The Big 3-0.
Ha. No, not my age. As if…
No, it’s just since last April when I began “Hippielib” I’ve made 29 posts. I’m kind of itching to make 30 for some reason.
I have nothing particularly burning to say, so I’m thinking I will just leave my computer up to this screen and throughout the day write what pops into my head, thusly getting the 30th post out of the way.
I know what you’re thinking – this will be fasccccinnnating:
My hands get really dry in the winter, but there is no real hope of rectifying that situation. I hate hand lotion of any kind. I put it on and feel the soothing, yet painfully stinging, relief of the cool lotion and within five minutes I have to wash it off which only exacerbates the problem.
It just feels – weird: slippery and oily and icky. It gives me the heebies.
I accidentally bought some sexy-dance-club-slut type lotion last time – with flashy, sparkly flecks in it – which I suppose doesn’t entice me to end my lotion aversion.
Spongebob genuinely makes me laugh. Dora The Explorer does not.
I take for granted how wonderful life is when I have my over the counter reflux meds in abundance. I realize how bad a day can suck when I’m out and forget to buy them.
For dinner tonight I wanted to have stuffed peppers with red sauce, with a side of tomatoes, to be washed down with a gallon of orange juice. Oh well, not tonight. Not tonight.
My kids have not, and will not, stop talking about Christmas and what they want next year from Santa. They won’t stop drawing pictures of Santa and the reindeer. They keep taping pictures of these things to every window in the house.
They went to bed last night asking if I could call Santa to tell them about the cool new toy they saw on a commercial, and I had to make many trips to their room to tell them to zip it.
They wouldn’t stop, man.
My last trip up the stairs to their room led me to proclaim in a very deadpan tone: “Christmas is Dead”. Then I turned out the lights and walked out with finality.
I don’t feel even a little bit bad about it.
I have never, and will never, have the desire to go on a cruise.
I want to take a 15 hour-long nap, and when I wake up I want it to be the same time on the same day as when I began the nap. I do not understand why I am not allowed to do this.
I really want to take a dance class with a partner. Like a Spanish or Big Band dance class. Maybe that’s so “Swingers”, so 15 years ago, but I don’t care. I want to. It would be so money.
I hate money and everything it stands for and represents. I hate how having a lot of it or having very little of it or having just enough of it makes people act in ways that are unbecoming a human being.
I would like to have more money so I can stop writing sentences like this.
Oh my God. I just opened a bag of what I thought was lemon flavored licorice. It’s mango, not lemon. That is some seriously gag-inducing crap.
Some creepy guy at the gym today came up to me out of the blue and asked me if I wanted to hear the joke of the day. I said “Uh, okayyy…”. He then proceeded to tell me three very off-color Jewish jokes, one of them about why Jewish women prefer their men to be circumcised.
When I said “Stop”, he said, “It’s okay, a Jewish friend of mine told me those.”… and walked away.
Here’s my joke of the day: You’re a dick.
My nearly 4-year-old son will do everything in his power to avoid going to the bathroom. He dances around and winces and holds it. When I repeatedly coax him to go, and tell him he will feel better when he does, he gets MAD. “I’m just dancin’!!!”.
Okay, son, samba away.
He then eventually runs like an insane person to the bathroom at the last possible minute, finishes and comes out mad at ME that he peed “…a little not in the toilet”.
I understand the deflection of his poor choices onto me so as to avoid any responsibility for pee on the bathroom floor. But what I don’t understand is why it still doesn’t sink in that he can avoid this situation altogether?
I don’t get it.
I don’t know, much like crappy beer – after 10 or so pieces – this mango licorice isn’t quite as bad.
Ta-daaa! My 30th Post. Thank you ladies and gentlemen.
Now let’s move on to 31 and win there.
(Disclaimer to the Disclaimer: I apologize for the dreck above. But sometimes you feel like a post, sometimes you don’t).
Remind me to tell you the jewish joke my father-in-law told me at his birthday party. I am more than ashamed to say I laughed. And then I just laughed again now thinking about it.
It made me laugh to think of you being ashamed of laughing at it.
Sometimes I get to a point where I’m dying to make a post but don’t have anything specific to say. I just write and try to loosen up my mind that way.
Ben, I agree. Writer’s block is only overcome in my opinion, by writing. Even if it’s initially uninspired, it gets things rolling. Thanks for reading.
I thought I was the only one who never wanted to be like flotsam and jetsam on a cruise ship. I mean, you’re just asking for trouble, and lookit that mess in Italy. All sorts of horror stories out there with those floating germ barges. Blergh.
The dance classes. I will take them with you. I was promised 23 years ago that my groom would take those lessons with me. I am still waiting and getting rid of said groom. SO money! Do the couples have to be boy/girl?
As for the guy at the gym, please tell him my ancestors think he’s a dick as well. And so do I.
No cruises! I don’t ever want the possibility of “falling off” my vacation.
We can do girl-girl. Who needs boys?
i hate crappy beer…most beers now made are almost soda, they’re so sweet. beer should be hoppy and bitter. anyway that’s my 2 cents. p.s. …led me to proclaim in a very deadpan tone: “Christmas is Dead”. Then I turned out the lights and walked out with finality.” so great Lilabell…and so right on. continue…
Bark, I wish I liked beer. But I know for sure I don’t like the crappy ones. I suppose saying it was dead was a little harsh. Maybe I should have gone with “really ill”. Thanks for the ‘right on’, as always.
Too bad the Republicans’ ideas on immigration couldn’t just be applied to Dora and Diego. Wait, is that racist?
/hears Dora’s voice
//doesn’t care anymore
Ha! Now that’s comedy. There are so many places to go with that….
I too detest lotion and all it stands for. Oh yeah, and the chuckle I get when SpongeBob…
It stands for nothing good, Bob. Nothing good. Thanks for reading!
I’m Wimbledon, baby.
“Here’s my joke of the day: You’re a dick.”
Game. Set. Match.