I'm so tired of seeing that stupid see-you-next-Tuesday with all the babies on the news. I mean, does ANYONE like this woman? Finally the country has something they can all rally behind. Conservatives and liberals alike hate this lady. Bless you Nadya Suleman for uniting the nation!
There's only one fair way to handle this issue. Once all the kids have got their teeth in there should be a steel cage match. Only the strongest baby gets to live. The corpses of the remaining seven will be sold on eBay to earn money for the winner's college fun (or more plastic surgery for the mother). Who will survive the Octagon?! Coming soon to pay-per-view.
Seriously, this is such a non-issue. Just let the woman quietly ruin the lives of her children in peace and don't pay any more attention to her.
-- Post From My iPhone
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Mailbox V. Car
Last night Leslie and I were at the home, minding our own business when all of the sudden Leslie heard a loud bang outside. She didn't think anything of it.
Today when I was getting home from work I noticed a strangely shaped object in the street in front of our mailbox. I was surprised to see when I got closer it was a car's side view mirror.
You see, Leslie and I have a landlord who's not afraid to drop some cash on a top of the line mailbox. Our box, by Fort Know Mailboxes is made of a 1/4 inch of adamantium (okay, steel) and has a post that is buried deep into the Earth's core (okay, just a foot or so). It could probably could withstand a head-on collision with a '87 Honda Accord. Or at least the side view mirror of one random white car.
Today when I was getting home from work I noticed a strangely shaped object in the street in front of our mailbox. I was surprised to see when I got closer it was a car's side view mirror.
You see, Leslie and I have a landlord who's not afraid to drop some cash on a top of the line mailbox. Our box, by Fort Know Mailboxes is made of a 1/4 inch of adamantium (okay, steel) and has a post that is buried deep into the Earth's core (okay, just a foot or so). It could probably could withstand a head-on collision with a '87 Honda Accord. Or at least the side view mirror of one random white car.
The scene of the crime
Close up of where the mirror hit
I turned the mirror over and you can see where it hit the mailbox
Sunday, February 8, 2009
Home
Leslie and are are in Orlando for the weekend for her cousin's wedding shower. It's a brief trip; just Friday to Sunday.
While Leslie and her mother went to the shower, I went out for coffee with our friend Kevin. Kevin was the guy that married Leslie and I. He's doing great, and I had no idea how much I missed him. After Kevin and I parted ways I immediately began to to wish I was living back in Orlando. We left behind a few great friendships when we moved to Atlanta. Kevin revealed that he and his girlfriend have plans to move to Gainsville in the Fall, so even if we moved back he wouldn't be here. And who's to say if all of our Orlando friends are planning on staying here anyway?
What is it with people and their inability to stay on one place. Yes, yes, I am guilty of my fair share of moving as well.
Whenever I return someplace I haven't been in a while I start to remember all the good times and wish I could stay. This happens mostly in Orlando and in Connecticut Why is it harder to recall the miserable aspects? Like how in Orlando I would sweat profusely just from walking to the car? Or how I can't go to the mall near my hometown without bumping into half my high school graduating class.
Driving back to my in-laws house I began to get sad when I realized I don't really know where my home is any more. I mean, in all honesty, my home is wherever Leslie is, but I can't decide what specific part of the country is most dear to me. If something were to happen to me and Leslie had to bury me, where would she do it? Or where would be the best place to scatter my ashes? I guess it's more the people then the places that I miss. Maybe I should have myself dismembered and everyone can have a piece. Hmm, I wonder if I can manage to make this post a bit more morbid.
I meant what I said earlier: Leslie is my home. I don't care what happens to me when I'm gone, but while I'm here I'm going to enjoy it. And even though I don't get to see my friends and family as much as I like, the times I do see them are always special.
What is a home anyway? A place? A person? A memory? Damned if I know. I may never know. I guess part of the journey is finding out.
-- Post From My iPhone
While Leslie and her mother went to the shower, I went out for coffee with our friend Kevin. Kevin was the guy that married Leslie and I. He's doing great, and I had no idea how much I missed him. After Kevin and I parted ways I immediately began to to wish I was living back in Orlando. We left behind a few great friendships when we moved to Atlanta. Kevin revealed that he and his girlfriend have plans to move to Gainsville in the Fall, so even if we moved back he wouldn't be here. And who's to say if all of our Orlando friends are planning on staying here anyway?
What is it with people and their inability to stay on one place. Yes, yes, I am guilty of my fair share of moving as well.
Whenever I return someplace I haven't been in a while I start to remember all the good times and wish I could stay. This happens mostly in Orlando and in Connecticut Why is it harder to recall the miserable aspects? Like how in Orlando I would sweat profusely just from walking to the car? Or how I can't go to the mall near my hometown without bumping into half my high school graduating class.
Driving back to my in-laws house I began to get sad when I realized I don't really know where my home is any more. I mean, in all honesty, my home is wherever Leslie is, but I can't decide what specific part of the country is most dear to me. If something were to happen to me and Leslie had to bury me, where would she do it? Or where would be the best place to scatter my ashes? I guess it's more the people then the places that I miss. Maybe I should have myself dismembered and everyone can have a piece. Hmm, I wonder if I can manage to make this post a bit more morbid.
I meant what I said earlier: Leslie is my home. I don't care what happens to me when I'm gone, but while I'm here I'm going to enjoy it. And even though I don't get to see my friends and family as much as I like, the times I do see them are always special.
What is a home anyway? A place? A person? A memory? Damned if I know. I may never know. I guess part of the journey is finding out.
-- Post From My iPhone
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