28 February 2006

get an Eiffel of reality

I tuned on the tv last night. I couldn't sleep very well. I would have blogged but I did my fill on the weekend and the creative juices dried up. Why do they call them juices anyway? Do thoughts only come in juice form? What thingy makes the creative juices? I will have to find out.

Anyhoo, back to reality. TV that is. I flipped the on the TV. I don't do this unless I have a laundry pile or some big news thingy happened or maybe an educational channel on How Not To Repeatedly Use the Word Thingy.

I don't get cable or dish anything because I don't have the time besides there are too many good books to read and children to diaper. So there I was being sucked into the vortex of a reality show called The Bachelor in Paris. It's a lame name for a show but that's because The Biggest Loser was taken. I felt so bad for the girl who was sent home bawling off her mascara. Maybe those were her creative juices? Who knows. What I do know is nothing stinks worse than being dumped, except to be dumped on national TV while wearing a dress where your whoo-haas are coming out.

Riding away in the car limo, cute dark-haired chick is crying, swearing to never love again and saying weird incoherent things like, "I'm shocked beyond recognition". It was also annoying how she kept trying to keep her aforementioned-whoo-haas in her dress. Girl, just buy a dress that fits everywhere. Meanwhile Dr. Chiseled-Jaw has found his real love after he has been playing molar hockey with half the women on the show.

He is a doctor. He should know you can catch germs that way. Mouth germs.

What kills me? The script! How many times people can you say, "We had such spark. Such connection". Well, back up the Love Mobile, Sparky! He had enough connection to power the Eiffel Tower elevators. On a weekend. During Tourist Season.

Bachelor thinking: How many girls can I kiss without looking like Dr. Pervy SlobberBob?

So he finds his true love in Paris. I am really happy for them. Soon to be Mrs. Pervy SlobberBob seems like a really sweet gal and I hope it all works out. I just feel bad for the Biggest Loser.

25 February 2006

martha, carpet & kids play

I purchased a new all-in-one fax, printer, copier, etc...many moons ago. It's just like me to now finally have it set up and going full boar. Or would that be bore? Anyway, it has a camera docker-dockey thing. Suddenly I'm a picture taking maniac. (see previous post) I'm sure that is the technical manual name - docker-dockey thing.

I have been a petrie dish for four weeks off and on with the cold and flu season. I have re-entered life healthy, with a dirty house and a vengence to clean. Armed with photos to scan, toilet brush and laundry soap, hubby and I have tackled the last of the monster called housework. So clean, in fact, that I would have Martha Stewart over but she would still have comments about my floors.

"I see you have removed your carpet?" she would say blankly.

"Yes, the former owner decided that the Home Depot carpet off the roll was a great deal (read: cheapest garbage) and carpeted the entire house in it." I would reply pretending to smile, "The carpet cleaner that gave us a bid said that this was the cheapest pile of...carpet you could find and proceeded to do a test patch. His bid was over $200, which of course, we refused. I considered cleaning it myself and after about a month the 'test' spot molded. So rather than clean it, we removed it. I sweep my living room clean. It's so easy." I smile and strike a house-wifey pose with the broom.

"How curious! What will you be replacing it with? Antique, refurbished hard wood from an old historic mansion in Connecticut?" Her eagerness is worth mentioning as the thought almost makes her drool.

"Well, Martha...", I smile as I hand her an embroidered hankie, "We considered that but since I morally cannot sell my body on a street corner for a good profit and I didn't make my millions doing time in nappy denim overalls, we are considering a more affordable option. Concrete and new carpet."

I continued, "We will be carpeting the bedrooms and living room but will have my husband, a master concrete finisher and designer, install stamped and stained concrete for the high traffic areas."

"How delightful!" She is suddenly impressed and she makes a mental note secretly wishing she had known of this for her own house.

"Darn that $1500 a square foot carpet," Martha would think to herself, as she just purchased replacement carpet for her 5th fully-decorated house, noticeably absent of anything remotely denim.


