Gabby part 2

 

"So I scored a second date and we haven't even been on our first?"

"Yeah," she said. "I'll do anything for Selena."

Gabby made it clear early in our conversations that she is a huge Selena fan. Fearing it would be a dealbreaker, I informed her that I've never seen the biopic film and am unfamiliar with her music. She wasn't shocked, as she didn't expect a white guy to be into Latin-pop, but she made it clear that she would educate me on the life and singing of the Hispanic star. 

Before our first date I was informed that the movie based on the life of Selena was coming to the big screen for some anniversary showing. I informed Gabby of this and told her I'd like to take her. She was excited and agreed to a second date before we had gone on our first.

Given how well the first date went, I was confident the second would be no different. We met at the theatre and dined in their restaurant, but there was something odd going on. She was distance, not flashing that pretty smile. Gabby wasn't interested in light humor so the conversation ran deep, which is normally something I welcome, but it just seemed awkward at this point. 

She didn't order a drink, nor did she seemed impressed that I had listened to Selena's music earlier that day. Gabby was just kind of stone faced and indifferent. Although she was sporting a handmade t shirt that said "I'll do anything for Selena," there was no external signs that she was excited to see her favorite movie about her favorite singer. 

We sit and watch the movie, which was fine by cinematic standards. I may have enjoyed it more had I been a fan of the singer, but as tragic act made itself apparent in the third act, I noticed Gabby was crying. I went to hold her hand and she pulled away.

Yeah, I had just made things awkward.

The movie thankfully ended, and we made our way to her car. We hugged goodbye and I asked if I could see her again. Maybe it was a bold move, but I was wondering if she was just in a bad mood. She agreed and said she couldn't wait to see me again.

I called once and texted once. I heard nothing back. Now normally being ghosted wouldn't be something that would bother me, but I recalled how she spent a long time expressing her disdain for it, and how we swore to each other it would never happen. 

At least I got one good date out of it.

“I’m very real, very sincere, and honest, and that’s how I’ll always be.” - Selena

Gabby

 

"Be gentle," I asked her. "This is my first date in over a decade."

"I will," she said reassuringly. "We're going to have a good time."

Gabby was my first date since getting into the world of online dating. After we matched we chatted it up a bit. She was a short, curvy, brunette with big dark eyes and a beautiful smile. She made sure I knew she was hispanic, but grew up in the DFW area all her life.

She gave me her number and I called.

"I should've faked a hispanic accent," she said after we exchanged greetings.

"That would've been hilarious," I replied.

I explained that I was new to the dating scene in Dallas and this is my first real stab at doing this online. She rattled off some horror stories, then I found myself in a 40 minute conversation about ghosting. Gabby explained to me that it was popular for uninterested parties to simply not return calls nor texts when they decide you're not a good idea. She made me promise to man up and tell her if I wasn't wanting another date, and she swore she'd do the same.

Interesting, I thought, but I was in a new world where romance starts electronically rather than organically, but I paid it little mind. I vowed to be honest and would honor that.

"We were on the phone for 2 hours. I could've talked to you all night," was a text she sent me after we said our goodnights on the phone. I admitted I could've done the same, but sadly sleep was in order. We made plans to eat some sushi and see where the night takes us.

I arrived a bit early and nerves started to set in. It was my first date in a long while, but I quickly relaxed knowing that she seemed really into me and was very interested in learning more about my kids and their situation. I ordered a martini and waited at the unusually empty restaurant. There was seriously more staff than customers, each making sure they made their presence known at regular intervals while I sipped my drink. Then she arrived.

She was even prettier in person, but she was the spitting image of a good friend of mine. It was eerily similar, but I quickly shrugged it off and we gave each other a hug. We sat and ordered; she was well versed in the cuisine. We had fun getting to know each other, laughing and sharing rolls. I felt good sitting with this pretty girl and sharing thoughts and food. Dinner came to a close and we both agreed that we weren't ready for the night to end.

"Ice cream?" she asked. "I know of a good ice cream shop near here."

