I’m just going to live my life believing that the $12 of tomatoes that I bought from you just the other day and that were destined to become delicious homemade salsa tonight (well, half of them were, the other half were intended for my salad pleasure) were absolutely riddled with salmonella. This way, when I think back to the moment that I looked in the bag to find mush and mold and…I don’t know, what were those, cobwebs?…I’ll see it as the universe or His Noodly Appendage steering me away from a week of The Poops. I am choosing not to see it as you selling me what were probably frozen tomatoes that were grown during, like, the Clinton administration or some shit.
I don’t like patronizing you and you don’t like my shitty Commie attitude, but things being what they are, we’re stuck with each for the time being. Except for the fact that your prices are going up and up and up and you need to STOP WITH THAT SHIT. Rolling back prices ring a bell?
Anyway, besides the tomato nonsense, I’m having one of those days when I absolutely hate writing. I hate talking to people about stuff that I’m writing and/or shit that they’re doing. I hate interviews, I hate deadlines, I hate nouns. All of it. Fuck all that shit.
Sigh. This morning the baby crawled into bed needing some comfort after a nightmare and the cat soon followed after. So, all four of us were crammed into our little full-sized bed. Must have been a sight.
I don’t know why you needed to know that, but I feel better for sharing it.
Oh and I don’t know why some of you are hitting the “awaiting approval” area when you comment. Let’s just ignore it and hope it goes away, kay?