Thursday, April 26, 2012


Sometimes as I'm flying down the stairs in a rush to get to work, a memory of Gypsy tearing down the same stairs, jumping to put her front paws on the window sill, and straining to peek out...makes me stop in my tracks. And tear up a little. Dang dog.

Backseat, headed to Sunday dinner with the fam.
Loved those dirty little paws.


Sometimes I think I'm the most lazy person in the world for sleeping in until noon every chance I get. And then I notice Ron has left an empty nerds box on top of the traveling Euchre trophy. Which is all of .75 feet from the trash can. And I remember he'll always have me beat.


Sometimes I stare at the aquarium my brother Mark set up at the library, and think: This? Is magnificent. I'm so glad he was straight determined to excel at such a difficult hobby. And I'm ecstatic that he freakin gave this to me as a Christmas gift. Because now every time a patron walks by to admire it, I get to be like Yeeeeep. It's mine. Glad you like it. Did I mention it's mine?

I've yet to take a picture of the aquarium that does it any justice. Although if you aren't into saltwater aquariums, you won't be able to fully appreciate the awesomeness anyway. Regardless of the picture quality. (Not pictured: Sunshine, the yellow tang. Dory, the Blue Hippo Tang. Hector, the Hector's Goby. Plus miscellaneous worms, crabs, and snails. And a really cool sea cucumber.)


Sometimes I convince myself to go vegetarian. And then I think about how one of God's greatest gifts to earth is a Penn Station club (no mayo or tomato, slathered with extra honey mustard)...and I'm like dsfjdfajhkd. Maybe I'll be an asterisk vegetarian. Like no meat, except for the occasional (okay weekly) Penn Station Club. 


Sometimes I wonder how on earth Ron and I got into certain habits. For example. Currently, anytime one of us acts like they might do something the other wouldn't like, the response is: I'll kill you. (I'll murder you, or I'll slit your throat also accepted.)


Ron: HEY. Don't throw that (week old, half-eaten, almost moldy) piece of pizza away yet! I'll murder you.

Me: HEY. Don't you dare take that armful of clean underwear and socks and dump them on the floor and then walk away! I'll kill you.

They're such mean/vulgar phrases, when you actually think about it. But I rarely think about it. I just say it. It's as automatic as shouting "You're welcome!" when someone doesn't thank me for holding a door open for them.

Sidenote: Another reason I wish I had a speaker system on the outside of my car: so I can yell You're Welcome! when I stop to let someone into traffic and they don't even bother to throw a thank you wave. Clearly they're oblivious to what a hassle it is for me to be nice.
But luckily for my mother, who I'm sure is shaking her head right now, we go in phases with our phrases. Before I'll murder you/kill you/slit your throat there was "You betta check yo FRESH" (reality TV at its finest) So I'm sure the next time something catchy comes'll replace murder you/slit your throat/kill you.


I typed I'll Kill You into Pinterest and got these cats. 
Going with it.  


Sometimes, when I'm out with liberal friends, the conversation turns to politics. And I immediately begin stuffing my face with chips and salsa. I mean, they're really smart girls. So I respect their opinions. And I'm sure they'd respect mine. And maybe if we had a debate, it would be a nice, enlightening experience. It's possible, I'm sure. But I have no intentions of ever finding out.

 For the record though (this is not directed at my friends but rather society in general):

Just sayin.
If you're gonna hate, know what you're talking about.  
Be specific, don't assume or generalize.


Sometimes, when I'm driving down Rockville Road (at a reasonable freakin' speed for gosh sake. I almost always go at least 10 over the limit) being tailgated, cut off, honked at, flipped off, etc. I think: 


Sometimes Ron and I lose the weekly Sunday Euchre game to Dad and Grandma. And sometimes those losses include me accidentally reneging.

Which leads to Ron trying to school me in the middle of the game.
Which leads to threats like "If you don't shut your mouth I'm going to chuck this trump marker cube at your FACE."
Which leads to Dad playing "All you need is love" from his iPhone, while he and Grandma snicker.

Needless to say, it was a quiet ride back to the apartment last Sunday.

My response to Ron when he tries to tell me how I should have played.


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