So it's Saturday in Charm City, February , 2014. Not much going on.
So today the husband and I had lunch at a McDonalds because it was fast and cheap, and because Cookie heard that the McDonalds plays Billie Holiday music to keep the kids from hanging out at it.
Yep. Billie Holliday.
Evidently the kids that would fill up a McDonalds on a weekend can't take much Billie Holliday. Now I find her fabulous. But evidently its the rare teenager who finds her voice soothing. So they play it inside and out.
I'm always a hopeful everytime I think of BJ's. Habit I guess. Then I remember that its a WHOLESALE CLUB, and hope is replaced in my mind by resignation.
I love buying paper products at deeply discounted prices, but its the people who are there that depress me. Like the Russian emigres that shop there. None of them understand that the EXPRESS LANES are for EIGHT items or less. They push their way up there and then the cashiers are try to tell them NYET, but they refuse to budge. "Why should I go over there in crowded line. I wait my turn here."
Then they feel like they get to haggle.
"I no pay that much for that item, box has dent. No, no, no, I no want another one that does not have the dent. I keep the dent and you charge me less."
And I have yet to see a man at BJ's that I would give a BJ to.
After BJ's, we went looking for some second hand furniture to see if I can create a tableaux of livability at Xanadu, the project house of Mr. Peenee and Secret Agent Fred.
I found nothing, but a lovely nightstand with a built in ashtray for people who like to sleep in bed. But since neither of us smokes, it stayed behind.
|Kevin, the Wonder Mutt|
We returned home to find Kevin and Rocky jumping up and down like they hadn't seen us in MILLION YEARS. I told Kevin if he pooped on his afternoon walk, I would put his picture on the blog. So you can guess why his picture is on the blog.
The dogs have taken this past week to synchronized pooping in honor of Putin's Olympics. But we aren't watching. Not even the curling. Putin has put a dent in the Olympic spirit. So this is my silent protest.