Introducing "I Wonder" Mondays!

Okay, new game I made up for myself. I do stuff like that...try'n cope.

On Mondays, I'm typically too busy/tired to think, so from now on, I'll be using Mondays to create lists of bullshit I wonder about. "I Wonder Mondays."
Can you dig it? I knew that you could.

So here you go, Monday Number One:

• I wonder how, at 32 years old, it's still possible for me to lose individual shoes in my bedroom for days, sometimes weeks, at a time. (My mother the neat freak is always so pleased to hear of things like this, letmetellyou.)
• I wonder how Ray Charles could tell whether a chick was hot or not just by feeling her wrist.
• I wonder if I have hot wrists.
• I wonder how my ex's thoroughly skanky current girlfriend would feel if she knew that he reads my blog all the time. Oh, wait...she's too busy posting their sex pictures on the internet to care.
• I wonder how my ex's late father would feel about the fact that his son's thoroughly skanky girlfriend posts their sex pictures on the internet. Or his (living) mother, for that matter.
• I wonder what the fuck I was thinking.
• I wonder how and why this works. I only wish girls could poop so I could experience it myself. Alas...
• I wonder how I managed to sunburn the crap outta one boob, one hip, one arm, and selected portions of my legs, while the rest of my body still looks like super-bright copy paper.
• I wonder how long it's gonna take me to write my book. Oy.
• I wonder why the tabloids care about Lindsay, too. Especially now that she has no tits.
• I wonder how long it will be before my dad can't take care of himself or my mom anymore.
• I wonder why the nutjobs at Coney Island use fresh chicken as bait for fishing instead of just eating the damn chicken. (Thank you, David O, for that one.)
• I wonder why most of the freakin' loons at Coney Island do anything they do, come to think of it.
• I wonder why, in spite of its needle-laden beach, filthy water, utterly freakish and intensely unappealing crowds, and nasty food, Coney Island is still just about my favorite place in the world. (I think it's one of the last places in New York that anyone can afford to hang out...maybe that's it.)
• I wonder how long I'll stay single. Longer than it'll take me to finish the damn book, I'm betting. Fine by me.
• I wonder what would happen if I got enough sleep all the time. If this weekend is any indication, it could be scary. The book'd be done by like, next Tuesday or something. Good thing we don't have to worry about this happening, ever. Or something.

There you have it. I'm sure you'll be anxiously awaiting next week's equally pointless list.

Or not.