Had nightmares last night about craving McDonald's food but not being able to bring myself to eat it. (OK, maybe "nightmare" is a strong word. But I so rarely dream at all anymore, and it seems like whenever I do, the dreams have an unpleasant subtext.)
Might have to spend the rest of my life eating vegan organic food. (It's a shame - I abhor tofu.)
Actually, one of the things Morgan Spurlock talked about - McDonald's food as a drug - rang especially true for me. McDonald's is my favorite fast-food place. I've noticed that I can go a long time without eating there, but if I do go (say, I'm in a hurry or taking a trip or whatever), I'm much more likely to eat there again soon. Eventually, I'm back to my once- or twice-a-week habit that I had when I was in college and the McD's was a block away ... until I go on some new health kick and try to drop the fast food.
I haven't noticed this effect with any other fast-food restaurants, but then again, no other fast-food restaurants have those delicious, crispy fries. Mmmm ... fries ...
| You scored as:|
Your Harry Potter Alter Ego Is...?
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You really enjoy getting high. Even though it's often a lot of work, the
view from the top is almost always worth the effort. Your distance from others makes
your relationship with them rather rocky at times, but they do look up to you. Be very
careful around schools. And stop being quite so focused on the number 5,280!
Take the State Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.
Incidentally, if anyone knows of a site or sites where I could read Thurber's "Fables For Our Time," do let me know. Those are my favorites.
Here is a Harry Potter-related story to keep you busy until I finish reading the book and go into hyper-plot-analysis/when-the-hell-is-the-next-one-being-released mode:
I went to the release party at Barnes & Noble with Stacie and Stephanie. We got there about 11 (it would have been earlier, but the guy ahead of us at the McDonald's drive-through ordered seven Crispy Chicken McSomething-Or-Others, and it was one of those inescapable single-lane-surrounded-by-a-wall-and-a-moat drive-throughs, so we spent probably 20 minutes sitting behind this minivan breathing in carbon monoxide. At one point, I suggested to Stacie that the fumes were making me high. She thought I was being serious - which I so wasn't - and launched into a long tirade about how no one who says they're high is ever actually high. Perhaps she was high).
The store was, of course, full of kids in costumes and adults (mostly) without costumes. We saw a guy walking to the bathroom with what really, really looked like a live tarantula crawling up his shoulder, but when we saw him on his way out from the bathroom, it had gone. My favorite costumes were worm by two adults who had dressed in the sort of outlandishly inappropriate clothing wizards would wear if they were trying to pass for Muggles. Bloody brilliant, I say.
In case you're wondering about the look I went for, I wound up dressing in "none of the above" - black tank top, black capris, gold beaded slippers.
Oh, and just who is that guy with the kinda floppy brown hair who works in the cafe? He's adorable!
We had a line number, and the manager was having us line up 25 at a time. When our turn came, we made our way to the line and asked an employee if we were supposed to go in order of our number (we were near the front of our group) or just go to the end of the line. They said, "End of the line." Stacie said, "Are you sure? Because I thought I heard them say something about lining up in order of your number." They said the end of the line was fine.
So we're standing there, and the manager starts asking where specific numbers are. We speak up, and he says, "Come up here." And then he's rude to us! "You need to be listening when we make these announcements." Stacie said "We did listen - to your employees who told us to get in the back of the line!" But I don't think he was listening.
Then we got up to the cash register, and the cashier was all freaked out that the three of us wanted three books, but Stacie was paying for two of them (she bought Stephanie's book as a birthday present). The cashier said, "Well then, who's paying for the third one?" I raised my hand and tried not to roll my eyes. When the transaction was complete, I thanked her for staying late for us.
And as we walked back past the employees who had told us to get in the back of the line, Stacie explained to them that their mistake had gotten us in trouble with the manager. They suggested we should have punched him in the face. I considered punching them in the face. I was about ready to kill everyone who's ever worked for a Barnes & Noble. Except the coffee guy. He can live.
But the point is, we got out relatively unscathed with books in hand. So now I think I'll go begin Chapter Three. Hopefully I can finish the book before I am inadvertantly exposed to any spoilers.
For a few months now, my favorite song has been "Destiny" by Zero 7. Lately, though, I've been getting a little tired of it, even beginning to think the instrumentals are a little cheesy.
Turns out, my rental car's speakers just sucked.
I just heard it on my headphones at work, and I was transported. I fell in love with that song all over again. I listened to it three or four times in a row.
