Wednesday, November 19, 2003

"Most fools think they are only ignorant"

Today was a good day.

The upstairs pluming is working again, thankfully saving me from having to give myself a sponge bath in the kitchen sink. I won Photoshop tennis in my digital art class, yay for me! Dad tweaked some widgets in the Mazda, so my car is up and running. I’m almost back on track with pre-history and psychology. I painted my toenails blue and sparkly. And I’m sitting here drinking hot chocolate and eating a hoc-o-choco-pot-o-thing (think big hunk of hot uncooked chocolate brownie in a bowl with chocolate syrup and fudge… oh god, yum) while I‘m chatting with my wonderfulmus #Firefly friends. Just lots of little things like that have made today a good day.

On the way to school today I passed a van load of Amish who were eating McDonalds. Why don’t they just drive themselves? That had to be the most hilarious thing ever, though… a van load of them. Heh. My little shoulder devil told me to flash them my boobs, my shoulder angel told me to wave, so in the end I just ignored them. Then the next 30 minutes were spent behind an Ashley county ambulance. It was kinda creepy but like my own personal ER. I could see people, though the back windows, kneeling over a person, giving them a shot, and holding a mask over what I assume to be their face. It was intresting but sad. Some poor old person was all alone, no one was speeding to keep up with the ambulance like we did for my grandmother so we could be there the second she got to the emergency room.

Ohhh, grrr. That brings me to a rant. I won’t go on about it right now because that would ruin my good day, but I just found out that my Aunt, who is an author, wrote a piece about my grandmothers death. It pisses me off all to hell. It’s just wrong on so many levels, mostly because she wasn’t even in the same state as my grandmother most of the time. Oh, grrr.

Think happy thoughts, happy thoughts.

Well, happy site atleast.

This one’s mostly for the splendiferous Mag and her Bandersnatch, over at The Rubble.

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