I think the kitchen cleaner fumes are getting to me.

After months of no carpet and concrete flooring, I found out I am a floor-sitter. I have four kids who naturally end up in a dog pile on the living room floor at least twice a week. It's been said about children that there is nothing with more gravitational pull than a parent lying on the floor. I think it's like sign-language for SIT ON ME. But this hasn't happened in a while. Hubby has recently changed jobs and it looks enevitable he will again. Carpet will happen soon enough when I don't balance the checkbook down to the last penny and we have rebuilt a savings account.

Until then, I really don't mind sweeping my living room. Summer is coming and they will be outside, scratching the paint on my van with evil, little hot wheels, and making mud pies from my flower garden.

Dog piles on the couch will just have to do until then.

22 February 2006

day by day

I'm not talking Godspell here. I'm talking about the yawn factor of my day. If I blogged about my day to day life, it would be boring blog material. I don't get out much and as much as you love reading about laundry and scrubbing crayon off walls, most people want a little more brain food.

Note: Non-stick cooking spray cleans non-washable crayons off walls.

I commonly wake refreshed @ 6am after turning off the alarm that has been annoying me for an hour. I don't know what possesses me to set the alarm at 5am hoping to procure a better body via treadmill and possibly get my prayer and reading in early. Typically, I end up doing math for an hour al la Snooze, while figuring how much more I am able to sleep without cramping the little time I require to get ready for the day. Sleep is a luxury at my house, like toilet paper and food. And thank the Lord, my coffee maker has a timer or all would be lost.

This sums it up.

On a side note: I am publicly apologizing for mistaking Aunt Josefina's age as double what it is. She is not currently a Sr. Citizen but will be in another thirte.hrfghmmmm years. AJ is the essence of young-ness and all that is not elderly. Although, I am not stating that being elderly is something bad or undesirable. Elderly people are dear to me, a good friend of mine being of 70 years of age. Sr. Citizens have much life-learned wisdom I can glean from and have a healthy love for fabulous music, like Big Band (and rightly so). This makes the elderly generation quite valuable to me. With that said, I feel completely absolved of my erroneous assumption from which I have no memory of it's origination. (like, I can't remember!!!) I however, cannot take responsibility of a certain Gobhole Girl who possibly will tease AJ and I both, often and without mercy.

20 February 2006

short is good

I have promised myself shorter posts. Here is my first attempt.

18 February 2006

Coffee Makes Me Horny. No. Not That Kind.

My funniest memory of adventures in my car....

I named my Honda Accord Cinderella because she was svelte and perfect. She had auto everything, cruise control, even control buttons on the steering wheel. I miss her still. But one incident with her... this is one that I chalk up to one of my Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments.

In the late 1990s I was working at a bookstore in Colorado.(sounds like Harnes and Foble). I worked late shift part-time and supported my reading habits..

I usually finished my shift with sore feet, tired eyes, and late - near midnight. I was a bit tired but decided I could A) wreck on my way home or B) stop for a Starbuck's bottled coffee and be up for another few hours. No big deal. I'm a night owl so this was a good alternative to nodding off on the dark stretch of highway on the way home.

On this particular night, I left the grocery parking lot for home, bottled coffee in hand. Access roads to the highways were dark, just like the highway itself. No street lamps and no oncoming headlights. It was a good 10 minutes of country driving to home and just long enough time to get sleepy, That night the road was mine open an inky sky flecked with stars. to the lulling hum of the engine, ...and my bottled coffee,

Growing up as city girl, it took weeks of night driving to ignore the lack of headlights or any other drivers. You get used to it like prairie dogs all over the highway come spring, cattle guards, rail cars blocking traffic, or tractor combines on the road. You just learn to drive without street lamps.

I grabbed the coffee bottle and peeled off the wrapper, popping the lid while merging on the highway.

