When I got to work today, there was a package in my in-box. I could tell it was a book, but that was no biggie. I am expecting a book that a publisher wants me to review, so I tossed it on my bookshelf, unopened.

So, about twenty minutes ago, (it's about 11 a.m. central as I write this) Rose Princess comes into my office to chat, notices the package and asks about it. I explain what it is and reach over to open it. I mean, it's as good a time as any, I suppose.

Inside the Fed-Ex envelope, there is a book ... but it's wrapped in gift wrapping paper ... a little strange coming from a publisher, but what the hell. There is also a hand-written note. I pull the note out and almost hit the floor.

Let me backtrack a bit. Last year I did a series of commentaries for the paper about 'Crosses on the Road'.

Shortly thereafter, a letter arrived from Alabama. The mother of a fallen Soldier told the story of his death and HIS cross on the side of the road. A follow up story was done, printing her letter (with her permission) and things just snowballed. A group of men from the Soldier's unit and some of the rescue workers that responded to the call contacted her. They comforted her and also went out to the cross and beautified the area ... new paint, mowing, planting new flowers ... these guys went all out. She had a bit of closure after that and wrote me another letter to thank me again.

Now ... this letter ... well, you read it ...

Dear Mr. Gunn,

We wanted to thank you again for your article on the crosses. It is coming up on the 7th anniversary of our son's passing. Because of your article, we will never have to worry about the condition of our son's cross or crash site. Thanks to (name withheld) and (name withheld) of the (Camp Swampy) Fire Department. They have taken it upon themselves to keep our son's memory alive. We have become very good friends since the article was written and met in person this past week.

We wanted to give you a token of our appreciation. Please accept this gift which has become a very special part of my life.

Again, thank you for writing the article. It always amazes me as we walk through life, the impact the small things we do can have on someone else's life. I'm sure that when you wrote the article you had no idea of the lives that would be touched and the friendships made.

Thank you,
A Soldier's Mom

This is the book they sent me:

Now you know I've been having some major swings the past couple of days. This really touched me. But what happened next freaked me out. I opened the book to todays date and this is what met me there ...

As moves my fragile boat across the storm-swept sea,
Great waves beat o'er her side, as north wind blows;
Deep in the darkness hid lie threat'ning rocks and reefs;
But all of these, and more, my Pilot knows.

Sometimes when darkness falls, and every light's gone out,
I wonder to what port my frail ship goes;
Although the night be long, and restless all my hours;
My distant goal, I'm sure, My Pilot knows.

A scan of the previous pages seemed to line up with exactly what I'm going through. Saturday ... the day I just wanted to die:

The flowers live by the tears that fall from the sad face of the skies;
And life would have no joys at all, were there no watery eyes.
Love the sorrow, for grief will bring It's own reward in later years;
The rainbow, see how fair a thing God has built up from tears.

And these are just examples, there is a lot more there that I won't subject you to, but trust me ... it's a little fucking spooky.

Now I just got done telling you part of my deal with God ... remember? The hate-hate relationship? This is a devotional book and you would expect to be able to read your situation into whatever lesson they are teaching that day ... still ... I just don't know how I feel about this, except a little freaked out.

I do want to say thank you to that Soldier's Mom. You touched me deeply today and gave me something to think about and I appreciate that. I'm proud that my words touched you and proud of the effect they have had on your life. It's an honor I'll carry with me the rest of my life.

Now can somebody please explain why the fuck I am so God-damned leaky these days!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

When I was a kid, all I wanted to be was an actor, I have acted in a dozen productions since then. Out of the dozen, I got the lead in about ten. A lot of them were musicals and so I had to sing as well.

Fortunately, I sing well.

Unfortunately, unless you look like Brad Pitt or Angelina Jolie, you don't get many offers off the street. Okay, that may be unfair ... I guess you have to want it enough to go for it, damn the cost.

I wanted to be an actor or singer my whole life. But that's not something that you can get a degree in and move on to bigger and better things. Truthfully? I was always a pussy. My dad told me that. Even though I was good and showed success in my ventures. I believed him.

I lived with my parents until about the age of 23 ... I think. I really don't remember. I had worked as a paper boy and a commissary bag-boy while I lived in Alaska. I earned and saved enough money to buy myself a Pugeaut racing bike. Sweetest little ten-speed you've ever seen in your life. *Sigh*

I've worked construction, opened a few restaurants -- been everything from dishwasher to head chef in fact. Stockboy, cashier ... I've pretty much done everything. What do they say? "Jack of all trades, master of none." Yep, that's your humble correspondent.

I met my wife and we dated for six years. She was with me, faithfully, through all kinds of shit during that time. I thought I was called to preach (yeah, hold your snickers and guffaws) but it turned out God was calling some other guy and I just overheard him.

