The Sexiest Driveway in Clearwater

Getting up at 5 A.M. daily can take its toll.

Take for example when I walked out to my car this morning. I thought it was a bit drafty. I looked down. I had forgotten to put on a shirt. I said to myself, “Self, you should probably go put on a shirt.”

I sat in my car for three minutes trying to regain the energy to walk back inside.

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Love is $.45/pound

Dear Produce Girl from Publix:

I’ve watched you stock tomatoes and bananas ever since I was in the 8th grade. You must have been in high school then. You had short reddish hair and wore thick-rimmed glasses. You were really, really good looking.

But a month ago, which was the last time I saw you, you had gotten contacts and bleached your hair. Im not saying that you didn’t look good, but I am saying that the Produce Girl of yesteryear had something that today’s Produce Girl doesn’t. And maybe I expressed this opinion a little too openly the last time I was buying a bag of potatoes, because I haven’t seen you since.

Produce Girl, I’m sorry if I offended you. Please, come back to your little corner of my neighborhood supermarket so I can fondle you with my eyes.

Love,
Casey

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I can't wait until Vancouver 2010

I know I said that I hated Valentine’s Day. And I still do. But friends, I think I fell in love yesterday. With the US Olympic Women’s Curling Team.

Don’t get me wrong. I think (much to the chagrin of some of my eastern European counterparts at school) that the Olympics are a big waste of my time. It does nothing but interrupt my regularly scheduled week of new television shows and makes girls lust after gnarly snowboarder types.

But after watching the US fall short of beating the team from Japan in what appears to be some strange game of giant shuffleboard on ice, I came to appreciate the hotness that somehow comes from Bemidji, Minnesota.

And here’s a fun fact for you: Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox were from Bemidji. Not only can this little corner of northern Minnesota produce the hottest things to hit the ice since Emilio Estevez in The Mighty Ducks, but it can also captivate a nation with folk tales that make absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Thank you, Bemidji. You get the gold medal in my book.

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Annual Defense Mechanism

Every year at this time, I write a detailed manifesto about how Valentine’s Day is of the Devil (see 2004 and 2005). And in thinking this week about what new insights I could add to the already viscous soup of lament that I serve up annually, I could come up with nothing except for the thought that roses are stupid.

You buy them. They sit there. They die. They sit there. You throw them out. You have an empty vase and an empty wallet. Your lover will probably leave you at some point within the next year. You have an empty vase, an empty wallet, and an empty heart. You are back at square one.

Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody!

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The most boring post ever

This is inconsequential. But it’s pretty important to me. I’ve made a drastic life change. And while it may not matter to you, while you may say, “Who cares? The whole idea of sharing this with the world is utterly pointless,” while you may just close this window and go about your day, just remember that for me to change anything about myself is pretty extreme. See, I love regimented systems wherein I always have a particular way of doing things such that everything is just so.

Anyhow, I’ve made the executive decision to make the letter I with one stroke of the pencil while writing from here on out. See, I’m avoiding the two horizontal lines at the top and bottom of the central column so that people can differentiate the letter I from the letter T, which they have trouble differentiating from the letter J, which they have trouble differentiating from the letter S. I’m taking the first step toward legible recovery. My teachers should be proud.

And grateful. Very grateful.

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