On Monday—I think—I went to Meijer (AKA the midwest’s nicer, cleaner version of Wal-Mart1, and swore I wouldn’t go back until after Thanksgiving, and all post-feast, capitalist, COVID super spreader shopping events are over. I then found myself returning the next two days in a row. What can I say, beers are made for drinking.
There is a special time in man’s life when he reaches a crossroad; one direction means that his life will stay exactly the same. While the other direction will have his life staying exactly the same, except he wasted time writing a blog post that no one—not even himself—will should read. For most of the past week, I have taken the first route. Today, I take the path of increased time waste. Apparently I have some time, and it needs wasting.
I know the real reason you are here, don’t lie! You’re here to find out how Jake (the dog) is after his Monday visit to the vet.
Well, Jake is still Jake-ing on, although-be-it with the need for me to shove a variety of pills down his uncooperative throat twice a day to help him with some hip/back issues and an ear infection that I had no idea he had.
I’ve read and heard that saying my entire life and never really thought much about it. Until I actually tried teaching an old dog new tricks. Literally and figuratively.
I promise, PROMISE! that this post will be under 3,000 words. Because, as the long forgotten prophet Sweet Brown exclaimed as she fled the fiery flames cast upon her dwelling by Satan’s Bronchial Demons, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
Another stupid brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™
A brief message from the President and CEO of thesoiledchamois.net, and Soiled Chamois Enterprises, Inc.™
One word: motherfuckingsweetpotatolatke
This is a personal opinion post that did not need to be shared, or even written by an extremely insignificant goof with a blog. But here we are.
I’m trying to get back to normal posting, outdoor activities, and photography after two months of watching and shooting B play his junior season of (dystopian) high school soccer. I think the unintelligible, manic-like word vomit disguised as photo tips in my last post may have been my way of dealing with that, and the realization that there’s not much to look forward to over the next six to seven months that doesn’t have the word “tentative” attached to it.
