Some weeks are packed with major events. This wasn’t one of those weeks.

A summary of the week would include watching a family of hawks search for a new home, finally getting rid of a tree I’d hated for years, running headfirst into university red tape, Billy Zane somehow earning my hatred all over again, and finding satisfaction in helping people at work.

None of it was life-changing, but together it made for a week worth remembering.

Saturday was supposed to be a day for sleeping in, but I was surprised awake by the rumble and growl of chainsaws across the street. This marked the third weekend in a row that neighbors had trees removed. What is it with tree trimmers working weekends?

Since I was already up, I decided to go ahead and knock out my yard work. It was time to tame my yard, for she was getting out of hand. While mowing, I watched the tree removal with great fascination. I even contemplated asking them for a quote to remove the pesky oak I’d despised ever since moving into the house eight years ago. It had clearly started as a sapling beneath a much larger oak and had been left to its own devices over the years, growing into a formidable tree of its own. The problem was that the damn thing grew at a strange angle toward the street. One year, half the damn thing ended up lying in the road. Cleaning up that mess wasn’t cheap.

When they finished working across the street, I decided to ask for a quote after all. The guy offered to remove the tree right then and there for two hundred bucks. I countered with one hundred. He came back with one hundred twenty-five.  “How about one-twenty?” I asked. “All I’ve got are twenties.”  He laughed and said, “Sure thing.”

It worked out to an extra forty bucks for each of them, and the whole job only took about fifteen minutes.

It was pretty impressive. With the truck already parked across the street, the boss walked his chainsaw over and cut the tree down in about five minutes. Once it hit the ground, they hooked a winch to the stump, dragged it across the street, and fed the whole damn thing into the grinder. Fifteen minutes after I’d asked for a quote, the tree was gone, and I was finally rid of the fucking thing.

That made six trees on my block that had been removed within the last three weeks.

One of the more entertaining—and unexpected—bonuses of all the tree removal has been the displaced hawk family. This truly solidifies my status as a nerd because my bird-watching ass was absolutely enthralled.

In all seriousness, I do feel for the hawks. They likely lost their home, and hearing their distress calls genuinely made me sad. I’d never seen—or heard—birds so obviously upset. It was heartbreaking, but damn if they aren’t cool as hell to watch.  What I first thought was a single hawk turned out to be three. I think they’re broad-winged hawks, though I’m no expert. They spend their days flying from tree to tree, calling back and forth to one another. One evening, Yvette and I watched one swoop down and snatch a dove right out of the street.  Poor dove.

They’re truly a pleasure to watch, and I’d be perfectly happy if they decided to make my yard their new home. Maybe they’ll chase away all the shitting doves that keep decorating my car.

Monday was my sitting week.  Dammit.

I also had an online orientation for the fall semester that I needed to complete. It consisted of a bunch of online modules. I probably could have skipped the whole thing, but considering I haven’t taken a college class in seventeen years—and certainly never an online one—I figured I might learn something.

It was terrible.  The dean giving the orientation had all the personality of an elementary school teacher talking to first graders. Everything felt overly simplified.  Managing my time? Self-care? Really?  I suppose some of it might be useful to an incoming freshman, but my Lord, I don’t know that I learned anything I didn’t already know.

I also received my tuition bill on Tuesday—in full, of course. Human Resources had submitted my exemption paperwork that very same day, so naturally Student Accounts hadn’t had time to apply it yet.

I tell you what, I started this process back in April. I thought I was being proactive, but apparently that didn’t accomplish much.

To make matters even worse, I discovered the woman in HR I’d been emailing back and forth with had left the university for greener pastures. It would’ve been nice to know that. I just assumed she’d been ignoring me. From there I got bounced from one office to another, each pointing me toward someone else who supposedly had the answer. Eventually I was told to contact an entirely different department because they didn’t know either.  Typical.

It’s getting harder and harder to find anyone who actually knows what’s going on these days.

I was also left wondering whether I’d been selected for the Staff Senate Scholarship. No one in Staff Senate seems to know who serves on the selection committee..  Wild.

The week itself was hot and surprisingly quiet. Teegan was away at an Aggie camp, while Lola and Alaya were rarely around. Yvette and I ended up enjoying some quality time together.

My mother left town Thursday for a girls’ trip, so we watched her dogs and picked up some Thai food near her house. It was just the two of us… and four dogs.

We watched another Sam Neill movie from my childhood that I hadn’t seen in many, many moons—Dead Calm. Also starring Nicole Kidman and Billy Zane, it’s really just a three-person movie. Neill spends much of the film alone aboard a sinking ship, desperately trying to get back to his wife while she’s trapped on their sailboat with a madman played by Zane.  It’s a really good film, and Sam Neill conveys desperation almost entirely through his facial expressions.

