Most of the time, that’s all I want…
lick to embiggen
The Husbear wants to head over to Oklahoma City this weekend. So we are.
We’ll be staying at the Habana Inn for the first time. It’s similar to but slightly less than the same thing as The Parliament House in Orlando.
I’ll try to make the best of it.
Until next time...
Alcohol, that is. Perverts.
Although I’ve been told penis erectus non compos mentis is translated roughly as “a stiff prick knows no conscience”.
I just never seem to be around when that happens.
Until next time...
I’m feeling a bit outdoorsy today…
click to embiggen
Until next time...
Absconded from Mike, who stole it from Chris.
What is his name? “The Husbear”, but in reality it is “Robert”.
Who eats more? He does, for sure. I “eat like a bird”—whatever that means. I’m not much on worms though.
Who said I love you first? He did.
Who is taller? I am—at 5′ 10″. He’s about 5′ 8″ or slightly less.
Who drives most when you are together? I do. I think I can count the times in the last 11 years when he has driven.
Who’s more sensitive? He is, as I have no heart.
Who does the laundry? He does most of the time. But he still has not learned to fold towels quiet the correct way.
Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? The Husbear does. It’s closer to the door. Which probably sounds stupid, but he’s my safety blanket if someone burgles the house.
Who pays the bills? Our accounts are combined, but I do all the actual paperwork.
Who cooks more? He does. I don’t. Unless it can be thrown in the microwave… and is a hot dog.
Who is more stubborn? I would have to say he is.
Who is the first to admit they are wrong? Neither of us are. But I do tend to apologize for things I do a lot.
Who has more siblings? I do at three. The Husbear has two.
Who wears the pants? We both do…
What do you like to do together? Working around the house and the yard.
Who eats more sweets? He does for the most part.
Guilty pleasures? Why are pleasures always guilty? See, that’s me avoiding the real answer.
How did you meet? On AOL. We talked for about one month before we actually met in real life.
Who asked whom out first? I don’t remember, but knowing the Husbear, he probably did.
Who kissed first? I think it was mutual… but he started it. He always does.
Who proposed? We have matching bands, but there has been no ceremony as of yet. Not that that really answered the question.
His best features and qualities? He’s my dork. And he sets goals and gets them done… which I have a hard time doing (setting goals, that is).
Until next time...
As much as I love the original, there’s nothing quite as enjoyable to me to hear Rob Thomas singing it…
Enjoy.
(YouTube link if embedded video does not show.)
Updated 2011.10.12: Original video had been removed from YouTube. Replaced with another video of the same song.
Until next time...
Consider this a Public Service Announcement from yours truly.
While I appreciate that you have ink, there are just some things you should NOT do.
This would be one of them:
The first thought that went through my head when I saw this picture was—in my best GIR voice—”Why do you have a pineapple shoved in your ass-crack?”
I’m assuming this one started out as a little tramp stamp, and then kept being added to over time… I’m assuming.
To any readers who do have tramp stamps—please take no offense. This is totally my hang-up. Maybe one day it won’t bother me as much… maybe. I just have this thing about tramp stamps. They do not look good on a guy. (Hell—I don’t even like them on women.)
Your back is the largest piece of open canvas you have for ink, and you go and put a little tribal (or celtic) tramp stamp on it. It’s like putting a teeny, tiny armband on a guy with giant, tree-trunk arms. It doesn’t look right!
And it’s not a target to shoot your man-seed on while doing it doggy style.
Please people! Think before you get ink!
Oh, and the Husbear thought that one looked like a visible wet fart….
Until next time...