andreadisaster.com

I started writing this last night and ending up passing out cold on the couch. Like I do every night, but this time I’m blaming the extra glasses of wine I had. Sorry for the delayed Mining Monday, but as I said last week, you’re lucky I have time to type and take pictures, much less type, take pictures and think.

What’s this contraption?

Stuffed shell maker? At first I thought they were cupcake cups, except, um, those are made of paper, so I’m not really sure what this is trying to be.

See that? Let’s investigate.

My theory: Gramma used to sit by the lamp while she crosssitched and would put an extra needle and thead there for same keeping. After she died, the lamp went from relatives, to the estate sale, to finally the Goodwill, where the needle still stays.

MY EYES, MY EYES.

I’m getting angry again just looking at this. An old fashioned painting and you put the price on the picture?! I know putting price tags on merchandise is an enormously difficult job, but really, placing it a few inches over on the frame wouldn’t eat up an extra seconds. We’ll clock it.

Heartbreaking. I would have gotten them otherwise, but the nicks in the pain would have killed me. Just, gaahh, why?!

Making your own donuts sounds like a fun Saturday afternoon project, and then after a series of mishaps (a burnt hand, spilled oil, the usual), they would turn out totally gross and you’d end up with Krispy Kremes anyways. Whomp whomp.

I’m not a big fan of donuts, to be honest. Make your own bagels would be splendid.

The discarded prom memorabilia section. I think we had picture frames. Or picture key chains? Something like that.

We were really jazzed about that m-word at one time, weren’t we?

Some religious sect would come to my college campus and pass out green mini-Bibles. They were pretty sly, they wouldn’t even ask if you wanted one so much as shove it in your fucking hands. The former altar server that I was, I could never bring myself to throw away the Bible, so I’d hand it over to someone else who would do it. The guilt still remains.

BSB sighting!

I just wanted to point out that “Boy-Crazy Stacey” is supposed to be 13 years and she’s being hit on by the James Spader of lifeguards. The creeper’s not even looking at the foot he’s putting that bandage on. Look at what you’re doing: that’s the number one rule in LIFE, much less LIFEGUARDING. BSB books had the worst/best covers ever, and it makes me miss the hilarious Claudia’s Room blog.

Okay, enough about the dorky books I read growing up.

This book, however, was the thorn in my undergraduate side. I do not miss you at all. AP Style > MLA Style.

And finally,

I guess if you really need the tax deduction and the ink’s dry on the divorce… though I think this is a more interesting way to get rid of it.