worst of times." That about sums up the past month or so here on the dirt farm. On the super groovy and awesome side of life the old dirt farmer has officially outkicked his coverage and somehow convinced the lovely, charming, and way out of my league FMDF (that's future Mrs Dirt Farmer to you!) to make it official and actually decide to marry me. Perhaps it was my irresistible perma-farmer's tan, or perhaps my ability to grow hair in all the wrong places, or my ability to sow profanities into a lithe metaphoric tapestry that even the Normans would be jealous of. I dunno, but I know I would move mountains for her. As for what you do after you actually slip her the petrified coal...more on that later.As for the bad-my dirt farm is rebelling against me and I am really have to put the beat down on it to keep it in shape. The playoffs are right around the corner and there is a strong chance my dirt farm will be seen by a couple million people...no pressure. On the outside I am playing it cool and acting as though all is normal. On the inside I feel as though I have swallowed a donkey that is in the process of giving birth to a chainsaw. I'm not completely sure how that works, but surely pain is a variable in there somewhere. Fear of failure has always been a driving force for pretty much my entire life so I am probably just creating needless ulcers. However, I can't shake the feeling that I'm in one of those dreams where I am about to walk into my biology class sans pantalones (hello jbell reference!) Hopefully I can avoid all of this as I would be kinda uncomfortable with millions of folks seeing the full frontal glory of the dirt farmer.
On to the dirt farm roundup:
- So you mea
n after I give you a ring there's more to it? Never thought in a million years Wedding planning could be so complicated. FMDF has lists, notebooks, legal pads, magazines, business cards, a giant ass journal/binder/checklist thingyjigger, and the list goes on and on. I like to think of myself as a fairly diverse well rounded kind of guy, but you tell me-at what point in my life am I ever supposed to know what makes a good dress or what said dress is supposed to cost? I was under the impression wedding dresses were expensive as hell, and while this is true-they weren't nearly as expensive as I thought. Its a good thing I am learning this now, because if I didn't my future daughter (should God decide its time for a few laughs and sends one my way) would probably just skip the dress all together and have Vera Wang herself strapped on riding piggy back down the aisle. Bridesmaids dresses-kind of like a prom cocktail thing? Wedding Cake-seriously you want me to eat frozen year old cake...won't that give you the gout or something? Beer and wine, Open Bar, jello wrestling, funnels?-The line between tacky and classy fun is so damned gray. Thats just the tip of the marital bliss iceberg folks. We are still some months out, but I am pretty sure I will a) at some point make an ass of myself via ignorance b) have FMDF at some point look at me like I'm purple because I have just suggested that some porta potties for outdoor receptions are reeeeeellll nice-wait that already happened c) inevitably piss somebody off by not inviting them because apparently 400 people is just too many people to have at a wedding-my pleas for "think of all the presents!" is apparently NOT a viable argument d) anger the priest at some point because I really tend to let the f-bombs fly when I am stressed-can the guy doing your wedding technically banish you to hell day of or is there like a 5 day waiting period. I'll do some research. All joking aside I am thrilled FMDF is letting me be an active party in planning this gig. Even though I don't bring much to the table she is still a sweetheart for tolerating me and my general dumbassery.
- Switching gears for a minute it has come to my attention that FSL or m
y Fusilli (future Sis in Law) has it in her head that I need to come up with a devious master plan for gaining one Derek Jeter as a brother in law. Unfortunately, sorry Fusilli, I cannot in good conscience do this. Instead, I will present my case as to why Mr Jeter is in fact not good enough for her and is possibly the Antichrist...(ok maybe not the Antichrist but he sucks)
- First of all Je
ter is the most overrated short stop to ever play the game. He is not even in the top ten of current MLB players. Hell, he is not even the best SS on his team (that honor goes to cat with too much lipstick playing third) Ok OK Jeter is Mr clutch though right? Not so much. Mr Clutch has not done anything in the playoffs for most of this decade. Wait whats that you say?.................Alright, apparently, according to FMDF, Jeter's baseball skills have nothing to do with his status as a dreamboat. Surely, there are other reasons he sucks.
- So Jeter is a ladies man. He has dated Jessica Alba, Mariah Carey, Tyra....wait what?! He dated the trainwreck Mariah Carey? Word around the schoolyard is that Mariah is "friendly" and "mentally unstable" So should I come up with a plan for Derek Jeter and Fusilli to get hitched I would have to, out of good conscience, get her a Costco sized can of mace to ward off Mimi should she escape from the asylum (the whole marriage thing is a cover-up for her most recent vacation) and a can of lysol-or some other brand of disinfectant. Seriously-gross.
- His middle name is Sanderson. I don't think I need to elaborate anymore on that.
This is Jason Giambi's lucky thong. The Yankees pass this around and wear it for luck. Jeter is a Yankee. Thereby Jeter has willingly worn another dudes drawers. We here at the dirt farm are a live and let live bunch. However, we feel that Jeter's possible fascination with wearing other guys shiny booty floss is in fact a harbinger of deeper issues that we feel Fusilli would be better off not having to deal with.
So in conclusion. Jeter is a mediocre employee, with a penchant for hookers, who probably has a large colletion of pocket protectors, and likes to prance around in other guys underwear. Well I don't know about you, but that just screams welcome to the family to me. If Fusilli must insist on a New York ballplayer, might I suggest David Wright. He is also dreamboat material and I am willing to bet my underwear drawer is safe around him.
Well thats all for now. Hopefully as life on the dirt farm slows I can stay more up to date. Until then here's to picking out winter wedding colors and trying not to picture Jason Giambi in a thong.
