Everything I Like Causes Cancer

I'm not so full of hubris that I can't admit when I made a mistake. When I published the post below I assumed that everyone had been raised by a very young mother, surrounded by her pop culture preferences like, say, The Beatles. I mistakenly assumed everyone was as familiar with their lyrics as I am. My bad.

I stole the idea for posting this video from my friend Johnny the Jeweler who posted it on Facebook but he doesn't read this blog so I figure he'll never realize I'm a big stealer.

On my way in today I heard the news that Ed McMahon left this morning for the straightman's job in the sky. I can just see him . . . sitting next to God's desk, in a chair that makes him slightly taller than God, and yelling "Hey-O!" every time The Big Man tells a good one.

Mr. McMahon? You were an American icon. You were the world's best sidekick and one hell of a salesman. Even though I'm still pissed about the $0 check, I'll miss ya.

On my way to work yesterday morning I received a speeding ticket for going 40 in a 25. I have never denied that I have a terribly heavy lead foot but, in my defense, there is a 200 yard stretch of the road I take to work that suddenly drops to 25. And I was daydreaming. Probably about you, but I digress.

The cop wasn't a total dick about it but he wasn't responding to my Midwestern Friendliness either. The more I think about it, I'd have been less mad about the whole thing if he'd just once acknowledged that he was writing me a $100 ticket exactly one week before my birthday. My 40th birthday. Humorless douchebag.

I announced my misfortune on Facebook as soon as I got to the office and it was later suggested that I'd received the ticket because I failed to show enough cleavage.

Haha! Good one!

See, the first thought I had when the cherries lit up behind me was, "Thank God I haven't done laundry in like three weeks and this top was the only thing clean." Sadly, it didn't help.

On my way home last night I re-enacted the moment by sticking my left arm out the window and taking this from Officer Humorless E. Douchebag's point of view:

(His middle name just has to be Eunich.)

And yes, I took this picture of myself while driving. I also waited to take it until I was traversing that particular stretch of Roaditaketowork Road.

That'll show him.

I was so excited yesterday to finish cleaning up the piles of leaves I raked weeks ago so I could finally start my spring planting but within the first five minutes of scooping leaves I threw out my back and thought I might die.  Not kidding.  Stupidly, I finished the leaves and did some light planting but I shouldn't have.  I have never felt pain like this before.   I can walk, sorta, and I did take a shower before I drove myself to an emergency chiropractic visit this morning but it's so bad that he and his wife wouldn't let me drive home.  In fact, they fed me before I left to make sure I ate.

First and foremost, my doctor says I am not dying so stop crying already.  Apparently a day or two of antibiotics will have me right as rain.  It does, however, explain the stabbing back pain and exhaustion I had all weekend that I attributed to cleaning house and sleeping on an air mattress.

I found out Friday that it will take $1,000 worth of repairs to get my car to pass its State inspections.  This song has been running on a loop in my head ever since.

I get one day I can work from home per week.  I am scheduled to take it on Fridays but in the event of inclement weather I can switch days.  It is snowing and sleeting here so I decided to switch days and work from home today.

On my way home tonight, less than two miles from my office, a belt in the engine of my car decided to stop being a belt and morphed into tiny shreds of rubber and some other papery material that I couldn't identify.  It came as quite a surprise because, really, we'd been together for a long time.  I thought we'd bonded and gotten past these petty little games.  I guess that's not how it works with cars.