Mood: caffeinated
Now Playing: Weezer
Some random observations:
I'm off a six-year McDonald's breakfast hiatus. I just can't seem to get up early enough to get hungry enough to crave fake eggs and greasy meat. The last memorable McD's breakfast: freshman year of college. Move in day. My roomie (and buddy) Cara's parents had breakfast with us under the Golden Arches before they bid her an awkward tearful farewell right there in the parking lot afterward. But today I had it again, and it's everything I remembered. If I'm eating in, it's hard to pass up the Hotcakes. My dad used to bring me those on Saturdays when he'd get up early to go get a haircut. But these days, for my money, it's a Bacon egg and cheese Biscuit meal.
Breakfast in tow this morning, I had hoped to catch up with another morning friend: The Price is Right. Since moving out to the central time zone, wherein TPIR comes on at a relatively-early 10 a.m. instead of the east-coast standard 11, I haven't really, um, been able to catch it. I sat down, was happily screaming at the morons who squander the last bid without using the one-dollar or one-dollar-more method, preparing for the first spin of the big wheel... when the power went out. And it stayed out until TPIR was OVER. How depressing. Luckily I drown my sorrows in McCoffee.
I have some parenting advice. Now, I'm no expert. Although I do love children. I do. They're cute; they say funny stuff. [begin rant] But if it's a hot day, there's a giant line at the beverage cart, and you're halting 20 thirsty people's lives in the middle of Milennium Park because your kid can't decide between an orange push pop or a chocolate ice cream bar for five full minutes, here's why. Because when you name a kid Donovan and dress him exclusively in plaid shorts from the Gap that's exactly what you're breeding. And it's a slippery slope from here before that kid becomes one of these bratty preteens who text messages his friends through an entire movie, even though it's freakin Superman in freakin' IMAX, and it cost 10 dollars to watch. [end rant]
But what do I know? It's starting to occur to me that I am getting increasingly old and crochety. For instance, I see these commercials for Sweet Tart candy in goo form that you squeeze into your mouth, and I get a little sick to my stomach.
The other day I was waiting for the elevator when The Tannest Mom in the World walked up with her two kids for their (daily) trip down to the pool. One of the little darlings was swinging a plastic bag full of pool stuff, change of clothes, toys and whatnot, like a maniac. Or like a child. Like I used to do. But I found myself wincing, absolutely sure that the contents of the bag would go flying through the air and take out an eye or something. Probably mine. And then, like my parents used to do, Mommy Tannest chided: "Stop swinging that around; you're bothering that lady."
That. Lady. Ouch.
And finally, on the packing front, here's the only thing I've managed to get boxed up: