In a small town, there are no 3 am deliveries. I biked home imagining subs and cheese fries, realizing at the last minute that the only thing to greet me was my dog (not a chef) and a fridge full of sub-par supplies. Not even a Marie Calendar. Nor an Easy Mac. Nor a leftover pizza.
I will survive. I will make huevos rancheros with leftover black beans and pudding cups.
I wish I didn’t drink so much.
"Men hang out their signs indicative of their respective trades: shoemakers hang out a gigantic shoe; jewelers a monster watch; and the dentist hangs out a gold tooth; but in the mountains of New Hampshire, God Almight has hung out a sign to show that there he makes men." [Dan’l Webster]
I’m thinking of bringing back the Turban.
So, because I’m a nester and a materialist, I’ve been thinking increasingly of my FutureHouse (I’m an American, and it’s my god-given right to own a house since I didn’t get the pleasure of being Raptured yesterday). My packrat tendencies have loaded me with all kinds of junk over the past years and I’ve held onto a lot of it, planning to someday incorporate it into what I imagine to be a whimsically eclectic aesthetic in my house. It will probably just make me look like a fiendish junk-collector with a penchant for crap smaller than a breadbox.
At least one of these items is the hard drive? motherboard? of my old laptop:
I’ve never been one of those techie-types, but wouldn’t a whole collection of these on the wall look delightfully retro but also, like, hip?