Convincing the world I’m a loser since 1985.
The socks I’m currently wearing don’t match.
The pants I’m currently wearing have a hole in them.
I haven’t bought a pair of shoes since the last blue moon.
I don’t know what to do with more than one fork at a fancy restaraunt.
My car is falling apart.
I’m not poor, I’m just pathetic.
This weekend we tried starting the old church van, but it wouldn’t even make a sound. We tried calling a mechanic who told us to tap on the starter with a hammer while turning the ignition and it should start right up. But it didn’t. We then called my dad who’s had quite a history with old church vans. He told us to put the van into gear, rock it back and forth, and then start it. Sure, what a joke. Well we tried it and, what do ya know, it worked. My guess would have been to rub your tummy, pat your nose, jump up and down, and spin in a circle, but I guess that wasn’t necessary.
Have you ever noticed that they can sell almost anything on TV as a health supplement? I was just watching a breaking news infomercial that was talking about this new health supplement that can help you lose weight, lower cholesterol, keep you from getting sick, and a long list of other benefits. But it’s not only the latest scientific breakthrough. It’s seaweed. Yeah, you heard me right. They scrape up piles of seaweed, bottle it up and sell it and make loads of money. Genius I tell you, genius.
I cannot believe how many swarms of cops have been buzzing around on this Memorial weekend. I drove by a car yesterday that had gotten pulled over by a cop who apparently had to call for backup. The same day I was walking down the sidewalk and I ran into a cop while I was crossing the street. In addition to various other sightings, I pulled out from a stop sign onto a lonely street later that day. Before I even got up to speed a cop came right up behind me with his bright, colorful lights flashing. I didn’t think I had done anything wrong, but you never know I guess. I wasn’t speeding, that’s for sure, and I stopped at the stop sign. It could be that my car is so out of date that it’s a crime. Or perhaps I look so immature and not old enough to have a license. So I pulled over to the side of the road and watched the squad car go by. Whew.
I’m starting to think that I have a very high tolerance for things. I take ridicule and mockery without saying a word; I let little kids beat on me mercilessly; I stand still without making a sound when someone carelessly grabs my severely sunburnt arm; I lend people my jacket on cold days without thinking twice, then shiver and freeze but insist that they keep it. Furthermore, the other day I was in my photo studio taking pictures, and with the combination of quartz-halogen lights and no ventilation, it gets quite hot in there. But just like every other time, I quietly and steadily did my work in the lonely fiery furnace without saying a word. After a couple hours, someone came by to check up on me. As soon as he stepped in the room, he gasped and said, “Oh man is it hot in here. I can’t stand it.”
Is it just me, or is the temperature just right in here?
My mission for today, whether or not I chose to accept it, was to buy milk and banannas from Kwik Trip. My mom gave me a quick briefing on the mission, and instructed me to get one bag of skim, and two bags of 1% milk. Simple enough. But when I arrived there I discovered one little problem: they don’t label their milk by milkfat percentage. Instead, it’s color coded and marked with either fat-free, low-fat, or reduced-fat. Undoubtedly an interesting method of keeping away customers who have been given specific instructions to buy 1% and skim milk. Consequently, I was forced to use logic, and I concluded that the fat-free milk is the same thing as skim milk. But who’s to tell the difference between reduced-fat and low-fat?
You rub against your fender and a huge pile of rust settles on the ground.
Your passengers have to get out and walk because you can’t make it up the hill.
You accelerate and brake really hard when you drive somebody’s new car because you’re used to sticky pedals.
You hold a contest to see who can make the biggest dent on your hood.
You can’t tell if the road is bumpy, or if the duct tape just needs to be replaced.
Changing your oil and putting air in your tires is a weekly habit.
You can’t hear the stereo over the rattling noises.
You’ve paid more for repairs than you originally paid for your car and the repairman knows you by name.
You no longer lock your car doors. Not only because you haven’t the slightest worry of your car being stolen, but because you’re afraid that you might not be able to get it open again if you do.
The only time your cruise works is when you are being towed.
I’m thankful for lots of things. Among those things are Sunday afternoon naps. And wrinkle-free shirts. The last time I took a Sunday afternoon nap, my shirt was more wrinkled than a…..really wrinkly object. And so I had to change my shirt before I could go to the evening church service. But not this time. This time I’ve got 100% wrinkle-free cotton.
I went to a golf tournament the other day, so people kept asking me if I was really good at golf. The answer was of course, no. I just went for the dinner afterwards and the nice, thick sunburn. My skin is really white, so I burn pretty easy. But my steak was even more red than my sunburn. Is it too much to ask for them to cook the meat before you eat it? My steak was rare, but at least I was well done.
I’m beginning to see how talented my mom is. You see, I was the last one to get to the ice cream, and so I had to put it back in the freezer. Ha, easier said than done. With such a large family, our freezer wouldn’t have room for a popsicle, much less a container of ice cream. I was lucky I caught it before it fell on the floor this time, but I squished it pretty good trying to fit it in between the pizza and the frozen peas. I just can’t figure out how my mom does it.