It's amazing what a good set of speakers can do to up your enjoyment of music. I really should invest in some for my car and laptop.
I Hate Gin
Mardi Gras (or, Whack-a-Frat-Boy)
"No Parties on Sunday"
Nine Freshmen, One Nissan
I Have No Gaydar
"All About the C---" (most readers will be familiar with this one)
The body shop still has my car. For those of you at home keeping track, we are now in the middle of Week Four of my car's surgery. You'd think it had been totaled instead of just dented. When I called last week, they said it was up on the rack "right now" and I'd get it back next week. I called again today and was told they were "waiting for a rack" to put it up on and I'd get it back NEXT week.
Perhaps this body shop simply has a high broken-car-to-rack ratio. Like, 17,000 cars and one rack that they can only work if Duane is in, because there's a trick to this rack, see, and Duane knows how to work it. But Duane's been out a lot, what with his mama being sick and all ... But with all due respect to Duane's mother, I'd really like to drive the car I own sometime before the warranty expires, you know?
So I did the only thing I could think of: I tattled to the insurance company. "Um, hi, this is claim number 87-Y203-6849? I'm calling because I've been in this rental car for, like, three and a half weeks now, and I'm beginning to get worried that you guys won't pay for it much longer ..." They said they'd look into it.
My network connection at work today was severed. I couldn't go online, check e-mail, access our servers, print, or pretty much do anything that required my computer to talk to another one.
Now, keep in mind that this is the second time this week that this has happened - the first being Monday, our production day, when accessing those outside sources is of vital importance. When I called IT on Monday, I moved to another computer and kept an ear out for my phone. Twenty minutes later, I found a voice mail (left in the last five minutes) from a tech saying it was really hard for them to fix my problem if I wasn't going to be at my desk. I returned the call, apologized for working at another desk, and explained the problem again: "I'm on a Mac, and -"
"A Mac? Ohhh, I can't help you. I'll log your complaint with someone else."
Five minutes later: a call from a much more helpful tech - who, ironically, could not help me. After we tried a few things, she said she'd have to send someone down.
And in another half hour, the person she sent arrived. He fiddled around in the dark, scary server room and pronounced me all better. When I asked him if there was anything I could do myself in case this happened again, he told me the only things he'd recommend would involve hammers. (Later, I found out that's his "solution" to the problem of Macintosh computers' existence.)
That was Monday. Today's episode was much less complicated, but infinitely more frustrating. I have no connection; I call IT; no one calls back for two hours. I return from grabbing takeout to find a message from a friendly IT tech asking me if anyone's helped me yet. I call back and leave a message: no, no one has helped me, and the problem has not gone away. Two hours later, having heard no response, I call again. Finally, he comes in, fiddles around, pronounces me all better. Hurrah.
(Mike, if you're reading this, I used your computer while mine was down, so I apologize if I inadvertantly screwed around with any of your settings. And sorry about replacing your entire iTunes music library with Nickelback songs - that was my bad.)
Our flag football team is only two games into the season, and we already seem pretty demoralized. In the very first game, our quarterback did something to his knee that has required him to drop out for the season. Last night, one of our players hit his head hard - I think he might have a concussion. I have these nightmare visions of the entire team being carried out on stretchers, one by one.
And, as usual, I have WAY too much work to do tomorrow.
Of course I cannot wear the capes, false scars and broken glasses that will no doubt be the uniform for the youngsters in attendence. That would make me creepy. I have a long-sleeved T-shirt with the Hogwarts crest on it (part of my uniform when I worked at the WB store), but a) that's a little bit obvious, don't you think? and b) it's freakin' July.
So right now I have a few options. I can:
- dress in the colors of my favorite House (which could be tough, as Ravenclaw's colors are blue and bronze, and I have no bronze)
- display a reference to another shibboleth of geekery (Superman, Buffy, etc.). You know, just to let people know I belong there.
- go goth. Goth is fun - and kinda witchy.
My grandmother told us that when she dies, she wants to will her gold teeth and fillings to her grandchildren, so we can make a necklace out of gold teeth. I can't tell if she's joking.
More on my weekend later, perhaps, including:
- My 15-year-old cousin's newfound love of Jesus (in the form of a 27-year-old fundamentalist Christian/male model), including her baptism at a water park
- How we Rollerbladed through the chapel where my parents were married 26 years ago
- Is my mom crazy? Quite possibly, but we wuv her anyway.