I periodically wrack my brain, trying to remember a particular candy treat from my childhood. They were little chocolate-y sticks, wrapped in a foil tube. Aside from that, all I could remember is that they were vaguely connected with space or astronauts. I was starting to think I’d hallucinated them, because everyone I described them to gave me a look like I must be smoking crack. Maybe I was. But noooooo! I finally tracked them down: Space Food Sticks.
I believe my day’s work is done.
(Have you ever had cheese toast with a hint of cinnamon? Well, I cannot unrecommend it enough. I made cinnamon and sugar toast in my toaster oven last night, then cheese toast this morning, and the cheese toast has a slight bouquet of cinnamon. It is Teh Ptoui.)
So, anyway, I stopped at the Circle K-Bigfoot-BP-Mac’s-Whatever on 17th & College this morning, to get my daily dose of tasty beverageness. I can usually tell who is working the register by what music they’re playing: hip hop, bluegrass, NPR, B97 (manic top 40), or 92.3 (the dreaded “Quality Rock” station). And then there’s the Counting Crows guy, who reminds me so much of one of my former students that it kind of creeps me out when he’s working. This morning, though, the artsy looking guy, who usually listens to NPR, had T. Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” playing. The funny thing was that I was listening to “The Slider” in the car.
I have a feeling it’s going to be one of Those days.
6:58, are you sure where my Spock is?
Ears
Ears
Ears…
— Not Quite Tori
I often get random lyrics swirling around in my head. I think that happens to most people. The lyric du jour is not actually a lyric, though. For some reason, my brain insists that Tori Amos’ Spark would be vastly improved by the above substitution in lyrics.
I wouldn’t be suffering from this malady, if I had been motivated to burn some new CDs for the car. Most of the current CDs in my car are ones I made to listen to while arting. They work fabulously well for that, but they don’t do a whole lot to enhance the driving experience. Which is why, I guess, my brain started making up random lyrics on its own.
It could also have something to do with the fact that, though I went to bed early last night, I took Benadryl because my allergies were acting up. Usually, Benadryl makes me comatose, but last night, it made me wired-tired. I kept waking up, not knowing if I’d actually been asleep, or if I’d been awake and my mind had just been wandering. When I did finally fall asleep, I had weird dreams that kept waking me up. All in all, it was not a very restful experience, so I cannot recommend this product and/or service. Ugh.
One of my coworkers has a young granddaughter. That means that we get to hear granddaughter stories. Not being into small children in the abstract, I ought to find this a trying experience. I don’t though. Her granddaughter cracks me right the hell up. So, the other day, she told us about taking GD out to eat. GD dribbled something down the front of her shirt and was quite upset about it. I don’t blame her. I hate it when I do that, too. I don’t, however, throw screaming fits when it happens. GD does, apparently, so their solution was to turn her shirt around, back-to-front. Jeenyous!
So, anyway, I caved in and got pizza for lunch this afternoon. And, not just any pizza, either. It was one of those deep fried pan pizzas from Pizza Hut. Yes, it was a mistake. Duh. A hideous mistake. Not only could I suck the grease out of the crust, but I managed to drop a piece of it on my shirt. Now I have a hummense constellation of grease taunting me.
Excuse me while I run to the restroom to turn my shirt around. What I can’t see won’t bother me, right? Much.
* Yes, I am Messy Marvin.
red paper boat 