Mom's Favorite

How to tell you're Mom's favorite

* photo sent to me by TiggerLane

So, tomorrow I will be in The Rocket City, also known as Rocketown, for a family get-together and to celebrate Thanksgiving. This tradition normally involves football on TV featuring the Dallas Cowboys playing the Washington Redskins, but apparently they played last weekend and I missed it. It was a close game, judging from the score.

I'm not looking forward to making that long drive, especially since it's expected to rain all day and night today and I will be alone. Then again, when I have a long drive to make and I am all alone, I usually end up singing (screaming) along with the radio just for the fun of it. I'm glad that I can't hear myself because I know it's awful and I don't really try not to be. Sometimes, such as when I don't like the song I'm singing along with, doing it badly is actually more fun than doing it well. As if I could do it well anyway. I'm almost as bad a singer as I am a dancer.

Yes, I am aware that women consider a man's inability to dance well to be an indication of his inabilities in the bedroom, too, but honestly, how many of you are planning to come and sleep with me any time soon? Maybe I'll take dance lessons. Better still, I can always just get really, really drunk. I'm a GREAT dancer when I'm blitzed. And a great singer, too. By God, I'm great at just about everything when I'm drunk off my ass. I'm absolutely sure of this, despite what the police say. I was never a big Stewart Copeland fan anyway, and what does he know about it?

Sorry, '80s joke. If OneHungMan were here, he'd get it.

I'm curious, because it feels awfully tomblike around here lately, but how many of you are reading me through Google Reader or subscribing through the other thing I put up on my page and thus not leaving comments? Yes, I realize you can't answer me if you are doing this, unless you actually come over and tell me, which you aren't going to do because it's so much trouble. It's just that I'm thinking I'm not a big fan of this. Maybe it's just Thanksgiving, or maybe I'm just sucking, or maybe because I haven't had much time to keep up with everyone's blogs lately due to a project I'm way behind on, but it feels like I'm fading away here. What I really need is a sex change, big boobs, blonde hair, and a great sex life. This tends to bring in the commenters like nothing else.

I say this, but then there are plenty of blogs by brunettes who are married and have children (TKW) who, while quite hot and sexy, aren't writing very often about their sex lives. And they get plenty of comments. And guys who don't ever write about their sex lives, like Lightning Bug's Butt, and yet are so funny or interesting that they have an army of women commenting every day.

I think my funk and my stress from this project are affecting my blog in ways I don't realize, but everyone else does. Add to this the fact that I've moved and now rarely have to deal with the insane traffic in Crazy Cordova and thus have few wild traffic stories to tell, and no sex stories at all, and the fact that I've been a lazy fucker and skipped the gym, and when I go the gym is mostly deserted anyway, and really, what do I have to blog about?

I suppose I should be impressed with myself that I manage to squeeze so much material out of my daily poops and farting and poor fashion sense, but I'm not. Everyone else seems to have such fun and interesting lives (ADW) and I envy you all so much. I'd stop writing entirely and just read about your lives, but I know I can't shut the fuck up for more than a few days. After that, it's as if there's a volcano in my head and if I don't pound it out on the keyboard I will go berzerk and become one of those creepy people at the grocery store who just start talking to you out of shear desperation for human interaction and you can't get away from them except by throwing boxes of Cheerios at them before fleeing in panic to your car out in the parking lot. Or, sometimes, fleeing next door to the video game store where they have the newest XBox360 games.

Not that I ever do this, mind you. It's just something I COULD do if I wanted to.

Why are all comic book/video game/Dungeons and Dragons store owners just basically the same guy? He's a loser with a big peanut M&Ms gut, balding head with unwashed hair, scraggly beard, dirty old T-shirt with a slogan on it that might have been funny 20 years ago but is now just a lame testament to how old he is, and body odor that is guaranteed to repel any women within 50 yards. And he only knows how to relate to people through extreme saracasm, like no matter what anyone says to him he responds with some smart-assed insult, "I know you are but what am I."

This is a guy who likes to try to impress 14-year-olds with his astonishing intellect by throwing around big, pretentious words that he heard on a rerun of Xena: Princess Warrior. It's always 14-year-olds that he's trying to impress, because no one else wants anything to do with him.

He's insulting and nasty and not making much money despite the popularity of the products he sells, yet instead of trying to increase sales by improving his customer relation skills, he chooses to simply become even more insulting.

He drives a beat up old Chevy from 1985 with most of the paint peeling off of it. The car was recalled due to the paint flaw, and whomever the original owner was had every opportunity to have it repainted at GM's expense, but they asked their worthless son to do it and he never did. And now that he has inherited the car, he's really sorry he did that.

And the reason he owns the video game store? It isn't that he has any education in business and wanted to build an empire. Oh no, no MBA for this genius. No, it's simply that he's too smelly and nasty to work for anyone else, and so he has been forced to start his own business in order to make a living. And even with that, his character flaws turn a potentially profitable enterprise into a tiny struggling store located in a strip mall next to the Indian deli, where the stench of Middle Eastern mystery meat wafts over each and every day. And he only was able to afford that spot because no one else would rent it.

So anyway, I don't want to be that guy. I don't even really want to know that guy or hang out in his store, even when avoiding the desperately lonely person in the grocery store who wants to talk to me about her grandkids or her aching hip which has to be replaced or any of that crap. And I don't want to be that desperately lonely person in the grocery, either. That person needs to get a blog or something.

But then, who would read it?

Getting back to the point of this whole post, I'm leaving town tonight and won't be around to blog for a day or two. Don't think that I don't love you while I'm gone. You know I still do. I'm here in spirit. But in body I'll be in Alabama eating too much food, talking to my family about ... only God knows what ... and mostly being really bored. Happy Thanksgiving!!!

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