mondays with barbasol

i did something.

i'll get to that.
i've decided now to revert to my old style and not capitalize the beginning of sentences. just take note of the periods. i hope they will suffice.

before i get to it, the thing that i've done, let me tell you about my week.

it has been a bit of time since i last wrote. i told you about applying for jobs and fixing the car(Frank, from here on out), and such. Frank is running like a dream. well, like a chevy dream. you know.

this weekend was the most amazing few days i have had in a good long while. i picked my wife up on saturday morning at 7:30AM, and we spent the entire day together. we were lazy, we went so many places, we watched tv. we did so much. you don't know how great a day it was. let me explain.

the normal day with Colleen is a weekday. she is released at 6pm and i meet her at 6:15 or so. we race to my home and spend some quality time, have some fast food dinner, and i take her back by 8:30. we take some time to lie in bed and pretend we aren't counting the minutes. but those few moments themselves are amazing anyway.

so a full day. over 12 hours, is a gift from the heavens.

we had a great time, saturday, driving into the actual heart of san antonio to find a chick fil-a. it wasn't there. fucking shitty gps. but on the way we noticed a thai place, so we went there. it was very decent.

so much else happened on saturday that i won't say because, come on, you blood suckers, some shit is just for us. big shit though. shit you wish you could know about. truly amazing stuff.

sunday, we prepared food. we did other stuff too, but all i can remember is being in the kitchen with my wife. she prepared guacamole and fruit salad as i chopped veggies and cooked meat for fajitas. i remember the preparation of food more than the meal. only with my wonderful wife, colleen, can the cooking be more satisfying than the eating.

and i think of the metaphor of the dance. the song. if the object was to get to the end, then the fastest player would be the winner. but the object of the song, the dance, is not to finish. it is the dance itself that is the point.

so yeah, i love my wife. she is a great dancer.

getting to the news. i did something.

i shaved. all of it. the soup strainer and all.

Stand by.

I'm losing my pale.

I spent yesterday getting work done on the car. There is a Firestone on base, and I made a noon appointment to replace the serpentine belt and get new brakes. The car was done at 6:30. I brought a book along, expecting having to wait a couple hours. Trouble is, I left it in the car, then gave the keys to Firestone, so it served no purpose.

There were no chairs in the Firestone for me to use, so I sat outside at a picnic table under a tree. I got lunch, sat, went to pee, sat, sat, sat. Colleen got released at 6pm, so I walked over to see her and get dinner. Her foot is injured, so walking is not exactly fun. We caught a cab to get dinner at the bowling alley on base. Did you know, by the way, that every Army base seems to have a bowling alley? Anyway, we ate dinner, got the car, and paid very close to 500 for the whole deal.

Apparently, the brakes were fucked. Needed new rotors and all that jazz. The belt, with labor, cost 100. But there's no more squealing. So the money was well spent, but it still sort of takes the air from your lungs for a minute as you hand it over.

The sitting and waiting wasn't as horrible as one might imagine. The only downside is that I apparently got brutally sunburned. The face is pink and all, but my neck resembles a radish covered in blood . . . and other really deep red stuff. I'm having trouble with the similes today.

Until next time.

good thing i brought my four-color pens.

someone's got a case of the mondays. i missed glenn beck today due to the extended post-pizza nap i took, and it just threw everything off.

but seriously folks. i applied for two jobs today. a local community college is looking for writing tutors for the summer. it's the perfect job for me. works with my resume, which i have to update. let me say this. updating a resume is the least fun activity known to me-man. it's level with hot-poker sodomy. i hate it. and my last resume was saved on my old computer, which crashed, so i need to create one anew. it blows. but the college job required an online application, and no resume is required. i will bring one if i get an interview, though. probably a good idea.

the second job i applied for is at Bill Miller BBQ. it's a small bbq joint about 2 blocks from my house. if both jobs pay similar, i would rather work at the bbq joint. for one obvious reason. i know how to get depressed at the poor grammar of America's youth and the future of our nation. i do not, though, know how to make good brisket.

so, we will see what happens.

there is this new flavor changing gum i have to try. science never ceases to amaze me. i mean, it's one flavor, then it changes to another flavor? are there computer chips in there or what? makes me want to put my hand over my heart as the national anthem plays in my head. similar to the feeling i got when i learned that kfc was replacing its buns with pieces of fried chicken.

goodnight, fellows.

Bugs, Bruises, and Big Bob.

Apparently, screened windows are for yankee faggots.

The weather is inordinately cool today in San Antonio. Currently 70 degrees. It's a perfect day to open every window in the house and get a good breeze running through. Some fresh air. But there's something about Southern Texas not everyone may know: the bugs are big--and great enough in number to fill out their own census forms. Flies cause bruises.

So yes. No screens. There is not a single screen on a window in this house. Birds could just hop right in. A curious squirrel perhaps. It seems bizarre to me.

Okay, nothing else to say really.

