Arizona Iced Tea, why are you so inexpensive? A 23 oz tallboy can of you is only 99 cents! That is so much lower than the going rate for sugary drinks I impulse-buy at the drug store. I know it didn’t always used to be this way, so what happened to make you so cheap and plentiful? Are you somehow harmful? Do you cause kidney stones? At this rate, it would almost be cheaper for me to shower and brush my teeth with Arizona Peach Iced Tea, or Arizona Rx Energy Herbal Tonic. Cheaper, and more delicious.
When you are sitting there at your desk and you think about how when you get home, you’re going to take the dog for a nice long walk, because it’s been so long since you’ve been able to do that, and it occurs to you that you should text him and let him know that.
Yeah, no. The dog doesn’t have a cell phone. If he did, he would likely have trouble texting with his little paw pads. Also, he can’t read. He’s a dog.
I need a glass of wine, stat.
I know I’ve got everyone guessing about my political leanings, so I’ve decided I won’t keep you in the dark any longer.
I am so in the tank for Obama.
There, I said it. Now you won’t have to wonder anymore if I’m making fun of Sarah Palin because deep down I really love the way she does her hair.
I actually hate her dumb hair, almost as much as I hate her anti-abortion and abstinance-only-education stances and the sly, folksy way she talks in circles without actually saying anything. I think she’s a dangerous, calculating, power-hungry politician who will be a total disaster if put in office. And she’s bad at naming kids.
I like Obama. I like his approach to healthcare that means that more people won’t be turned away from being eligible for health insurance when they need it most (i.e. when they are ill).
I like the fact that he is educated and intelligent. He is articulate, and he doesn’t talk down to the public. He discusses ideas and doesn’t just repeat mindless, meaningless rhetoric.
I like the way he makes me feel all hopey inside. I haven’t felt this inspired by a politician in a long time.
If you must vote for John McCain (and…shudder…Sarah Palin), maybe because you think we should start drilling offshore for oil that won’t be accessible for 20 years, or because you want the free market to do for health insurance what it did for the economy, or because you want a president who is so forward-thinking that he doesn’t know how to use e-mail, then that’s fine.
You should still vote. It’s your right, and your responsibility, and whomever you are voting for, by all means vote.
But I recommend voting for Obama/Biden. I think you’ll be glad you did.
I have been getting up very early lately, and not hating it.
This is kind of revolutionary for me. Getting up early is arguably one of the things I hate most in the world. Especially when the weather is cold. MOST especially when it is still dark out when my alarm goes off.
Right now though, I just deal with it, and don’t think about it too much. I just kind of do it.
It’s pretty cold when I first get in the car, and the steering wheel hurts my hands for the first few miles, but the feeling of the car slowly warming up as the heat kicks in is delightful, and is something I can look forward to each morning.
I also have the radio to keep me company. I don’t usually like to listen to music in the early morning darkness. I prefer to hear voices, particularly if I think that those voices belong to people who also had to get up very early this morning. They usually sound like they’re all right with it, so maybe I can be, too.
When I listen to music during my morning commute, it makes me think about how the people who wrote the songs I’m hearing are probably still sleeping soundly in their warm beds. Or on giant piles of money. Or they’re dead. Or they’re awake, but they’ve been up for 36 hours and they’re drunk or high, depending on the station I’m listening to. These are not the kinds of thoughts I really want to entertain at 6:30am on my way to work on a Wednesday morning.
I know this will change once daylight savings time hits, but right now, the way I’ve timed it, I drive alongside a broad, shimmering lake each morning just as the sun begins to rise. I can see the orange sky reflected in the lake and think about how I’m almost at the end of my trip.
I feel grateful that I was able to find a job I enjoy during an extremely rough economic time, and that I tried moving somewhere new again, not knowing if I would like it or not, and that so far I like it. I feel fortunate that I was able to leave my job and relocate with no real plan for the future, and I didn’t go broke or die. I got to spend a few glorious weeks of sleeping in with my sweetie, and I’m grateful for that as well.
Could it be that counting my blessings is turning me into a morning person? Sometimes I don’t even know me anymore.
Today while I was at work a bird pooped directly on the driver’s-side door handle of my car.
I mean, what are the odds?? And now how am I supposed to get home?
You sign up for Dictionary.com’s “Word of the Day”, so you can get email. And then when you read that the first WotD email will not come until the following day, you are actually a little sad.
I am so relieved that NPR’s Fall Fundraiser is over. Listening to the disgintuished radio personalities that I have grown to love and respect as they beg and plead for donations is not my idea of a good time. It kind of feels like listening to your parents beg for money, which fortunately I never had to experience, even though my parents were in also the nonprofit sector. NPR Fundraisers are a demoralizing experience for everyone involved, especially as the days drag on, and the announcers’ voices grow more and more desperate and wheedling. They really start to get punchy by the end of the drive. They start saying things like, ‘PLEASE PLEASE donate so we can reach our goal, end this fundraiser and get back to the news’ in the final days. Oh man, does it guilt me.
See, they’re totally right to ask, and I totally need to pony up. I probably spend at least an hour a day listening to NPR for free. Weekends aren’t weekends without Weekend Edition. I didn’t feel at home in North Carolina until I found WUNC, the local NPR chapter, and breathed a sigh of relief as I listened to The Diane Rehm Show. How can I not pay for all of this informative entertainment? And if I pay, oh, something like $20, because that’s what I can afford right now, how can I not kind of feel like a cheap bastard?
Sigh. NPR, if only I were a wealthy fatcat, I would donate all the money to you. But I would also be less likely to be one of your listeners. It’s a sad Catch-22.
As composed by myself and several friends, a few years ago. I found this list of rules while unpacking and it brought back some fun memories.
If you don’t know how the game is played, you duct-tape a 40oz of malt liquor to each hand. They must stay attached to your hands until you finish them both. Then you watch the fun ensue. And by the fun, I mean the drunk.
We prepared everything in advance to make things easier on ourselves once we were properly 40-fied. We took movies out of their cases, (Selections included ‘The Wall’, ‘Pirates of the Caribbean: The Black Pearl’, ’28 Days Later’, ‘Resident Evil’, ‘Alien: Resurrection’, ‘Terminator’) and put pretzels and other snacks out in wide bowls so we could eat them with our faces. We outfitted ourselves in comfortable clothes and got down to business.
The Rules:
1) No removing tape until both 40ozs are finished.
2) No high-fives.
3) No sleeping with 40ozs.
4) Pajamas must be worn at all times.
5) This is gonna rock.
6) No puking.
7) Seriously, if you’re gonna puke, don’t. (Unless it’s off the porch)
8 ) Malt liquor only, no beer.
9) Peeing is going to be hard. (It was. YOU try pulling up a pair of pajama pants with a bottle taped to each hand).
10) Participants totally want to drink 2 40s and they totally rock more than Slash.
11) During emotional scenes in movies, airhorns must be liberally applied.
12) 40s can be re-capped in case of emergency.
13) Everyone loses. Especially the winner. Especially those of us who have to work in the morning.
As she scanned the two bottles of $2.97 wine I was buying, the cash register LED flashed, “Customer Under 40?”. The young clerk looked at me. “When’s your birthday?” she asked.
“April of 1981,” I said. She nodded and continued scanning my groceries. “I can give you ID if you want,” I added.
She said, “No, that’s fine.”
A beat later I ventured, “I’m sure glad I look like I’m under 40 years old!” and laughed.
“Yeah.” The clerk laughed too, then smiled uncertainly. She said, “Are you under 40?”
Apparently it’s been a loooooong week.
I Heard Tell 
