I’m not sure if you girls out there have your own set of secret rules of public bathroom etiquette, but we men do. I might be breaking several regulations of ‘maledom’ here by sharing these secrets which have been guarded for centuries, but my story blog site is about growing up and when I started this venture I promised to share all aspects of my growing up.
Unless you come from one of those progressive families where the parents have the sex talk, (for example), most of these rules aren’t verbally shared with us, we’re just expected to assimilate, to learn them via osmosis. We go to the bathrooms, we witness a protocol and we’re expected to repeat it. Violating a couple of these more important protocols can deliver serious consequences, (shudder), I don’t even want to think about it. Continue reading
Our cars drive us back and forth from where we are and where we’re going.
Almost everyone I’ve ever met in my life has said that they remember the details of every single place they lived in and every single car they ever owned. Well, ok – all the men remember all the cars. My wife can recall the details of every single golf course we’ve played on, but has blocked out most of the memories of our vehicles. We spend most of our time on this earth in our homes. The mere act of sleeping can account for a 1/3rd of our lives, (or 50% for our teenage kids).
Most of us fondly recall our cars as well; there are stories and memories associated with every single one we ever owned or leased. Several of my blog stories have been, or will be, written around one of our cars. I wanted, however, to write a single documentary story that would list every vehicle Kim and I have owned in our adult lives. That doesn’t sound too exciting, does it? I’ll try to spice it up where I can but if for nothing else, this story is at minimum, for me (as are all of my stories). For if I didn’t enjoy reading what I’ve written, then writing these would be a horrible waste of time. Time is what we have to make love and memories. Love and memories take us further than our cars. Continue reading
I should not be alive writing this. Let me start right there. How many people do you know who have survived getting hit by a 20,000 pound school bus, no less at the age of seven? I not only survived, but I had no broken bones and no permanent physical damage, (though over the years my wife and I have had some serious debates over my mental stability). This story could have perhaps been my very first blog story, but I’ve been putting it off. I don’t know why, but I think I wanted to make sure I had a lot of fun stories written first. I am continuing to be open and honest in my posts, but I hoped to make you laugh and to make you feel a bit nostalgic for your own past. I didn’t think too many of my readers would associate with getting hit by a bus as a child, so I just did not want to begin there. I have mentioned it however several times so now it’s time to share this memory which is one of my most pivotal events. Continue reading
I thought I’d try to start capturing the weird inner world of what’s it like to be me.
** If you own a pair of cats, you’ll never be frightened by things that go bump in the night **
** So where does the little red thingie go when the olive ripens **
** I believe in keeping my friends close and letting my enemies know that I could snap at any minute ** Continue reading