Well, I'm in the fuckin' dog house again. Apparently, I forgot about the wedding vow that goes, "after a hard day of work, and then coming home and feeding the baby a bottle, then cooking supper, I'm supposed to FUCK MY WIFE WHEN SHE WANTS IT!" Yep, apparently, I forgot that one. Because even though I worked hard all week (while someone was on the computer all week and didn't do much), and then came home every night this week and cooked supper, since I'm not in the mood to have sex with my wife, I'm getting "the glare". I guess it must be all my fault, eh? Hmmm...what an asshole I am.

Ok, I'm on a bit of a rant tonight. I've had a few beers (read six in about an hour and ½) and I'm fixing on getting some more. I wanna get drunk dammit. I'm actually getting tired of this. I get up early, go to work and in the meantime, she takes the kids to the pool, sits on the computer all day and then expects me to cook supper when I get home. Fuck that! But god forbid I fuckin' say anything about it. Godammit! And then, on top of that, heaven forfend I'm too fuckin' tired, too worn down, or just not in the mood to have sex. Well, it's all my fault isn't it? Sure. And Kennedy's assasination? Sure, my fault too. And that Apollo 13 mishap. Yep, blame it on me.

You know the shitty thing? I've had 6 beers in about an hour and ½ and I'm barely buzzed. Fuck me. Ok, being Irish does have some disadvantages. Ok, "the rant...pt 2". As most of you know, I'm taking a trip back "home" for a reunion of my old football team (and others). Apparently, however, I forgot about the one rule that I signed when I signed my marriage certificate. I can't ever leave the fuckin' state of Florida again! I mean, that's what it seems like. I made the ticket reservations on Wednesday, by a fluke even, but the wife's been acting 'pissed' ever since. See, I want to take the baby with me. Hell, it's the only chance that my goddamn family has of seeing the little guy before he's fuckin' old enough to walk. At first, she was cool with me taking him, but ever since I got the tickets, she's been "questioning". "Do you really need to take him?"..."Why do you want to take him?"...shit like that. Heaven forbid that my family even gets to lay a fuckin' finger on him. Hell, I remember on the 4th of July when her fuckin' aunts took him away from me. Talk about feeling like a bad father. Seemed like (to them) I couldn't do anything right.

I think she's afraid, deep down, that I'll get back to Missouri with him, get really comfortable (yeah, over 3 days) and then not want to come back. Sure, it's not like I have a fucking job to come back to is it? I'm tired of her shit about not wanting to leave. This is not some veiled attempt to try to get her out of Florida. I just want to go 'home' for a bit and see my family and reunite with some old classmates and some football buddies. Shit, she keeps saying she wishes I had more friends. This shit has it's limits.

Ok, time to switch subjects for a minute and this is another one that's not going to be fun. This one is aimed at Uncle Bob. That's right old man. I hate to say it, but I got a bone to pick with you. Now, I know that most of your diary entries are meant in fun and hell, no one loves reading your funny ass shit more than me, but I've got to take exception to one of your entries. What in the hell is so wrong with having to have glasses. Of course, it turns out, as you adamantly proved that you don't need glasses, but unfortunately some of us do. Is there something wrong with that? Ok, you're what, 38? Yes, I admit that someone of your (local) stature and age having to have glasses could be cause for a little ridicule, but hey, what doesn't kill us makes us stronger. Try living a whole life with that shit, man!

I'm nearsighted. No, I'm not just nearsighted, I'm severly fuckin' nearsighted. So much so that I can't do anything without a fuckin' pair of glasses. Not just regular, Clark Kent type glasses, but goddamned fuckin' coke bottle glasses. I even have to pay extra to have the lenses for my goddamned glasses made because they're so thick! I got my first pair of glasses in the first fuckin' grade. That wasn't the only thing I was lucky enough to get saddled with in life, no. I also got hooked up with a nice set of...you guessed it...braces. So, I was either known as 'tin grin', 'metal mouth', 'four eyes', 'poindexter' or whatever fuckin' derogatory name you could come up with. I was called them all. On top of that I was fat, but no it wasn't called fat, I was husky. So, I was also the recipient of such wonderful monikers as 'wide load', 'fat ass', 'roly poly' and many others.

My question to you, Uncle Bob, is this. What is so bad about having to have glasses? You talk almost like we're a subclass. There are humans and then there are nearsighted humans. Hell, I've been nearsighted since I was fuckin' 5 years old. Did I see it as a curse? Not really. It made the catcher's mask (just one of the many positions I played) in Little League fit oddly, and it was kind of hard to get a football helmet over them, but I accepted them. I didn't see them as a bad thing. Hell, I could finally read the chalkboard ferchrissakes. Anyway, Bob. it's not that bad a deal. I'm glad to hear that you were able to prove that you didn't need glasses. I'm glad you're sight is 20/20, I'm glad...wait...fuck that. Ok? I'm not glad. I'm fuckin' pissed off.

When I went to get my medical certificate for my pilot's license, my AME wrote a fuckin' paragraph about how I had to 'posses and wear' corrective lenses. I'm tired of, the one time I got pulled over, having to actually produce my corrective lenses to a fuckin' HiPo. For a while, I wore contact lenses because I was ashamed of having to wear glasses, but now? Fuck that! Ok, so I'm nearsighted. So, I'm literally (and I mean literally) blind without my glasses. It's not a flaw...it's a personality trait. So, Uncle Bob (and all you other fuckin' perfect vision fuckers out there), remember. The next time someone says you need glasses and you prove them wrong, you're missing out on a wonderful 'personality trait'. You heard it here first. And if I get kicked out of the army for this, so be it. I had to state my peace, and I did.

Well, the wife is now in here playing Tetris on the PlayStaton in an attempt to not go to bed without sex (fat chance). I'm probably going to play on the PC a while. Maybe a game or I'll do this Radio Simulator I brought from work. It's training to help student and low-time pilots get over 'mic fright'. One of the biggest fears of student pilots is talking on the radio with ATC (Air Traffic Control) and fucking things up. This not only gives us confidence, but helps us to know what to say and when to say it. Well, the wife doesn't seem to happy about me getting more beer, but I can already feel what little buzz I had wearing off so I'm out to prolong the joy. I'll catch you all later.

Oh, and if something in my entry pissed you off, or you don't agree with it...FUCK YOU!...it's my diary, not yours. But, hey, thanks for stopping by and getting pissed off. Oh, and on a tangent note, I've decided that I'm going to call and find out how much Capoeira classes cost. I'm just too jealous of my friend Christopher learning it and I'm not. So, tomorrow, reasearch begins. Later fuckers, and I mean that in the kindest way.

"Where are we going and why am I in this handbasket?"

Icebear

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