve? Bone dry and hovering around 110˚ most days. My poor lil DeLonghi could not maintain. I decided to try to port some of that sweet 73˚ house air out to my studio. But how to achieve this?  Steve, do you possess the necessary knowledge or abilities to perform the aforementioned task? 100% no, but I know people.

A couple months ago a gentlemen, who is a listener of my podcast (and also Saturday Morning Samoflange by my dear friend Mr Expanded Universe, Matt Wilkins) reached out to me and we began talking about podcasting. He had started his own podcast, and I was lucky enough to be on an episode with he and his wife. He also happens to be a handyman as one of the many hats he wears. He tells me he used to work in HVAC, and the task of ducting that sweet 73˚ house air should be as simple as making rice krispy treats is for my Amazing Amy. That makes me happy, since Amy is a wiz in the kitchen. This sounds like a no-brainer. We pick a start time of 7am, so we can begin before the super hateful temperatures really begin.

Now, let me say at this point, I am totally going to be his “pass me the wizbang ferclempto spanner” and “go get me a cold beverage” boy in this endeavor. I am totally on board with that. What I didn’t think about is that directly above my studio, in what I thought was the attic crawl space, is my daughters room, not an attic. Long story short, AC cannot be done that way and I have to either live with the heat and noise of a portable ac unit, or live with the heat and the noise of a portable ac unit. Totally up to me. My friend felt really bad, but there is nothing either one of us could do except get in our Delorian, drive 88 miles per hour and stop the designer of my house from being so effective in his use of space… stupid architect.

Maybe next year I will pull a permit and add a window and a wall mounted AC unit. The Amazing Amy, being a glass is half full kinda female, has said that what the Saga of Steve Rogers has is a summer studio (my walk in closet) and a rest of the year studio. Till then YOLO…it’s back in the closet for this guy.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

 

 

That’s the advice my Amazing Amy gave me after I took last Friday as a vacation day to make this Memorial Day Weekend extra awesome. I spent most of it in the bathroom with, what can only be described as, explosive diarrhea…your welcome.

The gastrointestinal delight lasted for 5 days and ended with me in urgent care and taking yet another sick day from work the day after a holiday weekend. The urgent care doctor gave me a plastic catch bin to sit between the water and my bum to catch the aforementioned explosion and three separate sample tubes to fill and return to them to run tests on for whatever parasites may have caused this. True to form, once I get home my body decides to accept the 5 days of the Pepto, Imodium and Maalox and stop all passage from that orifice all together. And just as unexpectedly as it began, it ended…not with a bang, but a whimper.

You may be asking yourself why I am telling you this. Why would anyone submit their horrible fecal terror for the world to hear about, to laugh at or ridicule me for? Why? Because I care. Learn from my mistakes. If Amazing Amy, or whatever you call your much better half, tells you that according to her tracking of events, when you try to take a longer weekend your body doesn’t like it very much and you are likely to suffer some Illness that will turn your expected joyous time away from work into a shit show, listen to her. She is smarter than you by far.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

The mice are bored to death.

     My Amazing Amy has been gone since noon Wednesday, having taken all 5 girls with her on a craft- focused road trip, and I am bored to death. It is quiet and I am utterly lost. Don’t get it twisted, I love how things remain where I left them and things are in the place they belong (like the remote for the living room tv that was once discovered upstairs in the kids bathroom of all places), how I have not had to yell at anyone or mediate a fight over the Disney Channel or Minecraft, how the sink isn’t overflowing with dishes not washed off or dishes coming out of the dishwasher still covered in food because they went in with dried on food and Faith, my 13 year old doesn’t bother to look at the dishes she puts away to see if there are “food remnants ” or the counters and the random sticky spots that have no reason to be sticky at all; but I am bored nonetheless.

     I do have the 4 dogs, 4 cats, 3 guinea pigs  and a teenaged boy still here that all seem to be acting like the rules don’t apply while “mom” isn’t there to regulate, so there is that to look forward to. I am also confronted with a house that is too big for one person to keep clean. With the 8 animals that are able to roam free there come random mystery stains that really are not much of a mystery. No need to warm up the Mystery Machine and round up Scooby snacks, we know what they represent.

