Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Seedful Seedless Grapes

Isn't it weird when you find a seed in a seedless grape? You start to distrust them, you know? It happened to me the other day. I was plucking supposedly seedless grapes out of their bag, chomping off lengthwise halves. This is how I eat grapes. One half at a time. It tastes better that way. Anyway, it's because of my strange grape-halving habit that I saw a seed. In a seedless grape. Are they crazy? If they're gonna print "Seedless Grapes" on the bag, they better make dang-blasted sure that there are, in fact, no seeds in the grapes.
Just kidding. I wasn't mad. Got'cha! I started laughing, actually, once I had pulled the seed out from the grape. I am certain any normal person would simply flick away the grape and be done with it. I pull it out, look at it, laugh at it, blog about it. But, you know, I am just that kind of gal, huh? You know what? I don't know why people buy seedless grapes. If I got my hands on a bag of non-seedless grapes, I'd pluck all of the seeds out of the grapes and plant grape trees. Then I'd make wine with my bounty of grapes and sell it in France for $650, just like at La Foret. (Click on the wine list link on the left, scroll all the way down. They have a wine for 650 bucks per bottle. Not kidding, buddy.) I'd make a huge profit. Hey, you know what? I think I'm onto something here! Because that is just the kind of entrepreneur I am.
I stopped posting songs long ago, but go ahead and listen to this one. It's muy bueno, though I don't quite know what's going on at the end there with all the creepy sound-FX-type music. Look up her other songs, too, they're all awesome. Except Fever. That one I could do without. This one is good. So is this one. I really like this one. This one too. And this one.
So, this Sunday is Easter Sunday. Just like I wasn't too pumped up for St. Patty's Day cuz I ain't Irish, this one don't mean too much to me either due to my non-Christian-ness. If I were Christian, I would wear a pretty spring dress and go to church early to help set up for the kid's Easter* egg hunt planned for that afternoon. Instead, I'll be on the road all day, headed towards the Grand Canyon. I remember when we used to have egg hunts and all that. Those were fun. We even dyed eggs one year for the happy-family-spending-time-together novelty of it. We stopped the egg hunts and Easter baskets after fifth grade, though, and now Easter Sunday pretty much just blends into all the other Sundays of the year.
(*When you're talking about easter eggs, do you say "easter egg" with a lowercase or "Easter egg" with a capital? Yeah, this is random and unnecessary, but some things I just gotta know.)
Speaking of Easter. This relates to Easter slightly, seeing as it involves cute-but-icky marshmallow Peeps. Check it out. I'm entertained by all that kind of stuff, ya know? It's just too bad she didn't eat the nachos, though. I wouldn't, but still.
Something scary happened today. There was a man sitting in a small, odd-looking orange car in front of my house when I arrived home from school today. He watched me as I went in the house. Creeeepy. I locked all the doors as soon as I got inside. Anyway, about half an hour later there was a knock at the door. I jolted, froze, then ran into the laundry room to hide. Then I changed my mind and scurried upstairs, braving past the mold-devouring machine in my room to peek out the window. The guy was walking back towards his car. Okay, it's time to insert a little fact about myself. I am paranoid, like seriously. So I snatch up the phone with the intention to dial 911. No, I wouldn't press the call button. I just wanted to have it all ready (phone in my hand, emergency number dialed) in case he busted through a window or something. He didn't. I pulled out my cellular device and called the next-best-thing to the police: my mommy. "Mom, there's a weird guy and he knocked on the door!" I whispered breathlessly into the receiver. She laughed, assured me it would be fine, and hung up. I was left with a buzzing dial tone in my ear and a heart stricken with betrayal. My mother left me here all alone, possibly to be murdered! I could almost see her weeping face on the news the next morning. "-sob- I told her it would be fine. I didn't know he was a murderer! I didn't want to leave work for what could have been nothing. -sob- But it... it wasn't nothing. It was... my daughter is dead! I could have saved her! -sob-" Then she waves the cameras away, too overwhelmed with guilt and grief to talk anymore. Huh. Actually, I still am in danger of being murdered, because nobody has come home yet and the murderer guy may still be lurking. The orange car is gone, though. But you know how those secretive murderers are. He might be crouched behind a bish in my backyard. Maybe he's right behind my left shoulder, slowly reaching out to grasp my neck and strangle me before I can turn to look. God, I'm afraid to look now. Seriously. I kept getting the "jolts" earlier. Gusts of wind kept blowing the fence open and shut with mighty bangs. I thought it was the nurderer. I had the window open upstairs, and I heard a door slam. It was just the wind blowing through the window and banging closed the door that lay parallell to it, but again, I thought it was the murderer. I seriously panicked that time, bringing a baseball bat and the phone with the pre-entered 911 with me as I cautiously ventured upstairs. Halfway up, I remembered about the window and felt profoundly stupid.
Soooo... yeah.

1 comment:

John Socrates Loyola said...

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