About me: I'm 42 and added another gherkin to our pickle party of a family. My husband Chuck, our 9-year-old Junior, our 6-year-old Everett, our toddler and I live in a town in Connecticut I affectionately call Mulletville Lite (aka my childhood hometown). My friends call me Nutjob, and they're right. In my husband's spare time he dresses up as a Viking and chases ghosts (and I'm the nutjob?). When I'm not busy working as a graphic designer, I lie in a ball in the corner.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
[It's still] Tuesday Random thoughts
I dreamed last night that I was at a party and that every time I sat down, Jason Segel from Freaks and Geeks would sit on my lap to prevent me from standing up. Now I don’t like him.
When my coworker and I walk on our lunch hour, why do fellow workers feel the need to lean out of their cars and call out, “Walking?” Isn’t it obvious? And why doesn’t this compulsion to comment extend to other acts? Why don’t they ask, “Eating?” when I’m sitting in the lunchroom with my sandwich? Or “urinating?” as I’m about to go into the bathroom?
Why does it have to be so much fun to fib to little kids? Chuck gets mad when I suggest we tell Junior we’re Wolf People and that on Sunday nights we howl at the moon. I’m dying to see if Junior would do it. I think Chuck is scared to leave me alone with Junior.
I don’t like how everyone has been saying “I’ll reach out to you tomorrow” instead of “I’ll call you tomorrow.” This isn’t Message in a Bottle; dial your damn phone and stop being such a freak.
Why am I such a bad judge of character? My first impressions of people are always completely wrong. I think it’s related somehow to my backwards sense of direction. Maybe if I walked on my hands, my brain would process things more accurately. Of course, then people would ask, “Hand-walking?”
I wonder if Keely is sick of Tuesdays?
And finally, the sight of this empty plate today felt like the end of a very long journey.
RIP you sons of bitches.