Hello, Readers. I have a window of time in which to contemplate the vicissitudes of my existence lately. From what I hear, our mutual friend Sean had a similar opportunity with Harrison last night. For those of you following me on Twitter, thank you. It's fun getting feedback (even from those of you gently harassing me from afar) amidst the stresses of my life as a dedicated Doctor of Jurisprudence (that's a fancy way of saying I went to school to chase ambulances).
Like sands through an hour glass or, more appropriately, sh*t through a goose, my days move from ante to post meridiem faster than I'd like them to lately. Frankly, my "real" job is making me delirious. I was watching Fox News on the treadmill during a lunch break the other day and I could have sworn Megyn Kelly winked at me. Granted, it was subtle, but then again I believe she mouthed "Some Guy in Austin" as she winked. I'm like some sort of modern day Mark David Chapman, for crying out loud. I might as well fly to New York and talk to passing strangers in front of The Dakota. Annnyyyyhooo. ...
Incidentally, while proof reading this brief hello, I was reminded of a lesson I once learned (and that was forever burned upon the deep recesses of my brain as a child) from a Catholic nun in the first grade (I am no longer Catholic or in the First Grade) when I was berated in front of the class and summarily slapped with a ruler across my delicate and well formed (that is still true) buttocks when I misstated the time as 8 o'clock "Anti Meridian" as opposed to "Ante Meridiem." I was reminded in no uncertain terms that Ante Meridiem is a Latin expression meaning "after mid-day," while "Anti Meridian" refers to the 180th meridan on the globe--the basis for the International Date Line. Excuse me, Sister. Sexual frustration and gender envy have odd ways of manifesting themselves, don't they? Although I was six years old, I'm certain that question ran through my head as I was being slapped by a fat stranger in a poorly fitting habit.
Up until that day I always thought the International Date Line was something I'd have to cross in order to get a date with a Spanish chick. Details. You can see why I went on to earn a degree in and pursue a profession in a field that obsesses about details. I should sue that nun.
Remember this movie?
Keeping in line with my stream of consciousness style of writing, the nun reminds me of two jokes that I'm particularly fond of telling. For your entertainment, I've taken the liberty of sharing them below.
Joke 1: A priest is walking down the street and he is propositioned by a Corinthian woman (that's a whore for those of you who were not subjected to Catholic school). "Hey Father, how about a blowjob for twenty bucks," she asks. Confused, the priest hurries into his nearby church. He approaches a nun praying in the front pew. "Excuse me sister, I have a delicate question I need an answer to, please." "Certainly, Father," replies the nun. "What is a blowjob?" he asks. "Twenty bucks. Same as downtown," says the nun.
Joke 2: What kind of meat can priests eat on Friday?
You're welcome. Enjoy the rest of your week and the next. I'll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, if you need me, I'll be comparing prices downtown. DP