Run Like A Villain
It's nice being home on a day off, thunderstorming outside, and not worrying a lick about leakage into my house for a change. It allowed me the peace of mind to curl up under my blankies in bed and read Jessica Farm which, um, wow, actually kinda scared me. And it's rare when a comic book genuinely scares me, as in actually makes me not want to shut my eyes at night. Luckily it's not night right now, although you'd never know from the lovely shade of Armageddon Black it is outside, giving my house a dim gray, shadowy hue. Much like Jessica Farm's house. Holy cats.... just like Jessica Farm's house!
I'm sad that I can't eat tomatoes anymore. Well, I guess at least for awhile, anyway. I became quite addicted to eating tomato slices with mustard for lunch at work every day, which I think is delicious. But the last few times it gave me the worst indigestion to where I was doubled over and I can't afford to have that keep happening when I'm on the job -- delicate, sensitive work that I do and all (second only to air traffic controlling). Now I get mesclun salads at Schlotzsky's, which is about the only thing I can eat at that jankity joint. Something about their spongy bread there... shudder. At least you can't jack up shredded carrots and cucumbers. Cucumbers are hard to digest, but their lack of sugar makes them all the better to keeping me awake, unlike sugary carrots. I can't keep gulping coffee just to keep me from going all River Phoenix in My Own Private Idaho -- what the heck is the deal with Schlotzky's, anyway? People seem to love that place. What am I missing? In other words, what should I try if I already hate nearly everything I've ever had on the menu? Am I being difficult? :-D
But you know who has the BOMB salads? And I never would have thought this, ever: Cafe Nordstrom. Ain't that a pip? Something of quality, that you can actually buy in a mall, of all places. I know, I know -- I came of age in the 1980's, back when there was that old defiant backlash mentality against shopping malls and a lot of that still hasn't gone away. Now I find myself wanting to make the trip out to Norfolk every day to get their grilled chicken and lime salad, or their strawberry and walnut with goat cheese covered in black cherry balsamic.... gaaahhhhh.... *wantwantwant* I'd even risk the sterile air, the fluorescent lights, and the live painist tinkling quiet, harmless, and soothing melodies lulling bovine-minded shoppers into a state of consumerist security as they all lug the same Banana Republic shorts up to the registers as their Crocs scrape listing across the glistening linoleum floors...
Oh, and another thing. Why do modern women's fashions blow so flippin' hard these days? Every girl between the ages of 16 and 25 I saw in Nordstrom yesterday had the same exact haircut -- long and ironed straight and stringy, and every dress looked like a cross between a child's frilly pink nightgown and something Tarzan tore off of Jane in the heat of passion. Even Joe, who always appears oblivious to anything pertaining to fashion, couldn't stop commenting on the hideousness of young girls' clothing. He couldn't help noticing the recent proliferation of what Maddox calls "tit curtains" or something like that. Although I think, like Maddox, he's probably less in favor of seeing less defined breasts in public than the actual aesthetics. Maybe a little of both. Joe will whisper "tit curtains" to me whenever we're in a restaurant or some other crowded public place where one can guarantee some chick will come in with a shower curtain wrapped under her armpits. And where do they find these things, anyway? I could wrap a bath towel around my torso and stroll down the street for less expense. But you'd have to get me drunk first. Or, uh, drunk for the first time, I guess.
But then again I'm one to talk. I hate shopping for clothes, so when that time of year comes around and I need new panties or I have one two many holes in my shirt I have been known to slip into "Lame" Byrant and get just enough to cover me big bum. Although you can tell how long it's been since I've step foot in an LB because I have just discovered that since my last visit (last year?) they have started color coding their clothing, which I also discovered irks me to no end. I go in to buy some pants and all the sales clerks are like "Oh, you're definitely a RED. Go try on RED". So I try one one size RED (again, this is their fit color, not the color of the fabric itself) and it's too tight. I tell them and the say "Well go up on size more in RED" so I do and it's too big. But since they kept saying that I am a RED I left with the larger size because, what the frak do I know about what flippin' color my body is? So I'm wearing silly-ass suspenders under my clothing just to hold up my silly-ass RED pants that are too big for me and hoping that I can lose enough weight to go down to the next silly-ass RED size since, well, apparently I am a freaking RED, whatever the fuck that means. See why I only do this once a year?
