mission accompliced
One of the downfalls of the legal eduction is the fact that it significantly compromises Christmas. And Chrismukkah. And even Festivus. Frantic studying begins shortly prior to Thanksgiving and with finals usually running through the late teens of December (ours concluded the 17th), this precludes the frayed and weary student from a leisurely wading into the icy stream of Yuletide fanatacism.
Frinstance: Christmas is less than a week away, and I have purchased two presents. A satellite radio unit for Big Jer and a cookbook for Martha. Not just any cookbook, the Southern Living Annual Recipes Collection Cookbook. She absolutely has to have one every year. This is also true of the so-called "Santa calendar". If Martha fails to receive either of these gifts, it'll be a blue Christmas for the Hoover men.
Big Jer and I could gift wrap half a Louis Vuitton store's worth of assorted LV-emblazonned chick paraphenalia and stuff it all into a fleet of new Ferrari's. But if we didn't get her the cookbook and Santa Calender... Woe to us, for we are undone. Her voice would get really high-pitched and she'd sound kind of like the Church Lady.
"Well. I guess that's all the presents. I'm not seeing a cookbook or calendar shaped present anywhere. I guess I must have overlooked it. Just let me know when you find it."
"Uhhh... sorry mom. We couldn't find the cookbook or the calendar this year."
"Well. That's fine. I'll just occupy my time with all this stuff that I didn't ask for. Since apparently, I won't be cooking this year. And let me know when the year's over. I wouldn't know since apparently, I don't have a calendar."
She would, of course, be kidding. Kinda. The cookbook is in the bag. Not so lucky with the Santa calendar. The only place in town where one could find this absurd creation is no longer open for business. But we'll worry about that one later. On to hunt down Big Jer's satellite thingy. But they are quite difficult to find in L-Town, because apparently, every soccer-mom from here to Tulia has decided she needs satellite radio.
I'm basing that statement on the one that was hovering around the satellite radio display at Best Buy, whining like the occupants of her Suburban's backseat whenever the Shrek 2 DVD skips. That movie sucked, by the way.
The indifferent young man in the blue polo shirt had explained to her that there might be three units on the Saturday morning truck, and there would probably be a few more on the Tuesday truck. Her best bet would be to try back at 8 a.m. on Saturday and again at 8 a.m. on Tuesday. This did not make her happy and off she went. I guess so she could go to bed early.
The guy then proceeded to explain the situation to me, as though I hadn't been standing there the whole time. Right. 8 a.m. And while you're stuck in 1982, why don't you go ahead and put me on the wait list for a Cabbage Patch doll. Internet to the rescue. It should be here on Tuesday. So unless the UPS guy gets here at 8 a.m., I'll feel like I got the better of Best Buy.
And then I think I helped a biker steal a video game.
A crazy looking biker guy approached me, asking for help locating Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow. Why is it that goofy looking people are always endowed with the pressing need to converse with complete strangers? Seriously. Not in a million years would a statuesque, raven-haired, temptress have approached me to help her find Star Wars: Battlefront. I heard that game sucked, by the way.
But 6-foot-4, long grey hair, fully decked-out in leather guy sure did need his Tom Clancy fix, and by golly, the fat kid with the bad haircut was going to help him find it. And sure enough, I did find it. Right next to Star Wars: Battlefront. Biker Guy was elated and hurried towards (the direction of) the check-out counters. After viewing the system requirements for Half-Life 2 I headed towards the eggress.
Once outside the doors, I noticed Biker Guy, firin' up his hog. The idea that he could have made it through the Best Buy check-out lines in the time it took me to see if Half-Life 2 was OS X compatible is tenuous at best. I'm not saying that he stole it, but... alright, yeah. That dude totally stole it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow. I rented it just to see what all the fuss was about. It sucks, by the way.
Frinstance: Christmas is less than a week away, and I have purchased two presents. A satellite radio unit for Big Jer and a cookbook for Martha. Not just any cookbook, the Southern Living Annual Recipes Collection Cookbook. She absolutely has to have one every year. This is also true of the so-called "Santa calendar". If Martha fails to receive either of these gifts, it'll be a blue Christmas for the Hoover men.
Big Jer and I could gift wrap half a Louis Vuitton store's worth of assorted LV-emblazonned chick paraphenalia and stuff it all into a fleet of new Ferrari's. But if we didn't get her the cookbook and Santa Calender... Woe to us, for we are undone. Her voice would get really high-pitched and she'd sound kind of like the Church Lady.
"Well. I guess that's all the presents. I'm not seeing a cookbook or calendar shaped present anywhere. I guess I must have overlooked it. Just let me know when you find it."
"Uhhh... sorry mom. We couldn't find the cookbook or the calendar this year."
"Well. That's fine. I'll just occupy my time with all this stuff that I didn't ask for. Since apparently, I won't be cooking this year. And let me know when the year's over. I wouldn't know since apparently, I don't have a calendar."
She would, of course, be kidding. Kinda. The cookbook is in the bag. Not so lucky with the Santa calendar. The only place in town where one could find this absurd creation is no longer open for business. But we'll worry about that one later. On to hunt down Big Jer's satellite thingy. But they are quite difficult to find in L-Town, because apparently, every soccer-mom from here to Tulia has decided she needs satellite radio.
I'm basing that statement on the one that was hovering around the satellite radio display at Best Buy, whining like the occupants of her Suburban's backseat whenever the Shrek 2 DVD skips. That movie sucked, by the way.
The indifferent young man in the blue polo shirt had explained to her that there might be three units on the Saturday morning truck, and there would probably be a few more on the Tuesday truck. Her best bet would be to try back at 8 a.m. on Saturday and again at 8 a.m. on Tuesday. This did not make her happy and off she went. I guess so she could go to bed early.
The guy then proceeded to explain the situation to me, as though I hadn't been standing there the whole time. Right. 8 a.m. And while you're stuck in 1982, why don't you go ahead and put me on the wait list for a Cabbage Patch doll. Internet to the rescue. It should be here on Tuesday. So unless the UPS guy gets here at 8 a.m., I'll feel like I got the better of Best Buy.
And then I think I helped a biker steal a video game.
A crazy looking biker guy approached me, asking for help locating Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow. Why is it that goofy looking people are always endowed with the pressing need to converse with complete strangers? Seriously. Not in a million years would a statuesque, raven-haired, temptress have approached me to help her find Star Wars: Battlefront. I heard that game sucked, by the way.
But 6-foot-4, long grey hair, fully decked-out in leather guy sure did need his Tom Clancy fix, and by golly, the fat kid with the bad haircut was going to help him find it. And sure enough, I did find it. Right next to Star Wars: Battlefront. Biker Guy was elated and hurried towards (the direction of) the check-out counters. After viewing the system requirements for Half-Life 2 I headed towards the eggress.
Once outside the doors, I noticed Biker Guy, firin' up his hog. The idea that he could have made it through the Best Buy check-out lines in the time it took me to see if Half-Life 2 was OS X compatible is tenuous at best. I'm not saying that he stole it, but... alright, yeah. That dude totally stole it.
Now if you'll excuse me, I must return to Splinter Cell: Pandora Tomorrow. I rented it just to see what all the fuss was about. It sucks, by the way.
posted by hoov, esq at 4:23 PM
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