Post(s)

My brother keeps stealing my socks.
I purchased the socks in question (of the tube variety) from Walmart approximately two years ago. They came in a pack of twelve and cost me under six dollars.
I have caught him wearing them several times and confronted him about it. "I didn't realize they were yours!" he exclaims each time.
Fair enough, maybe he did not know they were my socks, but at the very least he knew they were not his socks.
What makes matters worse is that he has hulk-like calf muscles that stretch out the top of the socks, causing them to lose elasticity and bunch around my ankles if I attempt to wear a pair that he has come in contact with.
- 1/25/08

"It is important that I start to spend more time with your wife," I told Matthew one Saturday morning. "She needs to get to know me better before the baby is born so that she will be comfortable with me holding it," I explained.
Other people in the room immediately piped up, volunteering themselves for babysitting duty once the tiny person finally arrived. I waited until they had all finished listing off the reasons why they would be the ideal candidate before finishing my conversation.
"I do not want to babysit your child," I told him honestly. "I want to play with your baby when he is happy and then if he starts to cry or soils himself I would like to hand him off to someone else so that they can deal with him." He laughed and shook his head, knowing that I was entirely serious, and assured me that I would be able to play with his baby in the future.
- 1/20/08

Do you know how long it takes to burn a box of miscellaneous documents?
I do.
Approximately an hour, assuming you dump them all into a giant heap, toss a match on, and poke them with a large stick every so often.
It only took a few minutes for me to realize that burning things had lost all the appeal it had once held for me. As a preteen, my best friend and I were one matchbook shy of pyromaniacs. In fact, one of our adventurous actually cost my best friend the use of her left eyebrow, primarily because her eyebrow hair had been singed off.
- 1/16/08

My brownie leader used to call me pig pen. I am assuming it is because, as a child, I was too energetic to be concerned with things like brushing my hair and ensuring I looked put together.
- 1/08/08