Monday, January 26, 2009

Bein' playas

My wife is now in Houston. She'll keep the warewolves away for awhile. She's a beautiful woman–strong, independent, eternally cheerful. She would be either the most treasured of cancer caregivers or the most annoying. Probably depends on the person or mood. For me, it's never been anything but very cool. She's also a nurse. So that means she can understand what in the world those doctors are saying. 

We're both living it up at the Holiday Inn this week. While I'll be getting deadly toxins shot into my body, she'll be venturing beyond the environs of the Texas Medical Center to haggle with the locals about an apartment. I may have the more enjoyable of the two activities this time.

But that's later in the week. Tonight, we ride. That's right. We're painting the Texas Medical Center red. It's already mostly a pink hue. Somebody must have been here before us. I may even take her for some ice cream. Yeah. Uh-huh. Living the dream. Bein' a playa. A playa makin' Double Fudge Chocolate stains on that little napkin they give you. Enclosed is a picture of some gangstas cuz that's what we're gonna be tonight, cous. 

By the way, for those of you worried that I'm going to die sooner rather than later, rest assured. I refused to die in a Holiday Inn. I don't want people saying, "Yeah, they found him face-first in his room service meal of chicken fried chicken." 

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