Dear restaurants, Some of your patrons are not pickle fans. (No, this is not a euphemism, sirs/madams. Focus, please!) Some of us have at one point in our lives enjoyed a pickle or two or eight but no longer partake. Some of us still like pickles. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that we want pickles riding shotgun on our food orders. Would you like to know why? Too bad. I’m going to tell you anyway. Pickle juice gets all over things. It

I don’t care that you don’t think his behavior warrants jail time. Sure, he didn’t kill a man in Reno, but I imagine that’s next on his to do list. DUDE, DON’T DO THAT!!! I will hurl. I will totally spew everywhere. Also, this image of you doing the unspeakable has haunted a nightly nightmare since I saw it four days ago. I took to my bed when I saw this story and wished that bad things would happen to this fella’s

I hate being recorded because I don’t trust recording devices. You never know when one of those things will go rogue, and next thing you know you’re supposedly crooning crap pop tunes and you’ve squandered whatever meager street cred you’ve managed to accumulate over the years. I feel nothing but pity for those poor unfortunate souls who receive voicemail messages from me. Particularly if they need to extract anything useful from the message. Good luck, suckers! Unless they are business-related

I love logic puzzles. I can get lost in them for a couple of hours, and I’m NOT a math person. You can ask anyone who knows me. I would never have known they existed had it not been for the interview I was preparing for many years ago. I used them to prepare for a math test that was part of the interview process, and I’ve been doing them ever since. It’s the logic puzzle with grid type that

I got to be an unwilling observer of one of those uncomfortable group dynamics this afternoon at the pool. Yay! A group of fathers were having a good time together and downed a considerable number of brewskis while gossiping about this and that. Don’t tell me men don’t gossip. I have proof. Everything was going well and a nice little party atmosphere had descended upon that area of the pool, but it quickly became apparent that one sad dad had

I’m pathetically dependent on my cell phone.  It’s so bad I take it on walks with me. Which is a damn good thing. Look, I captured this picture of a dead snake that I was able to send to Matthew for no purpose whatsoever. I didn’t even need him to identify it. I mean it’s a snake. That is black. Ergo, it’s a black snake. Case closed. (Slightly interesting aside: A very intelligent fellow decided it was a copperhead. I