Posts Tagged ‘humorous stories’

Captain’s Running Log

Tuesday, June 9th, 2009


See what I mean?

See what I mean?

Central Pennsylvania


Stardate 06092009

  • Is there a rock in my shoe?
  • Alpacas are super bizarre-looking critters, kind of like a the bastard love child of a llama and a rabbit and Twiggy. Slutty rabbits. Have they no sense?
  • Combined smell of bushes on corner resemble Sarah Jessica Parker’s ‘Lovely’ perfume to a remarkable degree.
  • Thirsty. So thirsty.
  • Why is a small dirt road called “Palamino Parkway”?
  • Stared at rusty puddle for a long time before realizing that drinking it may actually make matters worse.
  • Hot. So hot.
  • Broken – but still alive – turtle on the side of the road. Wondered if I came back and duct taped its shell back together if it could live out its life that way? Could it borrow somebody else’s shell a la a hermit crab? Realized answer was probably ‘no’ on both counts. Sad.
  • Saw water in the distance. Dropped to knees and crawled toward it in my tattered running clothes. Realized it was a mirage. Got up and continued running.
  • Cows stink, and on a humid day they stink more than usual.
  • Sweaty. So sweaty.
  • Pulled giant knot out of my ponytail. How long has that been there?
  • I wait four miles into the run for the line ‘If you ain’t got no money take your broke ass home’ and after it’s come and gone, I kind of don’t want to keep running any more.
  • Considered flagging down passing cars and asking if they had some water or another beverage they could spare.
  • Possum in the middle of the street (fresh road kill last Wednesday) now looking very ‘ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’
  • I think my eyeballs are sweating. Or maybe that’s just tears?
  • Only breeze of entire five miles  provided by a semi-truck going by at 80 mph. Thanks. Sort of.
  • It’s all I can do to put one foot in front of the other.
  • Soooooo thirsty. What was I thinking!?
  • Home!
  • Great run. Can’t wait to go again on Thursday!

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Some thoughts on sleep

Thursday, May 28th, 2009

So if you know anything about Twitter, you know it’s largely useless. Seriously.

And for those of you who ‘don’t get’ Twitter, that’s because – by and large – there isn’t much to get. 90% of the people on there are just trying to sell you get rich quick schemes or pass on boring and worthless information. Actually, 90% may be far too low of a figure, but I’m trying to be generous. It’s a new thing. We’ll see how it goes.

At any rate, a former useless Tweeter has finally said something of value. This morning when I logged in to do my daily post (which I try like hell to make funny, and which is way harder than you would think),  I saw the following at the top of my screen: “Does sleeping well make you look younger? Is the concept of a “beauty sleep” real or myth?”

And then some link to something I didn’t follow in part because I don’t have time, and mostly because I don’t particularly want to know the ‘real’ answer. 

I have my own answer, and that answer is YES!!!

Yes! Yes!! Yes!!! Yes!!!! Yes!!!!!

Case in point?

Donald Trump sleeps like two or three hours a day, and he is not by any stretch of the imagination beautiful.

Heidi Klum and the rest of the Victoria’s Secret supermodels past and present sleep like ten to twelve hours a day. Or at least it looks that way in the catalogs, so it must be true.


See? Sleeping. And beautiful.

See? Sleeping. And beautiful.

Supermodels aside, my dog sleeps a solid 18 hours a day, and he is an unquestionably gorgeous critter.


So there. Proof positive that sleeping is not a waste of time.

I think my continual issue with those anti-sleep types is that I intellectually recognize that sleep whisks away valuable hours in which I could be making big important business deals, organizing conference calls, short-selling stocks, or otherwise taking over the world.

However, the thing of it is, I love to sleep.

If I were to list my five favorite things I would say eating, cooking, reading, sleeping, and country line dancing.

Actually, I’m kidding about the dancing, I’m a terrible dancer. I have no natural sense of rhythm and the realization that I’m very bad at it robs me of any or all imagined joy. Also, country line dancing is for jerks. Thus, instead of country line dancing let’s go with lying around in the sun. Essentially – minus the cooking – I’m extremely lazy. I’m like a big cat in a human body.

Dump me off on a food-rich desert island with a good bed and a pile of books (and maybe a laptop), and I’m living large.

Which reminds me, when I say I love to sleep, I don’t mean any old kind of sleep. In fact, I’m fervently against these ideas like business executives taking a ten minute power nap sitting at their desks. First off, it doesn’t look  particularly professional to walk in and find the CEO face down in a pile of his own drool. Second, naps suck.

They are neither satisfying nor luxurious nor nearly long enough to have a really crazy dream. 

So, in conclusion and for the record, I am a stronger supporter of sleeping (with or without the side effect of beauty) and passionately opposed to naps. 

So stick that in your pipe in smoke it.

Or don’t.

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The more things change

Monday, May 25th, 2009

the more they stay the same.

I actually have no idea what that means.

I’ve always just assumed it was someone being impossibly clever, and everyone else just went along with it rather than appear dumb. That’s my plan, anyway. I figured the rest of you were in on it, too. You were…right?

We’re all just pretending we understand that. Right?