Clutch, shift, gas....don't spill. Such a smooth caffeine addict.
I looked in my rearview mirror, Car lights coming up on me. Yes! A Highway Buddy.It always made me feel a little safer with another car on the road but I still couldn't wait to get home.

Clutch, shift, gas....5th gear.

By this point, I was doing the octopus.

With my mind on my warm bed, I sipped my coffee and passed Highway Buddy in the fast lane. Just as I get past him, out of the blue, I was startled with a car horn blaring at me.


It continued on,


I immediately got sick to my stomach.

What is he doing?

I was right next to this car and they were speeding up to keep pace..Every weird thing went through my head.

I don't know them, do I?
Are my lights off?
Are they psycho?
Highway Buddy is mad at me and now he is going to ram me off the road.
I'm gonna die. I know it.
I'll be buried in a shallow grave off the highway like some lame USA Cable movie
DId I leave my purse on the roof again?

I did what any normal scared to death female driving alone on a deserted highway would do: I put my foot on the gas. I look over and cant see Highway Buddy at all. He still blared his horn at me, speeding up.

And then he kept pace.


By this time, my life was flashing before me. I'm ready to put a spot on the front seat. Gathering the courage to look over and see glinting eyes looking back.

Lord help me, I have Jack the Ripper after me. I'M GONNA DIE!


After about what seemed like 5 minutes of horn blaring, the noise abruptly stopped. Finally. My heart was racing and I punched it. I saw his lights in my rear view mirror and glanced down to see how fast I was going.

75mph. Awesome. Just. Get. Home.

Then I saw it, illuminated from the soft blue glow of my dashboard lights: my coffee bottle. In my tiredness and haste to get home, I managed to press my own Starbucks bottle against the horn button on my steering wheel.

I scared myself to death with my own horn.

I told Wayne about it and he honked longer than the damn horn did.

I wanted to die of embarrassment. Although, I bet you a Highway Buddy probably lost a day of his life in sheer fright.

He almost died at the hand of a horn-blaring Honda driver drinking a frappuccino.

~Bee does stupid things when she is tired.

17 February 2006

I Name My Cars

I once lived in a town in Colorado called Grand Junction. It's a small town, at least to me. I'm not big on small towns. I grew up in a big city where they didn't roll up their sidewalks at 9pm.

It's a great place to raise kids and being close to my in laws was a plus. No, really it was a plus. You could call me a country girl with big city heart. I have since learned to go where my heart tells me.

Get out of Mayberry. Go very fast.

I bought my favorite car in Colorado. It was a Honda named Cinderella. Oh, how I miss her Accord-ness. Those four beautiful doors, 5-speeds and economical 32 miles to the gallon. We enjoyed her until we could no longer fit another car seat in the back. I think that was about the time I started having babies left and right.

You can't strap a toddler to the hood of a car, so we upgraded to a van. My embarrassing Ford Minivan. Her name is Stitch as in Lilo and Stitch, the movie. We have an odd habit of naming our vehicles and the list is long and distinguished.

Is there anyone else that does this? Names please.

The Beast: Our Ford F-150 that was destined to getting a new carburetor at least four times a year. She was coveted by our neighbor who scooped her up for a nice penny. He was a chiropractor and also mechanic. I hope he likes doing carburetors.

The Shark was our token beater with bald tires. I am convinced most newly marrieds have the token beater.

Correct me if I am wrong.

Nope, I am not wrong.

The Scoob/Scooby/The Rocket was a nice little Nissan pickup. She served us well until our family outgrew her little cab. Last I heard she had married a monster truck and they were thinking about installing roll bars on their bed(s). They are still living happily ever after.

The Grasshopper: We also had the flat bed work truck with an enormous metal rack affixed to the bed. It looked like wings folded down, like a grasshopper.

The Grasshopper name lasted until Hubby had a great big load to drive out of town. On his way he had some elevations to deal with on the road. After so many hills, he decided to call her The Big Chicken because she took some coaxing to get to the top of the hills. I think her full name was , "COME ON YA BIG CHICKEN!!!"

