I’m Almost Back To Form, But Until Then…

I’m still not ready for a full-fledged return to blogging, gang, but I’ll be back in the hospitality saddle on Thursday.

In the meantime…

Top Ten Excerpts From The Nerd Version Of Fifty Shades.

10)  “She was as wet as Aquagirl.”

9)  “I set my phaser to ‘vibrate’ and dove on her like Kirk on an Orion slave girl.”

8)  “She tied me up with her magic lasso and interrogated me like Batman.”

7)  “It was obvious she would be the death of me; her vagina was my kryptonite.”

6)  “She made me harder then Benjamin Grimm after he went ten rounds with The Blizzard.”

5)  “I took one look at the selfie she sent me and exclaimed, ‘Holy money shot, Batman!'”

4)  “She emerged from the bathroom dressed like Black Widow. She was an agent of S.E.X.Y.”

3)  “”Just thinking of her made my batarang spring right out of my utility belt.”

2)  “I could never tell her how I felt. If ever I envied Superman’s x-ray vision…”

1)  “After hours of passion, it was all too much for me; I spilled my web fluid all lover her Amazonian chest.”

See you in the lobby, kids… Finally!

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Seven more minutes of childhood; a father’s wish for his daughter the morning of 9-11

The Hook:

I’m not in a place from which to offer a significant opinion on such a significant day. Fortunately, Ned Hickson is ten times the writer I am. Read his thoughts and allow them to move you.

Originally posted on Ned's Blog:

I’ll never forget how I felt this day 13 years ago as an American, a firefighter and as a father — and how each held its own kind of hurt that has never completely healed. But of the three, being a father watching the sparkle in my then six-year-old daughter’s eyes noticeably fade just a bit continues to be the memory that lingers most…

image My alarm clock went off the same as it always did back then, coming to life with the morning news — my preference over the annoying, high-pitched alternative of chatter. Instinctively, I swatted the snooze button and bought myself another seven minutes of sleep.

In the years since, I’ve thought a lot about those seven minutes, and how the simple push of a button postponed a bitter reality for just a little longer. When the news came on again, word of the first airliner crashing into…

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Help The Chicks Out, Will Ya, Folks?

There’s nothing like a selfless act to take your mind off your troubles, friends.

I’m putting my own self-doubts/troubles aside – hopefully, for good – to help out some kick-ass, independent, trailblazing chicks. Collectively, they are one-in-a-trillion. They are an inspiration, regardless of your gender. They are  The Indie Chicks and they need our help.

The Chicks are currently running a crowd funding campaign to keep their print magazine on the shelves in stores across the country. They have about $9,000 left to raise and only about 5 days to reach their goal. In the words of Chiara Mazzucco, The Chicks’ CEO/ Editor-in-Chief:

“My team and I have busted our asses to get this publication on the shelves and are stuck in a fund limbo and can’t pay for the Fall issue. Anything you could do to help would be amazing and I would owe you greatly.”

So there you have it. So if anyone out there needs a kidney or a Gal Friday, whip out that credit card, click on the link below and leave the rest up to Chiara.

Click Here To Enrich Your Soul And Make Some New BFFs:

That’s all I have for you today, my friends. Support The Chicks any way you can and you’ll feel better about yourself tomorrow. Yes, even you, Ned Hiickson. See you in the blogosphere, kids…

 

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If Only All Of Life’s Problems Could Be Solved With A Crowbar.

That Ahab dude had his white whale. Batman has the Joker. Ned Hickson has his shoelaces – and that wooden lion. And me, gentle readers?

I had several pieces of rotten lumber on my garage.

Until today, that is.

It took over two months of healing but I’m back to my old self – almost. My spirit is still fractured, but my leg is good for a few hours of activity. Today’s daily allotment of movement was focused on tackling my personal nemesis. And so I rose from my disjointed slumber (the lunatics were free of the asylum on my street last evening; the wife and I were awake for most of the night for all the wrong reasons), and headed out to the garage for Round Two.

Crowbar in hand – and sawhorses nowhere in sight – I attacked from below. Debris rained down upon me, clouding my vision and covering my shaking form but I remained steadfast in my resolve. In the end, the boards slowly moved forward…

Until at last…

They broke free and fell to the earth below!

My entire summer was shot to Hell, my love life was devastated, I was unable to provide for my family, late-night visits to the bathroom became major operations, Fan Expo is currently raging on without me (dammit), but when all is said and done… I won.

When you’re a loser like me, you have to take pleasure in the little things, gang. And trust me, I’m a world-class loser these days; there are currently reality shows based on every occupation under the sun (sand castle designers?), but no one will give the world’s boldest bellman a shot. I can’t seem to finish my second book. Hell, I can’t seem to do much of anything these days.

But I’m still swinging and I always will. The truth of the matter is, venting is the only therapy I can afford and I always seem to feel better afterwards.

Enjoy what remains of the day, my friends. The weekend awaits, storm it with all your might. I’ll be on the porch struggling to validate my existence. But for today, I’m a winner at last.

