I went to a McDonalds drive-thru, where I think the kid working there saw me coming, poked through the vat of chicken mcnuggets, and proceeded to take out every disgusting, cartilage-y one and gave them to me. Super gross.
I HATE this venus flytrap. It just won't grow, sprout, whatever. I've been nursing this stupid pot of dirt for way too long and I haven't reaped any benefits. Makes me so mad. Today I went to some store with my mother in law called, ahem, The Christmas Tree Shoppe. They didn't have not one Christmas tree. I bought a really nice cake plate, though.
So, last night after the Linn family left I watched Rent. For Kelly's 19th birthday I bought her tickets to see the show on Broadway- horrible nosebleed seats, but I was only 19 and probably had to work a month to be able to afford them. I recall not really being that into it, Kelly liked it, but I didn't jive so much with it. I don't live an impoverished lifestyle, I don't have AIDS, and as sad as it may be, I don't have any cross dressing friends-- that I know about. I'm also not a starving artist. I'm not starving in any aspect. For those reasons I didn't feel it, added to that the fact that during intermission we went to a chichi shoe boutique... I remember a pair of turquoise pumps more vividly than any song and dance number offered up in the play. Anyway, the movie- 10 years later and I still don't really jive with it. I mean, I get it, it supposedly speaks of a certain generation or something. But, still. At one point in the movie you're actually relieved to find out that Mimi, the Latina stripper/junkie has AIDS so that she can pursue a romantic relationship with Roger, the rock and roll guitarist. What kind of story makes you hope someone has a fatal disease? This kind, apparently.
I have been sitting home patiently waiting to attend my nephew's fifth birthday party for like an hour and a half already. I'm sick of patiently waiting. If I didn't spend a half hour making goody bags for the little snotrags, I'd just as soon not go. I love my nephew and all, but it's at a bowling alley. Eww. Other people's feet. I'm wearing sneakers (actual full blown rubber bottomed sneakers) in the hopes that they will do and I won't have to wear bowling shoes. But, just in case, I've stashed some socks in my purse-- in true old lady form. I think that only fabulous gay men share in my belief that socks are just wrong 90% of the time (don't ask me where I pulled that belief out of).
I have watched Charlie and the Chocolate Factory about 40 times. I just can't not watch it when it's on, or change the channel once I flick to it. It's like some sick obsession or something. I was the same way when Sin City started showing on cable. I have the dvds, and I went to see Charlie in the movies, plus, I like them, but not that much. It's a disease!
Today I am trying my hand at cooking a corned beef. I'm sure something is not going to turn out right, but whatever. I told Drew we could make a day of it, I'll spend all day simmering corned beef and boiling potatoes, and he could get drunk and smack me around. It'll be fun!
I have a wedding to go to in September and I'm trying to pull something together to wear now. I've spotted a few pairs of shoes I like, but I'm not sure how I should wear them. I was thinking of a simple black wrap dress, these really lovely open toe leopard platforms, and a red flower for my hair. Is that too much for a wedding? Plus, the shoes have a wooden heel. I don't know how I feel about a wooden heel paired with black. I'd like to do something fun and different, but I'm always scared I'm going to take my outfit one step too far, out of the realm of chic and into the realm of crazy lady. Plus, I single handedly (no pun intended) want to make wrist length gloves appropriate for social occasions, but I don't think anyone will "get it". I need a fashion guru.
I had this guy come in to my work today completely shitfaced. He was so drunk he made me feel a little tipsy. Who goes to the bank drunk at 1 in the afternoon? He told me he needed to close his account, he was taking all his money out. After some silly small talk about him coming back in a few months with the same tattoo I have on my arm, wouldn't that be funny, he'd like to sit by a stream, so on and so forth, he concluded that he'd had a bad week and needed to "get away to someplace better". Oh, and by all his money he meant $267.00, with which he was leaving town. On a bicycle. Drunk. On some level it must be nice to not give a shit, just decide one day you want to tie one on and roam the world on a 10 speed. Who am I to judge? He wasn't sitting behind a desk for 8 hours making fun of his coworkers in their absence and mindlessly thumbing a Fangoria magazine.