i hate you thursday

Thursday: Hi Kelly. I've decided to be the longest day EVER.
Kelly: Gee, thanks Thursday. I hate you.
Thursday: You know, I really care. I do. I care about as much as I care about what Dubyah said yesterday morning during his presidential address.
Kelly: I feel loved.
Thursday: Well, the love ain't coming from this direction.
Kelly: I hate you.
Thursday: You said that already.
Kelly: WHY?? WHY DO YOU DO THIS TO ME??
Thursday: Because I am evil. And I like to be the center of attention.
Kelly: Get a boob job. Then you'll be the center of attention.
Thursday: I'm not a person. I'm a Day. Just so you know.

poor little grocery boy

So, I think I scared a grocery boy last night. I'd honestly prefer to think that I just intimidated him with my wit and charm, but realistically . . . I think I scared him. I don't know how many of you have participated in, or are familiar with, the Ukrop's grocery store scene, but Ukrop's does this thing where they actually take your groceries to your car. It's a very nice customer service gesture, but I always feel bad that someone has to take my groceries to my car, so I always try to have a conversation with whomever is lucky enough to follow me to my parking spot, with groceries in tow.


Sometimes, I am more successful with the conversation starting than other times . . . last night, I definitely was struggling. Those of you who know me know that I have a tendency to bring up some of the most random topics in the world. Occasionally, certain people find that quality endearing (i.e. other random people), but the majority of seemingly normal people either look at me like I'm weird (which I am) or just pointedly ignore me in the hopes that maybe I'll just stop talking. That's what happened yesterday.


I had gone to Ukrops to stock up on essentials and I was already looking a bit scary - had to wear my glasses because my contacts were killing me. But, I like to think that I balanced out the whole glasses thing with the short dress and high heels that I was wearing. Anyway. The kid who was lucky enough to be chosen to take my groceries out was, I'd say, probably in high school. Seemed like a nice enough guy. And so begins the awkward conversation:


Me: Hello, how are you? *smile*
Grocery Boy (GB): . . . alright . . . *sullen look*

(Grocery Boy proceeds to push the cart with my groceries in it with one hand and the other cart that I was shopping with back into the line of other carts with the other hand).

Me: That was very impressive.
GB: . . .

*if there were crickets, they would be chirping*

Me: Um . . . hot outside, isn't it?
GB: Yeah.

*puts groceries in car*

GB: Have a good night. (<--- monotone)

disturbing

I saw something on the drive home from The Fabulous One's house yesterday that I found very disturbing. I'm surprised that I never noticed it before, as it's located in the sketchtacular shopping center down the road from my apartment complex (a complex that hosts the "48 Hours store" and a "comic book store" whose windows are covered - ooo and a place where you can get a weave). Are you ready for this? It's a Chinese restaurant that sells fried chicken.

Why??! Gross. A Chinese place that sells fried chicken. Does anybody else find that disturbing? Its existence raises some very important questions. For example, why does it have so much excess chicken that it needs to deep fry the remainder and create a whole new non-Chinese menu item? Why can't the owners order just enough chicken to complete their "authentic" Chinese dishes? Is is really chicken? Why do they advertise themselves as a Chinese restaurant but also include a byline that screams, "Hey, btw, we have fried chicken, too, if you're craving the greasy stuff" ? Did they decide that they could make more money by catering to the stereotypical food choices of the nearby demographic? Who the hell sees a a Chinese restaurant and says, "Thank God. I was craving some fried chicken." There's a similar place that exists in Carytown, except it sells every cuisine under the sun - Chinese, fried chicken, seafood, cheeseburgers, probably freakin' baklava, too. Is it because the chefs are mediocre cooks in every genre of food and were like "Eh, what the hell, let's make it all?"

I'm sorry, I just find the whole thing as disturbing as the existence of all-you-can-eat seafood buffets.

