What the hell?
I had to slap myself the other day. Hard.
Posts here have been few and far between, and what has been posted has been lacking. I think one problem is my blog simply lacks focus on a particular topic. When it first began, it was the perfect place to vent my frustrations about the morons I would encounter while working at the airport. I don't work there any more. I have little to no frustrations with work now. So, the stories I used to tell, the ones that people would always tell me they loved are gone.
As I thought about this, for one fleeting second a thought floated across my brain and it was horrific. I almost wished I was back at the airport just for the stories. My heart skipped a beat. How could I possibly think something like that, even for a second?
"What the hell?" my head asked itself. Yeah, I have conversations with myself. Two voices going at it in my head. One of them swears a lot. Okay, they both do. Does this mean I'm nuts? Probably not, but wishing I was back at the airport just so my blog would be funny again doesn't help the argument.
"What the hell?" Voice One asked again. Voice Two had no answer. What could it say? It was like standing on the precipice of the Grand Canyon and thinking for a split second what it would be like to jump... or push the old lady over. How would she bounce? I digress.
Both are crazy thoughts, though. Crazy. Returning to the Hell Hole just for some funny bits is crazy, right? Of course, after reading this you are probably thinking, "Well, maybe it would be worth it."
Where’s My Dolly
Overheard from a 30-something man. Of course I use the term "man" loosely.
"I love Cabbage Patch Dolls. I think they are a very creative toy."
First of all, kudos to the dude who feels comfortable to admit something like this in public.
Second, a creative toy? It's a doll. A doll with a birth certificate, grant you, but a doll nonetheless. All the birth certificate does is name the doll for you, thus robbing you of any creativity you could have used by naming the doll yourself.
Love in an Elevator
Okay, if you stand right in front of the elevator doors as you are waiting for the elevator, you are a dillhole. If you are so close to the door, that your big, fat gut starts to spill into the elevator as soon as the door starts to open, you are a dillhole. If you shove your way into the elevator, bowling over the people who are trying to exit and forcing them to step around your big, fat gut to get out , you are a dillhole.
To the dude in the ugly Hawaiian shirt who is guilty of all the above: You are a big, fat, freaking dillhole.
Life In Moments
My wife's new website is up and running. Head on over and take a look.
She is a great photographer. You can take a look at a sampling of her work, listen to some cool tunes, read some praise from clients, and contact her about booking your own session. You won't be disappointed.
The Conference Room Was Unavailable
Walked into the bathroom, and the dude at the urinal is peeing and talking on his cell phone at the same time. The call was obviously a business one. So as I walked up to the only other urinal, I was faced with a dilemma. Do I aim for the water in the bottom of the urinal, thus causing a loud splashing sound which would echo quite nicely and would certainly give away the caller's location to the party at the other end of the line? Or do I aim for the side of the urinal, lowering the volume but increasing the risk of splash back?
Well, before I could decide, the caller flushed the toilet. It was a loud flush. Then he fake-washed his hand, and yanked the paper towel loudly form the dispenser. So, I aimed for the water, all the while trying to figure out what kind of business can't wait 30 seconds for a guy to take a leak.