We had a CRX called The Turtle. She was so fun to drive except when I was learning how to drive on a standard. I attempted to shift from 4th into 5th gear and managed to down shift. That was a surprise. I nearly blew a rod with the RPMs just redlining from 2 to 10 in 1.2 seconds. I'm still picking dashboard pleather out of my forehead.

Mr Coffee and I managed to name a small rental still lovingly referred to as The Pit. The Pit coincidently also affirmed our love for imports. It felt like you were driving while sitting on the floor and I discovered how much I dislike driving while resting my chin on my knees.

Then came our dearest Cinderella.

~insert holy choir music~

You can imagine my horror in selling my lovely Honda Accord named Cinderella. We sold her to buy Stitch, the piece of scrap excuse for a van. Zus, at age 3 named the van after the movie. He was in love with Lilo so this seemed appropriate. So did the thought of naming our Ford Minivan after a dysfunctional spazoid alien. Stitch still stays true to her name.

My funniest memory of Cinderella was also classic dork on my part. I chalk it up to one of my Top Ten Most Embarrassing Moments in my life. Oh, read on but next post.

~Bee now knows how to properly shift into 5th gear.

15 February 2006

random day

I have a couple of things happening today and a scattering of thoughts. I also interchange letters for symbols to avoid weird word searches on my blog. Today's spillage:

I took this picture from the rooftop of a building in the Pearl District in Portland, OR. It is of the downtown area facing south. I love downtown.

My blog:
Do I keep this pace or continue with less blogging? You don't care but my kids care as they wade through the clean clothes that go from bed to floor on a daily basis. So, blogging will be two to three times a week.

I realize that for some to leave comments is to throw on a toe tag and hurl yourself into a grave. No, it won't kill you and I do know who you are because my stat counter tells me all sorts of goodies about you, even you, BLOCKED REFERRER. Don't think I am a freako stalker either..EVERYbody has a stat counter on their blog.

Writing Goals:
I also found while I think I am indeed a close cousin to Erma Bombeck (thank you suzer!) not everyone can be funny all the time. What a load to carry but I try. I love my writing but not everyone enjoys my demented sense of humor. I can always see myself improve...A LOT. I am my own worst critic but someday would want to write a column. A fabulously humorous hubby, four children and a weird childhood give me volumes of subject matter and I think I will write more stories. I have many good ones to tell.

Speaking of stories:
Homeschooling was a good part of my upbringing. I was homeschooled when it was not cool and relatively obscure. Graduated in 1990. Mixed on the issue, I would not like to be the poster child for homeschooling . I do not homeschool my own children due to the excellent schools in town and my participation in my children's education. However, I hold homeschooling parents in great esteem and am open to sharing what it is like as a High School Homeschooler and beyond into college.

My Take on God Blogs:
I find that there are a lot of God blogs out there that speak very well of the day to day things that come along, and what scripture speaks to them.

I am always blessed.

albeit, I couldn't do that because I feel inadequate but I am at an odd place in my life. A bumper sticker noted on someones blog really summed up how I am feeling towards people in general (by the way, if it was you, let me know and I'll do the linky link):

"Jesus loves you but everyone else thinks your an idiot"

I laughed for about 5 minutes over this.

I have had my share of church hopping and hearing of people that are into religion but have no idea what a relationship with God is. They don't read the Bible either. I am harder on myself than anyone when it comes to my walk with God. Almost to my detriment. I know that God is teaching me as of late, to love others even when they are 'idiots'. I am flailing and failing badly in this. Deep down, I know I am sensitive to what I see in others because I see falicies in myself. This always happens. Depending on the subject, I see it the most in others when God is speaking the same to me. You get it.

Now I have the maturity (and I say that quite loosely) to accept it and continue working to change myself. In other words, taking out my 'plywood contacts' before I remove the speck from my 'brother's eye'.

