Thursday, June 23, 2011

the makings of a scary movie

I've spent the majority of my summer having scary movie marathons late into the night with my good hometown friend.  It's great fun.  Up until I have to go home.

One particularly frightening night, my friend was driving me home at about 2am.  The night, by the way, doesn't get much darker than it does 2am.  Desperate to feel safe and contained, we threw ourselves into the most available car in her driveway, which coincidentally was a smelly Jeep storing a broken lawnmower in the back seat.  We fended off our terror with loud pop music and fast driving.

A stop sign quickly approached us and my friend hit the brakes fairly hard.  I didn't mind the harsh driving if it got me to my house faster. But what I did NOT like at ALL was the lawnmower flying up from the behind and slamming into the back of my seat.

I shat myself and screamed explosively for half a second until I realized it wasn't a grody ghost orphan or a nightmarish homicidal pervert.  Just... just a lawnmower.  Right? Right.

Just realized I didn't draw seatbelts. Am I lazy, or dangerous?! YOU decide!!

Wednesday, June 22, 2011

Lemonade Stand... OFF?

This summer, I am so far unemployed.  I do nothing all day.  I also find that if I have nothing to do, I don't do ANYTHING.  As a part of my nothing-doing, I've created a nest of my personal belongings so I never really have to leave a five-foot radius.  I'm fairly protective of my nest.

Well, today, while brooding inside my air-conditioned nest with the lights off (save for the TV since I don't miss a single episode of Maury), I heard noises outside.  Noises of... youth.  Youth selling lemonade.

Why had they picked MY corner?!  They weren't on my property or anywhere too near my nest, but it was close enough! They were laughing, playing, and comercializing, completely ignorant of their being stalked by yours truly.  Because I'm not normal, I wandered around the house for a few moments, trying to decide what to do. I couldn't just ignore them.  I narrowed my options down to yelling at them like an elderly troll...

or inconspicuously walking my dog past them and donating some chump change to their cause.

I went for the latter (sans-trench coat and sunglasses) and I must admit I have no good explanation for why I was so tense.  It turned out okay.  They gave Wolfgang some love and thanked me for my donation.  Maybe the next generation isn't so doomed, after all...  Hey, if you were self-imprisoned in a house for about forty days (seventy years in unemployed time), you'd be just as strange.