That’s a spicy meat-a-ball!
[ 12 Comments ] Posted on 08.07.04 in awesomeness, food
I know that many folks are finicky about what they eat. You could classify me like this too, but I try to keep an open mind about what goes into my mouth; I’ll try anything once.
Way back when we were wee tots, most of our parents fed us things like Spaghettios. And now I’m giving the well-earned props to Mr. Chef Boyardee.
Today I discovered that euphoria can be achieved with a microwave. Today I discovered that heaven really is on earth. Today I discovered Mini Bites Mini Ravioli with Mini Meatballs.
So here’s to you, Mr. Messiah of the Microwave, and thank you for the delicious distraction from my mundane life.
Why me?
[ 2 Comments ] Posted on 08.04.04 in complaints, high school
School started Tuesday. And this is my formal apology to those who I laughed last year at as they were toiling away at loads of Spanish homework for Señora Gleason.
I am truly sorry. I was so insensitive.
As of now, I need only attend the Hell that is 6th period 178 more times. God help me.
Bad George
[ No Comments ] Posted on 07.31.04 in family, funny stories
A few weeks ago, Ian put the capital into an investment of 100 Polo shirts from a supplier. They’ve never been opened, are in original packaging, and have a retail price of $52.50. We decided to resell them to try and turn a profit. And, regrettably, we went to the flea market. Charging $20.00 a piece, we sold $100.00 worth in shirts. Not too successful, given the surplus inventory we have. But what made the venture worth it was George.
George is a regular. 89 years young, he knows everyone by name as they do him, and he greets everyone with a smile. He admits that he moves at the speed of a 98 year-old, but mentally, he’s quick as a fox and twice as sly. He sells things you would normally find in a drugstore, you know – toothpaste and Mach 3 razors and the like. Until about 12:30 he sat at the booth next to ours, imparting immeasurable wisdom upon us.
First, it was about the flea market. After over 20 years he knows what’s too expensive, what will and won’t last, and the types of items that sell best. But then our conversations turned broader. We touched upon subjects of race, sex, religion, and age.
My favorite George-ism was when he explained interracial relationships. He thinks that every white young lady who becomes involved with a brother is bound to be beat. When asked why they stay with the abuser he answers, “They like that black oak.”
I will miss George. From now on, no more flea markets for us.