So, uh... where was I going with all this? Oh yeah, tomatoes and mustard. It's what's for dinner. Yep, look out tummy, I'm takin' the acid plunge!
I'm sad that I can't eat tomatoes anymore. Well, I guess at least for awhile, anyway. I became quite addicted to eating tomato slices with mustard for lunch at work every day, which I think is delicious. But the last few times it gave me the worst indigestion to where I was doubled over and I can't afford to have that keep happening when I'm on the job -- delicate, sensitive work that I do and all (second only to air traffic controlling). Now I get mesclun salads at Schlotzsky's, which is about the only thing I can eat at that jankity joint. Something about their spongy bread there... shudder. At least you can't jack up shredded carrots and cucumbers. Cucumbers are hard to digest, but their lack of sugar makes them all the better to keeping me awake, unlike sugary carrots. I can't keep gulping coffee just to keep me from going all River Phoenix in My Own Private Idaho -- what the heck is the deal with Schlotzky's, anyway? People seem to love that place. What am I missing? In other words, what should I try if I already hate nearly everything I've ever had on the menu? Am I being difficult? :-D
But you know who has the BOMB salads? And I never would have thought this, ever: Cafe Nordstrom. Ain't that a pip? Something of quality, that you can actually buy in a mall, of all places. I know, I know -- I came of age in the 1980's, back when there was that old defiant backlash mentality against shopping malls and a lot of that still hasn't gone away. Now I find myself wanting to make the trip out to Norfolk every day to get their grilled chicken and lime salad, or their strawberry and walnut with goat cheese covered in black cherry balsamic.... gaaahhhhh.... *wantwantwant* I'd even risk the sterile air, the fluorescent lights, and the live painist tinkling quiet, harmless, and soothing melodies lulling bovine-minded shoppers into a state of consumerist security as they all lug the same Banana Republic shorts up to the registers as their Crocs scrape listing across the glistening linoleum floors...
Oh, and another thing. Why do modern women's fashions blow so flippin' hard these days? Every girl between the ages of 16 and 25 I saw in Nordstrom yesterday had the same exact haircut -- long and ironed straight and stringy, and every dress looked like a cross between a child's frilly pink nightgown and something Tarzan tore off of Jane in the heat of passion. Even Joe, who always appears oblivious to anything pertaining to fashion, couldn't stop commenting on the hideousness of young girls' clothing. He couldn't help noticing the recent proliferation of what Maddox calls "tit curtains" or something like that. Although I think, like Maddox, he's probably less in favor of seeing less defined breasts in public than the actual aesthetics. Maybe a little of both. Joe will whisper "tit curtains" to me whenever we're in a restaurant or some other crowded public place where one can guarantee some chick will come in with a shower curtain wrapped under her armpits. And where do they find these things, anyway? I could wrap a bath towel around my torso and stroll down the street for less expense. But you'd have to get me drunk first. Or, uh, drunk for the first time, I guess.
But then again I'm one to talk. I hate shopping for clothes, so when that time of year comes around and I need new panties or I have one two many holes in my shirt I have been known to slip into "Lame" Byrant and get just enough to cover me big bum. Although you can tell how long it's been since I've step foot in an LB because I have just discovered that since my last visit (last year?) they have started color coding their clothing, which I also discovered irks me to no end. I go in to buy some pants and all the sales clerks are like "Oh, you're definitely a RED. Go try on RED". So I try one one size RED (again, this is their fit color, not the color of the fabric itself) and it's too tight. I tell them and the say "Well go up on size more in RED" so I do and it's too big. But since they kept saying that I am a RED I left with the larger size because, what the frak do I know about what flippin' color my body is? So I'm wearing silly-ass suspenders under my clothing just to hold up my silly-ass RED pants that are too big for me and hoping that I can lose enough weight to go down to the next silly-ass RED size since, well, apparently I am a freaking RED, whatever the fuck that means. See why I only do this once a year?
So, uh... where was I going with all this? Oh yeah, tomatoes and mustard. It's what's for dinner. Yep, look out tummy, I'm takin' the acid plunge!
posted by Melissa at 2:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home