     I know delegation is the key, but with no one to delegate to, I found myself feeling that the cleanliness of the house was not really all that important. If you know me at all you know I am all about order. I couldn’t go to bed one night a few years ago because I noticed one of the remote controls was not in the wire basket on the coffee table where it belongs and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it as I lay in bed. It took me about 30 minutes to find it and I remain to this day convinced it was moved by Ashton Kutcher and I was being Punk’d. Amy is forever telling me to “let it go”, so I think she would be proud of me, but also a little sad it took her leaving the state and abandoning her husband for me to achieve this. Overly dramatic? I think not.

      The last thing is the responsibilities I was ill prepared for. At 2:24am Friday night one of the dogs woke me so he could go outside. Amy would usually takes care of this and I continue to sleep uninterrupted. He didn’t pee or poop, he just seemed to want to see the patio, shake his head really fast back and forth, stretch his back and yawn and then come back inside. It is now 4:51am and while Elton Dog went straight back to sleep, I am watching clips from The Daily Show on my Facebook feed and listening to him snore and chase an imaginary bunny in his dream. Ugh!

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

I just wanted to write a quick post to describe my night. I just set up my website via WordPress and it has been kind of a PITA. If you have never used it I encourage you to get an idiots guide to WordPress from Amazon.com first and then, after trying to fix a minor issue for hours, get someone smarter than you to help. Since I am the smartest person I know, that isn’t an option for me. Needless to say, my minor issue is still ongoing as I write this. If you can help, holla at cha boy.

 

I am watching my Anaheim Ducks (no longer called mighty unfortunately) against the Nashville Predators. It was pointed out to me that there are a LOT of empty seats in the Honda Center (it will always be The Pond to me), but my Ducks just tied up the game. QUACK QUACK!!

 

I am sitting at the table enjoying the sound of silence as the 4 youngest girls are away this weekend. They go away every other weekend and Amazing Amy has also announced a road trip starting this coming Wednesday and ending Sunday. I am convinced, after seeing the itinerary, that Monday is more likely, but I am told to stop being a pessimist. I will be home alone with Alejandro, probably getting my ass handed to me playing Injustice 2. I am not much of a gamer, but I enjoy when I do play.

 

Last thing before I go finish the game is today I had a device stuck into me today that will measure my blood sugar over a 4-day period and then my meds will be adjusted. It is the size of a jump drive and has a little needle that is inserted into my stomach fat. Aleea said it was the most disgusting thing she had ever seen while Violet was not phased at all. “I have a really high tolerance for gross”, was her comment. What a glowing endorsement.

 

