That's Right

...it's The End.

Thursday, November 22, 2007

an oldie but a goodie

This was probably the peak of my writing career. Happy Thanksgiving y'all.

Monday, November 19, 2007

they were for a math center, of course

I'll spare you the tale of me running out of gas 5 seconds away from the station and spilling gasoline on my hands cause I didn't know how to use the pourer-spout in favor of this little gem:

me: Excuse me, do you know if you sell small Dixie cups?

Target employee: You mean the ones that look like shot glasses?

me: Yes, the paper shot glasses.

Sunday, November 11, 2007

a dangerous balance of concern and complacency

In our apartment, there is a pile of recycling. As far as we know, there is no recycling program in our complex, illegal though that is or should be. Unwilling to throw out recyclable products and too lazy to find the nearest recycling center, we simply keep adding to the pile. Cardboard tubes, cereal boxes, crushed milk gallons, soda cans, and the like currently form a precarious mass several feet high between our kitchen and dining area.

I know it can't keep building up forever, but I also can't imagine throwing it all in the dumpster. The Lorax would probably jump out of the woods and strangle me. Or...something terrible like that. Your guess is as good as mine.

Saturday, November 03, 2007

and what else?

Hey, do you remember laser pointers? Those things used to be everywhere.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

why do I do the things I do?

As I was pulling out of the work parking lot today, some guy in the street started shouting at me and pointing to my left. I slowed down to try to figure out what the issue was. Was my gas cap open? Couldn't be. Did I have a flat tire? Didn't feel like it. Another car was coming up behind me, so I decided I had to go. Was the road closed in front of me? No. Oh well, I guessed I would never know.

Almost home, I started to wonder where my Chinese leftovers were. Had I left them in my classroom? Ew gross, that would really smell in the morning. Ah; it clicks.

It's a mixture of regret and amusement that I feel, knowing I will not be able to eat my General Tso's chicken, as it is splattered somewhere across 193, Piney Branch, or New Hampshire.