Feet tapping Friday

This is one of my favorite tunes by Jack Ingram. The funny thing is, it doesn’t apply to me. Never has. For some reason it’s popped up on my MP3 player three times today (and it’s on random, honest!) You have to listen to it, but here are the lyrics.

It’s a love song. Wanna dance?

You’d think that I had the guts to leave you
a man like me can’t stand to sit around
when I met you I swore that you were freedom
but the strings you’ve tied they’ve chained me to the ground

But I can’t leave you, even though I want to
something about you makes me stay
No, I can’t leave you, believe me I’ve tried to
so I wake up just hating every day

Well, I promised you I’d write you a love song
It’ll be something to bring teardrops to your eyes
so far I’m the only one that’s crying
writing about this crazy love that died

I can’t leave you, even though I want to
something about you makes me stay
No, I can’t leave you, believe me I tried to
so I wake up just hating every day

Yeah, I promised you I’d write you a love song
It’d be something that brings teardrops to your eyes
so far I’m the only one that’s crying
writing about this crazy love that died

I can’t leave you even though I want to
there’s just something about you sweetheart, makes me stay
No, I can’t leave you, believe me I tried to
so I wake up just hating every. single. day.

…that I stay here of my own will
cuz I figure darlin’, that’s what real men do
yeah to grin and bear it, don’t ever share it
They just play guitar and mow the yard and have a drink.

Living under a rock

Again, internets, you have left me out of the loop.

Why didn’t I hear that The Onion was selling crap?

I gotta get me one of these. Fat_I_Am.jpg. If you can’t read it, it says ” I Wish Somebody Would Do Something About How Fat I Am” And if you find that bad, then be glad I didn’t post the one that says “I’m getting pretty good at masturbating.”

(yeah, google, come bite me)

‘a little guilt’s good for ya’

That’s what I’ve been told. By my very Catholic mom-in-law, among others.

I have not had lunch with my boys at school this week. I don’t usually write about it, but every week I try and go to lunch with them. We eat crappy school food together, sometimes we chat, sometimes we’re quiet. The kids go to lunch one after another, so I can actually visit each of them in one day.

This week, life got in the way – there were meetings, and doctor appointments, discruptions. And this morning I was asked if I could make it to lunch, and I said I didn’t think so, things were busy, but I for sure was coming next week, and I’d also like to make it to their Thanksgiving Feast. We can’t celebrate Halloween, because that’s the devil’s holiday, but we can have Turkey Day. Go figure.

“Okay, dad.”

I thought that was it, and went on with my morning. Then, as I’m leaving the house, he is in tears on the couch. Distraught. I didn’t cry that much when my dog died. Okay, I did, but I won’t admit it here. (oops) My wife is with him, talking, and I can hear him saying that he was worried because I wasn’t coming to lunch.

Wanna hear the guilt part? (we Catholics are good at guilt. We’ve got that down)

Today, my “busy” is having lunch with my wife, the one day a week she gets a lunch break. Friday’s are our day to have a few quiet minutes that we can dine and don’t have to cut up anyone’s food or tell them to take the food out of their nose/hair/ears or any of that.

So, I feel like an ass for telling him no. And I feel worse that I couldn’t come up with a way to talk to him before leaving. I totally skipped out on dealing with it.

All of this, of course, is nothing compared to the crushing blow I felt reading the late night entry at atomictumor.

It’s raining, it’s pouring, your old man is boring…