Ok, last night I had an odd one – seriously odd. I had a job in a department store of some kind. What was my profession? Did I work at the checkout? Did I stock items? Oh no… I was an executioner.
Every store has one, don’t they?
And I wasn’t just in charge of executing nameless, faceless criminals. No, I was in charge of strapping former classmates into the electric chair. I think I killed four or five people. I can’t recall all of them. But two of the departed were fellow “Class Of 1989” blog entries of mine, Stacey Erickson and Markus Petkevicious. What had they done? I don’t know. But I strapped them in, and gave them the juice.
And then it got weird.
The next person to get strapped in was Jason Anderson. So I did my job. I put the strap on his skull, and pulled the switch. A few moments later, Jason slumped to the floor. Then I went to check on him. He was still alive! So he got up, completely out of breath, and in obvious pain. I commended him on his ability to stay alive. Then he wandered around the store a bit. And not unexpectedly, he received a lot of sympathy from people – people including his friend and fellow classmate, Jay Rozmarynoski. Becky Koeppel also showed up to give her support. I of course hovered next to Jason for the most part – so he wouldn’t run away, I imagine. I happened to have my digital camera on me. And not wanting to miss a photo opportunity, I asked Becky if I could take a picture of her, as I didn’t (and don’t) have a recent one of her for my class blog. But she declined. When I asked her why, she said she didn’t approve of my blog because of some of the negative aspects of it. Specifically, she pointed out that Stacey Erickson had left some bad comments about Kevin Dehne. For the record, she hasn’t.
Well, as the dream continued, I myself was pretty shook up about it. I was torn. In one aspect, I too was moved by Jason’s experience and wanted him to live. On the other hand, I felt I was duty-bound to do my job. I was very upset. And at one point, I started crying. For the record, Jason was crying too. I even asked him if he had some place he could disappear to, if I happened to let him go. He said he did.
In the end, my duty ethics won out. I sort of lead Jason back to the electric chair. At one point he decided to bolt. For a brief second, I thought about appealing to Jason’s pride, and had thought about saying something like, “Jason, it’s time to man up. Be a man and don’t run away.” But I didn’t have to go that route. Jason’s run lasted for only a second or two. He happened to run right toward the electric chair. And once he saw it, he stopped. He even put the electric strap on his own head.
As Jason sat down in the chair, the coroner showed up. He had come to take the body away. He was 45 minutes late. But since Jason survived the first shock, it all worked out. Once the coroner was there, I knew there was no way I could let Jason go now.
So anyway, I placed the hood over Jason’s head, and flipped the switch. As I looked back at Jason, I saw that he had somehow managed to get the hood off. So he was looking right at me. Knowing that the jolts of electricity could cause his eyes to come out of their sockets, I pleaded with him to close his eyes tight. It was really loud. So I had to scream it at him. I was thinking that there would be less pain if his eyes stayed in his head. I was genuinely motivated to have his suffering as painless as possible. Jason obliged and shut his eyes. Determined not to have a repeat performance, I let the electricity flow through him longer than normal. Eventually, Jason’s body slumped to the floor. After I turned off the juice, the coroner confirmed that Jason was in fact dead.
After Jason was dead, I decided that I was going to quit my job, effective immediately. It was too horrible to go on any further.
And that’s pretty much how my dream ended.
I must admit, when I woke up, I was a bit disturbed at this dream. Killing these classmates was an absolutely awful feeling. I don’t recall ever having a dream like this before.
So my question is this. What does this dream mean? Can anyone interpret it? I’m too lazy to check the internet myself. I’m not sure I want the “answer.” I’d like to know what others think.
Anyone?
Monday, January 29, 2007
Thursday, January 25, 2007
WHAT'S YOUR FINE?
I came across this survey on someone else's blog. I think she got it from a website. Anyway, it's pretty easy. For each thing that you've done, there's a fine in the form of a dollar amount. Go through the list, and add it up. What amount of fine would you end up paying?
