TBogg - "...a somewhat popular blogger"





Faithful husband, soccer dad, basset owner, and former cowboy
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  • Friday, July 06, 2007

     

    Putting away childhood things.


    This weekend we will celebrate my passage into 52-year old manhood with a bris and....

    What? I'm sorry.... they're going to do what to my what?

    Okay. Check that. We will instead observe that passage thingy I mentioned above by going out to dinner and then to see Avenue Q. In the meantime I feel that there comes a time when one must finally give up the ghost on few things and just move on.

    I'm not going to get any taller. It's just not going to happen.

    I will never learn to whistle using my fingers. Apparently I have the wrong lip/teeth/finger configuration and I just can't do it, which is sad because it is a talent I admire in others along with the ability to tie a cherry stem in a knot in their mouth using only their teeth and tongue.

    I will never have hot sweaty sex with Jennifer Anniston. But a part of me, the uncontrollable special "man part", is holding out for a 1% chance because, you never know...

    I can't throw a curve. My daughter can. I am only slightly bitter about this one.

    I think that I have more unread books on hand than I will ever be able to read before I die. Blogging is not helping.

    I have finally come to the realization that all of my high school girlfriends no longer look the same way that they looked thirty plus years ago. Neither do I, but I see proof of that every day. Many of them are grandmothers now. There is something about that that is deeply wrong.

    I can't make a yo-yo...um, yo. ..or whatever they call it when it goes up and down. I lack the yo-yo rhythm and timing gene.

    I will never remember how to spell 'rhythm' without looking it up. It just looks wrong, along with 'vacuum'.

    I will never be able to play a musical instrument. I think this has something to do with my lack of coordination in my left hand. If for some reason I lost my right hand, I would starve to death.

    How many baseball games do I have to go to before I finally get a foul ball? It's not going to happen.

    On a final note, on Monday the delicate and scrumdidliumptious mrs tbogg and I will celebrate twenty-four years of marriage; a marriage founded on love, respect, emotional fulfillment, and, as mrs tbogg refers to it, "doing it", if you know what she means, and I think you do...



    Oh, and here is your Friday Night Palate Clenaser


     

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