These are the posts that will go in the slider.
So, my girlfriend started doing research on Adult ADD, which I have. I take a bunch of medicine for it and all, but I also tend to freak out very easily about non-important stuff which doesn’t seem to be related to the condition.
Some of it is psychological, I’m sure. That’s why I have a competent therapist, and spend time each week on the couch. But there’s other things that seem to just be how I’m hard-wired.
In the past I discussed this little studio apartment where I lived in my mid-twenties. I have written about some of my experiences there, such as the time I drank some bad malt liquor and had an accident, and how I fell in love with the girl who lived across the way.
I want you to do something right now.
Pull out one of your hands (choose the one that is shoved down the front of your pants – and no I don’t mean because you’re doing that.)
Hold it up in front of you. Pay particular attention to the pinky. Notice it’s length. It’s longer than you thought, right?
A few times a week I find myself coming up with a joke during a dream. And that joke, I’m absolutely convinced, is the greatest joke of all time. Every time.
I vow upon awaking that I will write this gem down and create that day’s blog post around it. I get excited and actually think that this will be funniest post I’ve ever written.
I’m just like George Thorogood.
Well, I’m white. He’s white. We both play guitar. We’re both in bands. We both have giant skulls.
And we both love a challenge.
In 1981 George did probably the coolest thing a rock star could – he booked and performed fifty shows in fifty states in fifty days.
Over Thanksgiving, reader-turned-girlfriend Jessica was telling a story about how one of her friends didn’t know that a pimento in a green olive was placed there by man. Then my entire family started laughing at this friend that nobody except Jessica had met. I’m pretty sure my sister yelled out, “Fool!”
I’m a time waster, and last night it reared it’s ugly head in the form of a video game. Watch below and then cleanse yourself by telling my readers where YOU screw around.
It’s been awhile since I put the fart humor aside (pains me to even write such a sentence), and talked about something more real, but I think it’s time.
One of my good friends, Bill Flynn, is known for saying that doing emotional work is much more exhausting than physical work. I have found this to be true as well.
When I was nine my mom brought home a black cat that was hanging out by the dumpster at the Junior League. It was our first family pet, and we named her Shadow.
Actually, that’s not entirely true as we had two cats when I was born but I think they bit me or my sister and were removed.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