Smoked pot -- $10
Did acid -- $5
Ever had sex at church -- $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you -- $40
Had sex with someone on MySpace -- $25
Had sex for money -- $100
Vandalized something -- $20
Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10
Beat up someone -- $20
Been jumped -- $10
Crossed dressed -- $10
Given money to stripper -- $25
Been in love with a stripper -- $20
Kissed some one who's name you didn't know -- $0.10
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15
Ever drive drunk -- $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50
Used toys while having sex -- $30
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before -- $20
Went skinny dipping -- $5
Had sex in a pool -- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20
Cheated on your significant other -- $10
Masturbated -- $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend -- $20
Done oral -- $5
Got oral -- $5
Done / got oral in a car while it was moving -- $25
Stole something -- $10
Had sex with someone in jail -- $25
Made a nasty home video -- $15
Had a threesome -- $50
Had sex in the wild -- $20
Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars -- $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it -- $25
Went streaking -- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15
Been arrested -- $5
Spent time in jail -- $15
Peed in the pool -- $0.50
Played spin the bottle -- $5
Done something you regret -- $20
Had sex with your best friend -- $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25
Had anal sex -- $80
Lied to your mate -- $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25
There you go. For the record, my fine would be $445.00. If someone would pay me to have anal sex with them, I could jack it up to $625.00. I skipped the questions where the fine was less than $1.00. It would make those answers obvious.
No details are needed. But tell me what your fine would be.
Smoked pot -- $10
Did acid -- $5
Ever had sex at church -- $25
Woke up in the morning and did not know the person who was next to you -- $40
Had sex with someone on MySpace -- $25
Had sex for money -- $100
Vandalized something -- $20
Had sex on your parents' bed -- $10
Beat up someone -- $20
Been jumped -- $10
Crossed dressed -- $10
Given money to stripper -- $25
Been in love with a stripper -- $20
Kissed some one who's name you didn't know -- $0.10
Hit on some one of the same sex while at work -- $15
Ever drive drunk -- $20
Ever got drunk at work, or went to work while still drunk -- $50
Used toys while having sex -- $30
Got drunk, passed out and don't remember the night before -- $20
Went skinny dipping -- $5
Had sex in a pool -- $20
Kissed someone of the same sex -- $10
Had sex with someone of the same sex -- $20
Cheated on your significant other -- $10
Masturbated -- $10
Cheated on your significant other with their relative or close friend -- $20
Done oral -- $5
Got oral -- $5
Done / got oral in a car while it was moving -- $25
Stole something -- $10
Had sex with someone in jail -- $25
Made a nasty home video -- $15
Had a threesome -- $50
Had sex in the wild -- $20
Been in the same room while someone was having sex -- $25
Stole something worth over more than a hundred dollars -- $20
Had sex with someone 10 years older -- $20
Had sex with someone under 21 and you are over 27 -- $25
Been in love with two people or more at the same time -- $50
Said you love someone but didn't mean it -- $25
Went streaking -- $5
Went streaking in broad daylight -- $15
Been arrested -- $5
Spent time in jail -- $15
Peed in the pool -- $0.50
Played spin the bottle -- $5
Done something you regret -- $20
Had sex with your best friend -- $20
Had sex with someone you work with at work -- $25
Had anal sex -- $80
Lied to your mate -- $5
Lied to your mate about the sex being good -- $25
There you go. For the record, my fine would be $445.00. If someone would pay me to have anal sex with them, I could jack it up to $625.00. I skipped the questions where the fine was less than $1.00. It would make those answers obvious.
No details are needed. But tell me what your fine would be.
VOMIT
It comes in many sizes, many shapes, and many colors. As I currently have a puking infant at home, I was reminded of my own bouts with regurgitation. It sounded like a blog entry to me! So here are three of my more memorable vomit stories.
My first memory comes when I was about three years old. I had come down with some sort of ailment. And for whatever reason, I couldn’t keep any food down at all. So naturally my parents took me to the hospital. It was the one on Reed Avenue in Manitowoc. I think it was called Memorial Hospital at that time. But today I think it’s called Holy Family Memorial. Did Holy Family expand to include every hospital in Manitowoc? Anyway, I was dehydrated. And if memory serves, no one could figure out what was wrong with me. I stayed in the hospital for a few days. And at one pint, they actually had to insert tubes into both of my legs. Why? I don’t know. It must have hurt though, because I have vague memories of them working on me, and me screaming and crying my fool head off.
Now, I don’t remember this. But my parents do. And my dad has mentioned it many times over the years. Apparently I didn’t like having tubes in my legs. So at some point, I pulled them out – both of them. My dad recalls the doctor yelling at the nurses on staff for not keeping an eye on me. I don’t know why. But I can’t help but smile when I think about that.
A few days later, I was released. What I had remains a mystery. But I recall leaving with orange legs. I don’t know if they put something on my legs or what. But they were a pretty sickly-looking orange.
