RSS

Thinner

No, I’m not cursed, nor am I sick.

I have not been touched by a gypsy of ill repute.

You see, since transitioning from office life to working in a grocery store (which is considerably more physical), I’ve managed to lose all the weight I gained from sitting at a desk all day. In total, we’re talking about 30 pounds.

Keep in mind folks, I’m an only child, and while I’m well into my 40’s, my mother still tries to dress me. My recent weight loss has left her perplexed because she can no longer find outfits that fit me well.

I had to wear this exact same outfit last Easter because Mom bought it and she wanted to see me in one of her nice outfits that she’d purchased for me.

Unfortunately, my mother, big as her heart is, does not share my taste in clothing. I’m pretty sure that her sense of fashion doesn’t reach past 1985, and it pretty much peaked at 1977. Still, the dutiful son, I’ll make myself wear one of the outfits she got for me to show appreciation for her efforts. 

Of course, when I do this, my wife refuses to be seen with me and it’s usually a solo act.

This is me leaving church in a suit my mother got for me. I didn’t see my wife for a week.

The recent weight loss has me back down to my high school weight, which puts me at a size 29 waist, and my mom​ cannot find outfits that I can wear (in public). She was lamenting this to me yesterday and commented that I needed to put the weight back on so she would have better clothing options for me.
I went right to the store and bought some Slim Fast.

 
 

Whippersnappers!!!

I just read that kids and teens are abandoning Tumblr (where I keep my other blog) for simpler social media outlets like Snapchat and Instagram.

For heaven’s sake, I just figured out Tumblr. 

Granted, it’s more picture driven and random (as opposed to cohesive thoughts here on WordPress), but it serves a purpose for me. I’ve even got an unfinished short story sitting in limbo there.

The simplification of communication with today’s youth continues….

 
 

All the Cheese!

So, this is like my life now. I was promoted again to run the cold cuts and specialty cheeses department at my grocery store. I’ve been ordered to learn all about the cheese.

I’m gonna get fat. 

 

Lunch with Mom

So, today at lunch, my mother asked me if I’d ever consider putting myself in an environment where I felt more intellectually challenged (I work at a grocery store as a dairy manager). I still get compliments about my level of intelligence from friends and and co-workers; and she seems to think that it sometimes goes to waste.

My response to her was that I’m actually quite content with my present environment. At age 44, I’ve traveled, I’ve been involved in complicated projects, I’ve reached the level of consumate professional.

I find it to be overrated.

I like my life simple now. I like being at the to of the intelligence food chain at work. Is that lazy? Quite possibly; but it results in fewer worries brought home so I can better concentrate on my wife, my kids, my household. I like that.

Sure, it’s nice to mix it up with folks I can converse with on my level; but only in social settings nowadays. At 44, I’ve got (hopefully) another 40 years of good living in me. I’d like to spend some of it relaxing, and the rest a a job that  enjoy and that I don’t find mentally taxing.

Lunch was good, by the way. Shrimp poboy at Buffalo Wild Wings. 

 
 

Weekends in Retail

Pretty much how everyone feels by Sunday night….

 
 

Unexpected Benefits of Being in Your Mid-40’s

Unexpected Benefits of Being in Your Mid-40’s

1. Picking your nose in public no longer makes you uncomfortable. You don’t care about anyone else that gets uncomfortable either.

And in conclusion, I’ll be wiping this on someone’s chair.

2. People under age 30 regard you as wise.

Until you forget something.

3. No one faults you for spending an entire day in your robe because you’re “old”.

I’m going to WalMart. You kids want anything?

4. You start counting the days to AARP discounts.

Don’t forget our discounts, young missy! We have our cards!

5. Getting carded to buy alcohol makes you smile.

She didn’t believe that I’m 47!

6. Other adults don’t scowl at you when you cuss.

Actually, no surprise at all.

7. You can blame laziness on aches and pains without being questioned.

How every man over age 40 approaches a chore….

8. 7:00pm is an acceptable bedtime.

Me and my wife. Literally. Every goddamn night.

9. A vacation gets redefined as 3 days of not leaving your house.

We’re actually home. We’re just not coming out.

10. Talking about sex more openly becomes hilariously amusing.

I understand your pain, dear. Next time you simply must use more lube.

Got any to add? 😁

 
Leave a comment

Posted by on February 20, 2017 in And now for something different

 

Nope.

Oh, HELL no.

Let me tell you a little secret about me, folks. I’m actually not terrified of snakes. My mother had the wisdom to make sure that I did not inherit her fears. Her fear of snakes is one of them. 

Growing up, I LOVED studying reptiles, especially snakes. At great danger to myself as a child, I even taught myself how to properly catch them without getting bitten. 

My mother hated that.

The problem is, there were no rattlesnakes where I grew up. I had cute, cuddly cottonmouths and copperheads (which are still dangerously unpredictable and poisonous).

Wook at dat wittle guy!!! So cahyoot!!!

I grew up figuring out how to predict their movements, how to approach, and when to stay away. I never feared them; but I’ve always respected them. 

Rattlesnakes, on the other hand……I never encountered as a child.

Fuck this.

I’ve run across the occasional rattler as an adult, and it scared the piss out of me. I can’t predict them. They’re always mad, and they attack at weird angles. I’ll catch the hell out of a cottonmouth. You got a rattlesnake in your house? You’re on your own.

Fuck that. Burn the house. Leave the country.

Your toilet is a holy place in your house. It’s your throne. Your place of peace. It’s not the doormat for Satan’s first appearance on earth, especially if he’s got a death rattle at the end of his tail.  

Somebody call Samuel Jackson, please.