At what point in life does random wood stop happening? I understand it slows down, but does it ever actually go away without E.D. being the cause?
Eventually, it slows down. It goes from being an hourly, to a daily, to a weekly occurrence, and then, finally, it turns into a situation that is akin to a UFO sighting. You don’t really believe, but sometimes “¦ BAM, there it is, and then it’s gone again.
I had assumed that, as I was approaching my mid-30s, it was a thing of the past, but I was wrong. When you have forgotten that random wood is a possibility, and then, suddenly, there it is, it’s kind of like the first time Michael J. Fox turned into Teen Wolf: just a solid freak-out and disbelief that this could even occur in reality.
“¦you sell fake insurance and scam old people out of their money, both noble causes, but please, either die or stop dressing like a douche.
When you are young, you are prepared at all times: boxer briefs, constantly ready to move, prepared for all the angles. But at some point, you let your guard down: You switch to boxers, you run to the store in your gym shorts, and the next thing you know, you are knocking boxes of Rice Krispies off the shelf, because while you’re trying to assess what flavor of Pop-Tarts is best, a synapse misfires, sending an image of an upskirt glimpse you inadvertently saw once when a girl got up from a chair, and suddenly, you’re no longer allowed in Piggly Wiggly.
Recently, I made some changes to my wardrobe. I added some short-sleeve, button-down shirts, or SSBD as they will be referred to since I don’t want to keep typing that over and over. At first, some of my friends were shocked that I would do such a thing, since they know that I loathe the SSBD.
Let me clarify. In a casual or even business casual dress environment, the SSBD is perfectly acceptable. The problem comes when people try to use them as something more.
If you wear a tie (which will almost always be a clip-on) with an SSBD, you are essentially screaming to the world: “I AM AN ASSISTANT TO THE ASSISTANT MANAGER “” PLEASE RIDICULE ME!” The only thing worse than this is pairing that tie with a sport coat or a suit jacket. We get it; you sell fake insurance and scam old people out of their money, both noble causes, but please, either die or stop dressing like a douche.
The phrase I have a problem with this week is: “This tastes like pure alcohol.”
I was out with some friends at a restaurant, or maybe it was at a bar with some degenerates, and someone ordered some sort of watermelon mojito martini combination with a twist of basil. When she tasted it, she said, “This is too strong; it tastes like pure alcohol. “¦” Then she offered tastes to the rest of the people at the table, and everyone agreed that it was too strong “¦ except for me. I thought it was fine, and actually rather refreshing.
The reason I have a problem with the phrase is that, used in the context people normally use it, it comes across as having a negative connotation. I exclusively drink pure alcohol in the forms of bourbon, whiskey, and occasionally dabbling in Scotch whisky. I think the phrase should be celebrated. Say it with enthusiasm and demand another drink just like it!