Regardless, that mistake took up two years of my life. I would go out preaching and she'd be there with me. I formed a Christian band and took it on the road ... I was so busy doing God's work that I forgot to go to class and ended up getting kicked out of the bible college I was attending.

I ended up smoking dope and getting my ear pierced for the first time. When they called me in to give me the news that my presence would no longer be required on campus, my counselor ACTUALLY asked ... and I'll never forget this ... "So, Tommy. What's with the earring? You a homosexual?"

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I think that's what turned me off of God for good. That particular moment was the beginning of a hate-hate relationship that has lasted my whole life, but that's another tale.

So now I'm out of college, I have a fiancee that's been waiting for six years for me to get off my ass and marry her and I have no prospects. What's a guy to do? Join the Air Force of course.

:::TO BE CONTINUED:::

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 8:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

How the most mind-numbing, automatic chores can just wipe your brain like a squeegee. Is it wrong to say I love doing dishes by hand, laundry and cooking? I didn't think so, either.

Edit: I wanna tell you something you may not know, but probably might have gleaned in the past month. A while ago, I was diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and prescribed medication to help me out with that. I know, I know ... I hide it so well, whoda thunk it if I hadn't mentioned it? But hey, again, that's the way I roll. Pfffffft!

Oh, and one more thing ... thanks for listening. Love ya.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 5:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I got a call from the ex today. My sister in law is in and ...

wait ...

Lets back up a bit.

When my wife and I separated, she chose to put our business out to her whole family ... my mother-in-law and the four sisters. I don't know what she told them, but whatever it was, it put me in a very bad light. In fact, one of the sisters, who had been a good friend let it be known that if I came over for Christmas, I should be prepared to receive a LARGE piece of her mind. Needless to say, I stayed away. Who needs that kind of drama, especially Christmas day.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. My MIL was diagnosed as having had a series of small strokes at some time in the past. She also has a tumor in her brain. The good news is it looks to be benign, but there have been a number of doctors appointments, tests and other people to see while figuring out what is wrong with her and what treatment options should be pursued. Another SIL brought her kids and came to help. My kids were needed to babysit while the SIL took the MIL through the labyrinth of the health care system.

I never expected to see her, my SIL that is, but one day, my boys came in and said my nephew wanted to see me. I got to the door and my nephew jumped into my arms. I looked over at her and burst into tears. She hugged and comforted me and told me that everything would be alright. We talked. I cried through several apologies and "thank you's" and when she left, I knew that not ALL the sisters were lined up against me. I felt much better.

So ... today. I got two calls and a text from the ex wondering where I was. I called her back and she informed me that "comforting" SIL, hubby and kids were in and the boys and I were invited to the MIL's for supper. I was apprehensive, but after thinking about it for a while, agreed to go. I mean, after all, this SIL and my MIL have both reached out to me to let me know that they still loved me as a son- and brother-in-law and I was welcome in the family. I miss them. We were always close and I miss that closeness.

Long story short ... I had a good time. It was not uncomfortable or strained. It was good ... until she brought out the knife. No, not a real knife, but a knife in the form of a bunch of VHS-C tapes taken in the late 80's and early 90's. They consisted of family gatherings, mostly at Christmas. As I watched, my heart hurt. I saw my father-in-law for the first time since he died, the families were happy ... it was a different time, a time when everybody was happy and got along ... a time that I found myself longing for again.

I was still in the Air Force then and that obviously meant we were a lot poorer, but we certainly looked and acted a lot happier together. And I have to tell you, seeing my kids again when Ryan was just walking and Josh, the tallest one of the bunch even then, was heart wrenching. I found myself thinking back through the intervening years and counting the mistakes I've made raising them, and the mistakes were truly legion.

I wondered how things might have turned out differently had I been a more proactive parent ... more involved with them, what things might have been like today. Now, don't get me wrong. They live with me, they are healthy, happy and generally well mannered, responsible young men. They have never been in trouble with the law, experimented with drug that I know of (and as a long-time druggie, I would know) and we get along great. (In case you don't know, they are 17 and 19 years old) I found out tonight that they read my blog ... and actually think some of it is pretty funny. Color me impressed!

You know the feeling you get when you are more than halfway through something, and you know there's no way you can ever win? Like a chess game, for example ... you're less than halfway through the game and yet, you know your opponent has the game won already ... that it's only a matter of time until your king is toppled. What do you do? Do you concede or fight to the last piece? I know that when I am playing computer golf and I find myself six or eight strokes over par before I finish the front nine, I quit and start over.

