Yesterday, when I got home from work, I saw that the apartment complex people had put a notice on our door. "Oh, no," I thought. "I hope they haven't seen my pet penguin." Just kidding. I don't have a pet penguin, although, I'm pretty sure that since they don't allow dogs, I wouldn't be allowed to keep one in the makeshift ice cooler habitat I'd make out of the storage unit. Anyway.
The notice was to tell us that a coyote had been spotted in the vicinity. A COYOTE. And not the friendly kind that tries to blow you up with dynamite. But a real coyote that will eat your cats and your babies and MAYBE NOT EVEN IN THAT ORDER. Do coyotes eat babies? Or is that just dingoes? Anyway.
Unfortunately, the notice didn't tell you what to do in case you ran into this wily coyote (see what I did there?) during your early morning run or, let's be honest, sleepy walk to your car. I thought back on all of my wild animal knowledge and all I could think of was Dwight's advice about bear attacks, which I didn't think would be very helpful. I thought maybe you beat sticks at it, but then I remembered that that was from The Parent Trap and I think that was to ward off mountain lions, not coyotes. OH MY GOD LOOK AT THIS. AWESOME. My favorite part is the laughing. Anyway.
Heidi actually SAW the coyote with her very own eyes and she said the coyote just looked at her like she was a delicious, delicious baby that it wanted to eat with a side of cranberry sauce. I might have embellished a bit. I told her to stay far away from it if she saw it again, because what if it was friends with the baby raccoons?
Thursday, October 02, 2008
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
I don't know how this turned into a therapy session about my elementary teachers. These things just happen.
Work is devouring me whole. It feels funny. I don't like it. I worked all day Saturday, which everyone knows is meant for sleeping in and lounging around in your pajamas watching America's Next Top Model marathons. Geez. And I've actually been working really hard during the weekdays, too, even DURING LUNCH, which everyone knows is meant for surfing the Internets while you eat your PB&J. I don't have PB&J sandwiches every day, though, because that wouldn't be healthy. Otherwise, I'd totally do it. I'm all about being healthy. Which is why Heidi and I are going to play a VP debate drinking game on Thursday. If you never hear from me again, it's because she-who-shall-not-be-named killed me with The Stupid.
Aaaaanywho. In college, sometimes I'd have PB&J for lunch, and also some potato chips and a glass of milk, and Nancy would make fun of me because I was having a kindergarten lunch but WHATEVER. Obviously kindergartners know what they're doing. Once in kindergarten I squirted glue at this girl because she was annoying the shit out of me. I got in trouble and wasn't allowed to make a Mother's Day card. This other kid spilled glue all over his chair ON PURPOSE and sat in it (moron) but he didn't get in trouble. I sort of just realized it, but I think my kindergarten teacher was a bitch.
I don't remember much about my first grade teacher, except that once we had to draw pictures of our families and this led to her calling my parents and telling them I might be retarded. Why do I say retarded? It's so not a good thing to say, but I say it all the time. I'm sorry. Anyway, it was because I drew this picture of my dad and I drew this big, giant bald head with giant eyes (glasses?) and apparently the picture was an indication that I might be special. Then my parents came in for parent-teacher conferences and she saw that that's what my dad really looked like. Also, her name was Mrs. Wetzel, and she'd be like "Wetzel like PRETZEL," which . . . duh.
My second grade teacher made us keep a journal every day. This is where I came up with Figment. And I think this was the year I dressed up like Dorothy and my dad made me my own pair of ruby slippers and I never ever wanted to take them off.
I had Mr. Counts for third grade and I'm pretty sure he was gay. I didn't know at the time, of course, because I didn't know what gay was. I got into an argument with him once about whether men or women were stronger and I was all, "CLEARLY women are stronger because they have to have BABIES and I don't know much about BABIES because I'm only in 3rd grade, but whenever women are having them on TV, they scream a lot THEREFORE they must be strong to deal with all the pain."
