Creative Mediocrity For Fun and Profit
"I'm all about Truth, Justice, and the American Way, baby. And part of the American Way is macking on hotties." -- The Mighty Buzzard
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Super Sister Raindrop Outlook
The Mighty Buzzard's
Here There Be
The goddess of, well, something I'm sure -- Genevieve's Ink Stain
The eye candy at Aristry Images
Other Groovine Stuff:
Where you can find Davemania!
Into the mind of Phases
Through a Glass, Darkly
How The Other Side Lives
and of course...
Why Being Human Kicks Ass
Stuff I Like To Keep Up With:
What's playing at the nearest theater to Yours Truly
The Deep And Abiding Wisdom of Yours Truly About:
The Temperment Of Being Sick
Proper Application Of Jealousy
The Appeal Of Wisdom
When Women Actually Come To The Rescue
The Refreshing Integrity Of Strippers
Relationship Sex Vs. Casual Sex
The Male Sex Drive
Types of Women
More About The Hosses
Good Old (well, still new) Tink
* Yours Truly
* More About Yours Truly
Just for you, my dear Interested Party, is my Saturday so far: My dad came by and woke me up at ungodly o'clock this morning because he needed help handling a horse. So I get up, throw on some clothes, and ride out there with him. I did all this on auto-pilot because I was still groggy from the night before. It involved more than a few hours crowded by whiskey. Dad is not a morning person. Oh, he gets up in the wee hours of the day -- but at least he has the common courtesy to not be chipper about it. Anyway, we made it to the horses a good half-hour before daylight did.
We got done and he dropped me back off at my place. By now the sun was up. The sun, for those of you who haven't made it's acquaintance, is a morning person. It was up in the sky being annoyingly cheerful at me, so I ignored it and tried to go back to sleep. And just like other morning people, the sun kept doing it's happy little tasks at me through the window until I finally resigned myself to becoming fully conscious. The bastard.
I ran down to the store and got myself sufficiently caffeinated, then came back home and read a good book. Good Old Boys by Elmer Kelton. Trust me, if your first name is Elmer you had damned sure better be one hell of a writer. He is. If you are one of those people in love with Texas, every one of his books will provide you with a new reason.
So, let's see... About 10:00 in the am, I hopped online for a bit, chatted with a couple of friends, posted a blog, and then talked myself into leaving to go see the local “Medival Car Show”. Within a few blocks of my house, I talked myself into going to see my folks – more specifically my nephew. He is a cute kid, which is only natural considering the gene-poole he's swimming around in. ;)
Then sometime in the middle of the afternoon I zipped back home, got back online and chatted up another friend, read some recommendations of her own blog, and went back out to check on my colt. She was (the colt, that is, not the friend), as usual, extrememly ornery.
By now, I was also trying to sort out my choices for tonight's activities. They were A) Hang out here in town with a couple of friends of mine and partake of that fast-paced sort of rhetoric which is always fun. Or B) Go to a rodeo with another friend of mine. Got one call from choice A) saying they were probably not going to make it to town tonight. Got another call from choice B) saying, “Uh, it looks like I'm not going to make it to the rodeo tonight. But we can always just go do something else. Let me give you a call as soon as I get my schedule straightened out for tonight.”
I ran to the corner store to get some myself all cigarette-ified because I really enjoy the social leprosy that comes with being a smoker. When I got home I discover eight messages on the machine. These all occurred during my trek to the store, which means that my phone averaged two calls a minute while I was out. There is probably something deeply clever I could remark about it, but I don't want to be bothered. My apologies.
It seems now, Interested Party, that I now have these choices:
Which will I choose? Well, my dear Interested Party, I don't have a clue. Yet.