Friday, July 01, 2005
Jack Daniels, if you please
Today is my husband’s birthday. Ryan, or as I know him, Buddy. He’s 29, although according to our friends, he’s the old man of the group, and therefore is 204.
He’s the one that made my stomach swell to outrageous proportions (but he tells me he loves my roundness, how could I not love that?).
He’s the one who spent his entire school loan refund check to take me out drinking in the fall of 99, and subsequently forgot to pay his rent (we were WASTED. All the time).
He’s the one who proposed to me while I was still wasted.
Since I’ve sobered up, I’ve decided that I make really good decisions when drunk. You know, like having unprotected sex while on antibiotics.
He’s got a great sense of humor. Here he is, dressed up as a Butlerite, and I, as Satan. Two peas in a pod really, Butler and Satan.
And he looks damn fine in a tux.
He’s a musician. You don’t get much sexier than that.
Tonight we will be at camp and he’ll be drinking Jack Daniels, and I’ll be drinking caffeine free Coke and lemonade. I got him tickets to Ozzfest. We get to see Iron Maiden. My child is going to come out of my womb with long hair and an electric guitar, giving the metal salute.
As long as s/he is like her/his daddy, that will be fine with me.
I love you Buddy. Happy Birthday.