Every Saturday the paper runs an agate listing of all the marriage licenses obtained from the county that week. In today’s paper (on B2, specifically), you’ll be able to see that four 14-year-old girls are being married off to lads of ages varying from 19 to 25. While I won’t begrudge anyone her right to young love, I will just offer this (extraneous and unnecessary) proof that 14-year-olds aren’t of sound mind to make such…
I just drove 20 minutes in a hooptie with two mewling cats to the vet for booster shots, only to be informed when I got there that all the doctors had just left for their two-hour lunch breaks, and could I come back at 2? Um, no. Look, Universe, I know I’m not in charge, but that is some stupid shit. Make those doctors stagger their breaks, wouldja?
Actually, it only meets three of the criteria for hooptie-dom set forth by this reputable source. (Must open door at drive-thru because window won’t roll down, blinkers won’t work, and tape deck eats all tapes, for those of you keeping score at home.) But tonight my car threw me for a loop. I was leaving work and noted how chilly and damp outside it was, and how the last time my window ever rolled down…
It’s finally jacket weather. I don’t know how long it will last, but I’m doing my best to savor every second of it before the requisite late-October-backlash, during which them temps will creep back up into the 90s. Or at least the high 80s, with plenty of humidity. I’m drinking Woodchuck Draft Cider (Granny Smith). I’m trying to work my way up to beer, which I have always really hated. I’m not sure why I’m…
[for Saturday, Sept. 22] You’d be surprised how effective “That tree looks like a vagina” is as an ice-breaker. Project 365
I have lost my cell phone. Bonus stupidity: It’s on silent so I can’t even call myself to find it. Next-day Update: I should not be allowed to own a phone. I found it — in my car, naturally, under a mound of crap — and proceeded to accidentally text someone I haven’t spoken to in two and a half years instead of the person by the same name I’m meeting up with today. Yeah.…
It’s really hard to feel bad about your crappy hair day when you’re putting together a special section on Holocaust survivors.
To anyone who may have been within earshot of me last night, I apologize for the monumentally idiotic things I said, a few of which have come back to me throughout the day. This is why vodka is not a part of my daily routine.
Sorry I was doing 67 in a 50. But thanks for letting me go. “Slow it down” was a nice touch, by the way.
Just kidding. I’m actually heading to bed. My schedule’s all jacked up thanks to a couple of extremely late nights I pulled — Friday night when Sarah was here and Saturday night when Theresa was here — that had me trying to doze off at 4 and 6 a.m. respectively. I’m not complaining at all; I very much enjoyed the company, even if I was a terrible host (I drug Sarah to Wal-Mart with me…
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