My theory is that toddlers yell out loud what we're all screaming inside. We are all oppressed by the injustice of us all, but as adults we're supposed to suffer in silence, even though inside we're sobbing "I don't want to go!"

MadTV had this hilarious skit about adult tantrums, and they were all situations where you just wanted to flip out like a mammal, but had to be a grown up, like the one where the woman filled out the wrong form, and had to get back in line after she had filled out the correct one, so she started screaming and crying.

Gronklies. In an effort to force myself onto something resembling an East Coast schedule, I set my alarm for 10:30, despite the fact that we/I yet again didn't fall asleep until 4AM. Blargh.

But it's thundering here! I get excited about little things sometimes.

Ack, MM, I'm sorry about the lack of greasy spoon.

MadTV had this hilarious skit about adult tantrums, and they were all situations where you just wanted to flip out like a mammal, but had to be a grown up, like the one where the woman filled out the wrong form, and had to get back in line after she had filled out the correct one, so she started screaming and crying.

This is hysterical. My inner three-year-old has tantrums all the time.

MM should OPEN a greasy spoon!

He could call it "Transport" and they'd think it was just a name referencing commuters and truckers, but they'd all be test subjects.

"Hey! Where did my eggs g... Oh! here they are. that was weird..."

"Waitress can I get a little more coff... Wow! I didn't even see her DO that!"

Human subjects are self-selected by being jerks or taking too much time in the john.

My theory is that toddlers yell out loud what we're all screaming inside. We are all oppressed by the injustice of us all, but as adults we're supposed to suffer in silence, even though inside we're sobbing "I don't want to go!"

Toddlers are us without the very thin layer of civility that's been imposed on us.

d, continued ~ma for your dad.

car~ma for Andi and Daniel.

MM, that sucks! When we lived in DH's home town, the only compensation for the rat trap apartment we were able to afford was the fact that we were within walking distance of the downtown and there was a teeny, tiny diner. The kind that has breakfast regulars and doesn't hand out menus because everyone gets "the usual." Oh, and I still dream about how good the coffee was.

The kind that has breakfast regulars and doesn't hand out menus because everyone gets "the usual." Oh, and I still dream about how good the coffee was.

My neighborhood has one of those! My usual is the steak and eggs: steak medium, eggs scrambled, hashed browns, whole-wheat toast and orange juice. Yes, the waitress remembers all that.

The only difference is that at my place, the coffee sucks.

I am a wierd regular. I never always want the same thing. Except coffee.

Okay, now I want diner breakfast where people know my 'regular.'

All possible health vibes to d's dad.

Car~ma of the best kind to Daniel and Andi.

My inner three-year-old plots the overthrow of governments, pillages candy counters and is rude to ancient drivers (vocally, within the confines of my own car) all the time.

You guys at The Treehouse again?

We are now.

Just after my little online adult tantrum things started looking up. Aimee's mom offered to take us to breakfast, then drop us off.

Em and I are now well-fed, and Em is playing like a madgirl. I am, natch, telling y'all all about it.

I pitched a true three-year-old fit on my way home last night. Working 11 hours and not meeting the goal I had set for myself, I was in a bad mood to begin with. In the last hour my mom called to tell me we were having company for dinner and K-Bug texted me to ask "How it was going". Then, just as I left the building, DH called - no clue what the true purpose was, but I pitched a fit at him over "All these people bugging me and I'll be home when I get home, and work was killing me, and leave me alone, GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT".

Then I turned on some heavy metal in the car and screamed my way home. I did apologize when I finally walked in the door.

I never always want the same thing.

Me neither.

I need to get dressed and go see a property inspection. Our offer was accepted. Meep.

On-topicness: there's a diner and a cafe within a mile of this house. I think itr's walking distance, but I haven't tried walking it yet. And pre-breakfast walking distance may be a different thing than normal walking distance. It might be shorter, because of the not awake yet, or it might be longer because of the needing breakfast and coffee keeping me walking.