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Dammit, I’m Tired… and Sean Connery Is Calling

Hey, all — sorry to leave you hanging for a whole day, but I just don’t have the energy right now. The wife and I are about to embark tomorrow on the last leg of our whirlwind tour, and we’ve been whizzing around non-stop all day today.

(I’m not saying we were ‘whizzing’ all over the place, mind you. My wife did go to the bathroom several times — she really can’t hold her iced tea, you know — but I’m pretty sure she confined her whizzing to a fairly small area. As did I, come to think of it. I was hoping to pee on my mother-in-law’s cat, but I was never able to catch him alone when I had to go. There’s always next year, I suppose.)

Anyway, we’re getting up early in the morning to go back to my parents’ place, so we spent the day seeing every person in my wife’s family, plus most of the people who’ve ever heard of her family, and a couple of folks who once sat in the same movie theater with one of her aunts, or something. That’s how it seemed, anyway, and I’m pooped. And in eight hours or less, we’ve got to do it all over again. Happy fucking happy. Joy goddamned joy.

Okay, that’s a bit harsh. It’s really not all that bad — I’m just tired and cranky. It’s possible that I need my diaper changed, as well. Or maybe a bottle — I really can’t say until I get down there and have a good sniff around the place. But that’s not the point. The point is that I’ve had little time — and now have even less energy — to blog. And so, I’m going to leave you tonight with this piddly little post. Don’t hate me because my family’s so fricking large and exhausting.

Plus, I’ve been fortunate enough to find SpikeTV’s James Bond festival, and have been watching Ian Fleming classics the past couple of days. Right now, there’s a Sean Connery ‘golden oldie’ on that I’m not sure I’ve ever seen before in it’s entirety, and I’m thinking it might be nice to slip off to sleep in the middle of that.

(All the Bond babes and funky gadgets give me the most interesting dreams. So much better than, say, Iron Chef or Roseanne. Those just give me indigestion, though for wildly different reasons.)

So, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time to put on my jammies and get into bed. I’ve got to be well-rested for tomorrow — the wife and I will be entertaining my maternal grandparents in the afternoon.

(Where ‘entertaining’ may mean any or all of ‘conversing with’, ‘eating with’, ‘propping up’, ‘tucking in’, or ‘cleaning the bodily fluids from’. Did I happen to mention ‘happy fucking happy’? I did? Super.)

Anyway, I hope those of you who are faithfully keeping up with me during the holidays aren’t too disappointed with such a short entry. I’ll try to do better tomorrow, I promise. And I hope those folks not tuning in over the break come back after the new year — the hits are starting to swindle over the past few days. I’m going to trust that it’s just a Christmas thing, and not something I said, or did, or that tattoo of all of your names that I haven’t gotten yet. Really, folks, I’m working on that — I’ll get there eventually. I’m using all of this ‘family time’ to build up my tolerance for pain. And if the past couple of days are any indication, I should have no problem with a tattoo of any kind. Hell, given what I’ve been through, I think I could withstand a rabid tiger mauling, or being dropped off the Chrysler Building, perhaps. Apparently, I’m frigging Superman, and never knew it.

Okay, I don’t know what any of that really means. I’m making even less sense than usual, which is a good sign that I need to get to bed. Or get started on that book that my wife suggested I should write, one of the two. But I’m tired as hell, so I’ll go for the former and hit the sack while ‘Bond, James Bond’ is still on. Sean Connery’s not my most favoritest Bond, but he sure knows how to kick ass. See you folks tomorrow!