My fourth grade teacher's name was Mrs. Castrejon, pronounced "Castra-HONE" but my dad was always like, "How is Mrs. Castra-John," and then I'd get all huffy and pissed. She used to put us in spelling test groups, and if your group won, you got to go out to dinner with her and her husband. When my group won, we went to The Ground Round, where they served vanilla ice cream in tiny, plastic baseball caps and it was AWESOME. OH MY GOD ALSO! She used to let us write stories and she had this whole room devoted to making actual BOOKS to write our stories in.
In fifth grade, I had my favorite teacher EVER. Mrs. Wolfe. She was awesome. After lunch and recess, she'd read to us and sometimes, if the book was sad (Bridge to Terabithia, what?), she'd have to have a box of tissues sitting next to her. This was the year of a presidential election and our class was on the news because of that whole Kids Vote thing, and also because George Bush (the first) was coming to Dayton and we were going to the rally. Only three kids were allowed to talk on the news broadcast, one for each candidate. I really wanted to be one of those kids, so when Bill Clinton was claimed by someone else (I think I've always been a Democrat), I was all, "yeah, Ross Perot would be awesome," just so I could get on TV.
My sixth grade teacher went to my church (back when I, you know, went to church), which I thought was totally awkward. We had to make castles for a project once, and my dad helped me make this castle out of Popsicle sticks that HAD A WORKING DRAWBRIDGE. It was the best thing I've ever made and Mrs. Morgan must have thought so, too, because she totally kept it and never gave it back. Rude.
Aaaaanywho. In college, sometimes I'd have PB&J for lunch, and also some potato chips and a glass of milk, and Nancy would make fun of me because I was having a kindergarten lunch but WHATEVER. Obviously kindergartners know what they're doing. Once in kindergarten I squirted glue at this girl because she was annoying the shit out of me. I got in trouble and wasn't allowed to make a Mother's Day card. This other kid spilled glue all over his chair ON PURPOSE and sat in it (moron) but he didn't get in trouble. I sort of just realized it, but I think my kindergarten teacher was a bitch.
I don't remember much about my first grade teacher, except that once we had to draw pictures of our families and this led to her calling my parents and telling them I might be retarded. Why do I say retarded? It's so not a good thing to say, but I say it all the time. I'm sorry. Anyway, it was because I drew this picture of my dad and I drew this big, giant bald head with giant eyes (glasses?) and apparently the picture was an indication that I might be special. Then my parents came in for parent-teacher conferences and she saw that that's what my dad really looked like. Also, her name was Mrs. Wetzel, and she'd be like "Wetzel like PRETZEL," which . . . duh.
My second grade teacher made us keep a journal every day. This is where I came up with Figment. And I think this was the year I dressed up like Dorothy and my dad made me my own pair of ruby slippers and I never ever wanted to take them off.
I had Mr. Counts for third grade and I'm pretty sure he was gay. I didn't know at the time, of course, because I didn't know what gay was. I got into an argument with him once about whether men or women were stronger and I was all, "CLEARLY women are stronger because they have to have BABIES and I don't know much about BABIES because I'm only in 3rd grade, but whenever women are having them on TV, they scream a lot THEREFORE they must be strong to deal with all the pain."
My fourth grade teacher's name was Mrs. Castrejon, pronounced "Castra-HONE" but my dad was always like, "How is Mrs. Castra-John," and then I'd get all huffy and pissed. She used to put us in spelling test groups, and if your group won, you got to go out to dinner with her and her husband. When my group won, we went to The Ground Round, where they served vanilla ice cream in tiny, plastic baseball caps and it was AWESOME. OH MY GOD ALSO! She used to let us write stories and she had this whole room devoted to making actual BOOKS to write our stories in.