Another Lesson in Progress:
Hubby and I were at Powell's Books a couple of months ago and were over by the Bibles. Wayne wanted a small one in his truck and I was looking for another toddler Bible for my son. I walk past a big glass case with these massive leather volumes under lock and key. I shake my head at the figures of the bobbing Jesus heads.

How disrespectful is that!!

Then it dawns on me what the locked glass case is for. It's for the witchcr@ft and evil spells type books. Now I am really sickened. Jesus Bobbleheads perched on the S@tanic bible displays. They give me the creeps.

It dawns on me how many times I have insulted God? Taken Him for granted or commonplace. How many times do I walk past my Bible to read a book or watch a movie better suited for the garbage. How many times have I ignored Him when all God wants is to talk to me or show me the way to a better life, a marriage, a motherhood with all the joys I can handle.

I pray I will never be a Jesus Bobblehead.

13 February 2006

3 kinds of valentines

I got my inspiration for this over an email about before and after kids. Even though I jest and ehmmm, elaborate for a laugh , Wayne, you are still my best friend, lover, and companion.
I love you, truly....even after 12 years. XOXOXO

Valentines Day for Dating, Just Marrieds and Forever Marrieds


gorgeous birthstone pendant

Just Married:
Ring with diamonds or favorite stone

Married 12 years:
Gym membership with tanning package


He pays for a $120 meal at a really nice restaurant with world renown food, with live violin musics, candles, linen tablecloths, etc....

Just Married:
He cooks you dinner at home with all the favorites and trimmings. You both make dessert.

Married 12 years:
Do you want me to order a combination or just pepperoni?


He plans an elaborate and fun day out with you, after calling in 'sick' to work, of course.

Just Married:
You both plan for a weekend away, just the two of you, with evenings in front of the fireplace, massage oil and candles with soft music playing.

Married 12 years:
You wanna?


He found the biggest box possible. It took me a month to eat it.

Just Married:
Chocolate and strawberrys...hmmmm

Married 12 years:
Just staple that 12 piece to my backside already.


A shawl to go with your favorite little black dress.

Just Married:
A trip to Fredericks or Victoria's Secret.

Married 12 years:
5 year old ratty flannels can be sexy. Can't they?


You buy each other flowers and have a great laugh

Just Married:
24 Long stem red roses

Married 12 years:
"Honey, Where's your credit card? I'm buying you some flowers"

11 February 2006

Saké to me

Whenever I walk past the Japanese rice wine at the grocery I always have a double glance, this time with my cell phone. Look at that! It looks like...hehehe.

Then I start smiling and giggling, reverting to that juvenile side of me that enjoys sprinting my kids down the isle in a grocery cart or that would love to sample the bulk candies. Definitely the same side that achieves the greatest satisfaction and desired degrees of gross-out by poking the eyeballs of the neatly packaged fish over in the seafood department. I'm a youngster at heart and you'll get a glimpse of it every now and then.

My daughter asks me what is so funny. I want to say,
Don't you see? HA! HA!

I guess you have to know my upbringing: Proper. Polite. Church going. Courteous. Ladylike. My mother taught us good manners so I never could swear nor did I want to. I would be reprimanded with an Irish Spring appetizer for saying "pissed" or "d@mn" or even saying the word "apple" while holding my tongue.

You can let go of your tongue now. It still sounds the same as when you heard it in First Grade. ".....ahhhhh-hole"

No one wants to hear a woman with a trucker's mouth. Right?

I happen to know a couple of truckers and neither of them swear. Maybe the saying means you shouldn't do a lip transplant from a trucker's face. Hmm, I wonder. Do trucker's have weird lips? I don't know. Maybe they teach you how to swear on the last day at Trucking School. Maybe they teach you about saké in trucking school. Maybe saké is the preferred beverage by truckers. It would appear that way, but I could be wrong.