What do you do when you feel that way about your life? Can you just quit? There's obviously no starting over, but if the game is lost ... what do you do? That's the way I feel these days ... game over ... tip the king and get off the board ... or hit the power button, roll up the controller and just walk away. I mean, really. Do you fight to the end? Even though you know the outcome already? What the fuck do you do?

Music has always been an important part of my life. It seems to go according to my mood, though. When I am on top of the mountain, it seems like every song I hear takes me even higher. When I'm at the bottom of the valley? Well ... you know.

We were driving home from the MIL's tonight and I was shuffling through the iPod when this song came on. I think it says it better than I ever could. It's "Fins" by Jimmy Buffet.

Can't you feel 'em circlin' honey?
Can't you feel 'em swimmin' around?
You got fins to the left, fins to the right,
and you're the only bait in town.
You got fins to the left, fins to the right,
and you're the only (guy) in town.

I know the song is about a girl in a bar, but I see them. The fins. They're circling closer and closer and I can see their teeth, sharp and dangerous.

I'm treading water.

I'm a pretty good swimmer ...

but my legs are getting heavy.

I'm really starting to get tired.

And I don't see Batman swooping in with a can of bat-anti-shark-repellent.

Just fins ... as far as the eye can see.

I think I'm ready for them.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I was over at Webmiztris' blog the other day and she was posting about the name of her band. A name that involves certain slang names for facets of the female anatomy, if you know what I mean ... OKAY! I'll say it. The name of her band is Pussywhip and she was asking her readers opinion as to whether she should change the name in order to easier get publicity or say "Fuck 'em ... if they can be the Butthole Surfers, We can be Pussywhip!"

**Edit: She has since decided to re-name the band "Kitty Whip" so as not to shoot herself in the foot right out of the gate. Good call Dawn. That's why "starving" artists are ... starving, that is. Get big and you can do what the fuck you want! Just look at John Cougar, er, John Cougar Mellencamp, er, John Mellencamp. Yeah ... that dude.

In any case, she is a very funny bitch blogger and you should be reading her.

Her post brought back a memory of a time I was in Savannah, visiting my brother. We went in this bar on Tybee Island called Skipper's. The bar had an energy drink for sale there and my brother told me it was delicious when mixed with ... fuck, I don't remember ... something alcoholic. He said it tasted like lemonade, I think, but that it would knock you on your ass!

I agreed to try it and we were ready to order. Of course he hadn't told me the name of the shit yet.

Lemme set the scene for you. We're in this beach-side bar. We've been drinking all day and are getting ready to tuck into our second order of the freshest, sweetest oysters on the half-shell I've ever had in my life.

Imagine me with a fresh oyster pursed at my lips as my brother looks at the beautiful and totally stacked bartender I had been ruthlessly flirting with all afternoon and says "Hey, could you give my brother 'Sum Pussy?'"

What can I say ... that's the way the Gunn brothers roll.

P.S.: I love camel toe.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 2:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Pretty fucking stupid ... a 45 year old man getting all gushy over a stupid book, huh?

So, I'm over it now. Time to grow up, I guess, and get back ... or maybe "get started" would be a better choice of verbiage, being an adult.

I'm realizing some things ... having a self awakening, if you will ... about myself. I've been doing a lot of soul searching ... really looking at myself without the rose-colored glasses that we normally see ourselves through. I just don't know if I like what I see. No ... that's not true.

I know I don't like what I see.

The thing is, I don't really know what to do about it.

See, the life I live, the life I allow myself to continue living, how my life has turned out and the mark I'm making on the world ... well, lets just say that, when I compare my life and my achievements to the lives and achievements of others, in my eyes, I come up on the very, very short end of the stick.

Compared to the rich lives others live, their happiness and accomplishments, mine feels like the sticky-ass change and hair-covered mints you find in the deepest recesses of the couch or in the bottom of your purse. I feel like a sham.

I've pissed it away.

The clock is ticking faster and faster.

I'm running out of time, falling farther and farther and I can't see the bottom.

There is nothing to grab on to to slow me down and no way to break the fall, let alone reversing the process and climbing out.

I feel broken.

I can't figure out how to fix it.

I'm really fucking sick of feeling like this.

And I'm sorry to have put you through it.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 6:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

... keeps getting better and better! I received my copy of Harry Potter free! (and it is a fucking KILLER book! Trust me on this one)

Well today Amazon sent me a $5 gift certificate for pre-ordering the damned thing in the first place. That's right, they're PAYING me to read the book! BWAHAHAHAHAHA! Feel the power of the consumer!
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Okay, so it's five bucks, but still? I'll take it. Now go away. I have to finish my book! Voldemort and Snape have Lucius Malfoy tied to the bed and, at last check, Dolores Umbridge was walking around in a patent leather thong, pumps and nipple clamps cracking a whip! God I love good literature.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 2:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

IT''S HERE! IT''S HERE! IT''S HERE! IT''S HERE!

