Dear Diary …
So … the Pope was in America last week. Now first of all, this Anger Diary has nothing to do with the Pope. Love me some Pope. Seems like a nice guy. And even if you’re not Catholic, you wanna at least hedge your bets, right? That way when you die and you get to those gates … you know … whatever religion happens to be the bouncer. “Oh yeah … you liked the Pope … OK you can get in the club!” So you certainly don’t wanna be bad-mouthing the Pope.
Here’s the thing I don’t understand … I see the Pope on TV and there’s this GIGANTIC crowd. And the news even says, “Hundreds of thousands gather hoping get a glimpse of the Pope.”
I’m sorry … You people are nuts. I’m not jamming into a space with 200,000 other people unless I’m getting a guarantee of something GOOD. “Hoping” to get a “glimpse?” … No thank you!
And what do you really expect to even see? Cuz the reality is, you ain’t at the front of this line unless you’re one of those weirdoes that camps out for a week for things like Black Friday and new iPhones. You know, the ones that don’t mind pooping in a bucket or having actual lives with jobs and responsibilities.
So you’re gonna be ALL the way in the back. So best case scenario … What are you even gonna see? The tippy top of his little Pope hat? That’s about it. I don’t even like going to the Salem Fair at busy times. I’m certainly not gonna jam myself into this gigantic field just for a “glimpse” of the Pope.
Oh by the way … guess what I saw? The Pope. Real big … and in HD. Right there on my TV. Clear view of the whole thing. Could even crank up the volume and hear his soft, beautiful voice loud and clear. At my house. In my underwear. That’s how you do it!
Glimpse. Glimpses are for suckas.
Moving on Diary …
So this past weekend I went away for a couple days with the wife and reminded me how much I hate water bottles. We stayed out in the wilderness, so you gotta bring bottled water with you. That’s fine. I enjoy bottled water … the actual water … all crisp and delicious. But what I’ve learned over the years is that women in particular do not keep track of their water bottles.
Same thing happened when I was at the beach this summer. Three couples in one house … and there are half drank water bottles all over the place.
And you know what? “Half drank” ain’t the right word. “One sipped” is more like it.
Somebody open a bottle … take one sip … and then put that one sipper down .. forget which one is theirs because there are 27 other one sippers laying around. And then just goes and opens another one.
“Can you go to the store and get more water bottles? We’re almost out”
Of course we’re almost out, we’ve got a case of one sippers laying all over this place!
And I even bought a Sharpie at the store! “Hey … here you go … you can write your name on your bottle so you don’t lo….” Oh forget it, they’re not listening.
And here’s the other thing I don’t understand … even though this is fresh, lovely, purified water … we treat the one sipper like all of a sudden it’s filled with bacteria-laden Mexican tap water or something. “Oh I don’t know WHO’S this is, I can’t drink THIS!”
Over the weekend … umm … it’s either mine or yours. Does it really matter? We’re married. We’ve had two kids. I know what a mucus plug is from birthing class. I think we can share a water!
Till next time Diary … I say … goodbye.