092 - All the Doo-Dah-Day

I work with a lot of men, and quite a few of them are at the age where they have developed ginormous man guts. Not like my jiggly tummy, which is unattractive yes... but malleable (ask my cat)... no -- these are solid masses of fat so dense that you could use them as a tray table. I often wonder if they hurt, because (and this is just what I gather from the way the shirt fabric is straining against it) they look so bloated that their skin must be about to burst open. Mostly when I see one I begin to picture the two of us in a cartoon world (this happens more often than you'd think... me in a cartoon world)... me with a needle, him with his big, bloated belly... which I proceed to puncture... and he deflates into nothingness as he flies up into the atmosphere.

Speaking of flying up into the atmosphere, what was up with the kid in the big balloon??? I don't have a child, but if I did, I'm sure I would have the same concerns any other parent would: Are they getting enough calcium? Did I make it clear that they are not to talk to strangers? Did little Johnny do his homework? But certainly not, "You know... one day my kid might climb into a giant mylar balloon and be blown all across hell and Colorado." How weird is that? Luckily he wasn't in the balloon at all. Lucky for him and his parents, because if he had been, his parents would have been in so much deep dookie they may as well have dropped their other kid with a relative and killed themselves. Can you imagine? *shiver*

So I'm pretty sure the world is about to come to an end. Maybe even before December 21, 2012. I know that the end is nigh and we are hurtling toward Armageddon because this year has been a whopper: Not only did my parents get satellite tv this year... not only did my computer loathing mother recently decide to make nice and adopt a laptop for Christmas... but now they have begun to text me. Next thing you know, they'll be blogging. Cold Earth beneath your feet? That's not winter -- that's Hell freezing over.

Speaking of texting and Hell... I'm not a huge fan. That's right. I don't like text messages. Unless you have something really important to tell me -- don't text me. Sending me a picture of your foot does not amuse me like you'd think it would. Sending me a chain letter telling me to text it to my friends or my already bad luck will continue to worsen makes me want to brain you with my telephone. I am on a 500 text messages a month plan, and if I ever send or receive that many text messages I will probably cause myself bodily injury. If you are message 501, I will cause bodily injury to you.

Also not a fan of people talking to other people on the phone while they're in a public bathroom. Do it and I will flush and flush and flush and flush just so the person you're talking to will know where your hands have been. I have never had something so important, so urgent to talk about that it couldn't wait until I was out of the bathroom. Besides that, you're infringing on my private moment. Don't do it.

Stepping down from the soapbox. Hmph. I'm feeling snarky, but not yet flu-ish, today.

And I was so ridiculously happy to find several comments about my last blog post. Wow. I know that I'm easily amused, but I have to admit, it was kinda cool.