What? you don't know what I'm talking about?

Yeah, kinda pathetic, huh? No wonder I can't get laid. I've been feeling like the world is closing in lately. You know the feeling? The one where no matter where you think you wanna go, it just isn't far enough away? Yep, thats the feeling, alright.

So I think I'll take a little trip to another universe for a while. One where magic and muggles rule and I don't have to worry about the light bill, the cable or the kids ... you know the place. Talk to you when I get back ... which should be tomorrow sometime. Wish me Godspeed and a safe journey. Bye!

Edit: DAMN! I'm only in the third chapter but whoda thought Harry died over the summer from syphillus he got from a three-way with Hermione and Ginnie Weasley? And that Dudley Dursley, Harry's hated cousin, was the illegitimate love-child of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and Aunt Petunia? Damn, this book is good!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 5:32 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I have been a Harry Potter fan since I read the first book, oh, so many years ago. So obviously, I pre-ordered "The Deathly Hallows" as soon as it was available.

For those who have been living in a cave, "The Deathly Hallows" is the seventh and final book in the FABULOUSLY successful Harry Potter global empire. The series took J.K. Rowling from a welfare mom, to one of the richest women in England and a world-wide celebrity.

Anyway, back to my point. I've been waiting for months for this book to come in. So imagine my utter chagrin when I get a letter from Amazon saying the book would not be there on the day it was promised. (It was supposed to be here Saturday ... the first day of sale.) I was soooo pissed. I really was looking forward to reading it this weekend, so I was really down when it didn't get here.

Fast forward to Sunday. I'm sitting around my house with my thumb up my ass thinking about the most monumental decision of the day ... Cheddar or Mozzarella on my Spanish Cheese steak sammich? (Sammy made with choriso (a Spanish sausage) instead of minute steak on Ciabatta bread) When what to my wandering eyes (okay, I mighta been surfing porn ... maybe) should appear but a letter from Amazon saying they are refunding the price of my book. They broke their "on time" promise and were making it right. I was pleased, but pissed at the same time. Pleased, because someone in corporate America lived up to their word. Pissed, because now I had to go out and buy the book and Amazon was a buck cheaper AND they were offering free shipping. But, I would still be able to get the book and that was the important thing.

But wait! Like they say in the T.V. Commercials ... "There's MORE!"

Down at the bottom of the letter, there was a sentence that said, and I quote, "Rest assured, you will still receive your book soon." What? WOOT! I'm getting a FREE BOOK! WOOT! Ya know? Sometimes? Life is just damned good. Ahhhhhhhhh!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I love when shit happens for no apparent reason and yet it makes your day ... takes you out of a funk, so to speak. That happened to me today.

I'm sitting home (big surprise there huh?), minding my own business and waiting for the finale of "The Next Food Network Star" to come on, when I just happen to flip my phone open and see there is a new text message waiting for me. I check the number and it's local, but nothing I recognize.

Being the voyeur that I am, I went ahead and opened it up and this is what I read.

A doctor felt guilty for having sex with a patient.
One voice told him, "It's okay. Lots of doctors do that."
The other voice said, "YOU SICK BASTARD! You're a veterinarian!"

I'm telling you, sometimes life is good. Sometimes ...

EDIT: I just figured out who the text was from. Thanks, chicka!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

So I meant to post yesterday but I had a small problem ... my toilet flush mechanism broke. At first I thought it was just the handle. I saw it had broken off on the first hole, closest to the handle end. Unfortunately, when I got knee ... okay, elbow deep into the tank, I noticed the flapper valve had turned to mush. It was time for a complete overhaul. Here's 4 of 365.

A few final adjustments, and it's good as new, and my manly-man, handyman reputation is still intact.

The boys and I went out to Ryan's Steakhouse to enjoy their breakfast buffet with my mom and dad. The superintendent of Vernon Parish Schools showed up with her sister and we had a good time. Let me just say, their breakfasts are supreme. All you can eat with free drink refills and if you can't find what you like to eat for breakfast on the buffet, chances are they don't make it. They have fruit, salads, deserts even an station where you can get omelettes made-to-order. It's a great buffet. The only downside is dodging the bird shit on your way in.

Sometimes, it doesn't take much to amuse my kids ... like, say, stacking 21 full cans of Dr. Pepper? Yeah ... it only took them about an hour. Here's Ryan posing with the prize.

