but what are my lucky numbers?

"Life is a journey, not a destination."

So says a tag on the inside of the zipper on a pair of my jeans. Where to begin?

Apparently I have the memory of a hamster because it always catches me by surprise whenever I wear the pants and this cycle of "what does this mean" and "why is it on my crotch" begins all over again.

So why is it there? Presumably as some kind of gentle reminder to live life to the fullest, concealed in a place that only you would see. It's like a little secret between you and the pants that also gives a little confidence boost when you're sitting on the pot thinking about things. It could also be a slightly gimmicky but slightly clever marketing ploy by said jean company that I cannot for the life of me remember the name of (note to self: when blogging about clothes, have them on or nearby) "Crotch slogans! That'll keep 'em coming back for more!" Like reeeeaaaaallly expensive fortune cookies.

During my many musings regarding these pants this weekend (read: bad Mexican food) I wondered why they chose these particular phrase for their crotch-slogan? Is it a favorite adage of the fashion designer? Some kind of company empowerment motto? Random slogan hat drawing party?

Whatever the actual reason, the only logical conclusion to be reached by a gutterball like me is that my nether region is not a destination, it is a journey. Or it's a destination on the journey of pleasuring me...which is really what my life is all about - me being satisfied. Thank you fortune cookie pants for advertising my narcissism for me to potential husband-types. And to those of you lucky enough to stumble upon my flower pot region, heed the fortune cookie pants' innuendo, lest you befall 7 years bad luck and sexual frustration.

(ps - in case you couldn't tell...coming home from vacation is hard...)

strangers in the night

On Friday night I went to a Meetup with my friend. For those who don't know, Meetup.com is a website in which people with common interests in any given community plan times and places to "meet up" and discuss said interest. This one was for people "new" to the town I live in.

Now, I'm not particularly new to this town but this town does have a reputation of being notoriously difficult for people to make friends. Maybe because all the young people leave town as soon as they have a set of car keys and $26 in their pocket.

I'm not opposed to meeting new people, but I wasn't exactly sure how this meet up of random strangers was going to go. But I knew I was looking forward to it.

I have discovered that I thrive around complete strangers. I'm talkative, funny, witty, polite and just enough out there to make people wonder if I'm actually crazy or just totally awesome (answer: totally awesome).

There is something so freeing about talking to people I suspect I'll never see again. There's really only two possible outcomes. 1. We become instant friends because you too are totally awesome. 2. I never see you again. What is there to lose? Literally nothing.

And of course the group turned to be very nice people (read: they laughed at my jokes!) but it was not without it's....well, "flaws" is a bit harsh but it's 435am and I can't really think of another word. It was more than obvious from the start that Joe Cool sitting next to me was there for the sole purpose of getting some tail. Once he heard the dreaded BF word escape my mouth he turned to my friend with the oh so clever expression of "So, what's your story?" (Ooooooo good one! Sorry to be missing out on that!) I mean he might as well have been wearing a shirt that said "Help. Not getting any." To be fair, my opinion of Joe may have been tainted after he came this close to puking his sushi all over me. (Hint: If you've never been to a sushi bar, don't order actual sushi! Ease into it for goodness sakes!)

Aside from that minor annoyance the evening was fine. I think it's funny I/people like me feel more open and more comfortable being ourselves around complete strangers than people who actually know and love us sometimes. We qualify it by saying "It's okay, they don't know me." This little phrase gives us the courage to be ourselves, say what we want, let it all hang out. But really, shouldn't it be "It's okay, they know me" that gives us that right? Don't our friends choose to be around us for a reason? Aren't they going to love us for who we are, and if they don't then to hell with them? Maybe it's society or maybe it's our attitude but I think I'll try a little more of the opposite. I probably won't start holding things back when it comes to strangers, but I'll work on being a lot more comfortable just being me around those who choose to associate with me. (changes into sweatpants and belches loudly). Ahhhhhhhhh, that's better.

what's in a name?

It occurs to me that one can and should not name one's blog "daileyobservations" if one does not have the intention of blogging every day. Or at least every other day. Sheesh. But I resolve to do better, starting....now.