In fifth grade, I had my favorite teacher EVER. Mrs. Wolfe. She was awesome. After lunch and recess, she'd read to us and sometimes, if the book was sad (Bridge to Terabithia, what?), she'd have to have a box of tissues sitting next to her. This was the year of a presidential election and our class was on the news because of that whole Kids Vote thing, and also because George Bush (the first) was coming to Dayton and we were going to the rally. Only three kids were allowed to talk on the news broadcast, one for each candidate. I really wanted to be one of those kids, so when Bill Clinton was claimed by someone else (I think I've always been a Democrat), I was all, "yeah, Ross Perot would be awesome," just so I could get on TV.
My sixth grade teacher went to my church (back when I, you know, went to church), which I thought was totally awkward. We had to make castles for a project once, and my dad helped me make this castle out of Popsicle sticks that HAD A WORKING DRAWBRIDGE. It was the best thing I've ever made and Mrs. Morgan must have thought so, too, because she totally kept it and never gave it back. Rude.
Thursday, September 25, 2008
wicka wicka wicka WHAAAAAAAT
The other day, I finally got my free Obama button from Moveon.org. Not like . . ."Free Obama," like he's being held captive somewhere, but an Obama button that I got for FREE for doing . . . something, I'm not sure what.
I put it right next to the Dwight bobblehead, which started a conversation about whether or not Dwight was a Republican. At first I thought, oh, hell yes, he is, but now I'm not so sure. I think he would like the whole "get the evil-doers" angle, but I don't see Dwight supporting any traditional candidate. Even though John McCain tried to make Dwight his running mate at first. And, you know, even though he's fictional and all, I think he might have made a better possible Assistant (to the) President than someone else who shall remain nameless. I mean, McCain only picked Dwight to shamelessly pander to the youth vote, which . . . HEY, that's sort of why he picked what's-her-face! Only replace youth vote with vagina vote! OK, I'm done.
Ahem. SPEAKING of Dwight, did you guys know this little show called . . . um . . . THE OFFICE, starts tonight? BECAUSE IT DOES AND I AM EXCITED. Is it just me or is this the longest week ever? I think it's just me. Plus, I say it's the longest week ever every week, even weeks when I only have to work four days on account of something awesome like Columbus Day which IN FACT is coming up in a couple of weeks so yay and also look for me to start complaining about having to squeeze five days worth of work into four oh my god Jennie breathe.
I think the reason this week went so slowly is because I spent most of Tuesday wishing it was 5, so I could leave work and head down to Newport with Joe to see STARS. Yay, Stars! They played with Bell X1, who I had never heard of, which is crazy because A) they had a song on The O.C. and B) they have delicious, Irish accents. Anyway, the show was amazing, and Stars was really entertaining, mostly because the lady singer (I know I could look up her name on Wackopedia, but I don't feel like it, so I'll call her Lorraine) . . . anyway, Lorraine had to be on drugs of some kind, and I don't know what, but I want some. She spent most of the first song bent over her guitar and walking all slow motiony in a circle. And later, she was . . . dancing (?) and holding her hands up in front of her face like she was blocking evil mind rays. Or maybe she was just being blinded by all the flashing lights on stage because I KNOW I WAS. Whatever, being able to see doesn't stop me from running into things and falling down, so I don't think I needed my eyes anyway.
I put it right next to the Dwight bobblehead, which started a conversation about whether or not Dwight was a Republican. At first I thought, oh, hell yes, he is, but now I'm not so sure. I think he would like the whole "get the evil-doers" angle, but I don't see Dwight supporting any traditional candidate. Even though John McCain tried to make Dwight his running mate at first. And, you know, even though he's fictional and all, I think he might have made a better possible Assistant (to the) President than someone else who shall remain nameless. I mean, McCain only picked Dwight to shamelessly pander to the youth vote, which . . . HEY, that's sort of why he picked what's-her-face! Only replace youth vote with vagina vote! OK, I'm done.
Ahem. SPEAKING of Dwight, did you guys know this little show called . . . um . . . THE OFFICE, starts tonight? BECAUSE IT DOES AND I AM EXCITED. Is it just me or is this the longest week ever? I think it's just me. Plus, I say it's the longest week ever every week, even weeks when I only have to work four days on account of something awesome like Columbus Day which IN FACT is coming up in a couple of weeks so yay and also look for me to start complaining about having to squeeze five days worth of work into four oh my god Jennie breathe.
