She's been gone 24 hours. I am still alive. Barely. Dexter (the dog) is cowering in the corner. Sticky.
We'll see if we can survive the next two months without the brains of the operation.
I'm thinking about writing a collection of short stories and making it into one of those things people used to keep on shelves.
Just so you know, every single time I see you post a picture of your kid from prom night I know someone got fingered. It's that time of year and, like Pepperidge Farms, I remember.
I've been staring at the cursor for about five minutes. I think I am a little more sad than I realized. I mean, two months is nothing. And Alabama is not Afghanistan or Iraq so it's not like I'm dreading that call. It's just... I miss her. Fuck. I've become that guy.
Because it's Stewie and Stewie makes me happy.
Here, check out my friend's blog. He's funny. Thetroublewitheverything.com
Go fuck yourself.
Monday, June 2, 2014
More than a few times I've written about finding the funny in dark places. I've made jokes about my wife's cancer, my dad's ...
Just like most (if not all) women have a #metoo story, I think most of us men have a story of making a woman feel like less than. I am not i...