You know it was a nice evening, and ice cream did sound good. We went to a small shop that I never knew existed, sat outside sharing our dessert, and continued the friendly banter. She did say she that she sees us meeting in the area a lot, so I took that as a good sign that she's already thinking we'll be dating for a while.

We then went to a favorite pub of mine and had some more drinks. She was a bit playful as we threw fake punches and ribbed a bit. It was fun, and I hadn't had that much fun with a woman in so long. As we sat in the bar, smiling and laughing I felt something. Confidence, knowing that I could offer a girl a good time. Maybe I can make someone happy, even if it's in small way. I wasn't completely worthless, unattractive. I had qualities that a girl could appreciate.

We said our goodbyes, but I didn't go for a kiss. We already had plans for a second date, so maybe there would be some smooching.

To be continued...

“Sometimes it takes a heartbreak to shake us awake & help us see we are worth so much more than we're settling for.” ― Mandy Hale

Melissa

 

It's been way too long since I've updated this blog, and it's doubtful any of my old regulars even check this anymore, but a friend/colleague of mine find ourselves in similar personal situations which inspired me to put pen to parchment. 

I'm divorced officially now and am navigating the waters of the DFW dating scene, which has been surreal. I'll post about the end of my marriage at some point, but for now let's take a journey to my first romantic interlude, a girl named Melissa.

"Holy shit," said Corey. "That girl in the gray tank top has nice tits."

My best friend is what you call a breast man, and I'm no exception, so I naturally turned to look, but found the object of his desire had her back turned. Still a nice view I thought, but I focused my attention back on Corey and continued our conversation.

It was my birthday, my first since my ex and I separated. My friends were kind enough to throw a get together at my favorite watering hole, an Irish pub. The party dwindled to just my best friend and I, him drinking his fruity liquor concoction and I on my 8th or 9th Guiness. As sad as I was knowing that my family wouldn't be there to enjoy the festivities, I was truly grateful for the love and support of friends.

The pub has your typical decor of an Irish pub, with dark colored paint and hints of green surrounding the fancy bar top. Naturally, they had adorned a dartboard that was flanked with chalkboards of their latest specials and current list of what's on tap. There is little that makes it stand out from other bars like it, other than its splendid location in the quaint downtown, where piped in music filled the night air and people spontaneously danced in the sitting area outside. 

Corey and I made our way outside and I saw him off to his Uber, a wise decision considering how much we consumed. I took a last puff of my cigar and went back into the bar to square up.

As I leaned there trying to get the attention of the staff, a flock of people who I briefly met earlier gathered around me making conversation. We made small talk as I locked eyes with a beautiful young lady who introduced herself as Melissa. She was short, curvy brunette with big doe eyes and a sweet smile.

"Mother of God," I thought. "This is the girl Corey was raving about." 

She asked me the usual questions, name, occupation, age, relationship status, etc. and I in turn asked the same. She was a professional burlesque dancer which came as of no shock given her figure and demeanor, but I am largely unfamiliar with the craft. I was enjoying her company though for reasons other than just how she was easy on the eyes.

Melissa was a bit young for me at the tender age of 31, but she was friendly, cool, and seemed mature. We spoke amongst the others who were trying to make fast friends with me. As I was placing my signature on the slip she grabbed my arm and held a firm grip. 

"Do you want to come party with us?" she asked with giving those puppy dog eyes.

"I don't know," I replied. "It's getting late."

"If we get bored we can hang at my place."

"I'm in," I said without skipping a beat while I slapped my hand on the counter.

A group of us walked down the street to a nearby apartment complex. I was the only one who didn't have a history with any of these people, and I wondered what I was going to walk into. Sizing the dudes up, I figured I was pretty safe, and the women, dear lord all of them were so pretty. As we entered the apartment, I was offered more beer, which I gladly accepted. Then they brought out the cocaine.

Oh dear. These youngins are doing some hard drugs, and I was clearly the only one not into that scene. Not that I have a problem with people snorting uppers, it's just not what I do. I'm a drinking man, and that's about it. I felt a little lonely being the odd man out, but Melissa made sure I always had her company, and I was grateful.

