One Moth With Three Blows And Other Random, Incoherent Ramblings

Anyone remember that tale of the poor Tailor that killed seven flies with one blow? I totally just accomplished a similar feat. I killed a moth, and it only took me three tries, some shrieking and mild convulsing. Easy peasy.

It's 12:30 already and I'm tired and have no idea what to write about. Whenever I don't know what to write about I ask the closest, most convenient person what they think I should write about. I don't know if you've picked up on this but I try to do as little of my own thinking as possible.

Tony always answers the same thing, he's dying for me to write something biographical about him. I imagine the telling of his life would include stories of adventures with Navajo women and the time in college that he and all his guy buddies played beer pong completely naked and end with him sitting in an arm chair watching baseball while petting a black cat. It would make an awesome blog that would make you reconsider your plans of sending your children on to higher education.

My mother suggested I write about why I think we each keep so much junk in our homes and then parlay that thought into the deeper waters of why do we keep so much emotional baggage. My Mom's always been an overachiever. I must take after my Dad because I will not be attempting to even try my hand at that. As a matter of fact, this paragraph was a struggle for me to write so I'll end it by saying I got new lip gloss and move on.

Punk recommended I write a post like a piece of fiction. Like a Harlequin romance. I wouldn't even know where to start since I've never read a harlequin romance. I try to stick with real heavy, deep books. Literature that challenges me and cause me to grow as a person. Like Harry Potter, Twilight and Edward the Emu. I love that book. Every time I clean up my kids books I stop and read it.

While all of these are awesome and wonderful suggestions that I may, in a fit of desperation, use for a blog topic at some point, tonight I'm just going to share with you the following random, embarrassing and bizarre things from mine, Punk and Birdie's childhood:

1. I once dressed up in a make-shift uniform and ran through the woods completing a bizarre "mission impossible" course that included me sliding down a tube slide that had been coated in butter. I had to throw my clothes away after.
2. Birdie used to run around our back yard in nothing but a pair of tighty-whiteys with all of his remaining clean undies on his head, turban style.
3. Punk once took the frame out on our garage door while backing out of the garage. I think Mr. Punk does most of the driving in that relationship.
4. Once when Birdie was in his early teens we went out to eat and the cute waitress asked him what he would like to eat and he ordered a cheeseburger. "And what kind of cheese would you like with that?" she asked. In his cute-girl-is-talking-to-me panic he said, "No cheese."
5. I once mud-wrestled Birdie's ex-girlfriend in hurricane effect rains at summer camp. It was awesome.
6. I have mattress surfed down a flight of stairs. Well not really surfed so much as tumbled.
7. Punk, Birdie and I once embarked on an a quest to find the buried treasure of One-Eyed Willy (a legendary pirate). Good times, oh wait, that was the plot to the Goonies.

All right there you have it, The fuzzy brained, incoherent ramblings of a loony that is capable of killing a moth in three tries or more.

For kicks feel free to leave a fuzzy brained incoherent comment. It could be about something pertaining to this post or how you hate hang nails or grape jelly. Or you could tell me the story about the time you went to Yankees stadium with your two drunk uncles that kept pulling their shirts up and yelling simultaneously, "We hate you, Chad Curtis!", "We Love YOU, Chad Curtis!" and made such fools of themselves that Bernie Williams laughed at them. Oh wait, that's my story, nevertheless feel free to use it.