There’s been quite a buzz about my book, so much so that I decided to start writing it.
It’s an ill wind that blows no good. If you have a problem with that, stop breathing around me.
Someone said (or wrote) that conceit is God’s gift to little men. I say, “Thank you, Lord. I needed that.”
A friend once dared me to run barefoot through Hunting Park without shoes on. I REFUSE to run around barefoot without something on my feet!
The only reason I keep three phones on me is in case one of the cellular carriers someday slips up and one of the phones gets service!
My neighbors are always harping on “the whole idea” behind the things they do. I’m curious to know what half-wits know about whole ideas?
My elders have always told me that honesty is the best policy. I can’t believe they lied to me about that!
Be careful not to step on toes on your way to the top; you may have fill some of those shoes!
My niece drew the most adorable picture for me on my birthday last year. She was so pleased with her work, I promised to mantle it and laminate it on my hangover.
I have an idea to market the ultimate church bus… the 22-passenger van, which, as it turns out, is nothing more than a 15-passenger van with a choir loft.
Heard a great sermon on starting with ourselves. I took some notes on it that I felt you should hear.
I’m a bit of an optimist. I can see the glass as half-full. For instance, it’s not so much that I don’t get invited anywhere; it’s just that everyone else DOES!
I’m not a pessimist; I’m a cynic. To “good morning” the pessimist answers, “What’s good about it?” The cynic answers, “Only until this afternoon,” but at least that’s acknowledgment that the morning is good.
I don’t “move up” in the world. I just move over. I was born at the top. And as soon as my income catches up to my ego, I’m going to buy some clothes that fit and move OUT of this ghetto!
People keep calling me strict, rigid. I HATE THAT! I’m VERY flexible. Shucks, I schedule up to and including 12 hours of spontaneity a month… at least one month in advance.
I used to talk my way out of just about everything. When that stopped working, I started buying my way out. This is better because even people who won’t hear me out don’t turn down my money!
Apparently, someone’s been spreading some story about my having issues for which I’m seeking help. To clarify, my actual remark was that I’m reopening my magazine, and I’m looking for an assistant.
There’s a huge chance I will stomp out heredity and live to a ripe old age. Only the good die young.
Truth is, I fully intend to live a long, healthy life anyway. I’m just not sure whose.
I am so determined to find happiness in life, but will I have to give up any of this really cool junk subbing for it once I do?
I’m not a perfectionist. I just like things to be done right, and by that I mean my way.
I don’t pretend to know everything, the operative word being “pretend.”
Is it me or do people go way morbid when trying to make a point about shared accountability? We use the “God forbid you’re hit by a bus” analogy way too much. No one ever says, “Make sure at least two other people have that key and passcode. God forbid you go suddenly and peacefully in your sleep with a smile on your face and no one can unlock the safe.”
People don’t believe creeps to be creepy when creeps actually say their being creepy. That’s creepy.
Am I bit obsessive? I don’t think so. I mean I have systems for everything, even for developing systems. Not sure that makes me obsessive, though.
I had a great idea for a program to help kids curb their profanity, except Fighting Urban Cursing for Kids didn’t go over well as an acronym.
Too many people may start to get the impression that I’m too jaded, that I just don’t care at funerals anymore. Whether or not they’re right, they’re surely onto something.
Someone recently asked me about weather predictions. My rule is that if you see me wearing a trench coat, grab your umbrella. If you see me with an umbrella, prepare for sunny skies. If you see me donning shades and long, dark coat… just run.
I need an accountant’s printer. Most printers stop printing when they’re out of paper. An accountant’s printer just keeps printing on accrued paper and deducts it from the next refill.
An interesting aspect of my work in education is learning how a curriculum development specialist emergency works. Doctor emergency? Easy. Lots of blood. Plumber emergency? Simple. Water everywhere. Electrician emergency? Duh. Sparks are flying. Police/fire emergency? No brainer. Again, lots of blood and probably fire somewhere. Who says, “Oh, no! Failing student over here? Is there a curriculum development specialist in the house?”
I’ve often wondered whether blood runs thicker in a family of enemies?
People spend way too much time worrying about getting under my skin. Won’t ever happen. Nothing bothers me because everything bothers me.
Rules – and control – are a big deal for me. Fortunately, I hate both.
Experts – not sure which ones – say that we all wear masks. That’s a relief. I was starting to think this really is my face.
If it is true that we all wear masks, it’s a cruel joke on me for having taken mine off some years ago. Look what I’m left with.
Wearing masks is an economical way to save face. Not sure I understand the concept of saving face. What are you storing it up for?
Having money hasn’t changed me. Not having money drives me absolutely crazy. In that way, I guess not having money hasn’t changed me either.
I’ve tried shaving with the grain. I find the razor far more practical a tool for the job.
I’d like to start working here someday, especially since I’ve been on payroll since October of last year.
Condescension is an exclusive perk of the intellectual elite; superior attitudes are for everyone else.
A colleague once remarked that it had been a long time since he had been paid in quarters. Later he alluded – albeit modestly – to playing an instrument, though not for a long time. Wondering if the two are related. I mean, if he WAS a street performer, a lot of other things about him will start to make sense to me.
I admire my ex. Right before we split, she had just started mastering the art of the ulterior motives.
My profession aside, I don’t know that there’s a way to tell a woman to fix her clothes in the back without alluding to the fact you were peeping her equipment.
I’m not a fan of high fives. I won’t even clap my hands because it just feels like high-fiving myself. And that’s just weird.
I make it a point never to interrupt a person when they’re being complimentary me-wards.
I update my will regularly. Call me morbid. I figure if I can’t take it with me, the government certainly doesn’t deserve to get it either.
In case you’re wondering, my lady and I are alive and well. We take turns. As long as she’s alive, I’m well. When I’m alive, she can’t tell anyway. Alive and well works the other way, too. When she’s alive, I can’t tell either.
Any good you see in me is God. All else is failed public relations.
I hate space because I love space. For me, the problem with open spaces is my keen ability and compulsive desire to fill it.
I’m a fan of expiration dates for relationships. I like to know whether the object of my affections is best if used by a certain age.
A colleague told me that he’s pretty much a sensible person in that everything he says and does makes perfect sense to him.
People often ask me why I’m so careless as not to save for retirement. I have no intention of retiring. Ever. There is no retirement from art. It drives me now and will drive me when I’m celebrating 100.