And without my “copy and paste” skills, I wouldn’t be where I am today…(which, coincedentally enough, is at work?)

PS. You’re right, DF…Alantru is definitely the creative bomb!

And, alantru is the bomb.. creatively spoken!

Ok, so I realize that this is a touchy subject and all, but do you happen to know which Degree “original weekend dad” completed at the University of Phoenix? Not that it matters I guess. Every time I apply there, they send me a rejection letter…apparently I’m not “financially-able enough” for their prestigious institiution.

Thankfully I found an alternative online-school that lets you pay as you go. According to the “University of Feenix”, I’ll be earning a Rocket-Science Degree in as little as 10 minutes!

But enough about me.

Thanks for the wit-infused comment, CLT. I await the day you turn your “weekend-Dad” memories into a collection of short essay-like stories. Not only would it be therapeutic for you, I have no doubt it would knock everything Dr. Phil ever wrote out of the water.

Thank-you for the tremendous compliment. Coming from a scholar/obvious “non-typical sexual lifestylist” such as yourself, it means a lot.

I hope to one day hear the story about your buddy. It sounds a lot more romantic than my friend Y’s experience, which took place in the handicapped washroom at TGIFs…

It’s already been “brought-en”,
Bschooled

I’m glad you’re back, Will! It’s never the same without my “brother from another set of parents…”

ps. Of course I meant to have the whiskers and mittens back to back…that’s just the way I roll.

I’m fairly sure I know that bear. In fact, I know I know that bear.

And that’s no bear.

It’s “weekend dad.” The original “weekend dad.” Remember him? He used to hang around dressed as a bus stop?

http://justmakingconvo.com/2009/10/07/a-few-of-my-favorite-things-16/

This was apparently in his younger days before he met my mom. And by “met” I mean “felt up at/as the bus stop and then later drunkenly impregnataed.”

He apparently used to “rake in all sorts of trim” in that suit, or so he would tell me every other weekend, when we weren’t blowing my child support at the racetrack or dodging angry husbands/process servers.

He had quite the way with the “ladies.” And by ladies I mean “mitten-wearing sluts with self-esteem problems, mittens and summer bus passes.”

I’m not sure when this photo was taken, or if it even is a photo. Upon closer inspection, I’m pretty sure he made this himself using his Crayola paint set and his University of Phoenix degree.

Thanks for bringing back the awkward memories, bschooled. It’s like therapy in here, only free and without any quantifiable results. OK. Exactly like therapy. Except for the “free” part.