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The Good Beginning

A challenge was thrown down. The challenge was met. Conversation (and breakfast, courtesy of Perkin's Restaurant) was had. I managed not to disgrace myself by wiping my mouth on the hem of my shirt the way I've been known to do when dining alone in my cave. Charles didn't seem to mind me yakking my head off (or as he put it "she can discourse on a ginormous number of topics"). I'm glad he could hear me -- I am half deaf from approximately twenty years of rock concerts and no restaurant in the Orlando area has a decibel level lower than that of the average airport (no really, I have been trying to find a quiet place to dine ever since I've lived here and I've been unsuccessful -- I think they play recordings of squealing babies and clattering silverware in restaurants during downtime, along with the blasting of whatever music they think people are unable to eat without).

Then after that nice start to the day I had to ruin it by attempting to Go Places and Do Stuff, instead of keeping my ass at home. Synopsis: there was flooding rain, a paper shopping bag which dissolved as I was walking across a busy intersection in said rain, then a train that wouldn't move and a bus that caught the disease. More later when I can bear to think about it.

Comments (1)

Annalucia [TypeKey Profile Page]:

At least once you get home you can strip off sodden clothes, throw yourself on the bed and do absolutely nothing you don't want to, except maybe feed the cats.

We have Trains That Don't Move in Chicago too - principally on the Blue Line, which is the one that runs out to O'Hare Airport. Chug, chug, chug - stop. Sit. Chug, chug. Stop again, wait. It's like an old fat man trying to run a marathon.

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Don't worry, he's just chopping broccoli.


This page contains a single entry from the blog posted on July 14, 2007 10:44 PM.

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