Saint Dirty Face

Robert

Faith, Dirty Grace, and a Whole Lotta Whiskey, Regret, and Resurrection.

Visit my domain to dive face-first into the wild ride of my brain — a mashup of raw truths, dirty jokes, mental fistfights, and midnight rambles you didn’t know you needed. Saint Dirty Face. Imperfect on purpose. Faithful with fangs. Here to spill it all, laugh at the absurd, and maybe light a match under your too-comfortable chair.

  • 💀 Money 4 Nothing and Dinner is Never Free… 🤦🏻‍♂️

    Robert

    Today I was in Husband Mode™ — snacks, errands, Target run, you know, the gladiator’s path of suburban survival.

    Pastry shop? 🔥 Good stuff. Wallet survived.

    Target? OH, YOU MEAN THE BLOODY BEAST.

    We walked in for “just a few dinner items and some grooming necessities” — and somehow $100 disintegrated like a magician snapped his fingers over our bank account.

    And that, my friends, is where tonight’s rant takes off.

    🎤 The Saturday Night Rant

    This bullshit economy makes it nearly impossible to survive comfortably.

    The Mrs. and I have college degrees, good jobs, and the grind in our bones — and yet? We’re still riding the check-to-check train.

    But here’s the real punch in the gut:

    What the hell are our kids walking into?

    Even with a four-year degree, today’s starting salary barely buys gas, ramen, and a side of existential dread. Their graduation reward?

    Welcome to “Live At Home: The Encore Tour.”

    Yeah, yeah — some people say “Charge them rent! Toughen ‘em up!”

    But let me tell you something:

    It’s not their fault the cost of living is batshit crazy.

    We’re Gen X — we raised ourselves on sarcasm, latchkey vibes, and leftover Hamburger Helper. We tried to give our kids a better ride. But now I wonder: Did we set them up, or did the system?

    🍷 Flip Side: The Empty House Fantasy

    Meanwhile, the Mrs. and I are READY for the next chapter:

    Naked wandering. Kitchen moaning. Primal love in every room of the castle.

    But noooo. These lovable freeloaders might be here a few extra years.

    Thanks, economy.

    So, you know what?

    SCREW IT.

    We’re getting our own weekend love shack.

    Friday: vanish.

    Sunday night: sneak back in.

    Will they even notice?

    Hell no — they’ll just text, “You bringing snacks?” 🤣

    🖤 Final Thoughts from Saint Dirty Face

    This is my Saturday night howl.

    A Gen X love letter and middle finger to modern life.

    A reminder that even when we’re broke, beat, and snack-hunting, we’re still standing.

    See ya, bitches — and remember:

    “Life will kick you in the nuts. Moan louder.”

  • Welcome to Saint Dirty Face — Where the Saints Sin & The Sinners Pray

    Robert

    Welcome to the rambling pit.

    I don’t know why you’re here — hell, I don’t even know why I’m here. But if you’re into a little chaos, some uncomfortable truths, NSFW musings, and the half-drunken poetry of a man still clawing at his own shadow, then pull up a chair.

    This isn’t your polished self-help blog. This isn’t a Jesus-fish-on-the-bumper website. This is for the ones who believe and still scream at the sky. For the ones who have scars on their bodies and their souls — and sometimes can’t tell the difference.

    I’m here to talk about everything. And nothing at all.

    Faith. Lust. Rage. Joy. Anxiety. The crap that keeps you up at 3 a.m. The sex you laugh about. The prayers you whisper when you swear no one’s listening. The dreams you thought died twenty years ago but keep dragging their half-dead asses across your brain.

    I’m not a guru. I’m not a saint. I’m just a man with a cracked halo, a filthy mouth, a tender heart, and a blog.

    If you want polished — go somewhere else.
    If you want raw — stick around.

    Expect NSFW. Expect random. Expect funny. Expect dark. Expect posts that might make you question why you’re still reading… and then hit subscribe anyway.

    Welcome to Saint Dirty Face.

    Let’s f*cking go.

    Who’s the madman behind the mic?

    Papa. Husband. Registered Nurse.
    The order always varies — but they all bleed into each other.

    I heal people by day, wrestle demons by night, and pray somewhere in between.

    Sometimes I’m the hero. Sometimes I’m the cautionary tale.

    But here, I’m just me — raw, cracked, reaching, writing, laughing, cursing, surviving.

    Stay if you dare. Leave if you must. Bless you either way.