I must begin today by saying thanks to Dea for helping with my new banner. I took the picture and she mostly did the rest. Sometimes I try and imagine how thankful she must be that I have her email address and AOL screen name. Anyway, thanks Dea. It has gotten several compliments already. And just for that, I'll try and take it easy on you next time in Yahoo pool.

Reason #138 that I need to be married: So that someone will be there to stop me from going out the door in the morning to face the world looking like an idiot.

I remember when I was young and my Dad would wear one blue and one black sock. It wasn't a fashion statement, it was unintentional. I would think, how in the world does that happen? I'm beginning to understand.

I almost always wear a t-shirt under whatever shirt I'm wearing. And a couple of these t-shirts, as they're worn mostly as undershirts, are a bit ragged and/or have pit stains.

As I was walking into work this morning I realized that (1) I had forgotten to put on a belt and (2) I had forgotten to put on a shirt over my undershirt. It was like one of those scary underwear dreams. Except I did have my jeans on. And I wasn't at school. And I wasn't crouching in a corner covering myself.

After a quick scan revealed only minor level one stains, I briefly contemplated toughing it out with what I had on for the rest of the day. But decided that was no way to begin my week. So I went home and added the two forgotten items to my Monday outfit, magically turning "sloppy weekend loungewear" into "casual Monday." Who says you can't go home.

George: "I can't stand doing laundry. That's why I have 40 pair of underwear."
Girl: "You do not."
George: "Absolutely. Because instead of doing a wash, I just keep buying underwear. My goal is to have over 360 pair. That way I only have to do a wash once a year."

I went to CVS after work today. Bought a four roll pack of toilet paper, an eight pack of Reese's cups, and a twelve pack of Dr. Pepper. At Wal-Mart Saturday night, I bought a half gallon of skim milk, a twelve pack of Sun Drop, and some fish food. This, in a nutshell, is my life.

Why do things always come in threes, sixes, eights, or twelves? Why are there no eleven packs? Or seven packs? I think seven packs would be ideal. Especially for underwear. That'd be one pair for every day of the week. Or what about a 365 pack? Now that's a real underwear dream.

The weekend turned out to be much more eventful and exhausting than I anticipated. I received two surprise phone calls Saturday. My sister called around 11:00, as I was lounging in my underwear, having just finished my hot cakes and sausage from McDonald's. She invited me to go out on the lake on their boat.

We boated--is that what it's called--and swam whilst discussing such pressing matters as whether a grilled cheese sandwich or fried bologna sandwich would taste better at that very moment. I said fried bologna. She said grilled cheese. Sometimes I wonder how we're even related :)

Also on Saturday, I got a surprise call from an old friend. The only girl I've ever formally and soberly proposed to. Yes, her. The ex-fiancee. I really need to come up with a name to use for her on the blog.

She was in town and wanted to go out. In a rare occasion which can only be compared to all the planets aligning, I had no prior plans for the evening. We played putt-putt and had dinner. Writing my name below hers on that scorecard was like a ten year time warp to the past.

After that, we went and watched people singing karaoke. That's usually some good, cheap entertainment. The best are the people who seriously believe they are on their way to the top.

We were gonna sing a duet to "Love Shack" but the line was long and we left before it was our turn. That would have been interesting. Got home around 2:30. As always, it was good to catch up.

Oh, before I forget. I must give a shout out to the woman in the pleated khaki shorts, knee socks, and tucked-in faded maroon Duck Head t-shirt who sang Shania Twain's "The Woman In Me." I was feelin' ya, momma. Next stop, Nashville.

And also, two big hellos to the voluptuous female who was sitting across the table we were standing by, wearing a top that showed the outskirts of her areolar region. She kept offering me a seat. And at one point offered us all a full view of her 38 double-D's. Butros... Butros... Ghali!

I just love surprises.

"Huggin' and a-kissin', dancin' and a-lovin'. Wearin' next to nothin' cos it's hot as an oven..."