Miss O has been really whiney and ill-tempered lately -- way moreso than usual. She's stomping around with a scowl and just yelling for no reason. Tonight, while I was making dinner, I heard her bellowing from upstairs,
"Where are my glasses?! Dad, where ARE they?! Someone help me find my GLASSES!!! WHERE ARE MY GLASSES?! WHY ISN'T ANYONE HELPING ME FIND THEM?!!!!" So I bolt upstairs and say,
"What's going on, Miss O? Why are you yelling? Can't you ask us to help you in a nicer voice?" And she's stomping around saying,
"BUT NO ONE IS HELPING ME FIND MY GLASSES, DAD!" Then I looked down and she was wearing them.
That's Miss O, in a nutshell. Fucking Scorpios, man.
Yesterday she was pissed because she said the air outside smelled like hotdogs.
Oh, I was noodling around in Illustrator before typing this and I came up this:
It pleases me for some reason. Maybe because I am one (a nerdarino, not an old, shitty Honda.)
1 comment:
Who knew my dad was a nerdarino? This is the car we had when I was 10 years old:
http://avto.ru/foto/honda/fotoMax/2_1874_180.jpg
Not that exact one, mind you, but it was the same cheez-wiz orange. I remember feeling like a sardine when I rode in it.
The nerdmobile. It now has a name.
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