After a little shuffling, we were all finally seated at a round table somewhere in the middle of the restaurant, slightly chilled from the rain, but happy to be out.
"I'm so hungry," I said picking up the menu.
"I thought you wanted junk food," Fetus reminded me, with an appraising eye.
"I did. But if they don't have a mountain of fries here, I guess I'll just have to make do, right?"
Lorraine Says: How To Become Blogger's Blog of Note
I don't really know. That's kind of obvious because I've never held this "blog of note" position before and I guess if I knew how to become it, I'd already have done that for myself. I probably would've also figured out a way to be a billionty-naire from blogging*. Oh, and have Zebra Cakes be an official sponsor. Oh, and have Ryan Gosling propose.
Lorraine Says: Car Wash
I washed my car this weekend. Washing my car is one of those things I do a lot less than I should. Not only because it's nice to keep your things clean, but because it always makes me feel amazing.
Come at me, life. I just washed my car.
Come at me, life. I just washed my car.
Lorraine Says: Nobody Said It Was Easy
"Way to sit somewhere where I can't see you guys," Roxanne jokingly said as she walked up to where Penny and I were. "You're both too short to see behind the booth."
"Well, we can't pick where we sit at a restaurant," Penny replied.
"And we really can't help being short," I concluded, lifting my legs up onto the seat and crossing them, Indian style. The hem of my pants were still damp. I'd spent the entire day with wet pants and shoes and the sun hadn't come out at all. I was glad the day was over.
"Well, we can't pick where we sit at a restaurant," Penny replied.
"And we really can't help being short," I concluded, lifting my legs up onto the seat and crossing them, Indian style. The hem of my pants were still damp. I'd spent the entire day with wet pants and shoes and the sun hadn't come out at all. I was glad the day was over.
Lorraine Says: Trifling
I've seen a few respectable bloggers decide to never blog unless they have something substantial to say.
It seems to me that I've recently adopted the very opposite of this guideline.
It seems to me that I've recently adopted the very opposite of this guideline.
Lorraine Says: Two For Flinching
Apparently, Columbus discovered some stuff and we like to remember him for that with a holiday.
I remember learning about Columbus "discovering America" in elementary school. What sticks out the most in my memory is the amazement of my classmates at my being able to pronounce La Niña, La Pinta and La Santa Maria. Also, drawing said ships crossing the ocean, and stuff. Hooray for public school systems.
Columbus Day is a second rate holiday, anyways.
I remember learning about Columbus "discovering America" in elementary school. What sticks out the most in my memory is the amazement of my classmates at my being able to pronounce La Niña, La Pinta and La Santa Maria. Also, drawing said ships crossing the ocean, and stuff. Hooray for public school systems.
Columbus Day is a second rate holiday, anyways.
Lorraine Says: Storytellin'
I've given a lot of thought lately to storytelling: what makes a good story, who tells a good story and when it's time to shut up. I've thought a lot about where to draw the lines on this blog, and when a story isn't mine to tell.
I think we're all story tellers in our own way. In conversation, we all craft tales with beginnings, middles and ends. We think about punch lines and climaxes and conflict. We highlight what we think is important and gloss over what we think is not.
There is a lady at my job who wasn't blessed with the gene that tells her when a story is over. I sit across from her, so I have the pleasure of watching as person after person tries to slowly walk away from her desk. Sometimes they shuffle nervously as she babbles on. Sometimes they back away without turning their backs or breaking her gaze. Sometimes they pretend to hear someone calling them. And yet, she doesn't seem to notice. I, on the other hand, suffer for her.
I think we're all story tellers in our own way. In conversation, we all craft tales with beginnings, middles and ends. We think about punch lines and climaxes and conflict. We highlight what we think is important and gloss over what we think is not.
There is a lady at my job who wasn't blessed with the gene that tells her when a story is over. I sit across from her, so I have the pleasure of watching as person after person tries to slowly walk away from her desk. Sometimes they shuffle nervously as she babbles on. Sometimes they back away without turning their backs or breaking her gaze. Sometimes they pretend to hear someone calling them. And yet, she doesn't seem to notice. I, on the other hand, suffer for her.
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