Drat – I realized I forgot to reattach my beam rack and trunk to my bike this morning. Meaning that despite packing my gym togs in my backpack, I don’t have my sneakers or padlock with me – thus being forced to skip the gym (again!) and instead spend the evening comparing the various models of Hoverounds and Jazzy Chairs to determine which is most appropriate for my active lifestyle*.
But, lucky for me, I’ve got friends who’ll help out. Or should I say, “lucky” for me, I’ve got “friends” who’ll “help out.”
Me: UGH. I forgot half my stuff for the gym, so now I can’t go. Actually, I have my clothes, but not my padlock. OH WELL – guess I’ll have to go home and finish off the Freixenet before it goes flat…
Compulsive gym-goer pal: I’ve got a lock. Here.
Me: Oh… Um, yeah. Thanks. But I’ll never remember the combination.
CGP: It’s (easily remembered 3-character alpha-numeric combo).
Me: Oh… Um… Well, I don’t have my flip-flops to wear in the shower. And my toenail is kinda effed up right now, so I’m sure I’d get a fungal infection immediately. It’s a total cootie vector.
CGP: I’ve got some extra flip-flops. Here.
Me: ALL RIGHT! I’LL GO! Jesus…
CGP: Have a great weekend!
That’s what friends are for!
Oh, and she also implied that I’m fat – which is actually an improvement. She usually just states it unequivocally. Also, her name rhymes with Shmemily.
From Patrick Gaspard, Executive Director of the Democratic National Committee:
And congratulations to CNN for erroneously reporting that the individual mandate was struck down – and taking 20 minutes to correct it.
Also, HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Oh, man – some unemployed gal from Alaska had this to say:
Proving once again that good things do not come in small packages, I received a mysterious little parcel at my office today. “Hmm…,” I said to myself, “I don’t remember ordering anything online recently.” What could it be? I did observe that the delivery was from Harriet Carter, purveyor of high-quality and completely-practical goods and apparel – much like Lillian Vernon, Fingerhut and International Male.
I opened the package with only mild trepidation. I mean, it was the size of a deck of playing cards, only thinner. It couldn’t be that bad – could it? Of course, had I realized then that it was from my sister Andrea, I’d’ve known to prepare for the worst.
Yes, that’s right. “Easy-Fit Waistband.” In other words, button-on waist extenders for when one is too fat to fasten one’s jeans. OK, not “one’s jeans” – my jeans. Like this.
My sister is a treasure. I’ll be looking forward to my birthday at the end of the summer. Presumably the Lark Mobility Scooter is already on its way!
Needless to say, I do plan to run a couple of experiments with these when I arrive home – purely for scientific purposes, obviously. Though I’m already having nightmare visions of once – just once! – taking these out for a spin in public on a night when I finally have the opportunity to be “intimate” with an object of my affection, only to be immediately (and justifiably!) spurned when my shameful secret is revealed. Eh, not bloody likely, given that no one – literally not one person on earth – is interested in unbuttoning my pants.
So, attempting to scrounge up dates is the worst. It’s almost as bad as actually going on them! UGH.
Anyhoo, in these modern times, online date trolling seems to be the only marginally-effective avenue for meeting potential mates. So, I give it the old college try. Have met a few nice fellows, though thus far all of the friend-zone variety. I’ve also had some good online chats. Such as this…
Me: Oh, what are you studying?
Him: Interior design and architecture. I just finished my first year. [Ed. note: This is adult education. He is not a 19-year-old. I’m not insane] Five more to go.
Me: That’s a lot of school just to karate-chop pillows and throw a bunch of tchotchkes around.
Him: But one major is a B.A. and the other is a B.S.
Me: Bachelor of Arts & Bachelor of Slipcovers?
Someone really needs to explain to me again why I remain single…
The very notion of a “party bus” is anathema to me, since it generally means “bus filled with a bunch of drunk bridge-and-tunnel d-bags” – and I’m not bridge-and-tunnel.
That being said, I would totally crank open the sunroof and stand and scream “WOOOOOOOOOOO!” while cruising down the street in this sweet, sweet ride.
Facebook’s algorithms seem to be getting to know me just a tad better – though how I got served something regarding a master’s degree for “working professionals” is a mystery…
Flipping through the June issue of PC World and happened on this gem. I had to flip back to the cover to ensure I wasn’t reading The Onion.
Ms. Darwell is writing a book that includes other valuable pointers such as “How to Meet Your Deadlines Using Angry Birds”; “Sharpen Your Project Management Skills with Words With Friends”; and “Fast Track Your Career By Spending Untold Hours Reading the Shockingly Racist and Ill-informed Comments That Accompany Every Online Article from Your Local Newspaper.”