- I am a hugger. I want to hug everyone.
- I am very aware that not everyone wants to hug, so I refrain from hugging most people. Sometime I do the awkward “one hand and back pat” hug
- That refrain turns into not touching people at all, so I end up seeming shy and aloof.
- I am shy and aloof, but still a hugger.
- I feel the need to say goodbye to everyone when leaving.
- I feel the need to hug everyone goodbye when leaving.
- It takes forever to go when leaving.
- I will say at least one awkward or inappropriate thing.
- I do not mean to say this awkward or inappropriate thing.
- When I say this awkward or inappropriate thing, it is always way too loud.
- I sometimes sing a response.
- My voice does not facilitate me singing said response.
- I find a way to work geeky stuff into every conversation.
- I struggle mightily to not look at boobs.
- I feel a twinge of guilt when I look at boobs.
- I wonder if people are looking at my boobs.
- I should not have boobs.
- I think that I am charming and witty.
- I don’t think that anyone else thinks I’m charming and witty.
- I still want to hug them.
Can I hug you? No? What about the one-handed hug? No? What about a firm handshake?
I’ve posted about Shelvin, my pet Eastern Painted Turtle and friend for 34 years (yes, I’ve had him since I was 6), but I don’t think that I’ve ever gotten into our disturbing dynamic. I thought that I was training him, but no, he was training me.
I saw this meme the other day and couldn’t resist.
I think I’m a TennyShakes 😉
Every now and then I like to do a funny post with memes. Why? Because I think they’re neat-o 😉 I also (as you probably know by now) have an obsession with the Muppets.
I also think that memes are an effective way of getting a point across. People respond to them because they use both words and pictures, which connect to the mind in different ways. It’s similar to what I learned as a teacher, a concept called “differentiated instruction.” But I’m not going to talk about that today. Bring on Cookie Monster!
Note: I suspect that some of these came from Mitch Hedberg
You heard me, folks. I am officially butthurt…
Last week I was stripping my bed, and I tripped over a pillow. I lost my balance, but I knew that there was a wooden chair right behind me. No big deal. There were papers on the chair, and they would cushion my fall. Rather than reach and scramble, potentially twisting or spraining something, I went with the fall.
I landed on the chair, but on the edge. Somehow I missed all of those cushiony papers. All I hit was hard wood (phrasing!)
Now I have a bruised tailbone. I don’t know if you have ever bruised your tailbone, dear readers, but it’s a real…pain in the ass (get it? GET IT?). Worse, it takes a long time to heal, I’m assuming because you are almost always putting some sort of pressure on it.
Original cartoon here
So I’ve been walking around gingerly, making sure that when I sit down or get up, I do so gingerly, avoiding the bruise. It’s not going so well.
The main problem is when I sleep. I am an active sleeper. I roll around in bed, and when I do, I roll right over the bruise. It’s been affecting my sleep even worse than my pre-butthurt insomnia. Today I woke up at 4:15.
At least I’m being productive with it.
Don’t worry, I will keep you posted on the state of my ass. I know that you’re dying to hear all about it.
Hey, did you know that I had two novels published (and a 3rd on the way). Did you know that they are heckin good (as the doggos would bork) and are doing me a proud? You should read one. You should read both. Hell, just read something that doesn’t come in blog form (except my blog. That’s cool). You can pick up my historical fantasy The Watchmage of Old New York or my dark sword n sorcery Song of Simon at any bookstore (they’re order it for you) or on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, or most online sellers. They are both getting excellent reviews, and Watchmage even received a 4 of 5 star critique from Writer’s Digest (from a recent contest. I didn’t win, but that puts me in some rare air.)
Note: My publisher for Song of Simon is currently having problems with it’s printing company, so they’re not producing more books. If you have one, congrats. It might become a collectors item.
I have had Gordon Lightfoot’s “Sundown” stuck in my head since last night. Not the whole song, just the chorus.
Damn you and your magnificent voice, Lightfoot!
He’s playing in the area in a couple of weeks. Now I might have to go just to get this ear worm out of my head.
If you get this joke, we can be pals.
Yesterday I went shopping for groceries, as I often do. It is important to buy groceries, because eating is a socially accepted norm and hunger is often questioned with “why don’t you eat something?” Without groceries, the answer is usually “let’s get some delivery.” I then eat an entire pizza and lie topless on the couch, stomach bulging like an alien trying to escape, me regretting every decision that led to this point.
I always return my cart. Since I used it, I feel that I should return it. It’s a nice gesture and opens up parking spaces so that people can park in the four spots that they feel their car requires.
Apparently not everyone in my town agrees in my cart return policy. As I’m bringing my cart back to the return stand, I find another. I think “well, I can’t let this cart hang out here and watch me bring his buddy back,” so I grabbed it, fit the two together in a passionate embrace, and pushed them both.
Along the way, there’s a cart sitting right in the middle of a parking spot. I cheerfully grab it as well, pulling it along behind me. And then another, until i’m pulling four carts.
I get to the cart return and put them in, rolling them down the line like I’m bowling for…well…carts. A man in a dress shirt, black tie, and yellow name tag calls to me. I ignore him. He calls to me again. And again. He’s walking toward me, so I change my mind and walk toward him. It must’ve been the tie. I was psychically tied by the power of his tie. What power! What grace! Who cares that his name tag was crooked and his shirt had pit stains. He was truly a master of all he surveyed.
“Where’s your uniform?” He asks.
“I don’t work here.”
“And your name tag?” He adds, clearly listening only to himself, the way that people in dress shirts, black ties, and ugly yellow name tags do. Listening skills are not a prerequisite for his career path.
“I don’t work here.”
“I should write you up.”
I can’t help myself. “Please don’t, sir. I’ll do better next time.”
He smiles. He thinks that he has achieved some masterful victory. “I’ll let you go this time. But go home and get your uniform.”
“Good, because I have ice cream in the trunk, and I don’t want it to melt.”
The moral of the story?
If you’re going to do a good deed, don’t have ice cream in the trunk.
I think the world should know that the best part about writing is that I can do it while lounging on the couch without pants. Pants are prohibitive to the writing process.
I guarantee that 90% of all writers write without wearing pants. This is a scientific study that needs no peer review because I have already decided that I am right.
Power costs freedom. Knowledge costs time. Wisdom costs joy. Ramen costs $1.19 at Shoprite.