Catching Up | moonshadoe's Blog

(5:42AM) When my wife walked through the front door unexpectedly yesterday afternoon, her first words were, "Watcha doin'?" At the time I was smacking away on the keyboard dropping lines in this place, so I didn't have a lot of time to think of anything other than the truth, and three shots of Old Grand Dad will do that to a person. Without so much as an indication of hesitation I told her that I was blogging, and I left it at that. Actually, I had one shot of Old Grand Dad still in the glass when I heard the door begin to open, and I chugged it in rapid fire style so she wouldn't see it. Someone remind me not to do that again.

I quickly dropped out of EP and switched to MSN in the event she wanted to see where I had been blogging. Having just created a new account on MSN as an alternative spot for mind spewage, if she wanted to see something I'd have something for her to see without letting her see the something that is here. I quickly got up to follow her into the kitchen as she unloaded a couple of bags of groceries. Then I turned back around to head out to the car to help bring in the rest of what she had bought. I knew that she would probably be home early because she had left very early in the morning, as had I. For me, it was another day in this place, on a Sunday. For her it was the usual, but because the store was having a mandatory meeting of sorts for the employees, she had to be there at six.

As far as my blogging activities were concerned, nothing more was said, and I was surprised by that. It's been almost a year now since she happened to come upon something I had been doing for the last three, spilling my innards about life as it is, and not really holding back a whole lot in so doing. When she first found a blog entry I'd made it was like an instant replay of Mt. Vesuvius, as she erupted. This time around, she said nothing, nor did she display any curiosity as to what I was writing about. Had she asked I probably would have told her that it concerned our son, and his present attitude toward his sister, and that would have been accurate as well. But she didn't ask, and I didn't volunteer any further information. She wasn't very thrilled to see that I'd brought home another bottle of Rebel Yell, but she also didn't know that I'd had it riding around with me in the car for the past three days either. I didn't want to unveil it until the other bottle was a thing of the past. She keeps telling me that I'm going to become an alcoholic, and I keep thinking that if that were to actually become the case she would be a main contributor in seeing that come about. Trust me, it's not going to happen. It's just for medicinal purposes.

Once we had brought everything in from the car, I helped put things away. I then put the dishes away that were in the dishwasher, and the dirty dishes that were in the kitchen sink I put in the dishwasher. My time on the computer was a done deal for the most part, and the rest of the evening would be spent sitting in the family room, without the family, watching a bunch of millionaires run around on a football field beating the crap out of each other over a little oblong leather covered ball, and who says there isn't intelligent life on this planet? I got to see part of the inaugural game held in the new Cowboys Stadium in Arlington, Texas, between the Dallas Cowboys and the New York Giants, and I wondered what I could do with $1.15 billion. That's the estimated cost of the new stadium, and that would pay to have a lot of pets spayed or neutered, and the same could be aptly applied to the pervs that frequent this place, but I won't go there.

At some point during the evening my wife told me that she'd gotten a bonus check that day, and I'm not sure how much it was, but as far as I'm concerned it's hers to do with as she wants. I suppose one could look upon it as an early birthday present, and if such were to happen to me I might see it in a similar way, but then again, I probably wouldn't. I have this bad habit of taking my freebies and giving them to the wife, or at least sharing them without any ulterior motive in mind. The days used to be when the objects of ulterior motives actually came to fruition by such actions, but not so any more. Now I just do it because it helps my conscience, or at least it seems to. I told her she could take her bonus check and use it to take a few days off to go hang with her twisted sister. I know they had probably spoken about doing something on a weekend for her birthday, and they've done that for the past two or three years. I sort of hope she does. I could use a few days by myself anyway. I've still got three bottles of bourbon to get rid of, and pouring them down the sink just isn't going to cut it.

Well, enough of this spewage. I have other things of which I would like to drop lines, but once again, I am here to work for a living, and with a little over ten minutes left before I have to play the part, I think I'll grab my coffee mug and make my usual trek. When I come back I will drop more verbage of other happenings of the weekend that will be sure to bore the average reader just like the above mental spewage, and I'm gone now.

(11:49AM) There must be some confusion as to the purpose of my blogging, so let me briefly explain. It's a blog, plain and simple. I have never made any claims of being an actual writer. Having said that, I hope that will change the complexion of things, but if not, my condolences to the person who couldn't find something better to read. Much of what I write is flippant in nature. Think not that I am seriously blaming my wife for my desire to imbibe on occasion of something slightly stronger than Old Mil. My stress factor is far from that. But I feel no need to make justification for every little thing that oozes from my gray matter. I look at blogging in this setting as merely an outlet, and as interminable as that may seem, trust me, it does have an end, and if the point isn't clear to the reader, it needn't be. When I take the opportunity to read what someone else has written in their blog I do not make it a point to make criticisms of what they write, or how they write. I look at the feelings in the words, and if I am compelled to make a comment I do so, not in order to criticize or correct, but to empathize and encourage. Once more I am reminded of why I like women readers so much. They're not guys. And having said that, I can get back to my interminable style of writing that suits me just fine even if it causes someone else's agent orange to act up.