Already July and the only thing I have managed to accomplish this summer is the rekindling of a very unhealthy crush on the Wilson brothers (that’s Luke ‘n Owen to you) and an extremely unhealthy 4:00 dependence on orange Fanta.
One was spawned from multiple viewings of Bottle Rocket the other out of boredom at work, quarters to burn and an apparent affliction that renders me easily succumbable to new sugar addictions.
I curse the pop-machine * man for adding Fanta to the line-up. I hardly paid attention to that machine when it was just the usual suspects and apple juice.
At any rate, the two addictions are unrelated. For now.
Next week – I make no promises.
If you don’t hear from me next Tuesday it’s because I am holed up with a copy of The Royal Tenenbaums and a case of the sickenly-sweet orange beverage.
All things considered, it’s not so bad. Could be crack. Let’s keep it positive.
And come to think of it, I do believe the only thing I managed to accomplish this summer is surviving a trip to the DMV.
Don’t think that counts? Well, I spent my morning in a long line with some strange man who was grunting and bumping up against me every time I moved forward, how about you?
In between the bumping and grunting he was speaking in his cell phone, some foreign language. Very loudly, practically screaming. I don’t know where he was from, but with only 3 inches to spare between us in that hot, stinky line, it was suddenly up to me to become The Ambassador of American Personal Space Guidelines and explain to him that here in the U.S. of A, it is not most polite to grunt and bump into ladies.
No, here, we like our cars big, cable teevee, red meat cooked over hot coals on the grill and our personal space consisting of an approximate 2 foot radius.
But as I am not an eloquent lady of that many words, I instead opted for a full spin around combined with the patented ann-frank death stare, finishing him off with the“accidental” stepping on his foot.
I left out the “elbow to the ribs” jab because I am just that nice.
My subtlety did not go unnoticed as old boy said ‘scuse me and backed the fuck up a foot or two.
Overall experience: creepy as hell but that’s what I get for not renewing my license plates ahead of time via the U.S. mail, now isn’t it?
And what do I get for my efforts? Some brand spankin’ new ugly as hell license plates. U-G-L-Y.
They won’t let you keep your old ones. Everyone’s starting new with red white and blue with this billowy-ugly ass font that says “Illinois” with Abe Lincoln’s mug right in the center of it.
Eww. Just, ewwwwww.
It’s almost worth considering a move to New Hampshire just so I can have “Live Free or Die” on my plates.
Live free or die, people!
Those New Hampshirians ... those New Hamshires … those people from New Hampshire, they’re not fooling around.
And speaking of livin’ or dying – if you live in Illinois, remember- anything bigger than a bottle rocket’ll get you a hefty fine should you decide to do participate in a little backyard pyrotechnics. So, look, I’m not one to ruin a good time – I am all for live free or die, but if you found yourself crossing the border itno Indiana for some of those illegal ‘splosives – you be careful out there, I am not taking anyone to the hospital, okay?
Those of you in New Hampshire, I am not sure what your deal is, but you know, same thing.
Me? I don’t plan on doing much but keep the windows closed and the AC crankin’ this weekend. For two reasons, really.
#1: well, it’s hot. Real hot.
#2: It’s summer festival season. My ‘hood already looks like Spring Break in South Padre on any given summer weekend, what with the ample selection of bars and restaurants with outdoor seating in the area. But come summer festival season, forgetaboutit. The number of drunken frat boys in cargo shorts puking underneath my window increases 10 fold when there’s festival food-on-a-stick involved.
Well, that and every single person who knows me and happens to be in my neighborhood will undoubtedly wind up across the street yelling up to my window at 2am when it dawns on them “hey, I think ann-frank lives up there. Ann-frank! Ann-frank!”
People, before we enter into this great holiday, may have a word?
You know I love y’all, but If you are gonna shout up at me at 2am like it’s spring break ’02 you better make like one of the three wisemen and get to barin’ gifts like, say, money, or sierra Nevada pale ale.
Or one of the Wilson brothers.
You know, if you can swing it.
So, hey, If you are in the U.S., you have yourself a nice holiday, ok?
If you are Canadian, you already had Monday off, so you know, hope you had a good time.
Anywhere else, just ignore me. I am a babbling citizen of the U.S. and I can’t believe you’ve even put up with me this long.
If you are a Wilson brother, drop me a line, we’ll hit the festivities. I’ll buy you a pork chop on a stick or something.
* yes, we call it pop here in No. IL. Please no it’s called “soda” rants. I love you but I’ve heard it all before.