Blog It Out...

Yesterday was a very dark day in my life. As I am wont to do, I let my gas tank get down to the point where I would have been That Crying Girl on the side of the road who pushed her car to the limit and lost if I didn't stop for gas ASAP. So stop I did, and that is where it begins to get all fuzzy.

The Chevron I pulled into was selling regular unleaded gasoline at $3.99 a gallon. As I threw up in my mouth at the thought of having no choice but to fill my tank with most of my day's earnings, it occurred to me that I was also lacking milk at home to give to my son with his dinner. So I swiped my card, filling my tank, and headed inside to pick up the moo juice.  I found the whole milk my son requires and stopped. And STARED. The price tag below the gallon indicating the price was typed in Bold. $5.99. I took it to the counter and once again swiped my card. And then I died on the inside. 

After I pulled out of the lot, I called someone who I felt would also feel my hurt on this particular subject, given his propensity for outrage at paying $3.30 at the pump. After we discussed (in no particular order) juice, UTIs, Democrats, and the superiority of the East Coast over the West, we got down to the heart of the matter, and after I cried and gnashed my teeth, Andrew suggested I Blog It Out. So, though you may or may not share my pain at the pump, your sentiments of outrage, shock, despair, and/or disgust would certainly be appreciated.  

The Lawnmower Man

To: The Anonymous Lawnmower Man

From: Bree

Re: My Lawn

On April 23, 2008, someone mowed my lawn. And weeded. And edged. And pruned. And cleared out that nasty area around the palms. And I don't know who it was.

My first guess was that it was the handiwork of my super fabulous next-door neighbors, since, on several occasions, Lt. Col. Mike and the girls have been out there weeding, etc. But, when I thanked Ralita, she knew nothing of it. Yesterday, she confirmed that no, neither Lt. Col. Mike nor her father had done my lawn, but that her father had mentioned seeing "some guy" out there working. 

So, to you, "some guy," thank you. I know my botanical upkeep has slipped since Ian has been gone, but hey, it was winter, and it was ok. But now that it's warm again, and since I got that letter from the HOA telling me that my yard was "unacceptable" (but that's another angry story for another day wherein I tell the HOA to PISS OFF) I have felt slightly bad that I lack the ability to keep anything green alive. At least the inside of my house (when it's clean) looks substantially better than when Ian left! I feel slightly victorious about that.

So anyway, thank you again, Anonymous Lawnmower. That was very nice of you, and if you come forward and reveal your identity, you will receive an award.

Most Sincerely,

BriBro

Dear Pennsylvania...

I don't like you very much right now, as it seems all you are doing is prolonging an already exhausting election process. At least a win for Obama would have (mostly) solidified the Democratic nomination in his favor. At this point, my bigger issue is that neither candidate can seem to close the deal, and that doesn't leave me very confident that Democrats have their s**t together in the first place. Maybe the Dems need another four years to get their ducks in a row?

Assimilation

While I in no way consider myself a Californian, there are a few things of which I have recently become aware, that frighten me to no end. (Most notably, the fact that as temperatures dipped into the low 60s and the day was overcast, I thought to myself that "it's a bit chilly today.") I like lists, so we'll do it that way:

• The word "dude." While it's always been a part of my vocabulary, it has never had such a prominence in my vernacular until living in SoCal. Everyone is a dude. Duuuuude.
• "The" is, apparently, a requirement in preceding any highway. Directions to my house include: Take the 5 north to the 56 and head east. Take the 15 south to the Mercy Road exit. Also of note: never before,  in all my travels on the east coast, would I have made it to a destination relying on cardinal directions. Here, it's pretty much a given, but I constantly mentally think, "Never Eat Sour Worms."
• Flip-flops. All. The. Time. 
• Bicyclists. Man, do they effin' annoy me. But, when gas is at $3.60 a gallon for the cheap stuff, I can't say I blame 'em.  

Now, don't get me wrong, there are still puhhhhlenty of things about the left coast that still really piss me off. Numero Uno: It's called sarcasm, people. I don't actually mean it. Numero Dos: No Dunkin' Donuts. Numero Tres: Fires = NOT COOL. Give me a Nor'Easter any day of the week. Numero Next One: No Dunkin' Donuts. Numero Next One: Celebrities everywhere who actually think I give a shit about what they say, especially in regard to politics. And, lastly, there's no Dunkin' Donuts. 

But, I think, when it comes down to it, when we do eventually meander back to the east coast, there are a few things I will definitely miss.... ok, really, only one thing is coming to mind: mexican food. I do love me my cadillac margaritas!