Partying Towards Perfection

Tea is at high noon, and all of you wonderfully delightful people are invited, as long as you wear your whitest white gloves and your biggest, most flowery hat with the widest brim. We will sip silently from the finest china tea cups while holding our pinkies out and slightly up. The hot black tea will swirl and steam, making our pointy noses run ever so slightly, but we will pretend that does not happen. We are ladies. We are gentlemen. We do not speak of such things.


OR


Yeayyyyyy! Tea party!!!! I want tea! I want tea! Mommmyyyyyyyyyyyyy! Bring the tea! Bring the tea! No, REAL tea! I want REEEEEEEEAL TEEEEEEEA, MomYYYYYYYYYY!!! Only Fluffy Bunny ears can come. Fluffy Muffy Bunny Ears! Sit down on my little yellow chair and drink your tea, Fluffy Muffy Stuffy Bunny!!!!!






OR


Tea. Party. My. House. It will be awesome. I've hired the Five Man Electric Band, but not the real one. They will rock out as loud as lions roar, man. They will rock your pants off, like any kind of pants, like tight denim jeans, like loose heather-gray sweats, like Bugle Boy khaki dockers with the pleats in front that make everyone who wears them look like a Ken doll.






Do now: Sign into your Blogger account and comment on which tea party you'd rather attend and why.

An Open Letter To Parking People

Dear Woman Parked Outside Of The Post Office Today:

I hate you, and if I didn't fear the ramifications of ramming my car into the back of yours, I would have done so. Possible ramifications: insurance sky rockets, I go to jail for using my car as a deadly weapon, you get out of your car and beat me up.

I played with the idea of walking over to your window and tapping on it to have the very necessary conversation you needed. I also thought about pulling up alongside you and motioning for you to roll down your window so I could tell you a thing or two. I did not do either of those things because of that last possibility with the car ramming. I do not want to get jacked.

However, when I gently tapped my horn as I pulled up behind you, couldn't you have maybe thought about why I was doing so? Could you put two and two together, the first two being the first set of cars that did the same exact thing I did? We saw your hazards. We knew you were stopped and waiting. We simply wanted you to move your car up.

Next time you want to park outside of the post office, DO NOT PARK YOUR CAR IN FRONT OF THE DRIVE UP MAILBOXES!!!!!

I'm not sure if you heard me get out of my car in the seemingly unending downpour, only inches from the slot, and put my Netflix return into the mailbox and slam it shut while muttering "asshole!" If you did hear me, then yes, it was directed at you. If you did not hear me, then now you know, you're an asshole.

Here's a very simple lesson: The drive up mailboxes have slots facing the street so that drivers can "drive up" to them, not get out of the car, roll down the window, and put their mail into the slots. We cannot do that when you are parked in front of them.

Dismissed.

Do Now:Sign into your Blogger account and comment about situations that are bothersome.