This Is Somewhere

I'm starting to think that this may quite possibly be the worst summer ever.

Well, maybe not EVER, but definitely for this year. Let me illustrate to you via word-agry (You like that? It's like imagery, only instead of pictures, you use words. I know, I know--I'm a F-ing genius...watch out Webster, you're not the only one with an endless supply of seemingly made up words.)...Okay, it's July 11, and it has reached 80 degrees like only six or seven times. That I'm not complaining about. I don't particularly enjoy sub-Saharan temperatures, thank you. No, my problem is the rain. I feel like freaking Noah, except without the ark (and don't get any ideas up there, Big Guy. I'm not handy, I'm not D.I.Y., and I prefer my wild animals to be behind safety enclosures...)...it's ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous.

I barely have the slightest hint of a golden glow--for me, that isn't too unusual. I'm pretty much pasty pale year-round, which is another post altogether, but by July I have a bit of a tan going on. This year? Nothing.

But I digress. It's stopped raining for now, and the sun is attempting to make a fashionably late appearance.

* * *

It's 1:39 pm and I have a double cheeseburger from McDonald's, which can only mean two things: 1.)I'm hungry, and 2.)It's bitchin' time. I'd like to call this Mid-Day Musings Over A Double Cheeseburger. Come, sit.

Okay. I don't like pickles and onions and mustard on my double cheeseburgers. I think those things are pretty gross as individuals (think Sarah Palin or Rush Limbaugh), but put them together and they are disgusting as a whole (the entire GOP). I just get ketchup (or catsup, if you're one of those weird people who spells ketchup as catsup), and if I'm in the mood or not on a diet (which I currently am, which I am sort of breaking at the moment), mayonnaise. Pretty uncomplicated. I'd like to think I'm an uncomplicated person.

Pretty easy, right? How hard could that be to screw up? Ketchup, and quite possibly mayo. It isn't rocket science. You don't need to go to MIT or write a treatise on the toppings of a burger. No. It's simplicity at its best, right? Wrong. Wrongwrongwrongwrong. Those idiots put everything on my double cheeseburger. I didn't buy it; I'm at work and one of my car salesman amigos purchased it for me because I'm just so damn awesome. Perhaps he forgot to mention the only ketchup, perhaps they just screwed up. Anything is possible. However, instead of letting it ruin my already exhausting, waterlogged trainwreck of a day, I just took the top (in the burger business they call that the crown) off my dysfunctional cheeseburger and scraped it (including most of the cheese) all off. I ate it sans crown, because I'm pretty adaptable and mostly hungry and desperate.

I'm partially sated for now, which brings me to my next musing. I have to make a grand entrance at my best friend's son's 4th birthday party tonight. I'm pretty tired, and I'd love to take a nap, but alas, I am a good friend and am attending, albeit reluctantly, with my son Nicky in tow. It'll be a zoo, but I get off at 6, and the party starts at 3, which means by the time I get ready it'll be close to 7. Most of the toddling offenders should be gone by then. Let's all cross our fingers for Lashawn, okay?

I'd really appreciate it.