Day 24 - Commitment

I made a commitment to myself 3 weeks ago to write this blog every day for the next 28 days. I don't know how news columnists do it.  I've missed 3 days at least.  Life has interfered with my schedule. Dad always said I was just like a turkey....".focused as hell until you see something shiney". He wasn't far off.

Living by myself, and writing this blog,  has allowed me to examine closer that relationship that we all must have with ourselves. My son, wise beyond his years, urged me to foster and cultivate a better relationship with myself - perhaps so I would quit pestering the shit out of him all the time.

In that direct effort, and in an effort to be completely honest with myself right from the start, I've written my own "profile" - as if I were dating me online.   Do me a favor and see if anything sticks out for you?  I don't want to scare me off.

Tony Rosario

6'1- ish

200 glorious lbs - slightly pudgy with real promise in that direction

Favorite Color - Green (cash)

Favorite Food - All

Favorite Movie - Hulu

Favorite Book - Curious George (the classics)

I'm notoriously lazy and I don't like making commitments.  Especially to myself.  I never hold up my end of the bargain.  I drag ass screwing around till the  very  last minute,  and then at the last minute - I stick me with all the work.

I lie to myself compulsively all the time too, about everything -  from money,  to "joining a gym",  to "how-far-I can-throw-a-bellhop".

 I get drunk and sleep in late way too often - and then lie to myself about where I was the night before - and who I went home with. The worst is when I promise myself a pony ride at the park, and  then don't . Those sad little bloodshot eyes in the mirror just tear my heart out.

Also,when I wake up in the morning, my breath smells like ass.

I wasn't always unreliable. Not till I got nailed right in the left eye with an ice-ball,  in kindergarten, by my truly beloved's  older brother Doug. - a strapping young lad already at the grand age of 8  - with an arm like a rocket and a dead aim. I've been dumb as a post  every since.

I've always been lippy too- always shootin' my mouth off over something that I don't know near enough about.. Just ask anyone who's ever known me........... "Ya gotta knock him out to get him to shut up"....."right between the eyes"???"  Nothing short of a coma ever seemed to work.

After years of smoking everything from Chesterfields to Chesters' fields, and after drinking gasoline on at least half-a-dozen occasions, I now possess a voice like a 2-octave dump truck.   My confused fingers often stumble like drunks - even when I'm not.

 I brush my teeth with a soup spoon,  run my hair with a rake, and  I only dress up when I have to - and even then it's sketchy. My water-pistols might be loaded - but my cowboy hat and my wallet are both generally empty from wall-to-wall.

I was indeed "born in a barn".

Finally;  I have no chest hair and no significant ambition - not a bit.

What I need to know from all of you is:  Should I continue to have a relationship with this person. - and is playing a wooden box with my feet really just a cry for help? Do ducks waddle backwards, and what are ya gonna do for big fun on this Friday evening?

If you're anywhere near Moab tonight, stop in at Woody's and I'll sing right at you.  In spite of my profile I believe you will find me in possession of at least one or two redeeming virtues.

"Peace Out"
"Don't take any wooden nickels"
Until Manyana

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