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True Story©... The Ride

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       I am an awful liar… I don't mean that as in "I'm awful because I lie a lot," I mean it as in "I am awful at lying" .  Yes, there is absolutely a difference      I tell the band kids all the time to just be straight up with shit, because maintaining a lie is not e'em worth it in the grandest scheme of things.  Something I learned when I was drinking is -- outside of WILDLY entertaining stories -- how hard it is to remember all of the elements of a non-truth when the truth is what actually happened.  You ain't gotta work to remember shit if you stick to what actually happened in the first place. … unless, of course, you can convince yourself that the lie you're telling is the actual truth, in which case congratulations you're a fucking sociopath and master manipulator.      Anyway… I'm just getting off work a couple weeks ago and had to go scout a couple of lawns I cut, plus run quotes on two new ones.  I'm not ...
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True Story©... Shot Shooting

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       He came back, y'all… "Who?" you ask?      Y'all remember back in October when we accidentally turned on the living room TV and I had to go downstairs to turn it off and found an intruder in my living room? This motherfucker had the brazen gall to come back to my house! [ Phlip Note : FWIW, with an update to the Fire TV app, they added a power button and now I can power the TV off from anywhere my wifi reaches ]      This time, though, he was here in the daytime. I'm in the front yard last Wednesday working on one of my signature double-pattern-triple-pass cuts when an old beat up car pulls into my driveway and parks right next to the yard. Apart from me looking at ANYONE who doesn't know me (and most people who DO, for what it matters) sideways when they park in my driveway instead of on the street, it should be noted that I tend to move all cars to the opposite side of the driveway so I can properly turn the mower ...
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True Story©… Get What You Asked For

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       I spend a lot of my (semi-) adulthood running away from my childhood… … oh, and I will NOT be addressing my absence for the last month. IYKYK.      When I dropped by my barber two weeks ago, the first thing he asked was "damn, how many pairs of shoes do you HAVE!?"  as I was sitting down to receive my fade. I sat and calmly explained that my sneaker collection -- and yes, I wear my shit -- is a direct response to how we came up. We didn't have a lot, and 100% literally never got new release shoes, always the clearance ones or the ones that found their way to Marshalls, until I was a senior in High School and could buy my own shit.  Even then, I got a side eye for buying them. Sure, we had Nikes but not the ones everyone else had. More frustrating is that this happened in the golden era of the early 90s, so my interest in sneakers at that time was mostly as an outsider who couldn't afford to come inside.      That w...
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