The English language is replete with swear words, so I was not surprised when a friend’s four year old asked me, ‘Where does nincompoop fit into the lexicon of obscene words when ordered by shock value?’ What kid wouldn’t want to know that? At the bottom of the rung is nincompoop. Nincompoop is a nincompoopish word, not an obscenity at all, but anything with poop in it is game for a four year old. (For instance, poop deck would get laughs.) In fact, just saying poop is more offensive, i.e., better than nincompoop. You turd, even better, and You shit is at least at the twelve year old level. Adding nincom makes poop fairytale material.

How people romantically pair up eludes me. I’d have a better chance of learning Greek from a teacher who only spoke Greek before understanding the rules and non-rules of the dating scene. I once told a gentleman pursuing me that I was in between phones. I don’t know exactly what that means, but it sounded plausible, especially in the early otts when people were exploring the possibilities of cell phones. I just didn’t know how to let him down honestly, even though I believe in the definition of honesty and how it can positively impact your life.

I know I’m going to catch a lot of flak for this, but I don’t care, because PEOPLE DESERVE TO KNOW THE TRUTH, and I’m not going to CENSOR MYSELF just because there are some things that THEY don’t want us thinking!

I think we humans have been doing a pretty rotten job taking care of the Earth lately, and that we should therefore consider turning over our dominion of the planet to another species. I suggest possums. They are smart and have little hands—maybe they’ll be able to use some of the tools we leave behind. Except jigsaws. I don’t like the idea of possums with jigsaws.

God hates me. And now I have proof.

See, there’s this guy. Cute. Awkward. I’m hoping smart. He’s caught my attention. But, because God must hate me, the list of reasons why we’d never work is depressingly long, so I hold no hope that anything beyond requisite pleasantries will ever transpire between us. And yet this guy short-circuits my brain like no one else has. When I get within 10 feet of him, my usually coherent mind vacates the premises and leaves a bumbling, babbling half-wit in its place, believing, I guess, that I won’t notice.