More fun than Mayonnaise... or at least equally fun... OK, it's less fun, but you're still reading...
More fun than Mayonnaise... or at least equally fun... OK, it's less fun, but you're still reading...
This morning I dreamt that Lorelai Gilmore (a long-term TV crush) and I were cleaning dishes in our sink. I was teasing her that she couldn’t get chocolate milk stains off of the glasses. When we were done, our brand-new yellow dishrag had splotchy chocolate stains on it resembling Sponge Bob’s face. We (Lorelai and I – not Sponge Bob and I) were in love and it was a wonderful dream.
Is this dream considered cheating as far as Sarah is concerned?
A nice photo, but would I really wear a horizontal-striped tie?
We both look a little washed out from an evening of cross-stitching table runners.
As a defense mechanism in this harsh environment, my mom checked the bowl frequently, my sister ate huge handfuls at a time and I learned how to create decoy chocolate bar.... my mother wouldn't eat the last two if she still thought there were four left. These decoys gave me a better chance of eating the final two bars because I was the only one who understood how direly low the candy supply actually was while casually glancing at the bowl. This knowledge gave me an edge on the final chocolate snipe.
Today, I share this tradition of decoy chocolate with the my co-workers. The final two Hershey's Minis in the bowl have been replaced with decoys.
Last night was quite a night.... I pretended to ride a pony around the room... pantomimed making pancakes.... yelled at the top of my lungs.... said "bunny-bunny-bunny" (etc) as fast as I could before passing that torch to another willing shmuck.... took Franklin Ave west instead of I94 because the rain was making traffic go about 15 mph..... discovered free parking near Calhoon square with a 4 block walk.... stood in silence for one minute while a group of people studied me.... played catch with an imaginary ball and still dropped it twice....
Last time I go to Underblog's house for dinner! (8 more Improv Comedy classes until our big performance for friends and family.)
Last week I signed up for a tracking service to see who stumbles upon my blog and why.... These were some of the google searches that brought people to my page....
Or perhaps I'll contiue writing about constipated rhinos trapped on a spastic bus.... you gotta stick with what you know....
Since the beginning of time, Underblog has insisted that Ax-Man Surplus Store is an excellent place to take a date. It's a wharehouse of parts, gadgets and hoo-haws being sold at low, low bulk prices.... with everything from mannequins to iron lungs to 1950's TV cameras dotting the store as decoration. Sarah and I went last night and agreed it can be a really fun date place so long as it’s not your first… second… third… or fourth date. An isle of gears is not geared to "I'll love you forever", but the signage is great and the products are ripe with satire.... including the orange shoelaces she got me so I no longer feel self-conscious about my footware. Now my shoes are supposed to be as bright as the smile on my face after an evening with her (or after my semi-annual visit to the dentist).
Judging by Liarchan and Adam or Amy Sedaris and Ricky, it was just a matter of time before I finally dipped my toes into the chlorinated pool of love with Sarah.
Sarah and I met through a mutual friend (Carrie) who had strangely enough been trying to set us up for months. Unfortunately, every time Carrie planned a group event one of us cancelled. There was the pool party while watching Jaws (a dive-in movie night) that I couldn’t attend because of an open wound on my leg.... and there was the bbq party that Sarah left early from because the smoke inflamed her allergies (which was too bad because she missed my perfect burgers). But we finally met a few weeks ago and it has been FABULOUS ever since.
This weekend we watched Annie Hall and there’s nothing quite like the nervous butterflies of fresh love. Alvy Singer was killing a spider the size of a Buick and I knew this was the time to make my move. My fingers haven’t wanted to blog all week: they no longer understand why they need to type when they could be the sugary lard intertwined with the chalky black powder of summer’s sweet love.
You've gotta love the journalistic standards on CNN.com....
"Reindeer do not normally run off cliffs when they are grazing on the top of the mountain," Pavval said
As opposed to.... the Mountain Elephant, which is now extinct because it ran off of cliffs while grazing?
Today I ran a 5K “Super Endurance Mega Iron Steel Man Marathon”. The racers all started from a bridge leading onto Nicollet Island and with about 2 minutes until the starting gun I heard a honk from behind me. The silver curls of an 80-year-old woman were barely springing above the Cadillac steering wheel as she angrily waved for racers to get off her bridge so she could drive to a nearby restaurant. I was a little disappointed that she didn’t get a ticket, but she did get a hearty whistle and tersely pointed hand from the police officer telling her where to put the car.
