Breaking a pattern of trustworthiness, I've thrown caution to the wind and called in sick. Yes, that's right--I have today off. Well, illegitimately. But illegitimately counts! So what am I doing with my ill-gotten day?
Nothing constructive. It feels fabulous.
I hope this isn't some disintigration of personality where I'm going to just keep calling in sick until they fire me, thereby launching my career as Total Slacker and Bum. But it might be. I mean...this is uncharacteristic of me. I'm scaring myself. :-0
giggle
So what's on the agenda for today? I'm going to go visit a friend who is running a restaurant-stand thingy, and then I'm going to pick up laundry detergent, and then I'm going to maybe watch TV, but probably study for my final in two weeks.
I am so totally looking forward to the shopping part. It's detergent, but detergent counts as shopping. Even if detergent doesn't technically count as shopping, it counts as shopping considering that it's not just detergent. I also have to get Plax, fabric softener, and dryer sheets. Now that is shopping.
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Radioactive spiders
One last thing:
I really love Christmas lights, but some houses end up looking like they’re inhabited by radioactive spiders. I mean, good god—it’s supposed to enhance the house and lawn—not obliterate them!
I really love Christmas lights, but some houses end up looking like they’re inhabited by radioactive spiders. I mean, good god—it’s supposed to enhance the house and lawn—not obliterate them!
Friday, November 26, 2004
A Shopping Trip Now Redux
Wowwy-cool! I posted my last post from my cell phone! That rocks, though I don’t have a lot of room to write a full post. Butsoanyway… I slunk off early to go shopping (or is that slinked?), and let me tell you—it was fun! I know I said before that I needed to go shopping like I needed another hole in my head, but I…ummm…wasn’t…errr…talking about…ummm…oh, I never said that. No, really—I didn’t. You misunderstood! It wasn’t me! I was speaking metaphorically! Never did the thought occur to me! I’m being maligned by the liberal media!
Well, it works for politicians.
I went out for lunch and spooged something on the right side of my shirt because I am as graceless and clumsy as they come. It was so obvious because it was a grey shirt, so I had to decide to either forge ahead into the heart of shopping darkness looking like a dorkburgerweeniegirl, or skulk back home and change.
“To hell with that,” thought I, “I’m made of tougher stuff! There’ll be no mincing back home to change the pinafore—I must progress--or die!”
I got a few strange looks with that one; perhaps I shouldn’t have said it out loud. ;-)
So I hustled my butt down to the mall. I had to vulture around the parking lot for at least twenty minutes, but I finally found a space. The place was crowded as hell. I immediately went and bought a new shirt. Ok, so I’m not made of tougher stuff; I lied. Get over it. My new shirt is a really gorgeous purple one, with some green and grey in it. I had a lot of time to admire it as I stood in line for the bathroom to change into it. Yeah, I know—halfway through standing there, I realized I could have gone into the fitting room.
Not too bright. I know.
Ok—so then I was dressed and stuff and didn’t look like a major pig anymore. I found the coolest sparkly Givenchy dangly junk jewellery earrings that matched my new shirt, and it would’ve looked really way-cool with my hair up and a lot of eyeliner and mascara on. And high heels. And a matching sparkly choker. And I would really, really look way-cool with a new purse, too…
Then I realized I was shopping for myself. Damnit.
Ok. So I put the earrings back. I did find a pretty blouse for my mom, and I would have gotten her usual perfume, but she’s decided she likes Imari, from Avon, in the past few months, so I’ll have to go get that elsewhere. I tried to not buy the PWP Esteé Lauder had, but I failed. So I suck, maybe, but I totally blame the Bing-Bing noise they play in department stores noise for subliminally making me shop against my will.
In case you didn’t know, the Bing-Bing noise causes your brain to go all mushy, and you can’t think. The only thing that undoes the destruction of the Bing-Bing noise is the Bloodleoodleoop noise made by the credit card reader. It’s very pernicious. Swear to god—I read it in like maybe that Vance Packard book. Maybe.
Ok, so some of it I might have embellished a little.
After I did the department store shopping thing, I went out into the main part of the mall; I wanted to get a DVD for my son-friend, and I had a coupon for $10 off any purchase at Origins left over from my birthday. They have this great charcoal sludge that sucks the junk out of your skin. It rocks.