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

In my single life I bought an X-Box 360. I didn’t have many games and I rarely played it, but it was mine. When I moved in with my Amazing Amy, I traded it all for the X-Box One, a newer, faster, better version of a system I would rarely play. I bought a couple games I thought everyone would enjoy and I bought 4 controllers. Since then I have bought many new games, some with the intention of playing them myself and others to play with the family. 3 of the original controllers are broken due to neglect by the kids. I was lucky enough to get the Microsoft Store to replace 2 at no charge. The other one remains a hardly ever working thing I never used and probably never will.
If I am being honest I don’t like video games. I am not good at them and the kids often laugh at me and make fun of the total lack of skills I have when I try to play in front of them. I was first made aware of my lack of skills when I played Halo online and was repeatedly murdered by grade school kids and then humiliated by them T-bagging me while I lay shot, bleeding out and dying. That will make you realize game play has passed you by with the quickness. I also loved hearing the high pitched tones of, what I can only assume is, an elementary school child telling me to “take that bitch” while he simulates a sex act he couldn’t possibly fathom. That’s fun.
So like I mentioned, I bought some games for others, but some I bought for me. I downloaded them to my X-Box, and some I played, albeit poorly, and others I simply downloaded because I bought them and, at some point in my future, might be getting too big for my britches, feeling a bit overconfident and need to be chopped down a few pegs by a toddler. Well I can’t now because the games I bought and downloaded have been removed from my game system and replaced by what others want…on my game system. I get that I bought it “for the family” and I also get that I hardly ever play it. So why am I so bent outta shape by the fact that everything I want to be there isn’t?
Let me pause this little self examination to say I love my family. I feel like they are mine and I am theirs. I have cried for and with them. I have stayed up thinking about the things they say, not knowing that I am hurt, and cried. I have felt like they care as much for me as I do them and I have felt like they couldn’t care less about me, sometimes in the same day. I can honestly say I have prayed for them and I have prayed for me to be better for them. I have been saddened by them. I have been so angry at them I want to shout at the top of my lungs. I have also thought how empty my life was before them and how I thank God that he allowed me to join them. If all that is true, then why am I so upset my silly games were deleted?
It is childish, I know, but I was genuinely upset to see that all my stuff was gone. It all still exists, it is in the cloud (whatever and wherever that is) and I can download them all again, but it isn’t just the X-Box. It is the toolbox my wife bought me for Christmas (or maybe my birthday) that is supposed to be locked and I find it opened and tools all over the house. It is the cereal bowls that never seem to get really cleaned because no one washes them out before they put them in the new, thousand-dollar dishwasher we just bought. It is the filthy grime left in the brand new microwave we just bought when people can’t be bothered to wipe it out after they heat spaghetti and the sauce explodes all over the place. It is the names carved in the table and the way every single light in the house is on when no one is even in the room. It is way you can do everything they want for the entire weekend but you tell them to go to bed Sunday night because school is Monday and you are a piece of crap. The obvious answer is that they are kids. Kids are selfish and their minds are like the Janet Jackson song, “What Have You Done for Me Lately”.
None of that changes the fact that I am feeling like I don’t have anything that is truly mine anymore, and that I am a bit of a selfish asshole for feeling this way.
When I spoke with Amy about this she told me it is completely normal. That is something I am rarely accused of being.  
I think the biggest thing for me is not being able to have things I would have had as a single man. I am not talking about an endless stream of supermodelesque vixens strolling in and out of my life, each one stealing just a little bit more of my soul. I am talking about cereal I like t eat. I am talking about Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food Heath Bar Crunch (before either Ben or Jerry decided they didn’t need to continue to make one of the best ice creams ever…but I’m not bitter) or Vanilla Double Stuff Oreos. I’m talking about microwave popcorn or orange juice. I am talking about the Britta pitcher of water that actually has water in it when I want a drink.
Amy (I have decided that since she is a permanent part of my life I will use her actual name and stop referring to her by the tongue damage she did to me on our second date) tells me I am normal in this as well. Well, most of it; some is just me being old man Rogers (oh, I will continue to refer to myself as Steve Rogers…just because why not. Muwhahahahahaha)
This time more than ever I need your comments. Please and thank you.

 

 

 

 

 

 That’s my story and I’m sticking to it

I am going to try to keep this one short…I promise nothing. I was recently shown a bright, shining example of revisionist historical story telling. I will spare you the details, but I will say that it fools almost no one. If you say, for example, “all I did was report to the police I saw a man shoot up a school yard and they arrested me for punching a baby”, it just makes you look like an idiot. In the history of everything ever that was ever a thing, no one has ever reported a crime, having done nothing illegal themselves, and been given the penalty for the crime they never participated in and were simply reporting that someone else did. It is simply not a thing. 

If you have a friend that tells you they have done absolutely nothing illegal, but then, received a penalty greater than the person would have received for the actual offense, they are lying. You should shun them and remove them from your life. Just saying. 
That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. 

I was about to write another sad, mopey tale of my life (I have one in mind, but it is still a bit raw, so I will let it simmer a bit longer), but Amazing Amy told me I was being a bit of a “Debbie Downer”, so I figured I would try to amuse for a while. Opinions will vary.

