Whoo... another rough day.
At least I'm trying. I put incredible amounts of energy into getting up by noon. Well, I didn't exactly set an alarm or anything, but I somehow found myself not entirely asleep at 11:30 and poured everything I had into being awake and physically at least close to extracting myself from the bed. feel the burn
Today was the day I was to finally leave the house. I've surpassed my old record of 7 weeks, attempting to go somewhere on weekends and failing beyond miserably. We were both in that 'going' mode and she asked me where I wanted to go. Then she laughed, scorchingly, at my idea, telling me there would be a real mess at the stores and traffic all over the place. One of the things I really hate is traffic - I will stay home before I sit in it. So stay home we did.
Over seven weeks. At this point, it's personal.
After the first few naps, I could hear my stomach jamming along with a song I didn't recognize. Ah, I should probably eat breakfast before five. Yes, I have been eating a good breakfast for years, so off I went, to find the Ben&Jerry's Caramel Sutra. There is simply nothing like the taste of a great ice cream, plus the naughtiness of being an adult and eating it for breakfast (at 5).
Wife mentioned one of our favorite restaurants should be triangulated on our outing, so I am seriously missing that place. It's another place we can eat like adults: the frozen strawberry daiquiris with sugar on the rim (I drink like a girl) are a tremendous warmup for the hot brownie with vanilla ice cream and chocolate sauce. It turns out they have entrees too.
SINCE I am not allowed to go out, I am ignoring the trashcans that must be moved back to the house. Well, not ignoring, but since I'm not allowed to go out, I'm not allowed to go out and get the cans. My area spent a lot of money ordering special garbage trucks. They made sure they got the special metal that RANG when something was put into them. Garbage trucks, unlike Hess trucks, are about the loudest thing that rolls through the neighborhood. The city wanted to make absolutely certain that no one would miss them, especially those sleeping in because they're on forced vacation. It took years of research to find the loudest metal, the loudest doors, the loudest lifting mechanism, and hiring the loudest crew. The latest trucks are electric, but were out of the running because they didn't make any noise, like the HUGE diesel engines. In fact, the stock trucks had gasoline engines, but we upgraded to diesel because they made that much more noise. In the old days, the trash guys had to bang two garbage can lids together, to add to the cacophony. Today they can just bang on the truck, which, as you remember, is made of space-age LOUD metal. A diesel motor was added for when the truck compacts the garbage, in case all the other upgrades failed to wake the masses. A state of the art p.a. system was added, to broadcast the most noxious noise possible, usually the Top Ten Hits on the radio. We are lucky - we're at the beginning of their route, so the trucks start around five minutes before the alarm goes off. I can make an educated guess that this is one symptom of the reason for our ridiculous taxes.
- Congresswoman Mary Gay Scanlon was the victim of an armed carjacking near FDR Park in Philadelphia.
- Another questionable form of participative democracy
- My brother asked me how vacation was coming. I told him. "Just like normal, but more of it."
When men buy a house or get to a certain age, they have 'my chair.' It can be anything at all their butts will fit on, but it's hallowed ground. If there are children, they are told from infancy, "Don't sit on Dad's Chair." They go through life afraid to sit on chairs; most can only sit on couches, if at all.
Normal Stuff doesn't usually happen to me, but somehow I wound up with a chair. It reclines. At first I didn't want to feel that important or old, but eventually I adopted it. Wife won't sit on it, but sometimes I have to remove Dog, whose favorite spots are where my butt was last located. I get the feeling My Chair wasn't well-made, especially because I put it together. Also because it should have cost more than a new couch, which I've wanted for over twenty years. This week I noticed the fabric on the seat is starting to rip from the rear. Since there's no actual pillow there, I'm thinking the chair will shortly be used to bang, loudly, against a trash truck. I could go Full White Trash and duct tape it, but I never inherited the White Trash Gene, nor can I get out to buy duct tape. As such, it will have to go. Which leaves me the Life Sucking Couch, where I used to sit. Five minutes in that seat and you're ready for sleep, even if you just consumed a pot of coffee after getting out of bed.
Wife says we need a new chair. Technically she's correct, but I don't want to see what she'll come home with. The current chair matches Penny, but how she knew we were getting a red dog years before we got a red dog, I'll never know. And it would make my head hurt to think about it. I've never purchased expensive furniture, but I'm guessing it doesn't require assembly. My Chair arrived in a small cardboard box, with sub-Ikea directions. Does good furniture arrive in a small cardboard box that you sprinkle water on and it grows to full size? With leather? Oh, I've just been advised that good furniture arrives by truck and actual men bring it into the house.
So this leaves disposal. My area has gotten trash wise, and charges a fee(!) for large items. A tv is $50. No idea what a chair is or if you get a discount for more than one. It doesn't seem right to me, so here's my plan: put it on the curb, set fire to it, and have the firemen put it out. Firemen take stuff away, right?
Oh.
- Amazon workers have walked out in protest to demand better treatment and higher wages during the holiday rush.
- Jeff Bezos, personal friend of God, told them to get back to their stations, or to expect a 'Kentucky-like weather event' at their factory.
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