bad pretzel

It's time to print the new newsletter.  It's time to think about our upcoming trip to Wyoming.  It's time to love.  It's time to listen.  It's time to wash breakfast dishes.

Yesterday I sat in a Target foodcourt, one of the most miserable places I have ever sat waiting for Ming while he was at an appointment.  The florescent lights blared above me.  Everyone seemed sad.  My soft pretzel was no consolation.  In fact, it was kind of nasty.  Pretzel salt could not redeem it.

It didn't have that chewy, pretzely goodness.  It was more like pathetic bread.

I read some mail, wrote a letter to my friend in Manchester, and read my book about Wyoming.  It starts with an overview then Cheyenne, which is great.

I felt bad for all the people in red shirts working shit jobs for not enough pay.  For the guy working the register who had to tell person after person that the oven so broken so no pizza, no breadstix.  No churros either.

PMB wants a do over of his birthday.  We didn't celebrate because he wasn't up for it, but I guess now he is.  He wants to go to Veggie House then have a party.  I volunteered to make plain popcorn.  I asked what kind of soda pop is vegan.