I know how late I am. I know. But I just woke up. Last year’s pics and story have finally been posted at Beard Shaving 2012. After 9 years, it’s not really a story anymore. It’s the web equivalent of grunting at you from my recliner during Matlock commercial breaks.

The Quest For Every Beard Type

Three new styles were added to The Quest for Every Beard Type this year, bringing the total number of beards completed to 39 out of 43.

What? wasn’t it 42 beard styles last year?

Yea, okay, I added a style. I was going for a Napoleon III Imperial in 2012 and failed to check my own notes before photographing it. Only months later did I realize that it was incorrect. Because the mustache on it was too good to let slide, “English Mustache with Goatee” was added to the list. Napoleon III still taunts me from the horizon. Maybe this year.

As always, happy bearding!

On January 10, 2002, Dyers.org started with a simple Hello World. Since then, the site has landed my face on television, in a couple of newspapers, in an iPhone app, and all over the web. In web years, Dyers.org is wearing a white belt, white shoes, and should be packing up its polyester pants to drive the Caddy down to Florida.

How Long Ago Is 10 Years In the WebSphere?

Dyers.org started up on MindSpring account when the fastest connection a geek could hope for was 1.5 megabit DSL. It ran on the Blogger platform before Blogger was eaten by Google. It predates American Idol, The Bachelor, and even the G4 Network. Back then, we were all talking about this new iPod thing that came out a couple of months before, which cost an unbelievable $399 for 5Gb of storage. We all thought we should’ve invented it, and we might’ve if we weren’t so busy playing Grand Theft Auto III day and night on our PS2s. Owners of the brand new Xbox console might’ve had a better chance if they weren’t so wrapped up with Halo.

Tweeting was 4 years away, and Tumblr and StumbleUpon were counting their anniversaries in months. No one was using LinkedIn, MySpace, or even Friendster because they hadn’t been thought of. Hell, Mark Zuckerberg was still a couple of years away from coming up with the Harvard-only web app he called “TheFacebook.”

Without vast virtual social networks in which to envelop themselves, nerds either sat home watching The X-Files and drooling about the possible release of Warcraft III, or they started blogs and blathered on and on about nothing.

And I stood there with a bunch of other nerds (wearing onions on our belts, which was the style at the time) and said, “people want to know what we eat for breakfast. We know they do.” Those other nerds became successful pro-bloggers, or hit the delete key when they realized that blogging was for teenage girls.

Despite being the wrong gender and age, I had an astounding 30 readers that I felt compelled to entertain. I kept blogging. It seemed like a good idea at the time.

What followed were years of meandering introspective blather, a couple of years of earnest pro-blogging, and 3 years of Life of Riley posts about what it’s like to quit your job and end up a stay at home dad.

And there were beards. Lots and lots of beards.

And by publishing every time I thought, “If I publish this, I’m going to look really stupid,” the original 30 expanded into a horde of really unique and interesting people. And although I don’t give you much of a reason to visit anymore, what with all the tweeting, and the texting, and the Facebooking, I know you’re still out there somewhere and I hope you’re doing well.

A Few Things I’ve Learned In A Decade Of Blogging

• The web loves lists.
• If Mother Theresa had a blog, someone out there would send her hate mail. You’re not Mother Theresa. You’ll get worse.
• You can say 2+2=4 and someone is going to call you a conspiracy theorist who has been bought by the mainstream media.
• Most of what you hope will do well won’t, and you will shake your head at what succeeds.
• Proper tagging and promotion can more than make up for bad writing and lack of content.
• Over time, blogging will turn you into a writer with no time to actually write.
• Beware of bloggers who blog about blogging. There is a good chance that they are salesmen selling sales seminars.
• Deadlines are more important than perfection because writing is never done perfect.
• Write short, scannable text.
• The web is fickle.
• Give before you ask.
• There are secret cabals of savvy folks out there who cross promote articles for each other to drive traffic. They sometimes work.
• Blogging means that you will never be able to tell a story without someone cutting you off and saying that they read it already.
• People you’ve never met will feel like they know you, but most of the time you’ll wonder if anyone’s really out there.
• Stats can be exciting, but they really don’t matter.
• You need to promote your posts, but promoting your own posts rarely works.
• Your blog can get you in the paper and on TV. But, then what?
• You can have your face circle the web for years and no one will recognize you on the street.
• Whatever you publish in anger will be embarrassing in a couple of years.
• You can be a big beard freak at the top of Google stats and there will be people will still want to hire you.
• If your blog is not a labor of love, you’re going to have a hard time defining its success.