Some of you may be surprised by my totally awesome score (31:47), but I got a rush of adrenaline with less than 1K to go. For 4K I had been following a 60 year old woman with extra tight deep purple spandex and it was maddening. Sure enough, somewhere deep inside I found the motivation to whisk past the grandma and the man-pushing-two-kids-in-a-stroller. But regardless of who won or lost, everyone can feel good for helping the often-disadvantaged Lawyers of the world.
I only subscribe to The Economist ("What's that about?" The economy, stupid.)… so I had no need for other subscriptions. We were invited to share a magazine, but unfortunately our lease together is done in 1 month.... or donate a magazine to a charity, but she refused to give Maxim to a children's hospital... After offering to play us in "Super Darts" for a loser-buys-a-mag, she left... forgetting a bit of her foul stank in our apartment. She might have had better luck offering sexual advances for magazines, since that's how I initially learned how to read....
I've got a friend who is accidently dating someone. She keeps asking him to do things and he agrees because he is suffering from an excuse drought. Even worse, he pays because he doesn't want to appear like George on Seinfeld who micro-manage the bill the until everyone has paid the exact number of pennies they owe.
He also complains profusely about the frosted flakes he recently acquired. They are too sweet considering how much sugar-y juice he starts his day with (on the side, not on top of the flakes). He doesn't want to eat them any more, but feels bad throwing away the new box of cereal.
I suggested having the girlfriend sleep over until she has eaten all of the frosted flakes.
I am at a hotel with large, leaf-y, paisley-eske tan wallpaper.... sitting under a Fall Geese scene (geese gazing into a pond reflection also shared by a brick country home)... listening to La Bamba.... bloggin' on a computer that is for Business Use Only. If confronted, I'll tell them that this is what I do for a living... which, given my limited responsibilities at the U isn't far from the truth. The only real difference is that I am forced to use a web converter to get my Dvorak Keyboard fix.
When I got back to the room this evening, the security lock (that allows you to open the door partially to see who is there) was preventing me from entering. Not amused with my sister's shenanigans, I called her cell phone after knocking profusely. A quick cell conversation revealed that she was shopping for flowers at the grocery store and that our hotel room anti-burglar lock must have locked itself.
The manager said this happens frequently, but the hotel refuses to buy the tool to open the doors easily... so he taught me how to jack it open with a hotel keycard. This means I am now proficient at opening anti-burglar security locks and the simple push-button locks at my elementary school using any major credit card.... even Discover....
En route to ND, I stopped at a rural rest-stop. The toilets, sinks, hand-dryers, etc were all controlled with motion sensors... no need for paper towel. Near the door to leave the restroom was a large, blue garbage receptacle with bold, black lettering: OFFICE PAPER ONLY.
That begs the question: Who is at a rest-stop and suddenly needs to recycle office paper? Why don't they put signs along the highway saying, "This exit... camping, food, recyclable papers.... next recycling bin 60 miles..."
My roommate can't for the life of him figure out why he never gets his Bankruptcy Law reading done before class.... I ran some numbers and there appears to be an inverse relationship between the number of minutes he spends reading Bankruptcy Law and the number of minutes he indulges himself with the wild and crazy antics of Don Knotts.
I was going to post about the new bus people.... I was going to make a photoshop creation with random google searches for images..... but I just don't care. "Springing Forward" always leaves me in a daze for about a week.... I haven't had a good night's sleep in 3 days now and I just want to go to bed. As much as I love "falling back", it isn't worth the agony my body goes through every spring. Between taxes and time changes, the government has found a way to pretty much ruin most of my April.
But I would also like to bid ado to the myriad of other characters I have not spent much time blogging about… The two old brothers who live together with large glasses and Viking’s Football jackets. May the younger never grow to be as chunky and bald as his elder. The Green Jacket, who would frequently fall asleep with a newspaper as a pillow until the bus driver announced, “Would the man in the Green Jacket please exit. This is your stop.” And the Hindu Little Red Riding Hood, whose smile was always radiant and kind. She knew the bus driver also favored her as he would slow down near her corner to make sure she wasn’t running to catch the bus. May everyone's life be filled with the grace and elegance she exuded with each swipe of her Super Saver pass.