Well, this was one eventful week. A big birthday, a short work week, and a trip to Aggieland made for quite a combination. This busy life of mine sometimes keeps me on my toes. I feel like I either have very little to put to the page or way too much for a single blog post—the latter being the case this time.

Here we go.

The week began with the 4th of July. Not just any 4th of July, but the USA’s 250th anniversary, no less. A rather important milestone.

In the grand timeline of world history, 250 years isn’t a lot of time. But for us humble little humans, it’s a significant stretch for a united country to endure the obstacles, challenges, and growing pains it has faced throughout its relatively short existence.

I do love my country. What we stand for is something truly special. Ideals such as freedom, democracy, and equality. A constitutional government that is supposed to protect the people’s civil liberties and human rights. All people having equal rights to life and the pursuit of happiness.

In the past, we even came to blows with our fellow Americans while upholding those ideals and making sure that all were equal. We nearly tore ourselves apart during the Civil War to preserve them. They are the foundation of our country, and without them, who are we even?

The 4th of July has always been a strange holiday for me. It fills me with pride, nostalgia, hope, and, lately, a fair amount of frustration. Loving your country doesn’t always mean loving the people running it

Our current leaders would do well to remembering what our country is,  because it feels like equal rights are currently being taken away from some groups within our country. Many on the far right do not seem to believe all people are equal—specifically those who differ from their own religious belief systems. The LGBTQ community has become a target for these whack-o bastards. They seem to forget that they share the same constitutional rights as everyone else.

I believe it is a fear-based attack. It often feels to me that fear of “the other” drives much of this rhetoric.  They hide behind religion in order to justify themselves, making them the biggest hypocrites of all. They have a scared little boy as their president, allowing them to push agendas against the LGBTQ community that are contrary to the fundamental beliefs upon which this great nation was built.

Let us not forget about all the immigrants who are currently in their sights. The majority of these people simply want to share in what makes this country so great—the liberties and pursuit of happiness they were unable to achieve in the countries they fled. They should be welcomed with open arms, but those pushing these policies fears them. Afraid to give them bread and share some wine. They seem to have forgotten that we are all human, no matter our differences. Skin color, beliefs, and backgrounds—all the same at heart. They should realize that what they do not want these immigrants to have is exactly what our country was founded upon. What our country fought hard for. We are a nation birthed by immigrants.

As I celebrate the 4th of July, I can’t help but feel some grief over how our current administration is shaming what our forefathers fought to achieve—how they are spitting on the Constitution more and more each day. I am not celebrating any of them. I despise them in ways I wasn’t aware I could despise other human beings.

What I celebrate on the 4th of July is the idealism of the United States. I celebrate our freedom. I know in my heart that we can be better and that we will once again be better. We are simply under bad leadership at the moment, but democracy grants us the ability to change as a nation, and I believe that the American spirit is strong enough to survive all the tainted marks this current administration has left upon our name.

A quote from Mark Twain sums up perfectly how I feel on the 4th of July.

“Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it.”

I support this great country and everything that it stands for, but our current government can go fuck themselves.

So, on the 4th of July, I woke up a free man and did what I was given the opportunity to do. Yvette was taking the little girl to her momma, who had left her in our care for the weekend while she was out of town—only to change her mind a day later and insist that we bring her back. Yeah, that’s ridiculous, I know. I got myself in trouble for saying as much. Oh well. I kept my mouth shut Saturday morning.

I wanted to beat the heat, so I reluctantly started working on the yard. It wasn’t even seven o’clock, and I was already burning up. Fucking summer.  I wasn’t able to top off the mower with fuel and figured I’d just try to finish the yard without running out of gas. Wouldn’t you know it—I ran out with only a small patch left to mow. Damn my luck… and my stubbornness. I quickly ran to get some gas and finished the job.

While cleaning up, I discovered a rather hostile threat—another fucking wasp nest. This one was hidden underneath our porch chair. The sneaky little bastards.

This aggression will not stand.

I wasn’t equipped with any wasp spray, so I had to improvise. A broom and a water hose would have to do.  I gathered my arsenal and went to war.

Flipping the chair with the broom, they immediately launched their offensive, but I was prepared. I blasted them with a jet of water, destroyed the nest, and won a decisive victory without suffering a single sting. The United States wasn’t the only thing celebrating a victory that day.

After my victory, I used the hose to hook up a sprinkler and water the grassy areas that I didn’t want the relentless heat and lack of rain to completely nuke. I don’t enjoy yard work, but I also don’t want everything to die on me. Once that was done, I officially declared my yard work finished for the day.

The rest of the morning was spent looking for some good cigars for Teegan. After striking out at a couple of places, I finally found a shop with a proper humidor.  Walking inside brought me back in time. I used to buy my father good cigars every year on his birthday. Looking through the selection, I found the same brand we used to enjoy together—Macanudo. I was tempted to buy one for myself, but I passed. Mostly because of the added expense.

Yvette made it home, and we had to make ourselves scarce for a few hours while Teegan took a college test. We ended up wandering around Hobby Lobby and—I swear—we browsed the aisles for over an hour.  I found things I didn’t even know you could buy there.  You can buy a single Mason jar. One. Uno. A solitary Mason jar. I’ve spent years buying twelve-packs when apparently Hobby Lobby has been quietly selling them one at a time this entire time. Where has this information been hiding?

When we were finally allowed back home, I made venison burgers for the 4th of July. That seemed like a very patriotic thing to do on the birthday of our great nation. They turned out really, really good, and I once again reminded myself just how much better venison tastes than beef.

The rest of the afternoon was spent celebrating liberty by watching France versus Paraguay in the World Cup from the comfort of my couch. That was followed by the obligatory viewing of Independence Day. A 4th of July without that movie playing would be blasphemy against our great nation.

That evening we made our way over to my in-laws’ house for an exceptional dinner. Roger had fired up the grill and put together a proper cookout. A plethora of barbecue. Of course he did—the good man.  Everyone was there. 

After leaving their house, we met up with Noah, Nadia, Niall, and a silly guy named Braden at my mother’s place to watch the fireworks. I didn’t want to stay long because it seemed like half the town had gathered in that area, but I ended up having a really good time. It had actually been a while since I’d watched the fireworks, and I genuinely enjoyed the evening.

Yvette pointed out that it was our first 4th of July together, and damned if she wasn’t right. I sure hope she reads this and sees that I admitted she was right.

At the end of the night, I watched Independence Day: Resurgence, the sequel that came out in 2016. It’s nowhere near as good as the original, but it’s still a fun movie, and it was nice seeing several returning actors from the first film.

Lord—that first movie came out thirty years ago.  I still remember seeing it in theaters back in 1996. Lord, I’m getting old.

Overall, I had a really good 4th of July.

Sunday morning I woke up around 8:30 and let Yvette sleep in while I started getting breakfast ready.  Huevos rancheros tacos.

I also decided to knock out some meal prep while I was at it. I fired up the grill, cooked the tortillas, and made the chorizo and black beans. The eggs could wait until Yvette woke up. Once everything else was ready, I crawled back into bed for a little while and waited for her to emerge from hibernation.

I really celebrated my freedom by doing just about nothing all day Sunday.  I played video games, watched the World Cup, and took Hazel over to my mother’s house to meet her new dog. They hit it off immediately. Afterward I came home, cooked dinner, and settled in for the Mexico versus England match.  It was special.  One of the best matches I’ve watched this tournament. Too bad England won.

Just before dusk, one hell of a dust storm rolled into town completely out of nowhere. Later that night we even received some much-needed rain. All in all, it was a perfect Sunday.

With the 4th of July behind me, I still had a full week ahead. Two days of work, and then it was off to Aggieland with Teegan and Yvette for orientation. I was really looking forward to the trip and just hoped those two workdays would move along quickly.

It was also my office week.  Thank the gods Seth was off on Monday.  That meant I could escape the office and cover his route instead.  A blessing I’ll gladly take.

It was a beautiful morning, and I absolutely thrived outside on the golf cart. I also found myself in a particularly chatty mood, stopping to have some genuinely enjoyable conversations with people all across campus.

That evening was the USA versus Belgium World Cup match. What a controversial game.  Not because of anything that happened on the field, but because of some bullshit my great country’s jackass crybaby president decided to pull. He has a remarkable ability to taint just about everything he touches.

Unfortunately, I think his meddling completely killed our soccer team. We were absolutely dismantled by Belgium and played our worst match of the tournament.  Hell, it might have been the worst performance of the entire World Cup so far.  Christ.  We looked like complete trash.  Maybe I’m being dramatic, but it honestly felt like the embarrassment our president dumped onto the country seeped right into the team. Fuck that fat orange bastard.

All I had to do now was make it through Tuesday, and I’d finally be free of the shackles of work. The morning was mostly dedicated to finishing my expense report, but damn if everyone in the office didn’t make that a chore. There was constant foot traffic, nonstop chatter, and enough noise to make concentrating nearly impossible.

To make matters worse, I had a mysterious transaction that refused to reconcile. My report and statement didn’t match, and I appeared to be missing a transaction somewhere. It took quite a bit of head-scratching before I finally figured out what had happened.

If so damn many people hadn’t been yapping away around me, I probably would have caught the problem much sooner. Fortunately, once I got through all that, the rest of the day was a breeze.

The work week was finally over. Next stop: College Station. Teegan’s next chapter was getting closer.

The drive to College Station… my lord. There doesn’t seem to be a direct route—it’s five hours of hopping from one highway to the next. I can’t say it’s a fun way to travel. This is only my second trip to the town, so maybe we’ll discover an easier way to get there eventually.

At this juncture, all I can say is: No sir, I don’t like it.

Before long, we were in College Station, making the rounds for orientation goodies—discounts, free T-shirts, and all the other items that seem to accompany these events. Never being much of a clothes-shopping kind of guy, I was mostly along for the ride. What mattered was that Yvette and Teegan were having a good time, and I have to admit, Teegan’s excitement was infectious.

This was a really special moment for him, the beginning of a new chapter, and seeing him so happy made the long drive worth it. I couldn’t have been a happier father.

The hotel was damn nice. It even came with a free dinner and three complimentary adult beverages. Who can beat that? Naturally, I enjoyed a little snack—and my three free drinks—even though we were about to meet Teegan’s future roommate and his mother at a place called Gumby’s for pizza.

Having already enjoyed my complimentary beverages, I was pleased to see his mother was enjoying an adult beverage herself when we arrived. It made for an easy, relaxed introduction as we shared pizza, conversation, and the excitement of two young men getting ready to begin the next chapter of their lives.

The pizza was fantastic, and we had a great time getting to know his mother. Well, I mostly just listened and let the mothers handle most of the conversation. Teegan and his future roommate were in their element, talking and laughing. Already having this kind friendship makes a new place feel a little more like home.

The next morning was orientation—a full-day event. I suppose I was fortunate not to have to tag along because, from what I could tell, it was an entire day devoted to Aggie doctrine, and I didn’t need to concern myself with it.

While they were busy being indoctrinated, I took Yvette’s car in for an oil change. After that, I headed back to one of the shops we’d visited the day before because we’d left without one of the items we’d paid for.

I came back to the hotel and lounged around, watching a little House of the Dragon before deciding to get something to eat. I had a craving for tacos and found a little local joint called Fuego’s Tortilla Grill. The reviews were good, and I was craving tacos, so I figured, why not?

I was immediately encouraged when I walked in and saw the staff was made up of chubby Hispanic women whose English was, at best, a work in progress. I know that sounds bad and I pointed out a stereotype but that’s almost always a good sign. This was the real deal.

I was a little overwhelmed by all the options, so I went with the limited-time special: the Ranch Hand. It came loaded with char-grilled chicken, chopped bacon, lettuce, pico de gallo, and ranch, all wrapped in a fresh, homemade flour tortilla. It was fantastic, and the salsa bar was astonishing.

Before heading back to the hotel, I decided to venture onto campus and find a parking spot near Teegan’s dorm. My boss had given me a helpful tip, and he was right. I found a parking lot just around the corner from Teegan’s future living space.

Back at the hotel, I went for a swim, watched the Spain–Morocco World Cup match—which France ended up winning—played a game on my Switch, and watched a little more House of the Dragon. All the while, orientation was wrapping up. I’d have to say it was a pretty relaxing afternoon, with nothing in particular I needed to do.

When six o’clock rolled around, I decided to head downstairs and take advantage of happy hour while I waited. I figured I might as well enjoy my three free drinks and grab a little something to eat. This hotel was incredibly generous to its guests. Between the complimentary food and drinks, the hour flew by before I knew it.

Yvette texted to let me know they weren’t coming back to pick me up after all. Instead, I was supposed to meet them at the Dixie Chicken. I hadn’t realized they’d gone there, but oh well.

The Dixie Chicken is one of the most famous hangouts in College Station, so I was excited to finally see it for myself. The place reminded me of an old dive bar I loved in Alpine, Texas, called the Railroad Blues. I immediately felt relaxed by the atmosphere.