Ok; on to fugly pictures: As I was walking to Origins, I passed by the Thomas Kinkade—Painter of People That Have Never Heard of Energy Conservation store, where they sell all of his paintings. Ok, I’m exaggerating. His paintings aren’t fugly. Some of those things are pretty expensive! And, sure—he’s good. I’m not debating that. But does everyone always have to have every light in the damn house a-blazing away in the middle of the day? And it’s not even done in a way that’s surprising, or contrasting, like Magritte’s Empire of Light. Why can’t he pick one—preferably leaving the lights on inside, but lower, and the sky darker, as if it were dusk? Frankly, there’s too much light, and I can always hear my mother yelling, “doesn’t anyone know how to turn a light switch off in this house?!?” whenever I look at his paintings. I love the idea of Kinkade’s stuff; some of the scenes are amazingly beautiful (but remember, I’m a girl that loves the warm, cozy cottages kind of thing to begin with, so I’m an easy sell), and he’s raised the bar on motel art for sure. For my personal preferences, I prefer others more, but…he could suck worse. Ok, end of Ancodia’s art review.
I shopped for what felt to my feet like centuries (I was actually glad by the end of it that I didn’t buy new high heels to wear), and then I went to another mall with my sister to do the browsing for knicknacks for work-friends and acquaintance-friends stuff. I still have all of that shopping to do, because in the middle of it, we decided that we just didn’t feel like shopping anymore, so we went to leave. As I was about to pull out onto the main road, there was an accident in the mall parking lot—a car ran over a motorcycle. The driver of the motorcycle wasn’t hurt; he was going slowly enough that he actually jumped off the bike before the car rolled over it—go figure, huh? But the car also knocked him to the ground and rolled over his bike. My sister saw more of it than I did, so we stopped to see if anyone needed help, and the motorcycle rider said if we witnessed it to stay, so we did. Then there was drama—the motorcycle rider’s girlfriend showed up (they’d just been to dinner at the mall), and mall security came, and the guy in the car didn’t have a driver’s license, and so on. After the police left, we decided to be really indulgent and go to The Cheesecake Factory. We were seated next to a couple that argued—loudly—throughout the meal whether or not Rick James was dead, if Teena Marie was in the Mary Jane Girls, and if Teena Marie was actually Rick James’ daughter or his cousin, what type of couch Rick James had, and whether or not Teena Marie probably had one, too—you name it. It was just weird as hell. I mean, I have dreams that are less bizarre than their dinner conversation was. At one point, I asked my sister if she thought Appollonia’s Barcalounger could whup Vanity’s La Z Boy, and what she thought Prince might have to say about that, and can you believe the bitch gave me the “shut-up” eyes and kicked me under the table???
I’ll have to save the rest for later…I’m getting really tired. But today was fun. :-) It’s the first Black Friday I’ve gotten to shop in about five years—every other year, I’ve been working. So that was good. That was really very, very good, so Ancodia’s a happy girl today!
’night.
Well, it works for politicians.
I went out for lunch and spooged something on the right side of my shirt because I am as graceless and clumsy as they come. It was so obvious because it was a grey shirt, so I had to decide to either forge ahead into the heart of shopping darkness looking like a dorkburgerweeniegirl, or skulk back home and change.
“To hell with that,” thought I, “I’m made of tougher stuff! There’ll be no mincing back home to change the pinafore—I must progress--or die!”
I got a few strange looks with that one; perhaps I shouldn’t have said it out loud. ;-)
So I hustled my butt down to the mall. I had to vulture around the parking lot for at least twenty minutes, but I finally found a space. The place was crowded as hell. I immediately went and bought a new shirt. Ok, so I’m not made of tougher stuff; I lied. Get over it. My new shirt is a really gorgeous purple one, with some green and grey in it. I had a lot of time to admire it as I stood in line for the bathroom to change into it. Yeah, I know—halfway through standing there, I realized I could have gone into the fitting room.
Not too bright. I know.
Ok—so then I was dressed and stuff and didn’t look like a major pig anymore. I found the coolest sparkly Givenchy dangly junk jewellery earrings that matched my new shirt, and it would’ve looked really way-cool with my hair up and a lot of eyeliner and mascara on. And high heels. And a matching sparkly choker. And I would really, really look way-cool with a new purse, too…
Then I realized I was shopping for myself. Damnit.
