I had a brain that felt like pancake batter
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I stopped at the sub shop on the way home from work tonight, it is how I get sandwiches for dinner. There were two short guys at the end of the line, looking like fraternal twins except one wasn't wearing a shirt. I wondered if I should wonder aloud if that particular sub shop had a "no shirt, no shoes..." policy. At the front of the line were two women in hats, one with purple hair, the other with orange. It seemed safe to assume that they were lesbians. When their sandwiches were made, the sandwich-making lady asked, "So, are you together?" The other sandwich making lady, the one who desperately needed to know what kind of cheese I desired, I hushed her with a finger to my lips and a tilt of my head toward the couple. "Of course we're together!" said the orange haired lesbian. "A-ha! I knew it!" I thought to myself, but then the purple haired one said, "Um, no, we're not together." The orange haired one quickly added, "We're paying for the sandwiches together, but we're not, like, together... I mean, we're sisters, so we are together, but, well, you know..." The three of them laughed uncomfortably, unsure if they had mistaken themselves for lesbians or not. The lady I shushed angrily demanded that I select a cheese immediately, or else there were to be repercussions. I told her I would take the orange one.
Locating MOG account...
Comments (14)
I generally don't go in for pancakes, but occasionally I will get the itch. On one such occasion I bought a can of this:
Turns out I don't know how to not burn pancakes, but I also feel like if I cooked it I had damn well better eat it. So, I had one burnt pancake every two days for at least eight days. Later, I confessed to a friend that I was a horrible cooker of pancakes. The friend told me that pancakes were easy to cook, so long as one accepts that you will burn the fuck out of the first one in the batch. Arrrrggghhh!
That is a funny story. I too have felt the wrath of the sandwich artists when I'm a bit slow on the decision making.
Is that pancake product for real? The commercial sounds so . . . I don't know. Not real. How's that for descriptive?
Nice song one of my favorites.
and entertaining little story there. makes me wonder why exactly the sub shop chick was so pissed about the wait . Perhaps she was the lesbian and resented the curiousity you showed toward her sexual orientation. at least thats how I'd take it.
Yeah, sandwich artists... what the fuck are you goanna do?!? Funny thing is I was just telling a friend how I got the impression that everybody at that store just smoked weed all day, because they were always totally baked every time I had gone in before.
The batter blaster is the real McCoy...
I don't know if it is obvious in the track I posted, but it is from a review copy of the album, which, in the case of Elephant means that it is from vinyl. In order to prevent leaks prior to the release date, all review copies of Elephant were released on vinyl only, which prompted many recipients of the review copies to immediately rip the album to mp3...
Nice! so I take it you work at a record store? I really need to get a record player and attack my uncles stack of sixties garage rock. but all in good time I'll have to try the batter blaster first frozen toaster waffels are getting old.
No, I don't work at a record store, I just downloaded the album, pre-release, and gave it to everyone I knew solely to spite the label for resorting to such gimmickry.
If I had a waffle iron I think I might have been able to make a decent waffle with the batter blaster. I wish you better luck than I had.
Great stories. The pancake thing reminds me of a David Sedaris piece about his Dad, who considered no food too spoiled to eat.
This is admittedly cursory to the point of your prose, but amusing regardless. I was slightly obsessed with this infomercial for a brief period in college.
A friend of mine purchased one and swears it nourished him throughout law school. I just find the cigarette perpetually hanging out of Hazel's mouth hilarious.
The other night I told a friend how I was "thinking about getting one of those..." "Magic Bullets!" she said, and then we both said "1...2...3 seconds!" Then I said, "No, microwaves... I was thinking about getting one of those microwaves. What the hell is wrong with you?"
i don't recall ever burning a pancake, mostly due to short term memory. i use a nonstick pan and pour the batter very thinly, almost crepe-like. that being said, hang on to your door knob, i do not know how to make fried chicken. i just don't get it.
and now for a total non sequitur, i wanted to contribute this to your July series. it's nothing brilliant but, well, a collection is a collection.
Of course I found it, and of course you know that your gifts are always appreciated. And of course you know that you are in rare form as of late, that is, a form that is rare for the world at large, but not rare for you. It is not some October peak, but merely a peek that we have the good fortune of glimpsing, even if some of us saw it long ago. I'm sure a lot of us saw it long ago, but maybe only a few of us have been left in the dust. I have been blessed to know a few incredible writers, poe, and you have given me no choice but to count you among their numbers.
And, to go all out of sequence on you, your new avatar, along with your previous, reminds me of this:
Accost someone you like in a lift or a street,
Let them burn right through you with their eyes
because they know you're spineless and that you would flop under pressure.
And you used to have all these ideas about love and waste and the end of the world and how to do things,
And to look at you now and feel good that I'm me has to be the best feeling I've ever had
and just like that, this "writer" is at a loss for words. cat got my tongue, Matt, but thank you.
in the spirit of going all out of sequence, i feel just as - what's the word? taken? - by your - what's the word? words? - as you possibly are by mine.
I've been at war with words as of late, because words can injure feelings. But you, you have a knack greater than my sharona to make words mean feelings, and, in a way, that feels good. Words and feelings and meanings have cut so bad lately that I am just happy to be able to fall on the soft side of ambiguity, which happens to be the clean side upon which your language lands.
I apologize for making you answer to my compliments, as I know that it is a lousy position to wind up in, although you always handle it with such grace. I know the muse in you bangs from the inside out, so just keep being you and we will all just keep feeling lucky to witness it.
"a knack greater than my sharona" - you'll never live this down, as far as i'm concerned. words cut me bad lately, too, and the absence of words cut me just as bad. i suppose that can only be interpreted as a lose-lose situation.
not that i need to point it out but i highly doubt either of us is someone who feels obligated to "answer". no need to talk back. (: