Acoustic Blue

Having a successful marriage means making time to spend time together.

It’s hard when both of us work full time jobs and have other interests that fill up the time on the clock quickly.

With only 24 hours in each day, it is imperative to show that even though those things are important…..

They are not as important as we are to each other.

We have been showing our importance for each other for over 7 years.

Last night we had our Valentines date night.

Yeah…it was a week late but the calender doesn’t tell me what day in Feb. we have to celebrate it.

We strut to the strum of our guitars in good2begone land.

Our date started with a drive to our local historic 100 year old theater to see a live show.


An intimate acoustic evening with Justin Furstenfeld of Blue October.

When we planned to do this. I wanted it with all the bells and whistles that could possibly go along with it.

When we bought tickets online, we also got to purchase meet and greet tickets.

Which meant, before the show, we got to meet and greet the artist.

I’m not a starstruck paparazzi stalker kind of guy….


When you get the real chance to meet an artist that is inspires and moves you,

That doesn’t involve hiding in the bushes or breaking into the DMV records department,

It’s a win win!


We arrived at 4:30 to wait for the shindig to commence…..

In a line with about 100 other fans who wanted the same experience.


(Picture courtesy of new friend Mac Cochran, who has a group site on Facebook called “For the love of Blue October”, check him out on there. He and his family are headed to the next show in Denton, Tx.)

We were all escorted into the theater around 6, and down to the orchestra section in front of the stage.


Justin came on stage, sat in the chair, spoke to all of us for a few and then played a song that will be on the band’s new album that will come out in April.

He then invited all of us all upstairs to personally meet him, talk with him and get a picture and autographed poster from the show.

I got the poster, a tshirt, and a book of his lyrics and writings….signed…BOOYAH.


The name of the book….and his home recording studio- “Crazy Making”… wonder I’m a fan.

Like I said, I’m not a celebrity stalker. When I had the chance to speak with him, I told him I hadn’t seen a live show since getting sober. His show would be my first.

He shook my hand, said thanks, and asked how long I’ve been sober.

I said over 9 years. He smiled and said,

“I’ve got 4. It’s amazing isn’t it? Man, I hope you enjoy the show. It’s  all about my journey.  Thanks for coming and supporting me!”

After my wife talked with him and basically told him to write

“I LOVE YOU” on her signed poster we took a picture with him.

Can’t call me a stalker…..but her….hmmmm.
Chicks always fall for the rock star.

Here is her signed poster, along with a tshirt and Cd from the opening act, Tori Vasquez.


Who, by the way, is incredible. She played for about half an hour. Just her voice and an electric guitar. Definitely worth supporting!

We then, took our seats and waited for the show.

Justin came on around 9 and played for around 2 hours running through a sampling of the songs he had written over the band’s 20 year career.

The emotion and passion he puts into his craft is hypnotizing and emotional. 


About halfway through the show, the mic went out.

Without missing a beat, he pushed the stand aside and finished the show without it.

Our date night finished around midnight…..Over 7 hours after it started.

A 7 hour date.

With the same woman I started it with.

I’m pretty sure this might turn into something special. 

Late Valentine Blue

Nothing says romantic like spending the entire Valentine’s Day holiday in bed…..with kleenex stuffed up my nose, cold medicine on one side and cough drops on the other, with enough blankets on top of me to melt Antarctica…..said NO ONE EVER!

And yet,

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it


Good thing, my wife and I planned ahead.

We won’t be celebrating this day until next Saturday.

The reason?

There is a concert that will be playing here in middle of nowheresville.

One that we are both excited about.

That, in itself, is quite a feat.


Because, we never see eye to eye when it comes to the pleasures of the ears.

Rather than rehash an old topic on a new post….

Read the old post called Audio Estrogen.


Good, let’s continue.

The concert we are going to is Justin Furstenfeld (try saying that name 10 times fast).



Yeah I couldn’t do not either.

Let’s continue.

He is the lead singer of a band called Blue October.

He is on a solo tour called- “An Open Book”.

We will not only be enjoying the show. We also are gonna delve into the meet and greet before hand.

He will be playing an aucoustic set, where he explains the meaning of the songs he writes.

Kind of like the storyteller series.

Here is a sample of what we are to expect- “Fear

He is an intense songwriter who shares his triumphs and struggles in life through music.

A lot of his music centers around recovery.

The band’s first album- “Consent To Treatment” is one of my all time favorites.