Alas, however, it's the time of the summer when my sister takes the boys for a week and hangs out with them in Houston. *le sigh* They left at 11 a.m. this morning and won't be back till Wednesday. (Ryan starts band camp (hold your jokes, please) Thursday so this year it's an abbreviated week.) Until they get back, I'll be all alone. Again, *le sigh* What to do, what to do? (5 of 365)

Hope I can figure it out before they get back. *le sigh*

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 12:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

Linkin Park's "Somewhere I Belong" and "In the end" kick fucking ASS! Just sayin.

"Somewhere I Belong"

(When this began)
I had nothing to say
And I get lost in the nothingness inside of me
(I was confused)
And I let it all out to find
That I’m not the only person with these things in mind
(Inside of me)
But all the vacancy the words revealed
Is the only real thing that I’ve got left to feel
(Nothing to lose)
Just stuck/ hollow and alone
And the fault is my own, and the fault is my own

I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I’m somewhere I belong
I wanna heal, I wanna feel like I’m somewhere I belong
Somewhere I belong

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 3:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I guess first off, I think I'll go with my 365 project. Simple enough. You may or may not know, but I work as a journalist for the U.S. Army. It's a good job. I love what I do which mainly consists of telling the stories of the Soldiers that honorably and selflessly serve our nation.

There are some bad apples that serve, I'm sure, but I haven't met any of them. Most of the Soldiers I know have a few things in common ... a selfless devotion to duty, a deep, abiding love for this country and the ideals that it stands for and a willingness -- not a desire, but a willingness -- to give their lives in the cause for which they serve.They are men and women, just like you and I. They have dreams, problems, desires .. everything you and I have. I have laughed with them, sharing in their camaraderie, and I have cried with them as they mourned fallen comrades, a job I wouldn't wish on anyone, but a job I thrive in.

I don't really give a flying fuck what your position or opinion of the president, the war, congress or anything else is. In my humble opinion, these men and women deserve nothing but your respect. I respect them and take my job seriously. That being said, there are other reasons I love working for 'Uncle Sugar.' Here is one in the form of "3 of 365" I like to call it "A Good Job."

Yep! That's me going home at 3:50 p.m. on a Friday. God I love my job.

Next, I saw the most amazing thing today. I stopped in at my local Circle K, an offshoot of Southland Corporation's 7-11 chain, to get some gas and a soda for the drive home. Outside the door, in a bright yellow, flame patterned shirt, stood a tow-headed 8 year old boy. As customers walked in and out of the door, the boy opened it for them, silently, making eye contact with each one.

Now, that might have been strange enough but this boy had an accessory that I think he wished he hadn't. He was wearing a two sided sandwich board made of cardboard. The sandwich board, reminiscent of one worn by out-of-work men exhorting pedestrians to "Eat at Joe's," was obviously home made. Scrawled across both sides of the board, lettered in the hand of a budding eight year old artist, was the phrase "I stole from Circle K."

After noticing it, I noticed another thing, two women, one obviously his mother, and a family friend just ... hanging around, making sure the kid served his penance. As I was in line, waiting to pay, the mother brought her son inside and, in front of all those waiting customers, introduced him to the manager and politely, yet firmly, asked him to tell her what he had stolen. When he hesitated, she told him to speak up and stood there as he found his voice, said he didn't remember the name of what he had stolen and walked over to the candy display and showed her.

I walked out then, having paid for my shit, thinking that the little boy was a lucky boy to have a mother who loved him that much, and that if there were more mothers in the world like her, I might not worry about the next generation so much. Then it hit me ... sometime in the last 15 years or so, I've turned into my dad.

There is more, but this is long enough, so I will save the rest for tonight or tomorrow. It's been a good day. Thanks for asking.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 5:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

I think I got robbed! What about the wolf, dragon ... eagle for Christ's sake! All a bat is is a rat with wings. Pffft!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 12:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I promised myself I was over it, told myself that letting it affect me was a stupid waste of time. I told myself I was done, a new day was dawning and I was about to start a new life. I thought I would feel better, happier ... but today, now, this moment all I feel is empty. I don't know what to do.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 2:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

First off, I'm back and plan to stay that way for a while. Check out the proliferation of posts below if you haven't been here in a while.
Now ... I started the 365 project before I went on my extended hiatus and was really disappointed because I quit. I even put the camera down other than for work, but I feel the creative juices flowing and I'm ready to get back on the ball. I have decided to start over again and see if I can make it through this time. So that said, here is 1 of 365.

For the scoop on the poop about this thing we call HNT go see Os and tell him you're up. HHNT all!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

You ever have one of those?

A day you wake up with the temperature hovering just below 70 degrees, truly a miracle for the month of July in the south.