 

It is a good time to be a nerd. In 2015, we had the resurgence of Star Wars, an amazing episodic Daredevil and Jessica Jones (with a side dish of Luke Cage as a teaser for his own show), as well as an Amazon.com original series based on the Harry Bosch books I have loved for years. We saw the emergence of the multiverse on TV and saw a star-crossed Thanagian couple find themselves, once again united, a shape changing Martian Manhunter and a group of “Legends” fighting the immortal Vandal Savage across time.  

 

This year we will have not one but two epic clashes between superhero titans that have been years in the making, two different movies with Benjamin Geza Affleck-Boldt as Batman, a new Joker and his main squeeze Harley Quinn, and even a new Harry Potter book. We have no less than 9 network television shows based on comic books not to mention the amazing things we have already seen and those yet to come on Netfix. They have even cracked the code on how to make Aquaman not an orange chainmail wearing octopussy and made me care about thecinematic version of Wonder Woman. What glorious times we live in indeed. 

 

My love and I will celebrate our unionwith a viewing of the first of the aforementioned titan clashes, Batman V Superman, with 120 of our closest friends. (Not sure who Im trying to fool-we have nowhere near that many friends. We will fill the seats with friends of the kids…but whatever) Kevin Smith will direct an episode of his new favorite show The Flash and it will air a month before my wife and I see himtape his podcast Fatman on Batman” live at a comedy club in downtown Phoenix. I am also pretty sure I will see The Adam Carolla Show live again this year, and we are seeing Jo Koy on Valentine’s Day after a lovely dinner with my Amazing Amy. 

 

I also attended my 3rd Amazing Arizona Comic Con with two of my step-kids, and met one of the authors of my childhood (ok, they didn’t really have words when I was a child…cave drawings were more our jam, but just roll with it), Chris Claremont. He was at the far end of a row of young, supposedly hip artists doing semi-nude covers of female comic book woman that, if they were real and someone drew them like that, would probably do horrible things to their genitals with their heat vision or claws or whatever abnormality made them comic book vixens in the first place. He sat at a table with nothing on it except a handful of markers, a cup of some formerly hot beverage, and a man that should be hoisted on the shoulders of every single fanboy in that convention center. Instead he sat all alone playing with his iPhone, trying not to be embarrassed he was there. I approached.

 

“You are Chris Claremont” I said as if he didn’t know that. He pointed at the sad banner hanging above him and told me he knew that already. I spent a few minutes telling him how he created the fairytales of my childhood and he let me know that I was closer to his age than I really cared to admit. He asked me my 3 favorite stories of his and let me know that one was “serious crap” but that I was correct that the other two were epic works to be respected. I thanked him for everything he did and I was glad he didn’t take the opportunity to point out he was still doing it. I got the feeling he was a bitter old man, but I did enjoy the interaction and have to say I saw a smile peeking through his hardened veneer. I was reminded of the time Bronx told me to never meet my idols. “They will let you down every time”, and he was mostly right. Mostly.

 