I can relate to what he is relating to…in a relative sort of way.

Now that I have been out of bed long enough to write this, I can hear the kleenex calling me back from whence I came.

I hope yall’s Valentine’s Day has been rosier than mine.



A Question For The Ladies


I am completely befuddled by politics here in the US of A.

Every 4 years we hold elections and apparently have the joyous task of putting our input on to which inmate will run our asylum.

I follow both sides of barbed wire fence, in order to attempt to be properly informed of who and why and what the f#!k did they just say??

Which brings me to this-

2 prominent females have stated things that are…..well…not very lady like.

One has stated that there is special place in HELL for women that don’t vote for Hillary Clinton.

The other has basically stated that any woman that votes for Bernie Sanders basically does so because the boys are.

I would like to know what the female take is on these statements.


Because I think the women who made these statements were high on liquid paper or something and don’t believe that either of them have a handle on the general female population of our country.

Please feel free to comment below.

And remember….

Your voice matters and deserves to be  heard.

I’m good2begone


I approve of this message.

Cry Wolf

Creatively speaking….

It’s hard to even be creative without sleep.

Without proper sleep I would write things like-

“Let’s eat Grandma.”

Where as if I had sleep I would write-

“Let’s eat, Grandma.”

Without sleep, punctuation is a disaster.

Sleep usually doesn’t happen unless certain things fall into line.

1- Make sure to go to sleep at least 6-8 hours before work the following day.

For that to happen, one thing has to fall in line- a job.

I got that covered.

2- Have a roomy comfortable place in order to get said sleep.

We have a big bed. I’m not sure if it’s a king or a queen…but it’s big.

Why do we even have royalty sized beds in America?



3- In order to get the required sleep in the comfortable place, you need to feel safe enough to get the sleep.

Excluding the virtual arsenal of weaponry my wife has stashed around the house….

You know….. guns, nunchucks, throwing stars, poison darts, the usual stuff, we have dogs.

The big dog of the bunch is Mischa, she is a wolf. Not a quarter wolf three quarter chihuahua…not half this half that….

A wolf. A 70 pound wolf.

When we let her in at night, she patrols the house, searching each room to make sure everyone and everything is where it is supposed to be. When she is satisfied, she typically lays on the floor by our bed, facing the door and sleeps.

The “I wanna be the big dog of the house but Mischa won’t let me” dog is Gracie. She is 1/2 red healer 1/2 pit bull. Shes around 50 pounds. We say she is a red bull…..


Get it…..

If anyone tries to get in our house they will wish the had wings.

Needless to say….I feel safe.

As long as these 3 things fall into line I’m a creative monster with limitless potential for grandeous storification.


All three things have been placed into blender and shoved down my gullet like bad meatloaf.

Here is the picture to prove it-


See that little space on the left side of the bed with the covers pulled back next to my ferocious wolf….

That’s the place I am allowed to reside in while attempting sleep.

Do you see that space above the big bad wolf where the pillows are….that’s where Gracie sleeps. She was not in the picture because she heard the fridge open when I got up and figured she must be getting something to eat.



My usual 6-8 hours has been reduced to 2-4, I’m royally cranky, and my safeguards are drooling all over my kingdom.

If this is what it’s like to be king, you can have the crown.

Double Vision

I am the speaker of truth in our household.

Oh no….its true…its true.

If you want a flowery, politically correct, I care about your feelings answer then the person to go to is….not me.

I ain’t got time for feelings.

Ain’t nobody got time for that.

I get asked questions all the time.

My answers are direct and to the point.

Not too long ago, my teenage stepdaughter had a question that needed a decisive answer.

Naturally, she came to me…….

“Why can’t boys look me in the eyes when they talk to me?” She inquired.

I looked up from the book I was reading, which was entitled-

“Magic Tricks For Dummies”

I was completely entranced with the how to make a quarter dissappear and make it reappear behind someone’s ear trick when she approached me.

I wasn’t quite sure what she said.

I placed the book aside and said,

” Ummm….wha?”

A bit frustrated that I didn’t hear her the first time, she hastily repeated the question, although in different form.


She accented her verbage by pointing to space at the center of her chest.

“CLEAVLAGE! Why do boys stare at my cleavlage instead of my eyes when they talk?”

My honesty sometimes gets the best of me…..

“Well honey….boys…wait a sec….did you say cleavlage?”

“Yes, of course I did. They always stare right here.” She said as she reaffirmed her previous pointing motion.

