To Do Lists

Going through a stack of papers on my desk, I came across a To Do list. I was almost ready to put it on the bottom of the pile when I saw the date………..2009………Ooops! Apparently, I did not quite finish that one. (understatement of the day).

 Looking at the list, I was struck by how many of these unfinished tasks were not really that important in hindsight. Would we be better off applying that “If you only had a week to live” idea to our To Do lists, to only put down the things are more important or critical? I wonder. It seems as though To Do lists are almost like New Year’s Resolutions. You write down this, you write down that, and a year later you look at your list and only a couple of them are done. In the meantime, the unfinished tasks are like a sword hanging over your head, dropping some guilt onto you every time you review them.

On the positive side, trying to get things done, and working to improve yourself and your life, are both commendable things. So I’ll take 3 seconds of solace for that. In a perfect world I would be independently wealthy with a personal assistant to do some of this stuff, or retired with 20 or 30 hours a week to get all these things done. Since there are no recent phone calls from the Trumps or the Kardashians, neither of those appear to be on the nearby horizon. Therefore, the lists remain on my desk. Watching me……..Waiting……… Cooking up more guilt. Waking me up from my sleep once in awhile for good measure. Just to remind me who’s boss.

So today, I fight back. Donning my sword and armor, I ride forth to fight the good fight. Until I hear a siren song in the distance. I look around and see a refuge shimmering in the distance. It’s the couch, ready to welcome me with open arms and soothing comfort. So I take my pencil and add “clean up the To Do list” ……to my To Do List….. Sigh…..

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Rising Moons

Back in the good old days, when men were men, women were women, and the sheep were scared………Oh wait a minute,………. wrong story line……

Anyway, back in my younger years, it seemed that there was more order in this world. Everyone had their place and their role in life. Men worked at jobs, women were mothers at home, kids were playing carefree out in the backyard, and the milkman made several visits a day to Mrs. Murphy’s house……… All was well.

Things have changed nowadays, and that was brought home to me last week. I was driving along the street, stopped for a light, when a bicyclist passed me on the left. As she passed, my eyes did the obligatory check. She had nice long brown hair, average upper body size, and a nice firm pair of jeans. As my eyes slid down toward them, I got the shock of my life………

THE MOONS WERE RISING!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes, Venus One and Venus Two were both surging out above the jeans, seeking a little light and exposure.

While at first I thought maybe it was either a bad nightmare, or a one time aberration, my worst fears were confirmed later in the week when I looked over at a young lady bending down to get something out of her car, and saw this nightmare shot again. Seared into my brain, I’m not when this haunting vision will go away.

Over the years, I have come to expect this view from the local plumber or refrigerator repairman. The cheeks, the hairy moons, the crack……..it is indeed an awful sight. However, you knew ahead of their visit to prepare yourself, and as they worked you could avert your eyes and gaze elsewhere in the kitchen. You paid by check, so as not to risk the chance of a stray coin disappearing down the Crevice of the Creature, and you having to fish it out. Plumbers Butt is a terrible sight for the eyes and should be contained in isolated areas, sort of like hazardous waste.

It would be one thing if the pants showed a sliver of decorative derriere. It is a far, far different thing when you see massive angry moons threatening to explode to the sky. If the young women of the world have appropriated this dangerous weapon for their own use, I fear for society. An innocent appreciative glance will run flat smack into Nightmare on Main Street, and Trauma on Aisle 5. No amount of therapy or counseling will be able to repair the psychological damage. Will hairy chests and beer guts be next?