08.13.01
Today I resent:
That I did not discover that someone with a red car hit-ran-and-cracked the surface of my passenger-side front bumper. It is now unsightly, cracked open and depressing, and smeared with someone else's car color -- the bright vivid red of spilled blood, and it makes me wince when I walk past.
That the library seems to think that I didn't return Murder at the Feast of Rejoicing, when I most certainly did, and therefor it could not possibly be overdue.
That of all the places I could have unceremoniously whacked my elbow and cause a wound, that I would have managed to do so in the one of two or so places on or around my elbow most likely to be whacked again often and regular and the like. If someone would like to know in the future where that place is, I would be more than happy to whack that person sharply there, that he or she might have a greater understand of my torment.
That Cub Foods no longer seems to have Dad's Rootbeer Float Push-Up Pops, which is the entire point of my visit to said repository of foodish goodness.
That fat-free all-beef hotdogs are so much scarier looking and sounding than the regular, full-fat variety. And that the buns that come in the pack that offers enough buns for the aforementioned hotdogs are so much tinier and less-capable of holding the contents of a Julius-style Chicago Dog than the larger, fewer-in-number, brat buns, that I am forced to take a bite of the filling-filled bun and then a bite of the cooked dog, which doesn't quite seem to fit into the sammich.
That watching two days worth of shark week actually makes me feel sorry for the blue sharks that get caught in fishing nets, or the tiger sharks that are caught, tagged, implanted with data recorders that are sewn into their guts, and then released, or even for the haggard-looking great whites with their battered pock-marked time-worn hides that show a lifetime of hardship and competition. And that when some photographer saw a shark doing that weird aggressive s-curve movement that hostile sharks make, and he took a flash photo of her, and she bit a big chunk out of his elbow, I thought he deserved it for being a dumb ass.
That In Harm's Way, by Doug Stanton, isn't a much better read.
That I have a stomach ache from the Julius-style Chicago bun and accompanying hotdog, the chips, and the lemonade, not to mention the Häägen Dazs Honey Almond Gelati that I ate with crumbled up amaretti cookies on top.
And that I have to take my car in tomorrow to get the compressor and compressor clutch fixed so that the cooling system will work again. There goes the tax break check.
That all of your lives are so apparently perfect that you completely lack the need to askpixie anything.
That Brock is MIA and his phone is disconnected.
But mostly I resent the cracked bumper and the stomach ache.
