Friday, August 20, 2010

Workin' it out...

Last weekend, Joe and I were walking around downtown when we happened to encounter an older man with a younger woman on his arm.

She was wearing a skin tight glittery outfit - with boots that had 6" platforms on them.  Her hair was "teased to Jesus" as my friend Mike says...and her make-up looked like she might've been in some sort of Broadway production later that night.

But oh-boy was she draped all over that man.

Joking, I turned to Joe and said, "I have that outfit!  In fact, I would've worn it today, but I was thinking about wearing it to work tomorrow."

To which, he said, "Uh, Anne?  She already IS wearing it to work."

Wednesday, August 04, 2010


So I live in downtown Denver.  While there are a LOT of perks, there are some things that are just annoying. 

Like one time, I was walking from our parking garage to the entrance of our building, dodging pedestrians and people who seem to have just arrived on Earth.  I say that because these are the people who, when normal walking protocol says they, don't.  Instead they slow down and look around with wide eyed amazement at all things.  To be fair, maybe they're not aliens.  Maybe they're just high.

Anyway, I happened to be talking on the phone at the time to my dad, who is prone to discussions about diarrhea and regularity.  Now, before you go and judge him, he's a doctor.

Also, he isn't terribly great in what you might call "normal discussion."  Obviously.

So, I'm on the phone with him, hearing about his BMs* and I notice that a guy standing on the side of the street just LOOKING at me intently.  It's weird - so I look at him and that's when I notice that...

...YUP he's playing with himself.  And I don't mean a game of solitaire.  Unless by "solitaire," you mean touching his jabombies.

I did what any other normal person would do.  I gasped, covered my eyes and kept walking.  My dad, having heard the gasp, says "I know!  But that's probably normal given the fact that..." and then launched into what he had eaten to cause such a BM.

It was like the grossest thing ever.

And now YOU get to think about it.

You're welcome.

*BM = bowel movement.  Which, incidentally, is what we were encouraged to call poop when we were little.  Everyone else's parents would say, "Do you need to go doo doo?" and ours would be all "Have you had a BM today?"  No wonder I'm odd.