Soooo, what to blog about today? (drums fingers) How about those Olympics, eh? Still going on for like another week. That's cool.

(flips through newspaper) Paper's sure looking thin. Not much going on there.

(stares blankly at computer screen.......blink.......blink)

Hmm, I may have the answer to my lack of dailey blogging problem. This is curious too as, I'm sure my friends could testify, I usually have a hard time keeping my trap shut for more than 45 seconds. And I relish being the center of attention. So why the e-writer's block? Laziness? Commitment issues (again!)? Trying to hard to be loved by the anonymous internet people? (I'm really starting to sound like I've got major issues. Sweet.)

I suppose the proper solution is just to write what I want, whenever I want it and the Internet People can take it or leave it. Aren't blogs really for our own satisfaction anyways? Like if we put it all out there, it's no longer in here and that makes us feel better for some reason?

Whatever the reason, I kinda like it, more than I thought I would. Mostly, I think I like the idea of sharing my quips and humorous observations with someone, anyone and this is the best venue to do so. As much as I love laughing at my own jokes, I like making other people smile a lot more.

Ahhhh if only I had a clever tagline. Maybe Paul Harvey can come up with one for me....

even i don't look as ridiculous as you....

Yesterday I was at the gym, minding my own business, when this Tooly McToolerson gets on the treadmill next to mine and, after he is up to jogging speed, begins talking on his cell phone....on speaker phone.

Really? Are you that busy and important at 430pm that you can't even take a half hour for yourself? (Judging by his young, unprofessional face and "yeah, man, that's awesome" every other sentence, I'm guessing he's not busy or important).

So here's my question: Who the Fuck are you talking to!!?!??!!!? Seriously? I can't think of a single person I'd want to talk to while I'm running, panting, grunting or cussing (the Four Stages of "Me at the Gym"). And naturally, I thought he'd hang up but he didn't. After several minutes I became very interested in this guy, waiting for him to a) drop his phone and watch it smash into a thousand pieces; b) get tripped up and fall off the treadmill; or c) both.

Common courtesy aside, you look like a complete dbag. Does it motivate you? Is there no other time you can talk to your friends? Are you that attached to your cell phone you're not sure how to behave if you're not talking/texting every second of the day?

Another time, I saw this girl laying on a mat, talking on her phone, not even pretending to work out or stretch. WTF? Were your roommate and her boyfriend making out on the couch at home so you had to come to the gym to sit on your ass and gab? Does it make you feel accomplished - "well at least I went to the gym today..."

Like I really needed another reason to loathe the gym. (The only reason I've gone every day this week is to watch curling and women's hockey because I don't have cable. USA!)

Next time, I just may say something. Something like, "Hey, douchebag! Hang the fuck up before you fall down and hurt yourself."

maybe it's bob costas...

This week everyone (well everyone I see on a dailey basis ;) is (lady) gaga over the Olympics, and I'm no exception. It's probably the first time I regret not getting MSNBC (but only a tiny bit).

Why do we love the Olympics? Patriotism? Competition? Men in overly-bedazzled spandex?

I've been thinking about it all day and I'm not really sure why I love the Olympics. I thought at first it was because the athletes are just your average shmo people like you or I who happen to excel in a particular sport. But it's not entirely true. Many, if not all, of these athletes have been training since they could walk. They've gone to elite academies. They've been mentored by former Olympians. They were discovered, or discovered their dream, and their parent sacrificed everything to help their children follow said dreams. I also enjoy hearing their stories - getting teary eyed over hearing some random athlete's life story.

I do like that they are not billionaire superstars (except the men's hockey team...don't get me started....grumble grumble). They work so hard and literally sacrifice everything for that one or two shots at a gold medal. That level of dedication and passion is certainly to be admired.

I also like the continual display of global solidarity. I watch athletes of all sports hug their competitors at various finish lines. I love watching them hug each other as if to say, "we made it friend, we're moving on to the next round" or "you kicked my ass, but I'm proud to take 2nd place after you."

