My Baby’s Got Sauce

Black heart graffiti on wall at local pizzeria.

”Got a sharp mouth a sharp tongue” —G. Love

My wife is the best.

Yeah . . . Yeah . . . Yeah. . . I know. Your baby’s got sauce. But your baby ain’t SUH-WEET like mine.

You’re incredulous. I get it. You’re wondering, out of all the 70 hundred million billion wifes out there, how can I make such a bold claim? Cause this happened:

I was having a bad day. Full disclouse (assuming you don’t want to read the link provided), the shituation was completely my fault. I even realized it at the time. Regardless, a shit storm’s a shit storm and as much as I’d like to be a stoic master, I am not. I went full Hulk over some minuscule entitlement that was being denied me: Popeyes was out of chicken, for the moment, and I was going to have to wait for a full 15 minutes to get a freshly made batch.

(travesty!)

Continue reading “My Baby’s Got Sauce”

Journaling June: Just Wait for the Chicken

Ten piece Popeyes meal deal.

Late Friday afternoons are the The Tempting Times. After a week’s worth of whores’ shit all I can think about is whatever thing I’ve wanted but denied myself in the pursuit of being “good.” This week it was Popeye’s fried chicken.

I left work 15 minutes early to get a head start on traffic. I was still suffering flashes of sitting in traffic from the 2 hour nightmare the day before.

(there was an emergency repair that necessitated blocking all but one lane of the six lane highway.)

Continue reading “Journaling June: Just Wait for the Chicken”