I am having one of those mornings where my head is all Random Word Blender, so you will have to bear with me. I ramble when I’m nervous….

Last night after work, Mr. Husband said “fuck these leftovers” and took me out to the Very Schwanky Outback Steakhouse (motto: “Our ‘Australianized’ Names Will Make You Want To Stab and Maim”). I started with one of those salads that are not really salads at all, because they are half cheese and croutons. If I ate salads like that at home, I might as well give up and have a Dick’s burger every night. This was followed by a chicken burger that was named Sweet Chook-O-Mine. A person could die of jealousy; someone got paid to make that name up for a major restaurant chain.

I am going to start a restaurant that celebrates the history of hip-hop and rap. “Yes, I’ll start with a Run-D.M.tini, and–what? Oh, yes, B.I.G.-size it–and then I’ll have the Biotches and Fries.” The waitress will reply: “Sir, be sure to save room for the Kool Moe Lime Pie.” That would be crappity awesome; I want my name on that. Ludacris will come to my grand opening, and will cut the ribbon…oh, wait, all the sudden this just got dirty. Oooh, Ludacris! Tiny!

Aherm. Like any good American chain restaurant, the waitress at the Outback was gakked out of her mind and veryveryvery efficient. After we consumed more calories in one sitting than I have probably eaten all week, we got up and I saw a golden light emanating from the only thing that was open in the strip mall…The Dollar Tree (motto: “Everything’s really a dollar. Unless it isn’t.”)

I love the dollar store. I first discovered them in the town I grew up in, but like everything else in that town, the dollar store there was pretty lackluster, with stretches of empty shelves and dust that blew around in snowy drifts. But here we have the Dollar TREE! Where movie tie-ins go to die! Currently you may purchase a Hulk paint-by-number, or some Hulk shampoo. Hulk-poo! Your choice! U-S-A! U!S!A!!!!!! lol!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!11

When I lived downtown, unmarried and too cool (read: too poor) to eat at the Outback, I used to unironically shop at the dollar store in the University District, because it was the closest thing to an affordable nearby department store. I used to buy accouterments for my sexy bachelorette lifestyle, like candles and incense and corduroy velvet underwear and smoking donkeys and pot scrubbers.

Last night Miss Frannie and I skipped into the Dollar Tree gleefully. One thing I love about little kids is that if they are in a good mood, you can get them excited about anything. If she was awake right now, I could turn to her and say, “Root canal! YAY! Root canal!” If I started chanting it and jumping up and down, she would, too. They are kind of like dogs in that way.

I bought a bag of Smarties at the Dollar Tree and Frannie got a fancy ponytail holder for her first solo day of school (today). And a little “princess dress-up top.” I really liked that they included the word “princess” on the tag…those fuckers really know their market.

I was at The Fred the other day, and I saw a bunch of Big Girl bikes. Frannie did too, and ran right to the pink one with all the foo-foo shit hanging off the handlebars. I think there were sparkles involved as well. I had a black dirt bike and black hi-tops, and a general disgust for all things girlie, and now lookit me. The heterosexuals got to me too, but I says it’s a damn sight better than those Mormons, or however that saying goes.

First Day of School:

Today Franny gets her trial run of one hour, in which I have coffee and curse the fact that I bought into a school that believes in sensitively acclimating your little twit to the learning environment. Take her, all ready! At this school, they want you to drop your kid off curb-side, and they walk them in. The assistant looks very nice and all, but is is weird that I am paying this school so that a strange man with a rocker goatee will open my car door and take my little Frannie out of her cat seat, and take her away. I think I have been trying to prevent this from happening for three years, and that I could get it done downtown for free.

But it will be good, in the end, and I will go have coffee for the hour at my favorite new coffee place in Phinney, Herkimer. I am so stealing their colors for my future kitchen remodel. They have dark green, and light green, and honey wood, and yellow accents. This room will fall between my sexy glossy red/velvet-painting-adorned living room and Frannie’s fuchsia room with silver stars, so I figure there should be something soothing in-between, colorwise.

So if you are at Herkimer this morning between 9 and 10, look for a jittery mummy with pink hair and too many roots, and she will say, “I’m not SJ. SJ’s face never fuckity breaks out like this, dammit.” Yarr.

In Other News

I always like to think I am all gangster for going through natural childbirth at home, blah, blah, blah, superior-cakes, when I go and read this: Daymented�s Lasik surgery. I am not this punk rock. Just read the story, and I guarantee your eyes will water, too. I LOVE stories that provoke physical reactions, don’t you?