Sh*t. I'm a grown up.

Huh. Last 12 hours, somewhat in order:

1. Cooked healthy dinner with leftover shrimp and vegetables from the dinner I cooked the night before. Cooking dinner. Check.

2. Watched first episode of Buffy season seven. Realized show's been off the air for almost five years.

3. Paid, um, bills. Check.

4. Did dishes. Check.

5. Went to bed at 9:45.

6. Slept until 7. Didn't wake up to Opie and Anthony. Just woke up.

7. Thinking about retiring blog.

8. Thinking about next birthday. Which is soon. And one-year closer to 98.

9. Sheeeeeeeit. Better get on with the living some more.

10. Going to day job*.

* Secretly crying on inside.

And (he) danced like a wave on the ocean

So OMS was washin' him some dishes yesterday, listening to that there iPod on his stereo. He was maybe bellowing a little Doors with the LA Woman, and he was happy. Then with the (You Drive Me) Crazy and the oops the volume's really loud and the running into the living room to turn it down and then the back to the dishes and maybe the sweet dance moves from the Melissa Joan Hart video.

Maybe.

YAY! A coupon for a free cotton panty and $10 off any Secret Embrace bra!

Wait. What? Why with the Victoria's Secrets coupons? When did the Ol' Man ever, oh. Wait. Yeah. That's right. He* loves him some Victoria's Secrets, yessir. He went up in there once back in the ought-six. Good times.

* He also misses him some first-person plural, too, for joke delivery and what not. And yes, he knows about the secret, singular. But the joke is, well, y'all get that it's funnier with a s, right? Right? Hello? Is this f*cking thing on? Anyone out there? Hello?

PISCES:Your growing confidence is quite a kick in the pants as far as your ego is concerned, but you should be careful not to get too cocky right now. Just because you've proved that you're a rock star doesn't mean you won't release a dud once and a while. If you want to maintain your great reputation (and build on it), play things safe for a while. Do not make any bold moves or major proclamations. You might also want put on your political-correctness hat today -- just in case.

Huh. Cocky, er, not *too* cocky. Check. Rock star. Check, humbly. Dud. Check, see? Still with the self-deprecating. But about this PC thing, does that mean no more with the saying "dames"?

Sheeeeit.

How the Ol' Man Will Remember Her

I'm tapping out.

"But during the night she escaped and tried to walk into oncoming traffic," said the source.

Ah, well. So choosing Wilferd Brimley over Brit might have been a bad idea afterall.

The above quote is from the UK's Daily Mirror. Apparently, Brit is pretty worried that Mr. Federline wants custody of the two boys she's been diligently raising since they divorced. Come to think of it, I can't remember the last time she wasn't with those boys, caring for them and staying out of the spotlight altogether.

This will end badly, y'all. See, and I almost typed "baldly" because, well, she, you know, and saying baldly would have been a funny joke and then, well, get it? Because she's, you know, bald and stuff. ANYWAY...

Hey! Speaking of nutso, what's up with the dream last night about climbing a ladder to listen to the National Anthem, and what's up with the dream last night about Gram absolutely killing during an open mic stand-up set?

Man. I slept badly. See, and I almost wrote -- well, nevermind.

Who drops his pick?

Seriously. Not even eight words into the second song. The pick went a'flyin' and the Ol' Man maybe lost his train of thought for the next 29 or so words. But then he brought it home strong in the final chorus while staring at the pick, naked and alone next to the mic stand.

The pick. Not OMS. Christ. Y'all have some sick-ass minds in these here parts.

UPDATE!

Cleaned the bathroom sink and medicine cabinet. Why with all the hair everywhere?

Ew.

Waitaminute Mr. Postman

So the mailman who reminds the Ol' Man when his magazines arrive came upon him the other day.

"You gonna remember me when you make it?" the mailman said.

"Make what?" OMS said, juggling a case of beer, groceries and the mail he was nice enough to hand us, sans magazine.

"Come on, now," he said. "When you make it and your rich and famous. I hear you playing."

"Sh*t," OMS said.

"Nah, man," he said. "I feel it. Keep going."

I'll explain later. Someday. Maybe.

The ol' horoscope for tomorrow: The way that one person in your life always talks in riddles is starting to frustrate you, and today that frustration might tip into anger. It is okay if you lose your cool, but just don't burn any bridges! Let this person know that your time is valuable -- too valuable to be wasted on flaky behavior. Why not let her or him see the passion that you have for defending yourself? Your clear explanation may bring some clarity to your relationship.

