(thanks 5 Boro Bike Ride! I really enjoyed sitting on that hot asphalt for an hour in Sunset Park, sllllloooowwwwllly frying!), you'd think I'd would have had enough of the bike riding for a while. But, no! After slathering myself in sunscreen I rode off to lovely Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn where I frolicked about with a friend and ended up in some apparently revolutionary fast food joint I'd never heard of. (Note to self: never, ever eat anywhere that is so proud of a write-up in the friggin' New York Sun!)
That was all fine and good, although the tart I ate was rather uninspiring, and the Americano only lukewarm. What was most upsetting, though, is while readying myself to regale previously-mentioned friend with what I billed as a "stupid story," I was suddenly accosted by some pale-eyed white kid who stared at me very seriously, and then said, "You said stupid," in a very stern voice. "Huh?" I responded. "Stupid is a bad word," said the precious darling, crossing his arms. My friend and I stared at him, disbelievingly, while his bespectacled mother charged up and demanded to know what we had done to her offspring. After the little fiend accused me again, the mother said, as if this would make accosting an adult in public totally acceptable, "Oh! Well, stupid is a bad word in our house."
And you know what I did? Rather than responding in a reasonable way--perhaps by letting her know that training one's children not to interrupt adult conversations and not to intolerantly impose his or her decidedly narrow morals on someone else might be good ideas--I tittered nervously and said...
"Oh, I'm sorry," in a submissive voice straight out of the Handmaid's Tale!
I don't know what the [word deleted to avoid offending strangely moralistic Brooklynites] is wrong with me, for real.
Anyway, rather than beating myself up about it, I hereby pledge and reaffirm that I will never, ever give birth. Instead, I turn my attention to this:
[to receive the full effect of L Ron's genius, please click to enlarge]
which mysteriously arrived in my mailbox earlier this week. It was misdelivered, which I only realized after taking a closer look at it...but, oh, what a misdelivery! I have had very little interaction with the scientologists, minus one very memorable "personality test" taken on Hollywood Boulevard with a former boyfriend. This, apparently, is some type of weekend retreat or infomercial type deal taking place later in May. Look how fun it looks!
I have so many questions! What is that red apparatus? Why is L. Ron such a horrible writer? And what does "One rud unflown--cramming" even mean?
