Things I've Missed

Morning isn't really morning at the Ghost  Manor.  Some days, I'm vertical by 6am, others I may not see light until noon.  Has a lot to do with how many beers I did or didn't drink the night before and how much Rock Band the missus and I did or did not play.  We've been called the White Stripes of Rock Band by those that have seen us perform.  Which I'm told is mostly because there's two of us, and our relationship is the Octomom of question generators.  I have a feeling I'll have to plot that last comment out on a chart later today, someone please provide a chart.  Thanks. 

My son was born December 5, 2005, at the Naval Hospital on Camp Lejeune.  I was there.  My command let me skip out on my platoon's hypothermia holiday in California so that I could be present for the birth of my first child.  Looking back, I really can't believe they made that happen.  Three weeks later, myself and thirty of my nastiest friends left for Fallujah. 

I spent close to eight months in Fallujah, and my son spent that time with his mother, my wife at the time.  I was sent pictures and kept well informed of the little one's antics.  I kept his picture on the dash of my Hummer and touched it each time I left the gates for patrol/camping trips.  I returned safely  from deployment and found that holding him as I had before wouldn't work so well.  He had grown.  And changed. 

May 16th, 2010, my daughter (the Sixth Element, Shamrock Pirate) was born here in hellish Grand Junction, Colorado.  My boots are in a box in the garage and my medals and ribbons sit in a shadow box on a wall at the Ghost Manor.  I warned my new wife that after the first three weeks, I have no clue what I'm doing.  I haven't been a part of this stage in parenting, so who knows how this is going to play out.  But I guess what I'm pushing at here is this: in not knowing what I really missed in my son's first year, I'm seeing what I might have missed now, and I guess I'm a nostalgic asshole after all.  So I'm doing what every father does when they realize they have shorted one of their kids: overcompensating.  Fuck you, I'm allowed.  Ironically, here I am, giving my son little more than he got in 2005 so that I can give my daughter everything I couldn't give him five years ago.  Luckily, I'm pretty sure he doesn't remember me not being there so in his eyes, I never missed anything and he will just have to go the next seven months entertaining himself more than he typically would have to.  He's only here half the week anyhow, the other half he spends with his mother, my now exwife.  His life is anything but shitty, so he'll be ok.  My older daughter is still adapting to my whims and assholery so I feel that she probably would be able to tell you how much has really changed since her little sister shot out of my wife's vagina.  She's here, all the time, and has probably taken a bigger hit on all of this than my son has.  And, while I want to feel shitty about it, I really think that years from now, she will understand what all this Baby First Bullshit is all about.  I missed seven months of my son's life, and seven years of my older daughter's life, so I'll make sure to start the paybacks with the older one.  She remembers everything. 

Sorry about all the parenting business on here, I'll come up with something more adult and revolting next time.

I'm Such a Nutbag.

Toldja.  That, my friends is The Ghost Bag, the day after the operation.  You're welcome.  As you can see, the VA is not the place to schedule your next bikini wax.  As a bonus, it seems the VA gave me an extra set of really little balls on my mainsac.  Again, thank you, government spending.  I got pretty good and hammered the night before drinking PBR and Natty Lite, so once they got the IV running on me, I was feeling pretty fucking nice.  I still have a few days before I can start having sex with my hand and my wife's nasty whore mouth (and by mouth, I clearly mean anus) so of course I am waking up with extremely glorious wood that has no place to go.  It's a shame when I think of all the perfectly great erections that are being wasted.  I'm guessing most of you have given up on following this blog, and I guess I don't blame you.  But, if you stick around, you might catch something better than chlamydia. 

How Does This Thing Work Again?

While it seems that my heroic hands may have been broken, I promise they have not.  They have been busy not answering phone calls and feeding the Sixth Element.  Neither of us have time to catch up on what has happened during my leisure period, so let's start the fuck over. 

My name is Ghost.  I have been known to speak emphatically about the joys of anal sex, screwing in dumpsters, and being nothing more than what is least expected of me morally.  I do have a temper, I do love beer and I do remember that time in college when you and your roommate experimented sexually.

I'm going live tonight here: http://www.ustream.tv/channel/skankelodeon with my smokin wife, please join us.  Or don't.  I could care less, this is all about the me and the her.   However, if you tune in, you might get a good look at our latest addition, The Sixth Element.  That's code for our baby.  Yep, baby code.