Tuesday, August 25, 2009

No I will not buy you a fish.

For unknown reasons, Dean likes to ride in my car. Maybe because it's blue. Or because his car seat is cowprint. Who knows.

I'm a good driver, I swear. So it's not for the roller coaster effect or anything.

He wanted to go somewhere, so for lack of anything great to do, we went to Petsmart to look at the fish and frogs.

Guess it was the time of day, but for some reason the shopping center was filled with kids. Like, the annoying kind. Somewhere between 7th grade and freshman year....the awkwardness, the braces, the complete disregard for others around you.

There was a huge group of them in Petsmart, posing for a camera phone picture in front of the homeless cats. And screaming. And running around the store. Cats: "If we could claw your obnoxious eyeballs out, we would."

Dean and I were excitedly squealing over the fish (okay, Dean was, I was mentally calculating how long I'd have to hold one of those kids' heads underwater to drown them) when a girl in way too tight pants, hooker blue eyeshadow, and neon pink braces walks up.

"Hey, like, if I give you some money will you, like, buy me a fish?"
"Uh, why don't you buy your own fish?"
"Because I'm not 18."
"Then you need to come back with your parents and have them buy you a fish. I'm not lying and giving you a living creature for your entertainment purposes."

She proceeds to have a hissyfit. What are you, 12? Oh, yeah, you are.

Seriously! Go home! What the hell are you doing hanging out in Petsmart and Target after school on a Tuesday? Shouldn't you be at someone's house whose parents are at work, experimenting with weed and sex like everyone my age did? If you're not gonna do those things, then kudos to you. Go do your homework or volunteer somewhere. Or, better yet, get a job! So you can buy a fish when you turn 18!

When I have kids I wonder if I'll be looked down on for paying someone else to have them between the ages of 12 and 19. 

On that note, I do kind of find it humorous that while I've been asked many times to buy kids alcohol, I've never been asked to buy one a fish. When I was in high school, it was all about late night beer runs from Circle K. Now it's middle of the afternoon fish runs from Petsmart.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Lucky Thursdays.

An interesting turn of events occurred in Tempe tonight and we all ended up at a palm reader. Those places give me a weird feeling because first, I'm not sure if I believe in them in general and second, the idea that someone is able to "read" what really goes on inside my head/life is creepy and weird and invasive. But I tend to like creepy and weird things.

So. I got my palms read. And I had to made sure I only looked at my palms because the lady had this massive HAIRY HAIRY HAIRY wart on her chin that was drawing me in. Like, I couldn't tear my eyes away from it. It was like a small furry animal was comfortably nestled in the folds of her chin.

Tangent. A hairy one. Anyway.

So I couldn't look at her. She told me a lot of stuff and I'm still not sure if it sounded right because it's generic or if it was eerily true. And apparently I'm not supposed to share it with others. But I will say that she told me that most of the good things in my life happen on Thursdays.

Watch out Thursday, I have high hopes for you. Don't let me down!

Afterwards we went to Oreganos and I ended up with a slice of cheese pizza from the kids menu because the pizza our table ordered was a vegetable pizza and I have a love/hate relationship with veggies. Okay, no love at all actually.

At least now I know I won't get bombarded with vegetables on Thursdays.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

Lonely nametags.

Old men in a singles group with their nametags stuck in an earnest and hopeful manner across their shirt pockets sitting all alone at a table with crestfallen expressions break my heart.

Thursday, August 6, 2009

The world is crashing.

People are mad. Fighting. Killing eachother. Starving. Stabbing. Crying. Hugging.

A few minutes ago some guy was outside in the street staring up at the sky and screaming an unintelligible babble of cuss words. He is crazy, dirty, homeless, and probably on drugs.

The sad thing? I identified with him completely at that moment.

Sometimes I'm tired of helping people. Tired of offering comforting words or giving or smiling. Tired of doing what I'm told and being a decent citizen and not stealing or killing or standing out too much.

Sometimes I want to drop everything I'm doing, tell it to go screw itself, and go outside and cuss out the sky.