Job. Freakin' Job, man. God basically tortures this guy to make a point, and he just bends over and takes it. It's like the holy version of Battered Wife Syndrome.
This one, although I'm sure it's cliche. Also, "This Year's Love" by David Gray (I think it's the piano that gets me), Ray Charles' version of "America the Beautiful," and pretty much any cover performed by Eva Cassidy, especially Songbird and Fields of Gold (partially because these two were included in my wedding processional).
[youtube WIF4_Sm-rgQ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIF4_Sm-rgQ youtube]
The fridge. GOD, THE FRIDGE. They're very organic eaters, which is all well and good, but that means no diet coke, white bread, or basically anything yummy to console myself about the fact that I'm a 27-year-old, babysitting on a Saturday night. When I was younger, most of my babysitting clients would just order pizza for the kiddos and me. Not these folks. The kids eat before I come over, so if I forget to grab dinner beforehand, I am screwed.
When I was 22 and in my first post-college job, I babysat for my boss's two children on weekends for some extra cash. Now, 5 years and a new job later, he's still asking me to babysit. I'm kind of torn about it. On one hand, I only agree to do it if I legitimately have nothing else going on on a Saturday night. On the other, he usually just gives me a $50 for the night--which, I realized, usually equals out to about $8/hour, as he and his wife will stay out until last call at the bar while I desperately try to find something on the 3 channels on their TV (no cable!) or attempt to sleep, which I usually can't (no air conditioning!). I'm seriously thinking about just stopping altogether. Should I?
Yeah, that was my first thought. "Breakfast tacos? How much are we talkin'?"
My #1 tip for a good vacation: drive as little as possible. We make a point to visit places that either have great public transportation, or are walkable, so we spend as little time in the car as possible (and reduces our risk of getting lost). If we get lost on foot--so what? It's a new adventure and we're not wasting any gas.
A couple of months ago, I had a dream that my boss was slowly turning into a giant cat. Not a real cat, but one of those human/cat hybrids, like in the musical. You know, CATS. One day he showed up at work with whiskers. The next, whiskers and orange striped facial hair. Eventually, he strolled in wearing full cat garb, and he was also sporting a cape, a cane, and a monocle. The more he transitioned into "cat-mode," the angrier he seemed to get, and everybody noticed but was too scared to bring it up because they didn't want to upset him. Every time he makes a certain face, I instantly see him as a giant cat, and crack up laughing.
It looks like those kittens are barnacles, just hanging there attached to that rabbit.
Bert and Ernie = the Original Bromance.
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Ruckus