Fast forward to about age six. My mom had made brownies. But they were for dessert. I had the standard “If you eat everything on your plate” routine going. All was well, with one exception. On that night, my parents had cooked beets as a side dish. Now, I’m a firm believer that no one on this planet likes beets. How could they? They taste like shit. Granted, for those who know me, you know that I hate vegetables. I can’t eat them. I wish I could. But I can’t. They all taste awful to me. I can’t stomach them.
Well, even in my anti-veggie world, there’s a pecking order of what I can tolerate, if I absolutely must. With the possible exception of cauliflower, beets are on the bottom of that list.
I tried to eat them. Oh how I tried. The lure of those brownies was strong! On normal nights, I might try to hide my carrots or beans inside my milk. But there was no hiding on this night. I had to get them down in order to get that wonderful chocolaty goodness that was to follow. But it was not to be. After one swallow, up it came – along with the rest of my dinner. It went all over my plate and all over the table. I think my parents learned something that night. In the 30 years since, a beet has not graced my lips. Oh, and for the record, I did get a brownie for my efforts.
Fast forward another 10 years. I was now a freshman in high school. During 7th, 8th and 9th grade, I became a big fan of professional wrestling. I loved the personalities. I loved the bullshit. It was fun. So my dad and I used to truck up to Brown County Arena every month to watch the AWA or WWF grapplers in action. If there was any doubt that there are indeed some white trash people in Wisconsin, all one has to do is attend some wrestling matches. I think I had just as much fun people watching as I did watching the matches. I always thought professional wrestling was for kids. But as my dad pointed out, the parking lot was always full. Think about it.
Well on the last Sunday in March of 1986, we attended another show. Hell, it may have been the last wrestling matches I ever saw. Anyway, on that night, my dad and I really pigged out. We ate hot dogs and popcorn – which was unusual for us. Then on the way home, we stopped at a gas station and each got a big bag of chips. I kid you not, I ate my entire bag. We ended up getting home around 10:30. And I went to bed.
For whatever reason, I was restless. I couldn’t sleep. After several hours, I decided on a change of scenery. So I moved to the living room couch. It still didn’t work. By now it was around 3:30 in the morning. I had about three hours left before I had to get up for school. I figured there was no way I could go to school now, as I knew I would be dead tired. So I decided to stick my finger down my throat.
Now, I could have done this in the toilet. However, my parents were wise to me. They knew I was a faker. And unless they saw some proof, I was going to school. So I let loose on the living room floor. And based on everything I’d ingested that evening, it was a pile of epic proportions! When I was all said and done, I left a pile of vomit roughly the size of a football (in height and length) on the floor. You know how if you eat a bunch of potato chips or Doritos, and you crunch them up, but don’t swallow them, you’re left with this thick, soggy ball of goo? Well that’s what this pile was. It was as solid a pile of puke as the world has ever seen. There was no liquid. It was solid mush.
I went and told my dad that I was sick. He then cleaned up the mess. It was awful. He was trying to use paper towels. But it was really too massive for paper towels. He ended up swiping it up, making various divots in the structure each time. He would have been better off using a shovel or a pooper scooper.
I stayed home sick on Monday. In fact, I stretched that sickness out for two weeks – a record for me! I ended up sticking my finger down my throat nearly everyday. Of course I felt really guilty when my parents took me to the hospital at one point. Aside from the guilt, I did have fun those two weeks though. I watched a lot of movies. Plus the Brewers’ season started, and I watched their first few games. It was a great time.
So there’s three of my more memorable vomits. And to think, not one of these stories involved drinking. If you want my best vomiting story involving drinking, check out my class of 1989 blog and read about Scott Jaklin. And for my best laughing/volcano moment with vomit, read my entry on Jeff “Meff” Messerman.
Now, tell me about your best vomit stories!
My first memory comes when I was about three years old. I had come down with some sort of ailment. And for whatever reason, I couldn’t keep any food down at all. So naturally my parents took me to the hospital. It was the one on Reed Avenue in Manitowoc. I think it was called Memorial Hospital at that time. But today I think it’s called Holy Family Memorial. Did Holy Family expand to include every hospital in Manitowoc? Anyway, I was dehydrated. And if memory serves, no one could figure out what was wrong with me. I stayed in the hospital for a few days. And at one pint, they actually had to insert tubes into both of my legs. Why? I don’t know. It must have hurt though, because I have vague memories of them working on me, and me screaming and crying my fool head off.
