Stranger Danger

This afternoon I was walking down my street and there was some guy in a big ole truck parked on the side of the road. I stopped and talked to him for a while because now that I live on my own my "words per day" count has gone wayyy down and every now and again I stumble upon some unfortunate soul who becomes a victim of my daily dialogue dump, the vacating of all of my vowels and the coughing up of all of my consonants. We talked for a while and then he asked me "Which house do you live in?"

That threw up a huge red flag and I was like  "ummmmm.........over there........" and arbitrarily pointed at a bunch of trees. I just found it very odd to ask someone where they live and I'm not just saying that because he was a trucker. If he had been in a Subaru Outback I wouldn't have been like "Here's where I live, here's when I'm home and here's where I keep my spare key. You make me feel safe.” He seemed like a nice guy, but I didn't want to take any chances. I walked home thinking "What if that guy was some weirdo and robbed me or something? I really dodged a bullet there." So I walked away from that situation feeling pretty good. Also, not that life is a competition, but I got a little boost because he told me that my credit card number and social security number were wayyy bigger than his.

Wishful Sinking

Today I was cleaning some dishes in the sink and as I was rinsing off the last few pieces of silverware I noticed that I was bleeding. After the initial shock, the aftershock, the static shock and listening to Timbaland’s album, Shock Value, I had this surreal and straight up serendipitous moment of Samson-like strength as I thought “Dang, I was bleeding and didn’t even know it?! I must be bad to the bone!” I looked closer in order to assess the injury and came up with the demoralizing diagnosis that this substance seeping from finger was ketchup from the dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets I had eaten for dinner.

Puppy Party

Having a puppy means that I perpetually walk around my house with the demeanor of a parent who is sure their kid had a party at the house while they were gone, but they haven’t found any evidence to support the theory yet. Except instead of beer and smokes I’m looking for pee and poop.

“Just be honest. Tell me what happened and I promise I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed.”