I have been doing Algebra. All day. I only stopped to clean up some broken glass.
See, my Kool-Aid pitcher was on the same shelf above the fridge where my cookbooks are and I guess Tyler Florence and Jamie Oliver got into a fight over me, and the big dumb dude from my 1967 McCall's cookbook that assures me I can win the heart of my man by baking a cake jumped in and things got really ugly and they knocked my pitcher off the shelf where it exploded into about 93 bajillion pieces and what looked like shiny sand.
Those boys. Aren't they adorable?
I'm so glad I was just solving non-linear systems and not sleeping when the melee broke out. I would have had a myocardial infarction and would be down at Parkland right now, probably still in the waiting room because I don't have any health insurance. It was a rather loud noise.
So that's my Friday. Algebra and broken glass. Surely there's a bad poem in there for the annual W.B. Ray High School lit mag.
I suppose I ought to get dressed and go check the mail. I probably ought to go buy some more adult juice boxes from Target. I was going to hit Central Market and make a pot roast tomorrow, but dang it, it's going to be 79 degrees tomorrow and it's too damn hot for pot roast. I guess I could grill some chicken or something. I don't have a grill.
I could go the old Dad and ReadBecca route and just make a bunch of appetizers instead of dinner. I think we lived on cheese and Triscuits for like four years. It was awesome.
I think this Thanksgiving when I go to Luby's with all the people from the old folks' home whose children don't visit, I'm going to sit with some old dudes. I think I'm bringing me some adult juice boxes for the team, too. Won't Happy Acres be thrilled to get back a mess of liquored up grandparents on a holiday? Fantasic. Then we'll all go to outerspace and be young forever.
Zach Braff. Probably a jackass. I didn't used to think that. But now I got a feeling. I have no idea why. Anyway, he's suspect. I got my eye on you, Braff.
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