You know spring is over when there's finally a movie worth seeing in a theater. Of course, currently, that movie is playing in only one theater, but I think that's going to change. It's small and charming, exactly what an indie should be. Not perfect -- the songs really don't need to go on quite so long, I mean, after about three minutes we get it -- but lovely and romantic in the Before Sunset/After Sunset vein. And the redhaired main character has an Irish accent. MMMhmm.
You also know spring is over when summer hours start. Summer hours! Out at 12:30 on Friday to enjoy the 90 degree weather! This reminds me of when my high school used to release us on Fridays at 2:15, even though the point of that was that we could rush home and help our mothers prepare for the sabbath before sundown, not frolic in the sunshine like heathens. Still: thanks, German Mother Publishing Company Conglomerate. I appreciate it.
The heat is helping soak my wounded pride. I went to the dentist this morning for the first time in over three years, and they had to take x-rays, and I rewarded them for that by making their jobs almost as difficult as they could be. At least I didn't actually throw up on them. I could have, you know. I had tears in my eyes from holding it back.
Also, Pinkberry tried to poison me yesterday. I found shreds of plastic in my lo-sugar fruit smoothie. And my shoes? That I spent too much money on because I finally thought I had found the perfect soft pretty easy-to-walk-in sandals? Gave me a blister. Because nothing's perfect, friends. That's the life lesson. Sweet diet goodness AND dental hygienists AND the footwear you use to run from both are all out to get you. Any way they can.
Luckwise, my family seems to have stumbled into some bad lighting lately. At least it's Memorial Day Weekend. My mom should be coming home from the hospital today; my dad starts chemo Tuesday; and I'm off to Westchester with Mr. Ben for a bit to escape the dangers lurking in the city's frozen yogurt.
Sophie Turner Is Your New Tomb Raider
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5 comments:
...and what makes you think you will be safer in Westchester?????
what happened to your poor mother?!
Kids today -- bah!
I see yer 'shreds of plastic in my lo-sugar fruit smoothie' and *raise* you 'gold-plated bracelet links in my chili dog'.
(Which made me somewhat apprehensive aboot the *exact* composition of the meat content, of course, of course...)
now back from chappaqua, i can testify that there are dangers lurking there ($.80 for an overripe banana and $8.99 for a pound of red peppers!) but i experienced no unpleasant platic-related surprises.
i have to say, a gold-plated bracelet seems more like a gift than anything else. maybe someone was trying to win you over, andrew?
my poor mother had her thyroid out and is recovering nicely. my dad, meanwhile, starts chemo today. fingers crossed.
Well, if the *whole* bracelet had been there, I might've considered the gift possibility-- the jagged edges on (what was left of) the outermost links frankly only *added* to the gruesomeness of my speculations...
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