For my wife of 18 years...

Our wee chapel in the Smokey Mountains of Tennessee

The anniversary of our union is here and the picturesque theme of that day remains a common denominator of which my love for you grows. We have grown from two lost souls searching for identity to a loving family with a bright future.
Our business has strengthened our marriage like steel.  The day we bought it the previous owner asked me "How will you be able to work with your wife everyday?"  My answer to him now would be different that the one I gave back then. 
Bright eyed and nervous I said "I don't know."
Fast forward thirteen years
That's 13 years of working together
685 weeks
115,200 hours
6,912,000 minutes
And every second we have worked together side by side in our wee shop you in the front and me in the back, just the two of us. Our lives have changed over the past 18 years, we have ridden the financial roller coaster of small business and survived in spite of it all. The joy we both receive from watching the weans perform is pure loving fuel and only fortifies our matrimonial heaven.

The day we married, October 29, 1994 is forged into my core.  As a man of certain heritage I thought that tears are for the weak. When the doors of our wee chapel opened and in came an angel, the sun draped behind you and you glowed like nothing man could make. That is when I knew that tears are not for the weak, my tears were of joy at the vision of true beauty before me.
18 years later
That's 18 years
939 weeks
157,824 hours
9,469,440 minutes
And every second feels like the doors of our wee chapel just opened an in walked an angel.

Happy anniversary to Kimberly, my true love.
May we continue to grow and be happy...
Love, Baj aka Sausage.



Smokey Mountains, Tennessee, 1994

Fallen Hero

Shame it is when the untalented and the inglorious walk the earth with such insipidness and indignance and men of honor are taken from us. Men of honor with such verve and talents that can help shape our future and keep us safe.

Men of honor with honest bravado and steely demeanour who sans question lay their lives on the line for the safety of the society who often applaud the merits of the untalented and the inglorious.

My friend Kevin Horkheimer aka Hork was that man, a man of steel with a malleable heart. The kind of man would gladly take the proverbial shirt from his back to wrap around one more needy. The type of man who would run like an olympian into a burning building or pull a lifeless body from a mangled pile of steel, all this while a family awaits his safe return.

The summers we spent in pursuit of the American dream while shedding blood and sweat are sublimated into my core, those summers were my introduction to manhood and you were the guide with your direction and iron will that allowed me to get there.

A man should be judged by not what he takes but by what he gives and my friend Hork has given more than most.

Those summers spent in pursuit of the American dream were filled with blood and sweat and now that you are gone I will shed a tear.

R.I.P Hork...

Ass Cheeks Firmly Clenched

For my friend Mapstew and his pending exercise dilema


 

The gym I belong to is not cool, it is definately not hip and it is far from awesome. It is a swim and racquet club usually inhabited with crusty old curmudgeons and the last time I saw a pair of tits that did not hang low was the day the guest swim instructor came to visit. That being said it is very affordable, in fact it is down right cheap. I have spent many years and dollars in the awesome nightclubish gyms with the ultra tanned Adonis dudes and the almost zero body fat thong up the ass spinning class chicas. The atmosphere in these gyms is tense like being at a bar where everyone else better looking, more fit and wealthier. Thankfully I no longer have the need or desire to appear "Cool" and my current gym albeit god's waiting room will suffice.

Last night I strolled in about 6:30 and noticed that all of the elliptical machines were occupied so I jumped on the treadmill and ploughed on. On my left was a young, fit, attractive lady about my age, strange I thought, who is this youngling in the midst of such aged wisdom? anyway I said hello and kept on. Five minutes into the workout here comes another young lady, very attractive about 38ish, brunette, non-saggies and everything else in the right place in the right proportions if you know what I mean. So there I was in the middle of two attractive ladies about my age enjoying a nice run on the treadmill. Being a happily married man and not following the Tiger Woods doctrine I had no intentions with these two ladies, it was just nice to be in the company of people my same age at the god's waiting room gym. The problem I had with this situation was that 15 minutes into the workout with blondie on my left and the brunette on my right - I HAD TO FART...........

Usually in the god's waiting room gym farting is no problem, old men and women fart at ease and out in the open. An old man lifting a dumbbell and blasting away is just another night at the god's waiting room gym, but why of all nights did I have to try to sneak a wee blaster out while sandwiched between a hot blond and a sexy brunette of my generation?

Have you ever tried to run on a treadmill while keeping you ass cheeks firmly clenched?

Have you ever wished that two young attractive women next to you were old and hard of hearing?

Have you ever wished that the god's waiting room gym offered free I-pods with the world's biggest headphones?

Nothing worked not the twisting from side to side, not the hopping on one foot routine, nothing.

Out it came in all its glory FAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTT.

I can only hope that tonight when I walk into the god's waiting room gym that the usual cast of characters is there, please no hot blondes or sexy brunettes of my generation, please........