Sunday
Thursday
Thing I Learned Today While Walking the Dog
Throwing a bag of dog poop with my non-dominant hand over the fence (for the trash can) may mean that, instead, a bag of dog poop will get caught high up in a tree and become suspended directly over the driver's seat area of my car.
Sunday
Wednesday
An Ode To 8:43 a.m.
It's midway through the week,
The coffee here is cheap,
I should be in an awesome mood,
but the dog stepped in her own crap in the yard, and then ran from
me, certain the fistful of damp paper towels I held was some sort of dog torture device,
so there is a string of dog poop footsteps all over the porch, and one
terrified, dogcrap-scented, 84-lb. mutt hiding behind the patio
furniture.
Thursday
Holiday Memory
"All I Want For Christmas Is A Rock And Roll Guitar," by The Stompers.
It came on the radio one night in the Dunkin Donuts in Lexington, Massachusetts, where I had stopped to get an extra large, regular coffee. The guy pouring asked if I liked the song. Mid 1980s. I made some snarky remark about how embarrassing the lyrics were, just really God-awful, only to have a man on the bar stool next to me swivel my way and introduce himself as a member of the band.
Too late for Halloween now.
What scared you, when you were little, that made no sense to anyone else?
I was afraid of the color yellow, and the inside of my doll's head, and the way the TV sounded when it was just static. Oh, and elves. Elves were scary little assholes. Don't let anyone tell you any different.
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