Stupidity

I just saw a woman who was easily seven or eight months pregnant. Rollerblading.

Doesn't that seem like the direct opposite of what you should be doing?

Maybe it's just me.

If it's broke, I'm gonna fix it.

Why is it that on holidays (today being Labor Day), everyone finds it necessary to go to the gym.

Just because you have the day off from Blockbuster doesn't mean that you need to be here when I am.

The membership costs the same if you use it once a week than if you use it everyday. So why are you on the elliptical when I want to be?

This leads to a bigger problem of overcrowding in gyms. But that's another rant for another day.

Anyway, after a short gym visit, because I could barely breathe with all the people there, I returned home with the intention of riding my good ol' trusty bike.

Mind you, I haven't been on the damn thing in close to two years, but still.

After dusting it, oiling the chain, making sure everything worked, I pumped the tires up, and was ready to take it for a spin.

Instead, the front tire went immediately flat.

So a Walmart trip is in the works to buy new tires or something. Anything to get that thing back to being in working order.

Who's coming with me?

A Day at the Medieval Festival

So I was startled awake this morning by my father asking me if I wanted to go to the Medieval Festival with my family. After an emphatic "Yes!" I rushed to get ready, basically inhaling a bowl of Cheerios, and we were on our way.

Things I heard/said at the Medieval Festival:

- "I'm going to the bathroom to have a sword fight...with myself." [my father]

-"Where'd she get that outfit, Ye Olde House of Juggery?" [me, about an older woman with a completely inappropriate outfit]

- "Is that a fruit cup? I LOVE fruit cups!" [medieval jousting guy, stopping his rant about jousting helmets to ask a little kid about their snack]

- "If you loved my step dancing, you can also see me Tuesday through Friday at Cheetah's." [my father, referencing a woman participating in renaissance dancing]

- "They'll ask her to join the show. She can be Lindsay, Mistress of Bitchery." [me, after one of the performers yelled at my sister for heckling him]

Things I saw at the Medieval Festival:

- a fire eater setting his leg on fire, which burned for 20-30 seconds before it was extinguished. He was later taken away in an ambulance.

- A man resembling a lawn gnome.

- obscenely large barbecued turkey legs.

- horseys!

- a guy dressed as a cross between a member of KISS and a vampire. But medieval-y.



What a day, maybe I'll go back next weekend.

But I won't be going alone. Other people need to see this ridiculousity.

Yes, I made up that word. It fits.

Recommendations

I am certainly not a person who likes to be told anything.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that.

So it is with great trepidation that I accept anyone's input on anything that I'll supposedly "love."

Food, movies, music. Doesn't matter. Your recommendations mean nothing to me. If it's something that I feel that I'll like, I might try it, view it, listen to it.

I've lived by this credo for many years, but I have stuck to it like a secret oath for over a year now, ever since I finally mustered the courage to partake in the Mexicano treat they call Chipotle.

Let me preface this with the following: I love Tex-Mex food, Spanish comida, Puerto Rican fare, anything of that persuasion.

I can safely say this to you now. I will never eat Chipotle again. Never mind the ludicrous prices they charge for barely any food. It's just not good.

A good friend of mine always talks about how great the place is. The last time he did so, I almost backhanded across the face.

Music is another area where I will accept little to no input. In fact, there is only one person who consistently tells me about good music.

The latest of which was Halestorm's "I Get Off."

Suggestive title huh? It's a good song. But since I won't take input from anyone, why should you take mine?

But for every great song from a band like Halestorm, there's a million from bands like Kasabian.

Who?

Exactly.

Finally, movies.

Listen, I love the classics, ok. Casablanca and the Godfather. Citizen Kane and the Wizard of Oz.

All wonderful flicks.

But as I said earlier, for every Raging Bull, there's a countless list of real duds.

The Deer Hunter.

Three words I never want to hear again.

I love Robert DeNiro. I love Christopher Walken. Hell, I even love that squirrely guy who played Fredo in the Godfather who's in this film.

