Random Thoughts from a Large Head

While dining on lunch with a friend, let’s call him, oh, Dave, I inquired what the letters on his shirt stood for.
“TLP?”
“I don’t know, it’s (girl’s).”
“Ooooo.”
<pause>
“I’m wearing her underwear, too.”
I laughed, thinking he was joking. Then he showed me the Victoria’s Secret waistband.

to be sorted

I’ve been fighting the fact that my car is now ten years old and deteriorating. But after this morning, I can no longer deny the inevitable: my car is becoming trashy.

After hitting a large pothole in the road, my glove compartment popped open, spilling its contents into Julie’s lap. In opening, the tab that allowed it to stay closed snapped off, so now it won’t close. Tres chic.

to be sorted

I put so much gel in my hair this morning that my hair should become a hard candy shell in the next hour.

to be sorted

70 new email messages to greet me this morning. Two were solicited. Three were spam. 65 of them had the W32/Klez.e@MM worm attached. When are people going to learn to NOT open unsolicited attachments?

to be sorted

Feeling the need to be just a little bit evil, I punched a few extra buttons as the elevator went down. As I exited by myself, slightly mollified, I looked up to see two co-workers (of the five in the entire office) stepping on the elevator. And felt like a huge dolt.

to be sorted

If someone could kindly remove this funk that has settled about my head, I would be most appreciative.

to be sorted

Is it just me or does Oasis’ new song, Hindu Times, sound reminiscent of Roxette’s Joyride?

to be sorted

I had a dream last night that the DFWblogger Cocktail Event was held in the conference area of a church and the ministers there were none too happy. In my dream, all sorts of bloggers that we’ve never met, like Griff, were there, as was one of the women at the office I am temping at.

In reality, the Cocktail Event is this Wednesday at Trinity Hall (the Irish bar next to the Angelika Film Center at Mockingbird and 75). I even wrangled us a discount to see a movie at the Angelika for the discounted price of $5 at 9:30. Should be a fun evening.

to be sorted

Mother’s Day card shopping is the worst. There is nothing that expresses exactly the right sentiment for the relationship my mother and I have.

By the time I went card shopping on Wednesday, the selection was slim and well picked over. All that was left were the three worst types of card, ever:

1.   Cards with flower designs You know the ones. Gigantic roses on the front with some sickly sweet sentiment inside.
2.   Bears anthropomorphized Somehow a bear in a dress with a balloon and “Gee mom, you’re the best!” inside doesn’t summarize my feelings.
3.   “Mom, you’re my best friend.” Does this really happen anywhere but in the movies?

So, I went for a “blank inside” card with birdhouses on the front. And I wrote just the sort of sentiment that suits our relationship best: “Thanks for loving me no matter how abnormal you think I am.”

Happy Mother’s Day!

to be sorted

Riding down the service road, a plastic grocery bag took flight and sailed gracefully on the currents of the wind. “It’s so beautiful,” Matt said, pausing while driving the car into the bag, “and I just destroyed it!” Then he started to laugh maniacally.

to be sorted