Ok. So I put the earrings back. I did find a pretty blouse for my mom, and I would have gotten her usual perfume, but she’s decided she likes Imari, from Avon, in the past few months, so I’ll have to go get that elsewhere. I tried to not buy the PWP Esteé Lauder had, but I failed. So I suck, maybe, but I totally blame the Bing-Bing noise they play in department stores noise for subliminally making me shop against my will.
In case you didn’t know, the Bing-Bing noise causes your brain to go all mushy, and you can’t think. The only thing that undoes the destruction of the Bing-Bing noise is the Bloodleoodleoop noise made by the credit card reader. It’s very pernicious. Swear to god—I read it in like maybe that Vance Packard book. Maybe.
Ok, so some of it I might have embellished a little.
After I did the department store shopping thing, I went out into the main part of the mall; I wanted to get a DVD for my son-friend, and I had a coupon for $10 off any purchase at Origins left over from my birthday. They have this great charcoal sludge that sucks the junk out of your skin. It rocks.
Ok; on to fugly pictures: As I was walking to Origins, I passed by the Thomas Kinkade—Painter of People That Have Never Heard of Energy Conservation store, where they sell all of his paintings. Ok, I’m exaggerating. His paintings aren’t fugly. Some of those things are pretty expensive! And, sure—he’s good. I’m not debating that. But does everyone always have to have every light in the damn house a-blazing away in the middle of the day? And it’s not even done in a way that’s surprising, or contrasting, like Magritte’s Empire of Light. Why can’t he pick one—preferably leaving the lights on inside, but lower, and the sky darker, as if it were dusk? Frankly, there’s too much light, and I can always hear my mother yelling, “doesn’t anyone know how to turn a light switch off in this house?!?” whenever I look at his paintings. I love the idea of Kinkade’s stuff; some of the scenes are amazingly beautiful (but remember, I’m a girl that loves the warm, cozy cottages kind of thing to begin with, so I’m an easy sell), and he’s raised the bar on motel art for sure. For my personal preferences, I prefer others more, but…he could suck worse. Ok, end of Ancodia’s art review.
I shopped for what felt to my feet like centuries (I was actually glad by the end of it that I didn’t buy new high heels to wear), and then I went to another mall with my sister to do the browsing for knicknacks for work-friends and acquaintance-friends stuff. I still have all of that shopping to do, because in the middle of it, we decided that we just didn’t feel like shopping anymore, so we went to leave. As I was about to pull out onto the main road, there was an accident in the mall parking lot—a car ran over a motorcycle. The driver of the motorcycle wasn’t hurt; he was going slowly enough that he actually jumped off the bike before the car rolled over it—go figure, huh? But the car also knocked him to the ground and rolled over his bike. My sister saw more of it than I did, so we stopped to see if anyone needed help, and the motorcycle rider said if we witnessed it to stay, so we did. Then there was drama—the motorcycle rider’s girlfriend showed up (they’d just been to dinner at the mall), and mall security came, and the guy in the car didn’t have a driver’s license, and so on. After the police left, we decided to be really indulgent and go to The Cheesecake Factory. We were seated next to a couple that argued—loudly—throughout the meal whether or not Rick James was dead, if Teena Marie was in the Mary Jane Girls, and if Teena Marie was actually Rick James’ daughter or his cousin, what type of couch Rick James had, and whether or not Teena Marie probably had one, too—you name it. It was just weird as hell. I mean, I have dreams that are less bizarre than their dinner conversation was. At one point, I asked my sister if she thought Appollonia’s Barcalounger could whup Vanity’s La Z Boy, and what she thought Prince might have to say about that, and can you believe the bitch gave me the “shut-up” eyes and kicked me under the table???
I’ll have to save the rest for later…I’m getting really tired. But today was fun. :-) It’s the first Black Friday I’ve gotten to shop in about five years—every other year, I’ve been working. So that was good. That was really very, very good, so Ancodia’s a happy girl today!
’night.
This is living! a/k/a A Shopping Trip Now
Shopping, fugly pictures, car crashes, and Christmas lights done by radioactive spiders... What more could a girl want?
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Oh, craps.
Ok... I turned in my reviews, and I hit the open road for a pre-Thanksgiving getaway. I had nowhere else to go, so I went gambling on a ship. I played craps for about five hours, and I won a little bit. Not counting my initial investment--I don't count that as winnings. I'm not bold; I mostly made line bets, I think they're called. I have the attention span of a gnat, and every time I play craps, I have to relearn it, it seems. Well, that, and I play fairly infrequently. The last time I played was in April, when I had to pass through Atlantic City on my way to Boston (I flew up, stayed the day in Atlantic City, and then rented a car and drove on to Providence and then Boston on business). Next time I play, I'll probably lose--that's the way it goes. If I thought it would go any differently, I'd raise money for my son-friend by playing all the time. :- )
I went to play for a few reasons. Number one was that I had nothing else to do. Number two was that, well, I'm a social creature, and craps is a social game. Thirdliest is because some of the employees are cute as hell.