I ordered a jalapeño burger and a large Shiner beer before meeting the rest of the orientation group, nine people in all. From the camaraderie they shared, it was obvious I’d missed out on an experience they had all gone through together that day.

After dinner, the soon-to-be college students decided to stick around for trivia while Yvette and I headed back to the hotel to enjoy a little time to ourselves.

The next morning was the meeting with Teegan’s advisor and class registration. I decided to attend this part because I wanted to get a feel for the department. I was immediately impressed. They were a small, tight-knit group, which I really liked, and his advisor genuinely seemed to care about her students.

She also saved us the trouble of going through registration with all the other orientation students by registering the small group of geology students right there on the spot. That meant we could leave about two hours earlier than expected.

Yay!! Time to hit the road.

Hope that you enjoyed the ride. I told you it was eventful.

Happy Friday!!

Jalapeño

Sticky rice with pan cooked cubbed ham and fried eggs.

Huevos rancheros tacos. Black beans, scrambled eggs, chorizo crumble, cotija cheese, cilantro, crème avacado, and hot sauce.

Steak fajitas.

Spaghetti and my grandmothers meatballs.

The week was a sleepy one. I’m pretty sure I only had one day where I felt well-rested enough to make it through without caffeine. There was plenty of soccer, the usual highs and lows at work, and I dragged my tired ass through every bit of it.

I started off Saturday feeling rested and ready for the weekend. First things first—breakfast. Nothing of note, just some damn good sausage and egg breakfast tacos. Sometimes simplicity is exactly what I’m craving, and this is about as comforting as breakfast gets.

That morning I took Hazel with me across town to visit my mother’s dog, Molly. My mom was taking the kids to Austin, meeting my brother halfway, so she was worried Molly would be lonely. Hazel was more than happy to keep her company. She was also perfectly content with the ride over. I love watching her with her head out the window, just taking in all the smells. The simple joys of a dog make me envious sometimes. No bills. No worrying about tomorrow. No bullshit. Just open windows, new smells, and the excitement of another car ride.

I got a heads-up from Yvette that Zips was giving away free car washes. I had nothing better to do, so why the hell not? To my surprise, it wasn’t very busy. I only had to wait about five minutes before going through the wash. Of course, the kid drying my car didn’t put forth as much effort as he probably would have otherwise because they had to keep the line moving. No one needs a pileup.

I decided I wanted a steak from the Mexican market, but before doing so, Yvette and I made a trip to Walmart in search of a toddler bed. Alaya has to start sleeping on her own, and we’re hoping this will do the trick. Lola really shouldn’t have started letting the little girl sleep with her every night because now she needs someone by her side; otherwise, she cries.

At the market, there was some police activity. Not really a surprise—it’s a fairly common thing on the north side of town, unfortunately. I wasn’t entirely sure what was going on since most of the conversation was in Spanish. Yvette heard something about loitering. Who knows? The store manager had called the police.

Inside the store, one of the officers couldn’t find anyone willing to help translate for him, so Yvette did her good deed for the day and helped interpret. I stood off to the side, watching the very grateful police officer and the assistant store manager. The officer just wanted to file his report and move on, and the poor girl was very nervous about providing any information. They were incredibly grateful, and I was once again reminded why I love my wife so damn much. Helping someone in a stressful situation is just who she is.

After that little adventure, we worked together assembling the bed. I have to say, it was rather enjoyable. Our back-and-forth banter while deciphering the instructions was both funny and, if I’m being honest, rather sexy. Weird thing to say? Maybe. Do I care? Not really. Anyway, it took about half the time it would have if we’d been working on it alone. I like putting things together, and she seemed to as well. What a team!

By that evening, I picked up Hazel before firing up the grill. Yvette picked up Alaya. When she came home, she was so excited to have a bed. Yes, it was hers. She seemed absolutely amazed by that. I really hope she accepts it as a suitable place to get some shut-eye.

Well… the shut-eye didn’t work.

Sunday morning, I woke up on the couch because one little girl wasn’t going to let me catch any Zzzs. Hey, at least I did get some sleep.

Since I woke up early, I decided to go all out on breakfast. I wanted to surprise Yvette. Cream cheese-stuffed jalapeños wrapped in bacon, grilled potato hash browns, and fried eggs. A treat for Yvette. She’d been asking me to make stuffed peppers for her. “Nagging” is a harsh word when, in reality, she simply wanted me to make them. I think she was rather happy with me when she woke up.

Hours passed, and suddenly lunch was upon us. Yvette’s parents had us over for chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, green beans, and dinner rolls. I passed on the rolls. I was already a bloated mess.

After that, I went grocery shopping. Yay. Good Lord, has my life become such a routine? I think it has.

When I got home, I grilled some chicken legs for meal prep while Yvette took a little nap. Naturally, more World Cup followed. Canada beat South Africa in a rather boring game. Nothing is worse than boring soccer.

I finally finished my graphic novel, Providence, by Alan Moore and Jacen Burrows. As I’ve mentioned in a past blog, the novel is heavily inspired by H.P. Lovecraft. I am a BIG Lovecraft nerd. I eat that material up. I’ve read everything he’s written. Lovecraftian fiction is the best kind of fiction—be it literature or film. There were so many Easter eggs along the way that even my nerdy ass surely missed some. One of the greatest joys I had while reading Providence was recognizing exactly which Lovecraft story a particular scene was referencing.

I thoroughly enjoyed following the protagonist, Robert Black, on his journey through New England and all of his mysterious Lovecraftian encounters. The structure of the novel was unusual and, at times, challenging. The first half of each chapter is exactly what you’d expect from a graphic novel—beautiful artwork paired with dialogue. The second half, however, is presented as Robert’s handwritten diary. At first, the handwriting can be difficult to decipher, but it gradually becomes easier to read as you grow accustomed to it. It may have slowed the pacing a little, but it also gave tremendous insight into Robert’s thoughts and revealed just how often he misunderstood what was really happening around him.

There were some genuinely horrifying moments that were difficult to endure. Quite possibly one of the sickest things I’ve ever seen put to paper occurs around the midpoint of the story. I won’t get into the details, but it involves rape—just not in a way any sane person could imagine. After finishing that chapter, I found myself wondering how Alan Moore ever conceived such a thing and what Jacen Burrows must have gone through trying to illustrate it.

By the time I reached the ending, I realized there was no other way this story could have concluded. It was bleak, brutal, and completely uncompromising. I was glad Moore resisted the temptation to give readers a happier ending because it would have felt cheap and dishonest after everything that came before. I wasn’t quite ready to leave that world behind. I wish there was more to read. When I closed the book, I just sat there for a minute trying to process everything I’d just read. That’s usually a good sign.

Monday was full of exciting soccer. Poor Japan lost to Brazil—expected. Germany lost to Paraguay in penalty kicks—unexpected and sad. It was just an exciting damn day, and I was almost too zapped to enjoy it all. I hate Mondays.

That night it was a full house—unexpectedly so. It looked like we were hosting a party with all the vehicles outside. I grilled a lot of steaks, and my in-laws and Lola’s friend Zander came over. Lola bought the steaks. It had been a while since she’d shared a meal with us. I was utterly exhausted but still managed to have a good time.

The next day I had a training I’d been putting off for weeks: Golf Cart Safety. I was tired from another night with a toddler kicking me in the face, and it was due by five o’clock. What a crock of shit. I guess I was one of the last people who hadn’t completed it. Of course. I figured I could skip the course and go straight to the quiz. I mean, I’ve been taking this every other year for fifteen years.

Well, I was wrong. They decided to get tricky with the questions this go-round, and I failed my first attempt by one question. I needed an eighty and scored a seventy-five. Bummer. Turns out I wasn’t the only one who skipped straight to the quiz and had to retake it. It was much more technical this go-round and relied far less on common sense.

An annoyance, but I finished it around 4:20 Tuesday afternoon.

Hump Day arrived, and I was out of the office for most of it, paying tabs all over town. At least it made the day fly by. Nothing is worse than being confined to the office with nothing to work on while trying to pass the time.

That night, Yvette and I actually had an empty house. That’s a rare thing these days. I put on the USA–Bosnia World Cup match and started cooking. I wanted to make something different for our unexpected little date night. I even picked up dessert for her—a key lime cup with strawberry drizzle. It was a relaxing evening, capped off by one hell of a win for the USA.

I have to say, winning that game right before the nation’s 250th birthday on July 4th is one hell of a patriotic moment for the country at a time when many of us haven’t been feeling especially proud of our government.. The World Cup has reminded me that despite our differences, the world can still come together for something great. We just need to look beyond all the bullshit.

Anyway, what a damn good night we had.

As I was making my rounds around town on Thursday, it became very apparent that most of the shops in town would be closed on Friday, July 3rd. Unlike the university where I work. For whatever damn reason, we would remain open. Bummer of a deal. I guess I’m not really surprised. Class is in session, and if the students are around, then so are we. What was also apparent was that I’d better bring something to pass the time on Friday if I wasn’t going to be out and about.

That afternoon, it seemed I’d finally hit my spending limit. I tried to make a purchase for more than $800, and my card was declined. So fucking what. The business knows me from the university and can accept payment next week since they’ll be closed. Sometimes life just enjoys throwing one more minor inconvenience onto the pile.

After work, Yvette and I took Alaya to the pool. That was the first thing she said when we arrived home. Her momma was going to be gone all weekend, so we might as well start things off on a high note. With her nice new floaties, she could move around the pool freely—and boy, has she become quite the swimmer. She kicked around, and before we knew it, about two hours had passed. We needed to get out of there and make some dinner.

Friday I awoke early again to a kick in the face. How do people get sleep with a restless little body thrashing about? Do they become used to it? I don’t know if I can. With another sleepless night, I started to wonder if the couch wasn’t the best place for me on the nights when she shares our bed. The struggle to get her comfortable sleeping in her own bed is real. She does fall asleep on it, but she wakes up crying and crawls in with Yvette and me. Is this how my grandparents felt? Did my grandfather keep a journal, and did he complain about the nights when I crawled into bed and woke them up? Is this why he slept in the guest room?

The day was indeed slow. It seemed that most of the campus had taken the day off, and since all the local businesses that I deal with were closed, I had nothing to do but twiddle my thumbs. I made a few golf cart trips across campus just to pass the time. Parking lots were vacant. The collective thought among all of us goons still sticking around on campus was, “Why are we here?” The answer is because the students—the very few of them around—were having finals. When the students are active, so must we be. By the time five o’clock finally rolled around, I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Another week in the books. I may have spent most of it exhausted, but I can’t complain too much. I suppose a lot of my blog might be complaints. Oh well. There was good food, good soccer, good company, and enough laughter to make the sleepless nights a little easier to tolerate. Life doesn’t always have to be exciting to be worth writing about. Sometimes it’s the ordinary weeks that remind you just how lucky you really are. Now let’s just hope next week’s blog contains one thing this one desperately lacked—a full night’s sleep.

Happy Friday!!

Jalapeño

Sausage egg breakfast tacos.

Fried eggs, bacon stuffed peppers and hash browns.

Mexican market steak.

Mole chicken thighs.

New York Strip.

BBQ pork tenderloin medallions with grilled okra and corn on the cob.

Sweet whisky glazed pork tenderloin medallions with carrots and Brussel sprout.

Italian sausage fettuccine alfredo.

Sesame chicken.

I’m going to try something different this week. This blog will have an introduction—a short reflection before diving into everything that followed. Maybe it works. Maybe it doesn’t. Either way, I’d love to hear your feedback.

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Some weeks quietly drift by without much to write home about. This wasn’t one of them. It was a week filled with family, soccer, good meals, laughter, birthdays, birdwatching, dragons, and an all-out war. Life managed to keep things interesting from beginning to end, proving that even the most ordinary weeks can take an unexpected turn. Looking back now, I’m just grateful I came out of it with all my fingers still attached.

Let’s rewind the week.

I awoke with a grogginess on Saturday morning that was to be expected after a night with all the brothers. The time was well worth it, despite my current self-inflicted illness. I needed a little cure, so I made my way to the kitchen. I warmed up some tortillas and leftover chorizo and potatoes, chopped cilantro and jalapeño, and fried up an egg. A delicious breakfast taco and a cup of coffee did the trick, alleviating my burdensome grogginess.

Afterward, I got myself in gear and watched some more World Cup soccer—Norway versus Sweden. I’m telling you, it’s one of the most exciting sporting events on Earth, and I take full advantage of it by not missing many matches if I can help it. Some might consider it lazy, but it only happens every four years. I’d be doing myself a disservice if I didn’t try to catch as many games as possible.

After watching Norway beat the hell out of Sweden, I decided to bring Hazel over to my mom’s to visit her friends. It had been years since she’d been around my brother’s dog, Billie. Of course, they both had to put on a little show and establish dominance. Silly dogs. After that little performance was over, I felt comfortable leaving them with my mother.