I'm still not sure what exactly it is that compels me to watch at least a little bit everyday. I suppose it's simple enough: I like being inspired. And I like thinking about what the world would be like if we all lived our lives like Olympians do every single day.

Yeah, I know, cheesy as ever, but that's just me. And I like me just the way I am. (cue Billy Joel)

all you need is a lengthy explanation

I don't watch a significant amount of television but what I do watch (House, the Office, football) all have a common denominator: Blackberry commercials.

Now, all of the subjects of said commercials are trying to achieve something whether it's forming a successful musical group or traveling back in time and learning how to break dance in preparation for that big Fresh Prince audition. The song in the ad, "All You Need is Love" and the tagline "Do what you love" are always the same. If only it were that simple Blackberry.

So, if it's true that "all" I "need" is, in fact, "love" then wtf do I need a crackberry for? Will it love me? Will love pay for that data plan? And how will the crackberry help me do what I "love?" By making phone calls? Sending texts? Googling things? Isn't this the same drab existence I have achieved with my shitty little flip phone that doesn't cost an arm and a leg?

And then, you want me to "do what I love" and yet provide me with exactly zero reasons why it is crackberry, and only crackberry that will help me reach this goal. Actually, what I would love is for you to stop defiling a perfectly classic Beatles song. And that "band" covering the song should be brought to a nice farm in the country, where it can live out the rest of it's days annoying only the crows and cornfields. It's like the marketing people at Blackberry were sitting around saying, "Sooooooo, what can beat the iphone? Umm, the Beatles?" Good one, team.

So I will keep doing what I love and loving what I do any only needing love. Keep trying Blackberry. Unless what you love is looking completely asinine.

st. phonytine's day

This time of year there are really only two bandwagons one can jump on. a) I *heart* Valentine's Day! Buy my pretty things and candy! Nom nom nom! or b) I hate this big, dumb, made-up holiday and everything it stands for.

I'll give you three guesses as to which bandwagon on which I am a frequent flier.

And, per usual, after standing tall and proud on my status-soapbox, spewing about why I'm so cool for hating the big V day, someone writes "aren't all holidays made up?"

What is this week? Call me out on everything I say/do/believe week? Could someone please let me know in advance next time?

Hello, humble pie. Nice to see you again. You're looking quite well. Me? Oh, I'm okay....you know how it goes, you win some, you lose some. Yes, I realize I'm talking to a pie.

It's true that really, all holidays are made up. Somewhere along the line, some Joe Christian said, you know what, Jesus was born on ohhhhhhh let's say December 25th. What? That's a major Pagan holiday? Hmm, what a coincidence. Let's move on.

Now one could get into a deeply existential argument about the reality of anything. (You mean I may not actually be eating a pie? sob) But I won't do that because I don't know what the F I'd be talking about. It's not that all holidays are made up that bothers me. What bothers me is this particular holiday. Ok, if the Christians find it significant to celebrate Jesus' bday, then go ahead, assign it to a random day of the year. If environmentalists want everyone to plant a tree on Arbor Day because we're burning through trees like Elizabeth Taylor through husbands then, fine, April 27 it is. I completely understand assigning random dates to things that need to be remembered/celebrated/honored/etc. MLK Day, Presidents Day, Memorial Day, bring 'em on!

What I cannot get behind is a holiday in which you buy a bunch of fattening/wilting/ugly/useless crap to tell your other how much you looooooooooooooooooooooooooove them. Give me a fucking break. Presumably, if this person has continued to date/be married to you for this long don't you think they actually do love you, like every day? And vice versa? Don't you say "i love you" a hundred times a day to said person already? What's with all the pink-hearted crap? And if you're a bitter singleton, you don't need this phony mcphoneyson holiday anyways. You've got family and friends that love you every day too. I just don't get it. Why pick a special day to show significance to something that should have significance all the time? (And why show it in such a materialistic way?)

Ok, all that being said, I'd like to make a declaration of true love. I love you, soapbox. You keep everything so very sudsy.

Go, spread love. And eat chocolates since they're there anyways.