7:22
It's that time again.
Runts are an underrated candy. However, am I imagining this or is the blue flavor a new development? It seems to taste like "blue raspberry", which is a theoretical fruit. It could exist, and it would taste pretty good, but it doesn't. Whatever. Runts. Eat them.
I think there should be "Your Welcome" cards. This idea came to me while I was at Emma's house and her mom was complaining that she never got a thank you card from someone. This is the first time I had ever considered the possibility that someone would seriously expect to get a thank you card and eagerly anticipate it and then be dissappointed when it didn't arrive. Anyway, "Your Welcome" cards would come in 2 varieties: the sincere "You're Welcome." and the sarcastically badgering, "You're WELCOME!"
I was actually going to bring this up at the time when she was complaining about not recieving the card, but she changed the subject just as I was about to open my mouth. Probably for the better.
So, my uncle finally got tired of me sitting around at his house and getting paid for it, so now I don't start work until 9:30 instead of 8:30, which is a really welcome change. I need the sleep. Today, I did actual work for 4 hours. wow. Except, "working" only involved standing next to a laser gun and shooting it at stuff every 30 seconds or so. 30 seconds of work alternating with 30 seconds of standing and waiting. I was mostly singing, beat-boxing, and doing air guitar solos with my voice as the amp. At one point I "wrote" a pretty sweet guitar riff and had a kickin' bass line to go with it, but the songs that exist in my head don't translate well to actual songs because I can't play any traditional melodic instruments. My lyrics ranged from songs about being lost in the desert to killing the queen of england with a bowie knife to climbing mount everest with no limbs. It was pretty avant-garde stuff. You probably wouldn't get it.
One day last week, I got into a fight with my parents which escalated to the point of screaming. Those of you who know my parents and haven't heard the story yet probably just cocked your heads sideways and reread that last sentence, but it's true. If you've heard it, I'll give you the luxury of a nice paragraph break here.
So, I came up the stairs from my basement after telling Matt I was going to come over to his house. My Dad throws the dish towel at me and tells me to dry the dishes. I throw it back at his face. Short back story: My parents had had a short fight about my dad leaving wet towels for my mom after showering. So, I said, "you should do it, dad. You know all about wet towels."
He then brought out the old, "You never do anything around here."
I took that opportunity to bring up that I had just taken a day out of my life to do them a favor by driving my brother back to Wisconsin and missing a day of work... even paying for gas. My dad threw back, "Oh, you gave us one day. Thanks. How many days have you been alive? You're welcome."
I dusted off the reliable, "I DIDN'T ASK TO BE BORN!!!" at the top of my lungs.
Then I went of on a tirade which, if transcribed, would look something like this:
"They're YOUR fucking dishes, Dad. I didn't want them. I didn't bring them here. They aren't MY responsibility. If I brought home a puppy and made you and mom take care of it for me all the time, you'd send the puppy to the farm to play with the other puppies, wouldn't you? Well, fuck! Why don't I send your plates to the Goddamn plate farm, huh?! You want that?! Take care of your SHIT!"
Of course, my dad being my dad calmly told me, "Fine, fuck the plates. Throw 'em out! Throw the motherfuckers in the trash!"
And, me being my dad's son, I threw them in the trash, tied up the bag and took it out to the garage.
Runts are an underrated candy. However, am I imagining this or is the blue flavor a new development? It seems to taste like "blue raspberry", which is a theoretical fruit. It could exist, and it would taste pretty good, but it doesn't. Whatever. Runts. Eat them.
I think there should be "Your Welcome" cards. This idea came to me while I was at Emma's house and her mom was complaining that she never got a thank you card from someone. This is the first time I had ever considered the possibility that someone would seriously expect to get a thank you card and eagerly anticipate it and then be dissappointed when it didn't arrive. Anyway, "Your Welcome" cards would come in 2 varieties: the sincere "You're Welcome." and the sarcastically badgering, "You're WELCOME!"
I was actually going to bring this up at the time when she was complaining about not recieving the card, but she changed the subject just as I was about to open my mouth. Probably for the better.
So, my uncle finally got tired of me sitting around at his house and getting paid for it, so now I don't start work until 9:30 instead of 8:30, which is a really welcome change. I need the sleep. Today, I did actual work for 4 hours. wow. Except, "working" only involved standing next to a laser gun and shooting it at stuff every 30 seconds or so. 30 seconds of work alternating with 30 seconds of standing and waiting. I was mostly singing, beat-boxing, and doing air guitar solos with my voice as the amp. At one point I "wrote" a pretty sweet guitar riff and had a kickin' bass line to go with it, but the songs that exist in my head don't translate well to actual songs because I can't play any traditional melodic instruments. My lyrics ranged from songs about being lost in the desert to killing the queen of england with a bowie knife to climbing mount everest with no limbs. It was pretty avant-garde stuff. You probably wouldn't get it.
One day last week, I got into a fight with my parents which escalated to the point of screaming. Those of you who know my parents and haven't heard the story yet probably just cocked your heads sideways and reread that last sentence, but it's true. If you've heard it, I'll give you the luxury of a nice paragraph break here.
So, I came up the stairs from my basement after telling Matt I was going to come over to his house. My Dad throws the dish towel at me and tells me to dry the dishes. I throw it back at his face. Short back story: My parents had had a short fight about my dad leaving wet towels for my mom after showering. So, I said, "you should do it, dad. You know all about wet towels."
He then brought out the old, "You never do anything around here."
I took that opportunity to bring up that I had just taken a day out of my life to do them a favor by driving my brother back to Wisconsin and missing a day of work... even paying for gas. My dad threw back, "Oh, you gave us one day. Thanks. How many days have you been alive? You're welcome."
I dusted off the reliable, "I DIDN'T ASK TO BE BORN!!!" at the top of my lungs.
Then I went of on a tirade which, if transcribed, would look something like this:
"They're YOUR fucking dishes, Dad. I didn't want them. I didn't bring them here. They aren't MY responsibility. If I brought home a puppy and made you and mom take care of it for me all the time, you'd send the puppy to the farm to play with the other puppies, wouldn't you? Well, fuck! Why don't I send your plates to the Goddamn plate farm, huh?! You want that?! Take care of your SHIT!"
Of course, my dad being my dad calmly told me, "Fine, fuck the plates. Throw 'em out! Throw the motherfuckers in the trash!"
And, me being my dad's son, I threw them in the trash, tied up the bag and took it out to the garage.