Of course, when I first watched the movie years ago, my biggest complaint was that he wasn’t playing Dr. Alan Grant and didn’t get to foil the bad guy until the very end. Watching it now as an adult—and being much more familiar with Neill as an actor—I realize how good he really is. He makes the character feel completely believable, even without the memorable dialogue he had in Jurassic Park.

I will say this, though: I still find Billy Zane completely detestable to this day, and this movie is probably to blame.  How dare this ass clown think he can fuck with Dr. Grant?

Friday wrapped up the work week with a meeting between my boss and several department heads from around campus regarding Receiving Documents and Okays to Pay. Since I process them every single day, I was invited to participate.  Who better to include than me?

Before the meeting, I created a simple step-by-step guide with screenshots explaining the entire process. I thought it would make things much easier.  Unfortunately, Bruce accidentally told me the wrong Kimberly would be attending, so I sent the guide to the wrong Kimberly. She promised to forward it to the correct Kimberly.  She didn’t.

Early in the meeting, the right Kimberly pointed out that the attachment had never been sent by the wrong Kimberly. I quietly excused myself from the meeting, emailed the guide to everyone, and jumped right back in.  Thankfully, it ended up being exactly what everyone needed. I barely had to explain anything because people were able to follow the document on their own. That felt incredibly validating after spending the extra time putting it together. I’d call the meeting a success, and hopefully the gears will turn a little more smoothly around the university because of it.

And that was my week. Nothing earth-shattering happened, but sometimes it’s the mundane bullshit that makes for the best blogs.

Happy Friday!!

Jalapeño

It was the end of the World Cup. There were two games over the weekend: the third-place playoff and the final. Thirty-nine days had passed since the tournament kicked off. My Lord, what a ride it had been.

The weekend’s matches featured France and England battling for third place, while Spain and Argentina faced off for the championship. Both games were excellent, but they couldn’t have been more different.

Let’s begin with the fight for third place. First off, this game might not appeal to many fans unless they are specifically rooting for one of the two teams. Not many people give a damn about who finishes third. I understand why some people are turned away by the concept. To me, though, it’s a must-see event between two of the best teams in the tournament with a clear winner. What’s not to love about that? Idiot naysayers.

The first half of the game scared me. England was kicking the shit out of France, and France didn’t have a single answer. It was as one-sided as a game can be, and rather fucking boring even if you were pulling for England—which I was. By halftime, the score was 4-0. That is a punishing display.

Lucky for me, and the rest of the world, France came out after halftime with real answers. They went on the offensive and started kicking ass. Within minutes, they had cut the lead to 4-3. It suddenly became a tremendously entertaining match, but in the end England was the better team. The final score was 6-4. It ended up being the highest-scoring game of the tournament, with England claiming third place.

The final was a different story altogether. It was one-sided in the sense that Spain was constantly on the attack, but Argentina’s defense simply refused to break. My God, Spain finished with twenty shots. Argentina managed only three shots of its own, none of them successful. The final score was just 1-0, with Spain crowned world champions.

That didn’t make it a boring game. Quite the contrary. It was a rush to behold—a real nail-biter. I was pulling for Argentina, so every one of those deflected Spanish shots felt like a jolt to my heart. The anxiety was very real. I yelled plenty in support of Argentina’s goalkeeper and his extraordinary performance. He was the only reason Argentina was still in that match. Bless his heart.

So the World Cup was now over. I was proud that we were good hosts to the people who traveled to the United States for the tournament. I was glad we managed to change some people’s perspectives about what America is really like. Some 6,810,966 people attended the tournament, and I hope many of them left realizing that most Americans are good people—that our current leadership does not define who we are.

As a foodie, I was especially thrilled to see how visitors embraced our food. Foods that I never really thought of as uniquely American—like ranch dressing. To us, it’s just another condiment, but it has apparently taken the world by storm.  Foreigners were buying it up and trying to bring it with them on flights back home..  Ranch fucking dressing.  Crazy.

What a remarkable thirty-nine days it had been. My sadness at the end was on full display. What in the bloody hell was I supposed to do with myself? After every tournament ends, I always feel this way. Empty and lost, but also overwhelmed by the memories and by what I, along with every other fan, shared during those weeks. For thirty-nine days the world was briefly brought together through one sport. That’s pretty damn special..

Aside from the World Cup, the weekend was spent spraying the god-awful weeds that all the rain had awakened. Yvette and I had Alaya while the house was otherwise empty. She had a photo shoot, and we got her all dressed up only to have the session rescheduled for the following day. So we got to do it all over again. It happens.

We took her to the pool a couple of times, where we witnessed a poor kid hit his head on the diving board. The lifeguard didn’t even move. It was bad. Neglectful enough that I wouldn’t be surprised if he lost his job.