My brothers and nephews were at the pool, so I met them there in the heat of summer. While they swam around in the sun, I ordered a beer under the cover of the cabana and watched more soccer—Germany versus Ivory Coast. Eventually, they came out of the water and joined me. I helped them eat a few cheese fries before departing back to my mother’s house, where it was cool.

When I made it back home, I didn’t realize I would soon be going to war.

Deciding to give our new transplants a really thorough watering, I went to the hose spigot. When I reached for it beneath a low-hanging palm branch, I brushed up against an unseen threat. A nest—and my hand was immediately swarmed by wasps, and a searing pain washed over me unlike anything I can remember experiencing before. The bastards pulled a blitzkrieg on me.

I swatted the bastards from my hand and probably made a damn fool of myself trying to get away. Lord knows what obscenities flew from my mouth in that moment. It was multiple stings—multiple stings. I counted four, though later the true number would be revealed. Good Lord, did it hurt like hell.

I told Yvette, and she suggested meat tenderizer. Apparently, it works on jellyfish stings. Fuck it—it was worth a try. The result? I smelled like a steak—but I was still in pain. The swelling was already beginning to take hold.

I scoured the medicine cabinet, desperately looking for Benadryl. I had been stung by wasps many times in my youth, so I knew I wasn’t allergic, but never had I taken that many stings at once, especially in such a localized area. I found myself worried about that amount of venom.

Once I was able to calm down and the pain began to subside, it was time for some retaliation. I armed myself with a bottle of poison and went on the offensive. I wasn’t even sure exactly where they were located at that moment. I couldn’t see the nest, so I began firing away blindly into the general area—and got results. The cowardly bastards began fleeing, and there were a lot of them.

The motherfuckers must pay.

That night was little Alaya’s second birthday party. We held it at the Goodfellow Rec Camp swimming pool. It had originally been scheduled for the municipal pool, but they were closed for repairs. My hand was a swollen mess, and everyone wanted to shake it, as is the polite thing to do. I also had to explain what had happened without looking like a complete wuss, making sure to emphasize that it wasn’t just one wasp, but multiple wasps.

My swollen, aching hand aside, the party was actually a real blast. I was surrounded by both sides of my family. My brother Chris brought along a cooler full of beer, which served the adults nicely. Well, really just my side of the family. What can I say? We like to drink. I mean, really, a little alcohol is needed at a two-year-old’s birthday party—for sanity’s sake.

My nephew Patrick might have had the most fun of the lot. Once he saw that slide, he was sold. The kid who hadn’t even planned on swimming suddenly didn’t want to get out of the pool. He went up and down that slide so many times I lost track. He swam from ladder to ladder, timing himself to see how long it took. He was in the water for at least an hour and a half.

It was a heartwarming thing to behold. I told myself at that moment that I would go by my mother’s house every day they were in town.

The birthday girl was also very content. Alaya discovered some new floaties that really allowed her the freedom to move around on her own. It was cute as can be watching her newfound independence in the water. She’s really become a pretty good swimmer. I guess she’s getting a lot of practice at her mama’s new boyfriend’s house. As much as I dislike her being over there, at least she’s spending time with her mom and learning new things.

The turnout was also very good. The food was excellent. The company was great. A real treat. We had a good time.

Sunday was both Father’s Day and the Summer Solstice—a bummer of a deal.

It was a sad day for me for two reasons. One, I miss my father. Two, I fucking hate summer. The forecast for the week looked absolutely brutal, with consistent temperatures above 100 degrees. Fuck summer.

The day was also a bummer because the kids no longer have a father. I know that must be hard on them every day, but especially on Father’s Day.

I decided to make something special for breakfast on Father’s Day. I am a stepfather, right? I made biscuits and gravy, but with the gravy I first cooked some chorizo for flavor and then added sausage for heartiness and texture. The end product was spicy and unbelievably flavorful. I topped the buttery biscuits with gravy, a sunny-side-up egg, grilled jalapeño, and fresh cilantro. A true Father’s Day brunch.

Later that morning, Alaya opened all of her gifts from the night before. She wound up with a pretty decent haul. Lots of the gifts were more on the practical side, which was great. She already has enough toys to open a shop. We really need to try and downsize a bit—maybe donate some to children in need.

Afterward, I drove out to my mother’s house to hang out with my brothers before they hit the road. My nephews were sticking around for a week, so they lounged around the house without much urgency. We watched the Spain–Saudi Arabia World Cup match, with Spain utterly blowing Saudi Arabia away. It was a brutal 4–0 beating.

I said goodbye to my brothers and departed for my in-laws’.

When I got there, I was treated to lunch. I hadn’t expected to be fed, but my father-in-law had made brisket, potatoes, and beans. How could I resist the man’s brisket? It’s by far some of the best I’ve ever had. We ate and chatted for a couple of hours before I left to run the usual Sunday errands. Oh, the joy.

After errands, I prepped for dinner—pizza and wings—and went out to my mother’s house to see how she and my nephews were doing. The kids hadn’t left the house at all. I suppose my mom was surviving—maybe a little frayed around the edges, but that’s to be expected.

That night it was dinner and more soccer. Teegan watched House of the Dragon, which reminded me that I need to catch up. I want to be able to watch one last show with him before he leaves for college. Jesus, I am going to miss him. I will miss our conversations and the general good vibes he brings into the house.

Overall, it was a good way to wind down before the encroaching week.

Monday my hand was still swollen from the wasps, so I made plans to go to the clinic. Some urgency was pushed upon me by Yvette. Bless her for being in my life.

First things first—before the clinic, I went into work to get a game plan together for the week. With Troy back, I had to lay out everyone’s duties for the days ahead. After getting things moving, I caught up on everything I hadn’t finished on Friday. Then it was time for medical attention.

The clinic is on campus, so it didn’t take me more than a minute or two to get there. I was expecting to have to wait a while, but they got me into a room almost immediately. The nurse ran the usual tests, and the doctor showed up shortly afterward. It didn’t take him long to conclude that I had cellulitis, an infection beneath the skin. I had eight fucking wasp stings—let that sink in. Good Lord. No wonder it hurt so damn badly and was so swollen.

The doctor ran some tests and decided to give me a nice long needle in the ass, jump-starting treatment before prescribing an antibiotic regimen of four doses a day. I was told to keep my hand elevated as much as possible and keep a close eye on the swelling. The concern was that it could spread to my elbow, and if that happened, I was to head to the ER immediately. If that scenario presented itself, I would likely need to be hospitalized.

All because of some motherfucking wasps.

Now I was worried about losing a damn limb. Being diabetic added another layer of worry. The doctor gave me the option of a note excusing me from work, but I decided to go in anyway. What else was I going to do? The pain wasn’t going to disappear at home, and I wasn’t going to stop worrying about the very real possibility that I could be screwed. I might as well keep myself occupied and prevent my mind from dwelling on my hand.

God—it was a terribly long Monday.

I really felt like the pressure from the swelling was going to tear my skin open. It was uncomfortable, painful, and beginning to itch like crazy. Damn those fucking wasps. Who knew those little bastards would bring me such lasting grief? I reminded myself that once I got home, I needed to make sure I finished the job and murdered every last one of the little bastards.

While everyone was at lunch, I watched the Argentina–Austria World Cup match. I had a few friends at the game cheering on Argentina, so I was excited to see what they would do. That team boasts one of the greatest soccer players of all time, and during the match he made World Cup history by scoring more goals in the tournament than anyone else ever has. What a thing for my friends to witness. It ended in a 2–0 win for Argentina.

That night I began watching House of the Dragon. Being such a big Game of Thrones nerd, I’m really not sure why I’m only now starting a prequel series that first aired in 2022. I suppose the fact that it was a prequel—and that I already knew how things would eventually turn out—gave me some hesitation. Also, at the time of its release, it felt a little too soon after GoT’s finale to jump back into that epic world.

What I discovered was that waiting seven years since that series finale was apparently the perfect amount of time. I thoroughly enjoyed jumping back into the world, especially after the little taste I’d gotten from A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms earlier this year. I thought I would be put off by a story focused primarily on the Targaryens, but I was thankfully wrong. Sure, keeping track of all the names can be a challenge when half the cast seems to share the same family tree, but by the second episode I was getting the hang of it.

And honestly, there’s something nice about coming to a show late. No waiting years between seasons, no dodging spoilers online, and no cliffhangers hanging over my head for months at a time. Just two full seasons sitting there, waiting to be binged whenever I felt like it.

Tuesday I woke up with some relief. I could make a fist. The swelling hadn’t completely gone down, but at least my hand no longer looked like an overinflated rubber glove. Thank the Lord for that small favor. Work was much easier with two functioning hands, and the day stayed busy enough to keep the hours moving. Before I knew it, it was five o’clock.

After work it was off to my mother’s house to visit with her and my nephews. Really, it’s mostly visiting with her. The boys are too into their games to really call it visiting. It’s a little bit of this and a little bit of that here and there. I get it. That’s being a kid.

I don’t think “visiting” is really an activity many kids willingly participate in, and that’s fine. It’s more about my presence and simply hanging out with them. I really wish I could see them more often than I do, but it’s not so easy when they live six hours away. At least I have this week—and I’ll take what I can get.

That night Yvette and I watched a sweet little rom-com called Voicemails for Isabelle. It touched all the feelings one expects from comfort food cinema: warmth, lighthearted joy, hopeful optimism, and heartbreaking sorrow mixed in for good measure. I thought it was a brilliant film with a well-written script and great performances from actors unfamiliar to me.

The movie is very much in the spirit of You’ve Got Mail, which it even acknowledges itself. The older sister leaves messages on her deceased sister’s voicemail as a form of therapy, only to discover that the phone number has been reassigned as a work phone for a real estate agent. He listens to the messages and eventually becomes infatuated with her. Using what he learns from the voicemails, he gradually weasels his way into her life. Yes, it’s morally wrong. Everyone watching the movie and everyone in the movie is fully aware of this, but you know how rom-coms work. Eventually, love finds a way.

I realized that evening that Tuesday was the only day I didn’t watch a single World Cup match.

Wednesday—three days later—my damn hand was still swollen. Can you fucking believe that?

At least I could finally use it normally again. Eight wasp stings and a case of cellulitis were one hell of a reminder that nature occasionally chooses violence. I made sure to revisit the battleground to finish the job, taking out the survivors of the initial attack and thoroughly destroying the nest. I was just thankful the antibiotics were doing their job and that I still had my hand attached. Needless to say, I’ll be giving that palm tree a wide berth from now on—and I’m a lot more aware of my surroundings.

A little more birdwatching entertained me while trekking back and forth across campus on Wednesday. A few notable encounters I didn’t mention in my last note include the Rock Pigeon, House Finch, Blue Jay, Turkey Vulture, and Mississippi Kite. At least four sightings of Blue Jays… and a rather unique encounter with the Kite—I witnessed two of them mating in a tree above campus. What a sight to see.

For lunch on Thursday, Yvette and I decided to dine out. We were both craving salads, and we had narrowed it down to two contenders. The winner was Angelo Ale House. They have a university discount and a salad we hadn’t yet tried that was supposed to be amazing. Well, it’ll have to wait. Once we arrived, they were told they were completely out of lettuce. When you walk into a pizza joint craving a salad and they’re out of lettuce—well, there’s really only one thing to do. You leave.

Our second choice was Joe’s Italian. They have a house salad we’ve enjoyed every time we’ve ordered it. Loaded with large cubes of ham, salami, and mozzarella, it’s topped with tomatoes, sweet red peppers, pepperoncini peppers, and both green and black olives—not to mention that incredible house dressing. It’s a mouthwatering affair all on its own. I’d say it’s one of the best salads I’ve had in a long time. We were just meant to go to Joe’s.

That afternoon I watched the Germany–Ecuador World Cup match, and it turned out to be one of the better games I’ve watched so far. I expected Germany to control it from the opening whistle, but the two teams battled back and forth the entire match. Then, with only about ten minutes remaining, Ecuador found the winner to make it 2–1. Tough break for the Germans.

That evening, more soccer. The main event. A late game. The USA against Turkey. Christ almighty. Teegan and I watched it. The team had several lineup changes, and this felt like the match that could define this generation of American soccer. The U.S. has been slacking for years when it comes to scoring. Our country still doesn’t seem to treat it like a real sport. I suppose it’s because we didn’t create it so it can’t be real. Fucking USA mentality sometimes. Hell, we’re one of the few countries that call the sport soccer and not football.

Anyways, the game was a fantastic nail-biter. The USA dominated the first half of the game. Of course, we destroy ourselves and then end up losing in the final stretch. Literally the final kick, with no time left. How the fuck did we let that happen?! Turkey scored on the final kick to win 3–2. A real damn bummer to have stayed up so late to watch them lose, but what a game it was to behold. In spite of the loss, they still have enough points to advance to the next level. May their resolve strengthen. At least Teegan and I had fun together.