Now, I don’t remember this. But my parents do. And my dad has mentioned it many times over the years. Apparently I didn’t like having tubes in my legs. So at some point, I pulled them out – both of them. My dad recalls the doctor yelling at the nurses on staff for not keeping an eye on me. I don’t know why. But I can’t help but smile when I think about that.
A few days later, I was released. What I had remains a mystery. But I recall leaving with orange legs. I don’t know if they put something on my legs or what. But they were a pretty sickly-looking orange.
Fast forward to about age six. My mom had made brownies. But they were for dessert. I had the standard “If you eat everything on your plate” routine going. All was well, with one exception. On that night, my parents had cooked beets as a side dish. Now, I’m a firm believer that no one on this planet likes beets. How could they? They taste like shit. Granted, for those who know me, you know that I hate vegetables. I can’t eat them. I wish I could. But I can’t. They all taste awful to me. I can’t stomach them.
Well, even in my anti-veggie world, there’s a pecking order of what I can tolerate, if I absolutely must. With the possible exception of cauliflower, beets are on the bottom of that list.
I tried to eat them. Oh how I tried. The lure of those brownies was strong! On normal nights, I might try to hide my carrots or beans inside my milk. But there was no hiding on this night. I had to get them down in order to get that wonderful chocolaty goodness that was to follow. But it was not to be. After one swallow, up it came – along with the rest of my dinner. It went all over my plate and all over the table. I think my parents learned something that night. In the 30 years since, a beet has not graced my lips. Oh, and for the record, I did get a brownie for my efforts.
Fast forward another 10 years. I was now a freshman in high school. During 7th, 8th and 9th grade, I became a big fan of professional wrestling. I loved the personalities. I loved the bullshit. It was fun. So my dad and I used to truck up to Brown County Arena every month to watch the AWA or WWF grapplers in action. If there was any doubt that there are indeed some white trash people in Wisconsin, all one has to do is attend some wrestling matches. I think I had just as much fun people watching as I did watching the matches. I always thought professional wrestling was for kids. But as my dad pointed out, the parking lot was always full. Think about it.
Well on the last Sunday in March of 1986, we attended another show. Hell, it may have been the last wrestling matches I ever saw. Anyway, on that night, my dad and I really pigged out. We ate hot dogs and popcorn – which was unusual for us. Then on the way home, we stopped at a gas station and each got a big bag of chips. I kid you not, I ate my entire bag. We ended up getting home around 10:30. And I went to bed.
For whatever reason, I was restless. I couldn’t sleep. After several hours, I decided on a change of scenery. So I moved to the living room couch. It still didn’t work. By now it was around 3:30 in the morning. I had about three hours left before I had to get up for school. I figured there was no way I could go to school now, as I knew I would be dead tired. So I decided to stick my finger down my throat.
Now, I could have done this in the toilet. However, my parents were wise to me. They knew I was a faker. And unless they saw some proof, I was going to school. So I let loose on the living room floor. And based on everything I’d ingested that evening, it was a pile of epic proportions! When I was all said and done, I left a pile of vomit roughly the size of a football (in height and length) on the floor. You know how if you eat a bunch of potato chips or Doritos, and you crunch them up, but don’t swallow them, you’re left with this thick, soggy ball of goo? Well that’s what this pile was. It was as solid a pile of puke as the world has ever seen. There was no liquid. It was solid mush.
I went and told my dad that I was sick. He then cleaned up the mess. It was awful. He was trying to use paper towels. But it was really too massive for paper towels. He ended up swiping it up, making various divots in the structure each time. He would have been better off using a shovel or a pooper scooper.
I stayed home sick on Monday. In fact, I stretched that sickness out for two weeks – a record for me! I ended up sticking my finger down my throat nearly everyday. Of course I felt really guilty when my parents took me to the hospital at one point. Aside from the guilt, I did have fun those two weeks though. I watched a lot of movies. Plus the Brewers’ season started, and I watched their first few games. It was a great time.
So there’s three of my more memorable vomits. And to think, not one of these stories involved drinking. If you want my best vomiting story involving drinking, check out my class of 1989 blog and read about Scott Jaklin. And for my best laughing/volcano moment with vomit, read my entry on Jeff “Meff” Messerman.
Now, tell me about your best vomit stories!
Monday, January 22, 2007
PEWTER?
Pewter, do I know thee?
Someone named Pewter has left me a comment in my thread about engagement. But I know not who Pewter is. But I wouldn't mind finding out. Pewter, Pewter, give me a sign!