"Wanna head to my place?" she asked.

"Um, let me think about it," I replied. "Yes."

We Ubered to her home, a nice dwelling, clean and well decorated. We chatted a bit and sipped some cocktails she made. And then, well you know.

"It's getting late," she said as she lifted her head off my chest.

"What time is it?" I asked as I reached for my phone. Holy hell it was 7am. It was 2:30a when we left the party.

We said our goodbyes and I called my Uber. As I left I wondered if I should call her, and while I did enjoy my time for obvious reasons, I really had no intellectual connection with someone 15 years my junior with no shared interests, well we did have one thing in common. Oh yes we did.

I was standing outside awaiting my ride home. I turned to see her in the front window smiling at me. She blew me a kiss, and I air grabbed it. 

As I pulled myself out of bed at 4pm I see my phone with numerous missed calls and texts from my ex. I call her and she inquires to my whereabouts. I was honest and explained in less than honest detail about last night's activities. She seemed happy and decided since I was with a female it would be a splendid time to tell me she was dating some exclusively. 

"Why are you waiting to tell me this now?" I asked, which seemed like a reasonable question.

"I didn't want to upset you," she replied.

"Why wouldn't I be..." I stopped myself. Told her I was happy for her and wished her the best with him. We ended the conversation, and a single tear shot down my cheek.

"I remember thinking cocaine was subtle until I noticed I'd been awake for three weeks and didn't know any of the naked people passed out around me." - P. J. O'Rourke

I'm writing a book, a love story. I'm about 10k words in and I do hope I finish it. Sometimes life gets in the way of our dreams, but I want to leave something for the kids, and this may do it. Or not.

Recently I was a subject in my friend's autobiography (seriously). Well I was one of many subjects in it: Amazon.com: I Was A Teenage Know Nothing: Illustrated Version eBook : Ownbey, Ryon: Kindle Store

That's the short update on my creative life.

Wiwille loses weight, ends poorly

My wife has been on a diet, and I decided to join her, as it's important to support your spouse through their weight loss goals. I've never weighed myself, as I don't really care so much as I just want to eat better and exercise more. Today I had a moment that showed my waist line has shrunk.

Today I get a notification from Untapped, stating the elusive Corn Dog Ale from Revolver Brewing is available at a store near me. For those unfamiliar, this beer was previously only served at the Texas State Fair. One year I was there with the wife and friends, and skeptical, we ordered one, because why not? We all loved it, but groaned that we could only enjoy its tasty goodness at that venue for the price of a steak dinner.

As all things happening with the world being on fire, the Texas State Fair has decided not to open, and Revolver listened to their customers and made the beer available for retail. I, being ridiculously excited to taste the goodness that is Corn Dog Ale, dart to the store.

I enter the establishment, picking up two six packs of the beer in question, and a four pack of another. I was walking to the cashier with hands full, noticing my shorts felt looser fitting than usual. I never wore a belt with shorts, because necessity never demanded, until now. Before I got to place the beer on the counter, I feel my shorts drop to my ankles. Hands full and facing a wide eyed clerk, I put the beer down and pulled my garments up to a position that would no longer require an arrest. I then explained to him I am on a diet. He understood.

"I've had it in years past at the State Fair. They serve it in mustard rimmed glass. I did not think that would be a good pairing, but it was actually super tasty. Lots of cornmeal flavor in the beer which paired great with the mustard, but didn't notice any meat flavor." - Reddit

 

I don't miss 9/12

 

I don't miss 9/12.

There I said it.

I may be alone in my feelings about the aftermath of our country's most horrific terrorist attack, but I remember 9/12 rather differently than the many others who are posting on Facebook about how united the United States.

I remember Islamophobia, so much that anyone who was Asian and brown had to fear for their safety from being assaulted by simpletons. I recall people who were baffled in our intelligence system's massive failure, and others who quickly explained it away. I recollect some who were confident the then administration would lead the world in a united front to seek justice against those responsible, but not shockingly, there were others skeptical of their abilities. Many exploited the event, claiming it was a conspiracy by a cabal of the powerful while others wondered who could possibly be that competent.

