Today, at the cheapest Chevron on or near my route, a gallon of regular was $3.79. A pack of cigarettes was also $3.79. Amazing serendipity. Or not. Glad I don’t smoke, glad I drive a hybrid. Sorry I commute so far. Makes me want to smoke.
In the little town where we live, premium hit $4.20 over the weekend. For some reason I thought it would stop at $4.00. No justification for thinking that, it’s just how far my disbelief would let me go.
… the grass is riz. I wonder where the birdies is?
Hah, it’s time for my annual mention of the come trees! Have you been holding your breath waiting for it? There’s a pun in there, but I’m *not* going for it.
For the uninitiated: We have two ornamental pear trees in the yard. (Super messy as you can see here) When they hit full bloom they honest-to-God smell exactly like human male come.
Really! I go out and inhale the fragrance and am simultaneously overcome with spring-time lust and gross-out heebie jeebies because it’s nobody’s “fragrance” I know. It’s like finding a hidden come-filled sock behind the couch and not knowing who belongs to either the sock or the jizz.
Not that I would know what that’s like, I mean, I’m just sayin’.
Here’s the tree culprit, the white one -you can click the little pic to get a bigger view (Do I need to keep repeating that or does everyone on the planet finally know things like that???).
I was driving to work the other day and saw this on the corner. The damned light changed while I was trying to get the camera up and ready, so the the shot isn’t very good, but still… I was there. I saw it. I (sort of) recorded it for posterity.
It’s the Uber Mullet. Very long and immaculately groomed. Nicely dressed. All in all, one weird package.
Look what I did on the way in to work today. I had to slow down to take the picture, though. Click the link so you can see the odometer.
God, a lot happened today.
My father-in-law for the 18 years prior to the last 4 died last night. In the hospital. One day short of his 48th wedding anniversary, and, coincidentally, a day short of my new 3 year anniversary with his son’s successor. Got all that? Jaysus.
And my drugged out older sister is in the hospital, and apparently has been for about a week but no one bothered to tell me until today. Nice. She just about died, from the cumadin they were pumping in her to clear up some clots in her lungs. Her organs are all fried from the meth. Her nerves are fried from the self-induced MS from the 30 years of chain smoking. I’m still mad at her, can you tell? Bitch. We all had the same choices. That’s all that keeps going through my head. Over and over. I feel guilty, and angry, and guilty, and angry. And very ambivalent.
Will I feel bad forever if I don’t see her before she dies? I swear to god I don’t want to deal with her, and then I’ll run into my father, which will open up a whole new bag of worms.
All I really want to do is have a nice anniversary with my husband tomorrow.
I was driving in to work today, no later than usual. Got behind a mini-van that was actually driving faster than I was. Amazing. Incredible! Generally speaking, from my point of view anyway, mini-vans and their drivers are the bane of the universe. Big slowdown in traffic? Look to the mini-van. My sister used to drive one- I’m glad she graduated.
Oh, anyway, I was screaming along behind this van, who was actually widening the gap between us. I was boggled, but decided not to give chase. Just as well. I was going 81 mph. at the moment I looked over to my right and saw a CHP on a motorcycle passing me, heading toward the van. I didn’t even get a sideways glance. He was probably just curious to see who could possibly be driving a mini-van that fast.
I don’t know if the van got nailed or not because everybody slowed way down and I nipped into the right lane and tried to look inconspicious just in case the ossifer decided to come back. So it was a bloody slow 65 mph the rest of the way in and I never saw hide nor hair of the van. [in case you got here late: my daily commute is an hour one way if there’s no traffic AND I can stand on the gas pedal] Maybe the cop was a KOL player and let me slide because of my swell bumper sticker:
My Other Car Is Made Of Meat.
This is one bitchin’ meatcar, man.
Why People Move to Florida and Arizona [Ash, are you paying attention here?]:
More than meets the eye!