FULL HOUSE WITH A HOUSEFUL

A full house comes in a variety of forms.

But you knew that.

There’s cards, then there’s my houseful last night.

How full?

So full I couldn’t stay in my writer character.

It was so full there wasn’t room for moody, short tempered, or recluse-y behavior.

Try and get away and they find you. That’s what happens with the right group.

Did I try? Did I abandon the night with the best of excuses?

The writer excuse said in a Monty Python voice: “I must compose an essay, a blog post, a writing sample, and it can’t wait.”

That sounds like a flimsy excuse of a deadline for all writers.

I’m much more flexible since I get up early and put in the time on the keyboard.

If you ever hear writers complaining about no time to write, listen to them.

They’re not asking for advice, just a friendly ear to bend.

The more they say, the more you think, ‘I wish they’d write it out.’

They probably will. The next thought? ‘Will anyone see it?’

 

Full House Blog Here

Hobby bloggers like me have a different priority.

 

The number one, #1, at the top of any priority list, is learning how to get along well with others.

I know, it sounds simple, and you’re thinking, ‘I’m wasting more time on some loser baby boomer blog telling me what I already know.’

Did you know that boomers are the most ‘get along’ people you’ll ever meet?

 

Getting along is important why? It takes the pressure of propriety off the table.

Spending an evening with a group isn’t yet another opportunity to draw lines in the sand, wait for anyone to cross, then shit-talk them for being who they are.

If that’s you, you’re crossing the line pal.

Readers here know what they’re getting.

Instead of pop-up reminders to join boomerpdx, or product placement admissions for residual pay, they get one guy.

No ivory tower, no private school, no regrets is the theme.

However, if you are an ivory tower, private schooled, bundle of regret and anxiety, stick around.

I roll with an open therapy invitation.

 

Queens Of The Night

New parents are always amazed how their baby changes so fast.

From new-born swaddling to infant is a huge change.

But even bigger? The moms and dads who weren’t parents changing into the best version of themselves.

If your baby boomer acquaintances crawl into a self-righteous hole of indignation and outrage at modern life and millennial disdain, knock it off.

National media tells one story and dipshits on the other side of bad parenting get all amped up, like they’re not the problem.

“But we gave them everything.”

Okay, boomer. Play your cards right.

 

Take another look around and find something to embrace.

If it’s your kids and their partners and little shits, you’re doing it right.

Call me soft, but one of the sweetest things I’ve seen is a three year old making a blanket nest on the couch to hold their baby cousin.

To make it an official nest they added an alabaster egg that I found this morning after looking everywhere else.

Someone found it. My wife found it. (Hey honey.)

 

When I see a group, any group, I look for the leaders.

What are they all about?

In the full house I saw leaders everywhere.

It felt like an unreal moment in time frozen by the theme song I’ve played on repeat the last two hours with plans for more:

 

And we’ll never be royals (royals)
It don’t run in our blood
That kind of luxe just ain’t for us
We crave a different kind of buzz
Let me be your ruler (ruler)
You can call me Queen Bee
And baby I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule, I’ll rule
Let me live that fantasy

But every song’s like gold teeth, Grey Goose, trippin’ in the bathroom
Bloodstains, ball gowns, trashin’ the hotel room
We don’t care, we’re driving Cadillacs in our dreams
But everybody’s like Cristal, Maybach, diamonds on your timepiece
Jet planes, islands, tigers on a gold leash
We don’t care, we aren’t caught up in your love affair

 

Kids: Look, dad knows a Lorde song.

Who’s up to date now? Huh?

Sing along time?