At the risk of being a complete obvious idiot it’s cold. Wet skin stuck to the side of a deep freeze cold and I should know. My grandma warned me not to mess with the ice on the side of the freezer especially if my hands were wet. This was a factor because the basement frozen chest contained all of my favorite summertime treats And I often went digging completely covered in sweat.
The ice cream sandwiches were blocked in by a particularly large chunk so I snapped it off to get the deliciousness. Once the ice in my hand I noticed it didn’t stick. So like a dumbass I licked my lips and pressed them to the surface. Oh no! Stuck like glue.
Can’t tell Grandma because she told me not to do this so I panicked.
I tore it off. OUCH!!!
When I looked at the ice there were my lips right there and the sight plus the pain made me cry. I walked over to a mirror and my entire mouth hole was bleeding profusely. It was a nightmare and I was ultimately discovered because there was blood all over my shirt. Well that and newly forming scabs for lips.
Pro No Lip Skin Tip: NEVER DRINK ORANGE JUICE.
Anyway, the middle child’s car is frozen solid at the mall where she works. We went there today to try and retrieve it with no luck. I had a bunch of supplies to thaw out the doors but it was no go. In fact I thought I was making progress when I thought the back hatch moved so I pulled hard and snapped off a big piece of the car. I am an idiot and the car will probably get towed on Thursday.
Who lives here on purpose?
I had an odd return home yesterday after a long week. It was a good week and the Friday night where I couldn’t catch a flight ment that I got to catch up with old friends which was awesome. Saturday morning 5:00am alarms are a pisser but I made my flight and even got to land in the pattern where they take you out over the lake past downtown and back. Frozen Soldier Field looks cool from the air even with the phone camera from an airplane window limitations.
And after the lake loop the ice was doing some awesome stuff.
Once I landed I thought all of my wonder was over but I was wrong. I got off the plane and headed straight for the bathroom. It was crowded and awful as usual and while I was waiting in line I witnessed a tragedy. A young man in his thirties was exiting his urinal and his neck pillow fell off and hit the floor. Another spot opened up so I was walking by as he was picking it up and I casually mentioned that he might as well burn that one and start over. Instead of smiling at my honesty he looked me right in the eye and put it back around his neck. WOW. shocked… nothing more to say on that point.
In stunned silence I made my way to baggage claim in the underground light show tunnel when I noticed that the walkers on the outside people mover were all reacting to a disturbance. Turns out that a woman had decided to walk in the wrong direction on the belt thus screwing up everyone elses pace and flow. And before you think this was an innocent mistake we were on what was, from her direction, the second leg of the tunnel experience so she screwed with the natural order of things twice and with purpose. People in my lane all stopped walking so we could slowly turn and gawk.
It came as no surprise that my cab home smelled like foreign farts and sadness. Welcome home.
This took me a full day to write about due to the fierce battle going on inside of my body two nights ago. I went to a West Coast famous burger chain and decided to let someone who eats there a lot guide my dining decision. I ordered the Double Double and fires both “Animal Style” which is In-n-Out code for melted cheese slices, grilled onions, and thousand island dressing. Hold please while I find the picture I took to send the boy.
The thought was better than the experience and yet another case of overhyped food. I have met people over the years that upon discovering my In-n-Out virginity would berate me for not trying the best thing ever. I am officially not a fan.
This has solidified my policy of NEVER raving about food. If you know me in the world and I tell you something is “good” or “I’d eat there again” you have just heard my highest rating. On the other end of the scale is “I wouldn’t cross the street for it.”
Back to that depicted error in judgement. First I didn’t finish which in and of itself tells a tale. I am lifetime member of the Clean Plate Club and was slightly ashamed of myself but the internal tectonic plates had already begun shifting in the restaurant so there was no need to drop dynamite down an active fault line. Luckily I had some defensive Tums packed in my bag…
Sleep is rough as something is attempting to punch its way out of your system and the next morning I decided that I am One-n-Done.
