Pink Floyd, The Dark Side of the Moon 1973
The worst part is not knowing when the tears will come
(In related news, I am in need of water-proof mascara.)
On Saturday, I was at the post office to send out a package to Vegas. I kept forgetting things in the car and had to go back and forth...back and forth. The last bit forgotten, the most important, was a pen. I was tired of hiking back to the car and so I asked the man, a priest, across the table if he had a pen. So there I am at a table with a priest taping up a HUGE stack of packages alongside a girl who was stamping wedding invitations. As if it was the beginning of a joke or something. A priest, a bride and a blogger walk into a post office together..... I began writing the address on the package and realized at that very moment I would need to address the box to Jolene's husband and not to Jolene herself.
And I promptly burst into tears.
I finished up the package, stuck it in the mailing bin and went to leave. As I was leaving, I spied a guy with a Pink Floyd shirt and I stopped him. I told him about my stupid blog and how I have been using Pink Floyd song titles for post titles and how much fun it has been and he challenged me to come up with a post for the song "Several Species of Small Furry Animals Gathered Together in a Cave and Grooving with a Pict" and and I was all like "Dude! Already written!" and we laughed and I got into my car to drive away and I thought how that guy must have a wondered just a little about the freaky Pink Floyd fangirl blogger type with the raccoon eyes. And I laughed again. Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion (Quick! Which movie quote is that??! First to answer correctly wins a fucking PONY.)
Then, I promptly felt guilty for laughing. AGAIN. How dare I move on with my life? Right? Enter random beeping as all the synapses in my brain plot to form a coup d'etat over their host. Or something like that.
Okay, enough of that. Gentle Reader, I promised stupid, pithy posting. Here you go, no serious thinking required from here on out.
Over Memorial Day Weekend, my sister Maureen and I headed off to Branson, Missouri to hang out with the parents, check out Silver Dollar City, eat some barbecue, listen to some bluegrass, see some butterflies at the Butterfly Palace and last but not least, commune with the masses in the hotel pool.
Branson, fucking MISSOURI...... Hayseed Heaven...Redneck Vegas....the Shangri-la of Hillbilly Schtick.... an Ozarktopia of Baldknobber's Bliss.
Perhaps,YOUR father might enjoy vacationing in the South of France, but MY father prefers to languish in the south of MISSOURI. You are SO jealous right now that surely the green is seeping out of your nostrils, is it not?
Ah, but I kid the south of Missouri. It is actually a nice, relaxing place to run to for a quickie weekend getaway.
Before this post completely careens off the rails, I am going to throw up some snaps and run far, far away. If you would like to see the complete set of my glamorous Branson, Missouri vacation which included a lovely sidetrip to a fish hatchery, you can see the slideshow here.
Preview of next week's post? My whirlwind trip to the Carousel Museum in Leavenworth KS last Friday.
You say Flyover State like that's a bad thing.
Don't It Make My Big Eyes Bigger
Unfortunately, They Don't Sell New Attitudes in the Gift Shop
Safety In Numbers
Shopping at the Brits Store in Lawrence KS is Cheaper Than Therapy