dave's return

If you enjoy what you find here, be sure to subscribe or become a follower, so you can keep up with all my bloggy goodness.

As a teen, I regularly read Dave Barry's humor column in the Sunday paper. Regularly, that is, until the idiotic Roanoke Times and World-News stopped publishing it. I guess it wasn't news-y enough or something. At any rate, I was an avid reader. Or a loyal reader. Or a fan. Whatever.

While other teen girls were infatuated with Brad Pitt or Sailor Moon (never quite got that one), I plastered the covers of my school binders with Dave Barry columns. After taping the article to the front, spine, rear, or inside of the binder, I would then "laminate" my work with more, um, tape. Classy, you know?

One fall, while at the Troutville fall festival (can't remember the name of it...), I happened upon a library's used book sale.  Books for a quarter!  Books for fifty cents!  Books, books, books, and more books.  You know what else they were selling?  hot dogs.  yeah.  because they go so well with books.  Want some ketchup with that?

I spent many minutes looking through all the boxes of no-longer-loved books and came away with quite an armful.  One of my gems was a Dave Barry book.  Seriously.  I know!  I didn't even know that my most favorite columnist who had been writing for the Miami Herald since the time I was three was an author, too!  I think the book might have been Dave Barry Talks Back, but really I'm not sure.  At any rate, it was awesome!

Now, let me tell you, the only thing that I remember from reading that most awesome library book sale find is this: Suck, Don't Blow.  That's right.  As a teen, I was taking my sex tips from a great comedian.  It scarred me for life.  Did you know that if you blow on a dick, the guy can get air in his blood and die?  That's what Dave Barry said.  I still can't breathe right while doing the oral nasty, out of fear of killing my husband.  Maybe I need one of those strips. 

This afternoon, I took Katie to the library and, lo and behold, what did I find?  Dave Barry's latest collection of comical essays.  I immediately checked out I'll Mature When I'm Dead, though I had an armful of other, more grown-up things to read.  (Like The Rebel Housewife Rules: To Heck with Domestic Bliss) (I'm pretty sure my early obsession with all things Barry influenced my overuse of the parenthesis) (parenthesisess? not sure what the plural of that one should be).

Dear Dave:  Though I go to comedy clubs and see other guys talking about funny stuff, though I inwardly laughed my ass off when my husband fell off a bounce house and bumped his head yesterday (he was fine), though I find humor in blogs and stuff, you're still my one and only comedian.  The one that I think of when I'm down.  The one I think of when I'm on my knees (Suck, lady, suck), the one who introduced me to the funny business.  Though you're an old man, and you're probably wrinkled up and should be gray, and you turned 50 like a million and a half years ago, you're awesome.  My binders salute you.