Number one is an oft-visited theme; I really don't have all that much I can do in my spare time when I do have spare time. So I have a few things that are easy enough to just pick up where I left off. I really didn't feel like studying on Wednesday, I didn't feel like reading, or watching TV, or anything that was solitary. I need to go shopping like I need another hole in my head, plus shopping isn't exactly social. I mean, true, you talk to salesclerks, but there's not any...real talking. Or fun. Playing craps is very social, like almost instantaneously. I think it's probably like the camaraderie of the trenches, or something. :-) But there's almost always high spirits, joking, and you can talk to just about anyone. Some people are weirdass turkey freaks, but s'ok--most of them are very nice and funny people. And whenever I play table games, I usually start out at the low tables, so it's not all that expensive. And one of the boxmen we had was attractive in an oh-my-god way...
Ok. I know I'm pathetic. This also is an oft-visited theme. And the scary part is, I know it. Because I've been this way all of my life--and the sad fact of my life is that I don't fall in lust with those whom my friends think of as superhotties. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've been teased about it. But guys in formal dress have a soupçon of unapproachable sexiness anyway. Add to that the kind of...I don't know--tired seriousness?--this guy had, and I'm attracted. Not that anyone like that would probably put up with me for a minute (I have an inclination towards silliness that sometimes rears its goofy head. Oh--ok, ok: most of the time I'm a goofy pain-in-the-ass klutzy moron), but nonetheless...I think it's sexy. I think it has something to do with looking so serious, maybe; thousands of very dirty, appealing ways to alleviate that preoccupation swarm into my mind that most all involve my mouth and various parts of his body. And this guy...I mean he was really, amazingly fucking beautiful, and if I had any guts (and it weren't in some setting where there's not a proverbial snowball's chance in hell), I would have... Oh, hell--I would have done absolutely nothing. We all know this. Sigh.
Oh--wait--I've lost the added, "if I had any guts" in medias res; my bad. An astronomical amount hinges upon that part. Like the entire issue of my doing anything. :-) Perhaps I should start drinking--that might give me added confidence! ohhhh...let's see... After the three or four Long Island Iced Teas required to comfy me up a bit, I could sashay (eh--you say trip, stumble, and fall; I say sashay. It's artistic license) over to stand next to third base. Then, over the din, I announce my proposal:
Ancodia: I came here to lose $x. It's yours if you come upstairs with me after you get off.
Third: Well, thank you Ma'am, but I'm married. And...
Ancodia: I'm not talking to you, buttmunch.
Third: Could I also point out...
Ancodia: Wouldja shut the hell up? I am *so* not talking to you! Waitress! Another Long Island, please!
Third: I think you've had enough, and I'd like to point out...
Ancodia: Shuup! I'm trying to make a proposition here!
Boxman: May I help you?
Ancodia: ummm...just a sec; I've gotta drink this first... ::tips waitress, drinks fifth LI Tea in one gulp::
Third: Ma'am, you can't set your empty glass on the table. Now might I point out before this goes any further that...
Ancodia: Shaddap! You schtiffd me onna field bet 'bout three throws ago. Plus you're married. So shaddap! As I was schaying b'fore...
Third: Ma'am, could you say it without leaning across me and putting your hands on the table?
Ancodia: I need the schtability.
Third: I don't care. It's against the rules. And could I point out Ma'am, that...
Ancodia: SCHADDAP! Ok--I'm offa your schilly table. ::falls backward into pit::
Pit Boss: Is there a problem here?
Ancodia: Noddaddall. I'mma try this one more time. An' couldja tell dorkus here to shaddap furra sec? He schtiffed me and then knocked me inna head wiffis stick b'fore. An' 'e's married. I'm so not innerested innis 'pinion...
Third: Ma'am, I've apologised to you for the stick.
Ancodia: SCHADDAP!
Pit Boss: Ok, ok--let her talk.
Ancodia: Thannya. As I wash sayin', I thinkyer gorgeous...
