Life without my wife, a diary — with goats.


Here’s an actual photo of the fridge on a random Saturday when Dagmar was gone for 15 months. This is an actual photo, I was hungry too.

Dear Diary,

As you know Dagmar started work today in Wiesbaden and will only be home on the weekends.   I thought this dairy would help me deal with the freedom pain of our being apart.

Day 1:

Ate lovingly-made breakfast and lunch prepared by the wife and spent an extra hour at work because why go home to an empty house?

The boss said he appreciates the extra effort!

Once home I drank a beer, undressed in living room but will totally take those clothes upstairs in just a moment. Prepared a well-balanced meal while drinking beer, prepared coffee for tomorrow, while drinking beer, and watched the Daily show while drinking beer.     This is sort of relaxing.  I’ll get the dishes tomorrow.

I also became a super-user at ratemyrack.com!

What an honor.

Drank beer, surfed the web and drank beer

Fell asleep on the stairs.

Day 2:

Awoke in the morning with stair carpet imprints on my face and with back-kinks.   I have vague recollections of telling the cat we will not be discussing the remote control incident from last night.

I have vaguer recollections of the cat agreeing with me.

Every internet wired device in the house has porn loaded.   Even the printer.  Who drank all this beer?   My coffee tastes bad because I’d added more water but not changed the grounds.

I must soldier on.

No matter I have to get ready for work.  I’ll pick up the empties, along with the clothes and the kitchen tonight when I get home.

Getting ready for work I pick an awesome combination of gray slacks, with a striped shirt and a plaid tie.  I look dressed to the nines, oddly though it hurts my brain to look at myself in the mirror.

No matter high-fashion is its own reward.

Man the boss rode me at work today.   Why does that dude always ask me to DO stuff?   Damn man.   He also asked me if my wife had already moved.

How did he know?

It was totally hungry by like 11 a.m.   I mean seriously hungry.  I bought a box of pop-tarts, a bag of Doritos and some cheese dip.

I ate it all for lunch.

Co-workers seem odd, distracted.   Some of them whispered when I ate.

They don’t understand awesome like I do.

Quitting time!   Totally going to bed early tonight, I’m tired!

Drank beers when I got home.   Something smells funny in the kitchen and I don’t remember there being this many flies when I left this morning.   After a few beers I decide to play Skyrim but decide my character will always be naked.

Playing Skyrim with a naked character is stupid.

I lose interest after 5 beers.

I am offered and accept a position as “administrator” at ratemyrack.com.

I declare that ‘Juanita’ has won ratemyrack.com ‘for all time’ and that no further entries need be supplied.

I am fired as an “administrator” at ratemyrack.com.

I eat cold baloney and cheerios over the sink.  I think I drank catsup because I once read you cannot ‘drink’ catsup.

Fact: you can.

The cat is avoiding me.

Day 3:

I awake to discover South Park on replay in the bedroom and that the sheets during the night have been pulled off the mattress.   I’m actually cocooned in bedding and it takes me 15 minutes to extract myself.

It’s a painful 15 minutes as I really have to pee.

Why are all these empty beer cans on the floor?

There are a herd of goats in the living room.  Leaving the back patio door open for this long now seems a bad idea.  Closing it now seems a worse idea.   The cat is nowhere to be found I doubt she would be much help were she here.   I fight for a seat among some kid and turn on the TV.    Nothing happens.   I discover that the goats have eaten through the cable.   They’ve also eaten the coffee and most of the food in the kitchen.

Yesterday’s twice brewed coffee is a distant memory but my headache is here and now.

A goat just butted me, with its head, and it hurt.

Guess I’m going to work.

The closet has been ransacked, I’d blame the cat but I know it’s the goats.   I’m reduced to shorts and a collared polo for work.   I convince myself flip-flops work in this situation and go with it.   If you believe in it enough, it’s true.    After showering I’m reduced to drying off with the bedding … the towels were eaten by the goats while I slept.

Down to the garage I discover pimp Iceberg Slim’s ‘ride’ in my garage.  Confused memory’s come back.   Something, something, “let me keep my ride here,” something, something, “and I don’t kill you” comes to memory.

Seems I made the right choice.

There are a lot of words at work, “appropriate”, “business-like” and “you smell like a goat”.   None of them matter because I smell like goat.   Googling goat extermination is more complex then you might think …

Once back home I discover that a family of indigenous Germans have camped in my basement, tents and all.  That would be weird but for the fact I never knew there were indigenous Germans.

When challenged they confess they’re just a bunch of drunk dudes.

These guys, no matter what they tell you are not a protected tribe of indigenous German people. They’re drunken college kids. Never let them camp in your basement.

I wouldn’t mind them but their cooking fires have blackened the ceiling and walls.  They’ve taken care of the goat issue and invite me to share in their grog.   I partake willingly and am happy to discover they consider the living room to be ‘sacred hunting grounds’.    They’ve somehow convinced Iceberg to relocate.  Between this and the goats, I am happy.

They also have Grog.

Day 4:

Good news!   The boss sent me home early from work.  I don’t know why.   He told me not to come in tomorrow either.  FOUR DAY WEEKEND PEOPLE!  The German tribe has migrated, or at least that’s what the notes they left me said.   It also mentioned a lack of beer.

Whatever.

The damage is massive, I begin searching online for “chicks that clean your house naked” only to discover, after a few phone calls, they really don’t do goat poop removal.   They dust and crap.  My dust has dust on it at this point.

I wrap myself in a rug and pray for death for tomorrow, SHE WHO MUST BE OBEYED, returns.  I have failed.

Day 5:

HOLY JESUS DAGMAR WILL BE HOME TODAY WHAT THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO?!?!?!

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