Wounded Transformer

LAX’s Delta terminals 56 and 58 are mighty close together. At the moment, 56 is for Salt Lake City and departing flight to Detroit is 58. They announce that “there will be confusion because of the proximity of the lines so please take note of the line you’re in.” Yup, you might wanna do that. There’s a big difference between Salt Lake City and Detroit.

An elderly man came into the gym the other day and asked if the weights were heavy today.

“Every 15 minutes I take a break for 15 minutes.” –A coworker’s imagined quote of a fellow coworker known to take multiple breaks throughout the workday

I don’t get these new fangled DJs. They don’t scratch or mix or anything. They just spin the whole song. They stand back and pump their fists while the record’s playing. Fool, you’re a DJ! You ain’t supposed to have a free hand, homie. Mix, blend, scratch, crossfade, dig in the crates, scratch your ass, do something. They stand back there and clap and jump up and down. Dancing more than the crowd. Ridiculous. It’s wack. Same bassline. Same drop. Same electronica shit. Wup-wup-wup-waaaah-wup-woop-wup-wahh-waaah-wup-woop-wup-woop.  Sounding like a wounded Transformer.

Once a upon a time, I was in a work meeting. Then in the middle of it, I had to leave to attend a meeting with the bosses who said they were going to cut down on our excessive meetings. After that, I had to go back to the original meeting, which was still in progress, which birthed about 6 side “follow-up” meetings.

Sometimes, in weddings, the bride and the groom will say something like, “All of this is for you guys. We wanted to share our special day with all of you.” Well, this is cute and very nice to say, but if this is the case, I think we should hold them to it. After all, it’s not really all for us. Hey, newlyweds, guess what? After this is all over, you’re going to Hawaii or some faraway land where they speak a different language and the drinks come with little umbrellas so that the rain won’t dilute them. The rest of us are going home. If this is really all for us, then we should be boarding that plane to Hawaii and staying in that hotel room too. I’ve got the top bunk!

Lawd! My friend just told me that some yoga pants cost $160! How are you going to pay that much for pants that don’t have pockets?! Your pants cost more than the class. I couldn’t be a woman. Their fashion is too expensive to maintain. I’d be the worst dressed woman in existence. I’d rock shit like an Quaker Oats oatmeal container hat, a garbage bag blouse, a newspaper wrap-around skirt, and two shoeboxes stuffed with burger wrapper paper as my kicks.

How do some people not know their phone number? It’s one of the most basic of basics. Forgetting your phone number is like forgetting how to chew with your mouth and shoving food up your nostrils. People are just plain lazy. Yes, digital phones make it easier to call someone. That’s no excuse. One defense of this practice that I hear all the time is, “Well, I don’t call myself, do I? So why should I remember my number?” Lookahere, Sparky. You don’t call out to yourself, but you remember your name, don’t you? Huh? You do? Oh, forget it.

If I’m polite enough to hold the door open for you and you’re impolite enough to not acknowledge that and walk through the other closed door, you just walked into a world of hurt, little buddy. I will find your children and suspend them over a vat of molten spoiled milk and ear wax. After I drop them in there, I’ll hunt down your grandparents and drop the hottest hot sauce into their glaucoma’d eyes. After that, I will locate your parents. I will submit them to weeks of sleep deprivation by locking them in a room with a 4-hour audio file of me snoring on a continuous loop. You don’t want to know what I’ll do to your spouse. You will pay for your not walking through my opened door. You will pay dearly! Dearly!

Gina Gershon is playing Donatella Versace in a new Lifetime movie. She looks better than Donatella. That’s when you know you’re ugly. When someone looks better than you as you.

I can never fully trust someone who doesn’t fully trust me.

Saw this dude wearing a really tight red hoodie. I think he was wearing Little Red Riding Hood’s little red riding hood.

I’m not sure who this man was I saw earlier, but I’m guessing all he wants for Christmas is his 30 back teeth.

Finally saw the Miley Cyrus VMA performance that everyone’s talking about. Pretty sure my phone has a virus now. Never touching this touchscreen again.

This weekend marks the sixth (or seventh) anniversary of my completion of the Quadruple Crown: 1) almost losing my wallet in El Segundo, 2) hearing my echo in Echo Park, 3) witnessing no prostitutes in NoHo, and 4) managing to eat taquitos, Cheetos, Fritos, Doritos, and burritos while in Cerritos.

The other day, I heard someone grunting and groaning in the back of the bus. I turned around and saw some guy with his hands in his pants just going at it. My first thought: “Um…either he’s doing what I think he’s doing, or this dude is the world’s most excited DJ and he’s scratching on the world’s most hidden pocket-sided turntable.”

Can a person with only 3 fingers and a thumb give someone else a high-five?