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And people buy this?

November 10, 2008 - 11pm

Found at the grocery store the other night:

Here’s a close up of the label:

Yes, that really says “MISC SANDWICH MEAT.”  They didn’t even both to arrange it to look sort of appealing.  As a bonus, it was just thrown in the cooler on top of unrelated food.

I’d have to be really hard up before I’d consider purchasing nameless mystery meat.

Dammit.

February 20, 2008 - 10pm

Forces seem to be conspiring to destroy my vacation. I’m worried that this isn’t going to be much fun, and that I’m going to come back with one or two vicious colds.

Both Mike and Pedro are extremely sick. Mike has been home from work all week and may not even be going. Pedro came down with something on Monday and isn’t doing any better.

I didn’t get around to reserving dune buggies because I couldn’t get ahold of Pedro for two weeks. I needed to confirm that he’d gotten off of work so I didn’t have them for a day he’d be selling furniture.

No one wanted to go skydiving except me.

Apparently it’s gotten incredibly dangerous just south of the border. My mom called me yesterday to tell me that criminals in Tijuana have been posing as cops, pulling over tourists, then robbing and beating them.

At least I won’t be in the cold.

I guess.

Wedding?

February 15, 2008 - 3pm

I received a wedding invitation in the mail yesterday from a girl I used to fuck in college.

A little background is necessary here: she and I were never romantically involved. When I say we fucked in college, that’s exactly–and entirely–what it was. Outside of our periodic mediocre drunken sex, we barely even talked to each other. For that matter, we really didn’t even like each other. To this day, she’s the only person I’ve ever engaged in a public screaming match.

I haven’t seen her in at least three years, we don’t talk or IM, and we have no mutual friends.

So why did she invite me to her wedding? Better yet, why do I even care about how I respond? It’s not like she and I were ever close. Other than physically.

Mike’s suggestion was to send my RSVP with a Polaroid of my anus and never speak to her again. I like this idea, but I don’t have a Polaroid camera.

I called another invitee to find out if he’ll be there–it looks like there will be two or three other people I’ll know at the reception. At least one of them hates me for reasons we won’t get into here.

Yeah… I don’t think I’ll be attending.

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