Oh Tina! In Your Mom's Kitchen?!

An open letter to "Tina":

Dear Tina,

We both know that if your dad saw that one picture (you know which one I mean) of you and Dwight, he would kick Dwight's ass. For real.

Your friend,
Ryan B

But I digress.

It's nice again today, so I was going for a run (I only run when it's nice out. None of what I'm out to prove can happen while getting my sneakers all snowy and feeling my lungs harden like one of those balloons dipped in nitrogen in the science room of your local museum), but Bandit was whiny, so I figured two birds and took him with me.

First of all, dude is fast. We were doing walk/run, but even during the run parts, he was way out in front, and this is including his poop stops (which numbered near the upper half-dozens); I didn't even go once and I still could bearely keep up.

Normally, Bandit is beloved by other dogs and small children (and blankets and old footballs). We had already passed a few of our regular landmarks, including Rotten Sidewalk Apple and the glove I had originally mentally tagged as EXHIBIT J, but now just call Dog-pee Glove because, well, obviously. We got to the dogs that love him and want to make good friends through the chain link. But then we met one of those snarling dogs like you only see on TV outside watchtowers in the prison yards or in alleyways with overflowing dumpsters and springy old mattresses and homeless guys gathered around a flaming barrel. You know, that dog. The fence was pretty high, so even though Bandit was pulling my arm from its socket to get away, I raised my other arm out to my side and said "Jealous? Ooh, look at us, walkin' as far as we want."

So then, (don't worry, Tina, I'm getting to you) we walked through the drive-thru of the nearest convenience store, where I ordered a Red Bull (yes, I know that shit will rot my teeth. If one more person tells me that...Listen, I know it's rotting my teeth, but at least I'll be awake when it happens.) As the clerk walked into the store to get my energy, I heard his co-worker snap "Nuh-uh! He's got nerve!" I knew it was because I was on foot. I leaned into the tiny window and held up my end of the leash. "No, look," I said. "I'm walking my dog. See? I can't come in because of my dog. Otherwise, I'd get my own drink." She bent down to see me and said "Well, I was gonna say 'No he didn't!'" I was thinking she pretty much actually did say that, but whatever. (She gave Bandit a treat, so it's all good now.)

So then, walking home on the opposite side of the street (to get away from the dog version of that seriously mean dude with the tiny hat from Oz), Bandit sniffed out the best thing ever. Under a tangle of duct tape (it had been originally used to mark buried cable under the sidewalk), he found a stack of photographs of my new best friends, Dwight and Tina (not their real names, I assume). Dwight and Tina are sort of cute together, but are obviously meth addicts, or as I like to call them, teenagers. Dwight has a serious case of Huff Mouth, but Tina is gonna be hot in her twenties. She looks sort of like Gwyneth Paltrow when she had brown hair and ate store-bought food.

I'm pretty sure those pictures were meant to be private; I'm guessing Tina threw them out a window after Dwight left her at that party to go score some glue or whatever and she had to call her sister's boyfriend to come get her and well all know how not-cool her sister's boyfriend is. Or maybe she saw the pictures and realized that she's gonna be way happening in a couple years, and he'll always be some coked-out kid who looks like what would happen if Requiem for a Dream were remade with a community theater version of the cast of The Other Sister, and put on the road as a PSA for kids at Meth Camp. And I think we all agree that Tina can do better.

I, on the Other Hand, was Unable to Make Marching Cool

It's pretty easy to make my day lately. For example, last night, I ate vegetarian Hamburger Helper, and then watched American Idol on the couch with the dog. So we've established that the bar is not set very high. You could just sort of step over it. You wouldn't have to do any kind of running start or backwards bending of any kind. You wouldn't have to worry that you didn't have a coach or special tiny socks.

This soccer mom type was in Best Buy today, and sometimes I just need to know what those people are buying. I gotta get in their heads a little.

Before I continue, let me say that soccer moms? I got no problem with soccer moms. Somebody's gotta yell at refs and buy juice boxes and drive those DVD player vans.

So, not judging her, but just following to check out the purchase. I was returning One Tree Hill season 2, which I had bought for a friend, which I had apparently bought for the same friend once before, so I'm in no position to call anyone to the carpet for questionable purchases.

She picked up the first Kanye West CD. I wanted so badly to tell her that she had probably been sent for the second Kayne West CD, but that's not how we learn now is it? Before I could see what was next, her phone rang. You already know her ringtone was Sting, right? Well it was, and that's her business. Phone rings are abrupt sometimes. Can't just shock yourself like that. You have to ease into phone calls, and When We Dance is like one of those little plastic shoe spoons. Just step down and...there you go. See, that's not so bad. How's it feel? Toes at the end? Gotta leave room, you know.

Her call was from another mom; they were discussing homeschooling. "My" mom said "Well, he says he wants to study quantum mechanics. I don't know. No, I have no idea. He said it's not engineering, really. I'm going to try to find a used textbook at a college, so I can figure out how to teach it. If he decides he wants to be a quantum mechanic, we need to learn as much as possible."

Seriously? I mean, homeschooling can be a noble endeavor, but come on. Is there even such a thing as a quantum mechanic? Is that what the job is called?

Poor kid. She's just rubbing it in with the Kayne West music. The one guy who made it cool to want to be in the marching band is gonna be listened to by the one kid who can't be in the marching band. I'm sure she's a great teacher, but what you wanna bet mom's got The View on during study hall?

And I Didn't Even Have Caffeine Today

Hmm. I think maybe this is the beginning of the end for me, in the retail world. Tonight, to a customer, I said "Being rude does not signify being important. You can be civil or you can leave."

It's not that I was driven to say it, it's that I read it like a year ago and memorized it, so I could bust it out should anyone, say, scream in my face for no good reason. She did, so I did.

That I was all giddy and happy the rest of the evening, because I put some crank in her place? Yeah, it's time to go. Surely there are other ways to make me happy. I wonder what they are? Maybe I should go find some of them.

Current mood: Hor d'Oeuvrey, Red-Bullish.

For all you on-the-go types who think you're too busy to make a healthy lunch, here's one of my favorite recipes. I find this works best during the week, around, say, 1 p.m.

1 spoonfull of peanut butter, and then some more, but not really another full spoonfull. Just more. And it doesn't matter how big a spoon. Go with your gut.

1 spoonfull of jelly. I like strawberry, especially if actual strawberries are present, and not just represented by red.

Put it in a bowl, and stir. It'll turn kind of a pinky-beige carpety kind of color. Don't discard the spoon. Leave it in the bowl with your goo.

Get some crackers. I use wheat saltines, but you're welcome to use whatever kind you like (as well as your own bowl, because I only have like four). Ritz don't work though. Not sturdy enough for dipping (that's what you'll be doing), and too buttery or something. Not good.
Anyway, then you eat your crackers and goo. The best part is the last bite, which you'll find in the spoon. It's sort of like hors d'Oeuvres, for kids.

Works really well when paired with a Red Bull, and then off to sleep, for 45-60 minutes, on the couch, with the dog. Upon waking should feel cranky, unrested, and dubious about putting digusting bowl into the dishwasher.

Prep time: 3.5 years

Cooking time: Zero! Zero cooking time!

Clean-up: Pending.