That'll do it, folks

Alright, I'll break the silence. I know it's been a couple weeks since my last post, and I assume you all know what's coming: I'm done.

It's been a heck of ride, writing columns here on rockmitchell.blogspot.com. Funny columns, stupid columns, confusing columns, offensive columns... Now it's time for the last type of column: the terminating column. The clincher. The closer.

It lasted longer than I thought it would, to tell you the truth. Looking at my stats I put up a hearty 86 posts, the first one going up on March 12, 2008. Also, 7,200 people visited this site, although 6,000 were probably lost deep in the Internet when they stumbled in. "What the hell kind of a blog is this?"

I thought blogging was pretty dumb, before I started. And I often thought it was dumb while I did it. But you've got to love what the Internets come up with these days, and the blogging platform--where any idiot can publish their words for the world to see--is something novel.

Well, I've written what I've wanted to write on this blog. Now it's time for me to chase other pursuits. Maybe I'll take up Twitter. Maybe I'll start a blog about what Michelle Obama is wearing these days. Maybe I'll see if AARP The Magazine is looking for any under-age columnists.

Whatever I do, this thing will just sit dormant. So consider this blog for sale. I checked out WebsiteOutlook.com, and it said this website is worth a whopping $876. WebsiteOutlook must be run by the same people that price out theme-park food, because it just ain't worth that much.

Tell you what. Offer me $10 and a cold ginger ale, and you've got yourself a deal. Actually, I'd let it go for just a ginger ale--warm or cold.

Thanks everyone!

I took the trash out and almost went with it

Listen up, men with a girlfriend or wife: never, ever, ever criticize your significant other's outfit. If you have anything less than positive to say about something she's wearing, punch yourself in the head before you open your dumb yap. With any luck, it will alter what comes out for the better.

Yesterday my wife had to leave for a hair appointment. The trash needed taken out (it has always been my job to take out the trash; probably because I relate to it more than she does), so I followed her out the door on her way to the car.

As she walked away, I asked--and this is where I should have punched myself in the head--"Are you going to wear those pants?" I don't know what I was thinking; the pants looked fine, I just hadn't seen them before. Let's just say it wasn't the time or the place for such a critique. She drove off, probably furious for having married such an idiot.

As I stood in the middle of our condo's parking lot, feeling like a jerk, I realized the door was locked and I didn't have the house keys. It was the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, and I hadn't showered or shaved. An October chill was in the air, and I was just wearing pajama pants, a t-shirt, and flip flops.

To make matters worse, right before I followed my wife out the door I had thrown a burger on the George Foreman grill. It was going to be more than well done.

I decided to go sit in my car and wait it out--I'd let the burger turn into jerky. I sat in the driver's seat for about 15 minutes, wishing I knew how to hot-wire a car so I could at least have the radio for comfort. Luckily I found a tin of mints in the center console, and found solace in them.

Then I started to wonder how long a hair appointment normally lasts. An hour? Two hours? A day? (Note: I've rocked a buzz cut for the past three years, so I have no idea how long it takes to cut hair when scissors are involved.)

Deciding I needed to do something about my situation, I got out of the car and walked back up to the front door. I thought about going in a window, but we live on the third floor. And flip flops aren't great for scaling the side of a building. A mishap would mean an 18-foot fall.

I started knocking on neighbor's doors. A nice couple that lives across from us was home and took me in. They let me watch TV in their living room, in all of my just-got-out-of-bed glory, until my wife got home. Luckily there was enough love in her heart to let me back in the house.

I like to think that I've learned a few lessons from this experience; 1.) A burger is no good after an hour and a half on the Foreman, 2.) Shower and get dressed in the morning, even if you're not going anywhere, 3.) Say nothing but complimentary things to your wife--and be extra kind because without her you're nothing more than the trash you just took out.