Line Up To Eat Me!

Since I am a rage-o-holic, and can’t go more than a few hours without a dose of rage-o-hol, let me address the infuriating topic that appeared in my latest box of popsicles:

1. I bought a box of regular old orange, cherry, and grape popsicles ONLY because the store was out of those delightful frozen strawberry popsicle-bar things.

2. I bought the box of orange, cherry, and grape popsicles ONLY for the red cherry ones. I figured if I couldn’t have strawberry, at least I could stay in the “red” family, and sport a fancy stained tongue, along with permanent lipstick (permanent for a few hours, at least, which is sort of like a “long set of NONSTOP music,” in which the music is bound to stop eventually).

3. In order to pace myself, I decided to eat an orange popsicle first, and then a red, just so I didn’t end up with nothing but orange popsicles. I don’t like oranges very much, but hey! they’re better than NO popsicles, right?

4. I ate the orange one, and didn’t wast a lot of time getting around to the red one. The wrapping for each individual popsicle is white, but you can sort of make out what color the popsicle is.

5. Imagine my shock and chagrin when I opened the RED popsicle, only to find a MAUVE popsicle that smelled and tasted like my grandma’s overzealous perfume!!! The kind she’d wear to every family brunch, and I’d have to ride in the car with it with the windows rolled up, and only ever complained once due to a firm kick in the leg from someone who didn’t think it was appopropriate to criticize the Gram.

6. MAUVE, PERFUMY popsicles?! Tell me it was a fluke. Tell me that some she-she raspberry bullshit popsicles found their way into some welfare box of popsicles that by some twist of fate ended up in my kitchen.

Those motherfuckers. If they go and take away red popsicles, I’m giving up on popsicles altogether. I will mix my own bright-red SUGAR Kool-Aid, and freeze them myself. I am lazy, yes. Too lazy, in fact, to go downstairs and check the exact brand of the popsicles I bought. However, I am not too lazy to freeze my own, if you know what I mean.

I’ve been editing a treasure-trove of old family photographs-you should check them out on my Flickr site. Mostly, you should check them out for three photos: 1. my mom in a tutu 2. my dad looking like a Hitler Youth participant and 3. my great-grandfather in his Knights Templar uniform, complete with feathered hat and sword.

Guess which one this is:

And this one:

And this one:

Also, there’s a photo of me at 1 year old, wearing a belly-dancer outfit my Aunt Nancy made me. It’s pretty goddamned cute, if you want the truth.

And let’s all take a moment to ponder this: My mother, of primarily Scottish and British (what’s the difference, I ask you?!) ancestry, delighted in wearing a “Mammy scarf.” She also insisted on constantly running around in some hand-me-down coveralls from her older brother. Much to the chagrin of her mother, who was (and is) extremely proper and delightful, despite her penchant for loading up on the perfume:

Tisk, tisk, little Stephy. Tisk, tisk. I like to imagine she was pretending to be Butterfly McQueen, and ran around in circles all day yelling about how she don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies, Miss Scarlet!!

PostScript: I can’t be alone in feeling that this is not a REAL Saturday. Last night there was no new Battlestar Galactica. Therefore, it can’t be Saturday. What is one supposed to do on Friday nights without Battlestar Galactica? I’ve pretty much shunned everyone who doesn’t worship at the altar of Bear McCreary and Admiral Adama, and everyone else is just as lost as I am. Any advice on Fridays would be greatly appreciated. Keep in mind that I don’t want to have to actually go anywhere or put forth any effort, whatsoever.