Saturday, May 14, 2011
Just Then a Tiny Little Dot Caught My Eye
Here are some things:
The other night, after having sex (historically I have never talked about this, and I'm not about to start now, except that now you know that I've had it three times: the time I'm referring to and from the two times I've had children) and right after the moment of truth I started thinking about the Sepulveda Pass. Why am I postcoitally thinking about the Sepulveda Pass (which for those of you non-LA natives is a two-lane side channel alternate route-road which runs alongside the 405 between the Valley and the Westside)? I don't even live there anymore and I have no idea. The brain is a strange place.
I am disturbed by the new Quilted Northern commercials. Their theme seems to be that it's time to speak the truth about toilet paper, which apparently means cleanliness. As in, "use Quilted Northern for a confident clean." Which translates to "our toilet paper gets your poop off better," which, even though it's for sure the secret main reason we use toilet paper, is not something I want to think about during my two minutes of 30 Rock interstitial time. Next you will see Tampax commericals with the tagline "Soak up the blood!"
My life is per usual pretty boring, but Gray has had some exciting times at work lately so I live vicariously. One, he came home the other day complaining of his hand and wrist hurting. I thought, is it carpal tunnel? Has he been masturbating too furiously? (TWO MENTIONS of sex in one entry! What is going on with me?) But instead he said, "We got a new vending machine. I got my hand caught in the vending machine trying to get my stuff out." Nice. The second thing is that he and his coworkers have been going through sexual harassment training, and he goes, "Has anybody ever thrown a jellybean down your shirt into your cleavage?" and I said, "What?" and he goes, "Apparently that's the number one way to sexually harass -- to throw a jellybean or a piece of popcorn down the shirt of a lady and say, 'Can I help you get that out?'" So now I'm envisioning this miniature Don Juan, like a little spanish man with a bushy moustache wearing a short-sleeved button-down white shirt and a brown tie walking around offices across America tossing jellybeans down shirts of women and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Also, I've decided children are like bipolar monkeys.
¶ 6:48 PM
The other night, after having sex (historically I have never talked about this, and I'm not about to start now, except that now you know that I've had it three times: the time I'm referring to and from the two times I've had children) and right after the moment of truth I started thinking about the Sepulveda Pass. Why am I postcoitally thinking about the Sepulveda Pass (which for those of you non-LA natives is a two-lane side channel alternate route-road which runs alongside the 405 between the Valley and the Westside)? I don't even live there anymore and I have no idea. The brain is a strange place.
I am disturbed by the new Quilted Northern commercials. Their theme seems to be that it's time to speak the truth about toilet paper, which apparently means cleanliness. As in, "use Quilted Northern for a confident clean." Which translates to "our toilet paper gets your poop off better," which, even though it's for sure the secret main reason we use toilet paper, is not something I want to think about during my two minutes of 30 Rock interstitial time. Next you will see Tampax commericals with the tagline "Soak up the blood!"
My life is per usual pretty boring, but Gray has had some exciting times at work lately so I live vicariously. One, he came home the other day complaining of his hand and wrist hurting. I thought, is it carpal tunnel? Has he been masturbating too furiously? (TWO MENTIONS of sex in one entry! What is going on with me?) But instead he said, "We got a new vending machine. I got my hand caught in the vending machine trying to get my stuff out." Nice. The second thing is that he and his coworkers have been going through sexual harassment training, and he goes, "Has anybody ever thrown a jellybean down your shirt into your cleavage?" and I said, "What?" and he goes, "Apparently that's the number one way to sexually harass -- to throw a jellybean or a piece of popcorn down the shirt of a lady and say, 'Can I help you get that out?'" So now I'm envisioning this miniature Don Juan, like a little spanish man with a bushy moustache wearing a short-sleeved button-down white shirt and a brown tie walking around offices across America tossing jellybeans down shirts of women and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
Also, I've decided children are like bipolar monkeys.
¶ 6:48 PM
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