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it

So one of my best friends on the planet almost died … and I was completely unaware. I will explain, but first, an announcement.
 I have decided that since the cast of characters will no longer be a rotating slideshow of disappointment, I will just use real names going forward for people that are constants in my life. This is a complete change in policy at the Saga, and I am aware that no one other than me even cares a single bit. That being said…
I am about to be married to the best example of a partner I could have ever imagined. I am not pandering; it is just the case. (Truth be told we married already in a small ceremony at her best friends house a little while ago, but the reception is in what I am referring to) in an epic baller move my Amy suggested we should have our reception at the movie theatre and have it with a screening of the epic clash of titans, Batman V Superman Dawn of Justice. Can you see how amazing she can be? We sent invitations to those closest to us and some of mine happen to be in other states. One was the aforementioned friend, who was actually the best man at my second wedding. Small world.
I should back up and mention that I have 4 people I would consider “best friends’. If you are new to the Saga, you might have missed this which might explain how important my friends are to me. Since I don’t have his permission, I will continue to use Bronx for now. He sent me a nice, detailed Facebook message explaining the details of the last two years of his life and the struggles he has gone through…while his “best friend’ was completely unaware. I hope everyone has a better best friend than I am to mine.     
I am not saying this to get anyone to tell me how we all loose touch with those we love from time to time. I totally get that life happens; that while having the best of intentions and sincerely caring about those we love, we get sidetracked. I am not oblivious. I also know that old adage about everyone’s phone having buttons on it. How many times has (fill in the blank with any name you feel applies) been online in the last (fill in any length of time you feel applies)? I use to ask that very same question when my father would go month after month without calling. None of that makes it ok for me to go so long, to be so self absorbed and distant, that I had no idea someone I profess to love was in a coma and closer to the other side than this side.  
I cannot begin to tell you the many ways Bronx has shaped my life. He might not even be aware that so much of the man I am came from conversations I had with him. I can’t stop crying as I write this section and I swear I mean this with all my being…I failed him.
I am going to stop here and post this for two reasons.
1)       It is Super Bowl Sunday and my family are all busy working on various snack dishes and I am writing and crying.
2)       I promised myself if I posted something, I would never remove or edit it. If I don’t post it now, I might just delete it and write another silly tale of how my life has flipped, turned upside down (you are no friend of mine if you don’t get that reference).
I promise to continue this another time. Just need to step away for a minute or two. Any errors in this are totally mine. I prefer to post this and not have it edited. My editor, and lovely wife, might talk me out of posting this.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it
Have you ever met someone that didn’t have levels for different things? I mean everything is a level 1 or a level 9 with no middle option. Well, I married one of those people and I bet you can guess which number she is stuck on based on the question. Yep, Frenulum is always on 9.
She is an amazing person and I honestly love her with all of my being. That being said, I wish she had degrees of importance. I don’t mean this to be offensive or hurt anyone’s feelings trust and believe. I know there are a few people that would say it might be better if I had more of a motor and more enthusiasm; more motivation to get up and go. I will say, in my defense, I have had less energy in the last few years due to my undiagnosed (and therefore untreated) sleep apnea, but Frenulum “made” me go for a sleep study and now I sleep with a super sexy CPAP machine and I feel like a new man. I am a new man of 50, but a new man none the less. I have more energy and less “leave me the hell alone” than I have had in my entire life. That being said, I would love nothing better than to continue my pursuit of “doing nothing” for one weekend-an entire weekend- without being asked “How is your day of doing nothing going? Are you ready to go to Home Depot (or fill in the store/ errand of your choice)?”
My wife works for the second largest bank in the US (this is actually inaccurate unless you refer to data from over 4 years ago, but I enjoy using outdated information to try to provoke my loving wife) and is a hard worker. She has raised 7 kids, mostly by herself, and I respect her swag in a big bad way. Of late she has taken to driving Uber in her spare time from said job, kid raising, new house buying and furnishing and new husband training. She wakes up most days @4am or so and drives before work. She then comes home to make sure the kids are off to school and then heads to her office. She leaves late in the afternoon and more often than not, drives for an hour or two before coming home and cooking dinner, helping with homework, and making fun of various and asundry “asshats” from either bank or Uber and starts the cycle anew the next day.
