For the first time in 35 years together, the Bear and I are doing a little bit of hoarding. I know what you are thinking, and fuck you. It's just a little bit of hoarding, and it's not for us.
I don’t need no IQ test to tell how stupid people think I am. I just need the Bear to leave for a few days.
There are hours (never full days) when I miss being a teacher. Then the Bear tells me "how her day went" and I remember: ohh that shit sucks.
I just recently found out that in 1987 I made the biggest mistake of my life. I got married.
Did I tell you the Bear had a stroke?
Don't worry it was long ago, and there are no obvious lasting effects other than (once in a while) she won't shut up about it.
Last year the Bear and I went to see Lewis Black in San Diego -- we won't be going back.
It's not the cost of tickets, or the airfare, or the hotel. My ass is used to getting screwed by them.
There's a list of advantages to only spending weekends with the spouse. Surprise visits is not one of them.
The Bear came down from Gilbert, and she was looking for a bowl to steal.
We often forget the impact we have on others. Here's a little reminder that came from The Boy (now age 29) through Facebook Messenger of what a shitty dad I am.
I learned something deep and dark about myself. If two of my friends ever go to hunt down the last white tiger on earth, the Bear and I would tag along, not say a fucking word, and laugh at all the wrong times.
Sounds awful I know.