Friday, June 23, 2017

Ink me, bro

Every time a Brit complains about Brexit an American lets out a sardonic laugh. Then cries.

I think I know what I want my next tattoo to be.

1 of 1.

I thought about getting it across my knuckles.

Or maybe across my wrist.

It's a Ta-Nehisi Coates quote.

We were individuals, a one of one, and when we died there was nothing.

It's a recurring point throughout the book, Between the World and Me.

It's the first thing that popped into my head when I read about Philando Castile's killer being acquitted.

He was a one of one.

He was destroyed by a system designed to destroy an individual of color.

That's not what it was designed for, Rudy.

Okay, he was destroyed within a system designed with safeguards in place to protect those who would destroy an individual of color from facing any actual justice.

But the idea for that tattoo means more than just protest to me.

This life, this body, this experience is the only one I will have. If I destroy it or allow it to be destroyed, there is no take back, no do over, no heaven or hell, no... anything.

Instead of waiting til the end to fight the dying of the light, it's a reminder to always be vigilant against the dying - the taking of - the light.

And not just my own light.

We are, all of us, a one of one.

And we must do a better job of looking out not just for ourselves, but for each other. Always.

Titty sprinkles!


Thursday, June 22, 2017

It's always "mom's basement" guy

My favorite part of the Isbell interview on the Daily Show last night was watching Trevor Noah develop a man crush. Welcome to the club Trevor.

It's hard not to love either of those two men.

There's a joke about it being easy to be hard. But I only do highbrow funny here at the dribble so, I won't make the joke.

You'll be pleased to know I have lost three point one pounds in the two weeks since Operation Slimdown began. That point one makes all the difference. That's almost FOUR FUCKING POUNDS!

I'm not sexy again yet. Yet.

But when I am, I promise you will all know.

How?

Because there will be a rush of hot celebs divorcing in hopes of stealing me away.

Sorry Ryan Reynolds, but I belong to The Gorgeous Blonde.

Go watch the interview above. Alone. Trust me, you'll be glad you did.

Titty sprinkles!



Wednesday, June 21, 2017

I wish I'd said

Yesterday during a training course we were asked what we would do if we saw someone who seems female walking into the men's room.

No one answered so I said, nothing.

Nothing? What if a customer came to you and told you it made them uncomfortable?

I bit my tongue on what I was thinking and rambled about not really concerning myself with what the guy in the next stall is doing when I go to the bathroom.

I wish I had said what I was thinking.

I wish I'd said, I was ask them how they know. How do you KNOW what gender the person who just walked into the men's room happens to be? And if I go and verify it for you and you happen to be wrong are YOU going to apologize to them for the fucking humiliation? 

I didn't say that. I am ashamed of myself for that.

I both credit and blame my upbringing for that. It just never occurs to me to care about what gender you are or where you pee.

You are a human being and that accords you dignity and respect enough to not question where you pee, who you love, where you choose to live, or any other thing I take for granted.

Titty sprinkles.



I forgot to give this one a title

She's tall. Around 5'10". Still, her feet swing from the dining room table chair like a kid's, toes barely touching the ground, head on the table as she stares at her screen. She's adorable. Innocent in her way.

I was just informed by the same girl that I am going to see John Moreland, then Lydia Lovelace.

She always brings me amazing gifts, that one.

I'll never live long enough to show her what she means to me. I'll never be that man I want to be for her. When you have someone like her you never actually arrive at being good enough. You might achieve some level of success at whatever, you might even feel like you're good at loving her.

But with a woman like her you always want to be better. Better at loving her. Better at listening. Better at cooking a meal for her. Hell, better at remembering to make her damn coffee in the morning when she sleeps in.

Because she'll expect you to love yourself. She understands that if you don't, if you don't tend to yourself and care for you you won't be any good to her.

I dunno. I'm just keep looking over at her this morning, watching her do nothing more than just be her and it melts me.

The other day we were standing on the back of the actual stage at the Grand Ole Opry while Wanda Jackson sang. We knew we were witnessing something important from a vantage point very few people ever get.

I thought, this is fucking cool.

I looked at her, engrossed in the moment and thought, this is my person and there is not another human being I would rather be sharing this moment with. 

I will never be done becoming whatever the fuck it is I am meant to be. And, frankly, I don't ever want to be done.

Titty sprinkles!



Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Music, yo

About Nashville...

I watched Wanda Jackson perform at the Grand Ole Opry from the stage of the Grand Ole Opry. That was one of those, holy shit this is really happening moments.

