Enough Already!

Ok, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Enough with the social life! Please, for the love of God let me lead a boring life full of LotR on Friday nights with burritos and Brutal Bitter beer! Don't make me socialize anymore!

Ok, I don't really mean that. We headed up to Seattle/Everett this weekend to visit family, leaving town Saturday by 8:00 a.m. effectively KILLING any sleeping-in for the weekend. We are now home, and getting all geared up for work.

Once again, I did get my story written on Saturday, but we were too busy drinking port, playing Rock Band 2 (surprisingly fun, who knew??), and family Apples to Apples to get it posted. Don't worry, you'll have another one later tonight....oohhh, wait for it....waaaiiittt for iiittttt.....

Word of the Day Saturday, January 23, 2010

veritable

\VER-ih-tuh-bul\ , adjective;

1. Agreeable to truth or to fact; actual; real; true; genuine.

She briefly leaned over and checked for feet within the bathroom stall. Breathing a sigh of relief that it was empty, she bumped the door open with her elbow and gingerly locked the door behind her. She unbuttoned her jeans and assumed the "public restroom squat" since there were no seat covers available.

It had been a long 44 miles in-between rest stops. The asshole Suburban that had been tailing her in the middle lane had decided to pass on her in the right hand lane at the exact moment she was trying to get over for the rest stop exit. She had missed the exit and instead of turning back, she decided she would speed up and give the ass-hole driver a choice hand gesture. And then spent the next 43 miles in bladder agony.

She managed to walk into the restroom in a dignified walk, rather than the "pee gallop" but boy, was she happy to be faced with the volumes of veritable wisdom scrawled on the bathroom stall walls. There was a mathematical theorem proving men were the root of all evil, a limerick extolling the virtues of tits, and a rather eloquent tirade about the faults of a man named Tyrell.

Finishing her business as quickly as possible, she grabbed a piece of tissue to flush the toilet only to be greeted by a sign on the back of the stall wall information her to "Push Button to Flush." Only the "on" of the word button had been scratched off.

"Push Butt to Flush"

"Yeah," she thought, "I don't see that working." Yet, she still found herself pressing her index finger into her butt check with a smile, you know, just in case.