Dear Mrsatroxi,

I know how feta cheese got its name! After awhile, it smells just like stinky feet. Wow.

I think I must be in a very cynical mood lately, because people can’t be as stupid as they appear……they just can’t be. I mean, is this a recent occurrence (starting around the same time as the internet), or have I just not been paying attention? Perhaps cynicism is just another way of saying observation.

I was in Target a few weeks ago. (Also a few days ago, but that is not part of this story.) God, how I love Target. Sweet, sweet Target. If you were a woman, I would keep you barefoot and pregnant. Of course, then you would be Wal-Mart, but never mind. Where was I? Oh, yes, shopping. Anyway, as I was saying, I was in Target, attempting to browse the cosmetics section, but the particular area I wished to peruse was blocked by a sprawling woman and her cart. I do my best not to pay much attention to people (trying to avoid cynicism, ha ha!) but I couldn’t help but notice her, well, tones, as she wailed into her cellphone: “I am soo upset. They don’t have no Pretty Pink. It ain’t here! I looked an looked an it ain’t here! No Pretty Pink! They don’t have my Pretty Pink!” And so forth and so on. Pretty pink, pretty pink, wherefore art thou, pretty pink? Since this was obviously a grieving process that was going to last longer than I could fake looking at nail files, I moved on. Looked at soap, shampoo, razors. Moseyed back. “I can’t believe they stopped selling my Pretty Pink! I’ve looked in all the stores! My Pretty Pink!” CD’s, DVD’s, mags, books. “I told you, it ain’t here! Oh, my Pretty Pink!” Fake plants, greeting cards, wrapping paper. “Preeetttyyy Piiinnnkkkk!” Other side of the store! Toys, tablecloths, lamps, luggage, dog food, shoes, detergent. She’s gone! Praise the lord and pass the eyeliner! Quick, let me…. “But I’ve looked an looked! It ain’t here! I can’t believe Avon stopped making my Pretty Pink! I can’t use other stuff, it don’t match my skin tone, I need my Avon Pretty Pink! Why don’t they have my Avon?” Um, Avon? AVON??? You do realize, madam, that you are in Target? Which, lovely though it is, does not sell Avon products. Neither does Wal-Mart or Rite-Aid, K-Mart or Pep-Boys. Avon is a buy-direct company, which means you buy directly. From AVON! Do you realize, madam, that you just wasted half an hour of my life, your life, and whoever had the misfortune to be on the other end of that phone, offending my ears wailing like the cursed harpie you are over a lost cosmetic that isn’t lost because it isn’t, hasn’t and won’t be sold in stores all because you are too damned stupid to realize the difference between Avon and Maybelline?!?! (Pant, pant)

But, aah, that was just that naughty cynic in me. People like her are the backbone of the something or another, and good people like that are what keep the whatsit spinning! Or something.

What?

Well, hello there, kiddies.

Here’s a few gems to ponder:

1.) I have an amusing anecdote to relate, just not right now.

2.) I read something on-line today that made me very, very, angry, but since I can’t write about it without being offensive, I won’t.

3.) I have embarked on a business venture, to be unveiled very soon, but it’s not done, so I can’t tell you about it.

and

4.) Mrsatroxi is currently going through another rough patch, and may not be posting for awhile. Or she may soon be posting like mad. It just kinda depends on the caliber of the aforementioned rough patch. Which is, at the moment, unknown. Since you sorta have to finish something to be able to look back on it. Yup, really.

There’s your thought of the week for you.

I’m home alone, and bored, so I thought I’d post again. Aren’t you thrilled?

Sigh.

I’m bored ’cause I can’t do anything. The reason I was home yesterday to post about Paris was because I stayed home from work, not sick, but, well, sunburned. Not to be too graphic, but I just couldn’t face wearing that uniform. Actually I couldn’t face wearing anything. It’s good our house has blinds. I am in pain, people! I can type, I can sit (very straight without leaning back) and read, or watch TV, but that’s it. I am not a sit-on-my-butt-just-for-the-sake-of-sitting type girl! Whaaaaa! And, yes I know sunburn is my own stupid fault. That doesn’t make me feel better. Quite the reverse, actually. I didn’t get burnt at the beach, or in a convertable, or anything like that. I got burnt doing yardwork. Yardwork! People don’t get burnt to a purple can’t move without yelping crisp doing yardwork! This is only supposed to happen if you fall asleep (read: pass out dead drunk) at the beach in Aruba. It is not supposed to happen to some poor schlob who is putting in a new walkway in Sucksbury USA. Plus the poor schlob was in the shade all day. And it’s not like I’m going to get a tan out of this. Whaaa! Po’ lil’ me!!

It stinks too, because the hubby and I are going to a concert this weekend. A concert I picked out. I think I’ve been to maybe one or possibly two concerts where I picked the artist. I’m not bitter, honestly. It’s just most all the people I would like to see are dead. Or almost dead. But Mandy Barnett is playing a gig in Hanover Saturday, and I am most excited about it. (Yes, yes, I know, country music sucks, etc, etc. I’ve heard it all and I don’t give two hairs off my cat’s ass what you think, I know good music when I hear it, so just piss off, m’kay?) I have been a fan of this lady since 1996 when I heard her first single on the radio. Which is the only song radio ever played, and I think that was for maybe a week. I told you, she’s good. The only thing is, she has a voice uncannily like Patsy Cline’s. Which, if you know Patsy, you’re thinking, this is a bad thing? For Ms. Barnett it is. Because she can’t get out of that shadow and sing her own music. Nut jobs think she’s Patsy re-incarnated. It can’t be easy for her to be her own artist. Anyway, I can’t wait to see/hear her. Even though I know the Cline groupies will be there.

I just hope nobody pats me on my back.