Good times. But since when do horoscopes talk with exclamation points?

Nothing Compares 2 This

Really, Brit? Really? Cheeseandeffingcrackers.

Again with the top internet searches

From the optonline: 1. I'm Sorry Flowers

So yeah, yesterday was not only an ice rink, but it was that day that even couples really don't like. Really. They don't like it. If they say they do, they're *lying*.

Best VD anecdote from over ther week, other than saps searching for sorry flowers?

Scene: 12 people sit around the lunchroom last Thursday.

Secretary: Wow. Today's Valentine's Day. I totally forgot.

All: Um, no, it's not.

Secretary: That's right. It's next Thursday.

END SCENE.

Oh that Piven

See? The Ol' Man really does read the articles.

Now, then. Is he for real?

From this month's Playboy Interview:

PLAYBOY: How good a friend is Lindsay Lohan, who was photographed posing in her bikini -- or was it her underwear -- at your birthday party?

PIVEN: Here's the mistake I made. Some people approached me and said, "Can we throw you a birthday party?" I said, "Oh, no thanks. I'm going to throw myself a birthday party. Thank you, though." They said, "You don't have to pay. Let us throw you this birthday party at a house on the beach in Malibu." I said, "Can I bring my drums and my friends?" I'm this punk-ass from Chicago, thinking, like a wide-eyed stupid bitch, You're gonna throw me a party? Turned out it was a fucking photo op, that's all. I'm just a stupid-ass motherfucker. I went to the party. I had a 5:30 call the next morning. I didn't have a drop of alcohol. I can't do cocaine. I don't have that constitution physically. If I go out and have a few glasses of red wine, they report on me as if I'm out there slaying it. Lindsay Lohan rolls in for one second, I say hello, someone takes a picture, it gets in People magazine, and it looks as if I'm hanging out with Lindsay. I don't hang out with Lindsay Lohan, man. She's a sweet girl, but there's nothing going on. They're just trying to sell magazines. They're trying to create scandal.

Stupid weather folks, part deux

Seriously? All day yesterday with the warnings and the online updates and the BUY A SHOVEL OH MY GOD TV reports and, well, nothin'. A foot of what, now?

From a published report from the ol' local paper this morning:

Warming above the surface and shallow cold air at the surface have combined to change the precipitation from mainly snow to mainly sleet and freezing rain.

More sleet and freezing rain are expected through daybreak today.

Up to a half-inch of ice is likely. That may cause tree limbs and power lines to fall, especially in windy conditions.

I just don't know who to believe in anymore.

Meanwhile, suck it, country radio

What.

Anything but the Roxanne

Why with the Roxanne tonight to open the Grammys? Any other song would have sufficed, really. You're a hugely influential band, one that hasn't played a true public set in *years*, yet you come with Roxanne at the Grammys?

Anything else would've sufficed. Sh*t. Even Tea in the Sahara.

OMS would have loved to have heard Driven to Tears. Mostly, it's because Uncle John left us his Zenyatta Mondatta tape, but that's another story for another day. Meanwhile, you know, people love the Roxanne. Really, they do.

And what's up with the 10-second tribute to The Doors? Wait. You didn't watch the Grammys? Oh. OMS, neither.

An open letter to Mr. Timberlake

Dear Mr. Timberlake,

Can I call you JT? No? Um. OK. Well, just writing you to inform you that my boy JZ, and yes, I can call him that, is not interested in your sloppy seconds. He asked me to tell you that if you want to romp around, abs-ablazin', in your videos with Ms. Scarlett, that's your peroga preroga per, sh*t, prerogative.

But, he asks, please inform Ms. Scarlett that she's now off the list of potential lead actors for JZ's planned hit-video for "Leaving Logan" in 2012. It's a shame, because JZ so would have made out with her more than you did in *your* video.

Good day, sir.

- OMS

Page 3 Girl

Yesterday's mid-afternoon Google search didn't really show the true scope and depth of this tragic loss of a pop-culture icon (no lie, ABC News in New York led its 11 p.m. broadcast with the words Pop-culture icon).

But let's not get all speculatory here on the ol' porch.

All I know is this morning's Google search for ANS netted many more results and hits, myriad even.