Fact be known, I've heard my neighbor kids swear more that my trucker friends. A lot more. The saying should go, "No one wants to hear a woman with a mouth like a seven-year old neighbor boy."

or better yet,

"Don't go down the isle with the saké bottles. It'll make you want to blog about it because the label looks like a bad word and that'll make you laugh."

**Am I the only one that grew up in a rough elementary school??

10 February 2006

college credits

Dropped Adult Education Summer Courses
From WSU


· Cell Phone Etiquette: Faking Static with Unwanted Callers

· Finding More Time to Spend Alone In Your Garage

· Dyslexic Atheism: Is There A Dog?

· Ego Gratification through Casual Dating

· Counseling for those in a Picture Perfect Childhood

· Optimizing Road Rage for a Quick Commute


· “Dot Com” Millionaires: Keeping It for More than One Year

· Debt Relief: Arson and Your Home

· Compost Your Way to Financial Freedom

· Booming Job Opportunities for Women in Afghanistan

· Scooters: Killing Machines or A Way to Get to Work?


· How to Write Your Own Urban Legend

· Optimizing Communication with Family Through SPAM

· Everyday Tips to Anonymous Blogger Comments

· Is There Life After Palm Pilot?

· Exaggerating Personal Information Online Through Creative Vocabulary

· Scanning Body parts Effectively

· The World Before Microsoft


· Animal Hair Macramé

· 101 Uses for Dryer Lint

· Creative Mold Cultivation with Dinner Leftovers

· Wind Chimes For the Home Using .45 Bullet Casings

· Your Rundown Car and the Modern Dog House


· Earwax Candle Making

· Quieting the Voices in Your Head through Massive Sedation

· Tips to Trimming Nose and Ear Hair Without Scissors

· How to Use Your Dryer to Minimize Washer Use


· How to Convert Your Hoover Vacuum into a Fully Automatic Weapon

· Converting Your Septic Tank into a Root Cellar

· Burglarproof Your Home with Barb Wire

· How to Communicate and Avoid Charges Using Collect Calls

· 5 Steps to Converting Your Hairdryer into a Bicycle Pump

· Disposable Diaper Recycling

· Plumbing and Duct Tape

· 101 Uses For the Clothes Iron

· Grenades: Aerate and Till Your Garden with Ease

06 February 2006

I Pay My Mortgage With My Good Looks

I am so fed up with people wanting something for nothing. (insert loud screeching and hair pulling).

I say this because Mr. Coffee is going to be late tonight for dinner and seeing his darling kids due to someone wanting just that. Something for nothing. A job done for the cheapest possible price they can get out of my husband.

You have to understand, too. I am a God-fearing person. I have a personal, wonderful relationship with God. My husband can say the same plus a theology degree to boot. I'm not perfect and don't expect others to be. The Bible tells me to love one another. I have a hard time with that but I try...and that is another post altogether.

Why then, do I get so angry?

Mr. Coffee works his tail off for people who are friends, fellow church members, or those who call themselves Christians and yet, they are the only individuals that have trouble paying or want something for nothing. This is the very reason we don't do business with the Christian yellow pages.

I'm not blaming God for this. It isn't His fault. He isn't asking for a price break or going back on His word or better yet, back charging for something He later felt was justified because He is cheap. The worst is 'I just don't like it so I'm not going to pay you". This why I get steamed. Because 9 times out of 10 it's another Christian that we have this problem with. People who know better and don't care or want to profit from the deal at our expense.

"Can you give me a discount, you know, for a fellow Christian?"

Give me a big, fat juicy break.

Mr. Coffee gives everyone a fair price for a fair days work that he pours his heart, soul and pride into. That is how to run a business with good principals, Christian customers or not.

Mr. Coffee is always calm and replies, "Why don't you bless this brother and pay him double. I have 6 mouths to feed in my family."

Then comes the nervous laugh from a surprised customer. You see, this game can work both ways.

