Today, I have a mustache. Tip of the cup towards Pineapple, where ever you may be, my friend. I bagged on shaving this thing I call a face since about last week Wednesday when I penned my last final. Just a little off the sides, my good man. Leave it alone up top.
When my daughter gets up from her post-present-insanity I shall scare her good with this thing. She usually just points and laughs at Daddy.
As it should be.
Update: She took one look at me, laughed, pointed & said, “Dirty!”
My two favorite Christmas tunes of all time are 2000 Miles by the Pretenders and Christmas Wrapping by the Waitresses.
My Mother gave me a bottle of 12 year Glenlivet on Saturday past after dinner at her place. I cracked the label and got three glasses for my father and brother-in-law. The bottle didn’t make it to kick off of Monday Night Football.
My wife gave me a bottle of Laphroaig this morning. Good Lord. Uncorked by nine am. It will be the death of me. And I welcome it.
And they say in Flagstaff that “drunkcyclist is neither.” Yeah. I do not miss you jokers or your buddy-bro-brah sniggy gnar gnar weed stop rides. Not. At. All.
Back to the bikes. I spend yesterday (finally) unpacking the remainder of my bikes after the move down from Flagstaff. Bars, pedal, inflate tires, ride ’round the block. Repeat. Good times. I put up hooks for each and every one. Then I cracked a beer and sat looking at them. It has been a while, hasn’t it, ladies? I miss them. Gorgeous, the whole lot. Counting the kids bikes, of which there are four, we’ve got twenty four completes in the garage. Awesome. Simply outstanding.
I think there are parts for another two. I guess I have something to do next week after all?by