Max and I have an ever-evolving game of kickball that we play inside the house at night. It's evolving so well, in fact, that last night I kicked the ball off the wall and it smacked directly into a tempered glass bowl sitting on the counter on its rebound, which of course slid off and broke on the kitchen tile in a hundred little pieces (luckily, it was tempered, so it wasn't a thousand little pieces). And of course, I did this in full view of my wife, who was too angry for words, but also (luckily for me) too pregnant to get up and slap me silly... Max thought this was all just hilarious, which made Nam even more apoplectic.
I am a bad role model, and I really suck at soccer.
At least I'm reasonably good at breaking things, otherwise I'd be a total failure!
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On a side note, I've gotten in several arguments with various people, mostly at work, all this week, so I need to chill a bit, maybe. Sometimes it's just hard when you feel like your true calling in life is being a mushroom cloud-laying m0th3rfuck3r, m0th3rfuck3r.
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