Your Awesomeness Knows No Bounds

Overheard at work: (in a hushed whisper) “This system scares the living shit out of me.”
*And just for the record, none of our computer systems are THAT scary. Obsolete? Yes. Scary? No.

This morning on my run the coolest thing ever happened. The street cleaning go-cart dude that I pass by every day honked at me and waved. He knows me! Okay, maybe to you it won’t seem so cool, but I feel loved.

I tried making brownies using my microwave oven/oven. I’m not sure who the geniuses behind this contraption are, but they should seriously be shot in the groin. It worked about as well as you would think a microwave would work as an oven. I had no idea what temperature it was set at, nor how long to bake it. When the chocolate pretty much started boiling on top I decided maybe it was done. So I took it out, let it cool, and then tried to cut into it. Other than perhaps shrimp, chopped liver, and pork chops, I’ll eat anything…but my friends, I could NOT. Eat. THIS. It was deceivingly delicious looking, as the top remained the color of “normal looking brownies.” However, the inside was “none more black” and tasted like a pair of pants (the trouser kind, not the underpants kind). I tried so hard to get past the gagging, but alas, in the end I just had to do the right thing and throw them away. I’m writing a letter to management demanding a real oven and a tray of brownies.

Last night we had to take the Tube to get to the kosher restaurant in Marylebone. So we’re walking up Oxford Street around 5:45 (prime rush hour of both business people and heinous tourists), it’s raining, my parents are hungry, and we’re not ENTIRELY sure where we’re going (and by ‘we,’ I mean ‘I’). We finally make it to the Oxford Circus Tube, but there is a huge throng of people trying to get in. We’re at the front of the pack shuffling our way to the entrance when they close the doors and say that we have to wait awhile due to overcrowding. And so there we are squished in amongst everyone – a little girl holding a map in her hand, a tiny woman holding a duck umbrella clutching both her bags to her chest so that grabby hands don’t grab, and an Orthodox Jew who decides that NOW is the best time to make a joke, loudly saying for everyone to hear, “Lisa, tell them you have to get home to feed your cat.”

Here’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that while I mock my dad’s sense of humor, that I have actually inherited it and am turning into the same person. (Minus the beard. So far.)