my wife's husband

We are seven days into 2012 and I’m finally getting around to wishing the following for you:

May all your decisions be delayed without consequence and may they result in good beyond your sweetest expectations.

May you dream.

May you smile knowingly less often than you smile without knowing.

May you greet each stranger as though no one has hurt you.

May your resolutions to improve fail while your resolution to do good prevails.

May you fall in love again with the most benign and forgotten of your childhood revelries.

May your days be filled with bright sunshine and may your nights be filled with dance and song. And may you sing.

May you explore where previously you feared exploring.

May you live how you like and may those who draw near to you be blessed by you while those who seek to confound you are confounded by you.

May you outlive the Mayan calendar.

May you remember what matters.

May you forget what does not matter.

May you vacillate, obfuscate, enumerate, and just generally make things more interesting and/or trying for the rest of us.

May you drink wine, port, sherry, beer, whisk(e)y, vodka, rum, tequila (oh, yes! tequila!), gin (yuck! - says the wife), and moonshine (and all the drinks I’m neglecting to mention) to your soul’s content but not at your heart’s, mind’s, or liver’s expense.

May you enunciate, even after drinking wine, port, etcetera, etcetera.

May you cherish whatever, whatever that means.

May you discover.

May you be discovered.

May you bury, marry, or harry – whatever’s appropriate whenever.

May you divorce yourself from what’s rotten and rotting.

May you be generous and may you be thankful, in equal proportions and in miraculous abundance.

May you do what you will do so long as it is right and good and born of love.

May you learn love if you do not yet know it.

May you learn love again if you knew it once.

May you live in love this year, the next, and all the years you may have after.

May you know and remember: It is never love that fails. It is we who fail love.

May you fail to fail love this year, the next, and all the years you may have after.

I hate WYSIWYGs.

Somebody has a case of the Mondays.

What sort of people start making edits to site files, fully aware that another programming team they hired is already working on these files, without even notifying said team and then complains about how said team overwrote code it didn’t know existed?

And why, on a day like that, does a site for a Los Angeles sandals shop get hacked?

And why does this all happen on a day that was supposed to be entirely dedicated to wrapping up a beast of a project that’s been plaguing me for weeks?

Half a shot (all that was left of our bottle of tequila) mixed in a glass of diet soda. Not surprisingly, this greatly improves the taste of the soda. But it does nothing to bring about the buzz my Monday warrants.

Joan Jett, dish-washing, freelance project proposal writing, online banking, and beating my high scores on Angry Birds for the third time, here I come.

Fire is the analog alternative to heaters.

Google Fail

I love my brother.

His poop used to be green (I’m 10 years older, so it’s not weird that I know that).

He once told his preschool teachers that my mother made him eat ants for dinner. That wasn’t true. Her meatloaf was kind of gross sometimes, but that’s not as bad as being forced to eat ants. Especially since we always had dogs that would discreetly eat the food off our plates when Mom wasn’t looking. Travis was out of line.

He saved my life. He wasn’t there, materially speaking, but he saved my life all the same.

He’s the only man - besides myself and my father - I can comfortably call handsome. And he’s easily the handsomest of the three of us.

He calls me at least once a month, just to “see how my brother’s doing,” he says. He’s 18. I’m 28. He’s checking on me? Well, I can’t say I blame him. I do require lots of checking in on - but that’s what the wife is for.

He called me tonight. And it reminded me that I’m living for something more than yesterday, today, or tomorrow. So yeah, I love my brother. I guess you could have just read the first line and gotten all I had to write about from that alone. Sucks to be you.