We had lunch at my in-laws’ house on Sunday. I also made a point of watching a Sam Neill movie I hadn’t seen before, Omen: The Final Conflict. He was excellent as Damien, the Antichrist. That was my weekend in a nutshell.

The week was a hot one. Summer was finally showing its fangs. Especially after the cool, rainy week before, our bodies weren’t acclimated to the sudden heat. I hated every minute of it. The heat just takes a toll on my diabetic ass. I feel weak, get bad headaches, and it just takes the piss out of me.

I had two meetings during the week: Staff Senate and Facilities’ “All Hands on Deck.”

The Staff Senate meeting was mostly transitional. The passing of the torch had happened the month before, but nobody had really explained to the new executive officers what they needed to do or even what they had access to. As it turned out, they had very little access at all. Yvette was really stressed going in as secretary without having anything prepared. I understood that stress completely.

Attendance was extremely low—we almost didn’t make quorum.  I believe this was because no reminders were given in advance.  What few of us that were in attendance learned was that the university administration is a bunch of cheap asses, only giving us a 2% raise while our insurance premiums are increasing. In reality, we aren’t seeing any pay increase at all. Cheap bastards.

The “All Hands on Deck” meeting was short. It was basically a safety meeting reminding employees to ask for help instead of hurting themselves trying to do too much alone. Pretty common-sense stuff.

After that, though, the elephant in the room was finally addressed: our 2% raise.  I already knew this from my prior meeting earlier in the week, but it doesn’t make it any easier to hear.  Some of my coworkers let out a mournful little laugh.

What a joke.

With that, the meeting was adjourned. Nobody really had anything to say. Morale was broken and no one cared.

Teegan made it home from his little trip with friends to Galveston.  He seemed to have a great time and I was happy for him.  He even brought back a rare treat, some shark fillets.  It was nice to have him back in the house.  Yvette and I had a little taste of what it will  be like when he goes off to college.  Yikes.  I for one will miss the hell out of him.

That was basically my week. Nothing especially important happened, but emotionally it felt like a strange one. Sadness over the World Cup ending, bitterness over a pathetic raise, and weariness from the fucking heat. I hate summer.

Jalapeño

Guiso & Spanish rice w/ fried egg.

Cilantro lime jalapeño rice chicken w/ black beans.

Biscuits & gravy.

Sloppy Joes.

Japanese short ribs with grilled zucchini and sriracha sprout salad and rice.

Italian sausage cheese ravioli.

Ground sesame chicken & garlic ginger green bean.

The week was a wild one for Texas in July. For starters, the temperature never once reached ninety degrees. Heck, most of the week was spent in the seventies. We expect to be roasting this time of year, but instead it felt more like October. On top of the cooler temperatures, we also had rain aplenty. On Tuesday, the rain came down so quickly and fiercely that the roads flooded in no time. Right at five o’clock, I might add. Of course it did. Trying to get home through a rushing torrent ripped the engine splash shield almost completely off the underside of my car. A real bummer. Not that it’s really needed.

It’s amazing what this kind of weather does to people in Texas when it’s usually so damn hot. Everyone seems to be in a better mood, and the extra rainfall brings a sense of giddiness to many of us Texans who are accustomed to drought. Rain throughout the week isn’t very common this time of year, at least not around here. I don’t want flooding, but I’ll gladly take full reservoirs. I know I had a good attitude all week—even with a splash shield dragging underneath my car.

The week also included the semifinals of the World Cup. Spain beat France on Tuesday, and Argentina defeated England on Wednesday. Both games took place while I was at work, but on Wednesday our Multicultural Center was unofficially hosting a World Cup watch party. I took a break with a couple of university employees and watched part of the match. I was the lone Argentina fan, which made it all the sweeter when they won. I allowed myself a brief moment of gloating.

I couldn’t believe the World Cup was already nearing its end. A month ago, it had only just begun.

I was also powering my way through House of the Dragon. I finished the second season, leaving only three episodes before I was all caught up with Teegan. I was enjoying the show immensely and was thankful he convinced me to watch something I had initially dismissed. My reasons for overlooking it were completely unfounded. It has been a fantastic experience, and I’m looking forward to finally being caught up so we can watch the new episodes together.

This isn’t to say the week was all roses. Monday morning brought news I wasn’t remotely prepared for.

The week began with a death blow I wasn’t expecting—the death of Sam Neill.

He was one of my all-time favorite actors and, honestly, one of my favorite celebrities in general. Everything I’ve ever read or seen suggested he was a genuinely good man. I hated waking up to that news. At first, I couldn’t believe it. I had only recently seen him post on Instagram. I immediately had to fact-check the story. This couldn’t have happened.

