Happy Thursday, everyone! For most of you responsible, mature adults with jobs, Thursday is a very special day because that means you only have one day left until the weekend that you've been looking forward to since Monday morning. Thursdays are also a very special day on this blog because I get to pick three things to whine and complain about...which is actually pretty easy for me to do! Let's get started!
1) Finding someone else's pornography stash- "Wow, Shelby really just threw that one out there, didn't she?!" Yes, yes she did. The only thing worse than finding someone else's porno vault is when that person is: A) a relative, B) an old man, C) married to your grandmother, D) all of the above. Yes I am inappropriate and creepy for opening today's post with tales of grandpa's spank bank, but at least you aren't me. At least you didn't have to see it.
2) Motorcycles- When a 25-year old, dark-haired, muscular man is attached to one of these two-wheeled death machines, I can almost appreciate what motorcycles bring to the world. Other than that, these things serve no purpose but killing people and causing me to have severe anxiety attacks when someone convinces me to strap myself to the back of one. I rode one yesterday for the first time in years and quite frankly, I don't know if that will ever happen again. I am okay...there was no accident or almost-accident, but when I asked where the seatbelt was and all I got was laughter, it made me a little uncomfortable.
3) Traveling by plane- It's faster, it's more efficient, and you're actually more likely to die on the way to the airport than you are while you're mid-flight. I don't give a fat shit about any of these things. My four-hour flight for paradise left at 12:55 AM out of Denver International Airport on Monday. I had a four hour layover in Charlotte, where I slept on urine-stained carpet, and then I had an hour and a half flight into Birmingham where my lovely grandmother greeted me. I reasoned that I could sleep during my first flight since I would absolutely be exhausted and probably wouldn't have the mental capacity to think about plummeting to my death as the plane exploded. This was before I discovered that I was seated next to a John Goodman look-a-like that obviously had a foreign object lodged in his nasal cavity, causing the loudest snoring I have ever fathomed. My flight was complete with 8 snoring men, 4 crying babies, and 12 catty women...all in a 4 or 5 row radius of my seat. Plummeting to my death didn't seem so bad after an hour or so. Somehow I always forget how much I hate flying once it's over, because I almost always elect to fly when I go on vacation. I almost always regret it, also.
I have a surprise for everyone! I am offering a guest post slot to Mr. John Hall, music producer, sometime in the next week or so. Mr. Hall has been married to my grandmother for almost 15 years and has extensive knowledge about everything there is to know about anything EVER, so it will most certainly be a treat for all who read his article. I'll probably give him free reign to write about whatever he chooses, and if it goes well, I will be recruiting my other wonderful, Southern family members for guest slots while I am vacationing here. This is something you will want to read, guys. Trust me.
Happy [almost] Weekend!