vituperation

April 30, 2003

We were waching American Idol last night and I saw someone holding the oddest sign. It said something like “Keep the Keebler! Vote for Clay!”

“Did you see that?” I asked Robyn. “What the –”

And it hit me. Clay was born a Keebler Elf, but obviously spirited away (I suspect the Baptists) from the giant tree and brought to live in the USA.

Don’t believe me?

Why is it that no matter which lane I’m driving in, it’s the slow lane?

Why do some people think it’s okay to step between me and the items I’m looking at in the grocery store, and stand there trying to pick something out?

Why can’t I have one month without spending $100 or more at the vet?

Why do I hate deadlifts and lunges so much?

Why aren’t people beating down my door to make me rich and famous?

Why won’t instant pudding thicken up in water, but it will in milk?

Why do all prescription drug names have “HCl” after them? I thought that was hydrochloric acid.

Why does the thought of the spud driving in six months make my blood run cold?

Why exactly do fools fall in love? Does that explain how Al Gore got so many votes in the last election?

Why do I love going to Lowe’s but hate going to Home Depot?

Why does Robyn get some smiley-face thing in the mailbox almost every day, but I have yet to get a single pair of panties or nude picture?

Check it out, we have tomatoes. Sort of.

And a new rose.

I cut the grass and watered the yard yesterday. The excitement in my life knows no bounds.

Finally, a contest. Tell me whose father the mullet-headed man below is:

This contest will run until 5:00 pm CST Friday, May 2. If you think you know who the man is, email me and let me know. Make sure the subject of your email is “FATHER” or it will be discarded. The winner will be randomly selected and notified when the contest ends, and will receive a softcover copy of Strong Women Stay Young. One entry per person, please.

I’m going to do something very evil Friday, but you’re lucky. There’ll be pictures.