Then I watched Angaleena Presley perform on the same stage on the same night. That was really a, goddamn girl moment.

I squinted and looked closely and I swear I saw a torch being passed.

It was one of the coolest experiences of our lives.

I say our lives because TGB and I looked at each other more than once and said the words, this is our life and shook our heads in disbelief.

I told her that night, but it bears (bares?) repeating: Samantha, there is no one I would rather be sharing this with.

There were other things that happened in Nashville... awesome reunions with dear friends, music - so much fucking music, new friends and even an adorable dog. I'm keeping most of that for me. For now.

I don't think I fell in love with the city. There is still so very much more of it to see, and see it all I will. But she impressed me enough to want to go back and see more. That's something.

When you have enough talent in your city to fill an airport bar with better live music than most medium sized cities have anywhere you're doing something right.

Titty sprinkles!

Postscript

I had to take a leak. I walked into a bar to do so. Small place. I came out of the restroom and there were four guys around an acoustic guitar singing a song. Rehearsing. I listened. I bought their CD before they finished. Later we came back and watched them. I'm hooked.


Thursday, June 15, 2017

Pew! Pew! Pew!

It was weird. There was a shooting in DC (VA) yesterday where a bunch of Congressional schmucks were playing softball and my first thoughts were not of concern, but of horrible humor.

Well, that's a good start. 

I know, I have a horrible heart.

I would like to point out that I made that joke after hearing there were no fatalities. And I'm only sharing it with you because you all are assholes like me.

Then I got to work and was informed it is #45's birthday.

Yeah, I don't care.

C'mon, everyone deserves to be celebrated on their day!

No. Not everyone does. 

Death and birthdays. I don't understand why we feel the need to suddenly forget how shitty a human being is on either of those.

When I die, don't forget that I am the same asshole who giggled at a horrible joke of my own making on the day some fuckface shot up a bunch of Congressional asshats at a softball game.

Titty sprinkles!



Wednesday, June 14, 2017

Word Salad part XXMIIV

I'm on an Ozzy kick. But not the shitty Ozzy you listen to. The cool Ozzy before Randy died. The Ozzy that made my grandma think I was going to hell for listening.

I used to lay on the floor in my room, a speaker on each side of my head and CRANK it so as to try to drown out the noise in my head.

It wasn't just Ozzy. It was Dio. Crue. I tried it with KISS once. All that did was cemented the belief that they are truly a shitty band who only ever had schtick going for them.

If you like KISS please stop reading my blog.

Leave me alone, don't want your promises no more

I must have listened to that one song a bazillion times. I am 99% sure that was when music became a part of my religion.

Movies were always the other part. The movie theater, like the music venue, my place of worship.

Music and movies are not so different from one another. The words make the story and, when they are written right, they say what you wish you could have said.

Here's a secret about me that even TGB doesn't know. I get emotional once the previews start. There's always a catch in my throat, I sit up a little taller in my chair and feel my eyes well. Not sad tears, just... my kind of magic.

When I watched Guardians of the Galaxy 2 the other day both of my religions collided and I was left a puddle of goo.

I won't give anything away, but the movie ends on the song Father and Son by Cat Stevens. As soon as he hit play I leaned over and whispered to my wife, I may actually bawl.

I didn't expect the entire fucking song to play, but it do.

So I am sitting there, having watched two plus hours of this fucking amazing, fun movie, crying like someone just kicked me in the balls.

If you've ever listened to the words of the song and had a father that was worth a damn it makes sense.

I first heard it when I was sixteen or seventeen and sure I had it all figured out. It's just that my old man was keeping me down, as good fathers are wont to do *eyeroll*

I would play this stupid song on my guitar (because I was a douche) and be convinced Cat was singing about my old man.

Then I grew up and moved out.

Suddenly, I understood father's half of the song. I realized what sniveling little fuck I had been.

The old man was right all along.

God dammit, I fucking hate this movie. 

I miss you, dad. 

Titty sprinkles!



Tuesday, June 13, 2017

My taste in music is better than my taste in friends

I just realized I never posted a dribble yesterday.

It was a weird morning. Pulse nightclub anniversary. Loving Day. Rain. So much fucking rain.

Anyway, I think I started writing a thing about taking a break from the NFL this season. All the moving around of teams, the beating of women resulting in slaps on the wrist (unless there's video the league can't hide) and the blackballing of peaceful demonstrators... it's starting to feel a lot like MLB did when I walked away in the late 90s.

