Today I came home to eat a salad for lunch, and instead I ended up eating two brownies the size of cinder blocks.
…I did it yesterday, too.
I wish I had more self control. But hey; sometimes you want to be skinny, other times you just want to stuff your face with chocolate, pasta, and carbs. I’m not apologizing to anyone.
I heard a comedian once say, “Glitter is like the herpes of arts and crafts.” They could not have put it more eloquently. I just painted my nails, and to add a little spice to my usual mani, I pressed some loose glitter onto my wet thumbnails. Of course, there is now glitter everywhere within 30 feet of my thumbnails. It’s all over my hands, my jeans, my shirt, covering the coffee table, stuck in my keyboard, littering the carpet, probably in between my front teeth. I’m not sure how it manages to travel like it does. When glitter is involved in any project, big or small, it ends up in nooks and crannies that air can’t even seep into. A week later you’re out to eat with someone and they’re picking glitter out of your eyebrow. It doesn’t make sense. It’s like it’s got legs. It’s worse than sand at the beach. You leave the beach with sand in your buttcrack, your ears, your nasal passage, your birth-canal. It’s relentless. Glitter. It’s an STD.
I will never understand how robins accurately pinpoint the location of worms underneath the surface of the earth. Every day I see them hopping around in our front yard, poking their little beaks into the ground and yanking up a disgusting, slimy worm to feast on like it’s a gordita crunch wrap from Taco Bell. How do they do this? They obviously can’t see the worms. It’s going to be hard to convince me that they can smell the worms. And it’s not like they can just hear them. The worms aren’t down there in the dirt making a bunch of noise. They aren’t blaring Public Enemy and giving themselves away. It’s not like they’re stomping around on a creaky wood floor as they peruse through the earth, making their location a dead giveaway. I don’t get it.
I’ve noticed a strange phenomena lately. Boring, lifeless places like the DMV or the post office are the most desolate, depressing places perhaps on earth, as you already know. These places are like a wilted fern, withering away. I feel compelled to pour water all over it and force-feed it fertilizer. Outside these dreadful, lifeless caves, life thrives, people buzz around, birds chirp, the sun shines. Then the moment you enter the DMV, it’s like the color scale goes from a bright and cheerful 10 down to a dreary, lifeless 1 instantly.
It’s like you enter the waiting room, and everything looks gray. Life gets sucked out of everything and everyone. It’s like you’re suddenly in a dismal funeral home. Time stands still. Nobody smiles. Everyone is pissed. Everybody stands there in a line at the counter as if they’re lining up to die next.
The point is, they need to start serving alcohol at these joints. They’re never going to become popular without it.
Well, that’s all for now, chums. Adios.
T: I’m going to tweet your blog today. Hopefully my followers can read more than 140 characters.