If Casual Friday means "wake up late, throw your hair in a ponytail, and don't wear make-up" then yeah, I have TOTALLY nailed it!
Well, actually I woke up EARLY, because it's Friday and I tend to work about 2 hours early on Friday so that I can get out by 5 or 6. But the term late is relative to the 45 minutes that I snoozed the alarm.
So I had some wicked cool dreams last night. In one of them I was windsurfing with someone's baby. And there were some mean waves! First let me tell you I am not the adventurous type- and I can't swim.... so the whole windsurfing thing... would NEVER happen. And the baby.... I don't know whose baby it was, I can't remember. But a little baby, like 4 months, wearing a hat and mittens and wrapped up in a blanket sitting on the passenger seat (yeah, I know that windsurfing thingys don't have a passenger seat, or a seat at all, but as I was windsurfing, I could look over and see the kid sitting in the passenger seat, so bear with me.) And anya was surfing near me and she didn't have Ava and I kept saying "oh, the baby's mittens are getting wet! I bet she's cold!" and Anya would be like "you should'a doubled them up, you know? Two pairs!" And I felt bad. The waves kept splashing in the baby's face and I felt badly. It was like whitewater rapids. And one time I remember thinking "this is the way to Seatonville on Route 6 from Princeton. We are totally surfing on this road! it's like a whitewater rapids on Route 6."
Yeah. And that was followed directly by another dream, which now I am drawing a blank of. Damn. It was a good one too.
You know what I hate? The way old people drive in parking lots. When I am walking either through the parking lot or on a sidewalk, they literally drive like .0002 MPH as though at any moment I might throw my body in front of their vehicle. What. The. Fuck. I spend more time waiting for old people to get their car out of my way than anything. I think that once you turn 60 there should be mandatory driving tests each year. And I think that they should take them through a parking lot. And when they start that "I can go slower than a snail" crap, the instructor should slap a rolled up magazine across the dash and say "What. The. Fuck. If you ran over a WORM at this speed you wouldn't hurt it! Get it in gear grandma!" and scare the driving back into them before it's too late. And if they fail, then Medicare can buy them one of those nice scooters or a hover about and they can drive .002 mph on the sidewalk. But have you ever noticed that if you give them a scooter they suddenly go all Rat Fink? They have the bloodshot eyes and the 8 ball shifter and they cruise through the grocery store and cut people off and poke at you with their cane? They round corners as if there is no such thing as a blind spot. Who knew that there are hemi's in those damn old-people scooters! But put them in a car and get this debilitating need to drive .0002 MPH. It's an epidemic people! (P.S. Thanks to dad for raising me in an environment where Big Daddy Ed Roth was a household name.)