Hey internet, hey baby. Who’s a good girl!
It’s still 11:11 twice a day, and we all know that is lucky. It’s true, it is. Why do I notice 11:11 all of a sudden? Is it the Lord? Is it Fibonacci? Is my clock broken? Who is trying to tell me something? Oh, it’s iCal. It says I have a lot of work to do. Drat. Hi, iCal, hi. I like your pretty colors. This has all happened before. I am special, and there is money stuffed in my socks*.
But seriously, this 11:11 thing is a big old deal. A lot happens on November 11th. Did you know that in 1634, the Irish House of Commons passed “An Act for the Punishment for the Vice of Buggery?”
The nosy church billboard down the street says “ATM Inside: Atonement Truth & Mercy.” I guess they do not manufacture vinyl commas for those boards.
I went with a friend this morning to pick out a board to display photos of her father at his funeral next week. What is someone going to pick for me some day? It’s too much. I am going to have everyone I love slaughtered as if I were a pharaoh, so you may not want me to get too attached to you. My father plans to die at a specific time. I do not doubt that he will achieve this, because he’s just that stubborn.
*Not really, but it would be nice, provided the money were in the form of large bills, and the socks were loose enough so as not to constrict when this extra volume is considered.
Ohhhh, internet, internet. This monkey was at the other end of the hall. He is also sultry. I should have checked the other floors for enticing wildebeests or come-hither warthogs.
I know you are wondering where I’m parking during this latest snowstorm. As it turns out, I’m parked in the driveway. Suck it. I never thought having a parking space would be so exciting until after I lived in Somerville. I used to feel like the biggest asshole leaving a table in the space after I dug it out, but if I didn’t, someone else would do it right back to me. And if you move a table to park, you get a brick through your windshield. It is the Code of the Jungle.
The pedantic church bulletin board down the street says “Do unto others as if you were others.” My first thought was that they meant that one should do all one’s dirty deeds under an alias or assumed identity. That’s how I usually work anyway. I am right with the Lord.
Yesterday I didn’t take my Mother’s Little Helper, and when I realized it, I thought “Wot’s the worst that can happen?” See, crazy people are always looking for an excuse to stop taking their medication. We feel better, so we must be cured. Well, I guess, kinda. I’m not curled up in a ball* weeping, so that is a huge plus. But I do get the sensation of an electric shock to the middle of my chest every time I move my head. This is not entirely unenjoyable. I like pills in a universal sense, and I also like negative pills. Good day to you, too. Now if you’ll excuse me, there’s a yogurt** with my name on it.
*With my small frame, I can curl up into a very small ball.
**Tonight is quesadilla night instead. Satan demanded Thai pasta last night, at totally the last fucking minute.