“Patience and fortitude conquer all things”

Ralph Waldo Emerson was the proud owner of that little nugget of goodness I placed conveniently in quotation marks at the top of this blog. And in case you wanted to know my opinion…

Waldo up there was full of shit.

Now let me qualify my bitching a bit here. This pregnancy has been relatively easy based on horror stories viewed on TLC. Judging from what some friends and acquaintances of have shared, we could have had a much more stressful ordeal. And of all the people involved… it’s my wife that has experienced any discomfort really.

But all that said… I am ready for Baby Secret Name to get her butt out of Melissa’s belly and into this world.

Come on all ready.

Despite all of my boasts of possibly selling our bouncing bundle of joy on the baby black market (reverse the first two words of that phrase and I become an instant racist), I was secretly hoping that she would have came today since today was my mom’s birthday. The idea of sharing that with my mom, who wanted nothing more in life then to have a little granddaughter was enough to almost make me a little misty eyed this past week.

But to no avail. The little girl has shown the same stubborn resolve that my mom was famous for. Maybe it’s in that respect that our sweet angel will actually be grandma’s little devil. I can’t say that I’d be too upset were that true.

Even still… as we sit here and watch Sex Drive on premium cable for the umpteenth time, we wait. We remain patient. She bides her time.

And it is driving me flip’n crazy.

Maybe it would be a tad easier on me if my wife wasn’t engaged in a “subconscious” mission to f@#%K with me every chance she gets. She tries to deny it, but I am on to her ruse. I think she enjoys having the upper hand in this arena. Science has thankfully yet to level the playing field in the bearing children department. So for the foreseeable future, she’ll continue to hold all the cards.

Luckily that future and her upper hand both slightly decrease after Sunday. Not so lucky, I slip further behind the ladies in the guy/girl ratio in this household.

It’s only going to harder on this solo manly blogger – J

PS, happy birthday mom.

More Comfortable Then Making Love in the Back of a Volkswagen

This blog will be short.

Many a time I have mentioned that I am beginning to feel the strain of time on my psyche. But in spite of my slowly approaching expiration date, I still dig the occasional use of penises and flatulence as a vehicle for laughter.

I bring this up because tonight I find myself sitting in front of my TV watching Mallrats...arguably Kevin Smith’s most sophomoric film. This may be my kabillionth time watching it and like Bettlejuice said, “It keeps getting funnier every time I see it!”

For real…

I can’t think of many movies outside of Smith’s that always leave me reminiscing about the good ol’ days of late high school and early college with such fond reflection. It illuminates some of the best memories I had of those time periods.

Not chasing skirts. Not swilling barley and hops. And not rounding the bases after saying “buh-bye” to Mr. Softball.

Nope, some of the best times I can reflect on were laughing and discussing Smith-ian dialogue and Tarantino’s intentionally missing plot threads with the likes of Big D and Carter.

And regardless of Smith’s ever expanding waist band and over blown since of geeky divinity… I will always like him and the other directors like Robert Rodriguez, Tarantino, and David Fincher. They are what kept me going to the movies and inspired me to enjoy more depth in my stories then I would have thought entertaining just short years earlier.

So I guess I am trying to say thanks to tuba tubby for making the films that can still remind me what it feels like to relax, laugh, and enjoy when relaxing, laughing, and enjoying were really all we had to most days.

Blog over, slightly shorter then Smith’s time on Southwest Airlines… BONG!!! - J