All Blog Posts by Date
Below is a list of all my blog posts. I hope you enjoy them.
In my building, we put our trash outside our doors two days a week and someone comes by and picks it up. We are instructed not to put our trash out the night before, but to put it out between 6-8 that morning. Well, what if you put it out right at 8 and trash collection started at 6, so you missed it?
Remember when everyone in the audience cheered when Han Solo suddenly showed up to help Luke and the rebels destroy the Death Star? Or how, after watching Tom Hanks and Geena Davis play baseball for more than an hour, everyone sat through all the credits, just watching the retired women play ball? Wonder is one of those movies.
There are some warning labels that leave you scratching your head. Like the one of those old cardboard windshield sun protectors. You know, to keep some of the sun/heat out of your car while you’re inside somewhere. On mine, set in red letters, was: “WARNING: Do not drive with sun shield in place.”
At the gym, I hang a weight off my ankle to do leg lifts. I’d been using a 5-pound plate, but I wanted to increase it, so I picked up a 7.5-pound dumbbell. The thing was, it didn’t really feel any heavier. So, I picked up the plate in the other hand to compare and it still didn’t feel any heavier.
The Oxford comma, sometimes called the serial comma, is the one that comes after the next to last item in a list. It’s followed by and or or, and then the last item in the list. Or does it? This is one of the Great Debates among grammarians.
I don’t know about where you live, but in the mid-Atlantic region, the weather is being typical, but in spades. This is the time of year when you never know what season it’s going to be tomorrow, but this year has taken it to new heights. The end of September, it was in the mid-high-80s. Very weird. Then the last day of the month, it didn’t get above 70º.
Back in the day, not all those buried were actually dead. So, a string was tied to the probably-deceased’s wrist that lead to a bell on their grave. Supposedly, if they woke up and discovered they were not, in fact, dead, they would move their wrist – or, more likely, frantically pound their hands in panic –
I saw a question in an online forum a couple days ago. It asked women if they would rather be called pretty or smart. Clearly, you’re supposed to say you’d rather be called smart, but that’s not what I said. I know I’m smart. And even if I didn’t, I’m told all the time. This is not bragging.
I hadn’t seen a friend of mine in a while. We’d known each other for nearly ten years and got together two or three times a month. Then she started avoiding me. Not responding to contact.