Imponderable #17: Why is it always the wife who chooses/buys the Christmas presents, the wife who wraps said Christmas presents, and the wife who selects, stuffs, and addresses the Christmas cards? What the frack? Oh, and? Decorates the Christmas tree. I don't get it. Somebody explain this to me. Is there like a genetic Christmas/holiday deficiency in the male Y-chromosome? Or is it purely a heterosexual male thing? I'm shaking my head, here.
Imponderable #18: Why, when an on-line company ships my order and UPS subsequently loses my order, does the on-line company refund my money without even asking me if I want my money back? HELLO?!? Barnes & Noble? I ordered the Twilight Saga Collection, all four books in hardback copy. To read. And after reading to place on my bookshelf for subsequent perusing for the next 12 years until my daughter is old enough to wet herself over Edward Cullen. I don't want $50 on my bookshelf! I want books! You can't read money! Edward Cullen and Bella Swan are not on the $20 bill! If I had wanted $50 on my bookshelf, I would have cashed a check and carefully arranged the bills next to my first edition copy of Interview With The Vampire* and my cloth-bound copy of Dracula. Why didn't you just keep the order open and try shipping me another set? Hmmmm? Grrrrr....
Imponderable #19: Why in the name of all that's holy is the CW totally screwing up Reaper? The second season isn't premiering until March 17, 2009. And? They're airing it after 90210. Um, gee, are you CW execs wanting it to fail? Never mind that it's a great show and that my man Kevin Smith is an executive producer. Oh, no. Pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease give me my mindless, airhead entertainment. I don't want to think at all. Nope. I just want scantily-clad, scrawny 20-somethings whining about their boyfriends/money/weight/popularity. Yep. That's it. Empty entertainment. A guy? Whose parents sold his soul to the devil? No, that's not interesting at all.
Imponderable #20: Um, hi, next-door neighbor guy? When it's your turn to drive your teenage son to basketball practice or your twin middle school daughters to softball? Why can't you get your lazy-ass out of the car and hurry them up? Why do you have to sit in your car, in the cul-de-sac, and honk your horn, like, fifty times? WHILE MY KIDS ARE TRYING TO NAP!?! Your wife doesn't do that. Probably because she's not lazy like you and is actually doing her job of herding them out the door. Next time? I'm coming out there and kicking your fender.
*Yes, I went through an Anne Rice phase. Don't we all?