Moving

I saw a man who was riding a motorcycle with a very tall tree tied to the back seat. I imagine that there are a million reasons why someone would have to tie a very large tree to the back of a motorcycle and ride around. I suppose many of those reason would seem to be very logical but I imagined that he was some kind of landscape architect. Not a very efficient one mind you, but somehow he is working and the tree was just the finishing touch that could bring his dream to fruition. Or perhaps he is a prick and his girlfriend kicked him out but first she burned all of his things (because, you see, pricks often hook up with psychos) so the only shred of dignity he could scrape together was to grab the tree and storm out. Possibly he was fired from his job and the contents of his desk were nestled between his legs and I just could not see them. Maybe he was helping a friend move and never wanted to be asked to do so again. Perhaps he thinks of it as his pet. It may be that the two of them are dating? It could be that the tree was hitch-hiking and this guy was just a good Samaritan. Perchance the man was hot and needed shade. Possibly there was a bird or other creature in the tree acting as a look out. It is feasible that the two of them had a suicide pact and were on their way to carry it out. Maybe he wanted to make paper? I have considered the possibility that he stole the motorcycle while it was still chained to the tree. Imaginably, he thought it was a marijuana plant. Whatever the reason, it got me thinking. What would I do with a tree and a motorcycle??

Crack

I know it's been a while. I have not really had anything to say and I am not one of those bloggers who is prone to prattle on and on until the last drop of functioning thought had released itself from their brain and spilled into the cyberspace that is the blogging community. That being said, just try and stop me from telling another useless story that can only serve to prick my amusement.



Is anyone else sucked into the weird obsessive time wasting "networking" tool known as Facebook??

Why is it that we feel compelled to tell each other 25 random things or think that it is fortuitous to spend hours taking quizzes that will tell us, once and for all, what Disney villain we are or what flower we are most like or if our spouse is "The One" Is it a good idea to determine what psychotropic drug we are most akin to?? I have become a zombie to the invitation to finish a questionnaire discussing the three names I have been called or three things I purchased yesterday.

".....MUST...FILL...OUT..EVERYONE IS WONDERING...........HAVE TO TAKE QUIZ....MUST FINISH.......TELLING WHAT IS ON MY MIND.
My theory is that no one really cares what I am thinking or if I am most like a daisy or if I am a fan of rain. When will the madness end?? I guess when they come up with another networking site and I have to have a page if I want to reconnect with people whom I have not seen in years and dont really know anymore
'what??'
Twitter??
what is that?
Is is easy to set up??
How do I get started?

Wet Dream

I found the most beautiful bathroom I have ever seen. Modern but classic. Soft blue glass tiles beset the walls and floor. The sink was Ivory and set on top of the cabinet. Water cascaded from the wall and over a lovely metal spout making the most lovely sound as the water splashed jocundly down into the basin. A plush bath rug adorned the floor. One single window was placed behind the throne. Aaah. The toilet. Sleek and modernly elegant. I opened the lid and had a seat to better view the room. Someone in a nearby room was commenting that they also wanted to arise early and get to a class at the gym. I could hear some clattering and rustling from beyond the door. Birds chirped and sounded as if they too wanted to view this lovely expanse. From my vantage point I realized that this room was quite a bit larger than I had originally concluded. I finally relived myself. It was the most glorious feeling. So satisfying. To be in such a beautiful place and feel the contentment that comes with doing the most natural of things. Looking around I realized that there were others in the bathroom with me. When had they come in? Had I been so wrapped up that I had forgotten to lock the door? Why was I feeling so wrong? They had destroyed my moment? Why was I all wet? What the hell was happening?
oh crap!
I peed the bed.

Sorry Nathan!

Will you be my friend??

What is it about fat people. It seems to me that I always get one trying to befriend me as a kindred spirit. I can just hear them thinking to themselves as they try to strike up a conversation, "no one else understands my desire to eat ho ho's." Except that, despite my size, I do not eat like a fat person. I do not understand the urge to ingest things like ding dongs and Twinkies and little Debbie's snack cakes or Zingers, snowballs or Suzy Q's. It's space food. I, at no point am going to awaken from a dead sleep and crave chili cheese fries from Denny's. There will be no Zebra cakes or Cosmic Brownies, Strawberry Shortcake rolls or Honey Buns. I do not feel YooHoo is an acceptable alternative to water. I feel nothing akin to the kind of man who eats meatball subs. You know the kind, overweight Guido, hair slicked back with what we can hope (but can not realistically expect) to be pomade, sitting in a Lincoln Continental slopping red sauce on his already soiled wife beater. I do not make a habit of consuming Tasty Kakes or moon pies or strange oatmeal cookie sandwiches. And still they come. One in every crowd. Lumbering toward me and just certain that I will understand the need for Hostess cupcakes and Yodels.

Marter Sauce

I nearly burnt my meat pie today. I was unselfishly making it for my husband and son. (I dont eat meat pies.) Clearly I was interrupted by some inferior task that was hoggishly requiring of me while I toiled to be the saint that I am and prepare a lovely meal for those who need me to feed them. It is only by my magnanimous nature that I am able to put aside what God has entreated me to take on as my sole task, being of course, that I am the only one capable to do it in a way that is pleasing. How could someone be so selfish as to distract me from my meat pie?? Well she is always telling me that she is hungry or that she has some soiled garment that needs tending to or that she is tired and needs me to provide her with some means of resting her head. She is, parsimonious in her persuit of my time and thus, The meat pie goes untended and while I was looking so forward to presenting it in all of it's lovely glory. Should I be compelled to subjigate myself to her tyrannical rule? I alone know the worth of each activity and all that goes into committing myself to the pie. But sadly, it is now. ruined.
Lis how could you??

Boys

Boobs. They are so puzzling to me. I am constantly amazed at the power they have over men. I began to notice this when, at a very young age my poor sister became endowed. She had so many mixed feelings about them. When it was my turn I found that I also had mixed emotions about them. I have come to think that it is God's little prank on women. We are doomed to have a love/hate relationship with them forever. The stages are so prominent. You get boobs. (and if you are related to me you get them early and they come on with a vengeance) Then girls who do not have them yet make fun of you for having to wear a bra and boys.. well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves. So then when everyone has boobs the comparing begins. Some girls are mad because they dont have much and the girls who have too much are either flaunting them or ashamed and wearing a sports bra. Any way you slice it it is a hard adjustment and boys... well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves. Then when a woman is in her twenties she can finally own her own body without all the awkwardness. Boobs can become a source of power to get out of speeding tickets or get a guy to buy you a drink or take out your garbage. We women begin to think, " hey these things are kinda fun to have. lovely" and boys... well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves. Then as a woman approaches her thirties and possibly has a few kids. Something happens. GRAVITY?? What the hell? They used to be perky and now what? flat and weird and shriveled like a raisin. One definition for shriveled is "To lose or cause to lose vitality or intensity". In the face of such loss of vitality some reach for surgery. Some a push up bra. Others just wrap themselves and have a uniboob effect. Corset? Button your coat under them? Stilts?? a wheelbarrow? Just like that We are back to feeling awkward about them. Just picking out the apparatus to hoist them can be a chore.
Why?
It is a lamentation I hear over and over. Torpedo boobs, no longer pointing outward but swinging low like a pendulum, elongating and a woman is sure that she can no longer be attractive but boys ... well boys are so hypnotized they can only make grunting noises and slobber on themselves.
Dont worry girls for whatever reason, no matter how we feel about them for guys the effect is the same.