Monday, February 27, 2012

FATHERHOOD DAWNS: Day 14

I can tell that her emotions/hormones are running high already.  She's been biting my head off for running late from work and for leaving my boots by the front door.  Not that it something I can control, unfortuantly.  Gotta make the money for the family.  And I get greasy while doing it.

We're visiting with a family preggers counseler of sorts.  I expect the talk to go something like, "Congrats your pregnant! Here, read this pamphlet, and this one and this one and we can't forget this one here either!  Now, pick out your favorite color of beanie for the new born!  Any questions?  No?  Alright, we'll see you next week!"  Meanwhile, I'll be in the back of the room hurling my guts into the fake plastic plants and whizzing into thier grandfather clock wondering why it dosen't flush.  This week has been a bitch at work and has brought out the "Let's get plastered and smoke a box cigars" douchebag, all to prevent my fist from going through the walls/windows/tv/peoplenotmywifesface.

It used to annoy me that people would not use spaces between words, but I'm finding myself doing it more than ever...

I'll have to get a second car.  I'm shooting for a truck.  Diesel, quad cab, flat bed or box delete.  Maybe I'll get a CDL and run a hotshot load on my off days from the grease monkey thing...

Wednesday, February 22, 2012

FATHERHOOD DAWNS: Day 9

I can tell that her emotions/hormones are running high already.  She's been biting my head off for running late from work and for leaving my boots by the front door.  Not that it something I can control, unfortuantly.  Gotta make the money for the family.  And I get greasy while doing it.

We're visiting with a family preggers counseler of sorts.  I expect the talk to go something like, "Congrats your pregnant! Here, read this pamphlet, and this one and this one and we can't forget this one here either!  Now, pick out your favorite color of beanie for the new born!  Any questions?  No?  Alright, we'll see you next week!"  Meanwhile, I'll be in the back of the room hurling my guts into the fake plastic plants and whizzing into thier grandfather clock wondering why it dosen't flush.  This week has been a bitch at work and has brought out the "Let's get plastered and smoke a box cigars" douchebag, all to prevent my fist from going through the walls/windows/tv/peoplenotmywifesface.

It used to annoy me that people would not use spaces between words, but I'm finding myself doing it more than ever...

I'll have to get a second car.  I'm shooting for a truck.  Diesel, quad cab, flat bed or box delete.  Maybe I'll get a CDL and run a hotshot load on my off days from the grease monkey thing...

Saturday, February 18, 2012

Johnny Rumble:
Starting Over

I'm starting over.  Somewhere fresh.

Catch me and my new muse here. <--Click

We'll see how long this sticks around,

Johnny Rumble

FATHERHOOD DAWNS: Day 5

The nerves have settled, mostly.  I've been busting ass at the shop to earn money to pay for all the shit that Jackson/Susanne will require.  Yeah, we've already named this little accidental miracle.

She got a new application for her Nook called Baby Bump or some such fucking thing.  A daily tracker for pregnant women.  Some dad stuff too.  I know this, little child is supposed to be the size of a (insert random fruit or seed).  Truth is, I'm not paying attention right now.  I've been throwing tools across the shop in unbridled anger the past couple of days.  Stress, I thinks.  Tomorrow I predict vindictive rage and melted wrenchs on the pavement.

We're signed up for couples classes to strengthen our relationship and bond pre-baby.  She gets her first ultra-sound mid-March.  Our constantly in-flux marriage date has been moved up because she makes too much money to get SoonerCare to pay for the delivery, so she will be going on my insurance.  Navigating the shark infested waters that is the corporation should be fun.

I still havn't told me parents, nor talked to them.  She, however, told my mother so that she could figure out a way for me to tell my father without him sending me a congratultory mail bomb via USPS.  For a person who has told the both of them to thier face, "I don't give a fuck what you to fucking think," I'm scared shitless about what they'll think.  Let alone the rest of my family.  Don't throw the open can of beans Minty, please.

Sunday, February 12, 2012

FATHERHOOD DAWNS: Day 1

She told me last night, well, more like handed me the digital stick and prolaimed for me to have a "Happy Valentines Day," then promplty hid underneath the bed sheets.  Yeah, sheets, we keep it that warm in the house.  I shut-down for the night and most of today with the usual questions and thoughts,

"How'd this happen?/there goes any hope of building a custom car/is it mine?/you're a fucking idiot of course it is/how are we going to afford this?/fuck, i won't be able to build a custom car..."

This went on for a while last night.  I'm going to be a (gulp) a DAD.  I'm still shell shocked about the whole fucking thing.

Friday, February 03, 2012

Johnny Rumble:
Shuttered

As I write this, there is a brace on my right wrist.  It actually took me about 45 seconds longer to write that sentence than it should have.

Its February of 2012, and I haven't written anything of substance in quite a long time.  I think my writing days are pretty much over.  I don't have that muse, that inspirational spark to sit at my computer and touch type something out.  It could be:

1)  The computer is now in the other wing of the fucking house, a wing that I don't go often except to answer the front door.

2)  My general lack of a really interesting life.  I don't have the wierdos, the freaks, the others to look at and observe anymore.  "College is, like, fucking over man... get a real job."

It could be months or even years before I decide to pick up the proverbial quill again, and when I do, it probably will be behind the screen of a laptop instead of this clunky outdated piece of "wonderful desktop machinery."  It's over, and I knew this a long time ago.

So, I guess until next time, when the pillow flips over and the cool side gets exposed again,

Johnny Rumble