I think we should be much more appreciative of our ears. Not only do they enable us to communicate more effectively, give us something to adorn, and something to hold onto when things get a little heated (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), they also save us from having to staple our glasses in place.
I see the political, ethnic, gender, and every other possible combination of harassment, inequality, and entitlement controversy and can't help but feel it boils down to a very simple principle: Don't be a dick.
It's on cold nights like tonight that I remember my grandmother telling me to always wear underwear when wearing pants that have a zipper. She was chock full of wise sayings like that. All I remember about my grandfather is that he had one testicle. Obviously, one of us wasn't listening.
If a ghost was spotted in today's age of rampant social media, I would wager the Ghostbusters would receive more Tweets than phone calls. If so, would they still need the snarky receptionist? I suppose she could learn to maintain their Facebook page and online presence. Snapchat would definitely see an upswing in activity. Pics or it isn't sliming you or cooking eggs on your kitchen counter.
Sometimes I know I'm a logical, free-thinking individual with valid opinions and important contributions to be made to the social fabric of our global wide social infrastructure. I know, like everyone else on this planet, I have a voice that matters and making it heard is paramount to our mutual success.
Just some times. The rest of the time I know it's the aliens testing me.
The idiom that "just because you can do something doesn't mean you should", too often conflicts with other important words to live by, such as "do what makes you happy". Like farting in crowded elevators and pointing to the person beside you. That stuff is just too funny to take off the table.
Socks should come in sets of three to provide a back up for the one that will never make it back from the dryer.
I think the age you stop Trick-or-Treating at Halloween is the one where you realize your desire to collect free, individually wrapped, tiny bars of chocolate is trumped by your laziness over having to walk around the block carrying a bag and knocking on doors.
We all have that one friend who is a complete idiot. Unless, of course, you don't have any friends. Then you feel extra pathetic because as much of a moron as that one guy is, he still has more friends than you.
I'm a social rebel with unrealistic anxiety issues. The kind that will walk around without underwear on, just to prove my life won't be dictated by societal norms, all the while terrified I will be held at gunpoint and forced to give someone my pants.
I realized today that one person I never tell how much I appreciate, is my mother. She is ten feet away in the next room but I am posting this on Facebook. One of the things I appreciate most about her is that she doesn't make a big deal about how lazy I am. Maybe I'll mention it the next time I get up to go to the bathroom.
I am a great fan of the arts. Art Garfunkel, Art Carney, Arthur C. Clarke, and others. I'm not a snob, though. I like many of the lesser known Arts as well. In fact, there are a few in my neighbourhood. Sadly, we don't share a kindred appreciation and they tend to call the police when they catch me spying through their windows. Apparently, art is not only subjective, but litigious as well.
Here's a tip: Sign language for "Hump Day" is not grinding your crotch up against someone's hip. I think the old lady in line at Tim Horton's forgave me, but it cost me a maple dipped donut. What is it with old people and maple? So keep your crotch to yourself unless you find someone open-minded with a willingness to learn new languages. You never know, you may even get a fiver tucked into your waistband. I'd probably only get a quarter, and it would roll down my pant leg so I'd have to chase it. Not sure if I'd be bothered.
I started to bring sexy back but discovered it was too much effort. I compromised and went 'slightly disheveled with a splash of Axe body spray'. It's been working out well since those helpful ladies at the flea market let me in on the fact that 'disheveled' doesn't mean 'without pants'.
They told me I made my bed so now I had to lie in it. Turns out Skittles may seem like a brilliant idea for a fun 2 a.m. snack but they're crap at lumbar support. Next time I'm going with a wiser choice; bacon.
Last weekend at the bar I became convinced that I had lost all feeling in my leg, but then I realized I had been grabbing the leg of the guy next to me. Turns out I hadn't lost feeling in my face.
Is it just me, or does anyone else suspect there may be a link between the time you get up in the morning and your ability to tolerate other human beings? I asked a guy outside the coffee shop for his opinion but he had a stupid face so I told him to shut up and walked away. A perfect example of someone wasting my time.
Back during the 1930's, before we had fully evolved into the finely tuned mechanisms we are today, our posteriors were connected to our bodies through the use of a bolt threaded through our belly button. Unfortunately, these bolts were subject to wear and tear and the threads would often become worn. This would result in a loosening of the connection, making itself evident by a pronounced swaying of the buttocks during various activities. When witnessed by others, it would be suggested the affected individual could benefit from an adjustment to their pivotal rod, a sentiment that would later be translated into the more commonly known phrase, "That person has a screw loose." It was also the earliest known occurrence of the curious activity later identified as "twerking".
Guy next to me at the bar is complaining about all the places he's not allowed to build his duck hunting blind. All I can think of is how I can smuggle the map out to the ducks. Does that make me a hero to ducks or a traitor to my kind?
Every once in a while I regret I never pursued a career in professional sports. Then I remember how bad I was at any sort of activity that required a modicum of athletic prowess and realize I made the right decision. At least when it comes to sports; when it comes to everything else, I totally fucked up.
If I could have any super power, I think I'd choose the power of indifference. Not that it really matters anyway.
At my age, I feel I may be on the cusp of being considered charming. Until then, depending on who I'm talking to, I am either old enough to come across as creepy or young enough to seem overeager. This is why I tend to rely on the classic 'high five' in most situations. As awkward as it may be, as long as they don't leave me hanging, I drop that one into the 'win' column and walk on.
I'm considering bringing back sweatbands for the head and wrists. That would be my thing—Sweatband Guy. I realize I might be going out on a limb here but I already know it's better than my last effort—Diaper Head Guy. You think it would be easier to breathe through those things
Remember, the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. That, and those cats who squish themselves flat up against the wall so they can stare at you from around the edge of doorways. Those things can really creep you out.
Whenever you're feeling down and life has you pinned, put on some underwear that's two sizes too small and you'll be reminded that things can always be worse. Right before you pass out.
When the movie Breakfast Club came out, I compared myself to a cross between Anthony Michael Hall and Judd Nelson. Now I envision a bit of Anthony Michael Hall with a good dose of Ally Sheedy (minus the dandruff) and I am strangely OK with that.
Small pebbles on the sidewalk when you're walking barefoot; nature's Lego.
Taking a nature walk today and a strange man stepped out of the bushes on the trail in front of me. Either he is the world's worst ninja or he was taking a pee. I didn't see a sword or any throwing stars so I am leaning towards the latter. If no one hears from me again, he may have proved me wrong.
Sometimes I wish there were five of me. I’m sure we’d all just sit around and do nothing but at least then it would be more like a club and not me just being lazy.
George Washington once clothed himself in a burlap dress so that he could pretend he was a sack of potatoes while attending a work party. Jealous of his cutting edge style, George's boss fired him on the spot and stole the look as his own. And that is why being fired is sometimes called "getting sacked."