Going through all of one’s possessions, in an effort to figure out what is truly needed for survival and what is extraneous, is rarely easy if actual survival isn’t necessarily at stake.
Sure, there are times that I miss WifeToBe so badly that I’m positive I’m going to DIE, but it’s still hard to argue that my twin-turbo, 43-foot, slotcar track will ensure this survival.
When I look at it, selling everything I own isn’t that big of a deal, so for any of you in the Denver Metro Area, keep an eye out for a Big Sale! at Casa de JuddHole. Plenty of wooden Hawaiian Fertility Gods, complete with spring-attached-as-big-as-his-goddam-body Penis, and 6-foot diameter Sombreros (It says “Fiesta!” on it… That means “Party” I think… or “nap” I forget) to be had for the right buyer.
You too could own the complete works of the 1896-series of “Theatre on the Prairie” or the “Introduction to Physical Anthropology.”
Christ, how did I get so much of this fucking crap?
The house is the big-ticket item and it’s sale, combined with my Migration Application, is the clincher for officially making me an Australian. This 3-bedroom, 2-bathroom, 1375-sq-foot, ALBATROSS has been on the market for 7 goddam months, and I’m getting a bit bitter.
I finally pulled out all the stops, I caved in to something I never thought I’d do. For as superstitious as I am, I’m not religious, but it was time. Something had to be done.
I went Catholic.
The legend of St. Joseph, and his house-selling abilities, is something I’d never heard of, nor thought I’d buy into, but I got me a 6-inch version of that Carpentering, Son-of-God Fathering, Keeping-her-a-virgin-even-after-marrying, dude and I planted him in my yard, upside-down and facing the intended Sale Property.
I had to fight the urge to vomit a little when I crossed myself and stamped down the last bit of turf over the little wooden icon, but I Believe baby. OH, I believe!
I have to, he’s my last goddam hope.
It’s not looking like all of this is going to be taken care of by June, but I could stand it no longer, and booked a ticket back to my Love and the land of Oz anyway. I maxed out the remaining room on my last goddam credit card and put in for the time off from work.
Since it isn’t The Move, I figured I didn’t need to really tell anybody but my bosses and provide them the proper paperwork with the printed explanation for my trip as, “Trip to visit wife.”
BossGuy typically has a fairly warped sense of humor, and enjoys nothing less than calling me into his office under the auspices that my job is on the line only to tell me that we’re doing Happy Hour at the biker bar up the road.
I’m always prepared for this, but when my Time Off Request Form came back to me with 3-inch red letters reading, “DENIED, see attached” I’ll admit I was concerned.
Until I flipped the page and found this, with the caption, “I don’t want you leaving your One TRUE Love…”
Which he oh-so-creatively fashioned out of this picture I’d so proudly shared with him.
That fucker is soooooo gonna miss me.
VPGuy dropped by my cube, no doubt drawn in by my repeated swearing and shouts of “EVIL! He’s fucking evil!” and asked me if that was a picture of me and WifeToBe.
When I was done involuntarily shuddering and spitting, I showed him the actual picture and told him that I’ll be coming back around in December with her in tow, after she’s no longer “WifeToBe” and instead “Wife.”
“You’re gonna love ‘er, dude, she’s amazing.”
“Yeah? Well, she damn well better be,” replying bitterly, “She know that most of us here wanna punch her in the head?”
That fucker’s gonna miss me too. I can feel the love.
Pops just emailed me a picture from our glorious day on Uncle B’s boat. I could preface this with the fact that I caught 3 times as many fish as anybody else and their bitterness is clearly displayed in the ONE photograph they chose to share, but I don’t have to. I know you guys trust me.
I know he looks small, but that rare breed of BiteJuddsNutsOff Shark would surely have grown into formidable size by the time I get back there and will undoubtedly take another unplanned swim off the boat.
I warned him not to fuck with me as I pulled the barbless hook out of his mouth and I barely cried like a bitch when his ungrateful ass still bit my finger anyway.
Next time I’m in Tejas, I’m planning on making friends with the Apache Pilots just in case I need an airstrike called in before my nuts get bitten off.