I got my Kit, but I'm all out of Kaboodles
Monday, Jul. 03, 2006 at 9:54 a.m.
This past weekend was nothing short of . . . well, ordinary.
Well, that sounded like a major whine, didn�t it? Because it implies that our lives aren�t worth a nickel because we didn�t go skydiving or noshing at Mary Elaine�s.
That�s not true. I don�t really have a desire to go to Mary Elaine�s and spend an enormous amount of cash on a tiny piece of lamb when I can get something just as good at 1/10th the price at one of my local dives. I would like to go skydiving, though. There�s a topless/nude skydiving group that I�m aware of not too far from me, but I�m not sure I�d enjoy the chafing all that much.
Anyway, we did do some practice bowling, and I tell you, my game has not been right since the surgery back in February. I�m throwing that damn ball all over God�s green acre or dropping it on the backswing, which is only funny once, I can tell you that. Finally, in frustration, I carried my bowling ball down to the pro shop and with much cussing and waving of arms expressed the trouble I was having. The guy sold me $4 worth of �bowler�s tape� and a suggestion that I might have the pitch of my thumb hole redone (heh heh � I said hole). I then went on to actually bowl a little better than my average, which is a relief after bowling only in the double digits for several weeks in a row.
Perhaps, just perhaps, the Hubster will have to buy the Blizzards tonight. I can dream, can�t I?
We did watch the first disc of Angel Links, a spin off of Outlaw Star, and we were a bit disappointed. Sure, it�s great to see a 16-year-old with the most cantilevered ta-tas I have ever seen, who carries a cat-bat with two sets of wings that magically transforms into a big-ass sword whenever the 16-year-old calls it forth from between said ta-tas beating the everlovin crap out of big dumb pirates. Anyway, it�s already been implied that she actually is dead. Hubster�s Review: �That girl and that Leon guy are so going to do it in a later episode. I hope.�
I have to work on Tuesday. That�s not such a big deal, as I hope to get out of here before we get frantic calls from hospitals having trouble with their computer systems once the influx of people who blew off their hands from M-80�s begins. Wow, that�s like the third major run-on sentence in this thing so far. And to think I took Advanced Placement English in high school and made 4s and 5s on all those tests. Heh. Whatever. Isn�t there a statue of limitations on how long you can use the what-you-did-in-high-school properties in getting ahead in a conversation? I think once the 10-year reunion has passed you really just need to give it up. On the other hand, I think you should be more than allowed to start talking about high school again once you�ve passed the 30-year reunion mark. Because then it�s called reminiscing. And that�s about the time that you reach 50, and that�s when you can start being really annoying to young folk other than your own children. Because your own children, if you have any, have more than likely written you off as the most embarrassing person in the whole freakin� world.
Geez, I have completely fallen off the proper grammar bandwagon. As opposed to the shitwagon that the buzzards fall off of because your breath is so bad. PSYCH!
Okay, enough of this blather. �Psych!� was so 1982 anyway. Like Fast Times at Ridgemont High.
And no wonder all our children are so confused, when this is the kind of literature that they are exposed to:
Oh Grover. Oh Elmo. Make sure you�re protected. Remember, kids, you must be vigilant about your own safety, because we can�t always rely on the government to do so:
Or the army:
So we�d better take it into own hands. I hear this guy�s for hire:
Oh, you think he�s not a good choice? Better Skeletor than this guy:
OH. MY. GOD. Bob? Is that you??