The anxiety of another attack was permeating the national conscious, the immediate call for the removal our basic rights and privacy, and the debate of our call to war against a country who simply demanded evidence of extradition. The universal mourning of our fallen heroes and victims is nothing I will look back fondly on.

I guess I remember a different America on 9/12. 

Shopping with kids

Technology has given us a lot. It's strengthened our medical care, gave us conveniences that were once thought impossible, and has given access to information and resources that better our lives.

Shopping has largely been simplified thanks to our access to the internet. What once took you an entire day of commuting from mall to mall, store to store, now can take moments from the creature comforts of your home. This modern feature has my praise, as I can spend less time putting miles on my car and more time with my family and friends.

As with anything remotely tech related, there are a few cons.

I was at work when an email hit my personal inbox. I check it to see that my purchase via the Xbox Live account was successful. I, of course, didn't purchase anything through my Xbox, so I trembled with fear. Had someone hacked my account and is downloading content against my wishes? Was there an issue on Microsoft's end where they incorrectly attributed a purchase to my account? How long would this take to fix?

After giving it a little thought, I decided to call the wife.

Me: Is Kenadie on the Xbox?
Kelly: Yes, she's playing the Disneyland game.
Me: Are you sure? I just got an email telling me I purchased a digital copy of Trolls for $16?
Kelly: KENADIE FAE!
Kenadie: Trolls. Trolls. Trolls. Trolls. Trolls....
Kelly: I'm sorry Erik.
Me: It's cool. I just got radically confused for a moment. I'll password protect Xbox Live so she can't purchase anything anymore.

We later had to password protect Kelly's phone when Kenadie ordered chocolate milk from McDonald's on Uber Eats.

"I used to have an online-shopping problem." - Hannah Bronfman

Glamping

We packed up the car and went day glamping on Saturday. My brother in-law and his family were out at the lake in their large camper, enjoying the outdoors while enjoying the creature comforts of middle class camping. His outdoor television was playing college football, and his propane grill was ready to heat some carnivore goodness.

I was nervous about taking the children, as Keaton has a habit of darting off. Open spaces are an excuse to show off his jogging skills, and I end up hot on his heels as he bolts to wherever he pleases. My son reminds me a lot of my sister, as she was notorious for doing the same.

I have short legs, and when I run I end up looking like Fred Flintstone, much to the amusement of anyone seeing me chase after my sprinter. I figured if nothing else, the family would get a good laugh watching me keep my kid within arms before he decided to go all Forrest Gump and head up to Oklahoma.

We exited the car after arriving at the camp site. I stood next to him, and watched him soak up the scenery. I had no hold on him, as I just waited to see how he would react to being outside of our usual suburban environment. He looked around, smiled, and reached for my hand.

As he led the way, we tracked through the grass and walked to the lake. Keaton was grinning from ear to ear, looking at the water and enjoying the quiet of nature. He looked at peace, happy, and content with his surroundings. There was no meltdowns, no desire to escape my hand's grip and wander into god know where, just a little boy who was enjoying himself in the serenity of the habitat.

I walked him to a playground, where he enjoyed climbing the rock wall and giving Kelly an ulcer. Keaton made the most of his play time, sliding down the slide and climbing back up again.

We need to do more of this, I thought. See, having your kid walk calmly beside you seems like a normal activity for most, but for a parent raising a child with autism, it feels miraculous.

"Sometimes people say that kids with autism aren't capable of love. That's ridiculous. My son loves deeply. He just doesn't communicate well."

Meeting the sisters

So to any readers left on this sparsely updated blog, I have some news. As posted about earlier, I have reached out to my bio-parents and have maintained communication with them. I was informed I have two half sisters, from my bio-mother, but both her and her husband were reluctant to let them know I exist. While I was confused, I decided to be supportive in their decision as I didn't want to have any negative impact on their family dynamic.

Recently the youngest sister had an upcoming wedding, and the older one had a baby on the way. My bio-mom decided to spill the beans about the fact they have a middle aged brother. I can't imagine their shock to learn a decades long secret about a secret sibling, but as I understand it they took it well.

