Last night’s walk was sponsored by: 2 Red Dog road pops, 1 pack wet and squishy Marlboro Reds, 4 Bud Lights and Blockbuster.

If I can lose 3 pounds this week, I’ll be at -30. So, last night I planned to walk for 45 mins. Simon was bored (as he should be…it’s a Monday night in Oxford. Not a lot going on…) and so I told him I’d walk down to Blockbuster and get him a movie. The total walk is a little over 3 miles.

Simon told me what movie he wanted and so off I marched.

I had just loaded my MP3 player with some rockin’ music and before I knew it, 20 mins had passed and I was at Blockbuster. Of course, they didn’t have the movie he wanted so I called him and he said, “Anything sports related.”

I picked up Benchwarmers.

That’s sports related, right? And Simon’s a guy…what guy doesn’t like a good Rob Schneider movie? Especially if that movie’s cast also includes David Spade, Jon Lovitz, and Jon Heder. I mean, that’s a man’s man cast if ever there was one.

Well, apparently Simon isn’t the typical man’s man.

I laughed my ass off. The movie was dumb as shit–but it was supposed to be dumb. Dumb and funny.

Simon said he grew thicker every minute he watched the movie. He then asked me where my dictionary was because he needed to read it in hopes to gain some of his smarts back.

No sense of humor at all.

Simon then suggested that I should make “my favorite” (Grant) watch it when he comes to stay with us in October. He said not to tell Grant that he hated the movie and see what Grant says when it’s over. I may just have to do that.

And if he likes the movie, then he really will be “my favorite”. LOL

Mark and I go to the gym at least 4 days a week over lunch. Since Si is staying with us this week, I picked him up and brought him along today.

Mark isn’t with us because he is out of town.

I go to the locker room and change. Immediately, one of the regulars comes in after me. “Is that your son?”

Me: “Sorta.” (I explain the situation)

I leave the locker room, get on to the eliptical and one of the trainers stops by. “Is that your son? He’s fine!”

Me: “Not my son. Yeah, he’s pretty cute.”

I do my 2 miles, then hit the weights. While I’m doing shoulders, a group finishes spin class and comes out. They see Si say something to me and one of the ladies asks, “Where’s Mark? Did you trade him in for a younger model?”

Finally. At least someone acknowledges the possibility that I’m not old. LOL

So, of course, I answer, “Yes. Yes I did, but the poor boy just can’t keep up.”

Hurry home, Fishdog.

This morning’s walk was sponsored by: The snooze button.

That’s right folks, I couldn’t get my ass outta bed to save my soul. I went to they gym 4 times last week, but for some reason, I can’t get motivated to walk in the mornings.

Simon and I went to see Talladega Nights yesterday afternoon. You know, if you love Will Ferrell, you’ll love this movie. I happen to love Will Ferrell since I’m pretty sure he and Fishdog are the same person. It was a big fat screen full of laughs. If you need a pick me up, this is the movie that will do it.

I didn’t carve out any writing time last week or over the weekend, which is a drag because the week before I had been so successful. I have to make myself do it this week. Even with Simon in town. It’s not like he needs constant supervision (well, maybe he does…) and it’s not like I can’t just take my laptop into a room, lock the door and tell the world to leave me alone. So, I’m doing that tonight. Two hours of writing time. Period. It may be from 10- midnight, but it’s gonna happen.

Fishdog is in Chicago until Wednesday. He’s eating good food, meeting up with old friends, and doing the whole conference thing. I’m sure he’s working some in there, too. All I know is, he sent me a text message last night of a very tasty looking meal, and I was almost jealous.

But then Simon fixed dinner and washed all traces of jealousy away with his spaghetti.

This morning’s walk was sponsored by: The snooze button.

That’s right folks, I couldn’t get my ass outta bed to save my soul. I went to they gym 4 times last week, but for some reason, I can’t get motivated to walk in the mornings.

Simon and I went to see Talladega Nights yesterday afternoon. You know, if you love Will Ferrell, you’ll love this movie. I happen to love Will Ferrell since I’m pretty sure he and Fishdog are the same person. It was a big fat screen full of laughs. If you need a pick me up, this is the movie that will do it.

I didn’t carve out any writing time last week or over the weekend, which is a drag because the week before I had been so successful. I have to make myself do it this week. Even with Simon in town. It’s not like he needs constant supervision (well, maybe he does…) and it’s not like I can’t just take my laptop into a room, lock the door and tell the world to leave me alone. So, I’m doing that tonight. Two hours of writing time. Period. It may be from 10- midnight, but it’s gonna happen.

Fishdog is in Chicago until Wednesday. He’s eating good food, meeting up with old friends, and doing the whole conference thing. I’m sure he’s working some in there, too. All I know is, he sent me a text message last night of a very tasty looking meal, and I was almost jealous.

But then Simon fixed dinner and washed all traces of jealousy away with his spaghetti.

It’s after 3 am, so this post may not make much sense. Sorry.

I’m in a nostalgic sorta state of mind. Late nights can do that to a person. The lads went to bed a few mins ago and I’m doing my best to stay awake. Fishdog is supposed to get up at 4 and get ready to leave for the airport. I’d like to say good-bye.