Going Forward

Now that the site is in its golden years, it’s sluggish and lazy, sleeping in a recliner covered in Cheetos. It occasionally snores itself awake long enough to drop something funny or facial hair related before drifting off again…which reminds me of a funny story about your Aunt Bernie. Or was it Phyl? No, no. That’s right, it was your Uncle Bob’s cousin, Linda. The one with the limp.

Hey, did you ever get that finger looked at when you went to the doctor’s last time? Because I got this stuff down at the drugstore that works wonders on… What? Oh, right.

Anyway.

Bob’s cousin Linda, you’re going to love this, falls into…Oh, jeepers Christmas, now I’m late for bingo. Listen, just stay here and I’ll tell the story when I get back. There’s shortbread in the cupboard, and tea in the…hey, can you program a VCR? The clock on there keeps flash…what do you mean “what’s a VCR?” The thing you tape Matlock with. What’s taping? Oh, for cry eye. Listen, I gotta go. I don’t have time to explain what VCRs, VAX clusters, or a 56k modem are. Huh? My pants? why they’re right on my…aw fudge.

As always, thanks for stopping by.

-Jon

Once again the MaBeGroMo basic period has come and gone. For those of you that made it:

Congratulations!

By this point, your beard has not only shored up that weak chin of yours, but it has probably become your most trusted adviser. Well, consult him now, because a decision is at hand: Do you take a picture of your new macho look and head back to the civilized world, or do you look at the horizon toward the “MaBeGroMo Champion” title?

The extended MaBeGroMo challenge closes on February 14th. Not only will your protected jowls thank you when Old Man Winter throws piles of snow at you over the next few months, but you’ll also earn the title of “MaBeGroMo Champion”. And in this economy, anything that can add an extra line to your resume and keep you from wearing a ski mask can’t be all that bad.

If this is the end of the line for you, thanks for joining in and we’ll see you next winter. If you’re continuing on, we’ll send a search party out for you in six weeks.

Good luck everyone. Thanks for participating, and happy bearding.

More information about beards can be found on my beard page.

What started as a small story to amuse #1GF! and my coworkers, has grown into The Quest for Every Beard Type. And it’s been going on for eight years now.

Eight years.

Well, the gents and I have started in on MaBeGroMo, so the 2011 beard reaping is done for another year. This year’s pics and story are posted in Beard Shaving 2011.

The Quest For Every Beard Type

Three new styles were added to The Quest for Every Beard Type this year, bringing the total number of beards completed to 36 out of 42. And if beards were money, you would’ve earned a tidy 7% profit with no initial investment. You can thank me later.

As always, happy bearding!

The sixth annual MaBeGroMo starts today.

Thirty days of razorlessness earns you a “participant” title, and those completing the full 75 day extended challenge may rightfully claim the title of “MaBeGroMo Champion.”

For more information, Check out last years MaBeGroMo Mini-FAQ, and we’ll see you on the hairier side of 30 days.

Happy bearding!

So, I had a 4 minute LIVE TV interview on Good Day Sacramento this morning with Cody Stark and Amy Carabba. I flubbed a bit and there were a couple of factual errors, but it really didn’t go too badly.

The Mustache Master

I feel like I ran 6 miles.

My two year old stands in front of the kitchen cabinet holding the door open. She is known for making up names, and sounds as if she’s calling to someone…

#1Baby: Sweetiemo!

Me: What, honey?

#1Baby: Sweeeeetie Mo!

Me: [stop lunch prep, kill background thought process, start the advanced 2YO deciphering services.] What?

#1Baby: Sweeeeetie Mohhhhhhh!

Me: Sweetie Mo?

#1Baby: YEA!

