Thursday de Almost Friday

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Normal moved out of my house – and I kicked it in the butt as it tried to leave gracefully. Me and weird are now sitting comfortably on the couch.

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Mary had a little lamb, but after a while, she also had a really dirty carpet.

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They said a storm was brewing. I hope it’s not decaffeinated. (My apology to yet another cliché…)

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I hope that if a SWAT team ever breaks into my house to arrest me that I am on the toilet. That way, it will be awkward for all of us – and not just me.

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With apologies: That awkward moment when you look at a picture of a posing couple and momentarily think “Is that a before-and-after picture?”

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The secret to musical harmony is to hear the other notes even when the trumpets fall silent. The secret to feeling connected in life is to picture the orchestra when all you see is an empty podium.

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“I wrote a letter to all my fans. It was returned as undeliverable.”

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We have a budding tradition at my house: as the likelihood of visitors increases, my wife begins the primarily-female ritual of “straightening up,” which now leads me to hang underwear on the front door hook outside. Invariably, everyone’s first reaction is now one of “Ha, ha – Look, there’s underwear on the door!” – and subsequently forget to measure the apparent dust found everywhere. I’m considering buying a colorful assortment of undies to better match the occasion. (In this picture, you can see our faithful cat, seated, awaiting n̶e̶w̶ ̶v̶i̶c̶t̶i̶m̶s̶ new visitors to the house.)

If enough people show interest, this might be something I could market to husbands/boyfriends, and other idiots.

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