And therefore...

Counting this one, that's three more down.

And while I'm at it ...

This is a post for Kitty.

Fine then.

This is a post for Keltie.

Curious

I maintain -- with varying levels of consistency -- two little weblogs on this fine site.

I have noticed an odd little quirk of blogger, though.

You see, this weblog, this very dullgloomy is posted quickly and easily. When I press "Publish", up it comes, date- and time stamped accurately and automatically.

When I press "Publish" on A Year in Haiku, however, I must first go into "Post Options" to correct the time. Otherwise, it will be anywhere between three and four hours off. Strange, no?

I didn't say it was interesting, or even important in any way. Just curious.

Space Invader

So, I finish work tonight and head across the street to the parking lot in which my car was hanging out, waiting for me. I head through the lot, approaching the aforementioned vehicle and WHAMMO! What do I see? Someone, whom I can only assume is a card-carrying moron, has parked beside me on my driver's side. Right beside me. RIGHT BESIDE. About THREE INCHES beside me. Literally.

So, yes. I had to get in my passenger's side door, clamber over to the driver's seat in my MANUAL TRANSMISSION vehicle ... meaning I had to circumvent the seats, the stickshift, and the emergency break along the way to start my car. Of course, it had been snowing this evening, so I had to clean off the car. I ended up backing out into the aisle VERY VERY CAREFULLY (since there were mere inches betwixt the cars, you will recall) so I could get out my door and brush it off. (Of course, a van came by shortly and wasn't too happy with me for cleaning my car in the aisle of the lot, but deal with it VanBoy!)

And so, to the owner of a grey sedan who parked beside me, I say, "You're an idiot."

Fair Warning

Eleven months to Christmas, everyone. I hope you're planning for the holidays. They'll be upon us before we know it.

Big Mo' Update

Well, I finally got around to actually eating the aforementioned chocolate bar.

It's really not that good; sort of a Caramilk's lame cousin. You know; we all have that lame cousin. The one with too-sweet chocolate and not-as-tasty caramel.

Now Dale Jr. has TWO reasons to be concerned: the name of the bar and the taste of the bar.

Head-Shaking Hunt

So, have you ever had one of those experiences which say to you, "Slow down, my friend, or you're going to wind up in a home before your time"?

Today I had cooked up some tasty chicken with a sauce and, while it was finishing its grilling, searched the kitchen counter for the lid from the sauce bottle. I looked around the stove. I checked over by the dishes in the drying rack. I hunted by and in the sink. I even resorted to scanning the living room as I'd taken a drink in there while cooking. I peeked in the refrigerator, just in case I'd absentmindedly put it on a shelf. Not to be found.

So I did it all again.

Stove. Dishes. Sink. Living room. Fridge.

Not to be found.

Then I realized where it was.

It was on the bottle.

In my hand.

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.

Candy

This may be the funniest thing I've ever encountered in the candy aisle. What on earth were the folks at R.M. Palmer candy company thinking? And what does Dale Earnhardt Jr. think of it? Hahahaha!

Dear Woman with a Starbucks Cup,

Do you really need to carry your Starbucks cup with you in Wal-Mart?

Is it that you are desperately thirsty or, more plausible, hopped up on caffeine and needing to maintain your buzz so that you don't crash, take a look at your life, and end up drooling in a ditch?

Or is it that you are hoping that the act of walking around, browing with coffee in hand, will give you the feeling of being in a high-end, by-appointment-only boutique where they serve coffee and champagne while tightly wound ladies show you dresses or jewelry? Because that's not going to happen.

And will you really stretch that drink out until you return to your car, sure to dispose of it suitably? More likely you will become one of those egocentric individuals who leave their garbage on shelves randomly throughout the store. It may surprise you to learn that the entire world, contrary to your understanding, is not your garbage bin.

Dearest woman with a Starbucks cup, it's quite likely that I've overwhelmed your tiny brain by badgering you with so many questions. Allow me to say, in short, that I shake my head at you and your ill-timed and misplaced beverage-drinking schedule.

Sincerely,

Me.

P.S. Do you also take chocolate bars from the shelf and eat them while walking around, only to present the cashier with an empty wrapper? I'll be sure to come to your house, sit on your couch, and watch your television, asking permission to do so only as I leave.