I think the reason this week went so slowly is because I spent most of Tuesday wishing it was 5, so I could leave work and head down to Newport with Joe to see STARS. Yay, Stars! They played with Bell X1, who I had never heard of, which is crazy because A) they had a song on The O.C. and B) they have delicious, Irish accents. Anyway, the show was amazing, and Stars was really entertaining, mostly because the lady singer (I know I could look up her name on Wackopedia, but I don't feel like it, so I'll call her Lorraine) . . . anyway, Lorraine had to be on drugs of some kind, and I don't know what, but I want some. She spent most of the first song bent over her guitar and walking all slow motiony in a circle. And later, she was . . . dancing (?) and holding her hands up in front of her face like she was blocking evil mind rays. Or maybe she was just being blinded by all the flashing lights on stage because I KNOW I WAS. Whatever, being able to see doesn't stop me from running into things and falling down, so I don't think I needed my eyes anyway.
Monday, September 22, 2008
the devil went down to Georgia and then made me his bitch
I spent the majority of this weekend enjoying the electricity that I did without for half of last week and WAH WAH WAH don't you feel sorry for me? I hope not. Feel sorry for the people who still don't have power, even a week after the Windicane (trademark: Joe) that struck Ohio. It's true! My boss is one of those people. I think she's handling it really well, because if it were me? At this point I would have started at least 3.5 riots.
I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say I spent at least a third of my waking hours playing Guitar Hero. Friday night, Steve and Joe came over and helped Heidi and I beat the game on Easy for our band: DONKEY! So on Saturday, I started to play it on Medium, but I was all, "this is hard," that's what she said, so I finished my own band on Easy. Not the whole thing, just like half, cause I'd started my band last week. Then I tried my hand at Medium again and, after a few embarrassments (but no failures, THANK YOU VERY MUCH), I sort of got the hang of the blue button. But, ouch, my hand. Yesterday, Joe and I tried to beat the game on Medium, but Lou the Devil guy totally kicked both of our asses, so instead we went and got Chinese food, which turned out to be a much better decision because Chinese food doesn't make me want to throw fake guitars through the television.
We also watched Once last night, because I hadn't seen it in months and months. I'd been afraid to watch it again because of the crippling depression that came after my first viewing, but things were much better this time. I mean, it was still soul-crushing and everything, so much so that I threatened to write my own sequel called Twice, but I didn't go through a box of tissues like I did last time. I'm pretty sure the only reason I wanted to watch it is because we toyed with the idea of going to see The Swell Season in Columbus tonight, but as we are already going to a concert tomorrow night, I couldn't justify both. Actually, we were going to buy tickets on Saturday, but there weren't any good seats left. So I didn't even make a good decision, the seats made it for me. WHATEVER.
I did make at least one good decision this weekend, and that was to not go see My Best Friend's Girl's Wedding or whatever the hell it's called. I heard it actually wasn't that bad, even with the Dane Cook factor, because he played Jerkface McDouchebag, which is the perfect role for him. But, in the end, I decided I cannot willingly provide money to Dane Cook, unless I'm paying him for the honor of kicking him in the nutsack.
Anyway. Things are pretty damn good at the moment, especially because last night when we played Scrabble, I totally spelled "spermy." How are you, Internets?
I don't think I'm exaggerating when I say I spent at least a third of my waking hours playing Guitar Hero. Friday night, Steve and Joe came over and helped Heidi and I beat the game on Easy for our band: DONKEY! So on Saturday, I started to play it on Medium, but I was all, "this is hard," that's what she said, so I finished my own band on Easy. Not the whole thing, just like half, cause I'd started my band last week. Then I tried my hand at Medium again and, after a few embarrassments (but no failures, THANK YOU VERY MUCH), I sort of got the hang of the blue button. But, ouch, my hand. Yesterday, Joe and I tried to beat the game on Medium, but Lou the Devil guy totally kicked both of our asses, so instead we went and got Chinese food, which turned out to be a much better decision because Chinese food doesn't make me want to throw fake guitars through the television.
