The missing lucky

So many stories you hear told by people come to a conclusion with the caveatal phrase "But, knowing my luck....", as if to say "I know it's my lot in life to be cursed with terrible luck and all the good stuff I just told you that might happen to me probably won't because they never do."

My question is, where are all the people who think they've got good luck. Do you know any? Have you heard of any?

I'm struggling to recall if I've EVER come across anyone who did. Cocky with good luck, I guess you could say.

"Knowing my luck, I'll probably lose all these lottery winnings in a few years anyway."

"Knowing my luck, she'll realize that she's a supermodel and I'm just a magician who takes himself a little to seriously."

"Knowing my luck, my parents will realize that I'm not heir to their fortune after all, and all this hotel money will go to someone a bit more deserving."

"Knowing my luck, I'll try to think of some good examples of what I'm talking about but will only be able to come up with plaid out or seriously dated ones."

Yeah, I did that.

One way that writing leaves a good impression...

The degree to which it impresses me when waitstaff take all the orders at a table without writing anything down and get everything right is far less than the degree it irritates me when waitstaff take all the orders at a table without writing anything down and get something wrong.

So shall it be written, so shall be done.  So shall it be not written, so shall it be a crapshoot.

(G * m1 * m2) / (d2)

About three months ago I traded in my old truck--a vehicle that just about burned gas just as fast as you could pour it on the ground--for something a bit more economical.  

I'd like to think it's also "sporty", "sexy", and a few other testosterone fueled adjectives.... but to be honest (and what's more manly than honesty?) it's really just an ordinary, economical car.

That was, until today.

Driving home from work, all four windows down and sunroof open, I had an empty gladware-style tupperware container from my lunchtime peanut butter and jelly, strawberry, sitting on my passenger seat.  (Just so you know, yes, "peanut butter and jelly, strawberry" is the James Bond of sandwiches.)

Hitting 30mph, I glanced to my right and saw the clear plastic container start to levitate.  LEVITATE.  As in, lift off the seat as if to look at me and say, "Hi... how are ya?"

Now, I know you'll probably claim it was a wind vortex or some other thermodynamic mumbo jumbo which picked up the light object and blew it in the air until it reached an equilibrium with the earth's gravitational pull approximately 6 inches off my passenger seat.

And to that I say, "Phoey".

My car, aside from economical, is also an anti-gravity device.  It's the only scientifically plausible explanation.

So here's what I'm proposing:  I'm going to rent out my passenger seat for situations where a little less gravity is desirable.  

Biggest Loser style weight loss competition weigh-ins.  Shipping packages via UPS or Fed Ex.  Paying for produce.  Astronaut training.  Pulling X-Wing fighters out of swamps.  Eating Spangles.  All situations in which little or no gravity would be beneficial.

"Step right up, sign right up, and be prepared to travel weightlessly at the rate of 30 miles per hour!"

Finally, I've an excuse to buy a top hat!