Alright, I get it. You don't like the dulcet tones of Jenny Lewis and you certainly don't give a shit about how Music Monday is presented. That's ok, I get the message. You're lucky I'm such a nice person, or else I'd curse you with the autoplay so that you were blasted with each Monday's chosen theme/band just for visiting without any action on your part. I hate that myself, so rest assured, that won't happen.
The Dude and I decided to live on the wild side yesterday, and booked ourselves on a flight to the mighty Pennsylvania in two weeks' time. We'd been hoping to go for awhile, but were deflated by the absurd prices - £1750 for the three of us. That's $3500 American dollars right there. Nearly $4000 for two adults and a small thing to be crammed into a tiny metal tube hurling through space for 6-8 hours at a time. Not surprisingly, we were rather turned off by this.
We realised that we had some air miles accumulating in a deep dark chasm somewhere, courtesy of using a certain credit card and shopping at a specific supermarket. The flights altogether came to less than it would have been for just one of us to fly. Viva capitalism!
For any of you that may come to this blog and roll your eyes in annoyance with what I say, sit down, put your feet up and smirk at this little fact - my child, energetic, spirited product of a petri dish and the talents of a hot young Greek embyrologist, sprung from my loins - will not have her own seat on the flight over. That is to say, she will be lapbound for the journey to Philadelphia. 7 hours of wriggling, smacking, hair-pulling agony, and that's just me. Help. This may be the death of me, and I won't yet be 30. Do me justice in your memorials and eulogies please.
I am looking forward to so many things once I get there, if I get there - our favourite local cafe, thunderstorms, the weak dollar, Old Navy, Red Lobster, American TV, showers, yard sales, and something else...what was it...oh yeah, family. Them as well. My Mom has managed to cheat death thanks to the Ferret Stroker's bad aim with his pellet gun, though P's blow-up swimming pool is no longer with us. I pray for the Ferret Stroker's own safety that he doesn't pull any stupid shit when my kid is around, or else I shall commit many violent physical acts against his person.
Now, I just need to get through the next couple of weeks of work, a struggle at the moment. I spent my working afternoon today being patiently authoritarian for 10 minutes, then spending the rest of my time in a menage a chat with Molly and DD. They give good chat, those two, particularly together.
Less than two weeks 'til Brain Trust, two weeks 'til Brain Trust...