Total emperor’s new clothes pact: He’s nude, he’s acting like he’s not nude, and he looks AWESOME. Just smile and nod. That’s right. Show some teeth and go with the flow…

So anyway, without actually getting the deep meaning behind that saying, let me just summarize and say NOTHING IS GOING ON.

It’s sunny, and it remains sunny.

This makes me happy.

It’s hot and it remains hot.

This takes my sunny happiness and ratchets it up to overjoyed. If I lived where it was warm and sunny all the time (Haiti? Ethiopia?) I’d be the most cheerful person on earth. Most likely. 

If not, it would at least minimize any sadness about whatever else situation I had to manage (malaria, starvation, severe hurricane damage to my hut, etc.) 

Today was Memorial Day which is in memory of something that either has to do with the military or war or both. I did not opt to bust out the stars and stripes bathing suit. Maybe for the Fourth of July.

I may however – for the right ‘buy me a beer’ contribution – post a photo of said bikini circa last summer could be published. 

Meanwhile, in honor of Memorial Day, the SciFi channel is running a ‘Land of the Lost’ marathon which allows me to 

a) prove my point that it was not two grown men and a girl, but rather a father and his two (old teen and tween) children, a.k.a. Marshall, Will, and Holly. And,of course, the adolescent missing link critter, Chaka. 

b) reignite my irritation that they keep remaking all my childhood favorites and turning them into schmalzy crap. I didn’t see Escape to Witch Mountain, but the goofed out laugh track-esque ads with ‘The Rock’ (Dwayne whoeverthehellheis) really pissed me off.  And now ‘Land of the Lost’ with Will Ferrell and two other adults. Sight unseen, I’m not impressed.

Otherwise, I got nothing.

Write, eat, write, cook, write, workout, write, sleep, write, internet…repeat.

And with that, here’s hoping I can be more interesting tomorrow.

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You are getting very sleeeeeeeepy…

Friday, May 22nd, 2009

Oh no, wait.

That’s me.

I’m getting very sleepy.

Something about combining half a beer, a couple thimble-fulls of sake, and a butabital (migraine medicine, but I think codeine is involved) does that to a person.

Who woulda guessed?

With a yawn and a slight whimper, thus dawns Memorial Day weekend.

Memorial Day has to do with soldiers or war or honoring people who went to war or died in war. I think.

Something uber-American such that it’s one of the three days of the year – along with the 4th of July and Labor Day – I feel empowered to pull out my Stars and Stripes bikini and parade around like a patriotic jackass. Otherwise, I feel like a jackass.

And that’s about all I’ve got.

Headache turned slightly wasted and an American flag bathing suit.

More where that came from tomorrow.

Sweet dreams!

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True Story

Wednesday, May 20th, 2009

When I was in middle school, we had a planetarium. I’m not saying it was a great planetarium…but then again, maybe it was. I don’t know. I couldn’t really see it.

In my mind, the mere existence of a planetarium in a middle school is somehow wondrous and wealthy and fancy pants, but at the time it was yet another burden on my young soul.

Feast your eyes on the one and only constellation I recognize: Orion the Hunter. Ooh baby.

Feast your eyes on the one and only constellation I recognize: Orion the Hunter. Ooh baby.

You see, I couldn’t see.

And I had glasses.

But it being the 80s, they were the horrible round glasses that are again coming into fashion (so help me God). And perhaps they weren’t these, but then again they were perhaps these pink transparent framed numbers with a gradient pink lens. Very Dolly Parton. Or Tammy Faye. Or plain old awful.

But I digress.

I don’t necessarily know what they looked like, but I know I wasn’t wearing them. The point here is that the school had a planetarium and at least once a week in science class we were shepherded into said planetarium and talked at in a droning Ben Stein manner for an unspeakably long time, and I couldn’t see jack sh*t.
And I listened sort of.

And saw nothing.

I saw nothing because my pre-pubescent but still remarkable sense of style informed me that the hideous round, over-sized pink glasses were doing nothing for my Eastern European one-day-striking-but-at-the-time-extremely-gangly-and-awkward looks.

So I ditched them.

And thus – as previously mentioned – I saw nothing. (Much as I do each and every morning of my life, as I grope for my night stand in search of my current-day glasses the way a Helen Keller sought out a water spigot…)

What I’m trying to say here is that the combined effect of blindness and boredom was that I learned nothing.

Which didn’t seem to matter until one day the teacher announced that there would be a test based on everything taught to us during the planetarium classes.





A test!?

I was supposed to be paying attention!?

Do you  not understand that I was trying to look fashionable and non-chalant!?!?!?!?!?!?!


No. They did not understand this, nor did they care, and thus I drug into the next class with my ugly glasses and a hell-bent determination to memorize whatever it was this joker had to share.

And for the most part, I failed.

But, at the same time, I somehow managed to retain the exact arrangement of lights that make up Orion the Hunter. And I can always pick out the Beetleguise – the star that denotes his armpit, as well as a movie starring Michael Keaton that I once loved and used to torture the guy who drove me to high school with by insisting that we listen to the strange soundtrack every day (“Shake, shake, shake senora. Shake your body line…”)

But that, I’m afraid, is another story for another day.

Anyway, the point here is that I was sitting outside tonight and saw Orion’s belt and remembered how I came to recognize Orion’s belt and, of course, Beetleguise and thought of you…and there you have it.

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