With my father's memorial service, which was highly delayed, my bio-mom set up a dinner meeting so I could meet her daughters for the first time. My mother and I were invited to have a home cooked meal, and enjoy some drinks and laughs. We were both nervous, and I was curious if they were going to even like the person I am, or if I would like them.

After dishing up a meal consisting of organic, gluten free, non-GMO (allegedly), and taste free food, we sat to eat. Conversation immediately sparked, and it was shocking to me that the three of us just met. We spoke as if we've known each other for years. No awkward pauses, no cringe worthy topics, and no need of putting on a happy front was apparent. While the three of us are in no way similar in personality or looks, it was congenial and I was very happy to finally call them family. While they'll never come close to having the relationship I have with Tonya, I find myself caring about their happiness and future as I do what I consider my own sister.

Given the happy moments shared with my bio-family, that week took a somber turn I had to swallow my emotions and give a eulogy for my father. It was rough, but I'm glad I did it, and was overwhelmed with the outpouring of love towards him. The memorial went well, and I made a slideshow with some of my favorite photos of Dad for all to see.

My father

As I flew into DFW from Seattle, holding back tears and watching some comic book movie on the tiny screen in front of me, I reflected on the week I just experienced, and the life I was given.

 My mother called me that Saturday morning, telling me she tried to wake up my dad, who was cold and not breathing. She stated paramedics were on their way. Ten seconds later, they arrived and started to do what they do. I stayed on the phone with mom trying in vain to calm her while knowing the worst had happened. My father would not be alive anymore. I would know a life without him.

Kelly texted me saying she was on her way home from Kenadie's dance practice and asked what I wanted for lunch. I could only respond with the horrific news. The paramedics confirmed what I had already knew, and a grief counselor started to talk to my mother. I hung up the phone to spread the word that my dad is no longer with us. Phone call after phone call, I talked with numerous people who were shocked and dismayed by what I had to tell them. My sister dropped everything to head up to be with my mother, and Kelly arrived home and booked a flight and car.

I arrived late that night, to my mom who was already asleep. She had a long, tough day, and I envied her ability to snooze. I stayed up for a bit with my sister and her boyfriend, who kept me updated on how mom was holding up, and I thanked them for taking the time to make the long drive north. I told Facebook what had happened, and immediately was taken aback by all the well wishes and offers of condolences. Stories were shared about him, and fond memories were had. I sat on the couch, looked around the room, and wondered how I'm going to take care of all of this. This is what I posted:

"My father dreamed a life of adventure. In his youth he buried his head in Kipling stories and the comic book tales of Uncle Scrooge, fantasizing about a life of voyages, treasure hunting, and engaging with cultures foreign to him. People of my generation may recall the Disney comics as being the basis for the 80s cartoon "Duck Tales." 

After college, he decided he wanted to live out the life he wanted, touring the world having quests in places far and exotic. He decided the honorable thing would be to stop dating my mother, and join up as a merchant marine. As he stood there about to board ship, something ate at him. He turned away from his passion, followed his heart, and never got on that boat. He came back to my mother, proposed, and made her and his family his first priority. 

Years later when my parents spent a decade trying to have a child, he told my mother he was taking a day trip, and found himself in Portland, to what is now Catholic Community Services, and requested to adopt a child. He surprised my mother with the news, and a year later they called my folks announcing that they need to come pick up their son. That’s how I became a Wilson. 

My dad wasn’t a saint nor a scholar, but he lived a good life, always putting his family’s needs and wants above his own. That was the father that raised and loved me. He used to tell me that he hoped heaven was something out of a Normal Rockwell painting, a world he always wanted to see. Today I say goodbye to the man I call Dad, who was the kind of father I’ll always aspire to be."

