My brain feels so cluttered with useless stuff right now. I can’t get to the important things because they are buried under piles of celebrity breakups and makeup tips from 5-year-olds and fantastic deals on vacation getaways. My brain should be featured on an episode of Hoarders. I tried to solve an algebra “Train A vs. Train B” word problem the other day (“just for fun”), and I swear I uncovered a mummified cat.
My friend Tori found this notice and I think she sums it up pretty well: “In this case, the absence of a photo of the missing loved one is probably a good thing because I’m pretty sure it would make me cry. Poor Romeo. He hates being skinny and having short hair.”
It’s okay, Romeo. I just cut my hair short too. You’re probably just not used to your new ‘do – I bet you look sassy!
Sometimes you don’t get to watch your Saturday morning cartoons until Sunday afternoon. That’s just the way things work sometimes.
Dear England,
I know a lot of people make fun of your food. I know I do. I’m trying not to, but you’re going to have to help me. I just started coming around to this fried egg on a pizza idea, and now I’m finding out that you probably didn’t invent that one. The boiled salad thing that London-based foreign exchange student from Boston told me about? I think that was just some misunderstanding on the part of the host mother. We all know your pub food and sidewalk curries can’t be beat.
But let’s talk about the chip butty:
I can get behind fries. I can get behind brown sauce. I can definitely get behind bread. But this seems wrong. It’s just too much soft starch in one place. I mean, come on. I am amazed that you could make something that would make me say “too much soft starch.” In-N-Out Burgers won’t even make a chip butty, and they make everything.
I do think you are on the right path with crisp sandwiches, however (even though it’s a complete lie that this Joel Hocherty character invented the delicacy in the ’80s). Keep working on things like that, and let’s keep talking.
Sincerely,
Elizabeth
So, I may have to be looking for a new job in the near soon future. I may not. I don’t know. Agh. It’s been sort of a tumultuous week for me, as you might guess.
When something like this happens, I think it’s natural for a person to question whether she wants to continue on in her current career or think about a new path. Am I suited for my career? Is there any future in it? Is it something I actually want to be doing? What else would I be suited for?
I have to say that I lack some self-confidence, so I’ve been a little hesitant about the whole jumping careers thing unless I start at an entry-level job, and at my age most people don’t want to hire me for an entry-level job. Thankfully, The Awl pointed me in the direction of a career that I’m sure I can excel at – guinea pig rental agent. I am a shoo-in; my brother and I wound up with 17 guinea pigs when we were children without even trying. You see, it’s really hard to tell the difference between a male guinea pig and a pregnant female guinea pig. And then your dad can’t make enough guinea pig cages fast enough to separate them before the children start breeding with each other, and then there’s like this exponential number of cages your dad has to build, and voila! Guinea pig kingdom. Ready for rental. Now all I have to do is lobby Congress to get one of these “No Single Guinea Pigs” law enacted. Piece of cake.
Oh; you hate guinea pigs? Watch this and tell me you don’t need a guinea pig, even if just for a weekend:
Two people in the past two weeks have said they are going to pray for me. I know both people meant this in a spirit of generosity, but I’m just not sure how I feel about people praying for me.
ETIQUETTE: I can’t believe nobody told me that Kinky Friedman wrote an etiquette book. Well, no matter. At least I found it on my own. Kinky has this to say about mealtime supplication: “If the steak is the size of a sombrero, the meal is followed by the belching of the Lord’s Prayer, which is almost immediately followed by projectile vomiting.”
SUPERSTITION: If a praying mantis lands on your head, something great will soon happen to you. If it spits in your eye, you will go blind. You shouldn’t kill it even if it spits in your eye, though, because a praying mantis can ward off evil.
Next door neighbor Smoothie had some friends over yesterday to watch college football. There was a lot of manly clapping going on, but nobody ran into the street wearing a cape and waving a flag so I couldn’t tell if their team was winning or not. I don’t think I will ever figure out football.
So, I saved this video because they were making sausages out of most of my favorite foods (they left out bread and butter sandwiches, but hey), but then I looked at it again and decided I hated it even though they were making fun of bro culture and it wasn’t really bro culture (right?) because maybe making fun of bro culture is now bro culture like making fun of hipsters means you are a hipster, and I also hated it because maybe this was just a big waste of most of my favorite foods, and then I was describing the video and the sausages therein to Benny and he said, “That sounds good.” And maybe he’s right. I don’t know any more. I would try the mac and cheese one for sure.
Look what Gort found on her walk this morning in Elysian Park:
The bulletin board here also had a notice for a found chihuahua, but I don’t think this owner is going to be interested in getting a substitute.
According to the narrator, this is the world’s only bathing gorilla. I tried looking this up on the webernet and only found a gorilla taking a shower, so I guess he’s right. It’s also interesting to me that Joe the gorilla is the privileged master messing around in the bath and the nameless chimp is the prole stuck mopping up after him. Weren’t things the other way around in Planet Of The Apes?
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