The elderly women of Quilted Northern spend their days and nights lovingly crafting ornate quilts constructed of the world's most fragile paper only to have their precious art eventually soak up the fecal matter of unfamiliar asses.
It's at least another 100 days until Toyotathon. Why can't it be Toyotathon all year? Nothing fills my heart more than the sight of festive car salesmen and their car buying clients under the roof of a gleaming, helium balloon filled, streamer lined, Toyota crammed showroom. In a world with too many religious conflicts threatening to cease our existence, I'll respectfully hold my comments on the idiocy that is Lexus’ November to Remember.
I don't often purchase Starbucks coffee, but I stop by the store around the corner from my apartment at least once a month. I like to restock my kitchen with their straws, sugar in the raw packets, napkins and stirrers. I don't yet have the chutzpah to siphon their milk to replenish the dwindling carton in my refrigerator, which is exclusively used to lighten up my lifetime supply of morning Folgers that I received from a disgruntled Law and Order: SVU craft service production assistant. If Detectives Stabler and Bensen look especially sleepy in the 2007 season it's because they drank decaf under caffeinated pretenses.
Due to some emotional blockages, which are being negotiated in twice weekly therapy sessions, I am unable to cry. However, a genetic lottery win of hyperactive tear glands has allowed me the gift of welling up when even the slightest breeze grazes my face. While walking down the city sidewalks in bouts of inclement weather, instead of just constantly drying my eyes, I scrunch my face as if to appear overly distraught and let the tears rip away. The concerned reactions from strangers are endlessly endearing and equally fascinating. This fall, I may incorporate wailing to punch things up.