He pulls the spitting high tension wires down

I usually go to and from work listening to my ipod, which provides both entertainment and an I-can't-hear-your-crazytalk alibi, but the battery was dead this morning so I had to do without. Ordinarily I would be half out of my mind by the time I got home, but I wound up talking to a friendly older black man at the bus stop, who told me to go easy on the hair dyeing or I'd wind up looking like "that Shin...huh...Shania? That bald singer girl from a few years back. ("Sinead O'Connor?") Yeah, her." And on the bus itself, a (very drunk) couple sang "Glory of Love" to one another for about fifteen minutes. That is not a fifteen minute song. At least, it isn't if you aren't drunk and know any of the words. It was pretty funny, but everybody else was dead quiet until the hammered lovebirds finally stumbled off the bus, and as the bus rolled away the middleaged native man who had been seated stoically across from them the whole time finally started to chuckle, which quickly slid into a full-blown belly laugh, and everybody else on the bus joined in, because honestly. "We did it awwwwll for the glowwy of *hic* lawwwwve!!" indeed.

After getting home I headed into the kitchen with the intent of making a cheesecake, but got distracted and ended up making rosettes instead. Or at least giving rosettes a game effort. I dunno, man, they taste rosette-y and all, but they're pretty darn ugly. And I have no reddi-whip. They're just not right without reddi-whip.

Also I dunked an oreo in some of the leftover batter and deep fried it because I am apparently insane. I won't be opening a booth at the State Fair any time soon, but it was suprisingly not that bad.