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.
It's January 18. The sun is shinning, but the air is cool... Time for fucking fall in Gilbert, Arizona.
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.
It's taken me months to fully admit it... But I can now say I was sexually harassed on a boat in Alaska.
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.