More Journalism blog posting. Ahhh...
Speculation from earlier today: palm tree hairdos automatically make people look crazy. I was passing this girl with some crazy palm-age, and I wondered to myself if she had some sort of psychological disorder; if her wires were fused properly; if she was going to start barking like a dog at me if she noticed I was staring at her. She looked... off. And who knows, maybe she really was crazy and the palm tree 'do was merely coincidence, but in retrospect I realize that palm tree hair is sort of crazy... it's all stuck out and disheveled, like a lunatic got a hold of some scissors and tried to give themselves and updo. Incredibly 90s. The 90s were a crazy time though... a dark, crazy time...
Last night my dad got mad at me because I was being a "snot-o." My dad says really corny things like "snot-o" because he's generally unassertive and thinks I will be emotionally scarred if my father-- my own FATHER-- calls me a snot. The reason is funny though; or so I thought. Remember how I told you how bad of a cook Sarah is? Did I? Well she is. And for the past two days she has been concocting some diabolical seafood pot roast something-or-other; I have practically locked myself in my room the smell is so awful. Bottom line: our house has smelled like nothing but fish for the past two days. So yesterday evening I'm trying to find something to make for dinner (while fighting back stinging tears from the stench) and Dad says, "I didn't think you'd want any, but Sarah is making a dish. It's seafood--" And before I even take a preparatory inhalation I blurt out, "OH really?!" There. That was it. That warranted: "Well you don't have to be such a SNOT... o." I think my dad was mad because he thought I was calling him stupid. The truth is I said "oh really" with no malicious intent. It was just sort of like... our house, our fridge, our freezer, our stove has smelled like fish for the past two days. There are scallops in the fridge, frozen muscles and clams in the freezer, shrimp and vegetables in that weird pot roast thing on the counter, and some weird fishy spice that looks/smells like a rotting caterpillar sitting on the stove, and they have all been there for quite some time. THANK YOU for telling me that Sarah is making seafood. I DID NOT catch that. I was wondering. Thank you for alleviating my nagging curiosity.
He was right, though. I would not and did not want any of Sarah's seafood blasphemy. I once tried crab she made, and it too smelled terrible. Now, I like crab-- in fact, I love many types of seafood-- but I try to convince my dad that I don't in the hopes that he will discourage Sarah from preparing meals with insufferable, permeating odors. But this crab... ugh... UGH! It was, like, runny, and watery, and didn't taste entirely done. What would I give to vomit such a thing from my stomach. If fate had been kind I would've been able to, but no, that disgusting crab sat in my stomach... menacingly.
Class is almost out so I am going to jet. It has been a fantastic* day.
*Note: "Fantastic" should be read as though coming from a pretentious young British woman who thinks herself just a bit better than everyone else around her; mouth should be in a restrained smile, eyes tilted upward dreamily, and heavy emphasis on 'tas'. May be substituted for "wonderful," heavy emphasis on 'won'.
No comments:
Post a Comment