It has been far too long since my last Movement Movement post, which is a crime. I believe in the Movement Movement. I believe that as a society we should get past the stigma associated with talking about bowel movements. It’s not a big deal. Everyone poops. We all have to deal with it. So, why is it that it’s not supposed to be brought up in polite conversation?
Besides, how are me and Miss Four Eyes supposed to take over the world without our movements?
This post will be about something that most, if not all, parents will understand.
This was supposed to be an easy job. The boss was going to pay him to knock off a store owner that had done something to piss him off. He didn’t know what the store owner had done and he didn’t care. All he cared about was killing the guy so he could get paid.
It started off so promising too. He walked in and his mark didn’t expect a thing. Just as he was about to pull out his gun, one of the boss’ other men showed up and tried to steal the job from him. After a short fire fight, he managed to chase his rival off, but not before the owner got away.
By then, the police had probably been called, so he grabbed the shotgun the owner kept behind the counter and hoped he could convince the cops that he was an employee that had scared off a robber. He was in the middle of tampering with the store’s security cameras, to erase the footage, when he heard the door open. There were no sirens or lights, so he knew that it wasn’t the cops. Thinking that his rival came back, he turned and fired. Imagine his surprise when he sees that it was a homeless man pretending to be a superhero.
As most of you are aware of, this Sunday is the Super Bowl. I’m usually excited about the Super Bowl regardless of who is playing, but this year, I’m even more excited. My Carolina Panthers are playing in it.
One of the questions I get most often when people find out that I like the Panthers is: Why do you like Carolina? You’re not from there.
I’ve said it before on this blog, and I’ll say it again, just because you’re from, or live in, a certain area doesn’t mean you have to root for the local team. That’s not how it works.
Over the weekend, Mrs. Revis, Baby E, and I moved into our new house.
First, let me complain about the sheer volume of paperwork that needs to be filled out and signed when you buy a house. I’m shocked that my fingers haven’t fallen off yet from the number of signatures I was forced to do. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if some people are renting apartments right now just so don’t have to go through all of the house-buying paperwork.
Now that that’s out of the way, let’s get on with it. Instead of boring you with the HGTV details, such as number of bathrooms, I’ll simply say that, unlike our old apartment, our new house has enough room for all of us, and all of our things. That was the biggest problem with where we were living: not enough space. Between the three of us, we outgrew it. It was a constant fight to find places for everything.
Having all this space is weird. After being crammed in for so long, having room to put everything is such an odd feeling. Of course, buying my own house is an odd feeling too. Growing up, buying a house was never something I dreamed about. It was always assumed that I’d just have one. As I got older, and reality set in, I was never sure that I’d ever be able to afford one without winning the lottery. I pretty much accepted that I was going to be renting the rest of my life.
Lisa looked out the window and cursed her ex-husband. He had been much more timid and easier to manipulate before he found out about her cheating. Now, instead of cowering before her, he demands paternity tests and says things like, “Lisa being a whore does not, and should not, entitle her to 18 years worth of my money,” in court when he finds out their son isn’t actually his. The worst part was when the judge agreed with him and stopped making him pay child support.
Look at me now, she thought. I’m riding a bus to the grocery store because my sister can’t give me a ride.
In the seat next to her, Jason, her son, giggled. When she turned to ask him what was so funny, she saw that he was staring at the man sitting across the aisle from them. The man was pole thin, wearing clothes that probably stunk and had seen much better days. “Don’t stare,” she scolded her child. Continue reading →
For the past 6 or 7 years, I have spent a lot of time around people who work for temp agencies. For a couple of those years, I worked for one myself, so I was surrounded by other people who did too. At my current job, we’ve taken on so much side work that we actually have more people from temp agencies than people who actually work for us.
In my time with these people, I’ve come to realize that everyone that works for a temp agency falls into one of two categories: Those who rarely talk, or those who never shut up.
Out of the two, I certainly prefer the former. Out of the two, I was the former.
When I meet people for the first time, it usually takes me a while before I feel comfortable enough around them to open up. Of course, some of that is also because I tend to say inappropriate things and I need to guage whether or not someone will go running to my bosses if I say inappropriate things.
Let’s face it, most of the things on Facebook aren’t worth looking at. My feed is usually a bunch of recipes I’ll never use, videos that other people think are funny (but aren’t), or memes that are misses about half the time. I’m guilty of it too. My posts are usually about football, random thoughts that pop into my head, or pictures of Baby E (so my out of town family can see her). Other than the pictures, my posts are pretty much worthless.
A couple of weeks ago, I came acoss something that I found interesting. It was a picture that said, “Write the saddest story you can think of in just 4 words”. I found this to be oddly challenging. After all, 4 words isn’t really enough to tell a proper story. I read through the comments and saw that most people had put something up about death. It was usually something along the lines of “My loved one died”.
While I will admit that a loved one dying is indeed one of the saddest, if not the saddest, things that can happen, I wasn’t going to go in that direction. I don’t like doing things that everyone else is doing. So, I had to come up with something new.