So, regarding this nostalgia. I’m having a difficult time articulating exactly how I feel. Happiness and sadness all wrapped up at once. These lads have meant the world to me. When they visit I’m elated. When they leave, a piece of my heart goes with them. At the risk of sounding a little looney, I really do love them like I gave them life. It’s the damnedest thing.

I think I said once that when they walked into my house, it was like lightning struck me. And that’s the truth.

Those who really know me, know I open up my heart readily. I love love. I love to be loved. But even I am amazed at how quickly these guys moved into my heart. In less than a week they became like my very own. And now, almost 2 months later, the feelings are even stronger. And when they leave for their real home–I’ll have a heavy heart.

Maybe this is the last time I’ll see these guys, who knows? I hope not. My gut tells me that the lads are in my life forever. And they will be–even if I never see them again.

It’s after 3 am, so this post may not make much sense. Sorry.

I’m in a nostalgic sorta state of mind. Late nights can do that to a person. The lads went to bed a few mins ago and I’m doing my best to stay awake. Fishdog is supposed to get up at 4 and get ready to leave for the airport. I’d like to say good-bye.

So, regarding this nostalgia. I’m having a difficult time articulating exactly how I feel. Happiness and sadness all wrapped up at once. These lads have meant the world to me. When they visit I’m elated. When they leave, a piece of my heart goes with them. At the risk of sounding a little looney, I really do love them like I gave them life. It’s the damnedest thing.

I think I said once that when they walked into my house, it was like lightning struck me. And that’s the truth.

Those who really know me, know I open up my heart readily. I love love. I love to be loved. But even I am amazed at how quickly these guys moved into my heart. In less than a week they became like my very own. And now, almost 2 months later, the feelings are even stronger. And when they leave for their real home–I’ll have a heavy heart.

Maybe this is the last time I’ll see these guys, who knows? I hope not. My gut tells me that the lads are in my life forever. And they will be–even if I never see them again.

Well, early for me.

For the longest time, you couldn’t get me out of bed before 10:00 on the weekends. Even when the kids were babies, I’d fall out of bed, slap them on a breast, fall back into bed.

But over the last few years, I’ve noticed that I’m up by 7:00 at least one weekend morning. And this is even after late nights of boozing it up and acting like fools. (which I did not do last night. Tonight has strong possibilities, though.)

My grandma lived with us for 9 years and she was always up at the ass-crack of dawn. Sometimes she’d beat dawn to the punch, waking around 4, drinking her Sanka and reading the paper. Then as soon as dawn would decide to finally bring her lazy ass on over the horizon, my Mema would hit the garden. She would work out there until about 7, come inside, shower, and fix us breakfast.

What a woman.

I don’t profess to be anything like my Mema. Early is a relative term for me, as I damn near refuse to get out of bed on the weekends pre-light. I’ll probably never be one of those old people who stop fighting the desire to lay in bed and wallow in my own slothlike nature.

But I can see the appeal of early mornings. For just a brief moment it was quiet. Silent even. Unfortunately, the silence was not long lived. Now, as I listen to my lovely boys scream endearments such as “Shut up Ray-tard!” “Bite me, fat head!” I suddenly realize that the earlier I rise, the longer the silence will be.

Of course, I could pull out the handy-dandy duct tape and force the silence…

For me to get up at 4:00 a.m., I would have to go to bed at 8:00 p.m.

Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.

Well, early for me.

For the longest time, you couldn’t get me out of bed before 10:00 on the weekends. Even when the kids were babies, I’d fall out of bed, slap them on a breast, fall back into bed.

But over the last few years, I’ve noticed that I’m up by 7:00 at least one weekend morning. And this is even after late nights of boozing it up and acting like fools. (which I did not do last night. Tonight has strong possibilities, though.)

My grandma lived with us for 9 years and she was always up at the ass-crack of dawn. Sometimes she’d beat dawn to the punch, waking around 4, drinking her Sanka and reading the paper. Then as soon as dawn would decide to finally bring her lazy ass on over the horizon, my Mema would hit the garden. She would work out there until about 7, come inside, shower, and fix us breakfast.

What a woman.

I don’t profess to be anything like my Mema. Early is a relative term for me, as I damn near refuse to get out of bed on the weekends pre-light. I’ll probably never be one of those old people who stop fighting the desire to lay in bed and wallow in my own slothlike nature.

But I can see the appeal of early mornings. For just a brief moment it was quiet. Silent even. Unfortunately, the silence was not long lived. Now, as I listen to my lovely boys scream endearments such as “Shut up Ray-tard!” “Bite me, fat head!” I suddenly realize that the earlier I rise, the longer the silence will be.

Of course, I could pull out the handy-dandy duct tape and force the silence…

For me to get up at 4:00 a.m., I would have to go to bed at 8:00 p.m.

Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.

and because I’m just slap-happy it’s rained.

and because I get to see my British lad tomorrow.

and because I’m in a damn good mood.

and most of all, just because it’s true…

and because I’m just slap-happy it’s rained.

and because I get to see my British lad tomorrow.

and because I’m in a damn good mood.

and most of all, just because it’s true…