Archive | February, 2022

Plans & Dog Poo

The best-made plans can often end up being steaming dog poo. It’s a fact. However, there are times, as in this case, that the ruined best-made plan was only a blog post; it was just OK-ish, and instead of dog poo, it just became an unpublished file of word salad on my hard drive.

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Stacy Was Right

In May 2021, I took the advice of my fictional editor and chose not to write a post concerning this topic. Now here we are in 2022, and this time I’ve decided to ignore the guidance of Stacy B. You have my most insincere apologies — Management.

In July of 2019, I started back to the gym for what I referred to here as “Operation Pec-Lift.” OPL was my code for lifting heavy things for no reason. I had just turned 48 years old and wanted to re-start strength training for my bones, overall health, and of course, to deflabafy1 my arms, pecs, and flaccid white man ass.

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Italian Quesadilla Guilt

Thursday night, I made an amazing burrito filled with perfectly seasoned chicken thighs cooked in the air fryer and homemade refried beans made in the instant pot. Despite my apparent aversion to using the stovetop and newfound mommy blogger-like love of unnecessary kitchen gadgetry, I was pretty stoked with how it turned out and devoured the savory log of carby Mexicana like a pack of rabid wolverines near a shallow grave (What?? – Ed.).

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Using Gifts

On Wednesday, I took myself and my newfound, much-cherished improved mindset out for a walk with my camera. I took the Nikon Z50 with an old DX zoom lens mounted with the FTZ adapter. I also took an old 105mm f/2.8 Lester A. Dine macro lens; that way, if things looked stale, I could kill some time with some manual focus handheld macro shots.

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Finding Traction

Yet another unneeded brief message from the President and CEO of, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™

Dear Reader,

The following lengthy post deals with my ongoing search for inner peace and self-love (not code for masturbation). There is talk of mental health and depression. I am CLEARLY not a doctor, just a putz with a blog and 50 years and counting of personal experiences dealing with some depression-type shit. 

I’ve waffled back and forth on whether it’s in my best interest to post something like this or not, but given the stuff I’ve already written about myself and/or my hatred of the orange buffoon that had been in the White House for four years, I think I’ll be alright. If a potential employer sees this and is offended, you’re not the sort I would want to be associated with anyway.

And if the Google machine somehow pointed you here because you were looking for immediate help, please call the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 800-273-8255 or visit

— Management

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