ocho cumpleanos.

today is harvest's actual birthday.
eight years of fatherhood.
in a row.
i still remember cryin' like a beat-up schoolkid,
blubberin' away with happiness,
at the little, perfect, wet, pink raisin i was holdin' in my arms.
i'm still as happy as ever about little lightnin'-strikin' ladygirls,
i'm just not that into cryin' anymore.
anyway-
we'll be gettin' it together tonight,
after already spending sunday,
and monday (in a school-skippin' big fun day kinda way).
nothing compares to being around those kids, ya'll.
it almost makes being in ct. not the turbo-gayest thing ever.
almost.

the air smells like a thousand-year old log of poop up here.
add in the stripmalls and suburban sprawl,
the urbanized suburbs and the hipster-laden cities,
and all you even need to know about watered-down waterbabies flows downhill,
like nutmeg-state shaped turds.
connecticut spurts sick spouts of weak sauce, ya'll.
if you live here, you should think about moving.
c'mon.
still,
it's good to be around people who at least marginally enjoy our company.
today, my homeboy mitch is hanging out in flippin' full-effect;
it should be excellent.
we haven't hung out in well over a year, maybe even two.....
remedied, that situation is about to be...

time is short,
the story, however, is long.
be ready, my ninjas,
because an epic update is scheduled when the woodsly goodness welcomes us home.

until then,
i'm gripin', complainin', kickin' and fire-spittin',
and hurling hard-hearted hate.
making the best of it is for effervescent infants in little baby nancypants,
we stew in barbarian brew, ya'll:
never quiet, never soft...