We also watched Once last night, because I hadn't seen it in months and months. I'd been afraid to watch it again because of the crippling depression that came after my first viewing, but things were much better this time. I mean, it was still soul-crushing and everything, so much so that I threatened to write my own sequel called Twice, but I didn't go through a box of tissues like I did last time. I'm pretty sure the only reason I wanted to watch it is because we toyed with the idea of going to see The Swell Season in Columbus tonight, but as we are already going to a concert tomorrow night, I couldn't justify both. Actually, we were going to buy tickets on Saturday, but there weren't any good seats left. So I didn't even make a good decision, the seats made it for me. WHATEVER.
I did make at least one good decision this weekend, and that was to not go see My Best Friend's Girl's Wedding or whatever the hell it's called. I heard it actually wasn't that bad, even with the Dane Cook factor, because he played Jerkface McDouchebag, which is the perfect role for him. But, in the end, I decided I cannot willingly provide money to Dane Cook, unless I'm paying him for the honor of kicking him in the nutsack.
Anyway. Things are pretty damn good at the moment, especially because last night when we played Scrabble, I totally spelled "spermy." How are you, Internets?
Friday, September 19, 2008
ARRRRRRRRRRRRR!
Happy Talk Like a Pirate Day, dear Internets.
And now . . . pirate jokes:
Q: What does a pirate say when he has a heart attack?
A: Arrr! Me heartie!
Q: What's really a pirate's favorite letter?
A: P! Because it's an R, but it's missing a leg!
Also:
A pirate walks into a bar and the bartender says, "Hey, I haven't seen you in a while. What happened, you look terrible!"
"What do you mean?" the pirate replies. "I'm fine."
The bartender says, "But what about that wooden leg? You didn't have that before."
"Well," says the pirate. "We were in a battle at sea and a cannon ball hit my leg but the surgeon fixed me up and I'm fine, really."
"Yeah," says the bartender. "But what about that hook? Last time I saw you, you had both hands."
"Well," says the pirate. "We were in another battle and we boarded the enemy ship. I was in a sword fight and my hand was cut off but the surgeon fixed me up with this hook. I feel great, really."
"Oh," says the bartender. "What about that eye patch? Last time you were in here you had both eyes."
"Well," says the pirate. "One day when we were at sea, some birds were flying over the ship. I looked up and one of them shat in my eye."
"So?" replied the bartender. "What happened? You couldn't have lost an eye just from some bird shit!"
"Well," says the pirate, "It was the first day with me hook."
Finale:
So a pirate walks into a bar, okay, and swaggers up to the barkeep and demands a glass of rum. I believe his exact words were "Your rum or your life, dog, what'll it be?"
And so the bartender, being a reasonable fellow, makes no complaint but simply grabs a large glass, a bottle of fine dark rum, and begins to pour. And while he's waiting for the glass to fill, he sizes up the pirate, having never seen a real honest-to-God pirate before.This pirate is in full pirate gear. Gold earrings, patch over the eye, a big filthy white blouse covering his swarthy chest, tattoos everywhere, all of it. But protruding from his pirate trousers is the unmistakable form of a steering wheel.
Well, the bartender sees that the glass of rum is just about topped off, so he passes the glass across the bar to the pirate, who nods curtly and takes a huge swig of the rum. Slapping a dubloon on the bartop, he turns to walk away, when our bartender's curiousity gets the best of him."
Wait, one second. What's up with the steering wheel?"And the pirate turns back and fixes him with a beady glare from his lone eye. "Arrr, I don't know, but it's drivin' me nuts!"
And now . . . pirate jokes:
Q: What does a pirate say when he has a heart attack?
