The heating guy from Trane won’t stop calling me Jason.
I received a package addressed to Josh Meir.
My fiance has a way cooler last name than I do.
According to howmanyofme.com there are 653,932 Joshua’s and 314 Joshua Meyer’s in the US.
According to Google there are at least three Joshua Daniel Meyer’s. One is me, one is a todler, and another one, who happens to be the same age as me, is chillin in a correctional facility. I think I finally found my long lost evil twin brother.
I keep quite a bit of stuff in my wallet. Not money, typically, but usually stuff like pictures and other memorable items. I say this to those who got an F in Morals class and wouldn’t mind “borrowing” a conveniently lost wallet.
Now to those who wouldn’t steal a fly if it landed in their soup; the only thing of some value that I keep in my wallet would be pretty much my whole life. Meaning, if my wallet somehow turned out to be not in my pocket, my life would be over. My life, in this context, consists of pretty much my life savings, as well as the key to my office, where you can find a beautiful Alienware computer and a camera that’s more expensive than yo momma.
So with this knowledge of what’s in my wallet, and of course my wallet, someone could theoretically steal my money, steal my identity, steal my job, and end my life. Good thing my wallet is ALWAYS in my pocket.
And now I think I’ve made it obvious enough what my next paragraph is about. It’s a very disoriented feeling when the hand thrust into your pocket pulls out nothing but pocket lint. I rechecked my pocket at least 5 or 6 times with diminishing hope each time. I traced my steps through my room, out to my car, and back to my office, which of course I can’t get into without the key that’s in my wallet that’s not where it’s supposed to be. I then called one of my coworkers who let me in, and I found my wallet under a backpack on top of a chair that I haven’t sat in since…well, I really don’t know if I’ve ever sat in that chair. Which is why I’m pretty much clueless as to how it got there.
I’m no fan of Halloween, so it’s merely a coincidence that I’m sharing a scary story at this time of the year. Brace yourself and prepare to be frightened.
I had just exited walmart and walked up to my car. No sooner had I gotten inside and turned on the engine than I noticed the small red car in front of me creeping forward. It kept creeping and creeping slowly forward until it was so close to my car that there was no chance that I could get out of there without at least a poke at my bumper. This “creepy car” as we’ll call it, wasn’t exactly the shiniest car in the lot, to say the least. This made me fear that they maybe didn’t have the greatest insurance plan, which is kind of a scary thought. Inevitably the two cars made contact. An interesting note is that since both cars were red, any exchange of paint would be unnoticeable, which could be a good or bad thing. Luckily though, my license plate sticks out far enough that no layers of paint were laid. Well none that I noticed anyway.
You might be thinking that’s not so scary. But that’s not the scary story. The scary part is that as I watched the creepy car creep towards me, my life flashed before my eyes. And that’s a scary story. (If your idea of scary is unbearably boring.) To give you an idea, most people would shriek and run away if my life was flashed before their eyes.
Which leads me to my newest invention, the Flashlife ™. It’s a simple device like a flashlight that projects a series of images at undesirable life forms, flashing my life before their eyes. It’s more effective than pepper spray, and more convenient than explosives (and less illegal). I might use it tomorrow night to keep away any zombies or Frankensteins that wander up to my door. And to get back at that creepy car.
I wrote myself a note the other day. My distinctly unique handwriting made it so beautiful that it’s almost a work of art. I considered framing it, until today when I attempted to read it. I’m still wondering what all those cryptic symbols are supposed to mean. (Note to self: Don’t write notes to yourself.) I wonder if the museum of modern art is open for submission?
I was just looking at the definition of the word “know.” Listed among the synonyms were “screw,” “hump,” and “bang.” Funny, but I always thought the definition of know was more something on the order of “to understand something.” I wouldn’t have guessed it to mean the same as a piece of attachment hardware, a camel’s back, or the sound a gun makes. They really don’t make dictionaries like they used to.
I work for a music recording company, so I hear technical jargon all the time. Not just the usual stuff like hard drive and RAM, I hear some pretty serious stuff like DMX-4 and 24-80’s and all kinds of stuff with numbers and letters. And that’s just the beginning.
Of course, with myself being a graphic designer, I have my own jargon. But I try to refrain from using it, because the last time I did somebody thought I called them a dingbat.