Pick a Pop: NPR Junky’s perfect present
If anyone REALLY REALLY wanted to get me a great present, this is it.
All in FuFu Berry.
If anyone REALLY REALLY wanted to get me a great present, this is it.
All in FuFu Berry.
“I have known only shame. Then, last week, I experienced surprise. Man, 37. Box no. 4126.” From They Call Me Naughty Lola
Last week I was lucky enough to meet Rusty. (You can read about our adventures here.) Tuesday night, while at dinner, we noticed this:
The next night, it got even better. Apparently arbitrariness knows no bounds in Mooresville, NC (but you stand less of a chance inhaling second hand smoke on the weekends):
It all started at Starbucks.
Last Thursday afternoon, I stopped at a Starbucks at the Charlotte airport before heading back to Philly to pick up my car and drive down to DC and the THA. That was the original plan, anyway.
Then I got a medium chai and a chocolate chip scone. And this was my total:
…which is just further proof that I really AM the devil. So, not only was my flight delayed slightly (no big deal, I’ll get home eventually) but I finally retrieve my bag from baggage claim purgatory, make my way to my car in terminal parking and come to find out….
I have a flat tire.
Mind you, it’s 9 pm when I finally make it to my car. I will not go into the series of events that led to the discovery of the flat tire, for they are numerous and very frightening. So I place a call to Triple A, and am told a service guy will be out by 9:40, tops. I alert the THA that I will indeed be a bit behind schedule, and proceed to wait.
Two hours later, my savior does indeed show up. He manages to get the spare out of the trunk with great difficulty, and gets it in place in record time. He informs me that as long as I drive between 50-55 mph, I should make it to DC on the spare with no problem (contrary to what everyone and their fiancee had to say about the matter). Not only did he put on the spare, he also checked my oil and essentially made sure everything was in the right spot under the hood. (And of course it was, as I drive a Honda.)
The best part of this whole story? When one of the Philly Parking Authority people came up to me and asked why I hadn’t just used one of the white phones to call for help, instead of getting AAA to come save me (this is after AAA man showed up). My question back to her was “What white phone?”. She stated the white phone on the third floor of the parking garage. I asked if this white phone was labeled in some way. She said no. She stated that she and her colleagues had BEEN WATCHING ME FOR THE TWO HOURS I WAITED FOR AAA and thought it would have been a lot easier for me to just use one of the unmarked white phones to call for help. And friends, it was at that point that I wished I could indeed light people on fire as I’ve often desired. Alas, I just fixed her with my steely glare and made my way back to my now repaired car.
I made it safely back to the cat ranch for all of 15 minutes to exchange clothes from one travel bag to another, and was on the road again, headed to my DC Annex. I didn’t get there until 3 am but I tell you what, as always, it was well worth the drive. And, I am happy to report you CAN make it more than 50 miles on a spare.
While out with the THA over the weekend, we ran across this store.
Jesus, people. It’s stores like this that prove this country is going to hell in a hand basket.
* Update * Having just received an email from a dear friend asking “What were YOU of all people doing in a Buy Buy Baby?” I felt I should explain further: The THA and I were NOT actually IN the store, but spotted it while out goofing off on Saturday night. The THA was later overheard explaining “It’s stores like this that make me want to get a vasectomy.” What I REALLY don’t understand about this place is can you actually PURCHASE a baby here? If not….holy false advertising, Batman!
“Things I won’t do for love include replacing corroding soil pipes and trepanning at home. Everything else is A-OK. Eager-to-please woman (36) seeks domineering man to take advantage of her flagging confidence. Tell me I’m pretty, then watch me cling, at box no. 3286.” From They Call Me Naughty Lola
You know you travel a lot when you wake up with a song stuck in your head and later come to realize it’s the safety information theme music from US Air.
Also, you know you travel a lot when a next door neighbor starts a conversation with you that begins “Oh, I haven’t seen you for so long I thought you’d moved out.”
Oy!
Thursday night, after returning from Raleigh, I went down to visit my Temporary Housing Authority in DC (otherwise known as my DC Annex). Friday afternoon while he was at a meeting, I started scrounging around his kitchen to come up with something for lunch. I went through cabinets, drawers and his fridge and found only items containing the words “all natural”, “organic”, “vegan” and “high fiber” which to me equates to “tasteless” “hard to prepare” “yucky” and “adult”. (However, in his defense, I found nary a bean sprout or block of tofu in sight, although I didn’t open several drawers in the fridge for fear of what I might find). Having almost had a heart attack at the lack of pretzels or tater-tots, I nonetheless spotted a comforting sight at the very back of his fridge: peanut butter (although it was organic). Thus fortified with my organic all-natural peanut butter, I grabbed a bag of vegan, gluten-free granola and began chowing down.
The moral of this story is I think the next time I go down, I’ll have to bring a bag of cheetos or can of pringles to balance out the all-natural goodness. And maybe a Tastycake or two.
Ok, so better late than never, right? This past weekend, while on location in DC, I experienced the following firsts:
There were a couple non-firsts in there, as well (like Lush, and St. Elmo’s Coffee Pub). Many thanks to my host for the weekend; I can say without a doubt, WoW will never look the same again 
I make up for the lateness this week by incorporating absolute bizzareness into this week’s submission:
“I am not afraid to say what I feel. At this moment in time I feel anger, giddiness, and the urge to dress like a bear and forage for berries at motorway hedgerows. Man, 38. Box no. 3632.” From They Call Me Naughty Lola
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