An Utterly Irrelevant But Predicatable Sense of Humor

Random. If you caught the title (how'd you miss it? It's bold. And at the top.), then you already read Urban Dictionary's definition of it.

But did you know that it is I who has made random famous? That's right. It's my art form. Or art malformed. Whichever.

I'm known for the tendency to rabbit-trail to parts equally impertinent and ridiculous, winding in some erratic and (kind of?) neurotic circle that changes from a spherical to ovular to elliptical before becoming a full-on egg of nothingness but drivel... Wait. What was I talking about?

My friend, Steve, paid me one of my finest compliments regarding just this subject. In truth, he was probably cutting my smarts and deriding my "get-it"s. Paying me a compliment makes me feel better. So there it is. While observing a confused listener try to muddle through the mess of my storytelling, he calmly tilted aside and whispered cuttingly encouragingly, "Just stay with her. She'll eventually bring you back 'round." An optimist, that Steve.

Today was a day of random. Probably because I'm exhausted. Like, 23rd mile of the marathon, exhausted. (Never run a marathon). As in 13k feet of the climb, tapped. (Never scaled a 14er.) Tired makes me testy. And, as it turns out, random.

Why won't my car seat conform to my every ridge and contour the moment I sit in it after The Man drives? Why can't I ever get it to be the same way it was? Car makers claim they do it in their finest models, but forward and up just aren't enough directional help. How about the tilts and the pedals and the whole bootie-contour factor? Where's that? I believe I can revolutionize the driving world with my plan. I possess absolutely no engineering abilities. I know nothing of tabs or buttons or levers or memory chips. I can't even draw a decent stick man. Still, my plan could revolutionize the driving world...if it weren't for all of that, I mean.

I passed by the nail salon in Wal-Mart (WM. Ugh.) where I noticed the clients were all old ladies. Watching a soap opera. All that was missing was a red rocking chair and a neon sign flashing "Cliche" above it.

Crystal Light has added two new flavors to their faux-drink repertoire: Appletini and Margarita. The first is as noxious as its leaded cousin. The second is not half bad. Mocking may commence in 5. 4. 3. 2...

The elderly are far more dangerous on the roads than the teenagers. Better arrogant than completely unaware. Maybe. Probably?

I can never remember if the road's called Woodmen. Or Woodman. Is it a name? Or one guy? More than one guy? This plagues me when Google or Mapquest requests that I clarify. That's just cruel of them.

Those blasted plastic cups are shoved to the back of the shelf again. Who is doing this?! I've interrogated inquired of The Other Four, but all claim innocence. Mayhap there be naughty elves who creep into our homes come the witching hour to inject menace into our everyday lives. Perhaps it is they who nudge that table leg just-so to the left, ensuring your toe will stub or your shin will bang. Not before they steal socks, move keys, or shove those glasses to the back of that shelf I can't reach, mind you. But likely after they've shifted my car seat.

Just to poke fun at me.

But that's only because naughty elves have utterly irrelevant but predictable senses of humor.
Random.