Third: Well, thank you. But you have to realise that this...
Ancodia: Imma grab his goddam schtick over there and shove it upyer assh if you say one more word.
Pit Boss: Let her say whatever she wants to say.
Ancodia: Thannya. Why's the damn room schpinnin'?
Pit Boss: Ma'am, what is it that you want?
Ancodia: I wanna talkta him. ::points to the Boxman; the Pit Boss motions for him to come over::
Boxman: Yes?
Ancodia: ::grabbing the Boxman by the lapels:: I gotta schtay up, ok? Jus' work wif me here...
Boxman: And?
Ancodia: Anneye think yer absofuckinglootly gorgeous. Anneye'll pay youta come upschtairs wif me affer you geddoff, anneye...
Third: I'd really like to point out that...
Ancodia: Shuup, jerk.
Boxman: Is that all?
Ancodia: Ohellno; I'm offerinya tha 'posal ovva lifetime. I'll payya, you hafta do nothin'. Schwear.
Third: If I could...
Ancodia: Well, 'cept I wanna kissya. 'Least once. Other'n that, tho', nothin'
Third: Could I...
Ancodia: Whaadya want thass so damn 'portant?!?
Third: I'd like to just mention that this is a cruise ship. There is no "upstairs," at least not in the manner you're thinking.
Ancodia: Ohshit.
Third: I've tried several times...
Ancodia: Ummm...yeah. Ummm...lemme work out the logistics then; I jus' hafta revise a bit...
Third: Been trying to tell you.
Ancodia: Ummm...shaap an' lemme think...
Third: For quite a while.
Ancodia: [to Third] Shaddap. [to Boxman] How'bout yer place? Eyeshoont be drivin' anytime soon...
Pit Boss: Ma'am, I think you might want to come with me...
Ancodia: No. I wanna go make Boxy here's night.
Pit Boss: Why don't you let the nice security officer take you for a walk outside for some fresh air?
Ancodia: I don' think walkin' sagood idea. An' I think I'm gettin' somewhere wif Boxy.
Security: Come this way, please. ::pulls Ancodia towards the door::
Ancodia: Wairress! Bringga Tea ou'side, k? Imma be the one prolly in handcuffs walkin' the gangplank...
So maybe drinking's not such a good idea. :-) Sigh.
I went to play for a few reasons. Number one was that I had nothing else to do. Number two was that, well, I'm a social creature, and craps is a social game. Thirdliest is because some of the employees are cute as hell.
Number one is an oft-visited theme; I really don't have all that much I can do in my spare time when I do have spare time. So I have a few things that are easy enough to just pick up where I left off. I really didn't feel like studying on Wednesday, I didn't feel like reading, or watching TV, or anything that was solitary. I need to go shopping like I need another hole in my head, plus shopping isn't exactly social. I mean, true, you talk to salesclerks, but there's not any...real talking. Or fun. Playing craps is very social, like almost instantaneously. I think it's probably like the camaraderie of the trenches, or something. :-) But there's almost always high spirits, joking, and you can talk to just about anyone. Some people are weirdass turkey freaks, but s'ok--most of them are very nice and funny people. And whenever I play table games, I usually start out at the low tables, so it's not all that expensive. And one of the boxmen we had was attractive in an oh-my-god way...
Ok. I know I'm pathetic. This also is an oft-visited theme. And the scary part is, I know it. Because I've been this way all of my life--and the sad fact of my life is that I don't fall in lust with those whom my friends think of as superhotties. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've been teased about it. But guys in formal dress have a soupçon of unapproachable sexiness anyway. Add to that the kind of...I don't know--tired seriousness?--this guy had, and I'm attracted. Not that anyone like that would probably put up with me for a minute (I have an inclination towards silliness that sometimes rears its goofy head. Oh--ok, ok: most of the time I'm a goofy pain-in-the-ass klutzy moron), but nonetheless...I think it's sexy. I think it has something to do with looking so serious, maybe; thousands of very dirty, appealing ways to alleviate that preoccupation swarm into my mind that most all involve my mouth and various parts of his body. And this guy...I mean he was really, amazingly fucking beautiful, and if I had any guts (and it weren't in some setting where there's not a proverbial snowball's chance in hell), I would have... Oh, hell--I would have done absolutely nothing. We all know this. Sigh.
