Could do without:
- Gross guys in the street that pssssst at me as if I will dignify that with a response
- The entire block smells like ketchup from McDonalds
- General feeling of yuck regarding my stomach…hopefully putting some bread in there will calm it down
- Sleeping wrong and having neck pain for three days now
- Missing the annual reunion with my peeps worldwide. Sadness. 🙁
- Bicycle crashes that shatter kneecaps…not mine. Poor BruddaShyner.
- My own indecision on whether or not to go under the knife
So happy I have:
- A home
- A vehicle
- A job (even if I don't like it at times)
- The opportunity to get a degree…better late than never. Just about halfway done.
- A few friends here and there and hopefully the chance to hang out with one in a few more days
- Found something at least somewhat interesting that, after 16 years of working already, I might decide on as a career
- Made it through another month
Peeking over the horizon:
- Probable augmentation in 28-35 days…hahaha, a doctor's office just called me
- 70 days till my birthday
- 75 days till the Associates
- 122 days till vacation
- 498 days till the Bachelors
- 661 days till we can probably move
- Lots of learning to come
I don't know why I thought about this yesterday.
Probably because I was singing. I don't sing. Well. I know it and therefore I don't torture people with it. There are a couple songs out there that I can hold my own on. One of them is "Contagioius" by my buddy Garen/Granian/Kill The Alarm.
So anywho, back when I was working in Mexico, I was walking from my room over to the bar in what I thought was solitude. I'm belting this one out like there's no tomorrow.
Sidebar: First time I met Garen, a bunch of us were sitting around a room, drinking some beers and he was playing his geet-tar. It's all well and good and I wasn't paying attention and I was singing along to whatever he was playing. All of a sudden, he just stopped playing and received some questioning looks. He said he wanted to hear me sing. Um, how bouts no?
Right, so turns out I wasn't alone and some of my co-workers had snuck up behind me. The conversation went like this:
Mexican Co-Worker 1: Hey Sunshine, I didn't know you could sing.
Me: I can't.
MCW1: Sure you can, I just heard you.
Mexican Co-Worker 2 to MCW1: Todos los chocolates pueden cantar.*
Me: Uggghhnnnmm. Bye guys.
Only because I hold these two people close did I not kill them. And more because I know that they didn't mean anything by it. Honestly, I don't think they know what racism is, but I can look back at it and laugh. But really, we can't all sing.
*Translation: All the chocolates can sing.
That's what I'm figuring this guy said before he left the house. He was driving this car:
'Cept all his windows were tinted. Black. Even the front. Which is illegal here in the great state of
CubaFlorida. Oh, and his rims were way more, well, blingy. And, if that weren't enough, and I didn't get a picture of this since I was driving, but I did find a neat place to simulate a plate on the net. So, yeah, here's the plate:
It wasn't the regular plate, though, it was a custom one.
Yep, F the po-lice is definitely what this guy is saying.
If you need an explanation, I'll provide it. 🙂
Well, a few of you may remember when I wrote about my last (and by last, I mean previous and final) trip to IHOP. Feel free to refresh your memory here. In case you haven't got time for the full recap, let me just say that my eggs were undercooked like they were trying to poison me, they're always out of something, and some of the other customers are just plain odd.
Yesterday, someone that I do not know commented on that little story. In and of itself, that's great because I like to know that people read my mind diarrhea. Here's what the new comment says:
I have been going to IHOP since I was a little girl. Every Sunday after church, and after important high school events, the place to be was IHOP. I have never been able to impersonate their pancakes, no matter how hard I try. Now as the mother of three, IHOP had been the place where as a treat, we bring our children, for some good food, and a good time. As your slogan says, “Come hungry, Leave happy”.
I was a bit taken aback by this one. Okay that you’ve been going to IHOP forever, probably the same way that I’ve been going to the much better Eat ‘N Park forever, or at least until I moved out of the Pittsburgh area. Okay that you can’t make their pancakes at home. Hey, three kids…good for you. But as MY slogan says?!?!? Oh no. Not my slogan. I have nothing to do with the creation of that slogan especially as it is a lie. Maybe “Come hungry, leave unsatisfied but bloated anyways” would be the slogan if I had written it.
And who, pray tell, left this comment? The mysterious Mrs. W, who created a blog yesterday simply to tell me about how great she thinks IHOP is. I’m no dummy. I know that anyone out there can read a post that I leave public, but I just find this to be strange. Strange like some poor soul in Pancake Central has to go around scouring the internet to find blogs where people talk crap about Big IHOP.
Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it’s just one big co-inky-dink. But maybe I’m right. Maybe Big Brother Full of Pancakes is watching. Maybe if I send Mrs. W my address, I’ll magically receive something from IHOP in the mail (as if I’d send my address to a stranger I think is connected to the Minions of the Breakfast Devil). Certainly I think that the comment was a little odd.
What do you think?