OMS's favorite? Three pages in:

Don King speaks on Anna Nicole Smith death; She and Lennox Lewis ...Doghouse Boxing, Canada - 8 hours ago
Boxing Promoter Don King and Anna Nicole Smith were close friends. With unexpected death of the former Playboy and Guess Jeans Model, Anna Nicole Smith, ...

Because, you know, these things matter.

Meanwhile, in New Jersey yesterday, a 17-year-old high school senior apparently committed suicide by jumping off his high school roof, and a 17-year-old kid was charged in connection with a quadruple fatality accident earlier this month.

And a 30-year-old teacher was charged with having a sexual relationship with a 15-year-old girl, one of his students.

As a very wise woman said to the Ol' Man last night, "Is anyone really watching our children?"

Nope. Too busy sleuthing why Anna Nicole has left us.

*sigh*

CNN: Last to report it, first to call it

From the CNN Web site: Anna Nicole Smith dies after being found unconscious in her hotel room, a law enforcement source says.

Oh that Google

Anna Nicole Smith hospitalized after collapse
MSNBC - 33 minutes ago
Anna Nicole Smith reportedly collapsed at the Hard Rock Cafe and Casino and was rushed to a Florida hospital on Thursday. Access Hollywood has confirmed ...

Anna Nicole Smith Found Unconscious
WTKR Your NewsChannel 3, VA - 17 minutes ago
Anna Nicole Smith has been found unconscious in a hotel room in Hollywood, Florida. Police have not released many details about the incident. ...

Anna Nicole Smith Collapses
ABC 4, Salt Lake City - 15 minutes ago
MSNBC is reporting that model/actress Anna Nicole Smith collapsed Thursday around 2pm ET at the Seminole Hard Rock Cafe & Casino in Hollywood, Florida. ...

Anna Nicole Smith Found Unconscious In Hotel Room
KWTX, TX - 19 minutes ago
... waitress turned Playboy model turned heiress turned reality TV star Anna Nicole Smith has been found unconscious in her hotel room in Hollywood, Fla. ...

Anna Nicole Smith Collapses!!!
TMZ.com, CA - 25 minutes ago
Anna Nicole Smith collapsed at the Seminole Hard Rock Hotel and Casino in Hollywood, Florida. According to hotel officials, emergency responders performed ...

I'm Anna Nicole Smith's Baby's Daddy
The Conservative Voice, NC - 2 hours ago
If I am attacked one more time via ET's Anna Nicole Smiths loony anguish, I'm going to claim fatherhood to her baby so that this telecast run-on sentence ...

Releasing David Akers

So I woke up at 5 in the morning in a panic.

The Philadelphia Eagles Football Club released kicker David Akers in what could be considered an awful nightmare. In this nightmare, OMS pleaded with anyone who would listen: THE COWBOYS NEED A KICKER AND YOU'RE LETTING ONE OF THE BEST ESSENTIALLY WALTZ ON DOWN TO DALLAS!

Perhaps the ol' subconscience is reminding me, again, that I have absolutely no power and no say in anything I do at the ol' day job? Awesome. I don't need to trade David Akers in my dream to know this.

Oh. And I also know that the empty carton of milk doesn't go back in the fridge. Oopsies.

Meanwhile, back in the local watering hole

"Do I want another?" he slurred. "Sh*t. I was f*cked up when I walked in here and I'm more f*cked up now."

Well lookee what OMS found...

Apparently, your favorite blogger wanted to write a poetry book. This, according to a word document saved and titled back in ought-four as "Leaving Logan: A collection of crappy poetry and unfulfilled dreams."

INTRODUCTION: Dave Matthews inspired me during the summer of 1996. I was 21, relatively happy and, most of the time, drunk with my frat hat on backwards. I hadn’t yet realized what love could be, nor had I yet realized what it meant to truly fuck it up.

So I listened, really listened, to Dave for the first time that summer eight years ago. It was right before my senior year of college. I’d already been elected president of the aforementioned frat, thus cementing my ego at the time as bloated.

I remember sitting at my parents’ pool outside on a hazy July day. It was the first time I decided to write poetry since I got an A in a high school poetry class five years earlier (and a long time between 16 and 21). To wit, me at 16:

Seductive, suggestive eyes
Like an owl in the deep, dark forest
She sits perched, her fluffy, full chest heaving
She peers pulsating at her prey

Hapless, hopeless eyes
The prey falls in the deep, dark forest
He cries in pain, his pulse heaving
He is haunted, hurt by the owl.

It was those seductive, suggestive eyes.

