self-serve ice cream at AMPM
the dogs in my yard
cell phones can suck it without me telling them to
I want the 70's back
Del Taco's ode
When my professors tell me to write an outline of things I want to write about in a paper, my list looks something like the above. When I was driving home tonight from having dinner with the precious company of yours, truly (I don't spend enough time alone anymore), I threw this list together and hoped I would remember it while I waited at a ridiculously long stoplight.
While at home, I had a lovely dinner at Del Taco by myself and joyed the warm gooeyness consisting of rice, beans, guacamole, sour cream, cheese, and lettuce in a flour tortilla that I had long desired since coming back from abroad and drove home to pack my car up before the drive to school, which feels longer and longer every time I do it. I passed the AMPM and thought, it would be so cute to get a self-serve ice cream cone! and turned my car around.
People--since when has the self-serve ice cream in convenience stores been banned?? Oh my gosh! Don't tell me it's because of all the bacteria, because frozen yogurt places are popping up everywhere with self-serve machines. I want my self service ice cream back because, damnit, it is convenient! See the picture right there? Stupid "Extra" is killing my childhood. When I was younger, my family would take a walk down the stree to AMPM where I would get a swirled cone. It is probably the only positive memory I have of my father's role as my father. But that's a little overly-dramatic. I just want self-serve ice cream back, pronto.
Something very funny happened that weekend, too. While I was lounging around in my pajamas, a horrendeous flannel gown of stripes and roses with long sleeves and lace that is suitable for old women and not 21-year-olds, I heard barking. Obnoxious, loud barking that I was confused by. Could it be the person who stole my mom's dog, Winston, has returned him because they don't want to deal with his rascal-y ways? I thought. No, it was not my mom's Australian shepherd. Instead, it was a dog of a breed of some kind with short brown hair wearing a hoodie sweater that said "Champ 20".
Well isn't this adorable? Some old lady, probably named Millie, has lost her pooch. She will be so glad to get him back! After all, only old lonely people dress their dogs up. I know this because my dad's new wife, Mary, dresses up her dog.
It took some team work, but my mom and I got a phone number from Champ's dog collar, which was attached to a leash, which was attached to a newely broken tree branch. I called it and got a place called the Humaine Society, and they gave me the name and number for the dog's registered owner.
I called Celia. She is a middle-aged woman who does not speak English. I talked with her sister, her niece, her nephew, and finally someone who was willing to translate for both parties. For 20 minutes, I tried to tell them that I was not responsible for their dog, even if they did not want him.
"We tried to call you guys a few months ago because he ran away and we don't want him."
"No, I am your neighbor and your dog is barking in my front yard. You said you live across the street from a school, right? Yeah, so do I. Your dog is in my yard. Please come and get him."
It took 20 minutes of this. They thought I was from the dog pound and wanted to charge them $25 to get the dog. Shoot, I wanted them to give me $25 for the conversation! And for giving them their dog back! It was a good dog. While it was barking, I said "Champ, stop barking. Sit." and he did.
My mom was like, "You know, that's about the size of a dog I want."
"You're not keeping someone's dog, mom."
Maybe I should've let her. When the nephew came to get Champ, he looked very unhappy and flustered. I watched him run back to his house, which is a dillapidated mess of wood and rickety beams in the middle of a plot of land, lush with weeds and wondered why they were investing in dog clothes.
My freshman year of college, my grandma set my mom and I up on her cell phone account so we could all keep in touch. Since then, we have had a ridiculous amount of trouble with cell phones because my grandma added things, did not pay the bill, and left the country before finding out that cell phone contracts can be abolished given lengthy relocations. Of course, I did not find that out until the other weekend when AT&T tried to wallet-rape me and my mom into chocking up $500 for two months of service.
Since the phone deal is dealt with already, and I have no interest in delving into the situation again, I will just write about how stressful my mother's lack of gumption, balls, and steel is. She has recently been incapable of handing situations without my support, including this ordeal with the cell phones. They had been charging us, for 8 months, $69.99 for an internet chip we had disabled with a store clerk. I told her that she needed to raise unholy Hell and demand reimbursement for the amount of $559.92, not including interest, at least. Apparently, she does not feel justified in demanding fair treatment and gave them what they wanted.
Everything about the phone companies and how they reduce my mom to this incapable mess pisses me off beyond reason.
Simply put, I want the ease and purposefullness of the 70's back. People faught for something meaningful instead of fighting to be a part of some status quo, and I miss the times when people interacted with people.
I have begun a new blog as part of a class assignment. I am in online journalism and we have to pick a topic to blog about. See this link for more information: