Week ending June 2

The Ken Package

When I opened the second drawer of my dresser Thursday morning, I was surprised to learn my supply of boxer-briefs had been exhausted. At that point, I had two options: I could either free-ball throughout the day or strap on some tightie-whities. After a long delay, I chose the tightie-whities and even snapped the waistband after I had properly adjusted to the snug fit that felt improper in so many ways.

Marathon, anyone?

When it’s cold outside, it’s easy to stay in. Since my roommate was in Oregon purchasing an expensive vehicle over the Memorial Day weekend, I decided to whip up a delicious meal and watch countless episodes of Sex and the City. A season and two “Cup of Noodles” later, I decided I really didn’t really like Carrie and instead relate more to Fatty, the cat. That evening, I rewarded myself with a slice of cheesecake from the Bakery for all of my hard work.

Scott looks innocent.

SML’s voice has never surpassed 45 decibels (which is equivalent to the hum of a refrigerator) and often gives the impression he couldn’t hurt a small animal. When I suggested I felt afraid he would push me into a pond, he suggested he’d much rather push me into a field blanketed with cotton and roll me around until I broke out in hives. I now know that SML’s middle name is actually Danger and something about that really turns me on.

“You’re doing a fifty-point turn!”

When I feel nervous, I forget how to drive. In a small Subway parking lot on 21st south, I would drive forward; stop. Backup; stop. Drive Forward; stop. Backup; stop. Eventually BA screamed, “You’re doing a fifty-point turn!” and finally requested that I just leave my car parked on the yellow lines. So I did.

Comments (0)