Me: Honey, who is Sweetie Mo?

#1Baby: Sweeeeetie Mohhhhhhh Shaaaaaaaan!

Me: And this is why your mother shuts off the radio when she gets home.

We are under a week away from November Beard Club / No Shave November / Movember, and a mere 36 days away from Mabegromo. Isn’t it about time you and that razor of yours start saying your goodbyes?

Deep down, you know it is.

Roll A D6

This parody deals 2d6+3 damage against jocks, so I shall secret it away into my virtual bag of holding, me thinks.

#1GF! and now twenty month old #1Baby were in the kitchen. I had yet to get out of bed, so the radio wasn’t blasting out it’s steady stream of classic rock. #1Baby broke the silence.

#1Baby: Want to hear the news.

#1GF!: [raising an eyebrow] You want to hear the news?

#1Baby: Hear him. Hear the news.

#1GF!: [walking over to radio] You want to hear the news?

#1Baby: Hear him.

#1GF!: The news. On the radio.

#1Baby:The Nuuuuuge.

#1GF!: You want to hear The Nuge?

#1Baby: Hear him. Now.

#1GF!: I’m going to have a talk with your father when he gets up.

Two years ago, I wanted to do something more than the typical compilation of beard shaving pictures that I put out every year, so I sat down with Notepad and a camera phone to work out some ideas for a short film. Within a couple of hours, I had a script, twelve clips of camera phone video, and a sense that I didn’t have the talent to finish the remaining five minutes of film before I hit retirement age.

I called in a favor from Mike over at Burning Snowman, who took an exercise in talking to myself and turned it into a short film, which is now available for your viewing pleasure.

Man, I hate this part…

May I present to you: Beardophrenia: The Beard Film.

The 5th annual MaBeGroMo basic period may have ended on January 1st, but the few of you that stuck it out until February 14th, are now set to receive the MaBeGroMo Champion Award. If you are still proudly wearing your beard, you have now earned an entry-level award for excellence in bearding.

And, well, um, due to budget constraints, this post is doubling as your award this year.

Whether you pawn your award or continue on, just make sure you get some good pictures before the razor once again grazes your skin.

We’ll see you next year. Until then, happy bearding.

Before I had the The Quest for Every Beard Type, all my annual beard shaving pictures were posted into a loose, and often odd, story to amuse #1GF! and my co-workers.

With a mere three weeks left to go in the year, the seventh annual picture set has been posted. This year, the Mountain Man makes his annual trek into the city to take on Nu-Metal, the art world, and an internet-stealing wizard.

Check out Beard Shaving 2010 for the full story if you like your beards peppered with strange.

The Quest For Every Beard Type

Eleven styles were attempted and six were added to The Quest for Every Beard Type this year, bringing the total number of beards completed to 33 out of 42. The 2010 Handlebar picture replaced the 2007 picture, and the Fu Manchu, Mega Tusk, and star beard were just too odd to include.

Stow those razors, gents, for it’s time once again for the annual trek into beardedness.

The fifth annual MaBeGroMo starts today.

Thirty days of no-shave earns you a “participant” title, and those completing the full 75 day extended challenge may rightfully claim the title of “MaBeGroMo Champion.”

Original Rules as handed down in 2005

Rule 1: At some point between now and December 1, you take a “before” picture of yourself and put your razor away.
Rule 2: At some point after December 31, you take an “after” picture of yourself, and decide whether to reunite with your razor or renew your short-term contract with your newly found friend. You may then claim the title of “MaBeGroMo Member.”
Rule 3: If you make it to February 14, you have beaten the extended challenge and can rightfully claim the title of “MaBeGroMo Champion.”
Rule 4: If you make it past February 14, step out of the Home Depot, put down the deer carcass, and shower well before signing up for several internet “dating” services. This is just a suggestion.

I’m regularly asked for clarification about MaBeGroMo rules, so here is a quick FAQ.

