There is no joy like drunkenly calling in to your favorite radio station at three in the morning to request a song from your favorite DJ (who you had an unwittingly requited crush on back in 10th grade).
Thanks, J.
After taking crap from about half the planet these past few years, I’ve given up.
At noon today, I started reading the first Harry Potter book. So far, so good.
So quit telling me I just *have to read them*. I know, and I will, and you’re annoying.
On Friday, I bought a one dollar Powerball ticket at Dirty Dillons, turned to Ben and said, “I’m going to win fifty million dollars tomorrow night.”
Then, as I drove up New Hampshire towards the coffee shop, I pointed out the loft I was planning on buying with my winnings. I’ve since discovered that there are newer lofts for sale right across the street from the coffee shop, so maybe I’ll live there instead.
Checking the winning numbers, it seems I only managed to get half of them right. I’m choosing to blame the machine that picked the numbers.
But I won seven dollars.
I’m feeling ripe for something really lucky to happen. Maybe I’ll reinvest some of my winnings in another ticket or two.
Note: I credit the surge in elaborate lottery fantasies to the fact that my favorite hypochondria website is down and I have to channel the neuroses somewhere.
If I wanted to learn flash so I could make cute little (not annoying, I promise) animations, what would some good resources be?
Since I moved into a Real Apartment, I’ve been playing Grown Up Katie. Learning how to work a cranky dishwasher, trying to remember to take the trash out before I wake up to the sound of the trash truck at the end of the driveway, buying groceries so I have food before I get hungry, freaking out when the management posts a note saying we’ll get evicted from the house if we don’t pay the rent a former roommate (who has skipped town to go stalk Vanilla Ice, no, really, not even joking) owes, trying to figure out what to do when the family in the other half of the duplex backs their U-Haul into the house, etc.
And while playing house has been a lot of fun, other recent events (and don’t I wish I could go into all the squishy details…) have taught me I’ve got plenty growing up left to do.
And as I always do when I’m overwhelmed, I’ve retreated to the land of free food, my parents’ house in Wichita. And I love free food.
Before I moved, there were two Dillons grocery stores near me: Dirty Dillons (nearest the student ghetto) and Clean Dillons (farther away, but much nicer).
And now that I’ve moved farther north, I have discovered Heavenly Dillons, the best grocery store ever.
Reasons why Dillons #68 rocks my world:
I get a new clock radio. I set the time. I do not set an alarm.
Days pass. I haven’t even touched the thing since I set it.
And then today, just in time for Ira Glass to say, “this is This American life,” the radio pops on, coincidentally tuned to the right station, at the one time all week that this show is on. I’ve never actually listened to the show on the station here in Lawrence because I always forget when it’s on, so I just listen to it online. But today, the radio magically turned on to it, right as it started.
Which was damn freaky, right?
The first story on the show is about ghosts and the creepy, inexplicable things ghosts may or may not do.
Color me creeped.
I’ve been thinking that
it would be way awesome if
Al Gore was my dad
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