[::.. sue is a site ..::]

Saturday, September 28

I'm beginning to think I should change the name of this Blog to "I See Weird Shit Every Day."


5:40 PM | permalink

Party Animal Siting

While driving down Holgate this afternoon, Ben and I saw a septagenarian in a wheel chair parked outside the retirement home with an oxygen tank and a fake license plate wired to the back of his chair which read "PBR ME."


5:37 PM | permalink

Check out this site if you like it when I talk about knitting. This woman is better at talking about it than I am. She is already a "Blog of Note" and she deserves all the buzz she can get. -link


7:11 AM | permalink

The man behind me at the grocery store today was buying a cucumber and condoms. And a bar of Lava soap and a package of feta cheese. I don't know what recipe these ingredients are for, but I never want to go to one of his dinner parties.


8:17 PM | permalink

To Do List

Call DMV to find out hours for CDL Permit test

Call Landlord to sign new lease

Scan photos at Earl's
10:21 AM | permalink

Sometimes I get sad that my altruistic days seem to be behind me. It seems that when I was living at home and working part time I had lots of compassion, spare change, and time for political debate. Now I just want to be left alone so I can recharge enough to go work for the man again tomorrow.


7:50 PM | permalink

I'm a democrat, but that doesn't mean I want to talk to my neighbors. Ben and I were lounging around in our bedroom. It's 7:30 on a Monday night, it's already dark outside. Someone knocks on the door. Maybe it's the landlord, maybe it's Earl, maybe it's Steve Robinson and Marty, come to bring us some salmon. Oh no, it's a goddamned petitioner. Probably supporting a good cause, but let's face it, by knocking on my door, not only are you preaching to the choir, but pissing the choir off. I seldom answer my phone for my loved ones, much less tele-marketers, and I find it much more disturbing to have someone walk up to my door to bother me than someone auto dialing my phone number, which I can simply ignore, thanks to my caller ID (which was orignally procured to screen calls from my mother, but that's a blog for another day). No one is going to win me over by rat-a tatting on my screen door with a clipboard in hand and a sheepish look. Someone knocking on my door means I have to stop what I'm doing, get some clothes on, peak out the window, and then pretend I'm suddenly, magically, not home, even though seconds earlier I could be heard cursing at the radio.
Here is a run down of the last petioner's visit. I was in the middle of searing tuna for my dinner, as it was a pleasant evening the front door was open. This is almost as good as an engraved invitation to a hungry ballot peddler. I find a shaggy young man in wrinkly clothes peering through my screen door.
"How you are doing?"
"I'm fine, but I don't allow strangers to come to my door when I'm not expecting anyone."
"Well, I could introduce myself."
(That would defeat the purpose of my rule, wouldn't it, dipshit? The rule exists so I don't have to meet anyone I'm not ready to meet.)
"No, thanks." And I close the big door. No more sweet summer breeze.
8:45 PM | permalink

My mother believes one can handle any of lifes challenges provided one is well rested and well fed. As a child, if I was upset, it was either, "You're just over-tired, you'll feel better in the morning," or "Well, no wonder you're cranky, it's three o'clock in the afternoon and you haven't eaten anything all day, have a glass of orange juice and some toast and you'll feel better."

She may be right.


4:52 PM | permalink