Welcome Pewter!
Someone named Pewter has left me a comment in my thread about engagement. But I know not who Pewter is. But I wouldn't mind finding out. Pewter, Pewter, give me a sign!
Welcome Pewter!
Sunday, January 21, 2007
MY DAUGHTER
My oldest daughter turns four in March. For the last two years or so, she's had a habit of "writing" and then singing her own songs. She's come with some good melodies on occasion as well. Maybe she's some sort of prodigy. I don't know. But inspired by this, one of her grandpas gave her a guitar for Christmas. Until last night, she had never touched it. But she grabbed it last night, strummed a few chords, and in the span of about 30 seconds, made up a short song. So we taped it. I thought it was cute. So here she is.
Friday, January 19, 2007
MY BIG TOE
I went to bed on Wednesday night and all was fine. When I woke up in the morning, the big toe on my left foot was sprained. It hurt like hell. What the fuck is that all about? It throbbed all day. And then Erin mentioned the word "gout" to me. Ugh! Yes, it was in jest. But anyway, a couple Ibuprofin did the trick. My toe is much better today. Of course the left side of my ankle is a little bothersome thanks to to the fact that I used it more in order to favor the big toe. Fricken' body...
I have nothing else to say right now. Although I have plenty of time to say it. So what to do... How about sports? There's football this weekend. Let us all hope for a Bears loss. That's all I have to say about that.
How about TV - one of my favorite pastimes. I think my new favorite show is "The Office." My wife and I find ourselves laughing hysterically at it. There are so many little nuances in each episode that can make you laugh out loud. I'm starting to develop a crush on Jenna Fischer too. Are we alone in thinking this show is pure genius? By the way, for those who watch the show, the character of Creed was a member of the 1960's group, "The Grass Roots."
On another note, my mother-in-law is a masseuse. A few years ago, she gave me a coupon for a free massage. I still have it. And I want to use it. However, one thing has always crossed my mind. I've never had a massage before. And what happens if I.. you know... sprout wood? It could happen. Now granted, I'm not going butt naked in front of my mother-in-law. I would have shorts on or something. But still, I would know if I got excited. And psychologically, that's a little weird. I wouldn't be mad or disappointed in myself or anything. Stuff like that happens. Hell, it happens throughout the day sometimes - for no explainable reason whatsoever. So I don't know. I'm not weirded out so much that I won't do it. In fact, I'd like to do it soon. I think a massage would be great. But still, there's that lingering fear in the back of my mind. Am I crazy?
I have nothing else to say right now. Although I have plenty of time to say it. So what to do... How about sports? There's football this weekend. Let us all hope for a Bears loss. That's all I have to say about that.
How about TV - one of my favorite pastimes. I think my new favorite show is "The Office." My wife and I find ourselves laughing hysterically at it. There are so many little nuances in each episode that can make you laugh out loud. I'm starting to develop a crush on Jenna Fischer too. Are we alone in thinking this show is pure genius? By the way, for those who watch the show, the character of Creed was a member of the 1960's group, "The Grass Roots."
On another note, my mother-in-law is a masseuse. A few years ago, she gave me a coupon for a free massage. I still have it. And I want to use it. However, one thing has always crossed my mind. I've never had a massage before. And what happens if I.. you know... sprout wood? It could happen. Now granted, I'm not going butt naked in front of my mother-in-law. I would have shorts on or something. But still, I would know if I got excited. And psychologically, that's a little weird. I wouldn't be mad or disappointed in myself or anything. Stuff like that happens. Hell, it happens throughout the day sometimes - for no explainable reason whatsoever. So I don't know. I'm not weirded out so much that I won't do it. In fact, I'd like to do it soon. I think a massage would be great. But still, there's that lingering fear in the back of my mind. Am I crazy?
Monday, January 15, 2007
ENGAGEMENT
Ok, so I was driving to work. Now I generally listen to Howard Stern. I’ve become addicted to him since he joined Sirius a year ago. But today they were playing a rerun from 1988. So after awhile, I turned on the local radio – Milwaukee’s WKLH. The morning crew was giving away vacations to Cancun for Valentine’s Day – provided couples were willing to get married on the air.
At one point, the subject of getting engaged came up. All three of them insisted that before a guy asks a girl to get married, he should approach the girl’s father for permission. In fact, the son of one of the DJ’s just got engaged himself. And he too (no doubt based on dad’s advice) asked for permission from not only the biological father, but from the girl’s stepfather as well.
