1. Why no one other than myself has bothered to ask why there is a seven foot tall replica of an Egyptian pharaoh's sarcophagus just inside the entryway of my office building. I would ask but I don't know to whom questions like that should be directed. There is no Ancient Relics Management office in my building that I know of. I hope it isn't stolen or anything. I would feel awfully bad about my apathy if I come to find that there's some ruggedly handsome archaeologist whose ass will be grass if he can't figure out where he left King Hasapenemtogheoghapwhahpah's coffin.
2. How I ended up being the dropout/burnout of my family. My mom has three Masters degrees in everything ranging from Theater Arts to European History to Health Care Management (yeah, I don't know). My dad (who, by all accounts, was the basis for the character Hank Hill) somehow managed to pull himself away from his combination grill/smoker long enough to obtain his Masters by writing a thesis entitled (get ready) An Empirical Analysis of the Reliability and Validity of Niederhoffer's Cynicism Scale. Oh yeah and he found some time away from mowing the yard on his riding lawnmower to become a private pilot and build an airplane for himself. My uncle is an opera singer and classically trained pianist with a Doctorate in Music Theory who speaks (and sings) in no less than five languages. I, on the other hand, am the kind of person who is so lazy I will just buy new socks instead of having to wash them and pair them back up again. Or I just wear heels instead. Seriously, in some families, the fact that I am gainfully employed and have managed to keep my level of alcoholism hovering comfortably around "functioning" would be good enough to include in the Christmas letter. But in the ridiculously bookish confines of my family, I am the Randy Quaid character from the National Lampoon movies.
3. Why the TV show The Hills exists. Just don't understand what purpose it serves. I don't need to know who any of those people are. They are all awful people who should either be ashamed to be revealing their actual personalities via a reality show or actors who are playing the most vile characters put on air since the pilot episode of Everybody Loves Raymond.
4. Why there's gotta be cheese on everything. I don't like cheese. I don't like the fakey kind nor do I like the more respected "actual" cheese. Please stop putting it on everything. At this point, cheese has just become food glue with which you can adhere any one ingredient to the other. Stop it. This is why the only place left for me to go to lunch is Fuel City. That's right. I'm now forced to eat gas station tacos for lunch because they are apparently the last outpost on the Cheese-On-Everything Railway down which a speeding locomotive of processed orange stuff is hurtling towards their direction at great speed.
Oh and while I am at it, I certainly don't understand THIS. Breasts may look and feel nice and occasionally they can be used as a shelf on which you can rest your cell phone when your hands are full. But that woman is absurd.
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