Anyway, I have to go to the gym this morning. I am literally just now starting to feel less soar/sore from last Thursday's visit to the gym. I blame Noah.

I'll you about Noah someday. He's a good kid. Gives me hope for the world we're leaving him and his generation.

Also, if I ever become the type of old fucker who blames the generations that follow mine please fill me full of holes and dump me in a deep body of water. People like that have outlived their usefulness while forgetting their part in creating the fucking mess in the first place.

And no fellow Gen Xers, our generation was not better than Millennials. In fact, we say the same stupid shit about them that Boomers said about us. Let's stop that shit.

Titty sprinkles!


Sunday, June 11, 2017

The old man is snoring

As I type this I am soaked. I could go and put on dry clothes, but I don't want you fuckers whining at me about where my dribble at or some shit.

The boat was cancelled for today, but not before I headed to the marina to do some minor chores and getting dumped on by a friggin' monsoon.

I almost died singing a Frank Turner song in my truck on the way home yesterday.

Next weekend I get to see my friend Charlie. It has been too long.

Then I get to see Kris in August. It has been too long.

I never get enough time with the people that matter the most.

Donald Trump's older sons look like he fucked the ass end of a ... Donald Trump.

I bet they're mouth breathers.

Who pick their noses and eat it when they think nobody is looking.

Nah, I'm sure they're sweet boys just like their dad.

Poor little Dexter is ascairt because of the thunder. His drugs will kick in soon.

I want his drugs.

I want pancakes.

I am going to make pancakes.

No, you cannot fucking have any. Make your own!

Titty sprinkles!



Saturday, June 10, 2017

This post got heavy in a hurry

I have been listening to Tupac, watching the little cursor blinkitty blink blink for a few minutes now.

Oh wait, Jason is already annoying me this morning. Maybe we shouldn't move to DC.

But Annie's there! (Happy birthday you fucking amazing motherfucker)

But so is Jason.

Ugh.

Benedict Cumonjasonsmomsface.

That one's just for Jason.

I loved a girl a long time ago. She was passionate about life, about me, and whip smart. I loved her so much I boiled over whenever anyone else would look at her too long. It would lead to fights. I was too stupid, too young to understand that she chose me every single day. I knew she could have any number of boys, and even men, but she chose me. Instead relishing that and trusting it, I pushed it with insecurity and jealousy.

I was still a boy and, as girls are wont to do, she grew into a woman way ahead of schedule.

Eventually she grew tired of my shit and walked away.

That next year was one of the hardest of my life.

Eventually, as young love does, we found our way back to one another.

I was nowhere near being done being an immature twat (men never outgrow that), but I had come to realize that a woman is not chattel. I did not own her, she was not my thing. She was a young woman, with a mind all her own. A heart she chose to trust me with. A life that she could take anywhere and preferred my company for the journey.

That year was one hell of a year.



And not just three small words 


It's a lesson a girl taught me a long time ago.

The first time I heard that line I thought about that girl I once loved.

And now when I hear those lines I think about things like sobriety. I think about putting TGB's fears to rest and her hopes at the forefront.

Love is about so many things.

Jealousy is not one of those things.

I guess that's all I'm saying.

I gotta go get on a boat.

Titty sprinkles!

This song makes me happy.

Friday, June 9, 2017

I do so love an adventure

The UK voted and Comey testified yesterday.

Apparently, things did not go as Theresa May had hoped.

I suspect Comey's testimony will change nothing.

Operation Slimdown 2017 began yesterday. I finally discovered what a hamstring is. I also discovered that I spent an inordinate amount of time at the library squatting. I may have scared some small children with my groans and occasional screams.

June 1 marked the one year countdown to TGB's retirement from the Air Force. Yesterday she came to the libary to tell me that she was asked to interview for a job that, should she be hired and accept it, would postpone that  retirement and move us from the beach to DC.

I am not surprised that anyone would seek her out for a position, she's pretty remarkable.

And if we end up moving to DC we have a few friends in the area, there are tons of places to see live music and airports for to take me away from there when it gets to being too much.

Plus, I can drive a boat on the Potomac, right?

Should it fall through, our consolation prize would be a beachfront retirement.

Sucks, I know.

The thing about being a veteran and being married to a career military person is that this kind of shit doesn't phase me. It's part of the deal, you know? At worst, you adapt and overcome. At best, you get to go on a cool new adventure.

All I know is she wants this so I want it for her.

This loving a badass woman is not that difficult, guys.

Titty sprinkles!