The window open. Sunlight streaming through the tree outside speckles the carpet providing a natural, soft, waking light.

The smell of fresh cut grass perfumes the air on the crest of the breeze sweeping gently through the room, lifting the lace curtains only to let them fall lazily back into place again.

The full-throated cacophony of cardinals, mockingbirds, martins, sparrows and other songbirds provide the soundtrack of life as you stretch, sit up and ponder what direction your day appears to be headed.

As you make your way into the living room, the children are busy cleaning up, washing and folding laundry, loading and running the dishwasher.

The smell of fresh cut grass is replaced by carpet powder and lemon Pledge, but that's not all. The heady smell of fresh roasted coffee grounds giving up the nectar of life as water percolates through the coffee maker. You close your eyes and breathe deeply, the different smells assaulting your senses, threatening to overwhelm, but comforting all the same.

Walking now toward the kitchen, the kids smile and tell you good morning. Your paper, unopened and unread, is on the breakfast table and as you sit down a cup of coffee is placed in front of you.

Suddenly from the kitchen a sizzling hiss can be heard emanating from the area of the stove and the mouth-watering smell of bacon frying triggers an age old, primal response in your brain, bringing a smile to your face.

The eggs, three of them, over medium, grits creamy and swimming in butter, bacon crisp and meaty and toast a light, sensuous brown with a dollop of strawberry jam on each piece stare up at you from the plate.

Served with a smile, you begin to wonder who are these people and what did they do with your children?

The bowl of cantaloupe before you and the sound of your plate being scraped, rinsed and immediately placed in the dishwasher drive those thoughts out of your mind. After all, does it really matter?

You walk from the dinner table, back to the bedroom, grabbing a towel on the way and hit the shower. The hot water cascades across your face, over your shoulders and down your back relaxing tensed muscles and bringing a newness ... a freshness ... to the start of the day.

After stepping out of the shower, you notice a quiet solitude envelopes the house and your girlfriend is standing beside your bed in a gorgeous silk teddy with that "come hither" look making her literally glow.

She sent the kids to the movies and you have the house to yourself for the next several hours. The afternoon is spent fluctuating from hard, kinky, down and dirty fucking, to gentle intimate love making and back again. By the time you are done, you are literally spent.

Lying together, the last words you hear before you drift off to sleep is her, telling you she loves you more than anything else in the world and that she couldn't imagine being with anyone else anywhere else in the world.

You slumber and dream of the perfect day, in your perfect life with the perfect woman by your side and realize you are the happiest man in the world.

Have you ever had a day like that?

Yeah, me neither. Just thought I'd ask.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 2:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Oh yeah ... this is totally me! I love it!

So, whatdya think? It's the eyes ... definitely the eyes, Right? Right?

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 7:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (3)

All these years of worry and stress and all I needed was to call THESE guys! And before you ask, yes, this is an actual e-mail I got today. I need to stop surfing porn so much.

"You guys are amazing with your delivery and customer service and your product actually DOES work. I have been married for the last 23 years and never in our marriage could we achieve the pleasure we can today. All because I am ejaculating the way I never have. My wife loves it and I love it more. Thanks for this great product. The 100% herbal WonderCum, endorsed by health care professionals, (emphasis added) needs no prescription.
It's true: more volume means more pleasure for both partners! And WonderCum is the all-natural, doctor-approved supplement to boost volume and potency to "Mind-Blowing New Levels"!

Unfortunately, he didn't leave his name. I'd like to ask his wife a few questions. *Le sigh* Maybe next time.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 11:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (1)

there are times to stand up for yourself and fight your battles and then there are times that it's just easier to quit and get on with it. I thought yesterday that I wouldn't quit, but just back the fuck off and give it time. Today? I officially throw in the towel. I just don't give a fuck anymore and you know what? It's rather liberating, thankyouverymuch.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:23 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

(Pretty cryptic, huh? Trust me, I'm bleeding on the inside so it doesn't stain my dress shirt.)