MaBeGroMo Mini FAQ

How is MaBeGroMo pronounced?
Let’s start with how it is not pronounced. It is not:

• Mushy guano,
• Macaran-o,
• Magic bolo,
• Meaty Groin-o,
• Rabies, oh no,
• Merry snow ho,
• Nasty grope-o,
• Mister Roboto,
• Majordomo,
• Sonny Bono,
• Mako shark-o,
• Marco Polo,
• Mangy Rambo
• Roll a Rollo
• Han shot Greedo,
• Matlock Groan-o,
• Mecha Godzill-o,
• Bo’s Bolero,
• Mario Cuomo,
• Meet Dave Grohl-o,
• Mail order bride-o,
• Moby Grape-o,
• No pain in this dojo,
• Mug me, grandma, or
• “That damned beard month thing.”

Officially MaBeGroMo is pronounced “Mah-bee-grow-moe.” “Maybe Grow Moe” is also in use, and while not incorrect, it is not the preferred pronunciation.

Should the participant’s last shave occur on November 30 or December 1?
This has been one of the most frequently requested clarifications over the years even though a “last shave” requirement never appears in the original rules. Whether you’re arriving in from Movember, November Beard Club, or just want head start, MaBeGroMo has never had a day zero shave requirement. Head starts are not only within the rules, but encouraged.

How strict is the no shaving policy? Can I trim and shave as necessary?
Unfortunately, The MaBeGroMo Council of Elders no longer has the resources to enforce rules like it did in the golden age of beards, so responsibility for interpretation is left to the participant. For the first-time beardventurer, trimming and shaving are not recommended. Without the knowledge of how an individual’s beard grows, trimming and shaving can end up hindering more than helping. The council recommends that new beardventurers let their beards transpire naturally for at least thirty (30) days. On January 1st, you can do what you want with it. For seasoned bearders, you know what you’re doing, so do what you need to.

Is neck shaving allowed?
Because it’s understandable that a bearded face and a clean neck are somewhat more acceptable in the business world than a wild hobo beard, the neck has become an acceptable shave zone for all participants, if desired. For first time growers, the council recommends against neck shaving until the end of the MaBeGroMo basic period because a novice bearder has a distinct lack of knowledge regarding how their beards grow. New beardventurers who must shave their necks should take care not to shave too close to the jawline while the neck is stretched upward. Doing so will leave the participant with a beard that stops before the jawline, making them look like beard N00bs.

Face shaving is frowned upon, but I have this one stray hair on the top of my cheek. Can I cut that?
Rebellious hairs exist. Excise them as necessary.

What charity does MaBeGroMo benefit?
Charity events like Movember are worthwhile causes, but MaBeGroMo an individual event, benefiting no one but the participant (and the people they lug, haul, lift, chop, and squash things for using their new-found beard power).

Can I just grow a goatee / mustache / sideburns?
Sorry, Evil Spock / Hipster / Elvis Impersonator. Only full beard attempts qualify.

I have a question that wasn’t answered.
For other beard related questions, be sure to check The Beard FAQ.

Good luck. Hopefully, I’ll see the new, badass version of you in thirty days.

Happy bearding.

Occasionally a prank comes along that bypasses the need for English to appeal to an English speaking audience. This is one such prank. Even after seeing this multiple times, I still laugh.

Spoon Prank

Ah, the red shirts: the pawns of the Star Trek Universe. When three main characters and “Ensign Larry” beam down to the planet, you know who’s going to take the poisonous spikes to the face from the native plant, or the shot the chest from an angry laser-toting robot. I happen to be wearing a red shirt this morning. I should probably plan to just stay indoors after I finish cleaning all the sharks out of the mega-nitroglycerin grinder in cargo bay two.

Oh, shoot. Hey, if you’re reading this, could you come down and open the air lock door? If I don’t get the grinder cleaned before the captain gets back, I’m a dead man. Oh, and could you bring down the air lock timer manual? The damned thing is counting backwards…

Pwning The Pawns Of The Star Trek Universe

“During your weekly housecleaning you find and unfamiliar cell phone in the cushions of your couch—but can’t recall having had any recent visitors. It rings.”

That was the Writer’s Digest short story contest prompt that I tackled this month. I had to wait a full two weeks to experience the head shake that followed the manic clicks through the the semi-finalist list. Out of 670+ entries, I ended up in the bottom 666. It was statistically interesting, but not quite the professional validation I was looking for.

