It’s late and I am thinking about how I have found myself next to lunching ladies splitting a pimento cheese plate or nibbling on pimento cheese sandwiches more often than I would have expected. Of course with Pimento Cheese, comes the unexpected.
Speaking of cheese, I was in Bookstar the other night and the whole place smelled like re-hardening mozzarella trapped in cardboard. The store was crawling with an unusual amount of employees, all recognizable by their hunter green and burgundy polo shirts, standing on sit stools, squatting near journal racks, and crawling on all fours holding laser guns and producing the most epilepsy inducing cacophony of barcode beep beeps. It was depressing, knowing that there was pizza waiting for everyone after they were done with inventory, knowing that adults are rewarded with pizza for giving up their lives, for crawling on floors, for becoming numb to the beep beep, for tucking in their polo shirts, and for wearing kahkis – yes, it’s heart wrenching. I’ve been to more than a few of those pizza parties and I’ve since moved up a caste to boxed-lunches.
Other things this week: an unexpected Dixie Chicks Landslide sing-along, initiated by a dental assistant and shown up by my dentist, while giving me a filling (you can hear a lot over a dentist drill), Walgreens Walgreens – trying to come up with a sport or art or sport-art project I can get Walgreens to sponsor me in, watching We Live in Public and being promptly creeped out, giving up clip-ons and getting my ears pierced, finding new place to live (complete with a mantle), seeing the White Stripes Rock Doc (featuring Canada) at the Studio on the Square and reminiscing about the Gold Dollar (just in case I am pressed for such information, I can use this site to reconstruct the good part of my twenties) and just trying to adjust to being a SXSW widow and training myself to function on less sleep and more pimento cheese. If I have everything in place as planned, my body will be 43% pimento by summer.
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