Part of me thinks my game at age 16 was a hell of a lot better than at 21, mostly because I was five years removed from the impressionable frat boy that I’d become. It was the summer of “Crash Into Me,” of “You’ve got your ball, you’ve got your chain, tied to me, tied, tight, tie me up again…”

It was the summer, for me, at least, of Miller Lite, daily daydreams poolside and one song in particular that inspired me to write more poetry over the next few months, and then, eight years. That song was #41: “Remember when, we used to play for all the loneliness that nobody notices now.”

I’m the loner type now. I was then, too. Always comfortable with standing in the shadows and longing for the spotlight, yet, never, ever, stepping into it. It was easier to drink and hide in my journals.

I wrote some shitty poetry, then. Hell, critics will probably say the same about the collection contained herein, should it ever be published (and probably long after I die the tragic death of a melodramatic loner, probably death by a drunk driver – oh the irony; or death by growing old, vacant and unfulfilled – oh the drama).

So in June of ’96, I wrote rhyming shit like this:

Took a walk outside this afternoon
Drops of sweat seal my fate in June
Heat and misery take me away
Far away from here I’ll stay

I don’t get me either.

I will say this, though. As I approach 30, 13 months from now but who counts to 30 besides every other quarter-life crisis Reality TV generation wannabe rock star?

Anyway, as I approach 30, I realize that much of the senseless shit that I wrote, lamented and dreamed about is a catalog of a boy turned frat boy turned lover turned cheater turned jaded lover turned “Start over, then repeater” turned God will I ever learn learner turned hey, maybe I’m not so crazy afterall mature man who still gets carded at bars but is generally sane.

The early shit rhymes too much. But like I said, blame Dave.

Brief Table of Contents

Dreaming Frat Boy Finds Real Love … p.
Real World but not the one on MTV … p.
Oops with the cheating … p.
Leaving Logan … p.
Moving On … p.
Starting Over, again …p.
Grandpop …p.
First True Love …p.
Wandering, healthy eyes … p.
Don’t fuck it up because they did … p.

Wow. That sucked.

So in the middle of the night, OMS is sleeping. He's sleeping the good sleep. Enjoying it, even.

And then the dream.

He's sleeping. Still. And then he's waking up. And then he's telling himself, "Dude, go back to bed. It's Saturday." And then he's happy. Whew. Saturday. He can sleep 'til his usual wide-awake-on-a-Saturday-wake-up time of, say, 8.

But it's Tuesday. "F*ck," OMS says, now bug-eyed at 5:07 a.m. "It's Tuesday. F*ck."

I thought astronauts were the normal ones

One thing is for damn sure. OMS ain't never wearin' no diapers ever, 'specially when he 'bout to get his swerve on. Ya feel me?

Meanwhile, back in the local grocery store

Two things happened yesterday that reminded the Ol' Man to avoid the sudden bursts of anger and enjoy the days he has on this planet.

1. Somewhat middle-aged man walking past aisle four singing along with Jerry Garcia overhead. "I will get by (OMS: "Do do do do-da-do-do do").

2. Nice middle-lady a bit later, again with the singing. "They say I must be one of the wonders of God's own creation."

Through in the moment when suit guy showed me where the taco shells are, and it's safe to stay the folks inside the local grocery store restored all faith in humanity yesterday.

So there's that.

Goshdarnit Poehler Rules

"I'm not familiar. (Giggle)."

Boy does this make the Ol' Man happy.

One minute off

Y'all have yourselves some good weekends. OMS? Well, he's a little freaked out that he might look like Beaker when he embarks on his other hobby. Especially while rockin' the velour jacket.

There may be some wagon falling-offing tonight. Woohoo!

Friday nights in the oldern days

Back in the day, we (OMS and friends, no, I'm not back on the first-person plural thing, and yes, OMS has them) would hit-up a joint called Staff's out in central Pa.

Without fail, every rockin' Friday night, Ratt would end up on the dance floor. One would be astounded just how many dames out there knew all the words and the catchy spin moves.

I kind of miss it but not really.

Stupid weather folks

So all day yesterday with the "SNOW COMING SNOW COMING MESSY COMMUTE STAY TUNED" and then this morning, nothing.

One great big nothing.

Good. There's something so inherently wrong anyway with rushing to work in the slush and spinning out every time the light turns green only to get to a cubicle where 18 people a day ask *you* things because you're apparently you're both approachable and helpful, not to mention pleasant and good-looking.