By Friday, the swelling had finally retreated, and my hand was beginning to look like my own again. Who would have thought it would take an entire week to recover from my battle with that dreaded wasp hive? I might have won the war, but the scars of that battle will linger for a long time. I’ll never forget the pain—or the price—of our hostilities. If there was one lesson to take away from it all, it’s this: always pay attention to your surroundings. You never know when an enemy is lying in wait, ready to launch an ambush.

Once the workday was over, Yvette, Teegan, and I met up with my mother and nephews for dinner at Bonsai Garden for some hibachi. I was thrilled not to have to cook for a change. By week’s end, sometimes you just don’t want to be in the damn kitchen—you want someone else to do the cooking. It was also nice to enjoy the show that comes with a Japanese steakhouse. I could see the wonder in my nephews’ eyes as the chef worked his magic. It was a wonderful way to spend one last evening with them before they headed home.

Honestly, it was the perfect conclusion to the week. I could finally use chopsticks again now that my hand had returned to normal. I had one last meal with my nephews before they left town, surrounded by the people I love most. That coming together of our families means a great deal to me. Good food, laughter, family, and soccer—the perfect ingredients to close out one heck of a week.

Happy Friday!!

Jalapeño

Chorizo potato taco with a fried egg.

Chorizo and sausage gravy over biscuits & sunny side egg with cilantro and grilled red jalapeno

Pulled pork stuffed baked potato.

Grilled chicken, bell peppers, and onions over queso smothers spas oh rice.

Steak fajita bowl with copycat Chuy’s jalapeño white sauce.

Pesto ground pork sausage ravioli.

FIFA World Cup 2026. What a time to be alive.

The USA kicked things off with one hell of a start, absolutely dominating their match. It’s probably the best I’ve seen the men’s national team look in many years. The women’s team is always out there kicking ass, though. Honestly, I prefer watching women’s soccer. They generally play with so much more heart.

So I watched a lot of matches over the weekend. I probably could have been more productive, but after last weekend’s hectic pace—and with soccer on—why the hell should I be? I watched Brazil tie Morocco, Scotland beat Haiti, and Germany destroy Curaçao. The best game of the weekend had to be the Netherlands versus Japan, bar none. Just a fantastic match from start to finish. That was a fucking rush to watch.

Sunday afternoon brought some torrential downpours. I kept seeing flood advisories throughout the day and never really thought much of them. It was sunny, hot, and we only had a slight chance of rain—nothing that screamed “flood.” Boy, was I mistaken. For once, the early flood advisory wasn’t an exaggeration. Usually those warnings amount to little more than a puddle and disappointed wannabe meteorologists. When the rain began to fall, I honestly wondered if it was ever going to stop.

There was nothing gradual about this system—the bottom just fell out. Cats and dogs were falling from the sky.  I had a river running down my street at its peak, and my yard looked more like a lake than a lawn. It also reminded me of the damn drainage issue with my neighbor’s property flooding my yard. I really need to figure that one out.

Afterward, I drove around to survey the aftermath. It had indeed flooded. Roadways were underwater, and areas that are usually dry had become ponds. This is great news going into summer, though. We need all the rain we can get before the heat decides to remind us we’re living in Texas.

Monday was a fucking Monday.

Work was too slow for my liking. I really didn’t have much to do, which was surprising considering we had numerous building leaks from the rain. I expected to be running all over town, but that never happened. Instead, the morning just dragged on. The only thing it had going for it was the moderate temperatures. It wasn’t blistering hot yet like it was forecast to be later in the week.

Another week, another batch of summer camps. While nowhere near as invasive as band camp, cheer camp was underway. Young cheerleaders running all over campus are just part of life during these hotter months. I couldn’t tell you how many camps we host over the summer, but it feels like a lot.

That afternoon was another Staff Senate meeting—a so-called passing of the torch. It was the last meeting for some and the first for others, with a new group of officers taking over. Yvette is actually the secretary this go-round. I was surprised to hear about it at the meeting and a little offended that she hadn’t told me she was taking on that responsibility. I thought she had lost her damn mind adding that to everything else she already has going on. I hope she knows what she’s gotten herself into.

I was pooped by the time I got off work, and for some damn reason I had signed myself up to cook one of the most labor-intensive dinners imaginable—hibachi. I love it, but it doesn’t cook itself. Had I completely overestimated my ambition for a Monday night? Absolutely. Christ.

Tuesday picked up speed, thank the lords. As soon as I walked in the door, I had a steady stream of work that kept me occupied and made both the morning and afternoon fly by. It was a blur of activity—which, as strange as it sounds, was a welcome change from Monday trying to set the world record for longest workday ever.

Once again, I picked a dinner that was an utter pain in the ass—spinach manicotti. When I suggested it on Sunday, I remarked about how long it had been since I made it. Yvette thinks it was back when we were just dating. I fucking well know why it had been so long. Lord. The prep work alone takes nearly an hour—making the filling and stuffing each individual noodle. God, what was I thinking this week?

Hump day began with a morning meeting, all hands-on deck. It was a safety meeting first and foremost—ladder safety. That really doesn’t pertain to my group, but alas, we had to be there. Common sense should really deter someone from doing what our safety guy was telling us not to do, but I have seen with my own eyes over the years that common sense is seriously lacking. It was a rather short meeting, thank Cthulhu.

I clearly wasn’t thinking about my sanity when I planned the menu for the week. What seemed like a good idea on Sunday turned into a righteous mistake by Wednesday. Another messy, overly complicated meal that I probably don’t make very often for good reason—Salisbury steak.  

It’s fantastic. Don’t get me wrong. But if it were the only labor-intensive meal I’d decided to make this week, it wouldn’t have been so bad. Instead, I somehow followed hibachi with spinach manicotti and then Salisbury steak. At this point, I should probably be questioning my sanity.

Well, summer really showed itself on Thursday, just in time for the solstice next week. Yikes. It was a real fucking drag, and everyone I spoke with seemed pretty bummed about the prospect of contending with some 100+ degree days. It reached 108 degrees, and it felt every bit of it. My will to live was suddenly zapped right out of me. I wanted to find a cool place to hide, but that was damn near impossible with work. I did my best to make sure everything that needed to be done was knocked out in the morning before the heat consumed us all.

Have I mentioned that I hate summer?

That evening, I cooked a slightly less complicated meal: stir-fry. Just throw everything into a wok and let it cook. It was too hot to stand in front of the grill or turn the oven on.  Maybe I wasn’t losing my fucking mind after all. Maybe stir-fry was the first sensible decision I’d made all week. 

Friday was our sweet little girl Alaya’s birthday. She was somehow already two years old. Her mom got her some balloons and surprised the little girl. I just can’t get over how quickly she is growing up. She isn’t a baby anymore; she’s a toddler now. My sweet girl.

At work, I hit the ground running.  Thank God the weather was nice—gloomy skies, cooler temperatures, and even a little rain.  A true blessing.  The movers were off so I covered two of their obligations plus I had my job and my coworker’s job to take care of..  Needless to say, I was able to stay busy. I even had my performance review. Aced.

I just wanted to finish up my work so I would be able to watch the USA-Australia World Cup game. The USA team is on a winning streak! Yay, Merica!!

That evening some of us went out to Texas Roadhouse for Alaya’s birthday dinner..   Have I mentioned just how much that restaurant irks me?  It always seems that they never have their shit together and I feel like the food isn’t great for the price..  Oh well, at least it was one meal this week that I didn’t have to cook..  After my week of time-consuming, complicated, messy meals, I was finally free to just sit on my ass and be served.  That part, I must say, was nice.

After dinner, I went out to my mother’s place to see my brothers. All three of them! My brother from another mother was there as well, and he treated us to a small listening party featuring music from my late little brother, Alex Edwards. He had been working on finishing some of the songs he and Alex were collaborating on before Alex passed away.

What a truly special way to end the week. Drinking and telling stories of our past. Hearing those songs felt like a gift. For a little while, it felt like Alex was right there in the room with us.

I really watched a lot of World Cup this week. Twelve matches, four of them while sitting at my desk.  Man, it’s been a long four years between tournaments.  I don’t know how I live without it for so long.  And each time it concludes, I go through soccer withdrawals.

All that soccer this week had me reflecting on my job..

Sometimes at work I really wonder why I am still doing what I do. I mean, I like it, but I feel like it doesn’t really live up to my potential. There are days when I question whether I can even call it a real job. There are lengthy stretches where I’m literally not doing a damn thing.

For example, take Wednesday at noon. While most of campus was off to lunch, I was holding down the fort. I watched both the Portugal-Congo and England-Croatia World Cup matches. Think about that for a second—I was paid to watch a soccer game for an hour. Would I be given that luxury at another job? I doubt it.  I was actually able to watch three more games off and on at work that week.

Don’t get me wrong, some days I truly am working my ass off. I have been swamped and have had trouble getting my head above water. But damn if sometimes we have a heavy dose of downtime where I have to literally look for something to do. Wednesday I had the soccer games, so rather than work on my expenses like I could have, I decided to just watch some soccer and put that off until a later date. It wasn’t pressing; it would have just been a monotonous thing to do to pass the time.

I might be institutionalized by the work I’ve done on this campus. The flexibility. The freedom. I might as well quote one of my favorite movies, Ghostbusters, about working for a university:

Dr. Peter Venkman: “Personally, I like the university. They gave us money and facilities, we didn’t have to produce anything! You’ve never been out of college! You don’t know what it’s like out there! I’ve worked in the private sector. They expect results.”

Some days I hear that quote and laugh. Other days I wonder if Peter Venkman wasn’t making a pretty damn good point.

Eggs Benedict. The usual English muffins, ham and hollandaise sauce, but with added pork sausage.

Tacos Al Pastor

Hibachi.

Spinach manicotti.

Venison Salisbury Steak.

Chicken cabbage stir fry.

Saturday morning rolled around, and I made myself and Yvette some breakfast: leftover steak, pan-fried potatoes, and over-easy eggs. What a way to start the day. The leftover steak was just as good the next day.

Unfortunately, it rained late Friday night. It was one of my birthday wishes, but damn it, it did make the prospect of mowing my yard daunting as all hell. It was going to be a real slog. As it turned out, I was right.

I put on my big-boy britches and went after it. It was hard going; I was right about that. With the right kind of music, I was able to persevere. But about halfway through the job, I faced some adversity. It suddenly began to rain. I thought to myself, Are you fucking kidding me?

I wasn’t about to stop mowing. Not halfway through. I took some encouragement from the postman I witnessed delivering the mail on foot. He was also fighting through the downpour. I pushed on, soaking wet with sweat and rain. It was a messy ordeal, but I succeeded in the end. Filthy with grass clippings and mud, I was happy to have that dirty business behind me.

All cleaned up, I decided to take Hazel for a walk since the day was nice after the showers. To switch it up, we went to the trails down the street. The campus is currently all torn up with construction, so I wanted something a little easier on the eyes.

Hazel seemed to like the change of pace. She sniffed her heart out and marked some new territory. It was a nice little twenty-minute stroll. I enjoy these moments with her and wish they could last forever. As I was sadly reminded with the passing of Owen two months prior, I need to enjoy them as much and as often as I can. Dogs just don’t live long enough. It feels like I was writing about Owen yesterday, and now here I am worrying about every moment I have left with Hazel.

That night, one of Teegan’s friends had a graduation party that we were actually invited to. The party was busy, which made sense because it was actually a combined five-kid graduation party. I guess that’s one way to do it—economically.

Yvette and I enjoyed ourselves on a nice evening out at the lake. We walked around together and had nice conversations, not knowing anyone else there. I might even say it was a little romantic out there with her.

Afterward, we ran a few errands and went to pick up Alaya from my in-laws. It was a very pretty evening, with some distant thunderheads catching the sunset in all its glory.

Back at the house, Alaya wanted to watch more “woof woof.” No more Paw Patrol, damn it! I didn’t think I could take it. So I found The Secret Life of Pets 2. None of us had seen it, and to say that she was totally engaged would be an understatement. She was enamored with another adventure featuring all of her favorite characters.. That alone was worth it because the movie didn’t quite hit the high bar set by the first one. Too many storylines and not nearly as focused as the first movie. Still, watching Alaya completely lose herself in it made it worthwhile.

Sunday, I woke up ahead of everyone and decided to go all out for breakfast. Steak, potato, and egg tacos garnished with fresh cilantro, red jalapeño, and a creamy avocado sauce made from sour cream and salsa verde. Damn good eating, all done outside on the grill with a cup of coffee.

Goodbye, leftover steak. Thank you for the three great meals—Lowake Steak House.

Afterward, I finished the backyard since the rain had hindered my progress the day prior. Once that was complete, I decided to make some space in the garage. I moved a pile of bags into Lola’s room. What was the point of them being on the garage floor? I dismantled a few of Alaya’s toys that she had outgrown, and I finally decided to get rid of my old grill, which was dangerous and no longer being used. Sometimes you just have to let things go.