(Just as a side note; I read my progress to this point to my baby and she, with a look of righteous indignation on her adorable face, said “I don’t think I am at a 9. I think that is a complete mischaracterization of the situation” That, true believers, is why she is a level 9… muwhahahahahahahhaha)   
How about a few examples Steve you say? Well, don’t mind if I do.
1. We got the approval to move into our new house (a 2900 square foot McMansion in Chandler Arizona that you will probably never get to visit, let alone stay the night in…second muwhahahahahaha) on a Friday @ 3:30. We had the entire house moved with the exception of the stuff we couldn’t fit in my truck or her (not so) mini-van, but 9:30 that evening. The rest was all done by noon the next day, and the house was completely set up and ready for Sunday dinner and the ritualistic “GO CARDINALS” chant Sunday @1. My baby just said “(hashtag) efficiency” and drank a “safety Coke”. This is what my baby calls it because “Having it here and consuming it whenever I want allows the rest of you all to live in safety”. We all lived to see another sunrise. (as an aside, 2 weeks before the house move she sent me to Texas for a 4 day, 3 night visit with my best friend “LucasFilmLimited”. This served two purposes. A) I got to see my friend and spend some much needed time recharging my depleted battery away from the kids and animals. B) It allowed her to work straight thru packing and organizing away from the unrelenting bitchfest that is me during the pre-move packing. She had the entire house packed when she picked me up from the airport.
2. This past weekend I had arranged to help a friend with moving some furniture. I like this person a lot and was happy to help, but I really might never get a truck again because no one ever asked the middle aged guy with the Corvette to help them transport a dresser across county lines. Just sayin’. We also were having a new dishwasher delivered because the old one was called “The Re-Tardis” by my wife. The reference is to the time machine used by Doctor Who, The Tardis, being bigger on the inside and our dishwasher, somehow, being smaller on the inside. #shegetsme. I had to remove the old one before going to help my friend. I also watched 5, count them, 5 YouTube videos on how to install a dishwasher and avoid the many pitfalls others have faced themselves. I told my wife I would be home as soon as possible and would install it when I got home. (aside #2: We had tickets to see Jay Mohr, another comedy icon I was blessed with tickets to see, that night at 7. To be there at 7 we needed to leave @5. Foreshadowing: didn’t happen). When I texted while driving, using Siri I assure you, to ask if the machine was delivered I was told the installation was almost complete. I was told she and her oldest, the future chemical engineer, were just about ready to test run that baby. Not having seen the same videos I did in preparation for the installation, and not being wired to allow herself to relax and enjoy a quiet afternoon luxuriating on the new couches in the McMansion, patiently awaiting the triumphant return of your hero, Frenulum and #1 daughter fell hip-deep in the quagmire of pitfalls I mentioned. Long story short, most of the things I spent undoing for the next day were the aforementioned pitfalls. #inefficiency.
(Frenulum is editing this and would like to point out that this is an inaccurate representation of what happened. But- if it makes me feel better, she will go with it)
3. Every Sunday we do a family breakfast. Most days we all have cereal and if you are a follower of this blog you are aware of my propensity to enjoy a sugary cereal in the morning. Sunday is always a production, and I look forward to this. I love the way, since I arrived here, the family all sits together and the TV is paused or turned off completely, in stark contrast to the eating in front of the TV on the couch that they use to enjoy so much. #upgrade. #levelup. #hashtag. LOL. This weekend was no exception. When breakfast was done my wife relocated to the new couch. I walked in, still wearing my gym short I sleep in, having added an old ratty t-shirt so as to not have anyone loose said breakfast at seeing me naked. I have sleep crud still in my eyes and haven’t brushed my teeth or washed the night before off my body and she asks, “So, are you ready to go”? Go where, you might have asked. To buy trees to plan t in the yard of the new house because she “wasn’t feeling” the old one out front. I had forgotten she dispatched one of the 7 to remove the tree the day before during, what I loving refer to as the “dishwasher debacle of 2015”. We have been in the new house a grand total of 3 weeks and my wife, the rolling stone attempting to ensure she “catches no moss”, is rolling. We didn’t buy a tree that day, but only because we are looking at a bill of about $1300 to complete this little transaction, that is now a 3 tree package. #slowyourroll. #ipromiseyouitcanwaitafewweeks. #Ikillallplants #whythehellamIhastaggingsomuch?
I will end tonight by saying I did remember about halfway through I never mentioned the details of how I became Mr. Steve Rogers and Frenulum made an honest man out of me. I will get to it at some point, but this just seemed to flow from my chubby little sausage fingers as they sang across the keyboard of my laptop. I guess you could say I was driven to write this little tome about my beloved. Baby, as you read this to help an undereducated brother out with editing his random brain droppings, please take this in the spirit it was intended. (and by that I mean to say it is from the heart and with all sincerity that I tell you I love our life, our family and my walking heart with two feet (I am talking about you in case that wasn’t obvious) with every fiber of my being, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it