Eating with Placenta

We all know someone whose life seems to just work out for them at every possible turn. Dream job, dream house, dreaming in color, dreamsicles in the fridge, you get the point. Fuck those people. No hard feelings.

Let me clarify. I bear no ill will towards anyone for having the luck of the draw. What bugs me is the lengths to which people will go to cover up the dings, divots and cracks that exist in all our lives. For some reason, we have a culture where having a "great life" seems to mean having an unrealistically, downright imaginarily (it's a word if I say it is) stable life where nothing ever happens outside of a normal, Cleaver-esque routine day. Call it "Church Face" or "Keeping up with the Johnsons-itis" or whatever it takes for you to associate this to some asshole(s) you know (let's not limit ourselves to the single crowd here).
My promise, dear readers who do not currently exist as readers of this particular blog, is to see those cracks. Not all of them, as some things are simply private and not for public consumption, mind you, but a good deal. I suppose that should start now.

My better half, and that is so far from being a figure of speech, seems to think I am a saint, as her blog references indicate. I can't tell you how far out of whack this is. I am simply the combination of all the influences I've been fortunate (and not) to have in my life with a pinch of my own special seasoning mixed in to make it more interesting. Witness tonight:

After 10 all-too-long months of unemployment, I've had a job for the past, count 'em, 5 weeks now! Woo hoo! Going great so far, feels good to be earning a check and helping to pay the family bills, not to mention having some legitimate (read: "non-borrowed") fundage in my pockets. So after a long day at work visiting more businesses than I ever knew Jacksonville had, I shake it on home and get here around 5:30. I unwind for about 20 and think I'll start on the list o' shit I had down to do tonight. HUGE fan of lists here, folks. Keeps my crazy in check.

Before I can start the dishes, Brandi texts me and says she's stopping by the store for groceries, probably due to the fact that we need dinner, the kids are too tired to take them out to eat and my stupid ass didn't want to be inconvenienced by having to turn around and put myself back in the traffic jam I very narrowly avoided by getting past the just-burnt-up car before the cops fucked up traffic for 2 hours. Tangent: Is it really necessary to block off an 8 square block area for a tow truck to pick up a burnt, piece of shit Isuzu? Main line (sounds fun, no?): So Saint Brandi offers to stop by the store on the way home. I figure the least I can do is make it through the dishes and possibly get cracking on the shit ton of leaves in the yard to give us more time to enjoy this weekend, sans kids. Dishes get done, I pour her a glass of wine, light a few candles to cover up the smell of the dogs we have, and try to make for a nice homecoming. Everything goes well for the evening (saintly part) until it's time for our daughter to actually fall asleep. She wants to say good night to mom, who I think is in the shower, and I figure it's no big deal to open the door enough for her to say one last good night at the end of what's actually been a good night. (Cue music from Jaws)

So my dumb ass, in all my dumbassitude, pops open the bathroom door to find, shockingly, Brandi using the bathroom (whodvethunkit?). All I heard was "What the fuck?!?" "Shit!" "Good night." and laughter. They all happened at the same time, best as I could tell, and I'm not sure who said what or if all of that was swirling in my head like my brain just flushed itself (idiot part). So needless to say, I am now very rightfully in trouble for not knocking.

Thing is, this is kind of a regular occurrence, I think. Not the toilet part, mind you, that's fresh as a flower fart, but the whole bit about balancing something good with some colossal blunder. And maybe that's just my oft-questionable self-esteem recalling more incidents than exist, but probably not (that sumanabatch is usually right). So my goal is to minimize the idiot and maximize the saintly. The title of this blog will change when that happens, but don't worry, you could probably favorite this, check back in a few cycles of rebirth and it'd still be the same.

So I'm inviting you to join me as often as you wish in living vicariously through all the stupid shit I don't plan on doing, but will pull off in fine fashion anyway thank you very much, for as long as I keep drinking, er, keep up this blog.