There really needs to be a Sarcasm Font for online use. I’d probably overuse it, intemperate as I am sometimes, but once in a great while I run across someone I’d like to run across with a railroad car.
Archive for Ventually
“Mommy! He’s looking at me!”
Did you think only four-year-olds say that? Think again.
Three years ago, I was given a bracelet that said that, and no choice of whether I wanted to wear it or not. The damnable thing seems to have taken hold of me, and not in a good way either.
Five minutes can seem like an eternity, or it can go by just like that. Which makes me wonder how long five New York minutes would be.
For some reason, the psychiatrist thinks I ought to be dating more, and by “more” I presume she means “at all.” I’ve pointed out that this wasn’t happening, for reasons having little or nothing to do with my current physical infirmities, but she’s not buying. Yet.
He who created us, I have always felt, has had a slightly-warped sense of humor. The events in my life over the past month or so, I contend, pretty much prove it.
Okay, it wasn’t exactly Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, but four leagues (approximately) under a Severe Thunderstorm Warning is plenty scary.
This may come as a shock to you, Bunkie, but the fact that I’m in front of you means that I was here first.
I started going grey at the age of 23, and that particular number seems to have a lot to say for itself.
“Someone painted ‘April Fool’ in big black letters on a Dead End sign,” Kenny Rogers sang back in the day. Now if you’ve been paying attention, you already know that we have fools 365 days a year, more in Leap Year, and today merely gives them the recognition they crave.
So you think you’d like to blog. Go ahead. Be my guest. Just don’t kid yourself that you’re ever going to make a living at it.
She did nothing to deserve that status, of course, but there would always be someone to explain why it was her fault. No one, however, can explain why I would dream about it.
I have long suspected that everyone’s definition is just a little bit different — and I’m not entirely sure I have one at all. Perhaps it’s just as well.
Most of one’s long-ago classmates are by now a large, amorphous blob. Certainly most of mine are. But there are always those who aren’t.
Regrets? I’ve had a few, and one of them, weirdly, is having never been a teenage girl, or having never had the opportunity to grow into one.
“Only trouble is, gee whiz,” the Bryants (Boudleaux, anyway) wrote and the Everlys sang, “I’m dreaming my life away.” This is perhaps the downside of recovering from insomnia. I’d certainly prefer it to insomnia. But it has a catch or two.
It was Monday night, I’d just finished the last Tuesday post, and suddenly, panic ensued.
I have reason to believe that I’m better at that than I am at actually dating, though not everyone accepts my interpretations and conclusions.
Remember when you filled out one side of a card, slapped a stamp on the other, and the mThe trouble with trying to do what the cool kids do rather rudely presents itself when you’re neither cool nor a kid. Believe me, I know.
The worst automotive idea I can recall was the skirted front fenders of the bathtub Nash, both standard- and Rambler-sized, which made for a turning circle unworthy of a school bus.
But geez, there’s an awful lot of competition for second place.
It might even be better. I have little faith in my ability to prognosticate. Actually, I have little faith in anyone’s ability to prognosticate, but I can take responsibility only for my own misestimates.
In which we learn that everyday smartness is definitely no match for quotidian stupidity.
To misappropriate a line from J. B. S. Haldane, it’s not only more expensive than we imagine, it’s more expensive than we can imagine.
I have twenty-one years’ worth of email in the archives here. And you would not believe what I had to go through to keep access to it.
That title probably suggests something very obvious to you.
And you would be correct.
Frank Sinatra did it his way; I figure, I might as well do it mine.
It is seemingly de rigueur these days to disparage the economics we learned from Adam Smith, but if you ask me, they’re just jerking us around.
All Facebook is divided into three parts: family matters, social interaction, and conspiracy theories. Today I got one of each.