Well, the time has come to start fresh with a new blog with a more personal approach. This journal will contain whatever I feel like writing at any given moment. I think I’ll skip posting photo’s for now and just let the words come. Since I may be the only person to ever read this blog I’d better make it meaningful or I’ll just piss myself off all over again. The narrative will be ongoing and hopefully worth reading.

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Today was “Dutiful Spouse Day” where I was permitted to travel all over the countryside with my better-half as her loyal chauffeur and chat buddy. She shops and I read a book, maybe window shop, or just people watch.

I decided that a visit to a nearby Home Depot might be fun while she does her shopping thing. I watched a seventy-five year old woman attempting to buy paint from a young lady with a body full of piercings, a red strip of hair down the middle of her head, and a voice that could curdle milk. They discussed and discussed the color match and then cussed about the eventual results. One talking with her hands and the other rolling her eyes and shrugging her shoulders. It never got too heated but it easily could have. The older woman threw the samples down and stormed away in a huff. The young Paint Department associate appeared frustrated by having to give the company required Customer Service to such a bitch.  She held her temper pretty well but her facial shade of purple made it abundantly clear just how much more she had to say but didn’t.

The day drags on with no better-half in sight. I just finished another two chapters of Satanic Verses. That’s the book that caused a great deal of turmoil in it’s day with a fatwa ordered on Salman Rushdie and blah, blah, blah. I don’t really understand why it was such a big deal because it’s unlikely if more than a handful of Muslim’s ever read the damn thing. Listen to this first sentence: “To be born again, sang Gibreel Farishta tumbling from the heavens, “first you have to die. Ho ji! Ho ji! To land upon the bosomy earth, first one needs to fly.” It’s a tough read and I have 545 more pages to go before I shoot myself.  On a extremely good day this tome would make an excellent door stop.

Why is it that not one religious piece of writing more than five hundred years old  makes any sense to me.  I’ve read them all and found them vague and repetitive. It’s no wonder people continue to disagree over them and try to kill each other.  Give me John Grisham any day.

My better-half’s birthday is on the horizon and I’m still struggling to find one more meaningful gift. Add to that my being told today that I’m in need of a Whooping Cough immunization if I plan on spending much time around my step grandson. He’s only a week old and already exerting his control over me.  I’ll just add him to the list.

We’ve now visited another three stores, I’ve downed my fourth cup of Dunkin Donuts coffee, and now I have coffee breath, a coffee headache, and a seriously distended bladder.

Things I’ve  learned today:

1. Seeing skinny jeans on a woman in her fifties is just as bad as seeing them on man in his fifties.

2. If you see a huge car moving at an extremely slow speed and there’s no driver’s head visible, slow the hell down and give them room. Eighty years old and going eight miles per hour. Yikes.

3. Don’t drink four large coffee’s in four hours.

Well we’re finally at home and I’ve finished dragging bag after bag of purchases into the house. I still haven’t found that special gift for her but I’ll worry about that tomorrow or the next day.