I think I’m having a mid-life crisis.
This is bad for a few reasons.
1: It implies that this is mid-life. At age almost-32, I’d have hoped for more than 64 years.
B: It doesn’t feel like I thought it would. Sure, it’s liberating as hell. I have freedom that I never thought imaginable and it’s just wonderful. But, at the same time, I’m finding it restrictive, constricting and a few other flavors of “strict” things. That was not at all expected. It’s not what I had hoped for and certainly not what I bargained for. It’s making me reconsider my decision. I just hope I can either just live with it or find a way to make up with those who I have hurt.
What did I do, you ask?
I changed from tidy whities to boxers.
Shit…what did you think?
Yup, folks…it’s another episode of “Let’s talk about NoGoodDaddy and his crotch”
So, the rash-thing is cleared up. There’s a little residual redness (and yes, I just whipped my dick out to check… (Fuckall, I’m in a hotel in North Wales, PA for Chrissake)) But it seems to be fading. The itching is thankfully gone.
So, last weekend, in an attempt to lessen the discomfort, I threw on a pair of silk boxers that JewelrySlut had bought for me a while back in an attempt to distract her from my heinous appearance as I put on my courting ritual. (Mostly, it includes dry-humping the bed and leering suggestively at her while saying things like “You know you want some of this”). See, I didn’t want Mr. Happy all held in place-like while he was itchy and creamed up. The boxers were good. My coakandballs were permitted to flop about freely. So, we went out and bought me a 6-pack of cheap-ass Hanes boxers.
I’m not entirely pleased. Sure, the freedom of having everything hanging out in the wide open is liberating, but I’m having leg issues.
Ever since my little knee incident, I’ve been exercising 5 days a week. Biking and weights have really strengthened my legs. While I don’t purport to have legs like a Dutch speed skater, I no longer have 2 columns of Jell-O supporting my frame. In a nutshell, my thighs are too big for the boxers. They’re too tight and tend to start bunching up towards my nuts. This is not at all comfortable. I guess I expected more of a loose drape from the shorts. Maybe I just need to buy the next size up. But, I wear 34-inch waistline pants and these things are 34-36-inch. But, they seem to be sewn with someone with chicken legs in mind. Maybe I need to buy the 36-38′s, but then they’ll fall off of my petite waist.
So, I’m soliciting advice from any boxers wearers out there in readerland. What should I do? Bigger size? Ditch the Hanes and go with another brand? I’m not sure I want to go back to the TW’s. I’d been having issues of late with them anyways. It was time for a change.
Now that you’re all blind…
I get to go home tomorrow. I’m booked on a 4:00 flight that I am giving a minimum 1-hour late guarantee. I’m hoping to get on an 11:15 but I’ll need to try to get on the standby list. As of now, there are 7 un-purchased seats on the flight. I like my chances of getting on the flight. Of course, the fucknuts at US Air want to charge me $25 to get on the standby list. Assholes. Still, it’s worth it to get home at 12:30 instead of God knows when.
We’re still not live in production here (the whole inspiration for this trip). The lawyers still can’t get a contract signed. And…time has a way of marching ahead, despite what the lawyers do. The next few 2 1/2 months should be a blast.
But, the week was not a total loss. I got to add another stadium to my list. I’m at 7 and counting, having added Citizen’s Bank Ballpark here in Philadelphia. Between my father and me, we’re at 9. We have a ways to go to hit them all. The game was a lot of fun. As I’ve mentioned, my cohort from RedVendor has a nephew on the Washington Nationals. We went to see him play 2 weeks ago against the Mets, and as luck would have it, the Nats were in town this week also. This time, he got us tickets in the family section. Sweet seats. Just to the 3rd base side of home plate in the section right behind the high-rollers in the club seats. It was also fun to play “Whose family is that?” as we looked at the people around us. I also dropped a foul ball. A ball was hit straight up the chute, right in our direction. Naturally, I misjudged it (harkening back to Little League) and I got turned around (back to the field). By the time I realized that the ball was not going to hit behind me and bounce my way, it was rocketing towards my head. I turned around too late and it hit the walkway right in front of us. The ushers who had been guarding the club seats all looked at me. “We got out of your way…what happened?” they asked. “If you knew me when I was 12, you’d have expected that” was my reply. Would have been cool to get a ball. I already have one from a Yankees game in 1989, but another would have been sweet.
I’d love to babble on about some damn thing or another, but I’ve done enough harm.