Other than that, I don't have much to say today. Except for a little story from the bus of doom... formerly named as such because of its oldness and general hazardousness (which spellcheck is telling me IS indeed a word...) but living up to its title in the following way:
Long story short: A condom landed in my hair yesterday.
Long story long: What the fuck is there more to say?! I was reading, (As I usually do to keep from interacting with people, after the few sane people on my route get off...Good Omens, fyi. Neil Gaiman and some other British guy. It's quite fantastic.) and it seemingly fell out of the sky. (I'm oblivious, I know. Just because I'm AWARE of this does not mean it's going to change.) Once I looked up, two very rational (RARE, especially in this circumstance) thoughts ran through my head:
1. Do not scream. You have not determined what this is yet, and doing so you will unnecessarily draw attention to yourself. Do not want.
2. Do not shake your head like a crazy person. Unaccompanied by said scream it will most likely look like some kind of seizure, and/or it will fly into your mouth. Do not want, once again.
Choose instead to stare at it like Helen Keller or something until across-from-you-guy plucks it off you. THEN proceed to freak out. Fucking CONDOM, centimeters away from face. DO NOT WANT. (this delayed reaction most definitely made you look like a loon, nullifying the non-scream/seizure from earlier. Smooth.)
Ugh, not dwelling on this any more. But PLEEZE, dear GOD/Morgan Freeman/Jesus H. Christ/Google/Bus Deity of the Terminally Unfortunate-- don't let it happen again. *shudder*
How was YOUR Tuesday, cyberspace?
FIPOGI!
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