Seen & Heard (or) How I Spent My Sunday

So, I worked a double at the restaurant today. Being a Sunday, it was fairly slow, but of course, we try to keep laughing, keep busy, and keep entertained.

The first laughter-to-tears moment of the day happened after M & I stopped for coffee & a bagel before heading in to work, which is part of our regular routine.

As we approached my car, I gestured to the passenger side rear window and exclaimed, "I'm so glad that the torrential rain on Friday night washed all the seagull poop off my car!"

Not three seconds later, a seagull missed M by mere inches and dirtied the very same window that had been recently rained clean.

How does this happen?

The second hysterical moment came when the first table of the day handed their dirty chowder cup to their server for her to clear, and told her that they put their topical steroid in there because they were done with it, but that there was more in the tube and so she should "feel free to use it for any bites or itches" if she needed it. Are these people serious?


Then, since I had the camera out to document the topical steroid incident, I couldn't resist another picture when, while M was cutting fruit, I happened upon this:

Love Sundays. Love watermelon.

Good Morning, Joey, Johnny, Dee Dee, Marky & Tommy

Lately, I have been favoring my Ramones anthology disc two for breakfast. I push it in before my morning shower and the boys serenade me until I leave for work.

Many years ago, back when my little sister sported braces, I had dark-rimmed glasses, wore cardigans every day, and had super-short hai... oh, wait. Damn. Anyway - my sister was definitely in braces.

Ahem.

So, way back then, my dad, my sister, R and I went to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Ohio. We drove, those of us able to drive took turns at the wheel, and then we stayed in a hotel in Canton for a night or two when we got there.

It was awesome.

Anyway, besides that the featured exhibition was all about the Beatles, and pretty cool in and of itself, the Ramones had just been inducted. So, there was a plethora of Ramones paraphernalia everywhere you looked.

So with my pennies saved from my part time job, I bought the Hey Ho Let's Go two disc anthology. It was probably the most I had spent on one piece of music at that point in my life.

Anyway, now I only have disc two; disc one probably lingers somewhere in either R's or my sister's CD collection.

I suggest you try spending your early morning hours with The KKK Took My Baby Away, Psychotherapy, We Want the Airwaves, and - how apropos - It's Not My Place In the Nine to Five World.

It's motivating. And fun.

Tag, You're It

So, among my weird anxieties there exists one about being chased which translates into my refusal to participate in any games which require chasing - such as tag, dodgeball or manhunt.

But, I mean, really, in my defense, who the eff wants to play a game called manhunt anyway? A game is supposed to be fun, it is not supposed to imply hunting other humans. Geesh.

But, then again, what's dating but hunting your preferred gender? Hm. I'm channeling a moment in Wedding Crashers here, I think. In fact, I'm sure I am. The quail scene... anyone? Anyway, I digress.

Okay, so the point is: I do not like being chased.

Oh, also, I hate go karts and things of that nature, as well. Just, basically, whatever you do - don't chase me. Don't chase me on foot, don't chase me with a ball, don't chase me in a little tiny car. Thanks.

So, anyway, my realization for today is that, in fact, I do enjoy some chasing every now and again. However, I like the proverbial chase, not the literal one.

If you say you aren't chasing me, I'll want you to. If you are chasing me, I'll wish you weren't.

Ah, this is so me: the ever fickle, ever searching-for-greener-pastures, ever unsure, ever uphill-battling.

Settle? Nope. Contentment? Nuh-huh. How about a difficult journey? Now you're on to something! How about a difficult journey that will make you question everything, run you through a gamut of emotions, and never actually resolve at a conclusion? Oooooh. Yes! Pick me! Pick me!

Decisions, (In)Decisions

Maybe I'm not so good at compromise.

Ahem. The preceding admission is the understatement of the century. I know I can be a brat.

I want an oompa loompa and I want it now!

And now, I think I know what I want, and I think I'm ready for it. But, if it's the right thing... why is it so damn difficult? What's with the resistance? Ugh.

I just want it my way.

And though I won't necessary do it quietly, I'll probably stick around patiently until the situation is resolved.

But why does it have to take so much effort?

Geesh.

I'm going to go read up on hostile takeovers.