Alright, so I recognize my last few posts have been a bit lackluster (really, a bit on elevators?). I’m sorry! If you can believe it, weird things just haven’t been happening to me lately! Maybe it’s possible I’ve paid my dues and the universe has moved on…
Ya, ya, I won’t bet on it, but before I go on a bit of a posting break, I’ve decided to dig back into the ol’ archives of my life and leave you with a poop story.
Right about now, my mother is throwing her hands in the air and giving up hope of grandchildren. Continue reading
In a past post (I moved. Here’s why.), I alluded to a very disturbing event that happened to me amid the moving chaos (you know, that time when several neighbours found my blog and ganged up on me cyber-style not simply for posting the crazy notes from my neighbour online, but more for merely mentioning the beloved building troubadour in an insignificant anecdote, so I moved). I said it was a story for another day. Today is that day!
This situation I found myself in reminds me of a Seinfeld episode–how something that happens at the beginning of the episode often comes back as the punch line at the end. For example, Kramer hitting golf balls into the ocean and then George, a “marine biologist,” later pulling an obstruction from a beached whale. “Is that a Titlest?” (George telling the story of his heroic rescue is incidentally my absolute favourite Seinfeld, or dare I say, television, moment… “The sea was angry that day, my friends. Like an old man trying to send back soup in a deli.” Kills me every time.)