I ended up clearing out a decent amount of space. I mean, the shit had been there for a year and a half, and no one was missing it.

After cleaning up, I proceeded to run some errands—the usual Sunday errands like getting gas and groceries. I also made a stop by the mall to see if they had any Birkenstock shoes.

I finally finished The Boys. Damn. The ending was the one we deserved, and I think it rightfully wrapped up the show, but damn. I had been watching it for seven years.

I’m happy it concluded, but I’m a tad bit sad that I won’t be seeing these characters again. As I reflected in my last blog, during the span of time that the show aired, a lot of important things happened in my life. I kind of feel a certain sense of closure with the ending of the show. Crazy how time flies.

Monday was the most marvelous day on campus. The band camp had arrived—those godforsaken heathens. They are loud, they are destructive, and they travel in hordes across campus, tainting every area with their presence. Year after year after year, they are a burden that inflicts unflinching malice upon our very way of life. A blight upon our very existence.

Not a total exaggeration—they do have a tendency to make a mess and damage property. They have wrecked plumbing, broken numerous things, and generally gotten into places they shouldn’t. Oh well, it’s just a part of life.

It was a rather slow day. I found out you can time travel on Google Maps, so I spent far too much time revisiting places as they appeared twenty years ago.. I had no idea Google was doing Street View that long ago. Kind of crazy.

Anyway, if you find yourself with some spare time, I suggest looking into it. I found it to be a rather fun way to pass the time.

After work, Yvette and I decided that we needed to make a happy-hour stop, so we went to Shenanigans for a drink and some fried mushrooms. I would say it had been about a year since we’d had mushrooms. For a while there, we made it a point once a week to grab a drink and mushrooms on a stressful workday. On occasion, I think it is good for our sanity.

The bartender was an old friend of mine whom I had not seen in a really long time. She is—or rather, was—a mess. I used to play the twelve-minute version of Meat Loaf’s “I’d Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That)” during her shift just to irritate her. Just a terrible thing to do to anyone.

Most of the workweek went by rather quickly. I had to contend with the band camp throughout. They congest the few remaining thoroughfares with their army-like horde. This time of year, the campus would otherwise be a delight. It was rather comical how many people mentioned band camp. It’s a regular topic of conversation among us employees.

Thursday started off normally enough.

My heart broke again.

My mom called. Our sweet angel—Bo Britches—had to be guided to doggy heaven. I met my mom at the vet, and this was his third trip. We both knew in our hearts it would be his last. His blood count was drastically low, and the multiple vet trips and medications were not helping. It was clear as day that he wasn’t feeling well. He always greeted me with barks, even when he knew it was me. The day before, he didn’t even greet me at all.

The little guy had been part of the family for over a decade. He was the last dog my mother and father had together. He had a personality all his own. Being a terrier mix, he was a little guy—a stocky little guy—and he thought he was the BIG dog in the room. It never occurred to him that maybe he wasn’t.

He had been putting Hazel and Owen in their place since they were little puppies.

On Saturday, after Hazel and I went for our walk, I almost brought her over to see him. I didn’t because I knew he wasn’t feeling well, and I didn’t want to tire him more than he already was. I was hoping the new medications he was on would help him recover. I didn’t know she might not have a chance to see her friend one last time.

I wish I had brought her over because now he is gone, and she does not get that closure. If I bring her to my mother’s house, will she notice he’s gone? Most definitely. They were tug-of-war buddies.

My poor mother. Bo was special to her. Truth be told, he was special to everyone who knew him. I don’t think there will ever be another quite like him.. He was loved by all. That personality, and all of the many quirks that came with it, will be greatly missed when I visit.

I really have a hard time believing that he is gone. Owen and Bo are now in heaven together, and I hope that, upon greeting each other, Bo put Owen in his place like he always did. Two great dogs have passed rather suddenly in just under three months. I pray Hazel stays in good health because I don’t know if I could handle losing her.

To end an otherwise shitty day on a high note, I came home from work to find Alaya in the driveway with Yvette waiting for me. Nothing is more heartwarming than having a two-year-old run to you with excitement. She had a request: POOL.

I shifted my after-work plans to accommodate her, so we changed into pool attire and packed the necessary things.

I had to help a friend lift my father’s old smoker from my mother’s garage into a truck—it was going to Austin to be with my brother. I was actually rather daunted by the task; the damn thing was heavy as fuck. I knew that if he didn’t bring a third person along, it would be an impossible task and we might break ourselves attempting it anyway. Lucky for us, he brought a friend, and we managed to manhandle it into the truck. Still no small task.

With that done, I went to meet Yvette and sweet Alaya at the pool. She was once again very excited to see me and wouldn’t let me out of her sight. Watching her splash around and smile with carefree joy turned my day around. I showed her the joy of floating on her back, and she liked it so much that she kept requesting more. The poor girl cried when we finally had to leave. We knew she had exhausted herself, and sure enough, she crashed before we ever made it home.

That little pool trip with Alaya was what I had needed on such a shitty day. Thank you, Alaya.

So Friday was the final day of band camp—culminating with multiple concerts. I must admit that I was rather curious how the cacophony that had been wreaked upon my ears all week would sound when it all came together, so I made a point of watching one of the shows. To my astonishment, they actually sounded quite great. Color me surprised. I’m not sure how the hell they did it. I was half expecting a train wreck, but they performed rather well.

For as destructive as band camp might be, I have to remember that they are just kids. Kids at camp away from their parents. Away from the parents and having the time of their lives. I remember camps from my youth and the things we’d get ourselves into while away from our parents. The sense of wonder. Adventure.

After the concerts, when they cleared out, they cleared out in a hurry. It was sort of eerie how I had become so used to their presence all across campus. It was suddenly a very empty place. At one time I was pretty sure that I was the only person outside on a large section of the campus. All wee long I had been conditioned to avoid areas which their hordes commuted greedily through. Now the space was vacant.

It was a wild wind of a week and I was sure glad it was Friday. Happy Friday!!

Jalapeño

Steak, potatoes and over easy eggs.

Steak, potato, and egg tacos garnished with fresh cilantro, red jalapeño and a creamy avocado sauce made with sour cream and verde sauce.

Avocado toast with cottage cheese and hard boiled eggs with sriracha

Yvette made me one of my favorite comfort meals—her buffalo chicken pasta.

Homemade beefaroni.

Red enchilada chicken bowl.

Yvette made a shrimp po’ boy

Venison burger.

I was supposed to start Saturday by mowing my mom’s yard. I slept in. A little hungover from celebrating my father’s birthday the night before. The memories. It happens once a year. I don’t usually drink Scorch anymore, but I had to indulge myself for the sake of his birthday.

Well, it rained. Again. Of course it fucking did. What in the hell? We are having an unusually wet start to summer. Thank you, El Niño.

That pushed back mowing both her yard and mine..

So I ran off to the grocery store to find lunch and get some gas. Gas prices still just piss me off. Almost fifty bucks to fill up my tank. All because some orange fat man wanted a fucking war.

For lunch, it was stuffed jalapeños and some hot dogs. Eventually, Teegan ran off to a movie, so it was just Yvette and me. She needed to get some groceries, so I returned to the store with her, and we did some shopping together.

Eventually, the grass dried out enough for me to do my mother’s yard. I made the trip to her house and quickly mowed her lawn. It’s a small yard, but it’s on an incline, so it’s a bit of a bitch. Also, she bags the grass. I hate bagging. It destroys the rhythm I find while mowing.

Teegan was at a movie, Lola was at a concert, and Alaya was with her grandmother, so that night I did some more grilling while Yvette made the rice. She made her red rice, which is so damn good. She makes this sauce that consists of soy sauce, vinegar, and white and green onions. I could honestly drink it. I made some Caribbean jerk shrimp. If I ever want to make my wife happy by cooking something, shrimp is pretty much a sure thing—maybe a little safe, ha-ha.

It was a nice, quiet night together. Rare moments these days—and cherished.

Sunday was a lazy morning for all of us. With the baby gone, I guess we all took advantage of the quiet. I should have gotten up and mowed my own yard, but that didn’t happen. I really didn’t feel like being outside working. If my yard were a quick and easy mow, maybe—but my yard takes well over an hour just to do the front.

Eventually, I made a trip to the store and made lunch. Lots of groceries and grilling on the weekend. I had a hankering for some burgers. Just a plain old tasty burger—not too fancy. They turned out really great. I do love my pickled onions.

The day went by way too damn fast. Before I knew it, the evening was upon us. I started watching The Boys—the latest season of a show I had been watching since 2019. Such a crazy show, and it’s hard to believe it aired so long ago. Seriously, a lot has changed since that first episode. A LOT. Covid, a divorce, a brain bleed, and a new family. Funny how a television show can make you realize how much time has passed.

Monday was shit. It was hot and long, and not much was going on. I didn’t get much sleep the night before, so I was dragging ass. That was my own damn fault. I stayed up watching The Boys. I should have called it a night after the first episode.

Tuesday, things sped up a little. Troy was out of town for three weeks, so Seth and I discussed how we wanted to proceed. It was decided that we would just bounce back and forth between on-campus and off-campus work—with both of us performing office duties. That way, when Troy returns, the rotation will be right where it would have been—as if he had never left.

It was a humid mess all day long. You could feel it. Walking back and forth across the lot from my car, it felt like I was swimming through the air. Absolutely horrible.

We had a chance for some showers, which produced a few very heavy afternoon thunderheads. My office was rumbling with thunder. It made for a nice way to wrap up the day. Usually, the rain doesn’t start falling until right at five, but this time it miraculously stopped before we had to depart.

Amazingly, Wednesday was beautiful. It was overcast and never got too damn hot for this time of year. In the morning, it was downright beautiful. Which was great, because it was my mother’s birthday. I wanted her to have a beautiful day. She deserved it.

That night, Yvette and I took her out for dinner. We went to a place called Armenta’s, a damn fine place to get some Mexican food. Truly one of my favorites in town, yet it had been probably close to two years since I had last had a meal from them. I’m not sure what the reason for that was. Maybe it’s because they can get damned packed. Whatever the reason, we had ourselves a good time.

Yvette and I actually had one of our first dates at Armenta’s. We split some nachos and had a beer. It was way back in 2022. Good memories.

Then Friday was my damn birthday. I turned forty-five. I really don’t care much for birthday celebrations, but I ended up having a pretty good day.

The weather was just perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a nicer day in June. It should have been hot as hell, but instead it stayed overcast and hung around in the eighties all day. A rare gift this time of year. I’ll take it.

I don’t usually go to work on my birthday, but I decided, fuck it. Might as well. Throughout the day, people stopped by the office to wish me a happy birthday, and my phone kept buzzing with texts from family and friends. It was nice. It reminded me that there are a lot of good people in my life.

Forty-five is a strange age. I don’t feel old. Hell, in my head I’m still somewhere in my thirties. But every now and then something reminds you that time keeps moving whether you pay attention to it or not. Looking back at everything that has happened over the last few years, it’s hard to believe how quickly they went by.

That night, my mom took Yvette and me out for dinner. We went to a place I used to frequent on special occasions with my dearly departed grandparents—Lowake Steak House.

The last time I ate there was after my grandmother’s funeral. Thirteen years ago, I think. The old location has since been bulldozed to the ground, so this was my first visit to the new one. It’s about a twenty-minute drive outside of town.

I had myself two goblets of beer and one of the best steaks I’ve had in a long time. Oh yeah, and a salad bar and onion rings. Hard to beat that.

It was the perfect end to a great birthday. Earlier, I said I don’t care much for celebrations, and that’s mostly true. But sitting there with my wife and my mom, eating a good meal at a place that brought back so many memories, I couldn’t think of a better way to wrap up turning forty-five.

I was happy when the curtain finally closed on the day.

Jalapeño

I made hotdogs.

I made burgers.

Caribbean jerk shrimp with red rice and broccoli.

Shaved chicken lo mien.

Roasted chili verde chicken.

Pork with a whiskey glaze.

Pork with a raspberry Chipotle glaze.

So, the day started with Alaya waking us up before 8:00. Like it was a fucking weekday. Sadly, I just wanted to sleep a little longer, but that dream was lost. There was really no reason for any of us to get up so early. Teegan’s graduation wasn’t until two.

Eventually, everyone got dressed and ready. Teegan was picked up by a friend and whisked away to the ceremony. What a big day for him. High school graduation. The weight of that will likely settle upon him after the fact.

Yvette took off early to meet her mother and try to snag some good seating while I waited for my mother to come get me around one-thirty. We arrived to find that parking was fucking hell. I mean, rude-ass people trying to drive around us to get a spot. It was utter chaos.

When we finally made it inside, I was shocked by just how good the seats Yvette found were. Front row seats. The best seating in the house. Dead center and almost right on top of Teegan. It’s a little shocking to this introvert who doesn’t like attention. I don’t like being in front. It was funny when he saw us because he was looking up and around, not expecting us to basically be in his face. I could tell he was very happy.