I read through all of the chosen entries to see what they had that I didn’t, and then spent a little time wondering if an electronic glitch had diverted my entry before it arrived, gleaming, in the Writer’s Digest inbox. That devolved into me staring out the window and contemplating what level of illegal it would be to naturally brine my computer. I eventually leaned back in my squeaky office chair, my fingers interlaced on my forehead as if trying to trap any remaining confidence from evaporating into the salty sea air.

I unlaced my fingers, scratched my hair more than I needed to, and went back to reread my contest entry. Of course, it wasn’t nearly as good as I remembered. I wanted to rearrange and tighten up a lot of what I thought was already arranged and tight, but working on it further felt like searching for the perfect rebuttal while lying in bed alone.

Below is my submission. Comments, suggestions, and cleverly combined swear words are welcome.

Can Darth Vader’s younger brother, Chad identify the various characters he meets on his recent reconnaissance mission to Dragon*Con? You bet your big, black life support helmet he can. Sort of. Mostly. In a way.

75 Costumes At Dragon Con With Chad Vader

(via Great White Snark)

Put your shields up if you want to, ladies, but you can’t stop this level of game. Resistance, as they say, is futile.

Hey, Baby…

I’ve been known to get a little worked up over Hollywood’s agenda of burying my favorite childhood memories under a mountain of re-released garbage, but my anger is a Bic lighter compared to the napalm that these guys drop. From movies to comics to games to tech, they burn just about every geek franchise out there in under six minutes.

Kids, imagine, if you will, a time when getting online consisted of dialing into a BBS with your 900 baud modem and leaving messages for the other dungeon masters. It was long before Facebook and YouTube, when meeting a potential mate meant hanging up your Cloak of Sarcasm and actually leaving the house.

Then along comes Video Mate. You break out your Beta max camera, make an audition tape that you think will make Chuck Woolery proud, and wait for the propositions to start rolling in. You have no idea that millions of people will see just how suave you are…a mere thirty years too late.

While waiting for #1GF! to get out the door this morning, I was sitting on the bed and singing to the baby. “Ear way in hay ee thay uney may. Ear way in hay ee thay uney may.”

#1GF! snapped out of her morning routine for a second. “Wait. What are you singing?”

I shrugged and repeated. “Ear way in hay ee thay uney may.”

#1GF! shook her head. “What is it? Did you make it up?”

It wasn’t an invalid question. It’s not entirely uncommon for me to make up songs. “No, I’m singing ‘We’re in the Money’.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s Pig Latin.”

“Oh. my. god. She knows a handful of words and you’re already branching out into Pig Latin? Is that a good idea?”

I shook my head. “It’s from this movie from 1933 called Gold Diggers. Ginger Rogers sings it.”

“So…you’re singing it in Pig Latin.”

“She did too.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Oh, yes she did.”

“In 1933.” #1GF! dipped her chin. “Riiight.”

“Really. It’s an old-school, big-production dance number until the camera gets right up in her face and she starts singing in Pig Latin. I’m telling you. It’s really weird.”

#1GF! shook her head. “How do you find these things?”

I mistakenly thought it was an actual question. “Well, during a writing break yesterday, I was looking for a little history on Esquivel, and Wikipedia called him the ‘The Busby Berkley of Cocktail Music.’ So, I was like, ‘Who the hell is Busby Bixby,’ and—”

#1GF! patted my chest. “Okay. I have to go.”

“You’ll see. I’m going to find the video for you.”

She kissed me as if she were patting my head. “Love you, gotta run.”

“It’s real,” I muttered as she walked down the hall.

Am I the only one who wishes this product had a jingle? Wuuuunder Boner.

Wunder Boner Commercial

If one Wunder Boner is never enough, then today is your lucky day because it looks as if the Wunder Boner patent (US Patent No. 6,095,913) is up for sale. For the right price, you could be producing Wunder Boners worldwide.

I’ll start working on the “Wunder Boner Wizard” T-shirt design while you check your savings account balance.

