The Bear came down from Gilbert, and she was looking for a bowl to steal.
Ohh God it burns, when these little balls of salty sweat roll or drop right into the corner of your eyes. It doesn't happen every ride. Sometimes it happens when it hot, sometimes when it's not.
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.
I tried to play volleyball, once. Nearly, got my nose broken (by the Bear) and almost got in a different fight. It was early in our relationship. Shortly after I ate the tamale husks to impress the Savages.
Waiting for my slot to get my knee surgery, the surgeon was killing time and hung out at my bedside for a while.
Saturday morning there were 3 cookies left -- the Savage chocolate chip cookies with just the right amount of crack. "Those are for you and your brother," the Bear said. "You figure out how to share them."
Fucking 57-years-old and what do you get? Another participation trophy and deeper in debt.
Something different. This crazy lady I met on the internet asked if I would write something for her blog. Unlike all the other lifestyle and recipe blogs, she rants and swears with the best of them. Unlike my bullshit, there's a lot more to her stuff than just anger and insults. So, I could only hope to put some bullshit together that would fit on her page. And sadly this is the best I could do. You can read it on her page: http://ccorral.blogspot.com/2019/01/killing-me-with-coffee.html
Don't look. Tell me what color your dishwasher is.