- why do the drive up menus have the announcement "we have picture and braille menus" when the people who would use those very menus have no way of knowing these are available?
- why do some men name their penis? this always places women in an awkward position. do we buy more than one gift on holidays? do we address the peni as a separate individual? when introducing our beloved to friends and/or family, how do we go about this delicate situation? "Deb, this is Charles and his peni, Bubba.". At this point, does she shake both of their, well, hands?
- do zombies really exist?
- why is it when someone eats or smells something so horrid that their face twists into a whirlpool of disgust, they immediately turn to you and say, "Here, taste/smell this"? Do they actually think you are going to gleefully say, "Sure, I can't wait to have that same look on my face!"
- why do dogs look so embarrassed when they poo?
- have you ever noticed that the more you swipe at lint, the more it moves to other places on your black pants?
- how is it that at my age, I still fear the BVM...that's Blessed Virgin Mary to those non-Catholics...still appearing in my bedroom? A friend once said I shouldn't worry unless she has her hands in claws and is going "Grrrrr". However, there is a reason behind my fear. She shows up, I tell a friend.. we'll say, oh, Betty. "Betty, did you see 'Lost' last night? I was really enthralled. Later, while I was sleeping, the BVM appeared in my room. No, really, she did. Anyway, I tried the new coffee Dunkin' Donuts has on the menu..it's pretty good. French Roast." So, Betty calls a friend.. we'll say her name is Wilma. Wilma calls the Post. Next thing I know, the Post has called the Arch-Diocese of New York, they've got me on a non-stop plane to Rome, I'm talking to the Pope about the Great Secret the BVM always tells...and trust me, not telling the Great Secret to Betty just about killed me.. I had to hint... "You might not want to live near any big bodies of water in July of 2012.".... the Pope has me whisked away by the Swiss Army, who refuse to even give me a decent knife... I'm dressed in a really ugly wool habit, put into a convent with dour, cloistered nuns... CLOISTERED... non speaking... and for the rest of my short life, I have to kneel and pray and beat myself with a rope. I say short because the rule is I'll get something like consumption or scabies and die. Nothing fun like Tourettes, but consumption. Of course, there is the fast track to the Saint stuff.. but, the cloistered shit stinks.
- when I call customer service, and am sent to an outsourced system, and the guy from India tells me his name is Ralph... why won't he believe my name is Indira?
- if a screaming baby gets to fly for free on somone's lap, why does my quiet dog have to pay $40 to be squeezed under a seat?
Most of all, why can't I sleep at 2A on a Thursday?