Only seeing your grandma do pelvic thrusts can begin to describe the mammoth level of cringe that this song will drive into some deep part of your brain. Even if you don’t listen the whole way through, you’ll still find yourself unwittingly humming the chorus at random points throughout your day.

You have been warned.

Barbara Moore – Nymphomaniac

I recently entered a 750 word short story contest where the submission had to start with “I never would’ve purchased this house if I’d known that…” and end with “That’s why tomorrow I’m setting it on fire.”

The story was written in 45 minutes, edited over a few days, and submitted to Writer’s Digest with a strange (but misplaced) sense of confidence. The story failed to make the top five, but I figured I’d post it here before I lose the original text file.

Comments, edits, and miraculously combined swear words are welcome.

Star Trek TNG Redubbed

“We’ll put on ‘Zeppelin and eat cheddar cheese.”

Sometimes, even the babysittings is metals.

Black Metal Babysitter

This is week 156 of The Life of Riley, a weekly post detailing my activities since I ended a thirteen year career as a corporate drone. These posts are usually long, personal, and geared more for my own memory than the reader’s entertainment.

Sunday (Day 1085): Buck & Nancy’s Nuclear Superhero Bike

I made #1GF! a hearty bacon and egg breakfast, and I somehow managed to drop—and break—a full, brand-new box of eggs onto the floor. I should’ve taken the inadvertent sacrifice of a dozen chickens as an omen for how the rest of the day was going to turn out.

We made it out of the house by noon, which seems to be the earliest we can get out of the house without firing up a time machine these days. I still had a list from the day before that I hadn’t managed to make a dent in, so I was granted control of the schedule to make me feel like I was getting something done.

My first stop on the tour? The warehouse food store: Because you never know when a foodpocalypse may strike and limit your access to important foodstuffs like ravioli or Cheerios. We got in the car and I prepared the trunk for an invasion of gargantuan bags and boxes.

On the way to the warehouse food store, I searched the glove box for a tire pressure gauge, and came out with some important letters that were supposed to be mailed two months ago. I blurted, “What the fuck?” before I could stop myself. #1GF!’s hand immediately covered her mouth, muffling her torrent of apologies. I closed my eyes and tried to relax. “You know,” I said, “this might not even be your fault. I could’ve stuck them in there and forgotten about them.”

#1GF! only glanced over at me.

“You know that it could easily have been me.”

“You don’t believe that,” #1GF! said while shaking her head.

“It’s totally possible,” I offered. “And we have no proof. All we have to do is accept the particular version of the past that creates the least conflict, and this problem never existed.” And if that smoothed things over, that’s the way I wanted it to go. I silently berated myself for the rest of the ride.

We filled our food warehouse carriage with enough oversized boxes to get us through the 2012 zombie apocalypse, and got out of there before I could buy any more thirty packs of things we didn’t need. We packed foodstuffs into the trunk to head to the home megastore right down the street. I was finally on the road to getting some things done.

“Hey do you want a water or an apple?” I asked #1GF!, while feeling momentarily clever for packing a cooler for all the thirty pound bags of frozen food.

“You brought apples?” said #1GF! as if apples were a rare commodity that were made from diamonds wrapped in mink.

“I sure did,” I said with a smug smirk. I opened the cooler and pulled out an apple and a water for #1GF!. I stuffed a bag of frozen pasta into the cooler, and realized that there was no way that the tiny goddamned cooler was going to stow the five army-sized bags of frozen food that I bought. That was just bad planning. Maybe if I took the baby’s bottles out, I could fit another one…hold on. I lifted the bag of pasta. Water. Apple. Ice. Water. Apple. Ice. No matter how many times I cataloged the cooler, a baby bottle never ended up on the final list. I had not only forgotten the baby’s bottle, but sabotaged going to the home megastore up the street because the baby was approaching feeding time and we had no food for her. Once again, I silently berated myself for the entire forty minute ride home.

This is week 155 of The Life of Riley, a weekly post detailing my activities since I ended a thirteen year career as a corporate drone. These posts are usually long, personal, and geared more for my own memory than the reader’s entertainment.

