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!)

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Journaling June: Epilogue (Writing Challenge Lessons)

Close up of old piano keys.

Just like any of the arts, writing is deeply personal. Not just what one writes, but the process one uses to get the words out. I chose to partake in the month long writing challenge I dubbed Journaling June to push myself in order to learn more about what kind of process I need to be a productive writer. This is what I learned.

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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”