About halfway through the day it occurred to me that I was sick. Which, for the past three years, has become a rare event. I was violently ill last Christmas Day and missed the holiday lying in bed puking. Don’t feel bad for me. I still received all the gifts. Wouldn’t that be awful if my parents had returned my presents because I wasn’t downstairs opening them with family? Even at thirty-six I would have been devastated. Do that to an eight-year old and you’ll create a future sociopath.

The bummer about realizing I was sick earlier today is that I still had a ten mile bike ride home. I piped in some psychedelic tunes and floated along the lakefront path. Still drenched with sweat as usual, I enjoyed being non-present as my body pedaled home. In my mind I was in the lotus position taking rips off a group hookah with The Beatles from 1967.

It should be noted that I can’t even touch my toes, much less achieve nirvana through yoga poses. Also, I don’t use drugs or ever drink. I’m boring.

Once home I went to the couch and did a little of nothing for two hours. It was 8pm. Too early to fall asleep for the night? Not for this guy. In bed I’ve been for the past five hours.

To answer the initial question – I’m up because I’ve committed to write each day. I will be returning to sleep momentarily.

The best part of being divorced is the re-realization that I’m the most important person in the universe. Some may tell you it’s the opportunity to fall in love with someone new. And that’s okay, I guess. My girlfriend Jessica is a real peach. She lives in Georgia, by the way, and I wanted to try out that expression.

But when you live with someone, married or not, you cannot always pass out at 8pm. The other person might drag you to a non-refundable French cooking class. Maybe it’s your turn to do the laundry. Or it’s date night and your turn to drive to Applebees.

And what if you have children? Well, if you’re married and your spouse is a member of the human race (Are humans a race? I’m pretty sure that’s not right.) you dump the children on her/him. “Hey, if those monsters make even a peep I will storm out and tell them Santa Claus died in a fire today.” Then, your spouse or partner takes care of the kids and you pass out with a chestful of Vicks Vapor Rub.

But what if you’re a single parent? You can’t just go to sleep when sick. Those kids need to get fed and stuff. You might have to change diapers (gross) or help them with their geometry homework (gross). Plus, lunches and laundry for tomorrow can’t be pushed. In short – you’re screwed.  Oh, and your ex-partner is probably a shithead and you have deal with their nonsense daily.

To sum up – I was able to sleep in my own filth this evening because I didn’t feel well. My cat and dog, the only other beings in the home, were thrilled to join me. I’ll wake up tomorrow morning, and while the condo will be messy, nobody will see it. And, as a result, I’ll be better by tomorrow evening. I pumped in ten hours of rest, and I’ll probably do the same tomorrow.

No chance a single parent can do this. So, they won’t recover as fast because they’ll have to go to a soccer game and cheer on their little one. Or take the Brownie troop on a tour of the Playtex factory (I have no idea what Brownie troops do).

Single moms and dads, I am sad you are no longer the center of the universe. May you find a handsome benefactor who will whisk the children away to a palatial estate whenever you are sick. Hey, those rich people have to date someone – go to the yacht club and skank it up until you catch someone’s eye with a III at the end of their name.

I have a III at the end of my name, but my estate is 1250 square feet with a few hardwood boards that have been ruined with cat pee. Find another III.

photo credit: Great Beyond via photopin cc

Due to his “condition,” Micah was sent on an extended visit to his grandparents’ in Palatka, Florida. And if there’s one thing worse than chlamydia, it’s Florida.

If you haven’t seen the movie, please do.  One of the funniest films in years.

If you listen to Adam Carolla’s podcast he routinely has a feature called “Germany or Florida.”  They pick some insane and depraved story (often somebody on drugs killing livestock, making love to livestock, or battering livestock) and the crew has to guess whether it happened in Germany or Florida.

Florida, as a whole, sucks.  We’re all on the same page about this one.  Yes, there are nice pockets.  I happened to be in one this past weekend.

Visiting my girlfriend’s extended family in Inverness, Florida – a six hour drive from Atlanta.  When we got down to south Georgia and eventually northern Florida, all of a sudden the signage changed.  Gone were the Georgia peaches and pecan rolls, and up were roadside orange stands, and billboards about homosexuality and abortion (they are  against both, by the way).

Inverness is a smallish town about an hour outside of Tampa and a hundred miles from Orlando.  Each home seems to sit on a dozen or more acres, and Spanish Moss grows down each canopy oak tree that populate the yards.  The accents are thick, but the people are nice.  There are a lot of boaters, hunters, and for some reason, recumbent bicyclists.  Also, 70% of the population is retired.  It’s an odd mix of people and you want so badly to dismiss them as rednecks, but they’re kind of not.

I was shooting pool with a 13 year old cousin, and he answered every question I posed with a “Yes, sir,” or “No, sir.”  I was so impressed I told his mother that he was the most polite boy I had ever met.  I’m definitely teaching my children (once I accidentally have some), that they’re going to do that yes-sir crap.  It’s so cute.

I will say this – teeth.  Lots of bad teeth in Florida.  But hey, there’s a lot of shit-awful teeth in the UK, too, and those people have better television programming than us.

I did hear a lot of stories that began with, “Did you hear about what happened to so and so?”  Those stories never concluded with a VP position at Xerox.  But I didn’t meet any of those people.

So, I’m revamping my sweeping generalization about Florida being a wasteland of idiocy.  Nice people there, and I’d go back.  I mean, I’d visit 100 other places in the U.S. first, but, you know, eventually.

Even though Evite has been around for well over 10 years, I still get extremely excited when an email hits my inbox inviting me to something.   Even if it’s a one-year old’s birthday party and I have to comb through the parents’ Facebook page to try to figure out their son’s name.

And this year, I actually received a paper invitation to my friend David and Ryan’s Halloween party.   I think I welled up opening the mini envelope.

I recently saw a statistic that said the average American only receives one handwritten note every seven months.   And it’s usually from your dentist reminding you of next Tuesday’s cleaning.

By the way, quick tip: Take your dental floss in the shower.   This way you can shampoo, soap, condition, brush your teeth, and floss all in the same session!   (Urinating is optional)

Brett, one of my closest friends, invited me to his home in the suburbs last night for a guys’ evening of playing poker.   Truth be told, I only know about these card nights from scenes in movies.   Guys wearing visors, smoking cigars, drinking beers, sitting around those octagonal tables and complaining about their spouses.   Oh, and everyone’s supposed to be super fat.   And old.

My issue with poker and card games in general is that one of the more popular strategies is to “bluff.”   Which basically means “lie to your friends.”

I know this is going to sound strange, but I just can’t bluff.   I see it as doing something dishonest and bad.   Plus, I don’t really care about winning.   I’m only putting in $20.   Whether I walk away with nothing or $100, my life doesn’t change.

But when you don’t bluff, you can only really play the good hands.   And since that only happens every now and then, it’s sort of boring to keep folding.

I did have fun, and Brett’s friends were extremely nice and polite.   And, even though I had to have explained to me how to play all the games, like Texas Hold ‘Em, Screw Your Neighbor, Midnight Baseball, and Georgia Swallows, I still had a great time.

I made up Georgia Swallows.   But I did know a girl named “Georgia.”   Never mind.

But the true highlight of the evening was a gigantic hamster-wheel ball that Brett had for his son, Jack.   I believe I was the first adult to get inside.   I just had to.   You understand.

Bottom line : Invite me to more stuff.   I hang out with my dog and cat way too much.   Seriously.