Steady, watch me navigate, ha ha ha ha ha
I laughed when I saw this, I thought it was really cute.
It did the trick too. Contrary to common post office policy, this mailer was not folded in half and shoved in my mail slot so it must contain magical properties.
It contained these knitting patterns. These also made me laugh.
Puppies! Duckies! Kitties! Wait....
Yeah, I don't know what happened there but I had to have it.
It was mailed out from Camarillo on Saturday and I got it today. That was some fast postal footwork. The last package I received sat in the Valencia outpost for almost a month before some saber-rattling shook it loose and it suddenly appeared on my doorstep as if nothing had happened, doo de dooo de doo. This is why everything outgoing gets tracking of some form. I'd heard from my last buyer on Sunday so I cleared my desk of all things postal. After I got my graphs here, I remembered I still had one package outstanding and went to check only to find, yes, I had tossed it out yesterday with everything else and the trash had already been picked up. Derrrrrrrrrrr. So now I have no way of knowing if it ever reached its destination. It may yet come back with a "Return to Sender" or "Parcel Refused: Go Fuck Yourself" but unless that happens I have no way of knowing. I'm very angry at myself for being so stupid and it is bothering me since the chances of it making the trek down the street in a timely fashion, considering my post office, are slim.
1928 House has been postponed until next week on account of Turkey Day which my family is unwilling to observe 1928-style since it would mean no Twilight Zone marathon.
In my quest for Yàca coffee, I went to Vallarta Market. They didn't have my coffee but they did have stalks of sugar cane, chili/sal/lima powder, dried valerian root and some vile ground coffee with sugar and cinnamon built in which is bound to make me vomit. Fortunately, I'd gone with my father and he was raised by wolves so I could hold up any bizarre unlabeled piece of produce or container and ask "What's this? What's it for?" and he had an answer. I have no way of knowing if it was a right answer but he sounded believable and chances are he doesn't want me dead. And that was how I ended up with a bag of raw, diced nopales. True story.
It did the trick too. Contrary to common post office policy, this mailer was not folded in half and shoved in my mail slot so it must contain magical properties.
It contained these knitting patterns. These also made me laugh.
Puppies! Duckies! Kitties! Wait....
Yeah, I don't know what happened there but I had to have it.
It was mailed out from Camarillo on Saturday and I got it today. That was some fast postal footwork. The last package I received sat in the Valencia outpost for almost a month before some saber-rattling shook it loose and it suddenly appeared on my doorstep as if nothing had happened, doo de dooo de doo. This is why everything outgoing gets tracking of some form. I'd heard from my last buyer on Sunday so I cleared my desk of all things postal. After I got my graphs here, I remembered I still had one package outstanding and went to check only to find, yes, I had tossed it out yesterday with everything else and the trash had already been picked up. Derrrrrrrrrrr. So now I have no way of knowing if it ever reached its destination. It may yet come back with a "Return to Sender" or "Parcel Refused: Go Fuck Yourself" but unless that happens I have no way of knowing. I'm very angry at myself for being so stupid and it is bothering me since the chances of it making the trek down the street in a timely fashion, considering my post office, are slim.
1928 House has been postponed until next week on account of Turkey Day which my family is unwilling to observe 1928-style since it would mean no Twilight Zone marathon.
In my quest for Yàca coffee, I went to Vallarta Market. They didn't have my coffee but they did have stalks of sugar cane, chili/sal/lima powder, dried valerian root and some vile ground coffee with sugar and cinnamon built in which is bound to make me vomit. Fortunately, I'd gone with my father and he was raised by wolves so I could hold up any bizarre unlabeled piece of produce or container and ask "What's this? What's it for?" and he had an answer. I have no way of knowing if it was a right answer but he sounded believable and chances are he doesn't want me dead. And that was how I ended up with a bag of raw, diced nopales. True story.
Labels: 1928 House, Accusations, Whining
posted by CMURB at 1:27 AM
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