Yesterday, S. and I had a weird afternoon that started with a license plate that seemingly did not want to leave the back of my car. S. was knee deep in mud before deciding we needed a different kind of wrench to get it off. We went to an Auto Zone nearby and their computer system was down, so we couldn't get the wrench. NAPA to the rescue.
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We swung by a thrift store on the way home. I walked in and the first thing I saw was a child's coffin on display. Made me want to run out the door, but I forged on. S. found a really cool old movie-titling kit and picked it up and we were looking at it when we realized the box was full of ticks. He flicked one off his hand and we spent the rest of the afternoon tormenting each other with well-placed tickles on the arms and neck.
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Then we went out to eat at a place S. nailed as a "redneck Bennigan's". Apparently, it used to serve fairly authentic barbeque and homestyle food but the original owners' kids have taken over and turned it into a tourist spot. Yuck.
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Right now one of the Austin radio stations is playing Ben Folds' "Song for the Dumped" with the bad language bleeped out, rendering the song ball-less. The deejay called it the "best anti-romance song ever", which it is, but with those words cut out it just sounds stupid.
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So there.
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