Hobo Wallet Found By West Chester Blogger. Ryan's Pub.

Oh my God I was walking down the street and I found this hobo wallet! I know it was owned by a hobo because inside there was a train pass and coupons for canned baked beans. Generic.

Who am I kidding? That is a photo of my wallet. *hangs head in shame*

If you know me you know that I take pride in how I look. Well...pretty much. Like I'm not a slob or anything. But this wallet? Damn that's bad. I do notice when I pull it out I kind of grab what's in it then put it quickly back in my back pocket. So nobody can see the raggedy mess. And I keep my money in my front pocket - safe from pickpockets so I don't pull the wallet out THAT often.
'
And then the second I put it back in my pocket I forget that I need a new wallet. So I need to get a new one.

On The upside I was looking through the middle area the other day and I found a gift card to Ryans Pub and a coupon for six oysters at Doc Magrogan's Oyster House in West Chester. So I got THAT going for me.

Which is nice.

The time I Bought Lunch In First Grade. Wayne PA.

As you know from this post, I was a lunch bringer. Not a buyer. Until that fateful day in first grade that my Mom let me buy. I remember looking at the lunch schedule and narrowing it down to either pizza day or hot dog day. I forget which it was because the trauma of what happens next erased the memory.

I walked up the line with my tray. Making sure it was completely straight. I had studied the ways of the buyers for a few weeks since I was nervous doing something different.

I was really shy you may recall.

I made sure my exact change was on the tray as I approached so I wouldn't look like a bumbling amateur when it was my turn to pay. "Here you go my hair netted, mustacheoed lady. Thank you kindly for the preparation of this meal. Here is your exact currency."

I paid and proudly - but slowly and carefully - walked to my seat. Like a peacock. Everyone was probably watching. "Yeah. I'm a big boy. I bought."

There were no seats next to any fellow buyers so I had to settle next to some lowly lunch bringers. "Hmmm. What did your mom pack? Nice bag. Let me just settle in and eat my professional meal here. OK. There we go...Mmm. *looks around and nods* This is pretty good." *looks to the other side* "I like how the trays have different sections. Did you notice that? I wonder if other schools have trays like this?"

After finishing my historic meal I proudly made my way to the playground. Like a big shot. But there was one probelem. In my excitement I forgot that it was my turn to do the final wipe down of my lunch table after everyone left. It was kind of a big deal. One kid was picked every day from their class and was supposed to ask a helper. Something about teaching us about responsibility.

So I'm out at recess and I see a teacher saying, "Jimmy Zibbs...Jimmy Zibbs!"

I looked around thinking, "Is there...is there ANOTHER Jimmy Zibbs?"

"Jimmy Zibbs! Come here! You forgot to clean yoru class table."

*Intermitten zoom in to my face as music from Phycho plays. My eyes like deer in the headlights*

I let out a confused, "Me???"

I walked back inside. In my excitement over buying I forgot to clean the table. And I was super shy and never got in trouble so I was really nervous walking back in. Just the idea of being yelled at had me practically shaking.

I walked in and the janitors had already folded most of the tables up. Tables fold?? Then I was given a damp rag and I wiped up the table. In shame. As the teacher watched me.

The End.

Note: That is not my class picture.

Farting and Why I'm Such a Great Friend. The Elevator Story.

So Michelle wrote about farting in elevators today and it reminded me of something that happened years ago in Baltimore.

So we're staying at Inner Harbor with about 10 guys for our annual guys weekend. And my friend Flare had been farting* really bad. I'm talking clear the room, what crawled up you ass and died farting.

So the 10 of us are waiting for the elevator. He had just farted in the room - again - and we're still laughing about it. So the elevator door opens and it's almost completely full. Flare steps in and there's only room for one. The doors start to close. As the doors are almost shut and I point to Flare and say to the people in the elevator, "HE FARTED."

This made me laugh so hard because when the doors are shut, you can't turn around to the strangers in the elevator and say, "You see that's a buddy of mine, we're on a guy's weekend and we're just joking around here and........"

No. You just have to stand there like a dope and take the humiliation.

*For the record, this is the first post I've ever done about farting and I've been blogging over two years.

Why Not to Wear Clothes Out of Your Comfort Zone

It's kind of sad (funny) when people try to reinvent themselves by wearing one piece of clothing or sport a new accoutrement in the attempt to change their look. And it fails. Here are a few real life examples and the reactions that I've witnessed.

- New style: My friend Jim, who was listening to a lot of southern rock, came to the bus stop wearing a cowboy hat. I'm sure there was at least an hour trying different ways to position it on his head. "..and a little bit with the front tip leaning forward..yup that should do it."

Reaction: (Me. Staring with disbelief at hat): "Jim. you can't wear that to school." - said in the same tone I would have said, "Jim, don't jump off the bridge, people can't fly." The hat lasted until third period. It made it's shameful way home at the bottom of a gym bag. It was never spoken of again.

- New Style: In 11th grade, (1981), two preppy football players pulled the ultimate douchebaggery move by coming to school - both of them - wearing clogs.

Reaction: There was complete pandemonium in the cafeteria as they walked in. Word had spread. People in the back of the cafeteria that couldn't see these new exchange students - that looked exactly like two preps in our school except they were gay and from Holland ran up to catch a glimpse. Dumb jocks.

- New Style: Greaser wannabe dude in 7th grade dubbed himself "The Wizard", by writing, "The Wizard" and drawing a bunch of crescent moons, in blue pen on his denim jacket. Just like a unplanned school election poster, he ran out of room so the letters "r" and "d" were squashed and thinner than the other letters.

Reaction: This nickname starter, only succeeded in getting one person to call him the Wizard, In fact, in 12th grade, years after the Wizard jacket hung on a hanger in an attic, covered with spider webs and tears, the same lone person that called him the Wizard was still announcing, "Hey look everyone, it's the Wizard. Don't put a magic spell on me now Wizard. Where's your jacket Wizard?"

Lesson learned: Don't try to be different. Stay plain.