fruited plains

Happy fourth of July my friends, hope you’re all enjoying your freedom.

My pre-flight baby nerves proved to be unfounded – Keaton was a model plane-baby, sleeping soundly in mom’s lap for half the flight, and dad’s lap for the other half. She did so good, in fact, that I decided to put some new pictures of her up on the interweb. You can check them out here. If, after seventeen weeks watching this baby in pictures, you’re not convinced she’s #1 cute, you need your head checked. My wiener totally made that.

Monday in Florida, Sharaun and I went out to lunch with Kyle and Andy: hot wings and beer. Then, I left Sharaun with the baby for an afternoon of darts and pool at the local brewpub with the gents. Now, I didn’t overindulge on the beer – four or five pints at the most; but, we did manage to go through about a pack and a half of cigarettes in four hours. That, my friends, destroyed me; absolutely destroyed me. Later that night, I was home with a crushing headache, loathing the fact that no amount of soap could wash the smoke smell off my fingertips. I wallowed in pain until the wee hours, not able to get to sleep for the pounding in my head and the churning in my belly. Stupid stupid cigarettes, how many times will I curse them before I swear them off forever? Forever!

Before I go, I wanted to leave you with this gorgeous picture of a large sticker I saw on the tailgate of a truck here. Only in Florida, my friends, only in Florida.

Love ya, goodnight.

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