When I was in 11th grade, my AP English class had a discussion about AIDS for some strange reason.
We discussed how it is often referred to as the gay disease and as the discussion progressed, I decided to share my confusion.
“But I thought it was called the gay disease because when you get AIDS, it turns you gay?” – Me
“You thought all the drug dealers.. and MAGIC JOHNSON were gay?” – Relatively smart boy in my class
This is what happens when boys leave things at my apartment.
Every day is an adventure when you are book smart.
I tried to make iced coffee at work today by mixing ice with steaming hot coffee.
My coworkers lost a lot of respect for my intelligence.
There are some things I just don’t understand.
For instance, the toilet seats at L.A. Fitness. Designed to perfectly conform to your butt. WHY?
In the rare instance that I allow my bare skin to touch a public toilet seat, I’d really prefer that it not be designed to attract as much of my healthy square inchage as possible.
I mean seriously, some of those girls are wearing clubbing outfits to my spin classes.
Share butt germs? No thanks.
My roommate is in a fight with her boyfriend.
And she has eaten approximately twice in three days.
But where food is lacking, brilliance shines through.
She made a great, random point at dinner yesterday and I am now passing it along.
“You can tell how happy a girl is with her boyfriend by how fat she is.”
There may be some outliers to this, but I thought it was awesome.
And this revalation was made even more awesome by the setting in which it was told. Right in front of our waitress who looked slightly anorexic.
Our service was not very good from that point on.
My car is on empty.
I have a $25 Shell gift card and I passed a Shell station on my last drive.
Drove right by.
Why? Because D’yer Maker was playing on the radio.
My thought: If cops had better music on their radios, maybe they would only stop people when they’re doing something with a high degree of unlawfullness.
If Barbie Girl had been playing, unless I was in some really goofy mood, I would have stopped and gotten gas. But since a good song was playing, instant combustion would have been about the only reason for me to stop those sound waves from transmitting through my speakers and into my ear lobes.
Don’t get me wrong.
If someone is going 60 in a 35, turn on those blue lights, that’s cool. But “incomplete stops” at stop signs, dude, you just need some better tunes.