Okay, one thing. If you're ever in the San Antonio area, Check out Big Bob's Burgers on Harry Wurzbach Rd. It's a fascinating place. Now, I have been to Radio Shack, but it's not really a shack. More of a traditional store. Recently, in fact, they've taken to shortening the title to The Shack, as if it were some local hang out for the teens. I'm not even sure they sell radios anymore. Who buys radios? Anyway, I attribute Radio Shack's lack of ability to expand in size from shack to, say, a Circuit City, to its poor name choice. But I am way off point.

Yes, there are places with shack in the name, but they rarely resemble shacks. Joe's Crab Shack is simply a large restaurant. Shack's don't have tablecloths.

But Big Bob's Burgers does not have shack in it's name, and it is the argument of this writer that such a label would never be more appropriate. Big Bob's Burger Shack also has a bit of a ring to it.

The roof of this "restaurant is made of corrugated steel. It is lit almost entirely by christmas lights wrapped around the support beams holding up said roof. The walls used to be white, but a thick layer of grease and dirt give the atmosphere a certain indefinable charm. You order your food in an area similar to a small town pawn shop, but instead of old golf clubs, wedding dresses, and the occasional live grenade, behind the glass is a filthy kitchen with filthy people cooking filthy food.

But the food. Good gravedigging christ, the food is something else. Fries are arguably the best ever. The burgers are large and have a confidence to them that suggests, "I could give a shit if you like me. I know I'm the shit." And that's the ultimate feeling one is left with after dining with Big Bob. There is so little about the place to impress the customer. There is aquite a bit that would frighten a customer. And that's the sort of attitude I enjoy in my burgers.

I can imagine a super low budget commercial. Paying by the second, Big Bob would have a 5 second commercial. It would be him, standing in front of the shack, wearing a loose, stained t-shirt that he got in the mail from Marlboro, and he would simply say: "Big Bob's Burger Shack. Parsley is for queers."

one great week down.

It's been a week since I arrived in San Antonio to be with my wife. I can't accurately express how great the week has been. Nothing incredible has happened. We've done no exciting things. But I am here, and close to Colleen, and happy.

Colleen likes Whataburger. This makes me happy. Sonic has yet to win her over, but it will, maybe.

I have gotten to see Colleen five out of the seven days I've been here. Tonight will make it six for eight. Before this, the number was two out of some three months. Still, we have spent more days apart than together since we were married, but the disparity is surely shrinking. By the end of our first year of marriage, we will be on the good side of the ratio.

As for sleeping in the same bed, well that might take a bit longer to even out.

There is a cleaning woman at my house right now. Apparently we have a cleaning woman.

A new guy is moving in some time in the next week.

So yeah. One week down, 11 or so to go. Enjoy your National Prayer Day. That was today, right? or yesterday? Well anyway, pray your knees off.

It's funny cooking for yourself. I have cooked, yes, but always with the limited tastes of my dad in mind. Now, I can make whatever I want, and I can experiment, because I am the only one to have to suffer through it if it doesn't turn out.

Monday, I marinated a skirt steak in sriracha, garlic, and olive oil. I then butter fried it and put it on corn tortillas with homemade guacamole and fresh spinach. Tonight I fried catfish and slapped it on some flour tortillas with a homemade corn salsa(fucking amazing corn salsa) and sweet potato home fries. Something about Texas makes me want to eat everything on tortillas.

Last time i was in Texas I lost a lot of weight. Maybe the drugs had something to do with it. Maybe the priority of cigarettes and beer over food had something to do with it. But maybe it was just the opportunity to be on my own. I was 146 lbs when I left TX in 2005. I remember the number.

Right now I'm in the high 180s. But right now I'm in Texas, I am relatively on my own. I have all the time in the world, and all I do is sets of push-ups and sit ups and prepare elaborate meals for one. I have yet to go out and run because the heat is like hell and balls. Plus, I don't wish to get a tan.

I need a GD cigarette. I sometimes punch the air. I sometimes walk in a tight circle in my room. I sometimes squeeze my head with my palms and laugh in a very insane way. I don't smoke though. And it fucking sucks.

Until the next post, go fuck yourself, you fucks.

No smoking within 15 feet of a grumpy bastard.

I'm in San Antonio, sitting in the room I will be inhabiting for the next few months, and I need a cigarette. I stopped smoking on Saturday, and I am in a bad fucking mood.

This will be a quick update.

I had a great weekend with Colleen. We ate delicious, unhealthy food, watched tv, unpacked a bit, did laundry. It was the best weekend I've had in months.

My roommate Dan seems nice enough. He is a project manager for some construction company, so he is rarely home. When he is, he is pleasant enough. Although on Saturday night, I might have overheard him taking advantage of an extremely drunk girl. I am not entirely sure. Well, all I know is there was an extremely drunk girl over, and what happened I don't know. Maybe he gave her a cup of coffee and a ride home.

The other roommate is moving out today. His wife graduated from AIT this morning and they are packing. I never caught his name, so I just call him Bro. He's from California, and he acts like it. He has this Bill & Ted laugh that he employs after every sentence. It's precious.

I have nothing of great import to impart. Later.