Sunday, November 27, 2005

The Horror, The Horror(ish)!

Okay, this blog has gone depressingly downhill. Basically, I've begun to resort to one of three options. A) Be random and utterly ridiculous which would be a vain attempt as I could never outdo the chaotic randonimity that is Monsieur Miller. B) Be serious and offer insights and connections, thus making my blog completely depressing as it would be no fun to read. or C) post about my life and the odd goings-on of my day, which comes off as self-absorbed and really isn't that interesting anyway... Hm. Well, as Skippy witnessed in the car today, my brain moves rather quickly, so I'll just start typing and hope for the best.

For the past several years there has been a war raging in my household. No, not between the members of my family (though that is gruesome as well). The conflict lies, of course, between myself and the plastic bread bag. You know how loaves of bread are packaged 'conveniently' in the little plastic bags and secured efficiently with a twistie-tie? Yeah, that method is absolute crap in a wrapper. Every time I desire to eat a slice of carb-y goodness, that evil nickel's logo stares me down into a little hole somewhere in the furthest reaches of the Arctic Circle. The plastic crinkles and whimpers as I toss and turn it around, attempting to unravel the mess that is the mutilated yellow twistie. With a few more rotations and one final yank, I manage to free a few pieces from their ghastly prison. Now, here's the clincher: closing the bag. I just love the fact that no matter how many times you press all the air out and get it flat, there's always air in the bag when you reseal it. Always. Sure, it may escape eventually, but that's a whole half an hour or so of trapped air making the bread all nasty and stale. I'm sorry, but bread is sustenance, meant to be moist and delectable, not stale. Stale bread is about as yummy as my dead hamster's frozen carcass.

My old hamster suffered a truly tragic death. Now, in case you weren't aware, hamsters are only meant to live 2-3 years. Mine lived 5. Thus, the final days of Skitter's life were not those of valiant escapes or record wheel-running times. No no, rather, Skitter spent his last 72 hours on this earth trying to make it from his wheel to his water bottle. I went to bed one night and he was lifting his left foot, I woke up and he was lifting his right. Now, I may laugh at certain debatably serious parts in movies, but this was no laughing matter. This was one pathetic hamster, and I loved him very much. So, to numb the pain and hurry his death, I put him in a box with a few of his favorite yogurt drops and some shredded paper, and left him outside. It was January. One can only hope that I somehow developed the first cryogenically preserved rodent...

Anyway, tonight was fun. Busted a few windows at Ado, looked like a cute Uncle Fester at Rocco's, and saw a great ND finish. Bon voyage.


At November 28, 2005 12:51 AM, Blogger Andy said...

Yeah sorry bout the commentlessness you've been facing. Seems like you went with option A (the randomness). I bet you wrote the random part of the post in under 3 minutes. You're brain flies from one tangent to the next like nobody's business. Anyway if I had to guess I'd say the war between you and your internet has been a bit more brutal over the years than between bread bags. That internet has been cutting your supply lines for some time.


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