Why, pray tell, would I start out a blog post with a picture of this book? First of all, it's a pretty good book. That cranky, crabby kid cracks me up every time I read it. Secondly, because I'm having a pretty bad day myself.
I woke up with pretty terrible bed hair, which, although I tried to brush and tame it with gel, mousse, hairspray, and even a little mayonnaise, didn't get any better, so then I had to wash it because the flies were really attracted to the mayo when I stepped out the door. Then I got on Facebook and found out from George Takei that Boston was on lockdown (that's right, people - my main source of news and current events is, in fact, Mr. Sulu.) This ticked me off. Boston is probably my favorite city ever, and I love everything about it - the chowder, the cobblestone, the Kennedys. Now, thanks to a spineless smear of dookie (that's right, I said it, and forgive my language, but I'm mad) the whole city is being locked down. Which meant that Boston Comic Con was probably going to be postponed. It was.
Now my weekend plans were shot, which meant no chowder in a sourdough bread bowl from Quincy Market for me. (Ooh! I wonder if chowder would have worked on my hair?) I scowled my way into work, only to find that someone had misfiled the Pattersons after the Picoults, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was me. (After all, I had been alphabetizing while listening to a particularly lively rendition of "The Reflex" by Duran Duran. Mistakes were bound to happen.)
I'd been hoping to make spaghetti with sausage for dinner, but when I got home after a rainy, gloomy day, I discovered that we were out of pasta and sauce. I'd meant to add both to the shopping list last week, but again, those boys from Birmingham had lulled me to distraction with "Save a Prayer," and I'd forgotten. Sure, I could recite the whole third stanza of the song, but "feel the breeze/deep on the inside/ look you down into the well" wasn't going to help dinner get made. I scrambled some eggs and went to lie down, disappointed.
Lying down turned out to be stupid, because the bed head came right back. I did finish the book I was reading, but it turned out to be disappointing, and I'm a little mad at Larry McMurtry for not being perfect. And still my favorite city is silent while they ferret out a murderer.
So all in all, it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
I woke up with pretty terrible bed hair, which, although I tried to brush and tame it with gel, mousse, hairspray, and even a little mayonnaise, didn't get any better, so then I had to wash it because the flies were really attracted to the mayo when I stepped out the door. Then I got on Facebook and found out from George Takei that Boston was on lockdown (that's right, people - my main source of news and current events is, in fact, Mr. Sulu.) This ticked me off. Boston is probably my favorite city ever, and I love everything about it - the chowder, the cobblestone, the Kennedys. Now, thanks to a spineless smear of dookie (that's right, I said it, and forgive my language, but I'm mad) the whole city is being locked down. Which meant that Boston Comic Con was probably going to be postponed. It was.
Now my weekend plans were shot, which meant no chowder in a sourdough bread bowl from Quincy Market for me. (Ooh! I wonder if chowder would have worked on my hair?) I scowled my way into work, only to find that someone had misfiled the Pattersons after the Picoults, and I had a sneaking suspicion it was me. (After all, I had been alphabetizing while listening to a particularly lively rendition of "The Reflex" by Duran Duran. Mistakes were bound to happen.)
I'd been hoping to make spaghetti with sausage for dinner, but when I got home after a rainy, gloomy day, I discovered that we were out of pasta and sauce. I'd meant to add both to the shopping list last week, but again, those boys from Birmingham had lulled me to distraction with "Save a Prayer," and I'd forgotten. Sure, I could recite the whole third stanza of the song, but "feel the breeze/deep on the inside/ look you down into the well" wasn't going to help dinner get made. I scrambled some eggs and went to lie down, disappointed.
Lying down turned out to be stupid, because the bed head came right back. I did finish the book I was reading, but it turned out to be disappointing, and I'm a little mad at Larry McMurtry for not being perfect. And still my favorite city is silent while they ferret out a murderer.
So all in all, it was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
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