Not As Fucked

"Children is learning."

-George Bush (In a recent speech, he said this not once but twice. While I'd normally hit back with a 'They is not,' I'm more inclined to state that he should go back to school because Bush is obviously the one kid in the back of the room that ate too much paste.)

Thought of my day. I cannot come up with a solution to which person would win in a battle of wits, George Bush or Britney Spears. While some would tell me that Bush would do well with a question involving politics, I'd concur with the fact that the way this country is going shows a big fat no. What Britney has going for her would more or less be in creativity, like which colors go with various breast sizes when selecting a wardrobe. Sadly, neither one can hold his/her own when it comes to speech. Britney, as rude as she is, chews bubble gum in interviews while Bush cannot even form a sentence without looking like he needs a helmet. A GQ writer talked about his hard time with eating a hot dog.

Ah, I am back in the land of the living. Work is interesting. Hard to do but I like the fact that a lot of the people I work with are very good at getting their portions done. No having to find someone to order them. They are there and some even have good personalities. No stinkies still. No ladies caked in 3 layers of make-up.

Met 2 deaf guys yesterday. Will try and talk to them in sign language once I find the time to take a short break from work. It's amazing how fast they can sign words! I'm slow due to not using sign language as much as I should. Believe it or not, being deaf helps where I work because it's so damn loud and there's rarely a need for hearing. People can't understand each other and those are the hearing ones.

Don't think my life is always easy. It is in ways but there are times I really, really miss Sara in bed. Sex? Yes, that's nice but it's become a thing where we talk a bit before sleep. While I'm sure there are moronic husbands that are only into shooting things or watching cars constantly go left, I like to talk about all things. I'm a one-on-one chatterbox and Sara seems to like that. Not only did we debate HBO's Sex And the City but also the reality show, Top Chef. I like it but there are little things that kind of set it back. Sara loves it just as I do but sees the issues I have with it. For once, there were no stern looks but a nice pleasant discussion.

Of course, the other topic was me moving to Indiana. Loved to. Sara even points out that I'd already have friends there, hers. We're couples that enjoy meeting each other for dinner in various restaurants. Sometimes, it's just friends here and there. It's kind of weird and scary to say that Sara's town really has become a home to me. I'm even calling her apartment "home" by accident.

It is tough to sleep alone. No one to argue with. No one to giggle over something stupid. No 'accidental' slaps on the behind. No one suddenly grabbing you and making sure it's a major cuddle that has erupted. No being told that I make the bed super hot due to my muscles' body temperature. No wondering what to say when she lets one rip while asleep. Yes, girls fart. Oh lordy, they fart a lot more than they care to admit because you have to catch them sleeping in their natural habitat.

"Crikey, look at that! The female has emitted a small substance that would put trumpets to shame!"

Sometimes, I think I give you the idea that with Sara being a nymphomaniac that there is constant sex. Not so. Work kills her a great portion of her sex drive but she makes sure to get a few good sessions in. The boy must not leave without being drained of his precious semen and the girl cannot make it through the night without her pussy being soothed. So sayeth the laws of couples being together for less than 3 years. Sex does help me sleep. Being too tired to fuck sucks.

So, I must bid y'all a fine adieu to another day's ending. Yeah, work puts a weird strain on me but I enjoy feeling busy. I've very little time to myself because I must put in the gym-time and walk a small dog that threatens to shit in my shoe if no walkies. 8pm on Tuesday nights, it's me and Fox's House. Cranky doctors remind me of me because I have found my calling. To piss people off is not for the weak of heart. Happy twats all around.