What do you do after the trip of a lifetime? Get your pictures back from snapfish, wade through the stack of papers and mementos, and decide to start a scrapbook. The word scrapbook conjures up images of suburban mothers posing their children at sporting events so that they have the right vertical image to finish a certain sports-themed page. It kind of creeps me out.
I was no less creeped out when I went to the local Michael's on a Saturday afternoon. She-Ra, I don't know how you managed not to use your powers in Greyskull when you worked at the Michael's, but DAMN it was scary. Old ladies were muttering to themselves and shaking their head at the sale items. One lady was chanting to herself "Yeah, it would look good, but it would be worth the hours of taking all the leaves off?" I think she was waiting for someone to come up, put a hand on her shoulder and say "It would SO be worth it."
Then there was the scrapbooking section of the store. It was three aisles of crap I can't believe people buy. There was a package of miniature Euros that actually cost more to buy than the Euros inside of it. People are insane. Craft people have now officially taken over the top spot as the scariest people I know. They narrowly bumped off rednecks, but we'll see how soon it will take the necks to reclaim their spot.
Speaking of reclaiming things, I need to reclaim my real voice. I started talking like a co-worker in mocking fashion last week and it has since escalated. Not only do I mock the person to his or her face, but I can't help doing it. I call it my Southern Fried Oprah voice. It escalates to orgasmic levels at the the end of the sentence (ala "John Trav-OLTA!") and has a major accent added on. It's starting to take over like the "La la la" voice on Seinfeld. I need to just let it go.
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