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 1:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I am reading (listening to) "The Memory Keeper's Daughter" by Kim Edwards. I'm not really fond of the narrator but, putting her performance aside, it's a pretty good story so far. Reading it, however, some things in the story strike close to home. I listen to it in the car on my way to and fro and usually I'm alone. This gives me pause to reflect.
I've been thinking about legacies. I like to think of myself as I was when I was 25. That's the me I see in my mind when I think of things that have happened in my life. I know. It's totally natural and, in their minds, most people see themselves when they were young, in shape, virile ... whatever. Truth be told though, a lot of water has passed under the bridge of my life since I was 25. I'm not a dottering old fool by any means ... well I'm not dottering, anyway. I'm 45 and as I look back I realize that a lifetime has passed since those halcyon days of my youth.
What did I dream my life would be like at 45? I don't know. I never got past 38 in my thinking. I turned 38 in the year 2000 and I remember doing the math and coming up with that figure and thinking to myself that it was impossible. That date was so far in the future that I couldn't hardly imagine it.
Now, seven years on the other side of that ancient benchmark, I consider what my life has been ... my legacy, if you will. I have come to the conclusion that my legacy is a legacy of pain. From the first instant of my birth I caused pain for my parents. I was breech. I tore my mother to shreds. Not to mention I was about 8 pounds, which was big for babies back then, even if it seems to be the norm now.
I was carefree growing up. I had everything a kid could want, but I was an empty little fuck. Full of rage. At what? I have no idea. I continued causing pain with drugs, alcohol, running away, getting kicked out of school ... yeah I was a stellar child.
Later there was pain for others in my life ... the wife I cheated on, the kids I was never around for when they were growing up, more pain for my parents as they had to bail me out of one financial mess after another, the pain of losing a child and crawling into a shell, leaving his mother to get comfort from a stuffed rabbit we had bought as a going home present. Pain, exquisite pain.
The pain of friends who have breezed into and out of my life only to realize that I don't really know how to be a friend. A marriage ruined, pain for the wife who I ran off, the disappointed families, the kids who have to start their adult lives without a mother around. The pain in realizing now that I am faced with the job of being there as both mother and father when, in fact, I don't know how to do either.
I realized something today. I was standing on a pier with a dozen people or more, everybody chatting and laughing ... and I was on the outside looking in. I seemed to stand outside my body and watch as I came to life, the smile came to my face, I looked them in the eyes, shook their hands, laughed, joked and did my interviews. When the last sentence was recorded, the automatron shut down and it was just me on the pier ... again, the outsider looking in.
I used to think I needed people to be around. People who I could be close to, love, cherish, make happy ... and you know? I really do. I DO need people, I just don't know what to do with them when I get them. They always end up seeing through the charade. And then they are gone and I'm painfully comfortable in my aloneness again. But I do need people ... and I'm trying to figure out how to be real and be me around them. But it's hard, because through the pain, I can't see who I really am.

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 3:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

So I get to work this morning and am reading my papers, getting informed on what's happening in the world when my boss comes in and asks if I'd run to the gate and turn off the marquee billboard.

We have a huge electronic billboard as you drive onto the main post that gives the time and temp and announces any major events coming up at Camp Swampy. We update it over the internet from our office. Well, for the past couple of days, there has been a problem ... it wasn't processing the updates. The solution is to turn the power off for 15 minutes and allow the internal circuits to reboot. As a man, and thereby HIGHLY qualified to turn off a light switch, the job fell to me.

I'm figuring "This is cool! I just finished my last sip of diet coke. I'll go turn the thing off and cruise to the store for a breakfast donut and a refill!" That should take about 15 minutes and I can turn the sign on and get back to the important job of reading my papers and getting ... well, you get the point.

I get there and the circuit breaker box is on a telephone pole up a slight hill off the road. Channeling Tim Taylor (played sublimely by Tim Allen in the 1980's T.V. series 'Home Improvement.' And by the way. His wife? Played by Patricia Richardson? Total MILF ... but I digress.) I climb the hill, remove the safety tag (which looks like the meter tags you find on your electric meter but is in fact more like a safety pin. Seriously! I think the only person that wouldn't be able to open it is someone who still takes their meals from mama's boobs *dreamy look*Mmmmmm ... Patricia Richardson *cough, cough* Oh sorry, where was I? Oh yeah ...) and turn off the sign. I can taste the donut already.

I go to put the "safety lockout device" back on and notice there is a wasp flying around. Now as a manly-man, I have no problem with wasps, bugs or even the occasional tiger or abominable snowman. I continue my job and that's when I notice the wasp has landed on a partially built nest. One wasp ... no big deal, right? Then I notice the bastard is girding up his loins for battle! He is following my every move. It was then that the "Crouching Writer, Hidden Stinger" sequence began. In slow motion, the wasp launched himself at my eyeball. Luckily I had the latest in Army defensive gear with me ... okay, I was wearing my glasses, but work with me here ...

With the echo of someone screaming like a girl ringing in my ears, I hear the deep "thud" of the wasp's body as it hits my glasses. The tail, right in the center of my vision, blots out the rest of the world as it hammers repeatedly (and futilely, I might add) at the glass trying to gouge out my eye, leaving me at its mercy. At that point I take the offensive and perform a double roundhouse kick with a half gainer on my adversary. With the girls screams still ripping at my eardrums (would someone please tell that bitch to shut the FUCK UP already?) my feet become Ali-like, shuffling with a life of their own, taking me down the hill as my punches knock my protective helmet (okay, it was my Dallas Stars All Star Cap, but again? Work with me people!) off, skew my glasses and send the Bluetooth Device of Death skittering across the pavement.

