Skrip - tyur' - i - ent: adj. Possessing the violent desire to write.


#044 In which our hero writes randomly.

Couple of random thoughts:

I've noticed a huge rise in the number of vanity license plates I see on the highway recently (full disclosure: The Scientist has a vanity plate). Some are pretty obvious, like MYCRUSR on the back of a PT Cruiser, or V6TRANS which I just saw this morning. As an aside, is a V6 really something to get excited about? I'm not a car guy, but I'm still unimpressed. I've taken to trying to figure out what these plates signify, and when I can't, inventing my own rationales. Someone in my neighborhood has NO1MOM which, undoubtedly, is meant to express the rather mundane "#1 Mother." However, I choose to look at it as "No one mother," meaning that this person didn't know his/her mother, and can't lay claim to an individual woman as their real mother. This is what I do when I'm bored at the light.


When my wife and I are having a disagreement, I do this thing where I'll try to point out the absurdity of what it is she's suggesting by providing an example. My thinking is that once she fully comprehends, which I assist by providing a concrete situation, she'll see my way of thinking, and concede the point. It usually goes something like this:
HER: My head hurts.
ME: Why don't you take some Tylenol?
HER: They sometime give me a bellyache.
ME: So what you're saying is that you'd rather sit around and suffer with a headache than take two pills that will definitely cure your pain because they might give you a stomach ache?
This, by the way, has never, ever worked. But I keep trying.


Our house has never looked better. It is clean, neat and, if I were looking for a bungalow in a quiet neighborhood, I'd snatch it up in a heartbeat. So let's get to it people and buy our house already! I mean, it's been on the market for more than A WEEK now. When someone else gets it, don't come crying to me.

Oh, and the real estate guy that "hosted" our open house? I think he was that guy Willy from "ALF." One day you're on a hit TV show with a jive-talkin' puppet, the next you're shilling houses. Wonder if he could get ALF to do a personal appearance? That would bring 'em in.


I have never before been so cognizant of the texture of my dog's poop. The Scientist and I monitor it with the care of nuclear technicians keeping a watchful eye on a twitchy reactor. Which is a pretty fitting analogy, since (like the reactor) the dog's colon could blow at any time, and the fallout would be equally toxic.

Frankly, I'm just waiting for it. The house is clean, the carpets steamed, all our crap is picked up and/or in storage. Now would be a perfect time for the dog to blow ass all over the place. I can hear the potential buyer now: "Cute place, nice neighborhood... oh, and by the way, did a cow shit in here?"

The other day we adverted disaster when I noticed that the dog's poop had achieved Dairy Queen soft-serve consistency (yeah, I know, it's gross, but that's the best way I can describe it). Acting swiftly, we adjusted his meds and we've had nice firm poops since (think slightly under-baked baked potato).

Ever vigilant!


Post a Comment

<< Home