Blech.

too much fame . . . not good

I just realized that I've been writing a lot about Rue recently. I should probably try to write about other things . . . spoiled kitty.

war games

I am currently writing you from enemy territory. I don't know how much longer I'm going to make it . . . I can't move without putting my life at risk . . .

Rue is playing war games with my bedroom furniture. My bed: The Enemy. My bedroom curtains: The Enemy. The cords hanging from my curtain: The Enemy. The carpet, the underside of my sheets, the computer keyboard, the laundry hamper, ME: The Enemy. Seriously, Rue rockin' a vendetta of some sort. And in truth, I'm scared that she's going to win this battle. Poor, innocent bedroom furniture . . . all you did was sit there, being all bedroom-furniture-like and then this orange tabby with Illusions Of Grandeur starts attacking you - Cadet Rue, that careless heroine.

AAAAHHHH! Geeeeez! I thought scary war game Rue had left the room for a brief minute (hence my hurried entry), but I got this weird "someone is behind me feeling" and There She Was - sitting right behind me, licking her paw in seeming innocence . . . plotting her next attack. I could tell by the look on her face. Seriously - she's got the stealth thing down. She could totally rule the world. Or at least fight all of my enemies in order to clear the way for my total world domination. Ok . . . now her butt is in my face. Why. Rue. Really. Why. (on all counts).

robert frost speaks

I was listening to NPR at work yesterday and they had Bill Collins on, a former U.S. Poet Laureate. He had the audio of Robert Frost reading his very famous poem, "The Road Not Taken." Now, I've heard and read this poem a million times - pretty much everyone has heard and read this poem a million times - so much I think, that people don't truly engage with it anymore. When I heard Frost reading his own poetry though, it really added a whole new dimension to the poem that I have grown up with.

Not every poet can read his or her poetry well out loud. The inflection, volume and flow of the voice can enhance the line or draw out a layer of meaning that had been entirely unrealized. Someone reading poetry has to pay close attention to breaks in the line, to the emphasis of one word over the other . Robert Frost's voice was not entirely what I had expected - kind of like the physical appearance of radio djs is often one that you don't expect . When we read poetry, and actually, when we read anything to ourselves, most of us hear the words in our own voice. His voice was wisened, worldy . . . almost like a man who has seen too much , but at the same time, wished he could have seen more. It reminded me of some kind of grizzled man living off in a shack by himself . . . a la Thoreau (who actually, didn't stay in a shack by himself the whole time that he wrote Walden, but that's a discussion for another time). It was truly fascinating to hear Robert Frost speak and I found it even more poignant because he is no longer with us.

fwooosh!

Teakettle: fwapforeFWOOSH!

Frank: OUCH! The green is THAT WAY *points at driving range*
Teakettle: fwooshienogreenswoosh.
Frank: Well if you weren't aiming for the green... then what were you aiming for??
Teakettle: tickleticklefwooshhehehehe.

Frank: ME?? Why were you aiming at me?

Teakettle: fwooshdorkfwoosh.

Frank: These pants are not dorky! *looks down at plaid golf pants*

Teakettle: fwooshhonkhonk.

Frank: HEY! I do not look like a walking set of bagpipes!!

Teakettle: Fwooshfire?

Frank: No you can't set my pants on fire!

Teakettle: fwoosh?

Frank: Because it will burn me.

Teakettle: swooshmcdreamyfwooshie!

Frank: No he works in Seattle...

Teakettle: Fwooshwooshwooshbangbangbang

Frank: ???

Teakettle: FWOOOOOSHGAHSWOOSHWEEEEEEE!

Frank: .......................................

Teakettle: FWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAOOSHFIRE!!!!

Frank: *backs away slowly*

Teakettle: Fwoosh?

Frank: Oh, um, I was ahhhh, just going to check on my begonias...

Teakettle: FWOOSHLIARRAAAAAAA!

Frank: *Deer in headlights look* Why are you so crazy? Did someone spike you with coffee again?

Teakettle: FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEESH!!!

Frank: So that would be a yes *runs from room*