Monday, June 08, 2009

Ah, to be 13 again

So yesterday after church I was hanging out shooting the shizz with a few folks, just chatting and doing the social thing. It was kind of nice, for a few minutes, and then it was time to go.

Got in Tinkerbell feeling pretty good about life, checked out my look in the rearview mirror, and disappeared into my shoes.

Why? Oh, just because there was a GIANT booger hanging out my nose! A fine-sized multidimensional hunk-a nose crop, wafting gently in and out with each breath.

And now I'm sure I've been the topic of much hilarity around luncheon tables areawide. That's OK I suppose, because you know what? I totally would have talked about my booger if it hadn't been me sportin' it. Boogers.Are.Funny.


Sad fact #231: How good you feel after finishing a bout of workout is NOT always directly proportional to how much work it was to workout. Sometimes you can put heart and soul into something and still feel like 10 pounds of crap stuffed in a 5-pound bag.

Endorphins can be capricious, it would appear.


We are having some difficulty naming the robins. Some combinations that have been hoisted up the flagpole are as follows:

Michigan and Jay
Bob and Jim
Moby and Dick
William and Wallace

But none seemed to have stuck. What are we dong wrong? Perhaps the birds aren't supposed to be named? Doesn't help that they're growing and changing at such an accelerated rate that by the time we do come up with decent names they'll probably be shaving and chasing girls in a beater car, forgetting to listen to us telling them to be careful and come home by 11.

They grow up so fast. Honestly - three days ago they could even stand up, and now they're hopping and flappin' their lil' wings, doing some preening (teenagers!) and actually keeping their eyes open for longer than it takes to get a belly full o' grub.

So cute. But still, un-named. Feel free to offer suggestions; I think we need s half-ton of help here.


Speaking of half-tons...

At the farmer's market the other day, just outside the seafood place where we dined like kings on fried denizens of the deep, I saw a woman who looked like she was smuggling a loveseat in her pants.

From head to waist - normal. From waist to knees - WOW. Room for two, at least.

Makes me glad I'm not subject to figure vagaries like that. I'm too weak, constitutionally, to have to stand up to a lifetime of adjusting to that sort of thing. So, good for her, I guess, for going out in public in bright blue skintight clam diggers, but maybe next time she should think about just purchasing some produce and leaving the deep-fried everything alone.

Jus' sayin.'


That wraps it up. Y'all have a fine evening. Thanks for reading.

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