Meals on Wheels

So if my blog has been less active lately, it's for a good reason. I don't have to ride the public transportation anymore because Nikki and I bought ourselves a shiny newer-not-quite-used car! We had been saving up for like a week and decided on a silver 2003 Nissan Altima. It may not be as cool as the red one in the commercials, but it's pretty sweet. Now I can start volunteering for Meals on Wheels!!

We've already taken it to the beach so that I could gamble legally for the first time in my life. After losing a dollar, I became enraged and left the gaming floor. Everything about the casino just creeped me out. It was like the waiting room for death. The mean age of the casino was lowered from 83.2 to 83.18 when Nikki and I entered. I had no idea how to play the damn slot machine and it took my dollar. I suggested we'd be better off at the arcade, which we spent the next two hours at, punching, shooting, screaming, and otherwise making complete asses out of ourselves. We ended up cashing in our tickets for a whoopie cusion, army men, that finger trap thing and a Tinkerbell tattoo that I've been dared to wear to work.

So don't expect to hear about any smelly bums or people vomiting at my feet on this blog...until I start school anyways.

Band-Aids

One of the most disturbing images that it seems I come across daily as a patron of public transportation and as a resident of East Portland is used band-aids stuck to any solid object. They're stuck on trains, hand rails, the pavement, windows and walls. It's one of the most terrifying sights because of the unknown.

Why are people compelled to put stick their ooze and pus where people can see it? I don't want to look at the patch you put over your disgusting wound because the hole you made in your arm while you shot up won't stop bleeding. Please, use the wastebasket for your Scooby Doo band-aids.

32 days or 768 hours!

This is the amount of time that separates me from a much needed vacation. My plans to go camping are the only thing that is keeping me awake at work at this point. We've recently switched managers at my store so it's been a hectic period trying to get them adjusted to their new, busier surroundings. And since they are busy, I am busy. Tuesday will mark my sixth day in a row at work and then I'll have two days to recharge my batteries. This weekend left me exhausted and wondering why I still work for this company.

Why do I still work for them? I need to look for another job. I have been lazy before, but now I am motivated to find another job that suits me best. One that doesn't involve the public too much. Maybe Mike Rowe can find me a job. Although, I wouldn't want to come home smelling like cow shit.

Spring Cleaning, 3 months later.

A picture of my refrigerator after throwing out the old food...yeah, that's beer, milk and water. The jam and ranch dressing made an appearance on the door. I think we have butter too. We need to go to the store.

My United States of Whatever

No, this won't be a list of "My USA" where I list the people and ideas that come from the USA that make me proud to be an American. Maybe later Carly.

It's hard to imagine what it would be like to live in such a time when the country was united together to kick British ass. If you asked your average American today, they probably couldn't tell you why we celebrate the Fourth of July. Would they know who we gained our independence from? Probably not. We here south of the border just like to blow off appendages and make craters in the ground. God Bless the USA!

Why is everybody an expert pyrotechnician on the Fourth of July? My favorite event that happens during any fireworks celebration is the dud. You lit that explosive device and nothing happened...yet. Nobody wants to go near it because you never know what might happen. Most people will kick the dud to make sure it isn't going to explode. That really shows you how much people value their feet. I'd much rather blow off a hand than a foot. At least I'd be able to walk myself into the emergency room.

Our forefathers would probably be appalled to learn that even though they put their lives on the line to get away from the British, we take their crappy shows and turn them into our own crappy shows like American Idol. And now we have to live with Ryan Seacrest? Fuck that man, I'd rather pay taxes every time I took a sip of tea than watch Ryan Seacrest. Not to mention we have a British guy judging American talent? No offense, Simon, but I believe George Washington would kick you in the mouth if you told him he was a lousy singer.

We should be celebrating not only our independence, but the lives of three U.S. Presidents who have died on this glorious day in history. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson both died on America's 50th Birthday, July 4th, 1826. Five years later, James Monroe would make three Presidents to croak on our nation's proudest day. So, Mr. Clinton, Mr. H.W. Bush, Mr. Carter, be careful this Wednesday. I wouldn't worry about Dubya, nothing will end his term soon enough.