How many TV’s in our house can Dan Patrick be on at one time? Every room I go in has the TV blaring with him talking about some useless sports figure. I don’t have a problem with Dan Patrick. He’s a fairly funny guy. I enjoy looking at him. And I do love radio. But sometimes, it’s just nice NOT to have Dan Patrick at the house. Hayden looks at him like he's some long lost relative. I’ve even started calling him Uncle Dan, just for shits and giggles.
I know, I’m pretty sad. I used to have a fulfilling life. Now I spend my days sorting laundry, cleaning out closets, and dustbusting. And it’s gotten even worse. I’m almost embarrassed to say it, but I’ve taken up genealogy. All I need is a fucking metal detector. What has happened to me? I’ve morphed into the biggest dork on the planet.
And let’s talk about dorks for a moment. I’m walking around my neighborhood the other day, and I see something that should’ve NEVER occurred. A dork on a motorcycle. It’s ok for geeks to watch Star Trek or even have tattoos. That’s borderline sexy. But for heaven’s sake, do not get on a moving vehicle with fewer than four wheels. It’s just not safe for anyone. So, how do I know he was a dork, you ask? Well, if the vintage superhero shirt didn’t give it away, the fact that he waved at me did. Not a motorcycle wave, but a full-fledged “Hi, how are you?” wave like you’d give someone in a damn parade.
I apologize in advance for venting. Since I have no contact with the outside world, I’m forced to expel my feelings here, for courteous readers all over the world to endure. Thanks, cyberspace. You’ve been a friend like the ones I used to hear from (but who’ve now shunned me in my time of need). I appreciate that…