And silicone enhancements by the breastful.

the stairs are beating the hell out of my knees. or, more accurately, lugging shit up and down the stairs is beating the hell out of my knees.

but the fact of the matter is, they are never gonna get better if i don't work them out, so off i jog to the local gymnasium to work on my "beach body".

(we interrupt this program for this special spot announcement: i am a bit flabby. i have been at least a bit flabby (sometimes alot flabby) for some time now. i haven't wanted to be at all flabby for at least a year or two. being able to frequent the beach alot is helping me to really kick the toning-up process into high gear. other than an improved outer shell, this particular model will remain yours truly, the same humble narrator that has regailed you with sarcastic and witty (but otherwise completely useless) comments and stories for many years now. and now, back to your regularly-scheduled program.)

for the first time in ever, and i mean evfuckinger, i have entered a gym on a military installation, and there were more women than men. granted, it was 9:30 (i got a late start, cut me some slack), but still.

and i realize, this is florida, but goddamn, they must hand out the implants at the checkout counter or something. "there's a two-for-one deal on the del monte peas, and if you buy another bottle of heinz catchup or similar heinz product, you get 10% off your next plastic surgery..."

now, don't get me wrong. i love breasts as much as the next bloke. maybe more. cause i am not picky about size, shape, color, or anything. i am not really even picky about enhanced, as long as they appear fairly natural (and for the record, the ones i looked at (and it was lots, i am almost ashamed to admit), within the confines of tight work-out tank tops, all appeared to be brilliantly done)(i have seen some porn where the boob jobs looked damn near painful, and i lamented the poor nba teams that would have to cancel their game for that evening due to lack of balls with which to play), but never have i seen that many in one place at one time.

and for whatever reason (most likely my conservative upbringing, and the idea that was fed to me, almost subliminally, that women don't really enjoy sex much, and certainly do not liked to be ogled or gawped at, and a gentleman would never do such a thing), i don't just blatantly look. i pretend to be studying myself very intently in the mirror, or checking out some piece of equipment i hope to try out just as soon as i am done with this piece i am occupying, all whilst enjoying the lovely bodies that surround me.

so it is quite likely, o my beloved non-existant readers (who are, it has just occured to me, almost entirely female--i might need to rethink posts like this in the future, heh heh), that my poor neck and eyes might be more sore tomorrow than my chest and arms and back.

but so far, i have to say, i am loving florida.

on a side note, i was a bit worried that the regular sun and heat and exposure to tight tanned flesh might weaken my sardonic capabilities, but as it turns out, my wife informed me the other night that i am even more saucy lately. phew! cause i was beginning to get worried.

darth sardonic

I'm not sick, but I'm not well

although my wife is off work today, it is still a bit of the ol' after the ball is over, today.

cleaning the house, unwinding from the fun of the holiday. funny, how a day that is intended to be a holiday is often busier than your average run-of-the-mill day.

j and i were chatting the other day, and in the ill-advised way that i sometimes do, i attempted to make a joke relating to my father being murdered. it was funny in my head, really it was. of course, j had no idea, and felt bad immediately, which, naturally (as you, the beloved non-existants like to point out in comments, i really am a big softie, though with the occasional core of raw fuck-off steel) made me feel horrible and like a complete ass.

i wish everyone shared my same twisted and bizarre sense of humor, things would be so much simpler.

i just want to say here, in my inimitable fashion, that i am always doing my part to keep alberta rat-free.

am i the only one that can't wait until we have teleport machines? drop the kids off at school, pop into the teleport to grab some tea in morrocco, and i am sure that the rest of you would be welcome as well. we will be discussing the string theory and miracles versus choices, or some such thing. not really sure. but the big key is teleport machines.

i have been putting together a guitar for my friend, g. except for strings, and the fine-tuning i will need to do to the neck and bridge, it is all done. i kicked it into high gear after we found out we were gonna be moving. the cool thing about this guitar is instead of a painted finish, it is completely covered in pictures from playboy, and penthouse. at the same time i started putting the guitar together, i also acquired a rather large-ish stack of porno mags, and had the crazy idea to cut out naked chicks and glue them to the guitar's surface. not a speck of the original finish remains visible. i was quite proud of the outcome, but want another shot at a similar kind of thing, to apply valuable lessons i learned from this one.

none of this was really going anywhere.

and that being the case, i am going to just drop it like a hot piece of lead, he he.

thanks for playing along.

darth sardonic

pomposity is when you always think you're right...

arrogance is when you know.

i didn't begin to live until i began to love: myself, my wife, my kids. as i think of the times before this, it seems as if i was wandering back and forth, trying to find myself with maps poorly drawn in smudgy pencil.

there are instants when i look at my children, and i see the men they will become. they are handsome, and smart, and funny, and respectful and respected.

in these moments i am open to god, who, oddly enough, still loves me. he and my father are side by side, smiling, proud of me; and i am proud, not of me (i will never not feel like i am faking it and soon someone will out me), but of my incredible children, who make me feel both immense and small at the same time.

today was, barring unforseen complications, no. 2's last day of physical therapy. his occupational therapy will most likely soon draw to a close.

he's been seeing his pt for well over two years. of course, it's business as usual for him, but i've no doubt she went to her office to have a moment, and i know that the only thing keeping me from smiling and bawling at the same time was the public nature of the venue.

i am happy. my kids are getting bigger, growing up. this is so very bittersweet for me. i am so happy, but it hurts so much. why does each one of these little hurdles crossed open me up like a flower to the very nature of god and life and everything so tiny and yet so magnificient and gorgeous and wonderful.

i can still remember sitting in a tiny room at a ronald mcdonald house in albuquerque and staring at the ceiling and telling god we simply couldn't handle another day of bad news. and i remember his reply.

and today, as no. 1 was in his speech therapy, and no. two played with the spiderman swimming goggles his pt had bought him and drank his chocolate milk in the front seat of our car, god poured the sun down on me, and the leaves were greener, and the breeze fresher.

i am amazed: at my kids, but most importantly, with myself. each time i think i've fucked the whole rig up, and should quit while i'm ahead, i am reminded of the bigger picture.

and this bigger picture is a beautiful fucking masterpiece, o my patient and sympathetic non-existant readers, with the sun shining, and kids playing with a ball in the background, and somewhere in there, i am sitting; crying and laughing at the same time, and smirking my silly smirk, and cocking my eyebrow, and my kids are sitting with me, but fully grown at the same time, and with kids of their own who are also handsome, and smart, and funny, and respectful and respected.

and all the stupid shit that seems so fucking important in the moment melts away like a monet background and only beauty and happiness and love remain for eternity.

daddy, why you crying?

how odd, then, to answer, "cause daddy is so happy, buddy."

darth sardonic