Monday, June 1, 2009

I was trying to make two turkey sandwiches for lunch today, but I discovered that I had only enough turkey for a single sandwich! I didn't want to go to the store, and besides I had already put mayo or mustard on all 4 slices of bread. Instead I split two hot dogs down the middle and fried them on the griddle to throw into my second sandwich. It's ingenuity like this that caused the industrial revolution.

Somehow I kicked my ottoman and bent my toenail in half. It doesn't hurt too much, it's just pretty uncomfortable. I guess there won't be any running today. I put a bandaid on the thing but I'm guessing chances are good that half of it will blacken and fall off. Gross. I've seen other people loose nails that way, but it's never happened to me before.

Some recent family drama. My mom's cousin John is planning a family reunion in July, and requested RSVPs from all the households as to who is coming. I told my mom I was going long ago, but apparently (as she told me on the phone last night,) she didn't RSVP for me. Because I don't qualify as a dependent for her taxes, she figured I was my own household and should rsvp for myself. WTF. Anyway, now I've emailed John, but it's after the RSVP date, and he sent out about a dozen RSVP reminders. (Though no listing of expected attendees or anything to indicate who has responded.) I'd be surprised if he replied with "too late" or "Damnit I asked for RSVPs a dozen times!" but if he does, f*** it, I'll stay here. You kinda feel obligated to go to a family reunion when there hasn't been on in 10 years, but it's probably not going to be fun. Sacramento in July is burning hot. And since when is one person a household? I still don't think I am at fault here. The more I think about this, the more annoyed I get. Time to do some work.

(Walking back to the metro after the Rent show. Joe almost bumps into a girl standing on the sidewalk)
Joe M: Oh, excuse me.
Joe M: (loudly to us) I just almost ran into a prostitute!
(Joe waited about 2 seconds, the girl was maybe 5 feet behind us, and she probably wasn't a prostitute. It's almost like Joe was drunk, but we hadn't been drinking.)

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