I was an animal, reacting on instinct and instinct alone, years of survival skills and other manly-man stuff kicking in, forcing my fears and doubts into the cellar, along with my nuts. Luckily, my personality kicked in when I suddenly saw the edge of the road and, with my sharp x-ray, thermostatic peripheral vision, the wheels and sideboards of the SUV I almost ran out in front of. Stopping mere centimeters, nay, millimeters from a horrible death, my survival skills took over and forced the raging warrior back into his box, deep inside my Id.

It was at this time I noticed the screams of the scared girl had stopped. I looked around the area for her, preparing to leap back into action if need be, when I realized ... I was alone. The screams had been coming from my throat all the time. I began replaying the battle of the titans in my mind and had an epiphany. The screams were not those of fear, they were a battle cry whose pitch was tuned exactly to strike a deep fear and bring the most destruction on my enemy by vibrating his exo-skeletal armor into dust. That settled, I gathered my Helmet of Doom, straightened my glasses and re-armed myself with the Bluetooth Device of Death, and prepared myself for the expedition to hunt the elusive jelly donut.

About this time I noticed the safety tag still in my hands. Shit! Well, Mssr. Le Wasp? You got lucky today but there will be other days, to be sure.

I head to the store for my Diet Coke and donut and while I am there, look for more armament, in the form of wasp killer. No such luck. Roach killer, but I faced and defeated TreeRoachman last week. Hmmmmm. Bathroom spray? No. Besides, it's the boys who will need that when the get up and walk into the bathroom this morning. *chuckles* (I love leaving surprise gifts for them!) I know! Maybe we have some at the office! Brilliant! (Thank You for noticing.) I call in on the super-secret, government employee only hot line to ask (and here's where the government efficiency comes in ...) but unfortunately, no we don't. Hmmmmm. I'm thinking I could run to another store or check in with Q (devious gadget guy) to see what devious gadgets he has for me, when M (boss lady) says "Maybe we should get Doctor Workorder (guy who takes care of putting in work orders DUH!) to put in a work order in on it." Me: "Well I could go get a cup of gas and throw on it. That kills them quick! *rubbing hands and chuckling evilly*" M: "No we better let Doctor Workorder call the bug people."

So here I sit, eating my donut (mmmmmm ... jelly) and Diet Coke waiting for the bureaucrats to shuffle enough paperwork to choke a horse so someone can go out and kill this one, single wasp so I can go out and turn the sign back on. Your tax dollars at work! God, I love my job. Toodles!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:42 AM | Permalink | Comments (3)

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 8:00 AM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Why should I listen to a bunch of overpaid hypocrites lecture me on how to save the planet from global warming? A bunch of people that didn't fly commercial to the gigs around the planet for the Live Earth concerts (using god only knows how much gas and releasing ozone depleting chemicals into the atmosphere.) A bunch of people who's best collective idea was to use new, energy efficient light bulbs. I read that if the millions of people who watched the concerts (on TV and the Internet, using untold amounts of electricity) planted a tree every year on the anniversary of the day, soon the planet would have a much better climate due to the natural living processes of the trees planted. And besides, are the people that predict global warming any better than the morons that predict my 7-day forecast? Why should I listen to that shit.

Why is it Americans (and especially southerners) are the only ones held accountable and pilloried for the act of slavery when at the time it was a world-wide problem? Oh, and did I mention it's been outlawed for at least 45 years that I know of. (That's the span of my lifetime, I can't speak intelligently about anything that happened before I was born. God bless the American education system!) Why are we always looking to the past to assign blame for previous generation's wrongs instead of looking to the future and trying to make it the best one it can be.

Why am I getting offers for credit cards several times a week? Where were these altruistic lenders and good guys when I was so poor I had to choose between beer and food? And if they want to give me a $300 credit limit but charge my credit card with $150 of fees, what's the fucking point? Who do they think they're dealing with? An inbred dummy? Oh, wait ... yeah, they do.

Why am I taking meds costing $250 per month to stay alive and healthy, some of which are supposed to stop me from being so pissed off all the time, and yet, I'm still pissed off all the time? I guess I should just be happy that I'm healthy, but sometimes even that pisses me off.

Why?

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 3:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

You hear about the guy who had a wallet made of foreskin?

Everytime he rubs it, it turns into a briefcase.

GOD! I KILL Me! HA!

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 9:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 10:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (2)

Posted by Tommy Gunn at 3:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)