What Are You Doing?

By / May 26, 2009 /

By Copywriter Josh Herrington

I missed the Adult Swim event because; well, frankly, because Thursday night is my nine month old’s bath night. And he loves bath night. The Techstars community party in Boulder sold out, which took me by surprise – that must be one awesome event? And, on the weekends, I transform myself into Super-suburban-man and weed the yard, wash the cars, walk the dog and vacuum the house.

But, this twitter thing still has me hooked. You mean to tell me that people are interested in how stinky my son’s poopie diaper was? (I said poopie.) Or, how many beers I drank while watching the Thuggets miss the free throws that could have kept them in the game? Well Denver, don’t be forlorn, because I have come up with a solution – my drive to work.

It’s Wednesday morning, traffic is thick, and my tweet hand is strong. But, being the responsible driver that I am, I have to save all my tweets for when I’m not driving so I don’t crash into the uninsured asshole in front of me. So, here are my tweets. Follow me on this adventure.

“It is seven in the morning, off to work I go.

Man, my yard sure does look good. Who let their dog poop on my grass?

I put too much creamer in my Dunkin Donuts coffee.

Red light. Red light. Red light. Was that last light red or yellow?

I-25 on ramp, are you kidding me? 140 blocks and 16 miles of this?

NPR or iPod? NPR.

I’m going to be late again. Thanks RTD for no train up north.

I’ve got both hands on the wheel so I’m too busy to tweet.

Does a hyphen count towards my 140 characters?

My blinker is on, let me in.

You drive a Mercury Villager and have a huge comb over not covering that bald spot.

Looser!

Five miles an hour. Zero miles an hour. Five miles an hour. Stop.

What are you looking at?

I’ve never heard sports on “Morning Edition”? Good thing the Thuggets practice their free-throws.

California must be really screwed up. That’s what happens when you elect Conan the Barbarian as your governor.

William Shakespeare was gay?

Let me over.

Are you kidding me? You couldn’t have moved your stalled car to the shoulder?

Let me over you jerk, off the phone! (get it?)

Don’t tailgate, don’t tailgate, don’t tailgate, be nice.

Another stalled car? Awesome.

I see Coors field. Oh, wait, I can’t see Coors field because of the two dump trucks in front of me.

“Not responsible for cracked windshields.” I’m not the one hauling around a truck full of pebbles. Yes, you are responsible.

Off my ass, Chevy Silverado. You must have a really small…

You’re a bow hunter, aren’t you?

Watch out for cops, they hide on Wewatta and will bust ya!

People still ride bikes with three wheels?

Is that man wearing ballerina shoes?

Why does RTD drive ON the white line? What is an Arc-flash hazard and how does that affect me? Is that why they drive on the white line?

Left on Speer, there is the Pepsi Center. Poor Carmelo.

WWE of Thuggets? Who will it be?

What, 40 miles per hour?

Does that woman really own four dogs? Is she going to wear that to work? She must work nights.

High heels, lots of makeup, tight tee shirt – must be nearing the community college.

There are those two weird aliens dancing in the yard.

Umm, Denver Diner. Eww, vomit on sidewalk near Denver Diner.

I’m out of coffee.

What color is that Mercedes SUV? Gold, orange, purple? The paint keeps changing colors.

Are the Thuggets already back in town?

Oh, just passing the Parkway Apartments, that’s why.

What’s the speed limit? Isn’t it 40 miles per hour? Why are you going 20?

That hobo is packing up his tent from the night. I’m kind of jealous, kind of.

Zombie crossing the street, smoking a cigarette and wearing slippers. Must be close to work.

In the parking garage, which, I think, is a microcosm of workplace social status.

First floor. Sweet motorcycle. Van, van, wagon, van – all with handicapped stickers.

Second floor. Mercedes, Volvo, Audi, Land Rover. Must be the executives.

Third floor. Mercedes (five years old), Volvo (six years old), Audi, (three years old).

Fourth floor. Jeep, Nissan, Toyota, Chevy, Subaru. All very sensible and economical.

Fifth floor. Nothing. Except that Porsche sitting alone way back in the corner.

I’m here. Another day, another buck-fifty.

Is it time to go home yet?”

Josh Herrington is now an MBA student at Regis University hoping to rekindle his dreams of becoming a professional freelance writer. He lives in Denver with his beautiful, redheaded wife, a nine-month-old son who enjoys life way too much to be bothered by sleep, and a retired seeing-eye dog with cataracts. Contact him at 303.881.7872.