The ceremony was great, if not a little long. The valedictorian speech left a lot to be desired, but the kid had heart. About halfway through, when Teegan was called to walk the stage, he looked good. Someone with an untrained eye who didn’t know better wouldn’t have noticed he was wearing a knee brace. He did a great job concealing the limp.

I couldn’t help but think about my own high school graduation. We were outside in the elements. I remember sitting in the stands at San Angelo Stadium—the wind threatening to blow my cap off and the summer sun blaring down on me—sweating my ass off under that gown. The ceremony was long, and I didn’t know a single person seated next to me. Twenty-six years later, I am seated in the stands, in a controlled environment with AC, watching my son’s long graduation ceremony with the love of my life seated next to me.

When it was over, it was already five by the time we got home. Teegan was off to a graduation party, Lola was doing God knows what, and the baby was over at the in-laws’, so it was just Yvette and me for dinner.

A nice quiet evening. Or so we assumed. A storm was brewing.

Yvette went to grab Alaya, and while she was gone, the rain came down in sheets. The wind was howling. I sat on Teegan’s tailgate and enjoyed it.

That was until Lola called her mom needing to be picked up from a party twenty minutes outside of town—in the middle of a fucking thunderstorm. I swear. We loaded up—Yvette, Alaya, and I. Yvette was clearly frustrated, and I made matters worse by pointing out how stupid it was. Eventually, I said that Alaya and I were staying home because the girl didn’t need to be out in that weather.

So that night, Alaya and I watched The Secret Life of Pets. Not the first time I had seen it, but possibly the first time I had actually watched it. I mean, it’s on all the time, but always in the background. It was a rather enjoyable film with good laughs and a great amount of heart. Alaya was the perfect date for the evening. She never once cried and eventually shut her eyes and drifted away to dreamland.

Not at all how I wanted to spend my Saturday night, but nevertheless, a good end cap to a great damn day.

Sunday was a gender reveal party. I had no idea I would be going to that, so I wasn’t really prepared for that kind of excitement. Oh well, I was along for the ride. To my pleasant surprise, they had picked up party trays from Olive Garden. Spaghetti and meatballs, lasagna, chicken Alfredo, and house salads. Of course—breadsticks out the wazoo.

I had secretly been craving some Olive Garden, although I still haven’t actually eaten at the one in town. It was probably twenty years ago when I last ate at an Olive Garden in Austin. I was there for a concert, and that’s where we ended up the following day—hungover—before driving back home. Funny that I specifically remember that adventure.

Let me come back from memory lane…

 At the party, I helped myself to the fantastic food. I did a good job of avoiding the carbs and still managed to fill my belly. A scratch had been itched, although I’d still like to actually eat inside the restaurant someday, if for no other reason than to say I had. I mean, it’s been open for probably twenty years. What has been keeping me away? The answer, of course, is that I can find better local Italian food elsewhere. So why would I go? It’s not like I can partake in endless breadsticks now, can I?

Everyone was asked to pick what they thought the baby would be. Well, since I was the guy who ordered the colored powder fire extinguishers, it didn’t seem fair for me to pick. I was one of two people who knew the baby would be a boy. Instead of picking, I asked AI—ChatGPT—what it thought the gender would be. A girl. Dead wrong, you fool. Oh well.

When the big reveal finally happened and the blue powder went flying, you could visibly tell that the soon-to-be mother was a tad disappointed. She wanted a girl. Oh well, it is what it is. I’m sure once the initial shock dissipates, she’ll learn to accept fate. What else can one do?

After the reveal, Yvette dropped me off at the house while she took off to her parents’. I was able to get some quiet reading in. Rare moments of silence in a house with a baby and three other people. I took advantage of it. Sadly, I was halfway through the graphic novel Providence. I wasn’t wanting it to end. I was enjoying it too damn much.

That night we all had dinner. Teegan and I decided to watch The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare. A great flick that we had both seen on different occasions. A Guy Ritchie film—which are always good fun. Set during WWII, the movie dramatizes the true story of Operation Postmaster, a daring 1942 covert mission by British operatives to disrupt Nazi U-boat operations. Churchill recruits a rogue team of commandos with orders to abandon traditional rules of engagement, meaning they use unconventional and entirely “ungentlemanly” fighting techniques. The true story is pretty terrifying, but Ritchie and his cast—which includes Henry Cavill—make a hilarious film out of it that rightly gives credit to the real-life soldiers and the key role they played in eventually winning the war. Great film.

After the film, we all hit the hay.

Memorial Day! I slept the fuck in. Actually, I woke up way too early and asked myself what the hell I was doing awake. I went back to the bedroom and snoozed for another hour and a half. Why the heck not? I sure didn’t have anything to do that day.

When I finally emerged from the room, I made some chicken and waffles. Even though the recipe I used was keto-friendly, it still sent my blood sugar through the roof. Was it worth it? You’re damn straight it was worth it. I must occasionally treat myself. One must enjoy oneself from time to time. Indulge.

I had been wanting to see this movie playing in theaters called Obsession, but damn if all the seats weren’t taken. So I started browsing Amazon Prime. I had a watch list full of films that I hadn’t yet had time for. I picked one called Good Luck, Have Fun, Don’t Die. Teegan and I laughed our asses off. The film’s formula is pretty basic and has been done many times before. A hero—in this case Sam Rockwell—time travels from the future in order to set things right and save the world. The thing that made this one so different was the dark comedy angle. People do, in fact, die. The sci-fi ideas in the film were brilliant. The AI scenarios in the film are fucking great. Terrifying, but great.

That night it was just Yvette and me. I didn’t know that was going to be the case. I had fifty chicken wings, twelve jalapeño poppers, coleslaw, and French fries. I was cooking for a feast, but little did I know it would just be the two of us. Kids can be fickle. Oh well, it happens. Leftovers.

Yvette and I watched one really weird quasi-romance set during a global pandemic, Perfect Sense. The movie came out ten years before our very own COVID pandemic. Hit the nail on the head. Not really worth talking about. Kind of a blah movie, but I guess it worked for what it was.

That was pretty much our long Memorial Day weekend summary. Lots of excitement and not enough time.

Tuesday—our Monday—arrived, and I was a little groggy. I believe it was the fine craft beer that I picked up from a local brewery. These days, I usually stick to tried-and-true Miller Lite. That craft beer I just can’t handle like I once could. Is that a sign of my age? Craft beer was all I used to drink. Bummer.

We had the potential for rain that afternoon, and boy were we not disappointed. It rained like a monsoon, and it just kept coming. Lightning and thunder—the works. I think the few people I saw on campus were all very pleased by this development. I know our dear friend Mr. Gator was thrilled.

After work we celebrated my mother-in-law’s birthday. Like I mentioned, the day was rainy and rather cool, so they made caldo. What a treat that is. Really, during a normal May in Texas, one doesn’t crave soup, but when it is cloudy, rainy, and in the sixties, a damn good soup hits the spot.

I was tasked with getting the cake. Never send a diabetic to buy a cake. It’s ingrained in my head that less is better, so I grabbed a small cake without even thinking about how many people might be eating it. I knew I wasn’t. When Yvette saw the cake, she gave me some shit and even went out to get cookies. I mean, really—don’t send a diabetic to get sweets. Ever.

The little birthday celebration was fine and dandy, and the caldo was fantastic as always. Always good company. We didn’t get home until closer to nine.

Wednesday. Son of a biscuit eater. My fucking golf cart decided to break down at the end of the day—about thirty minutes before quitting time. Of course, everyone in the garage who could tow me back to my office had decided to jump ship an hour before they should have. Bruce came and picked me up and decided to say screw it—we could leave it overnight. It’s not exactly a quality golf cart, so I really don’t think anyone would steal it. Typical.

That has only happened to me once before, and that time I was actually trying to run the battery down. At least I was able to get it off the street and into the greenhouse parking lot under some shade.

That night Yvette and I took Teegan out for his graduation dinner. Better late than never. We went to the Wharf, a seafood steakhouse. Teegan had only been there once before, and we wanted to treat him to a nice meal. I really enjoyed it. I love being part of the family, and moments like these are a big reason why. Buying my son a graduation dinner. Hopefully a memory he will always carry.

Thursday Staff Senate had a social. A brunch social. I guess it was kind of a big deal for us. It was the first time since I had been on the senate that we had any sort of real gathering where all staff were invited.

I really didn’t sign up to work it because I never know when I’ll be free, but I had my shirt on and was there for about thirty minutes chatting away all the same. I guess that counts as support. We had burritos, yogurt parfaits, and coffee. Two hundred burritos total, but we still had to limit how many people were taking. Some of my fellow facilities guys were taking more than one. Damn them. Always making me look bad. If I had to hear “your people” one more time…

Anyways, I think the event was a success. We had no leftover food when it was all said and done. The timing was perfect—right after Memorial Day, with faculty and students not quite back on campus yet. The lingering staff probably needed something just for them. We are considering doing it again if possible.

Friday was my father’s birthday. He would have been seventy-six years old had he still been with us. I really have trouble believing that he has been gone for nearly nine years now. It doesn’t seem that long ago that I was sitting next to him, holding his hand while he slowly passed. Damn Alzheimer’s disease. I wish he and my mother could have had a long life together and enjoyed a nice retirement. Good God, I miss my father.

After work my mom wanted to go out to eat. We went back to the Wharf. It was a place my mother and father often went for date nights. Yvette, Teegan, and I had no problem going there twice in one week.

We had the same waiter, which was funny right off the bat. What we didn’t have was the same food. Haha. We switched the shit up. My mom already knew what she was going to get before she arrived. We really didn’t have a clue. I ended up with the beer-battered shrimp. I’ve had it before but never ordered it. People always give me one because it comes with eight. Well, my blood sugar was high after the meal. We had a damn good time.

After dinner, I listened to some Ryan Adams. The song was Carolina Rain. I remember my dad calling me from Alpine to let me know how much he liked that album, particularly this song. It reminds me of Alpine, nights of Scotch, and conversations with my dad.

Listening to the album, it’s been a while. I would be remiss if I didn’t say I don’t listen to it as often as I should because it reminds me so much of that conversation we had that night back in 2005.

It was an emotional Friday for me and the twenty-ninth of May always be.

Happy Friday.

Chimichurri steak and shrimp.

Chicken chow mein.

Spicy chicken and waffles.

Mango habanero wings, stuffed peppers, spicy fries and coleslaw.

Yvette’s meatloaf, mashed potatoes and Italian green beans.

The weekend started with me feeling lazy. You know, sometimes you just don’t have the drive to do the chores that need to be done. What I should have done was get up and knock out the yard work. It was overcast and cooler, but I just wanted to stay in bed. When I finally crept out of bed and into the kitchen, I cooked up some sausage and egg tacos. I’d been on a sausage taco kick. It’s just a damn good combination, no matter the delivery method.

After the nice meal, I curled up on the couch and read my book — or rather, a graphic novel on my iPad: Providence. It was written by Alan Moore, author of Watchmen and V for Vendetta. His works are always pretty R-rated and not exactly for the faint of heart. That said, I was really enjoying this one, and I was glad I decided to read it. It’s really experimental: half of each chapter plays out as a comic, while the other half is written as a journal entry. It’s heavily based on various works by H. P. Lovecraft, so of course I enjoyed it. All the Easter eggs scattered throughout really appealed to me.

After finishing a chapter, Yvette and I had some errands to run. We still needed a few more things for Teegan’s graduation party the following day. We needed to knock that shit out — just a few more decorations. You can never have too many, right? Though, is that really true? I think you probably can.

Yvette went to order the food: Cane’s chicken tenders. A lot of them. (As we later found out, you can definitely have too many.) I was in charge of adding a little variety to the spread: Hawaiian sliders. I had called my second mother for the recipe, and she provided it. The recipe is pretty basic aside from the secret sauce: Hawaiian rolls, ham, and cheese. The sauce is what gives it that WOW moment when you bite in. (I’m sorry, folks, but I’m not going to share that recipe with you.) Damn good. It had been many years since I’d had them. I assembled the sliders and placed them in my mother’s fridge to be baked the following Sunday. My part was done.

Once I got home, it was back to cooking in the kitchen, this time for the family. I decided on chicken verde enchiladas. We had some rotisserie chicken that I shredded and rolled into corn tortillas with cheese. I smothered them in a healthy amount of verde sauce and baked them. The end result was consumed rapidly by the entire family.

The evening was upon us, and with a full belly and a couple of beers, sleep found me with open arms.

Sunday morning, Yvette got up early to start decorating for Teegan’s graduation party. It was once again cloudy and relatively cool, so I decided it was about damn time I did the yard work. I couldn’t put it off for another week. We would become the blight of the neighborhood. It had to be done, no matter how badly I wasn’t looking forward to it.