“Well honey, that’s not cleavlage. Cleavlage is a city in Ohio.”

Like I said…..

Direct and to the point.

The answers come to me……like magic.


Doctor Oh Hell No


That’s me…..trying my hardest to do the impossible… in.

I used to think I did, but alas, I dont.

One seemingly inocuous event led to the revelation that being on the outs is my destiny.

Looking back….it was in the works for quite some time.

Over the last few years I have become a bit of an anti social prick.

Here is a short list that aptly describes my anti socialness.

It is an excerpt from our family wireless bill that reflect the amount of social activity that surges through our smartphones. On a month to month basis a typical bill reflects this-


Text messages852
Minutes used875


Text messages2331
Minutes used1162


Text messages177
Minutes used60

Staggering isn’t it.

I’m willing to bet that every one of my texts and phone minutes are used to contact my wife and my Mom, who lives in Another state.

In my defense, I rarely take my phone anywhere with me….besides work.

The reason?

Someone might contact me and I would have to reply……DUH.

To further knock my square peg into the round hole, let me also state that I do not insta-tweet-zuckerberg-snap.

Which is short for social media.

Is WordPress considered social media?

If it is, then I guess I’m not a total “troll living under the bridge yelling at the goats that try to get to the greener side“.

Even then, the last time I posted was July, 22 of last year.

Which leads me to the inocuous event that led to my revelation that I don’t fit in.

It was about a week before my last post.

Which happened to be my birthday.

I did what I always do…..

I went to the hospital at around 3:37 a.m. and walked up to the reception desk to announce my arrival.

I was greeted with a smirk and a,

“We know who you are and why you’re here. Just wait over there. The doctor will be with you shortly.”

“Sweet.” I replied and took a seat.

When my name was called I went back to the waiting room and was greeted by a doctor that I hadn’t met before.

She looked at me and said,

“Well, Mr. Good2begone, what seems to be the problem?”

I said,

“No problem. I’m here because it’s my birthday. I celebrate it the same every year.”

She sat down, placed her handy clipboard across her lap, and looked at me with a ‘oh no  here it comes’ kind of look and waited for me to complete my request.

“Birthdays are nothing more than a celebration of continued breathing for another consecutive 365 days. To confirm that I am in fact still breathing, I would like to get naked and have you hold me upside down by my feet and swat me on the ass until I cry. Therefore confirming that I am still breathing and as alive as the day I came into this life.”

I got this-


Before I could finish disrobing, which I had begun before I finished my last statement, she was calling security and having me escorted out of the facility.

I don’t see what the big deal was. It was my birthday. So what if I’m 46.

Why couldn’t I do what I wanted….everybody else does what they want on theirs.


Anyhoo, since then I have been on the outs.

I’m still good2begone and the writing will go on.

Brothers(Up)In Arms

“Every time I go out drinking with them, we end up running over a pregnant woman…”

This is one of the gems I get to hear on a daily basis from the guys I work with.

They really are the class act of the human species.

I have been trying to put my finger on who they remind me of….it has always been right there on the tip of my tongue, but just can’t seem to get it.

And then it hit me like a bad Lynyrd Skynard cover band.

They are the real life version of…..

The Trailer Park Boys.


Now….before I get can’t backlash by anyone for referring to me being offensive and rude for comparing people I work with offensive and rude characters on TV….

Let me explain.

1-they each live in a trailer. I know this because I have had to pick them up when the only vehicle out of the seven that is not on cinder blocks in their front yards won’t start.

2- 2 of them are brothers who happen to live at the same trailer from time to time when one buys weed instead of paying his electric and water bill.

3- the 3rd of the boys is Bubbles. Who happens to be the brother in law of one the other TP Boys. I know that because I get to hear the one brag to his brother in law about banging his sister every day. He even offers to show him pictures.

Like I said…..Classy.

The one I call Bubbles is the one who made the opening statement of this post.

I’m still undecided I whether I should be in shock or in awe.

Seriously….EVERY TIME you go out drinking with them a pregnant woman gets run over? Is the same one that just had made really bad choices in leaving the park?…..or Is it a different one EVERY TIME?

I used to think I had some great drinking stories…. but I can’t compete with that….

How I got sent to jail and these ass clowns are still running around like free birds freaking amazes me…..

Ok….so I know why I got sent to jail….but I promise I didn’t run over a pregnant woman.