A: Arrr! Me heartie!
Q: What's really a pirate's favorite letter?
A: P! Because it's an R, but it's missing a leg!
Also:
A pirate walks into a bar and the bartender says, "Hey, I haven't seen you in a while. What happened, you look terrible!"
"What do you mean?" the pirate replies. "I'm fine."
The bartender says, "But what about that wooden leg? You didn't have that before."
"Well," says the pirate. "We were in a battle at sea and a cannon ball hit my leg but the surgeon fixed me up and I'm fine, really."
"Yeah," says the bartender. "But what about that hook? Last time I saw you, you had both hands."
"Well," says the pirate. "We were in another battle and we boarded the enemy ship. I was in a sword fight and my hand was cut off but the surgeon fixed me up with this hook. I feel great, really."
"Oh," says the bartender. "What about that eye patch? Last time you were in here you had both eyes."
"Well," says the pirate. "One day when we were at sea, some birds were flying over the ship. I looked up and one of them shat in my eye."
"So?" replied the bartender. "What happened? You couldn't have lost an eye just from some bird shit!"
"Well," says the pirate, "It was the first day with me hook."
Finale:
So a pirate walks into a bar, okay, and swaggers up to the barkeep and demands a glass of rum. I believe his exact words were "Your rum or your life, dog, what'll it be?"
And so the bartender, being a reasonable fellow, makes no complaint but simply grabs a large glass, a bottle of fine dark rum, and begins to pour. And while he's waiting for the glass to fill, he sizes up the pirate, having never seen a real honest-to-God pirate before.This pirate is in full pirate gear. Gold earrings, patch over the eye, a big filthy white blouse covering his swarthy chest, tattoos everywhere, all of it. But protruding from his pirate trousers is the unmistakable form of a steering wheel.
Well, the bartender sees that the glass of rum is just about topped off, so he passes the glass across the bar to the pirate, who nods curtly and takes a huge swig of the rum. Slapping a dubloon on the bartop, he turns to walk away, when our bartender's curiousity gets the best of him."
Wait, one second. What's up with the steering wheel?"And the pirate turns back and fixes him with a beady glare from his lone eye. "Arrr, I don't know, but it's drivin' me nuts!"
Thursday, September 18, 2008
With win-win-win, we all win. Me too.
GUESS. WHAT.
Our power is back. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. I went over to my aunt and uncle's last night, because there was a bunch of leftover food from my parents' cookout, and also THEY HAD POWER (and Rock Band). When I got home, I noticed that the parking lot was no longer a black hole of scary darkness and when I looked in other apartments . . . there was light. LIGHT LIGHT BEAUTIFUL LIGHT.
I got inside and started flipping lightswitches on and off, WHOOHOOing in the makeshift strobe lights, and then ran around the apartment turning on every electrical appliance I could get my hands on.
I'm not kidding, you guys, it's a damn good thing the power came back on because I desperately need to do laundry. Heidi and I had the following email conversation yesterday. At work, because that was the only place we could go that actually had, you know, power.
Me: I wish it would come back on so I could do laundry. I'm going to be the smelly kid soon.
Heidi: I did laundry right before that so I have clothes. You'll just have to start wearing party dresses to work! haha
Me: Ha! And I'm down one party dress because it has rum and coke all over it!
Because, oh yeah! Did I tell you guys I spilled an entire rum and coke all over myself at the wedding reception on Saturday? No. No, I did not. I didn't tell you anything about the wedding because when we got back to Dayton, the world was ending, so I completely forgot about it.
Um. Anyway. I spilled a rum and coke on myself at the wedding reception. Luckily, I was sitting down and no one noticed but Joe. I was able to casually sweep my lapful of ice and coke onto the floor with my arm while Joe ran and got me a napkin. I didn't mind being a somewhat sticky mess for the rest of the night. I mean, why would I? There was an open bar, so I could easily get another drink. Plus, there were cupcakes. CUPCAKES. So. Win win (win).
