Humorous mothers and sexual pacts, not together you pervs (I was thinking the same thing [and lots of brackets (really long title {sorry})])

So me and mom went to Biddeford Crossing last night, to buy Spirit Week clothes and bond, like every child does on a Saturday night, right guys? While we were in Target we went to the checkout and started placing our items on the mini conveyor belt (those always looked really cool to work!) and mom starts to make small talk with the cashier before telling her, and every other unfortunate soul we bumped into that evening, about this whole fiasco with one of her friends concerning her car. I gave the girl, who happened to be named Sarah (not quite as awesome as Sara, though) an apologetic look. Once mom was done ranting to a complete stranger, she made a horrible joke. It was so bad I almost laughed. Underneath the word "Sarah" on her name tag it said "Target", and mom was like "Hello, Target!", thinking that it was a silly name that no one would ever have, and Sarah stood there awkwardly and explained "My sister's last name is Targett." "Oh...well nice meeting you, Sarah." And we rushed out of there as fast as we could.

We used dad's car, and mom couldn't stop complaining about how she wasn't used to it and that was the reason it would take her several minutes to unlock the car while I was like "Mom! Maine is colder outside than inside stores with hot dogs!" Which made her giggle that really funny laugh that she does when I say something that's not amusing in the slightest but she believes it is and she loses her concentration and forgets what she's doing. One time it took us four full minutes for her to unlock it. Mom's really dependable like that.

Oh right, the hot dog story. While we were still inside and not freezing our bootylicious asses off (eww I shouldn't have mentioned mom in that sentence. Bad mental images! Sorry that I just poisoned you guys...), her stomach growled.

Mom: I want a hot dog.
Me: You always want a hot dog.
Mom: That's because I crave real food.
Me: Because pig fat surrounded by synthetic casing is definitely real.
Mom: Oh, right. Maybe I'll get two to make up for it.

Awesome, Mom...

Then at Panera we were eating dinner (it was more like a snack for me because the only thing I could eat there were the fruit cups) and the entire time there was this guy with gray hair and glasses diligently working on his laptop with several charts strewn upon his table. He seemed really boring, so I barely payed any attention to him at all. Incidentally, this story is about him and I can recall all these pointless, unnecessary details. (I'd be a super good stalker, if anybody needs one) He was sitting next to the glass near the door, so when me and mom left the building (haha, we're both Elvis in disguise. Oh the surprises 21st century living presents us with) she turned left and was right next to him (I said both left and right in that sentence haha), the only thing between them being the glass. She waved, and then left before he noticed. It was so sketchy, and had me laughing hysterically. Apparently she knows him because he's an orthodontist, which is super random seeing as he's not mom's. You kinda had to be there, to see her funny-looking hair flying and that puffy, blue jacket she wears. That's a joke in itself. haha I love my mommy. :)

You know when you post a comment, and you have to type some letters as a security precaution? They usually look like wetgf (that was completely random, but looking back those were perfectly chosen letters haha the gutter is full with my mind) or spell out some completely random word. What I've been wondering about is that little sign next to the box. What the hell is a handicap symbol doing there? Does anyone know what that means? Or is someone clever trying to humor me and make inappropriate wheelchair jokes at the same time? Whatever it is, it's hilarious.

Hearts are wonderful. So are hugs, but that doesn't have to do with my nomadic attention span. There's a heart in the food I'm eating (I'm so scandalous, I eat and blog at the same time, I'm underage! [that was a crappy attempt at humor, don't laugh at that]), and now I think I don't want to eat it. Which is weirder, to eat a heart or to leave leftover food when you're still hungry because of a teenage girlish symbol? In case you were wondering, I used to be a middle-aged man, but the technology they have these days is amazing. It can really work wonders on your liver spots and unwanted appendages.

My hunger won, the heart is gone. And now I'm really sad! T___T The poor heart, I didn't even realize what I was doing. (Wow that sounded super serious, go away Sunday-induced thoughts!) I think because I turned the plate so it faced in a different direction and I couldn't see it clearly.

Grr I dislike Sundays, because you spend the whole day dreading tomorrow, which makes it impossible to enjoy the day off from torture-school. Today isn't as bad because there's a chance tomorrow will be a snow day (dad says I shouldn't even set my alarm. =) [hah! You thought that was the ending parenthesis when it was actually a smiley (let's make this even more confusing [I can't count this high (or this high)])]) (that looked really cool), even if a part of me doesn't want it to be because I want to dress up as Ryan Ross and go to air band. (You just had to go back and read that because my parenthesis made you forget what the sentence was about. [Now you're going to have to do it again (sucker [WOW that sounds like suck her (Let's make a pact to be as sexual as possible [no pics])])]) I'm so excited to have an excuse to wear crazy make-up. Thank God for supremely metro Ryan. (That's not stating he's better than Brendon [this is even funner than awkward conversations (I lost count again [damn it (I wonder how many of you guys are going to try and see if I've messed up)])]) I've barely thought about hippie day, because since my ancient mother was, and still thinks of herself as, a hippie, she can't stop telling me about how different they really are than the stereotype of them is. She's like "We wore peasant shirts..." I have no idea what that is and have no intention of finding out, so I just pushed it to the back of my mind.

This is really pathetic and un-lazy-like (haha, it sounds like lady-like [I stole this idea from someone (you know him {why don't I ever use this thing? (it's such a loner)})]) of me, but I went downstairs and got some more food to arrange in a heart shape. This time I'm going to remember not to eat it.

3 minutes later

R.I.P. Heart-shaped bean meal. I miss you, even though you're inside me (that's so what she said! [sexual pact (another opportunity to do this)])