Oh--wait--I've lost the added, "if I had any guts" in medias res; my bad. An astronomical amount hinges upon that part. Like the entire issue of my doing anything. :-) Perhaps I should start drinking--that might give me added confidence! ohhhh...let's see... After the three or four Long Island Iced Teas required to comfy me up a bit, I could sashay (eh--you say trip, stumble, and fall; I say sashay. It's artistic license) over to stand next to third base. Then, over the din, I announce my proposal:
Ancodia: I came here to lose $x. It's yours if you come upstairs with me after you get off.
Third: Well, thank you Ma'am, but I'm married. And...
Ancodia: I'm not talking to you, buttmunch.
Third: Could I also point out...
Ancodia: Wouldja shut the hell up? I am *so* not talking to you! Waitress! Another Long Island, please!
Third: I think you've had enough, and I'd like to point out...
Ancodia: Shuup! I'm trying to make a proposition here!
Boxman: May I help you?
Ancodia: ummm...just a sec; I've gotta drink this first... ::tips waitress, drinks fifth LI Tea in one gulp::
Third: Ma'am, you can't set your empty glass on the table. Now might I point out before this goes any further that...
Ancodia: Shaddap! You schtiffd me onna field bet 'bout three throws ago. Plus you're married. So shaddap! As I was schaying b'fore...
Third: Ma'am, could you say it without leaning across me and putting your hands on the table?
Ancodia: I need the schtability.
Third: I don't care. It's against the rules. And could I point out Ma'am, that...
Ancodia: SCHADDAP! Ok--I'm offa your schilly table. ::falls backward into pit::
Pit Boss: Is there a problem here?
Ancodia: Noddaddall. I'mma try this one more time. An' couldja tell dorkus here to shaddap furra sec? He schtiffed me and then knocked me inna head wiffis stick b'fore. An' 'e's married. I'm so not innerested innis 'pinion...
Third: Ma'am, I've apologised to you for the stick.
Ancodia: SCHADDAP!
Pit Boss: Ok, ok--let her talk.
Ancodia: Thannya. As I wash sayin', I thinkyer gorgeous...
Third: Well, thank you. But you have to realise that this...
Ancodia: Imma grab his goddam schtick over there and shove it upyer assh if you say one more word.
Pit Boss: Let her say whatever she wants to say.
Ancodia: Thannya. Why's the damn room schpinnin'?
Pit Boss: Ma'am, what is it that you want?
Ancodia: I wanna talkta him. ::points to the Boxman; the Pit Boss motions for him to come over::
Boxman: Yes?
Ancodia: ::grabbing the Boxman by the lapels:: I gotta schtay up, ok? Jus' work wif me here...
Boxman: And?
Ancodia: Anneye think yer absofuckinglootly gorgeous. Anneye'll pay youta come upschtairs wif me affer you geddoff, anneye...
Third: I'd really like to point out that...
Ancodia: Shuup, jerk.
Boxman: Is that all?
Ancodia: Ohellno; I'm offerinya tha 'posal ovva lifetime. I'll payya, you hafta do nothin'. Schwear.
Third: If I could...
Ancodia: Well, 'cept I wanna kissya. 'Least once. Other'n that, tho', nothin'
Third: Could I...
Ancodia: Whaadya want thass so damn 'portant?!?
Third: I'd like to just mention that this is a cruise ship. There is no "upstairs," at least not in the manner you're thinking.
Ancodia: Ohshit.
Third: I've tried several times...
Ancodia: Ummm...yeah. Ummm...lemme work out the logistics then; I jus' hafta revise a bit...
Third: Been trying to tell you.
Ancodia: Ummm...shaap an' lemme think...
Third: For quite a while.
Ancodia: [to Third] Shaddap. [to Boxman] How'bout yer place? Eyeshoont be drivin' anytime soon...
Pit Boss: Ma'am, I think you might want to come with me...
Ancodia: No. I wanna go make Boxy here's night.
Pit Boss: Why don't you let the nice security officer take you for a walk outside for some fresh air?
Ancodia: I don' think walkin' sagood idea. An' I think I'm gettin' somewhere wif Boxy.
Security: Come this way, please. ::pulls Ancodia towards the door::
Ancodia: Wairress! Bringga Tea ou'side, k? Imma be the one prolly in handcuffs walkin' the gangplank...
So maybe drinking's not such a good idea. :-) Sigh.
Happy Thanksgiving!
I guess I'm off to Chinesefoodland. The upside of this is that I'll get more fortune cookie fortunes. Yay!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