Our power is back. Thank you, sweet baby Jesus. I went over to my aunt and uncle's last night, because there was a bunch of leftover food from my parents' cookout, and also THEY HAD POWER (and Rock Band). When I got home, I noticed that the parking lot was no longer a black hole of scary darkness and when I looked in other apartments . . . there was light. LIGHT LIGHT BEAUTIFUL LIGHT.
I got inside and started flipping lightswitches on and off, WHOOHOOing in the makeshift strobe lights, and then ran around the apartment turning on every electrical appliance I could get my hands on.
I'm not kidding, you guys, it's a damn good thing the power came back on because I desperately need to do laundry. Heidi and I had the following email conversation yesterday. At work, because that was the only place we could go that actually had, you know, power.
Me: I wish it would come back on so I could do laundry. I'm going to be the smelly kid soon.
Heidi: I did laundry right before that so I have clothes. You'll just have to start wearing party dresses to work! haha
Me: Ha! And I'm down one party dress because it has rum and coke all over it!
Because, oh yeah! Did I tell you guys I spilled an entire rum and coke all over myself at the wedding reception on Saturday? No. No, I did not. I didn't tell you anything about the wedding because when we got back to Dayton, the world was ending, so I completely forgot about it.
Um. Anyway. I spilled a rum and coke on myself at the wedding reception. Luckily, I was sitting down and no one noticed but Joe. I was able to casually sweep my lapful of ice and coke onto the floor with my arm while Joe ran and got me a napkin. I didn't mind being a somewhat sticky mess for the rest of the night. I mean, why would I? There was an open bar, so I could easily get another drink. Plus, there were cupcakes. CUPCAKES. So. Win win (win).
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
In Whoville they say that the Grinch's small heart grew three sizes that day
I still don't have power but it's OK [cue hysterical laughter] because who needs power? Not me. I don't need power at all. I'll just read by candlelight for the rest of my life UNTIL I GO BLIND IN FIVE DAYS BECAUSE DO YOU KNOW HOW HARD IT IS TO READ BY CANDLELIGHT? IT'S HARD THAT'S WHAT SHE SAID.
Ahem. At least people I know have power. If I couldn't get out of our dark apartment, I'd have jumped off the balcony by now, which wouldn't have even killed me. I'd have just broken my leg or something and sat there in the dark crying about my stupid, broken leg. Wah wah waaaaaaaaah.
Last night, we went over to my parents' powerless house because they had a lot of meat they wanted to get rid of on account of it would soon be rancid. My dad grilled steak, chicken, hot dogs, cheesy brauts, and hamburgers while my uncle made this potato-cheese-casserole stuff on a camping stove. At one point, I walked by my dad, who hadn't eaten yet because he'd been grilling 96 pounds of meat, and he was all, "I'm having fun!" and my uncle (who also hadn't eaten) added, "We'll all look back on this someday and laugh." But as I stood there, listening to all the conversation and giggling (mostly due to one cousin in particular, who shall remain nameless), it was nice to know we wouldn't have to wait until someday to start laughing.
Ahem. At least people I know have power. If I couldn't get out of our dark apartment, I'd have jumped off the balcony by now, which wouldn't have even killed me. I'd have just broken my leg or something and sat there in the dark crying about my stupid, broken leg. Wah wah waaaaaaaaah.
Last night, we went over to my parents' powerless house because they had a lot of meat they wanted to get rid of on account of it would soon be rancid. My dad grilled steak, chicken, hot dogs, cheesy brauts, and hamburgers while my uncle made this potato-cheese-casserole stuff on a camping stove. At one point, I walked by my dad, who hadn't eaten yet because he'd been grilling 96 pounds of meat, and he was all, "I'm having fun!" and my uncle (who also hadn't eaten) added, "We'll all look back on this someday and laugh." But as I stood there, listening to all the conversation and giggling (mostly due to one cousin in particular, who shall remain nameless), it was nice to know we wouldn't have to wait until someday to start laughing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)