I took a couple antihistamines this morning to clear up a pesky sinus thing I’ve got going on. Just before I opened the doors to let people in and start the class I lost a couple minutes.
When I snapped back into reality I’d lost close to four minutes. I know this because prior to my fugue state I checked and had three minutes until door open. As those of you who are mathematically inclined might have already figured I was a minute late. All because I looked down and stared at the pattern in the damn carpet.
Dialing my dosage back by a pill tomorrow seems prudent.
There was a handicapable, err… alternately enabled, err… magical unicorn of a human who also happened to be a complete spaz. He had so much going on it was hard to keep track but there was no choice because I was held captive in his line. Let me explain.
Wal-Mart is controlled by a cabal of evil geniuses and their latest cost saving move is to drive everyone into the self checkout pen so 9 simultaneous transactions can be poorly supervised and assisted by one employee. But they still have all of that store real estate consumed by rarely staffed regular lanes so they put a courtesy checker in there for the old and stubborn. (which I am both) Before we go any further and you start asking yourself why I don’t just take my business elsewhere I should let you know that in some regards I am also cheap so saving between $20 and $40 per trip on consumables makes it hard for me to stop.
Anyway, they don’t put their best people on the live register because anyone with fully functioning brain matter is over Pit Bossing the self check. You get the has to sit down employee, or the way too talkative for the big show checker, all designed to make you give up and check yourself out. So I never go there without a pile of time on my hands to prevent potential inflammatory situations.
The aforementioned spaz for lack of a better politically correct alternative moniker was a show unto himself. He sand every item across the scanner which meant that he first had to read and understand what each item was. And if there were multiples of the same thing he had to relearn each one as if the previous did not occur. It was exhausting and enchanting all rolled into one.
When it was my turn I tried speeding things up by announcing items as he grabbed them. This only added time to the overall process as he would politely confirm my diagnosis with a polite YUP as he placed it into the bag carousel. So I decided to lean in and confirm his singing announcement to the bag to see if that might start the whole process over or possibly make it stop. The exchange went like this:
me: 24 rolls of toilet paper
him: [singing] Great Value Ultra Strong Bath Tissue 24 pack. YUP
me: Great Value Ultra Strong Bath Tissue 24 pack!
*and yes I tried reading exactly what the item was to no avail which I think means he didn’t change his awesome behavior one bit.
Try what you will Wal-Mart but if you want me to avoid your checkers you will need to raise your prices so I avoid your store completely. I am a better man for having interacted with that dude. Thank you.
The view from my room is breathtaking especially if you have a breathing problem and stop to ponder how much asbestos was used in construction back then.
I am a little sad because this beauty is getting blown up after I leave. Hopefully someone is informing the herd of homeless people about the fine layer of danger dust headed their way.
It’s roughly 19 miles from my house to O’Hare depending on your route. Most taxi or Uber drivers make the trip in 25 minutes which means a half hour before you want to arrive is safe during non rush hours or weather. With the TSA working for free until this government shutdown gets squared away I figured I’d need some more wiggle room.
My cabbie showed up right on time and once I got settled in, the smell transported me back to the 1970’s. My dad was a smoker and depending on the stress levels of his job getting in his car was taking a ride in a light version of his lungs. This cab was the same thing except now it made me a little queasy so I decided to work on my breath holding.
Once his door closed his Prius took off like a bat out of hell assuming that means fast and not mutated into demonic form or something. I rarely buckle up in the back seat but I was locked in before we left the neighborhood. We were weaving in and out of traffic the entire ride. Even at the end he crossed three lanes of departure traffic to drop me at the curb.
14 minutes. I thought I was wrong so I looked at the taxi company text string and it confirmed my calculations. As I unfolded myself and stepped on the curb I stumbled. I was more than a bit seasick. Even now things are a bit bumpy.
The TSA line wasn’t bad for me because I pay for their club membership. The only difference is these normally below average employees safeguarding air travel have really ramped down whilst working without paychecks.