1. Being a Hater: I was out to dinner with my sister and her kids, and would you believe my oldest nephew is going off to college in the fall? I can hardly believe it myself. My sister was saying how he hates random things that no one else hates, like Matt Damon, and he is just like me in that respect. I got to thinking that of all the things I would like to pass onto him or have him emulate, being a hater is not one of them. Then it occurred to me that if I wouldn't want anyone I care about to be a hater, then just why in the heck do I think and act in such a way? It was an eye opener for sure.
2. Ikea: But can I just hate on one more thing? Ikea. Boy do I hate going to that place. It's enormous, and you have to walk through the whole place to find what you want. Then sometimes you're looking for the name of something, and it's in Swedish, you're looking for something called Ummergolongousmnaou with all those little Motley Crue dots over the vowels, and all those crazy long words look the same. Then you make a note of the bin location to find them in the giant warehouse by the check out area. Why don't they just have little computers where you can search for the stuff, put them all in your electronic cart, and then print out a list of all the stuff you want with the corresponding warehouse locations? Well, guess those greedy Swedes want me to find other stuff to buy. Well, I won't! Well, maybe a meatball and a Mountain Dew. But that's it. Then I have to go home and snap together their shoddy particle board crap furniture, and they always give me extra pieces!* God, do I ever hate Ikea!
3. The Demise of the Walk of Shame: Remember when you hooked up with someone, woke up the next morning in a strange house with a strange person, and you had no idea what part of town you were in? So you walked out the door, tried to get your bearings, you looked around for what train or bus to take or where you might catch a cab. Oh, the excitement! But even better, oh the laughs we had spotting someone who clearly had their clothes on from the night before, her high heels and mini skirt at 10AM on a Sunday, and the look of embarrassment on her face. That was fun, right? Well, now with Uber, she orders up her ride from the dude's apartment and steps right into a car. We only have that brief 15 second window of the house door to the car door to spot a modern day walk of shame, and I saw one last Saturday before my buddy and I started our jog. Funny, because we both knew it was a walk of shame and realized we hadn't seen one in a while, and Uber is why.
That's all I got today, friends. Have yourselves a tremendous weekend, and try not to hate, even when it's funny.
*That was a joke. I know there are only extra pieces because I'm bad at figuring things out, even with instructions.
Friday, June 17, 2016
Sunday, June 05, 2016
I saw this picture inside a Port-O-Potty the other day. Hey, what do you call Port-O-Johns in your neck of the woods? I know a guy from St. Louis who informed me that everyone out there calls them Johnny On the Spots.
Back in the day you had to call for a good time. Now you just text. I don't think "Jenny (867-5309)" would have been a hit had Tommy Tutone been advising people to text Jenny for a good time. Come to think of it, why in the heck was that a hit to begin with?
Mrs. Noisewater is still pregnant with our first kiddo, and we're around 6 months along. I think this kid is hyperactive like me because he/she is kicking the bejesus out of her - right in the colon! I feel bad if I passed my AD/HD onto this poor little person. Or maybe he's just anxious to come out, and he's trying to kick his way out? Early would be fine, actually, because the poor girl is going to be pregnant as hell through the heart of a hot, muggy, Chicago summer. Come on out early, Star Scream! (That's a running joke between Mr. Shife and I)
I've been running around 10 miles every weekend. I did a little over 11 today, and I feel great. It's good to get back into running because it really does clear my head. There was a race going on, and I was trying to high five people when they were running in the opposite direction of me. Hardly anyone wanted any part of it. Strange. They all looked too worried about their times to get a high five. But I love a high five on race day. Different strokes, I suppose. Different strokes for boring folks.
I was at work the other day and asked a little kid what the crummiest thing to happen to him was all school year. He thought for a minute and decided it would be the day he got hit in the penis six times with a soccer ball. This is awesome for a number of reasons.
1. I love that he knew the exact number of instances.
2. Most kids would say they were hit in the balls, but he opted for penis.
3. I like that he didn't swear. He went with the biological term.
4. He had a slight lisp, so he said "penith."
See you later, Seven Readers. And may soccer balls be nowhere near your private parts.