So next time you call someone in the church and have them work for you doing anything...anything at all, PLEASE don't ask for a break. Bless them! This is their life, their work and their livelihood.

Best, Weirdest, Funniest

I hate memes. Here we go.

most embarrassing moment
I sang the Star Spangled Banner for a college play audition. I started the song way too high and was stupid enough to finish it screeching like a cat in heat. It was not pretty.

what household object are you?
washing machine - always moving, always something to do, runs in circles and you don't realize how much you need me until I get sick.

worst thing you have done for revenge
turn on my hazards while stopped at a left turn light due to tailgating driver behind me (for the last few miles) Just go around me, you putz!!

you knew you were a parent when
hubby knocked me up and I got a blue plus sign

worst fart story
3rd grade. Bench fart. LOUD. In class. Edward, my imaginary future husband, sitting beside me. Laughing. Maybe that should be my most embarrassing moment.

best fart story
5 year old son sitting on my lap. He farts on me.
Me: "SON! What do you say!?"
Aiden: "Your welcome"

what does your name mean
She Who Farts In School

proudest moment
marrying my hubby

strangest person you've ever seen
Richard Kiel - aka, Jaws in James Bond films. At my 7 year old vantage, he is a giant!

weirdest food you've ever eaten
An unfertilized embryo pooped out of a feathered squawking non-flying bird. Eggs are really weird.

15 minutes of fame
Working at a bakery that made the local anchorwoman's wedding cake, News at 11.

longest facial hair that sprouts

oldest item of clothing you currently wear
1920s vintage nightdress purchased over 20 years ago

funniest movie
A Night in Casablanca - 1946 with the Marx Brothers

stinkiest smell
rotten meat

earliest memory
my sister falling off 2 story balcony

worst haircut

best/worst first day of school

don't have one

weirdest habit
organizing the eggs symmetrically in the carton before I put them away

02 February 2006

That Guy

I was over at JLR's blog Impatient Chicken as of late. For some reason I am drawn to blogs of deadline driven, diploma bound students. Learning and books. Is there anything better?

I can relate, pounding out my own at-home college courses. It's never too late to go to school. I'm drawn to commiserating with others students who also have deadlines and consume enough coffee to bring about a world shortage.

JLR brought up in this post about That Guy in school. The one that stops class to comment, correct the teacher, or helpfully interject with nonsense, inadvertently bringing to light their blissful ignorance. All the while That Guy is trying to sound like the authority on the issue. He, or she, is in the same class as you are so why the superiority? You know who JLR is talking about...That Guy.

That Guy, I have found pops up everywhere. To irritate and annoy, that is his mission. Here are some prime examples of where I have seen or heard of That Guy just this week:

  • That Guy at the Food Court in Target stores who takes a handful of self-serve drink lids, handling them sufficiently with questionably clean hands only to then put back all but one? Hey, That Guy! Wanna lick my lid and sneeze in my drink?
  • That Guy at the gas pump who pulls up facing the hood of your car. The front. of your car. Like he is making a line. It's okay, I usually drive around in reverse.
  • That Guy that evacuates everything south of his esophagus, wipes with the entire roll and doesn't flush at a public restroom . I'd clap and give you a sucker, but Im not done gagging yet.
  • That Guy who passes gas in an elevator. Uncool. Never dutch oven an elevator. I dont want to smell the gasses that have been hugging your poo.
  • That Guy who takes your order for a small fry and then asks, "Do you want fries with that?" No, thank you. I'll have fries instead.
  • That Guy who is in line for a violent R movie..with his two children, 5 and 7 years old. You dont hire a babysitter because the theater is cheaper? Because children love nightmares?
  • That Guy who, in this scenario, is ALWAYS A) male, B) a pubescent teenager, and C) the only checker to ring up your sanitary girl things. Look me in the eye. I double-dog dare you.

I shouldn't be so negative and should consider taking a different perspective on this. But from where I sit? The cup isn't half-full or half-empty, it just depends if That Guy touched the lid first.