 The next day I called an old friend to tell him, who arrived at our front door two hours later and he jumped into work mode, packing up boxes and throwing out garbage. We ran errands everywhere, taking care to make sure mom was eating and getting enough rest, and I'd come back to the house to feel as if I hardly made a dent in all the nonsense my dad had collected over the years. It got so frustrating I wanted to light the place on fire and call it done, but rational thought got the better of me. It was hard work, loading box after box of nonsense into his truck, firing it up after not having been turned over in five years, and making runs to the dump, Goodwill, etc, but it was worth it as it helped put my mom's mind at ease. Every evening I would eat with my mom and would try to connect with her in a manner that seemed surreal. Dad was no longer there to join us, and we had to talk about her future, which would mostly end in sobs.

I don't know that I've ever been so exhausted, physically and emotionally. The outpouring of help I received from my sister, friends, and family was overwhelming and was instrumental in making the trip more bearable, but the pain of mourning my father while simultaneously taking care of my mother and his estate was almost too much. That being said, I am so grateful to all who assisted, and I don't know that I can ever repay them for the generosity they displayed.

I couldn't help but feel all kinds of guilt as I left my mother to her own devices while she was mourning her husband, but she's more capable than I give her credit for, and I have good people who are checking in on her daily. That helped make the flight back home so much easier.

I finally landed and got to see my beautiful wife and kids. Knowing they were well and love me is partially how I still manage to get through this.

Goodbye father.

A Prince whose character is thus marked by every act which may define a Tyrant, is unfit to be the ruler of a free people." - Thomas Jefferson

Learning about wiwille

After 41 years, I finally made contact with my birth parents. After I finally received my pre-adoption birth certificate, my wife did some internet legwork and found their contact information. She reached out to both, who confirmed they are my birth parents. I found them to both be alive and well living in Washington. I've spoken to them both at length and they've provided me with a lot of information. The things I've learned:

1. I'm mostly Irish, which would explain my fascination for stout beer.
2. I have two half sisters, both of whom are, as my friends have put it, hot. I really got screwed in the looks department.
3. My birth father's wife had no idea of my existence, until I reached out to him. He then told her about me, and she thankfully was excited.
4. On my birth father's side, only him and his wife know I exist.
5. On my birth mother's side, only her and her husband know I exist.

I've been keeping this from my family to not hurt anyone's feelings. They've been good parents and I don't want them to ever think I would refer to anyone else as mom or dad, but I feel a tremendous amount of guilt because of it for reasons to numerous to detail.

Descent into batshittery

I have a friend who is now on the conspiracy theory bandwagon. He is posting on FB more frequently with videos of the same old topics of some secret society controlling all world events. Sometimes he crafts his own words, such as the below:

Dont believe the polls... Hillary is part of the illuminati...! Pay attention to whats happening in our country. Oregon has uranium.... Who own all the mines? How bout the media? Who own that? There are 3 countries without rothschild banks. Wanna know who the next 3 wars are with. ? Make sure trump wins he finances himself the illuminti wont be able buy him out.
Those who oppose trump wanting to make america great again......... Enjoy the fema camps!!!!

I feel for my friend as he had it rough growing up, and it appears life hasn't been kind since we've virtually reconnected. Now from afar, I see his descent into madness. He needs help, and I have no confidence that there's anything I can do to help.

My mother recently told me her best friend believes the Earth is flat. Seriously.

Has the whole world gone nuts? Are people still denying mental health care is a real issue we need to address?

Why?

I find it surreal that Donald Trump may possibly be the GOP nominee for POTUS. I underestimated the appeal to the narcissistic asshole demographic.

What the hell has been up with Wiwille?

Well it's been a while since I posted any content that could be considered literate, and there are many reasons for that. A lot has changed in my life and taking the time to putt fingers to keyboard is more of a chore now than it ever was. So let me give a brief recap of the highlights of what's been going on in my life for the past six years:

• Met a girl
• Quit my job
• Moved halfway across the country from the liberal stronghold of Washington to the conservative Mecca that is Texas.
• Got a new job, married said girl, and built a house in the span of a year.
• Became a dad to a beautiful baby girl.
• Sold a house, bought a new one.
• Got a new job.
• Became a dad to a beautiful baby boy.
• Sold a house, bought a new one.