I put my headphones on, found some jams, and welcomed the mindset to mow. The jams certainly helped. I really have no idea how I used to mow the yard without them. My God, that must have been awful. Why the hell did it take me until this year to do yard work with music? WTF was wrong with me?

Idiot.

After about an hour and a half, I was done. Damn the yard.

I needed to go bake the Hawaiian sliders, so I quickly got cleaned up and dressed for the party. Someone needed to get ice, so I accepted that duty as well. On my way to my mother’s house, I drove right past the ice machine and had to turn around. I was already failing at one of my jobs. I set the oven and put the sliders in before letting it fully preheat. It was crunch time, and I couldn’t wait forever.

I set my alarm, and while I waited, I read more of my book. I was in another place and time, far, far away from reality, when suddenly I was pulled back to earth by the chimes of my phone. Twenty minutes had already passed.

I checked the sliders and decided they needed a little more time. Rather than go back to my story, I gathered up every utensil I thought we might need. Enough time had passed, and the sliders were done. The smell hit me immediately. My God, it took an extreme measure of self-control not to eat one on the spot.

On the way to the party, something magical happened to me. Something that has never happened before. I made it across town without hitting a single red light. That’s twenty green lights. It honestly felt surreal. I was stunned — disbelief at what had happened to me. Boy, what a feeling. It made me even more excited about the graduation party.

It turned out we had plenty of food: my sliders, four pizzas, and 200 chicken strips from Cane’s. Not to mention all the various desserts. (Can you have too many of anything? What do you all think?) Hell, we even had a fucking fondue set. How retro is that?

Everyone seemed a little timid with the food at first. We really encouraged them to pig out, but I guess they didn’t want to make themselves sick. The location was really great for activities. It had two pool tables, a ping-pong table, and a large poker table. I think the kids spent a little time doing just about everything.

I mean, we know they had a good time. My gosh, they didn’t want to leave. We couldn’t really tell them they needed to wrap things up, could we? I guess when you’re young, you just don’t pick up on all the hints. At first, we started cleaning up, and an hour later we started putting the chairs and tables away. Before long, it was just Yvette and me there with the kids. She could tell I was getting a bit anxious. I don’t stay in one place comfortably for very long.

Seeing they weren’t leaving anytime soon, I decided to go across the street and grab myself a beer, a shot of Jameson, and a side salad. It was rather relaxing after the party and gave me a much-needed moment to wind down. I ran into a fellow I used to see at the bars all the time before I married my first wife. We chatted a little, mostly just pleasantries. Charles was always a very weird dude — socially awkward, but a nice guy.

I walked back across the street to see the kids still going at it, playing a game of poker. I needed to get back to my mom’s to clean up and grab some of my stuff, so I helped Yvette with the trash and told her to try to get them out by nine because the restaurant across the street would be closing. Once they closed, nothing else would be open on the street. Downtown on an empty night can get a little frightening.

What a day. The party was obviously a hit if they didn’t want to leave after seven hours. I couldn’t believe they all stayed that long. I think everything turned out great. Maybe we outdid ourselves a little. We had so many leftover chicken tenders — well over fifty of them. So back to my question: can you ever have too many? I would consider that too many, but tell me if I’m wrong.

The work week started off humid and gross. I was in a fine Monday mood, but I could have done without the thick, sticky air. It felt like Houston outside, and I hate Houston. We had a Staff Senate meeting that afternoon. It was the usual bullshit and should have been over early, but some blabbermouth had to get his two cents in at the last minute. This guy is truly full of hot air, and lucky for all of us on the senate, his term is almost up.

Tuesday was my friend Elicia’s final day after twenty-seven years. One of the best people I’ve met on campus. It was bittersweet. For one, I was very happy for her to get the hell out, but I was also very sad for the campus, for very selfish reasons. She was the backbone of a department, and without her wealth of knowledge, I truly feared we were all in for a total shit show. It was inevitable. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Elicia was my go-to if I had a question. I had collaborated with her in various ways for the entirety of my time at the university.

The retirement party was something I had to attend. I hate those things. I just feel awkward and out of place. I stood there like a bump on a log before finally working up the courage to give her a hug and say goodbye. I’m comfortable as hell around Elicia — just not around everyone else in the room. Maybe it was the time at which I arrived, but there were not a lot of people there whom I particularly liked being around.

God, she will be missed. When I first started working on campus nearly fifteen years ago, she was always so patient with me. I know she had to think I was a moron at times. I’m sure I was. Over the years, we got to know each other, and for a period of time she actually worked in my office as the property manager. She was a great person to have around, always able to lift one’s spirits. Of course, she was offered a better position and left us for the opposite end of campus, but that wasn’t the end of our working relationship. Before her office became the lifeless, humorless void that it is now, I would spend a great deal of time talking with Elicia. We had many great conversations over the years.

Unfortunately, she had a lot of bullshit to deal with under new leadership, and the workload became suffocating. I suppose all good things come to an end. I really wonder how many people know how much she did for the university. I don’t think she ever received all the recognition she deserved, and that is just sad. She will be missed, and some people don’t even know it yet.

Aside from Monday, the rest of the week was very unseasonable. We had cooler-than-average temperatures, cloudy skies, and scattered thunderstorms. Each evening there was thunder and lightning. We even had a few pretty scary hail reports around our area, thankfully missing us. It is that time of year for storms. Six years ago was when tennis ball-sized hail came raining down from the sky. Oh, what a year that was. Not only did we have the COVID pandemic, but most of our roofs were also destroyed by hailstones. I was happy with the weather — just please, no more hail. We’d already had enough of that for one lifetime.

That’s about it for the week. happy Friday!!!

Jalapeño.

Verde chicken cheese enchiladas.

Birria ramen.

Philly cheesesteak.

Chicago style hotdogs.

Yvette’s chicken and dumplings.

Steak à la Mexicana.

Saturday morning, I slept in. It might have had something to do with the drinks I’d had at the bar with my brother, or just the accumulation of one really long fucking week. Either way, I slept in, and it was great. I don’t ever go out at night, and my age was definitely showing that morning.

When I finally crawled my lazy, under-the-weather ass out of bed, I found Lola cooking bacon and chorizo potato breakfast tacos. What a real treat. I was craving chicken and waffles, but that could wait. Who the fuck passes up greasy bacon and chorizo when they have a mighty hangover? Only a damn fool, that’s who.

To make things move a little faster, I decided to help by firing up the grill and cooking the tortillas. I can throw twelve on the Blackstone and have them cooked perfectly in the same amount of time it would take her to cook two. Thank God the weather was tolerable for my condition. It was actually rather beautiful — perfect weather for a nice cup of coffee on the patio with the dogs.

I decided the tacos needed one extra ingredient: eggs. I scrambled some up and assembled myself a few bacon and egg tacos. The chorizo seemed a little too greasy for my taste. I didn’t want an upset stomach on top of the head fog I was already feeling.

It was nice having a family breakfast..

Afterward, I fiddled around the house, digging through old shit in my little office. I discovered a lot of things I wasn’t even aware I had — lots of old artifacts, old treasures, and silly things I’d held onto. I also threw a lot of shit out. Before I knew it, the morning had passed, and it was afternoon.

I was feeling better, so I ran some errands, namely getting some Mother’s Day cards and groceries for the night’s feast. My brother and I were making chicken Parmesan with broccolini and garlic bread. We were cooking for my mom for Mother’s Day. She had been craving this meal. The last time my brother made it was after my mom had knee surgery, and she was apparently too loopy on pain meds to recall what it tasted like.

My brother and I were shooting for dinner at seven. What a joke that ended up being. We thought we were prepared, but boy howdy, were we ever wrong. A lot of issues arose, primarily from my brother. He claimed to know the recipe, but when he looked it up, he realized there were extra steps he’d forgotten about. We also ran into some issues keeping the oil at a consistent temperature. We are both amateurs when it comes to frying food.

It was apparent my mother, Yvette, and Teegan were more than ready for a meal. The anticipation must have been killing them. When 8:30 finally arrived, so did the meal. Everyone frantically ate more than they probably should have. A very late, heavy meal. The bloat. I felt like a fucking hippo.

It was time for a few after-hours drinks. We visited and had a good time, at least until the food began to settle and lull us into a state of exhaustion. I sure enjoy my time in the kitchen with my brother and miss his visits.

When the evening finally concluded, I made a stop by Noah’s to check on their dogs. They had made an impromptu trip to the ranch. The dogs were extremely happy to go outside. By the time I made it home, I was ready to hit the hay. It had been a great evening, but it had also been a very long day.

Mother’s Day!! This was the day that Yvette was able to sleep in a bit. I decided I should treat my mother to breakfast for Mother’s Day. I called her and she and my brother placed an order for burritos from this little joint called The Corner Stop that has been serving us for over twenty years. Hell, since I was in high school at least. They make the best damn flour tortillas.

My mom was very happy with the burrito breakfast. Who doesn’t love a damn good burrito? There was an Indiana Jones marathon on, and we began talking about the newest one that came out three years prior, The Dial of Destiny. It became alarmingly apparent that my mother had never watched the movie. The last one she saw was The Crystal Skull, which would be an awful way to end the franchise. That one leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I would rather forget it even happened. Thank God they made one more movie to try and cleanse the palate.

I had seen Dial of Destiny once, and I will be honest — I was drunk. Watching it with a clear head was quite an enjoyable experience. There was so much I had forgotten. They used some de-aging to make Harrison Ford look like he did in the earlier films. I am not generally for that, but the technology has come a long way, and it didn’t really look all that bad. It helped tie this to the original three films.

The film was a vast improvement over The Crystal Skull. It actually felt like nostalgia pulling at me. I grew up watching the Indiana Jones movies, so seeing an old Harrison Ford out-thinking and kicking some major ass tickled me with joy. The story was also very good, and the ending, while not as grounded as the originals, was still much better than that last dreadful effort. The less said about that film, the better.

In summary, Dial of Destiny is a great addition and final farewell to a decades-long adventure with Indiana Jones. Growing up with Indiana Jones since I was a little boy in the eighties, he is essentially a part of me. As kids we used to pretend we were Indiana Jones and put ourselves through our own adventures. I had some of that childish joy rise to the surface while watching Dial of Destiny. Like Indiana, I am also getting old. It was nice to tag along with him for one final adventure.

After that, I went over to my in-laws for a true feast. They had a spread of chicken thighs and legs, pork and beef ribs, venison sausage, potato salad, and beans. Like I said — a true fucking feast. I wasn’t even all that hungry after the morning burrito, but I indulged anyway. We stuck around and visited for a while.

While chatting away, their Alexa device notified us that we were under a thunderstorm watch with high winds and large hail starting at four and stretching into the evening hours. I had a good deal of errands I needed to run, so I urged Yvette to say goodbye so I could knock them out before the potential storm arrived. It took a little longer to leave than I would have liked, and when we finally did, we could see the distant storm. She said it didn’t look bad, but I knew otherwise. It was still far off, and they can look misleading to the untrained eye.

I started running errands, making four different stops to gather everything I needed for the Mother’s Day dinner I was cooking for Yvette and Lola. As I was running around town, each time I left one of my destinations, the storm was closer and looking more and more menacing. Such an ominous vide. I knew this might be a nasty bitch. Yvette put the kids’ cars under cover just in case it actually did hail, which ended up being a good thing.

The storm began to hit just as I was getting home. At first light rain, then heavy rain. I began to feel comfortable that no hail would occur, and after saying as much to Yvette, we started hearing the clicking of hail against the vents on the roof. Shit. Foot in mouth. I pulled my car as far into the garage as I could. Lola really needs to go through all her shit that’s taking up half of the garage. I keep bringing this up, but it falls on deaf ears.

The storm was rather amazing. The wind was fucking crazy. It was really bad in other areas, but all we had was marble-sized hail. I don’t need another new roof. As exciting as a good storm is, now that I’m a homeowner I would really rather it didn’t get extreme.

As the storm passed, I began my hibachi. The temperature was perfect for a night in front of a hot grill. It really was. The rain and thunder continued at short intervals, and I was in my own little paradise. Mother’s Day dinner was a hit, and I couldn’t have been happier cooking it for these amazing mothers.

Graduation week. A frightening time. Monday was a pretty damn fine day, if I must say so myself, and I rarely say that on a Monday. The weather was top notch — grounds for celebration in May — and I was in a good mood doing what I love to do at work: out and about around town. I spent very little time in the office, thank the Lord, and the day sped by. I found myself visiting with vendors. Sometimes I talk too much. One thing I really like to make happen is spending the university’s money locally. I think that’s good for our image and good for the local economy. Whenever I have an option, I’ll use a place in town.

After work, Teegan had yet another awards ceremony. Pretty impressive, really. I sure as hell didn’t attend any awards ceremonies when I was in high school. This event was being held downtown at a much nicer venue than the high school campus. Thank God — I hate that auditorium.

