I ask that question way more than any normal person should.
This time, I’m wearing pants and looking for other pants, so that’s good I guess.
Archive for May, 2006
That’s right, there was one donut left and I took it. I don’t care if you saw me. Like 10 people saw me and they didn’t say shit. And no, I didn’t try to be all nice and break it in half, just in case someone who wanted a donut was slacking on their arrival time. Breaking the last donut is the dumbest, wussiest thing that people in offices across America do, and I’m not getting on that bandwagon. No one wants your stupid donut-half. They wanted their own donut, but you got there first. They’ll understand if you eat the whole thing. They sure as hell aren’t going to eat the last donut-half. You can’t tell whether it’s been bitten into, or if someone broke it, or if their hands were dirty, or what. So yeah, I took the last donut, and I’m not apologizing.
Everyone should always take the last donut!!
That’s right, I loves me some gadgets, and most importantly, I love my Sidekick. It’s called a Sidekick because it should be with you at all times, and that includes when you’re in the bathroom. Even if it’s the grossest bathroom you’ve ever used in your life. No, ESPECIALLY if it’s the grossest bathroom you’ve ever used in your life. Because when you take an emergency shit in the external bathroom of a gas station on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, you’ve gotta let someone know immediately. Only the superior text messaging capabilities of a phone the size and shape of a gameboy advance will get you through that mess. Also, it’s a great way to multitask without actually doing anything.
Everyone should always take their Sidekick to the bathroom!!
That’s right, whenever I’m in a mall or on the street, and I see that stupid store with its stupid sign boasting the same stupid deal, I go in to take a look and I walk out with no less than 10 items. Hells yeah, I got a talking Sponge Bob doll for 50 cents, then turned around and sold it at a garage sale in mint condition for a cool four bucks. I got rollerskates… rollerskates. Even though they’re a size too small and have remained in the dark recesses of my closet for the last 2 years, who cares? They were 50 cents, and if my feet ever shrink, it will be SO worth it. So maybe I don’t have a use for a bulletin board with felt bananas and a monkey attached to it. Maybe I don’t need an orange jewel-encrusted mini-stapler. Maybe I don’t need a pen with a fuzzy soccer ball on top of it, arm-warmers with flames on them, studded leather wristbands, happy bunny magnet clips, or sparkly picture frames. But hey, it’s 5 bucks. You spend that much on parking, but instead you could be buying 10 things. TEN. Do the math, people.
Everyone should always buy 10 things for 5 bucks at Claire’s!!
That’s right, I walked into Freebirds, ordered a big freakin’ Moster with chicken on a spinach tortilla, and met eyes with John Breyer as I sat down to engulf my meal. Did I say hi? Fuck no! He didn’t say hi, so I sure as hell wasn’t going to. So what if he used to be my boyfriend’s boss, or that his wife used to be my boss’s boss, or that we were all in the midst of massive corporate politics and backstabbing and there was nothing we could do about it. I think they’re corporate whores. They think I’m just a whore. Well, that’s just fine with me because this is one whore who isn’t saying hi to you!
Everyone should always see John Breyer at Freebirds and not say hi!!
I don’t know if it’s necessarily better, but it’s definitely more interesting. Once again, where have I been?
Oklahoma
A few Fridays ago, I flew up to Oklahoma City to see Gus after his business trip. A quick, weekend-warrior flight was my plan, and everyone else’s. The gate was packed. Still, why stand when you can sit? I found an empty chair and plopped down in it.
“Excuse me. Someone is sitting there,” a waify blond woman in her thirties informed me. Her tone implied that I should have known this even though there was nothing indicating that the seat was occupied. So, I muttered a half-assed apology and scooted to the next seat, which I made an extra effort to be sure was not taken.
Moments later, blondie’s friend comes back and blondie exclaims something to the effect of, “It’s just so crowded in here! And people were trying to take your seat!”
I politely turned to the woman and said, “Once again, I’m sorry, I didn’t know the seat was taken.” And before I even got that sentence out, her friend goes, “She’s kidding! She’s just kidding!”
Ha, I should have known. That was fucking hilarious. Does she have her own comedy routine? Maybe a late night cable show? Actually, I’d be really interested in hearing some more of her material if it’s as high-quality as that little gem.
It’s amazing how enough people think that bleaching your hair out and making yourself vomit after every meal somehow entitles you to a free pass to act like a fucking cunt rag. I am continually amazed in general that people say really rude stuff to complete strangers, stuff that isn’t clever or witty at all, and honestly believe in their own shriveled underused waste of brains that it can somehow be contrived as a joke.
On the plane, this shitfaced old woman sat down next to me. She looked like she’d spent a few too many days in the sun and had no intentions of letting up. She wore the kind of sundress you buy in the beach for ten bucks and looks like it’s made of rags.
From Dallas to OKC, all she could talk about is how much American Airlines sucks. She ordered a glass of vodka (as she had brought her own Red Bull aboard the plane) and spilled half of it on my feet. Then she went into this huge diatribe about how Southwest is better because they sing songs to you when you land and the flight attendants are nice. Apparently, she’d gotten into it with an American Airlines flight attendant who failed to serve her an alcoholic beverage. I couldn’t imagine how such a thing could ever happen. (However, after recently receiving this e-mail from American Airlines regarding a traveling debacle from a month ago, I’m about ready to give up on those assholes too.)
She also got into this long-winded speech about how she only buys 400 thread count sheets because the quality is so much better. I guess it was an attempt at a normal, non-controversial discussion, but it just supported my growing case that the woman was a motherfucking psycho. I humored her anyway because making fun of the junk they sell in Sky Mall by yourself just isn’t the same.
OKC was just how I left it. Hot, flat, and full of warm, squishy feelings that only I seem to have for the place. I got into a chat with this buffalo. I think he had a tendency to exaggerate.
New York
We spent a weekend in the city, hanging out mostly in Manhattan. Something about the trip reminded me of our city’s cute little saying, “Keep Austin Weird.” Austin is weird in a “My shoes are mismatched and I’m carrying a multicolored umbrella” sort of way. New York is weird in a “Strapped to a piss-stained matress and locked in an asylum, screaming your head off at the miscellaneous bloody limbs on the floor” sort of way. Let’s not forget that, shall we?
We were on Canal Street when we saw this huge anti-war protest:
So we joined it:
Chicago
I went to the O’Hare Airport twice. I miss Chicago. *sniffle*
Toledo
Oh no, not this shit again. Oh yes, this shit… again. I worked four times as hard and had one-fourth of the fun that I had the last time I went, and that’s being generous.
The big pitfall of my last trip there was that we all kept getting lost because Ohio is a satellite location of hell on earth and it’s impossible to navigate. I didn’t get lost at all until I reached the most important time ever to know exactly where you’re going: the time that you get to go home. I overshot the airport on 80/90 and found myself on my way to Cleveland. Not awesome. I nearly started crying in my little rented Chevy Cobalt that I could only make go about 80 mph.
I ended up getting to the airport with about five minutes to spare. Just enough time to get eggs and bacon on a biscuit. Although my lateness was due to the fact that I was in such a podunk shithole in the first place, I was glad that I was leaving from a podunk shithole airport, since anywhere larger wouldn’t have let me on the flight that late. I guess things have a way of working out in the end.
iPod Status: Unopened.
*The title of this post came from a book I’m reading, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, which I temporarily put down because I found it to be self-absorbed and uninteresting. I decided to give it another chance, and now I’m lovin’ it.