Well. My wife did not like the first page at all. We made up and she went to bed. See here's the deal. She wants to move to South Padre Island like a duck after a june bug. I'm like 50/50, stuck in the middle, like hangin' my goolies on the barbed wire fence. So I say "yeah OK" and we get notice of a possible contract on a house down there in South Padre and all is cool. We make up. She still thinks my blog thingy here sucks for air, though.
As a Gemini "air sign" I think I'm always sucking for air. So let's cut to the chase. Why would I, as a normally rational person, want to leave a town having so much cool art, food, and music to go to a backwater that doesn't have dookie? No Strauss, no Greater Tuna, no Willy, no Vietnamese, no nothin'? What really sucks is that South Padre Island itself doesn't even have a real taco joint - it is all fake Mexican plop. To add insult to injury, the selection of fine wine and beer is like "hey, like Bud Lite?" Surely, a nice guy like me would die down there without any jones.
The answer, my friends, is that I am slightly insane. Not a bad kind of insanity or a clinical kind; more like a Willy Nelson kind of craziness. I figure that 50 percent of the US voters voted for George Bush, so about 50 percent of the US is completely off their bonkers already (you could have said the other way around too, think about it). This here Internet thingy comes in handy for ordering things, too. I can rationalize about everything I'm going to do except for getting in a big honking hurricane. You're not all that crazy if you're worried about protecting your family against hurricanes. Nuts, yes; mack-daddy crazy, no.
So the move is still on and if the weather holds, Lori's storm clouds will clear out to sunny skies and slightly over 70 degrees. Do all girls think boys are doing kinky things on the web? Ewww. Maybe that was it.