This weekend we will celebrate my passage into 52-year old manhood with a bris and….
What? I’m sorry…. they’re going to do what to my what?
Okay. Check that. We will instead observe that passage thingy I mentioned above by going out to dinner and then to see Avenue Q. In the meantime I feel that there comes a time when one must finally give up the ghost on few things and just move on.
I’m not going to get any taller. It’s just not going to happen.
I will never learn to whistle using my fingers. Apparently I have the wrong lip/teeth/finger configuration and I just can’t do it, which is sad because it is a talent I admire in others along with the ability to tie a cherry stem in a knot in their mouth using only their teeth and tongue.
I will never have hot sweaty sex with Jennifer Anniston. But a part of me, the uncontrollable special “man part”, is holding out for a 1% chance because, you never know…
I can’t throw a curve. My daughter can. I am only slightly bitter about this one.
I think that I have more unread books on hand than I will ever be able to read before I die. Blogging is not helping.
I have finally come to the realization that all of my high school girlfriends no longer look the same way that they looked thirty plus years ago. Neither do I, but I see proof of that every day. Many of them are grandmothers now. There is something about that that is deeply wrong.
I can’t make a yo-yo…um, yo. ..or whatever they call it when it goes up and down. I lack the yo-yo rhythm and timing gene.
I will never remember how to spell ‘rhythm’ without looking it up. It just looks wrong, along with ‘vacuum’.
I will never be able to play a musical instrument. I think this has something to do with my lack of coordination in my left hand. If for some reason I lost my right hand, I would starve to death.
How many baseball games do I have to go to before I finally get a foul ball? It’s not going to happen.
On a final note, on Monday the delicate and scrumdidliumptious mrs tbogg and I will celebrate twenty-four years of marriage; a marriage founded on love, respect, emotional fulfillment, and, as mrs tbogg refers to it, “doing it”, if you know what she means, and I think you do…
Oh, and here is your Friday Night Palate Clenaser