However, I still had time to think about some random things:
- Don't you dare tell me a new waxing technique is painless Under no circumstances on any planet in the trillions of universes in existence is there any amount of "soothing botanicals" with which you can pull large sections of my hair out by the root with a sticky substance and have it not hurt. It's impossible. Just be honest-- "it hurts like a bitch but it's organic!" or "paying more for this fancy treatment will hurt your wallet so badly, the pain of our wax will barely register" or "we're about to pluck so much money from your hands that the hair on your (body part) won't even compare!"
(I'm sure this didn't hurt a bit!)
- Is it possible that the Dominos by my apartment is four blocks away and five minutes IN THE FUTURE? If I place an order for cheesy bread at 8:57PM, how has Mohammed alllready put it in the oven at 9:02PM? Is there a loophole in the space/time continuum wherein chain pizza places don't have to follow the rules which bind the rest of us? If I were to ever get off of my fat ass and pick up my own food, would I come home jet-lagged?
(And yes, I'm quite aware that I live in NYC proper, home of some of
the best pizza in the world. I like cheesy bread. So sue me.)
- How come (and I swear I don't do this often) when my hand talks to me, it has the same voice as Peter Griffin? It baffles me. What a personality on that guy! (My hand, not Peter.)
(My hand usually wears lipstick though.)
- This one's really just for my secretary: I know that you feign stupidity with me. It will NOT get you out of doing work. If you play dumb, it's only going to take you longer to complete the goddamn task. And frankly, I don't ever think about how long it takes you to do anything. As long as I don't have to do it, I could care less if/when/how you finish up. I do my job, you do yours. If you don't know how it's done by now then it might be time for you to move on.
(My secretary has less makeup and more cats.)
- Attention anyone who uses the downstairs bathroom in my apartment: Toilet Paper is sold at many fine establishments in the neighborhood. It's also sold at almost all of the not-so-fine establishments. In movies spotlighting wily suburban teenagers, it can usually even be found hanging from the trees. Why, oh why, then does everyone besides myself have such trouble purchasing some? Seriously, I need to hear the explanation because I can't come up with anything.
(I would just buy a cow-- if I thought anyone else would bother to buy food for it.)
No comments:
Post a Comment