Now call me crazy. But isn’t this sort of practice horribly old-fashioned? Now I have nothing against the concept, if a guy is inclined to do so. But should it be considered a requirement? I think that’s insane! And what if the father says no? Does that stop you?
Of course I think back to my own engagement. It happened Saturday, 9/26/98 – my 27th birthday actually. My wife and I had a pretty fast romance. Although we’d known each other for a few months prior, we’d only been a boyfriend/girlfriend couple since 8/12/98 – 45 days. We had a double birthday party planned for that night. Her birthday is September 28th. I had originally planned to propose to her then – and had even told a few people about it. But on the night of the 25th, I changed my mind. She spent the night at my apartment, and we planned to open up birthday gifts for each other the following morning. I figured since all our family and friends were going to be at our party on Saturday, what better way to celebrate. So we’d have a birthday/engagement party. After we’d opened all our gifts, I produced one final gift, got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. She was totally caught off guard. But of course she said yes.
But had I asked her father’s permission? Hell no! Why should I? No offense, but it really didn’t concern him. Would he have granted it? Of course. But still, why should I have to do that? We decided right away that as of November 1st, we’d find an apartment together.
Incidentally, the night of our engagement, my father-in-law approached me and said, “If you two want to move in together, that’s fine with me.” Now, that was a very nice thing to say. But again, we were going to do it anyway. A few months later, someone asked my mom how she felt about us moving in together before we were married. My mom’s response, “They never asked for my opinion.” (She wasn’t concerned anyway.)
My point is, I was an adult. And although she was six years younger than me, my wife was an adult too. So what obligations do we have to ask for permission for such things? Am I just stubborn and rebellious? Are others old-fashioned? What’s the deal?
At one point, the subject of getting engaged came up. All three of them insisted that before a guy asks a girl to get married, he should approach the girl’s father for permission. In fact, the son of one of the DJ’s just got engaged himself. And he too (no doubt based on dad’s advice) asked for permission from not only the biological father, but from the girl’s stepfather as well.
Now call me crazy. But isn’t this sort of practice horribly old-fashioned? Now I have nothing against the concept, if a guy is inclined to do so. But should it be considered a requirement? I think that’s insane! And what if the father says no? Does that stop you?
Of course I think back to my own engagement. It happened Saturday, 9/26/98 – my 27th birthday actually. My wife and I had a pretty fast romance. Although we’d known each other for a few months prior, we’d only been a boyfriend/girlfriend couple since 8/12/98 – 45 days. We had a double birthday party planned for that night. Her birthday is September 28th. I had originally planned to propose to her then – and had even told a few people about it. But on the night of the 25th, I changed my mind. She spent the night at my apartment, and we planned to open up birthday gifts for each other the following morning. I figured since all our family and friends were going to be at our party on Saturday, what better way to celebrate. So we’d have a birthday/engagement party. After we’d opened all our gifts, I produced one final gift, got down on one knee and asked her to marry me. She was totally caught off guard. But of course she said yes.
But had I asked her father’s permission? Hell no! Why should I? No offense, but it really didn’t concern him. Would he have granted it? Of course. But still, why should I have to do that? We decided right away that as of November 1st, we’d find an apartment together.
Incidentally, the night of our engagement, my father-in-law approached me and said, “If you two want to move in together, that’s fine with me.” Now, that was a very nice thing to say. But again, we were going to do it anyway. A few months later, someone asked my mom how she felt about us moving in together before we were married. My mom’s response, “They never asked for my opinion.” (She wasn’t concerned anyway.)
My point is, I was an adult. And although she was six years younger than me, my wife was an adult too. So what obligations do we have to ask for permission for such things? Am I just stubborn and rebellious? Are others old-fashioned? What’s the deal?
HELLO
This is my blog. There are many other blogs like it. But this one is mine.
A year ago, I created a blog about my childhood classmates - every last one of them from 4th grade through my senior year in high school. It's been a fun blog. And it's not done yet. But in addition to that, I have other thoughts and ideas in my head - stuff that isn't really "classmate" related. So what to do? Create a new blog, that's what. So this is it.
Enjoy!
A year ago, I created a blog about my childhood classmates - every last one of them from 4th grade through my senior year in high school. It's been a fun blog. And it's not done yet. But in addition to that, I have other thoughts and ideas in my head - stuff that isn't really "classmate" related. So what to do? Create a new blog, that's what. So this is it.
Enjoy!
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