The ceremony was a little over an hour, and it didn’t even feel that long. The master of ceremonies was quick and had a good sense of humor, making me laugh a few times. That’s a rare thing at these kinds of events. I’m usually bored to tears and just waiting to see whomever I came to see have their small part. When Teegan accepted his award, he walked onto the stage with confidence. I was so proud of him and his many accomplishments. The young man has a bright future.

Tuesday, I had it in my mind that it was actually Wednesday. I don’t have a clue why that was, but it just was. I had two people bring me back to reality that it was actually only Tuesday, and each time I felt a sharp ping in my chest at the realization I wasn’t yet at mid-week. What a real bummer it was. I’m sure everyone can relate to that kind of horse shit.

Honestly, I can’t say much about the day. I spent about as much time shopping for eyeglasses as I did actually working. Sad fact. Some days are just like that. After work, I ran and picked up my prescriptions and visited my mother before she left for Houston. She will probably come back with some sort of illness. I surely fucking hope not, but nine times out of ten, she does.

Wednesday was just more of the same. Blah. We had a very pointless meeting — most of which are — and that was pretty much it for the damn day. I had hardly any real work to do. Slow days this time of year before graduation are just weird. It worried me that maybe Thursday and Friday were going to be crazy as hell. All the last-minute graduation preparation. Lord, I prayed not.

That last statement was a jinx on myself. Thursday was indeed a crazy busy day. I was running back and forth all over the damn town. People were so needy, but at least I was busy. I figured that would be the case. I think my coworkers thought I was out fucking around, but they really had no idea how many tickets I had — how many credit card swipes I made. I had trouble staying ahead, which was a blessing considering how freaking slow Tuesday and Wednesday were.

I felt that after the morning, I owed myself a nice lunch, so Yvette and I went and had some brisket street tacos. A place called The Pitt serves them as a Thursday-only special, and boy are they a real treat. We’ve only ever needed to split the meal, and we’re both always left satisfied. They sure didn’t disappoint.

After lunch, it was once again a busy-bee afternoon. I was screwed. The two people I hate buying for with a passion were waiting for me to make a run with them. I don’t like doing that because they take forever and talk about the most far-out bullshit. Not to mention all the MAGA garbage that one of them spews. I swear if Trump told him that inserting Tylenol up his asshole would cure a headache, he would comply without question.

My misadventure with Beavis and Butt-Head started out as it always did: them not knowing what the fuck they really needed. I mean, they knew what they needed, but they were being extremely picky about it. I suppose it’s a lost art to find the perfect piece of lumber. For Christ’s sake, it was going on a trailer bed — why did it have to look perfect? Overall, I wasted almost two hours of my life with the two eejits.

After work, we had plans to meet up at a bar for a birthday, but things change. I’m still finding out how quickly that happens with kids. All new to me. Teegan hurt his knee at the senior picnic and had to go to the ER. Luckily, it wasn’t terrible — just a strained meniscus. Still, he was in pain and can’t walk correctly. Poor kid.

Friday went by very quickly. It was surprisingly nice and gloomy, and we even had a little bit of rain—sort of like how the week began. I will certainly take as many of these cooler days as I can get because, before long, summer will rear its head like a beast from hell.

This was the end of the Spring 2026 semester. Graduation weekend. It’s just crazy. I have seen so many students come and go over the years. It’s hard to believe that another school year is behind us. I mean, where does the time go? It really doesn’t seem all that long ago that the fall semester began. It’s a little frightening. Life is too damn short. I’m just about forty-five—halfway to ninety. Jesus Christ, when I put it that way. Can things just slow down a little bit? If only.

So yes, another class of students is on their way to whatever the future may hold for them. I hope they cherish the moments they had on campus. It’s a time unlike any other in one’s life. College is one of the final steps before adulthood. Once you graduate, you officially join the real world. You say goodbye to the last years of your youth.

Every year, graduation brings a certain sadness to me. I suppose that comes from the fact that I graduated a long time ago. Perhaps it’s also the realization that another year has vanished in the blink of an eye. I feel a bit sad for the graduates because they do not yet understand how much they’ll miss this chapter of their lives. But more than anything else, I am truly happy for them as they walk the stage. They have accomplished something great, and they have a future ahead of them full of possibilities. Cheers and congratulations to another graduating class. Time keeps moving, whether we like it or not.

Happy Friday!!

Jalapeño.

Chicken Parmesan served over spaghetti noodles with Italian broccolini and garlic bread.

Hibachi night. Steak, chicken and shrimp with veggies and fried rice.

Chicken Mole rice bowl.

Chicken fajita tacos.

Burger salad.

Queso sticky rice with fajita fixings.

Ahi tuna tacos w/ black beans and chipotle sweet potato salad.

Saturday, I woke up to Yvette calling me because I had low blood sugar. Her phone was alerting her while I was ignoring my own. Dumbass, I know. I was tired.

After treating myself with some sugar, I really wanted to relax and possibly go back to sleep. I had a THC tonic my brother had given me months ago that I had been waiting to drink when I was alone and had nothing to do. Why not now, I thought. I popped it open and could immediately smell the marijuana. It tasted exactly like it smelled. I drank the damn thing and settled down. It didn’t take long before it kicked in HARD. I fucking crashed right out. The next thing I knew, two hours of my life had passed without me realizing it. I woke up on the couch in my office with The Weather Channel on. Good Lord. Was this my new sleep aid? Not really. But damn, that stuff worked better than Ambien.

I got up and cleaned the house, picked up bottled water, and did some basic chores before the family made it home. I wanted them to come back to a stocked and clean house. I was still floating around in the clouds, so the chores were actually sort of nice. That tonic left me in a very good mood. I definitely don’t have a tolerance for that kind of thing anymore. Haha.

I decided I wanted a greasy burger, so I went to City Limits. It’s always a good burger, and it didn’t disappoint. It was a very late lunch — around three-thirty. While I sat there, I looked around at the other patrons sitting alone, having a drink and a late lunch. I couldn’t help but think about how I was once like them. How this was normal for me — to be at this bar, alone on a Saturday afternoon, usually drinking. That was my life during and after my divorce. I realized in that moment how fucking lonely my life must have been before Yvette entered it.

I went home for a little while and read more of my graphic novel, Providence. I had hours to kill before Yvette and the kids made it back into town. It was near seven o’clock when they finally made it to Dallas, leaving them with four more hours of driving. Crazy how big the state of Texas is.

By the time they arrived, all of us were exhausted. I was happy they were home. It was late, so Alaya stayed with her grandparents. I think that was for the best. We talked a little about how fucked up the situation was, but mostly everyone just wanted some rest. We saved the catching up for the next day.

On Sunday, everyone kind of slept in. Yvette and I left to go get Alaya. She was happy to see us, though maybe a little resentful that we had been away from her for so long.

Monday was surprisingly busy. During lunch, I sat outside the university center all alone. Yvette had to take Teegan to the dentist. While eating my tacos, a fox came strolling by. It was a cute little fellow. The only animals I had intended on observing were the students, so the fox was a pleasant surprise. I love the campus fox family. I’m pretty sure everyone is fairly accustomed to them. A reminder that nature is all around us.

It’s pretty amazing how much wildlife we have on campus. I’ve seen foxes, deer, wild pigs, skunks, opossums, raccoons, and even a treed bobcat. We have an abundance of tree squirrels and ground squirrels. WAY too many fucking feral cats. Dogs are walked hourly along the many sidewalks that act as arteries through the grounds. I’ve seen so many different bird species that I couldn’t count them on two hands. As an amateur birdwatcher, it’s paradise. I saw a Scissor-tailed Flycatcher, American Robin, Couch’s Kingbird, Common Grackle, Northern Cardinal, Mockingbird, Common Starling, House Sparrow and White-wing Dove all in one day.   The campus has a pretty diverse biome, to say the least.

That evening, Yvette’s parents had dinner with us. My pulled pork must have hit the spot because they both had seconds. We mostly talked about all the bullshit the kids were being subjected to and how crazy those people were. I was really tired and rather checked out from most of the conversation. I don’t feel it’s my place to really get involved, considering how I feel about their father. I do think they have the legal upper hand, but now that the grandparents have also filed a claim, we have to wait for the in-chambers conference between the lawyers and the judge on Thursday to see what the next move is. It’s a huge fucking mess regardless of the outcome. Probate law is a mess.

Tuesday, I had my first real eye doctor’s visit in six years. I had blown it off, but in recent years I’ve steadily noticed a decline in my vision. One of the many bummers that come with aging. I was only nearsighted my entire life, but now I’m needing readers. That’s just an annoyance. The real reason for my visit was that, with my current lenses, people were beginning to become blurry. It’s often embarrassing when I can’t recognize someone from across an aisle at the grocery store. I feel like they probably think I’m ignoring them. It’s equally embarrassing when I say hi to someone across the aisle, only to realize upon getting closer that the person isn’t who I thought they were. This has happened multiple times and finally prompted the visit to the eye care specialist.

Trying a new optometrist, I didn’t know what I had in store for me. I had been using the same office my entire life, but the wait time for appointments exceeded a year, which is fucking ridiculous. Besides, I really think the guy I had been using was stretched too thin to give much attention to someone he only sees once every few years.

I walked into the office and filled out the new patient paperwork. My biggest concern was whether they were going to dilate my eyes. I can’t stand that. My mother and I both have long-lasting side effects from those drops. When I was called back, to my grateful surprise, they used a machine that was much more forgiving. When I finally met with the optometrist, I immediately had good feelings about the visit. We decided to try bifocal lenses, which he let me sample for a day before making a final decision.

As it turned out, they were not the lenses for me. Yes, it was fucking great being able to see things up close, but that came at the cost of seeing things at a distance. I called Wednesday to let them know I would not be going with those lenses. After meeting with the optometrist again, I was given another sample pair to try. I wore them throughout the day and was amazed at how sharp everything looked. I was seeing so much more detail. I called and told them to order the lenses. To say I was a satisfied customer would be an understatement.

That evening, Yvette, Teegan, and I attended the Central High School Top 10% banquet. When I arrived, I immediately wished I had known what kind of event it was. My jeans and polo shirt felt underdressed. They had a live orchestra playing, for Christ’s sake.

Like sheep, we found our assigned seats and waited through the introductions for the dinner bell to sound. Herded through the corral, we served ourselves food and returned to our seats. The two main entrées were tasty, but the green beans were damn near raw and inedible. I was satisfied nonetheless. Unfortunately, for the sake of time, they began announcing the students to come onto the stage one at a time, so the meal felt rushed.

When Teegan was finally announced, I was busy taking pictures when the biggest surprise I’ve had in a long damn time occurred. I was announced as his father. Teegan said I am his father. A moment that shocked me and warmed my heart in a way I didn’t know was possible. Yvette didn’t even know. She whispered, “Don’t cry.” I knew my eyes were watering, and I fought back the tears. I was overcome with emotion. I was fucking honored. Jesus, I love this young adult named Teegan. My son.

After the awards, Yvette and I went over to her grandparents’ house for his ninety-eighth birthday party. Incredible. We made it a quick visit because the party was already winding down. Yvette got her cake in, and we headed home. It was a rather amazing and eventful hump day — one I will cherish for the rest of my life. I feel so much love for my family, and I am forever grateful to have them in my life.

Friday was about as slow as a workday can get. I literally sat on my ass for hours before finally looking for something to do. Out on campus, I took the scenic routes whenever possible. I made sure to talk to people for much longer than the conversations needed, just so I didn’t have to go back to the office.

Half of my office took the afternoon off, so after lunch it was like a silent movie. Other bored individuals stopped by to talk with the few of us remaining. It felt like no one was actually working anywhere on campus. Everyone just wanted to get off for the day. It wasn’t just me feeling the slow ticking of the clock. I heard the same thing from just about everyone everywhere I went.

Once that dreadful time finally passed, I ran a few errands and met up with my brother. He was in town for Mother’s Day. We had a few beers and then met up for dinner at a place called Cork & Pig Tavern.

Cork & Pig was a good time. Yvette heard some more stories she hadn’t heard before. They made me seem like a degenerate. Maybe I was. Times have changed. My brother and mother are always a lot of fun.

Afterward, I met up with my brother and our friend for a couple of drinks while they watched some bullshit basketball — the Spurs. I hate professional basketball, but the time together was worth it.

The weather this week was a real trip — not just figuratively, but legitimately. The first half of the week brought temperatures in the mid-nineties. The latter half had highs in the sixties. We even had a hump day thunderstorm. It was literally all over the place. One day kids were walking around in barely anything at all, and the next they were bundled up in winter gear again. I’ll admit, I had no time to reacclimate to the cooler weather. The days felt genuinely chilly. That’s West Texas for you, though even these cooler days were unusual for May.

I will say this: it was a damn fine week.

Jalapeño.

Pesto ravioli with Italian sausage.

Pepperoni pizza w/ grilled buffalo wings.

Breakfast sweet potato w/ berries, Greek yogurt and granola. Happy Friday!!