Posts Tagged ‘Shame’

7. I’ve spent time looking for my glasses…while I’ve been wearing them
8. After I blow my nose I always look into the Kleenex to make sure I haven’t blown my brains out
9. I’ve wondered where my iPhone was…while It’s been in my hand
10. I don’t know how to number lists anymore

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6. 

   Rodin’s “The Shamer”

   I don’t like nonsensical designer names, or names w/hyphens or one-word names or overly long names. I like plain, understandable American names, the way God meant them to be. Like Calvin Coolidge or Courtney Cox. That’s as exotic as a name needs to be. Except for Cher. I’m grandfathering her in. She and Jesus get to keep their one-word names.

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5. In elementary school, if I was really hungry mid-morning, I occasionally pinched a sandwich from the brown baggers who’d stored their lunches safely in the cloak room. Usually Phillip Picciotti’s. His mom Alice made such a nice sandwich. Thanks Phil.

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1. Believe me, my head is screwed on straight. It’s my body that’s crooked.
2. My world would be nothing, without the Undo button. Thank you Microsoft.
3. I wish I had something more enlightening to say about life. But I don’t right now. And I’m ashamed to admit it.

Better than Disneyland, and with much shorter lines.

While others write graphically about their soft-serve escapades in steamy lick and tell exposés, my soft-serve affair involves more telling and less licking. Ice cream holds no special place for me. And what little ice cream I do consume is of the rock hard, scoopable variety. Although my preferred ice cream might be a high-cost, high-butterfat product, I’m not a snobby connoisseur of craft ice creams served at micro-creameries. In my world lactose is not something you enjoy. Lactose is something you tolerate – like that thick and sour Greek-style yogurt which has become all the rage with hipster Milklennials. They “partake” of the grassy, Grecian yogurt to inject a little culture into their colon – 6 billion lactobacillus acidophilus cultures.

I’ve always thought cow’s milk should be for baby cows. That’s what nature seems to have intended for mother’s milk. It’s for baby whatever’s; and not meant for race car drivers who’ve just won the Indianapolis 500. But what if the nipple was on the other teat. Suppose there were entrepreneurial cows who froze human breast milk, ground Oreos into it and then served it to their calves? Read the rest of this entry »