 

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I Know There’s A Silver Lining Somewhere…

But I just don’t see it at the moment.

The sitch (as the kids apparently say) is this: My leg has healed considerably faster than expected… but I’m not out of the unemployment woods yet, kids. My doctor feels a return to work at this juncture would be unwise, and so it looks like I’ll be spending a little more time at home.

VampireLover doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

About my wife: I truly lucked out in the love lottery. Period.

Hey, I can’t afford flowers, so some post praise will have to do for now.

Time for me to go, readers. My spirits are low once more and I should be working on Book Two. (Although, truth be told, I hardly see the point anymore. I’m so tired of being a loser in certain areas of my life. How do the Kardashians do it?)

See you around the blogosphere, friends…

 

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Wake Up, Boy! There’s A Dead Raccoon In The Driveway!

Certain bloggers wake up to morning sex.

Me?

I wake up to VampireLover alerting me to a vehicular homicide that ended with the furry, four-legged, victim at the end of my property. There are seven driveways on my street, but where did the little bandit choose to expire?

You guessed it.

I actually miss the hotel and all the guest who spit on me – metaphorically and literally.

Getting back to the wonderfully twisted horror/humor that visits my life occasionally, whenever an animal dies on our street – squirrels, birds, raccoons, drunks – it decides my driveway is a nice place to greet the Grim Reaper. So anyhoo, there I was, standing in my driveway at 9:30 in the morning – in my pajamas. (Don’t get too excited ladies, I have manly legs, but they lead to a slight gut and a hairline that has gone the way of disco – and Steve Guttenberg’s career.)

My vampire-worshipping-love stayed on the front porch and did her best to contact animal services to take charge of the grim scene, but they weren’t open yet, so it fell to me to scoop up the corpse with a shovel… slowly, of course. I don’t do death very well. Especially furry death.

“Hurry up, Skippy! Just pick it up and get it out of there! There are kids and dogs around!

I love my wife, but it’s tough to accept that, of the two of us, she’s the tough-as-nails one.

And did I mention the foot-long, Yellow Gold Macaw that moved into one of the properties across from my home two weeks ago? And did I mention it’s room faces the street? It decided to serenade me – and Chelsea, who couldn’t stop barking – as I worked.

“STOP!!!  STOP!!!”

His protests were followed by several bouts of squawking, naturally. That doesn’t get old – NOT! At any rate, the Humane Society arrived five hours later and the female worker bagged up the critter in two seconds flat, thus totally emasculating me. I have to admit, considering the near-perfect state of the dead bandit (except, you know, for the fact it was dead), I considered shipping it off to The Bloggess for stuffing.

You can laugh or roll your eyes, but she’s received stranger gifts from fans, trust me.

ONE MORE THING:  There are a disturbingly-high number of images of dead raccoons available on Google. What’s wrong with people? Personally, I blame Ned Hickson’s influence.

So anyway, that was my Sunday morning. How was yours?

Rest in peace, you furry nutjob.

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You’ve Got News… From The Hook.

Good news, everyone!

While my healing factor is not on par with that of a certain Canadian mutant (I’m a nerd but I’m married to a real girl so I don’t feel so bad), I have followed my doctor’s orders to the letter for six weeks now and….

…wait for it…

today I walked to the bathroom under my own power, without the aid of crutches!!!

This is BIG, folks. Like Kim Kardashian’s aircraft carrier-size ass, BIG. Work is still a month away but things are looking up. I’ve spent six weeks lounging about like a comic book playboy – but without the fortune, good looks, or cool lair – and let me tell you, I’m lucky to still be alive. On any given day, VampireLover has enough on her plate but adding the weight of my needs to the mix?

Well, that’s had some interesting results, to say the least. Still, we’ve developed a new dynamic: She does everything from taking the dog out at night and first thing in the morning to serving me dinner on a tray in the living room – and I sit on my butt and heal.

(To be clear, by “heal”, I mean “do nothing.”)

But that dynamic is as dead as my chances of being published by the Huffington Post.

It is a new day, kids. My left leg is as unsteady as Amanda Bynes during an interview conducted by Lindsay Lohan, but it’s passed muster so far today. I’ll be tackling stairs later on today – slowly, of course. I’m currently upstairs in VampireLover’s knitting room; she’s toiling away at her knitting machine while I’m blogging. (This was formerly my comic book lair. Ain’t the modern domestic dynamic grand?)

VAMPIRELOVER:  What are you doing, Butthead? We’ve been up here for an hour and you’ve barely spoken to me. What gives?

ME:  I was worried about throwing your concentration off, so I’ve just been sitting here quietly surfing/blogging/tweeting.

VAMPIRELOVER:  I’m not you, Moron-For-Brains, I can do more than one thing at once. A little conversation would be nice!

As you can tell, I was so inspired by her love frustration, that I actually ignored her to record her words.

That was not wise.

VAMPIRELOVER:  ARE YOU IGNORING ME AGAIN?

It’s a good thing I walk again. I’m going to have to run from my wife…

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