recent events (pied)
This is probably one of the rare instances in which not updating in four days doesn't mean nothing's been happening.
I had a dream a few days ago that I was in a gymnasium the size of a cathedral at Resa's school, and we were participating in some children's event, where kids overflow the gym like popcorn spilling over the sides of their incubator, and then the children are divvied up among the participants and you play with them. Resa and I and our few assigned children sat in a far corner of the gym, near the door, and we colored. Resa actually engaged in simpleton conversation with the kids, whereas I shied away and colored by myself. I should've sported more enthusiasm during the bonding time -- when I took this test at school, the one that pairs you up with the job you're most suited for, "dude ranch operator" and "rabbi" were among my top fifty. Dude. Ranch. Operator. I should've been waving my arms and running in circles around the little shards of youth, having them color in an orderly manner like synchronized swimmers. I could've even worn black, pasted on a false beard, and expressively muttered made-up words like the kind they use for magic spells and games and punch lines in Harry Potter books. And I would've gotten to wear a cool hat! Like a mix between a ten-gallon and a Jewish skullcap. That certainly sweetens the pot.
On Sunday night, Pat and I went out for dinner at a buffet, and I decided that I wanted a dish of ice cream (mistake no. 1). So, I padded across the carpeted floor to the dessert counter, snatched a cone from the stack, and made my way to the ice cream dispenser (mistake no. 2). I decided strawberry ice cream would be pretty tasty, even if it was labeled as being a low-fat product. Deciding it was what I wanted, I pulled the lever down (mistake no. 3). I couldn't even get the ice cream into the cone at first, and it snaked down my hands and dripped onto the floor. This made me giggle. I then stepped away from the machine, thinking the handle would spring up of its own accord (mistake no. 4). However, whatever numbfuck designed the ice cream machine decided it should be painstakingly manual, so ice cream kept slinking out onto the floor in spirals. This made me giggle uncontrollably. A table nearby suggested I pull up the lever, so I did so. They also commented that I would never be hired at Diary Queen. Good thing that isn't a deep aspiration of mine. Then they made another suggestion -- that I put the cone into a dish. I then hopped over the chilly mess to the toppings, and spooned up some sprinkles onto my bowled of ice cream cone (mistake no. 5). However, the giggles that were tearing through my shocked little body caused my hands to falter, and I got sprinkles all over the floor. I then proceeded to retreat back to the table after crying, "Escape from the crime scene!"
A few minutes later several servers and the manager gathered around my little danger zone and cleaned it all up for me. This did not cease my giggling. I don't think it stopped until I started getting sick.
Last night for dinner (great, another story about food), my mom made some chili dogs. When she served up my second one, she commented on the way she had pulled the bun open too far and now chili was leaking through the bottom. Then she suddenly exclaimed, "Oh!" and began to giggle herself, because she had forgotten to put a hot dog in the bun. This is when things started to get sad. She plopped another tube steak on top of the chili. By this time the bun was so weak that I had to eat the chili dog with a fork. I wondered how one even went about eating a chili dog with a fork, but I went for it anyway. I think it was about at that time that I realized that there were now two hot dogs in my bun. After that I gave up on my second helping.
Simon (cat no. 1) escaped night around 10pm or so, just as Pat was leaving. He fumbled with his job application and box of Krispy Kreme donuts, and that's about when the cat bolted out the door. Neither Pat nor I had really seen which direction he had gone in, so we just wandered aimlessly for about an hour until I sent Pat home to get some rest for work the next morning and my mom and I gave up.
My mom slid into my room around 3:30 this morning and declared that Simon had returned. I was actually very happy, but my face was buried in my pillow and I was half submerged in a dream, so it didn't seem as such.
Before Pat left, he and I went to FuncoLand (a video game store, in case of an emergency), where Dave was working last night. He wanted to show me his ID card, because his picture had been drawn by someone whose name escapes me, and it definitely shocked the monkey. Dave also dragged a Suikoden II poster out from the storage room that he had always wanted for himself, but he selflessly gave it to me instead, and now he rivals the ice cream man's place in my heart.
On top of that, FuncoLand's been searching for an assistant manager and another employee (whose name is also Pat, by some odd coincidence) is quitting on September 1st, so Pat picked up a job application while he was there.
But the best part of visiting FuncoLand was the blurb on the counter promoting a Game Informer membership (Game Informer is, again in case of an emergency, a magazine) and the savings on game purchases that result therein. It had a picture of an unfortunate who had no subscription to Game Informer, decked out in a T-shirt that read, "MARTHA 4 LIFE (his mom buys him Martha Stewart's magazine instead, you see)!" and playing a video game system entitled "Lame Station Pied." I mean, there was "Lame Station," and then the exponent was pi. I almost weeped. Such genius.