… only just compiled after the watershed of “holy fucking shit I’m thrilled, but holy fucking shit now I have to grow up for reals, not to mention holy fucking shit I hope I don’t fuck up this kid’s shit” emotional minefield that every guy must surely navigate after learning his wife is pregnant.
Regardless of what may or may not happen with regard to Erin’s pregnancy, that she is pregnant is an event of note. There was some previous incredulity.
I got my lower 2 wisdom teeth extracted last Friday. The opiate painkiller didn’t really do much for me, so I stopped taking it. Believe it or not… I don’t like being fucked up. Shit didn’t hurt much, but I swelled up like a chipmunk. The worst part is the fucking penicillin; it has been (and still is) destroying my gastrointestinal tract. The pain overwhelmingly eclipses that from the actual surgery. Active-culture yogurt doesn’t help, either.
Fuck Alexander Fleming.
It’s easy to quit smoking if you never leave the house. I can spend 5-6 hours at home and not want a cigarette. Put me at work–even wearing a nic patch? Fuck. That shit’s not easy. It’s the ritual.
I’m still gonna’ buy that Sig P226 9mm (on second thought, maybe I’ll get the .40 S&W?)… but only after I arrange for Erin to take a gun safety course, which was a precondition to the purchase.
Fake beer’s not that bad. The O’Doul’s Amber is actually quite tasty. When I was in college, I asked my O’Doul’s-drinking uncle, “Why even bother?” It’s the ritual.