Sunday (Day 1078): Bacon Conquers All

#1GF! took the baby out for a walk, and for the second day in a row, I had an hour to eat my cereal and read a book. It was really good. When #1GF! got home, I made her breakfast.

#1GF! went out to see her mother from midday until late afternoon. I was stuck at home with the baby. Stuck is probably not the right word. I like the baby. But on the weekends, there’s a greedy part of me that wants to spend all the time I can hanging out with #1GF! or getting things done around the house. No matter what I wanted to do, I kept my mouth shut because it’s difficult to argue with someone when they’re doing the right thing.

By the time #1GF! got home, the day was shot, so I handed the baby care over to #1GF! and went out to the local home megastore to pick up an outlet that had stopped working. I came home and replaced the outlet in fifteen minutes. Somehow, it felt as if I accomplished something.

In an attempt to polish some of the tarnish off of the day, I decided to pursue my quest for the ultimate mac and cheese. Bacon-stuffed, homemade mac and cheese will temporarily put aside most problems that don’t involve blood loss. This time, the recipe included nutmeg and Gruyère cheese. It was as close to ultimate as I have made so far, although it needed something. What that mystery ingredient was still hovered outside of the realm of my abilities.

At night, I finished Creepers by David Morrell. The writing wasn’t descriptive enough to make me feel like I was in the middle of the action, but I really appreciated the way the book was intricately plotted out. I didn’t think that I could write a story like that, but it made me want to add more twists into any future books that I may find the time to write.

Monday (Day 1079): Like Lubed Bacon Wrapped In Butter

I headed for the dentist’s to have my only filling refilled, and wasn’t too psyched about it. It’s not that I’m afraid of dentists. I’ve had a root canal with no Novocaine, and come very close to falling asleep in the contoured comfort of dentist’s chairs fairly regularly. I wasn’t psyched because, in my mouth, cavities are little maintenance failures. I’ve had one in my life, and this was to repair a filling from the first. It was on the lighter side of failure, but it was still a failure.

This is week 154 of The Life of Riley, a weekly post detailing my activities since I ended a thirteen year career as a corporate drone. These posts are usually long, personal, and geared more for my own memory than the reader’s entertainment.

Sunday (Day 1071): #1GF!’s First Mother’s Day (Sort Of)

At 1 AM, I talked to #1GF!, who was still at the hospital with her mother. She encouraged me to go to bed because she wasn’t coming home anytime soon. Someone was going to have to be alert enough to take care of the baby in the morning. I set up the monitor and crawled onto #1GF!’s side of the bed because it’s the only place that the monitor could easily be plugged in. It was odd being on the wrong side of the bed. I wish I could say that it was comforting to be on #1GF!’s side of the bed while she was gone, but my oddly robotic underbelly isn’t quite built for sentimentally sniffing pillows. All I could think was that it would be more difficult to lunge at anyone who appeared in the bedroom doorway without an invitation.

I drifted off to sleep, and at 2:30 AM, signal interference from my phone caused the monitor to start buzzing wildly. I couldn’t risk shutting off the phone, so I turned down the monitor and fell back to sleep.

#1GF! came home an hour and a half later, and fumbled around in the dark only to find The Wolfman sleeping on her side of the bed. The Wolfman isn’t used to people wandering around the bedroom when he’s curled up, and it woke him up. For those counting, #1GF! was running on zero hours of sleep, and I was running on two broken hours.

The baby woke up at oh, 5 AM, which was the absolute balls. The best encore for three hours of broken sleep is to be dragged into consciousness by sounds of a hysterical infant. I got up to get the baby, and left #1GF! to catch up on whatever sleep she could.

#1GF! only slept for another hour. She got up and went back to the hospital to see her mother, and I stayed home and took care of the baby. It was just another day of baby care, which involved me chasing the baby around the house and telling her “no” whenever she tried to climb on/eat anything unsafe. In her attempt to scale every object in the house within her reach, she whacked her head with alarming regularity.

By the end of the day, I was exhausted and irritated about doing solo baby care on a Sunday. I wasn’t irritated at #1GF!, of course. I completely understood that #1GF! wasn’t out partying while I sat at home, so I did my best to bury the irritation and let it decay on its own.