The Book of Love Has Opened Up, and I Want In

There's your punk rock Monday for ya.

As most of you know, I cracked, fractured and otherwise broke my arm last weekend. I thought I'd report that it hurts particularly bad today. The next six weeks will be telling, but for now I sense that this may be a Cougaresque "hurt so good," wherein sometimes love healing don't feel like it should and I am now officially calling on my arm to make it feel like it should.

Some of you may be wondering how a 35 year-old man (né baby) broke his arm. Just know no 35 year-old man should be jumping off the backs of couches, no matter what reason or how drunk.

Speaking of my idiocy...well I was going to tell you a story about the moment I officially became a high school loser who never made it with the ladies (and conspicuously lacked next door neighbors with daughters and/or favors), but I realized that I should tell my wife this story before you all, as it relates to her most of all and she should hear it from me. I'm picturing a Welcome Back Kotter-esque situation, like at the end of the episode where Kotter would tell Julie about his wacky family. Hilarious. You can keep your John Travoltas, I'll take Gabe Kaplan any day of the week. You ever wonder what Kaplan might have done with the Vincent role in Pulp Fiction? Think on it, you may be surprised where it takes you. Maybe it's just Monday and I'm looking forward to the High Stakes Poker tonight.