But alas, it had.

The man had been part of my life since I was twelve years old, when he first appeared as Dr. Alan Grant in Jurassic Park. His passing really threw me for a loop. I didn’t realize until he died just how much I’d subconsciously viewed him as a movie father figure. He brought such warmth to Dr. Grant that he became exactly that. His death doesn’t simply feel like losing a celebrity I admired—it feels a little like losing a member of the family, even though we never met.

This one hit harder than almost any other celebrity death. Rest in peace to an absolute legend.

He starred in three of my favorite films.

Jurassic Park might very well be my favorite movie of all time. It was a foundational film for me as a kid. I still remember sitting in the theater with my family, completely awestruck when the credits rolled. It wasn’t just the dinosaurs that captured my imagination. Neill’s portrayal of Dr. Grant made digging for dinosaur bones seem as cool as Indiana Jones made archaeology. He was the dinosaur guy. After seeing that movie, I wanted to become a paleontologist. I hadn’t seen many of Neill’s other films at the time, but after Jurassic Park, if Sam Neill starred in it, I wanted to watch it.

The other two films of his that rank among my favorites are the horror classics In the Mouth of Madness and Event Horizon. He absolutely nails both performances.

By the end of Event Horizon, he’s utterly terrifying. “Where we’re going, we don’t need eyes to see…” This is the same man who played the warm, fatherly Dr. Grant. He can’t be the villain—he’s Sam Neill. He’s everyone’s lovable guy. Then suddenly he’s scarred, eyeless, and trying to drag people into Hell. It’s incredible. What range.

In the Mouth of Madness is another phenomenal film. Few actors spent as much time confronting Lovecraftian horrors throughout their careers, and even fewer could portray a slow descent into madness as convincingly as Neill. As John Trent, he gradually loses his grip on reality. By the film’s end, he’s completely unraveled. The performance is absolutely batshit—in the best possible way. He begins the movie full of confidence, and by the end that confidence has completely collapsed into chaos. He sells every second of it.

Sam Neill left an indelible mark on the horror genre.

One of my more recent viewings of his work was Possession, a film released in 1981—the same year I was born. Horror fans talked about this movie for years, but unless you owned an old VHS copy, you simply weren’t going to see it. It wasn’t streaming anywhere, and it had never been properly released on DVD or Blu-ray. It eluded me for years before I finally found a terrible-quality upload on YouTube.

Watching it felt like discovering something forbidden. Something almost mythical. A hidden treasure for horror fans—and especially for Sam Neill fans.

His performance absolutely knocked my socks off. It remains the most powerful performance of his I’ve ever seen. He navigates such an incredible range of emotions that it’s almost overwhelming to watch. That film is art—intoxicating, mesmerizing, excruciating, and emotionally brutal in the most believable way possible. Finding Possession felt like discovering the Holy Grail of horror films. Having been a Sam Neill fan for over thirty-three years, I was shocked that such an extraordinary performance wasn’t discussed more often whenever people talked about his career.

Thankfully, the film was eventually released to a much wider audience.

Those are only a handful of the many films in which he gave memorable performances.  He reprised his role as Dr. Grant in two Jurassic Park sequels and also gave memorable performances in The Hunt for Red October, Memoirs of an Invisible Man, Daybreakers, The Hunter, and Hunt for the Wilderpeople.   Luckily for me, he left behind an extensive filmography that I have yet to explore. When I have the time, I plan to start catching up, beginning with The Omen: Final Conflict.

During COVID, Neill developed quite a presence on Instagram. For me—and for countless others—he became a bright spot during some very dark days. I looked forward to his videos about life on his winery, the animals on his farm, and the quiet joy he seemed to find in everyday moments. That warmth continued right up until shortly before his passing.

For those of us who followed him, it genuinely felt like we knew those animals. We celebrated them and mourned them when one passed away. That’s how gifted Sam Neill was. He invited people into his life with warmth, humor, and kindness. You couldn’t help but feel connected to him. To be honest, in the later years of his life, I came to know him more through his online presence than through his acting credits. That’s a testament to the kind of person he was.

His death stayed on my mind all week, and it still doesn’t quite feel real. Thirty-three years after first watching him play Dr. Grant, he’d become something like a familiar uncle in my mind. The world simply felt like a better place with Sam Neill in it.

His presence will be deeply missed.

Rest in peace, Sam Neill.

Jalapeño

Beef Bulgolgi & kimchi.

Orange steak w/ red rice & broccoli.

Pot roast w/ carrots, potatoes & green beans.

Philly cheese steak w/ onion rings & slaw.

Lasagna w/ green beans

Guiso tacos w/ Spanish rice and beans.

Seared tuna salad.

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.

————————————————————————

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.