2006-06-18 - 2:27 p.m.
Happy Father's Day From Quoted
Quick note: I just noticed this weekend that Quoted Submissions section is broken. This has to do with some recent changes in the Diaryland server code. I have submitted a tech support request to address it, so hopefully it will be working again fairly soon.
Gads, I hate doing these holiday-themed Quoted entries, but since I almost always write them on the weekend, I can't avoid the inevitable Sunday holidays. I really don't have a lot of ideas to write about for Father's Day. From my point of view, I mowed the lawn today, paid the bills and, if my wife nags me enough (a skill she is very adept at), I will probably end up grilling some sort of meat substance over fire. So I celebrated my Father's Day doing a bunch of father-like chores, which is pretty much like every other Sunday. It is worth mentioning, however, that my stepson helped me clean up dog poop in the back yard, which was actually the best gift that I got today. Cripes, my life is pathetic!
On the other side of the equation, I have to figure out what to get my dad for Father's Day. Buying him a gift is an absolutely impossible task that I have to complete on his birthday, and every Father's Day and Christmas. The simple fact is that he has no major hobbies or interests outside of his work. You can only buy so many food packages, clocks, ties, button down shirts, khaki pants, colognes and "I'm With Stupid" T-shirts for one man.
I wonder how he would feel about a Hellraiser's Pinhead bobblehead doll?
Okay, I have to go shopping. You all can stay here and read these quotes.
On a somewhat related note, throwing your shoe and screaming "I'M A POTATO!" at the top of your lungs before running in the opposite direction will give pause to almost anyone, no matter what their pre-existing reasons may be for wanting to pick a fight.
It should at the very least startle them, and if they -do- still run you down they'll likely at least not hit you in the head anymore.
There's always the one woman who walks around the locker room, free as a can be, with things flopping all about. Every gym has this woman. I accept that too. The problem happens when I am sitting on the bench and tying my shoes and she comes along, puts one leg up on the bench six inches from my face, and starts applying lotion into crevices and other such places. You shouldn�t have to see someone's cervix when you look up from tying your shoes. You just should not.
I plucked my eyebrows for the dentist. I�m not sure why, but I�m sure it�s borne of the same impulse that drives me to shave cryptic messages into my Nastygrove before I visit the gynecologist.
I am irrationally afraid of ticks. I am usually convinced that if it crawls and it's smaller than my nose, it's a tick. Spiders, lady bugs, little small rocks...
Probably a tick.
...no one wants a virulent little blood sucking creepy crawly embedded into their face, so perhaps it's not as much of an irrational fear as I thought. But the fact that I blame small rocks for harboring malicious intentions probably is...