humor – skepticlysm

And here we go.
Been to the doc twice today.
Seriously.
Every day this week.
Wtaf.
I’m ready to be done.
Then head to the gym.
Well, not that fast.
I need to set up the bike trainer again.
And get my home resistance workout ready to go.
Because I’m so out of shape, if I went straight to weights I would not be able to move for five days.
Starting from scratch.
Couch to … something.
It is definitely a project akin to restoring a classic car.
Not that I’m a classic.
Hubris.
But about the same age.
Always boggles my mind I was only a handful of years older than my first car, which was considered a “classic muscle car” by the time I got it at 17.
Regretful Life Decision #667: Selling the Camaro instead of just park-and-tarping it.
Sigh.
Live now, not then, not when.
But seriously, looking forward to that good muscle soreness.
You know what I’m talking about.
If I tried to kung fu right now, I’d throw my back out and need to borrow one of my mom’s walkers.
This just happened: Apparently I did the “Gangnam Style” dance for the kid when she was little, trying to get her to laugh.
That’s what my sister says, anyway.
I have no recollection of that, and I sure as hell don’t need to see that.
I can’t dance, man.
Not a bit.
Like Steph won’t even let me try.
Too self-conscious.
Which is funny, because … Life truth: unless you’re supermodel hot, or Elaine, or a professional dancer, no one’s watching you dance.
That’s a life lesson, really.
No one’s paying attention 99 percent of the time.
Fly your freak flag high.
(Borrowed that.)
What is the magic formula to live life honestly, to literally give no F’s about what anyone thinks of you?
That’s what authenticity is.
Not craving attention.
Not the shit the Cheeto-in-Chief does.
Went to Walgreen’s to get my industrial-strength Benedryl, and on my way to the pharmacy, I grabbed a Snickers for the kid (on the wife’s text rec, though I know better than to go to Walgreen’s and not return without chocolate).
(Have a little faith.)
After I waited out the older dude in front of me, I stepped up to the counter.
The Walgreenarian said, “What can I help you with today?”
“I have a pick-up.”
She nodded. “Last name.”
I gave it.
She nodded. “We have two for you.”
She retrieved them from the C bucket, then came back.
I’d tossed the Snickers on the counter.
She glanced down. “Oh, you got me a Snickers!”
“Do you need one? I’ll go back and get you one.”
…
“Seriously.”
She smiled really big the whole rest of the time.
I would’ve done it, too.
If not for those damn kids.
For real though.
You could make someone’s day giving them a candy bar.
Or at least make their 15 minutes before someone else shits on it.
The kid is battling with “boredom” today.
Show, don’t tell.
She tossed a pen at me.
I threw it back.
She threw it again.
I said, “I’m writing.”
Pouty bottom lip came out.
“What do you want?”
“I want to go somewhere!”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not sitting in five o’clock traffic with no destination.”
More pouty lip.
C’mon, kid.
I got like 300 words to go.
Parental guilt.
If only I were a bad parent …
Or had more than one kid.
But seriously, I’m in a house with four women, a girl dog, and two girl cats.
It’s just me and Snacks.
On my left, the bored kid.
On my right, Liho the cat, who knows it’s the five o’clock hour and is demanding her evening food tribute.
She’s “my” cat.
Has resting bitch face.
Always scowling.
Always demanding.
When I’m in the kitchen, she winds around my feet making the “You’re going to pick me up” sound.
I’ve covered that before.
The cat makes different sounds for different demands.
The pick-up thing happens in the morning, at dinner, or pretty much any time I’m trying to, you know, DO something.
Her needs come before making coffee or dinner, and if you don’t hit the time limit, she’ll slash or bite you in punishment.
The hell, man.
“The Chosen One” label always comes with deeds to endure.
Taking out the trash the other night, I saw bats fluttering their way across the sky.
Made me think of HST.
Bats always make me think of “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.”
Obviously.
Flirted a bit with “What We Do in the Shadows.”
“Bat!”
Still makes me laugh when I think about that.
But HST owns the bat association.
He could take Dracula in a straight-up fight.
No contest.
I’d order that emotional support HST, but it looks like it’s a China product, and I’m getting tired of things taking a month to get here when I order them.
Still waiting on one of Steph’s birthday presents.
Ordered it on the 6^th.
You would think ten days is adequate time.
Apparently not.
Curses!
(Shakes fist at the sky.)
I don’t shake my fist at the sky.
Ever.
I just clench them at my sides and tremble with suppressed rage.
RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT!
(Unless it’s summer, then eagerly await the setting of the sun because F this heat.)
See you tomorrow.

Tag: humor

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