I HATED The Deer Hunter. I waited so impatiently for it to end.

Why did I hang on for the duration?

Because I wanted to say that I gave it a fair shot.

Oh, and I'm a glutton for punishment.

Paging Mr. Potter.

One of my biggest pet peeves over the course of the last few years has been the hordes of people that are in love with the man-child they call Harry Potter.

Bearing in mind that I don't have nearly the time to read the humongous textbooks that Potter author J.K. Rowling tries to pass off as novels, I was never a fan of the films either.

Then, by chance, I happened to be in my dorm room about a year and a half ago at school, and caught about ten minutes of one of the films, later finding out it was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Resisting temptation, I never watched the film again until about a year ago, when I finally saw Goblet of Fire in its entirety.

FML, I was hooked.

Since then, I've outwardly tried to act as if I hated the franchise, and everything it stood for.

Inside, I wished to be right there at Hogwarts with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

In fact, I think I'd have been a hell of a Quidditch player.

In addition, I feel like I would have been a valuable member of Harry's entourage. Voldemort kill me?

Good luck, you slimy looking bastard.

Let me say this though, there will never come a day where I sit down and read a Harry Potter novel. Never.

(Flash forward a number of years to the Haastile One sitting in a rocking chair reading Harry Potter to his children)

I have ordered the Potter flicks at least twice each through Netflix, find myself saying that I'd make a great wizard, and actually looking at merchandise from the franchise while I'm shopping. Things are bad.

Now that I've gushed about this enough, I feel the need to go kick my own ass.

But seeing as I can't do that, maybe I'll go brew some Polyjuice Potion and turn into someone who doesn't like Harry Potter films.

But why would I want to do that?

Waning Haastility?

Today's been a great day. I don't think a single angry thought has entered my head.

Maybe I'm softening in my old age.

For once, I got a great night's sleep (despite people thinking that I'm a vampire), slipping into dreamland before 1 a.m.

I awoke around three, to find one of the dogs passed out on my floor, resembling a white throw rug. She looked at me, acknowledged that I was giving her permission to stay there, and proceeded to flop back down and dream about chasing blue jays.

Waking well rested this morning, I ran the few errands that I had to do today, then returned home to do absolutely nothing.

These are the days I cherish.

But in reality, I've been happy for quite awhile now.

Could the Haastile One be losing his edge?

Hell to the no!

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

So here's a nice little story for you, the reader.

This morning, I ventured into my friendly neighborhood post office, with the intention of mailing out a package. More specifically, a padded mailing envelope.

Stepping up to the counter to the middle-aged clerk behind the counter, I explained that I wanted to mail this package out. This event went off without a hitch, until my transaction was nearly complete, and she asked me "IS there anything else I can help you with, stamps, additional postage, etc?"

Realizing that I was indeed low on stamps, I requested a book of stamps.

She pulled out a sheet of stamps depicting everyone's favorite TV family, the Simpsons.

She then proceeded to say to me, "These look like the stamps for you," and patted me on the top of my head.

Shrugging off the fact that that this freaking mouth breather just made me feel like I was four years old, I only managed to stammer "Umm, why would you assume that I wanted these?"

Her answer was baffling.

"Well, hon, what are you, 16 or 17? You kids love these Simpsons. My grandson loves them. He's 12."

Ladies and gentlemen, I haven't looked 17 since I was oh, 15. Now I'll be the first to admit that when I am clean shaven, I am a babyface. However, as of this writing, I have a full goatee, and that not withstanding, I am over six feet tall.

So, here she got 17 years old from is beyond me.

I guess she could sense my frustration, because she then said "But if you don't want these, I can give you the regular adult (loved that) stamps.

"No! I want these," I stated. "They're super cool."

I then pulled out my credit card and paid for my purchase.

"And by the way," I said "I"m not 17...but thanks for the compliment."

The gentleman behind me in line began belly laughing as I exited the establishment.