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Smokin’

Junior was thriled to see his own breath this morning while we waited
for the school bus. I have to tell you, I was significantly less
thrilled. Call me Debbie Downer, but I am bummed that summer is done and
over with. My sister closed up her pool for the season…I didn’t even
get that “one last swim” that you know is the last so you enjoy every
second of it. Dang. Remind me to yell at her.

Speaking of Junior, he’s digging 2nd grade. Tonight he showed me all
these patriotic ASL signs (I knew what he was doing when I saw the signs
for “I” and “Love”. I did like the sign for flag. I don’t know how often
it comes up in conversation, though. Also, apparently he read a history
book, so he was telling me all about it. ALL about it. I may have missed
this in history class, but it turns out that in the 1870s Daniel Boone
fought on the British side when Brazil declared war on the US via the
Native Americans. When the fighting was over, only 5 people survived in
the fort, and old Daniel was one of them.

You know, as he goes into excruciating detail, and the detail is just a
little off kilter, you don’t know where to start. It becomes so
overwhelming a task to correct everything that I found myself simply
asking if he could bring the book home some time.

I’m a big fan of the Brazil-Indian-British-American war of the 1870s…

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The Sound of Thunder Under My Shirt

Good God, my stomach is making noises that it should not. I don’t think I’m hungry, which means the noises are scarier in nature. As in “oh my God, what’s going to come shooting out of me?” But they sound like hunger growls. As a preventive measure, I bought some Rolaids and popped a couple. You know, in case the noises are gassy in nature. Is this too much information for you? I apologize. I know how delicate all your constitutions are.

Been a busy week at work and at home, so I apologize in advance for my low profile. Well, that and MY STOMACH MAKING NOISES LIKE A BULLDOZER which isn’t as low profile as I’d like. Also, please do not mix cherry Rolaids with a sip of lime Poland Spring Sparkling Water, for all that is good in the world. Just don’t.

Gah.

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Dreaming of Pork Products

If I’m not mistaken, last night I dreamt about bacon. Of all the meats in the pork family, bacon is the best, so don’t you even try to go there Miss Sausage Patty or Mr. Ham. In heaven, the streets will be paved with bacon, and you’ll be able to just pick up pieces and eat it and you won’t get sick because you’re already dead, duh, and any holes you make from pigging out (heh) will just be immediately re-filled with more bacon.

And it will be the crisp kind, the kind that crumbles in your mouth. None of that chewy fatty bacon. They’re saving that kind for purgatory. (If you end up in hell, you only get the smell of bacon, but you never get to eat any. That and the smell of raisin toast. And coffee. Oh ya, all those smells and none to eat. That is definitely what hell will be like.)

You can quote me on that.

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Three Hundred and Sixty Eight Dollars

Not what I’ve donated to various relief efforts, although give me another week at it should be about that much, I suspect.

No, that’s how much I spent getting the Batmobile fixed this morning. Apparently, I had a frozen brake caliper or something like that. Brake calipers are ‘spensive, by the way. And installing them is ‘spensive. 368 spensive. Man oh man. I’m headed out to just drive around slamming on the brakes.

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