Did I tell you that every day they actually stop working in order to listen to the song-

“Simple Man”?


What is that about? Is it the National Trailer Park anthem?

Just gimme 2 step toward the door….

Anatomy Of A Mom


To some…..this is probably an odd family photo.

Not all of the individuals….look… family.

But alas, they are family.

My family.

This is a tribute to my Mom.

After her and my father got married. They yearned to start a family.


doctors told her there was a higher than likely chance that she would not be able to.

That was not a deterrence in their quest.

The love of motherhood did not have to emanate from her womb, it could blossom from adoption.

My older brother, sitting next to her in the photo, would be their first child.

Fast forward a bit more than a year later.

The higher than likely chance of not conceiving a child turned out to be a false prophesy……

I was born.

That’s me in the top left of the photo…..kind of.

Now she was Mom to 2.

A year and a half later……

2 became 3 with the birth of my younger brother. That’s him with the bewildered look in the Grey shirt that matches my Dad’s shirt.

Raising 3 boys all similar in age was challenging I am sure.

We were more than a handful.


my Mother always longed to have a daughter.

She was an only child.

She has lots of knowledge to pass on that her dirty muddy always breaking things boys just wouldn’t understand.

Fast forward 9 long years after the birth of her last child.

Her and my father turned to adoption, once again.

Through friends of friends they learned of a couple that was having a child that they could not keep.

They and there 4 other children were living in rough conditions and could not afford another child.

My parents were contacted and told them they would be there for the birth and if the child was a female they would adopt her.

Enter my youngest brother, standing next to me and above my Father.

When he was born, my Mother held him and looked into his eyes his newly opened eyes and couldn’t…..not…..adopt him.

That’s how 3 became 4.

Discouraged to be daughterless but overjoyed with her new son, life continued on………

For 1 month and 1 day.

With a single phone call, 4 would become 5.

We have family friends that live in Chihuahua, Mexico.

They knew of my Mother’s desire to have a daughter.

I’m not sure if it is still true or not, but, back then having a child out of wedlock was a big no no in Mexico.

The phone call told the story of a prominent doctor who had a daughter who gave birth to a daughter out of wedlock. She would not be allowed to keep her.  They preferred to have the child grow up in America.

Before my parents could hang up the phone, they were loading up the car and driving to receive the gift she always wanted.

A daughter, standing at the far right of the photo.

A photo may be worth a thousand words.

To the 5 kids surrounding the woman in the center of this one, it only says one-


Paint It Black

I don’t do death well.

I can make up stories with it as a main topic, watch stuff on the dummy box that is engulfed in it, read the news every day where it is a mainstay of virility.

But in reality, it’s not that easy.

It is the end result of life.

Once the first cry out of the womb is bellowed, the clock to the end…..begins.

As expected as it is…….whenever it happens it is almost never expected.

When it does happen…and it is someone that at one time or another I ran around with, it becomes hard for me to deal with.

You know…..I’ve been clean and sober for quite a few years now.

The actual length of that time really doesn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t and haven’t been in AA or any other support group for a considerable length of time either.

I love being sober.

I just don’t feel I need to talk about it to be able to maintain it.

I just do.

I also hated seeing people coming in and out, in and out, in and out……until some just quit coming back in.

“Someone may have to die for me to say sober” I would hear in meetings.

Which I think is crap, by the way.


There’s this guy I used to sponsor when I was in AA.

Every time I saw him I would say,

“Dude….you’ve got tattoos….ON YOUR FACE!”

I would say that, because he did.

He would come over and have dinner with my family almost every night. We would talk about what was going on and my wife and I would give him suggestions.

Always to the point….never beating around the proverbial bush.

Before I sponsored him, he had like 12 other sponsors.

After me, probably many others.

Regardless of the state of his sobriety and my exit from AA, we remained friendly and in contact.

He would come around.

Then be gone.


We got word yesterday that he got killed by getting run over by a car shortly after getting kicked out of a sober living house.

I hadn’t seen or spoke to him in a few months but he will be on my mind every day.

I drive a beat up truck that was green when it rolled of the factory floor decades ago.

When I got it, it had been completely spray painted black….with individual spray paint cans and recently repossessed by the owner for lack of payment. 

The guy who it was repossessed from was the same one who spray painted it.

And was the same guy I used to sponsor that had tattoos on his face.

I’m just kind of numb.

Emotions aren’t my thing either.

I just hope he is now at peace.

As for me…

I will keep on truckin’