So looking back at all the posts previous to the above events where I ranted about politics, detailed my thoughts on movies, told my tales of alcohol filled events, and chronicled my roller coaster love life recent events, while gargantuan, hasn't accommodated blogging, sadly. I truly miss my creative outlet, but my as my work requires my constant attention, and my family would rather have me engage with them rather than type on a laptop, my narcissistic hobby has fallen to the wayside.

My weekends are mostly tied up with house projects, most of which I fail miserably at, and family time, with the occasional beer and cigar being consumed. Before marriage, I would start my evening at a bar, consuming many pints, and seeing where the night takes me. Now I change diapers and take out the trash and maybe spend an hour with the wife watching television before we go off to slumber.

So yeah, married life can seem dull, but it's ever rewarding, thanks to my excellent choice of a wonderful woman. A strong argument could be made that she made the poor judgement of promising a lifetime of partnership with me, but I choose not to haggle with such minor details.

There's a lot going on with raising kids, which I'll share in another post. Hopefully it'll take less than six years to compose it.

I'm 40

Seriously, I'm 40...

The life I have chosen

You've been told all your life that parenting is difficult. You were told you'd be up late night with an inconsolable infant who's screams can be heard from the farthest reaches of the cosmos. You've been told that diapers were smelly and plentiful. You were told you'd your relationship with your significant other would be, at times, strained due the constant stress, the sleep deprivation, and the lack of time couples devote to themselves. You were told that fatherhood will change you in every conceivable way.

You read the books, you poured over the multiple websites as asked by your wife, and you listened closely to those all to willing to share parental advice to a new father.

What they didn't tell you is that you'd be so tired you'd welcome the sweet embrace of death if it was the only way to experience rest. What they didn't tell you is that every article in your wardrobe would be soiled with vomit and/or feces. What they didn't tell you is that you'd have little time for spouse, much less yourself, and everything even remotely resembling your life pre-fatherhood would be eliminated from your conscious. What they didn't tell you is that you'd have to pencil in time just to watch a simple television show. What they didn't tell you is warm meals are a luxury. What they didn't tell you is the guilt you'll feel for even considering taking an hour to yourself.

What they did tell you is that holding your sweet baby for the first time is the most amazing experience you'll ever have, and they were right.

Time

God how sad it is that I have so much to say and so little time to say it. I need to drink more.

It's my birthday...

...and I'm not yet 40. So close though...

Wiwille can't see.

So for a couple of months now I've noticed I can't read fine print anymore. Seeing has never been a problem for me, well at least sober, but as old age creeps up and staring at a computer for more than half of my proletariat life my eyesight isn't functioning as well as it has. Reading labels, instructions (yes, sometimes I do indulge them) or anything that's written in a font that's smaller than your average reality show star's self esteem became a huge issue for the family. I was constantly calling upon my wife to assist with the simple task of literacy, and it grew tiresome right quick.

So I was in need of eye wear, but had no earthly idea where to begin. I've never shopped for eye wear before outside of sunglasses, and was in need of a good pair of glasses that will help me read, because without I might as well be trying to decipher brail. So I went to the only place I thought could service my eye needs, the dollar store.

Yes the dollar store, where you can get merchandise that will maybe last the trip home for low prices. The dollar store, because Wal-Mart is just to darn hard on the pocketbook. The dollar store, because nothing says savings like the self loathing you feel when you plop down a cheap card to get for dear old ma, because you forgot it was Mother's Day, and a bag of pretzels with a questionable expiration date and even more questionable quality control. The dollar store, where you can save money on soap and other hygienic goods that'll make you feel as clean as if you've dug your way out of a POW camp with your teeth.

So yeah, I do at times shop at the dollar store, because not all my friends and family deserve more than a 99 cent card, and they have good cheese puffs and other stuff that's not worth spending more than a dollar for. To my surprise they did have reading glasses, and not bad ones at that. So I got my eye wear, previously mentioned cheese puffs, and something else I can't recall and checked out.

I haven't even hit forty yet.

"My grandmother is over eighty and still doesn't need glasses. Drinks right out of the bottle." - Henny Youngman