Having a beard is a pain in the ass. It gets to a point where it itches and either you soldier through it and let it grow to hipster/lumberjack approved levels or you keep it trim. It reached itch level precisely as my head hit the pillow last night. I ended up waking up in the middle of the night and trimming my fucking beard.
So far this summer has consisted of loud, wet, storms all morning, sticky afternoons, glorious evenings on the beach, fireworks at night that literally scare my dogs shitless, as in, they cannot produce shit from their bunghole. Thunder does it, too. What I am saying is I have to find a sweet spot somewhere between 2-4PM everyday and hope for the best. Begging has been involved.
Really, it's just the little dog - her dog.
|He's all badassery when it comes to his toys, but a little noise in the sky and his a shivering ball of fur.|
Lucy poops, eats, and sleeps. Like a lady.
|She's already eaten pooped this morning. She is exhausted.|
When you have awesome friends, which I do, you can either feel really intimidated by them, which I often am, or you aspire to achieve things worthy of them, which I am trying. That sounds like one of those vague status updates, right?
Adorn your breasticles with bedazzlement.
I once danced on a car in a gas station to this song. I was sober.