It's 2011

Question: scrap the blog or keep it going?
Decision: keep it going.
Reason: because I don't want google to erase it. I am fully aware nobody reads this. If you are reading it, ask yourself: "Am I nobody?" One of us will be wrong.
Why did I do this to begin with?: Because it's a journal and it's fun and in my next life I'll need material for my stand up. And I certainly won't be remembering material with my own brain. Hopefully the internet will remember it for me. Most of this isn't material anyway.

entry: Last weekend, Taylor and I went with Markie and Pearl & Jeffy to their Netarts beach house. Had a very very nice time as usual, but I may never be invited back. Why might I never be invited back? Possibly because I ruined everything Pearl loves. Poor Pearl. He's going to have a world class crisis. We'll know it's REAL bad if we catch him midnight gardening on a rainy saturday night in the middle of the street with a dangerous looking gardening spork.

What could cause such a severe crisis? First thing, I made the mistake of observing that mini shrimp cocktail are just "grubs in cocktail sauce". Poor Pearl. He takes these things soooo literally. I'll have to consult more with Markie about personality types to understand this better. Until this is resolved, it looks like shrimps AND grubs will be safe from Pearl. The rest of us didn't seem too bothered. In fact, I'm starting to think I could deal with the bug eating portions of Survivor. There are many other survivor aspects I still can't face though, so don't go looking for me on the next season. Not that you were going to. I don't think anybody even watches that show any more.

And THEN, I ruined the beach radio station for Pearl when I pointed out that "This is the music I hear when I go to nursing homes." At some point, Pearl will wake up and wonder how I know so much about nursing homes, but until then, the poor guy is stuck watching realtors tour around idiot clients on Home & Garden TV house hunting shows. What a way to never get a break!

I decided to go easy on the gang and not ruin WORK for them until next time. Next time, which, if the invite comes (oh, it already did), proves that the nursing home is probably more realistic than

Oh dear, I forgot where I was.