Salami Salami Baloney.

I know, I know. It's been a long time since I updated, and with just cause, which I'll go into further down this entry, and although it's no excuse, I'm sticking to it. That was about 38 too many comma's in the past sentence. Anyways, on to the meat of the entry.

I was seriously considering shutting down the blog a few weeks ago. You see, I started it back in Oct of '05 with a clear reason of why I did it. As I've stated a few times before, blogging is (was) therapy for me. I started it up after the marriage thing took a shit all over my life. Well, as much as that chapter of my life has been done for a long time now, after a long wait, it was to be officially done as well. You see, I was to be getting a document to sign and officially call it done. I was actually giddy when I heard it was coming. I was like a kid on Xmas morning running around, smiling at the world, and anxious to see the birth of every new minute. This is what I was waiting for. I was going to write the next entry with the monumental finalization, but like everything else with my (pseudo) marriage, nothing is working out as expected. Oh, don't get me wrong, I am anxiously holding that pen, waiting to sign (once I make sure there is nothing shady written in-between the lines) off on it and call it good, but alas, it has still not shown up. Big surprise there...A delay where my ex-wife is concerned? Never.

Shut up Bitterman.

Newtie desperately wanted me to write down some of the nightmarish (albeit incredibly funny) aspects of my marriage, but I don't think that is going to be put down on proverbial paper just yet, but I will share with you all a couple of things.

There are a million reasons to get into a relationship/married/fuck-buddies, but I have noticed there isn't really a good list of reasons not to get into one. Don't misconstrue this, I think a good relationship is a wonderful thing, but it isn't really the end-all be-all of existence. Lets put it this way, I don't spend my evenings listening to queen and wondering why nobody loves me, but if opportunity was to arise, I may take it, maybe, possibly...

Phuck it, I really wasn't going anywhere useful with that last paragraph. Here are some things I will never have to do again now that I am (almost) no longer married.

I will never have to go to a Golden Corral as long as I live. Forever, double stamped, no erasies. There was a strange addiction to this place that I had to deal with during the dark ages. First off, I am not big on buffets. If I'm paying for my food, it better be served to me damnit, but factor in buffet, plus discount meat, and trailer park heaven, you gots a recipe for a meltdown of biblical proportions. There is nothing better that asking the guy with the runny nose to cut you off a slab of grey roast while the kid with pink eye is rubbing up against you trying to see that you are not getting the end piece. You'd swear that everyone in this place was related and at their families christmas dinner the way they were acting. Table manners? Gone. Polite public voices? Gone. Any hope of future civilization? Gone. If you look in the corners of restaurant you can see the scuttling cockroaches running toward the dawn of a new era. I swear, if you were to nuke all the Golden Corral's at peak business time you could see the average IQ jump up by 40 points.

I'm going where? When did I agree to this? 'Nuff said.

What do you mean I have to come home from work because there is someone at the door? Answer the frigging thing FFS!!!

I'm not making this shit up kids...

I love having to go out just when I'm starting to get into the mood to fall asleep to buy cat treats. Yup, you read that correctly, cat treats. There is nothing better than just getting into that relaxed state and finding out you have to go out, let alone for stupid funking cat treats. Hell, I'll go out to grab coffee, snacks, even flowers on occasion completely sporadically and at obscene times, but not for a fucking cat. It wouldn't even be that bad if it was once or twice, but how about a weekly occurrence. Even if you are so lazy you won't go out through the day to get them while I'm at work, just ask me to get them on the way home...End of problem. Of course, I did agree to it, so what does that say about me? Fucking cat treats.

I will never, ever spend more than five minutes in a shoe store again. As long I shall live. Amen. I lost a large part of my soul listening to some salesman blather on about the quality of this type of shoe compared to another. And you know what? Once you've looked at three pairs of shoes, they all look the same, because, like the majority of most males, we really don't give a shit about shoes. Just let me go and look at the video games next door. No, I don't care what shoes you get. Truly, I don't care, and my opinion is so jaded at this point by Franz over there that I'm not even seeing the shoes anymore. I'm already playing Half-life2 or mind fucking that sales woman over there, just so I don't have to look at anymore shoes. Buy the lime-green ones with pink bows on them. I don't care. My shoe selection is Converse. Chuck Taylors. Done. The most thought that goes into it is which color do I want with this pair.

Now, you maybe thinking of how much of a bitter dick I am at this point...And you might be partially correct, but at least I'm happy most of the time, and if this is the stuff I would share, you can only imagine what I didn't write down.

Hereafter anytime I refer to the ex-wife she shall be known as "The Unpleasantress". I can't even take credit for that one. A friend came up with that. Absolutely no prompting on my part either, but I like it so I'm marking the occasion with it.

Here's to hoping I get the papers to sign before this gets out...