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Aug. 11th, 2006 | 03:33 am

This time my nook faces the order pick-up counter, and beverage kiosk, quite the stage for people to hustle and bustle, and I have a front row seat. I like being back here at Panera, it feels especially good to be here by myself. I've noticed that its rather easy to tell when a person isn't comfortable being somewhere alone. I used to feel strange being by myself a public place, a weird discomfort that I was absolutely positive everyone around me could see radiating from me as if I were holding a sign that said "please gawk and stare".

I see a girl in her early to mid twenties sit down at the table on the other side of a dividing wall. As soon as she sits down, she tugs on the edge of her shirt, pulls up the waistband of her pants, and then lets out a small sigh. She glances around the room and then starts to examine her hands, she starts to dig around in her small black leather clutch and retrieves a cellphone, quickly she begins thumbing the buttons playing a game or sending a text message to a friend. I remember being this uncomfortable with myself in public, but I just don't feel that way anymore.

I started to wonder why I'm suddenly so comfortable with myself, and I realized that it is part of the growth I have experienced as an individual over this past year. I'm perfectly ok sitting here enjoying a lunch all by myself. I'm enjoying my "Mission Chicken" salad on its kidney bean shaped plate. I feel a sense of comfort breaking off a piece of baguette and scratching notes down every few seconds. I'm not worried about other people wondering what it is I'm writing. I'm not concerned with what the family in the booth behind me thinks of me being there by myself. I no longer allow myself to be haunted by everyone else's worries and wonders. She looks so relieved when her little food alarm starts buzzing and glowing, she finally has something to occupy herself with.

A mother and daughter are squawking as they appear stage left, they are giggling over something trivial in some kind of attempt to bond, but that is not what catches my attention. The duo are quite the Stepford-standard. The mother is pearl and cardigan clad, with a neatly trimmed fluffy bob a la Mrs.Camden from 7th Heaven (you know what I mean, admit it) a sensible sized woven tote bag with monogram, with classic unassuming pumps peeking out the bottom of her perfectly tailored black pant. Her daughter is wearing a denim skirt, but its more Gap than Abercrombie, (I'm sure her mother enforces the "fingertip" hem length rule religiously) her torso is covered with a polo shirt the color of Pensacola Beach where the water hits the horizon line when the sun is high in the sky (I'm such a cheeseball, but it was that exact color) she has on a pair of well-loved Rainbows, and her hair has been neatly swept back into a pony tail secured with a pink satin bow to match her mini-mom monogrammed tote. Their costumes are important to their characters, because it is my belief that people dress in a way that either highlights or disguises who they really are, sometimes both. I have noticed that, for instance, women who wear men's clothing to be "comfortable" are actually self conscious, and I will even go as far as to say that I tend to show off my best assets (or...toppetts...) in order to highlight the good in hopes of distracting from the bad. But back to the stage...

The mother and daughter pick up their trays of food and head to the beverage kiosk. The daughter, whose name is no doubt something classic like Ashley (going by the monogram A) picks up two cups and begins to pout about not being able to purchase a Jones soda instead of a fountain drink even though she was willing to pay for it with "my own money, Moooom!" I know you all remember those days, when you think you should be allowed to buy anything as long as its with the same $20 of leftover birthday cash you keep spending and respending. We've all been there. Stepford Mom, with the monogram L, is no doubt a Laura or a Linda, just flashes her pearly white veneers at her daughter and suggests that they sit down first and then fix their drinks. The daughter slings her bag back over her shoulder and follows after her mother. They walk past me like some kind of two-person prissy parade, both smelling of Chanel number 5, spritzed about 500 times, its quite the smell.

As if the stank cloud isn't enough, the mother has this atrocious cackle anytime her daughter says anything remotely funny, and sometimes she begins to laugh when her daughter isn't saying anything that is supposed to be humorous in the least. Its almost as if she just wants people to think they get along well. It makes me wonder if she is truly having a conversation with her daughter, of if she is just trying to "bond" to feed her own conscience and boost her mommy-ego. I hate mommy-egos. I despise it when people think they are perfect mothers. The idea of parenting isn't to be perfect, its to be human and make mistakes because your kids will no doubt make mistakes, so just set an example and let them see how mistakes are dealt with in a healthy and effective way. A lot of times people tend to hide or run from their problems, and it isn't healthy. That much pride just isn't healthy for the soul. We make mistakes, that is true, but when we are faced with a mountain we climb it, and it may be difficult on the way up, but when its all over with we know a little bit more about climbing, and the next one isn't quite as hard.

I feel bad for this woman. My heart goes out to someone who clearly has had so much plastic surgery, from her large chest to her Angelina pout, because something must be missing from her life to care this much about how others view her. A simple caring about one's appearance is one thing, we all feel good when we look good, and "looking good" varies in people from wearing a rhinestone gown and red lipstick to just putting on a clean shirt and running a comb through their hair. But there is always an aspect of the outter that makes the inner feel a little bit more special than usual. That amount of caring is healthy. But to constantly care that much about every aspect of the outer beyond the time span of pubescent awkwardness? Its strange and unusual. I truly do hope that her daughter doesn't inherit that kind of dissatisfaction with herself. Why are the people obsessed with plastic surgery always pretty darn attractive to begin with? I know the answer to that question... but I'll let you pick your own brain.

Side Note: I am in no way opposed to plastic surgery. I think that if there is something you want smaller/bigger/tucked/lifted/spackeled/sanded/buffed/waxed/enhanced/removed then by all means go right ahead. I do however think there is a point beyond getting something done in order to get rid of an imperfection that is distracting one's self rather frequently, that goes beyond into a realm of obsessive and constant approval seeking. Yes God did create us the way that we are, but he also gave us free will. God also gave us cramps, but that doesn't stop millions of women from speeding down to their neighborhood Walgreens for a giant Hershey bar and a bottle of Midol. Wow... did I just?... I'm not even going to touch that one...

Here comes another thing I'm not / would never ever touch... Oh my lord somebody call "What Not to Wear" homeboy is rockin some Jnco's! I'm not even kidding, this guy is wearing a shamrock green wifebeather with some intentional paint splatters, and some huge ass Jncos (you remember... the kind you could steal a 24" TV with... and I'm not talkin flat screen) and FLIP FLOPS! I could barely tell what was on his feet because of the huge pants, but its flip flops. I feel like I should go throw myself on him to keep people from seeing him and vomiting. The good people at Panera don't deserve this. Then again... I have incredible amounts of respect for a guy wearing Jnco's in 2006. I should go ask to borrow his Spice Girls cassette, he looks decent enough. If you aren't decent enough for Spice Girls then what good are you in this world? Ain't nothin wrong with a little Spice in your Life and damn if those Jnco's ain't spicy.

Thats all for now kids, I hope you enjoyed my sass.

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Panera Three

May. 22nd, 2006 | 06:40 pm

To my left, a mother and daughter. The mother is engaging her daughter in a kind of right-of-passage conversation style that I know all too well. Her daughter is finally of the age where they can swap relationship advice on equal grounds; each of them are quietly acknowledging the other as being a knowledgeable and intelligent woman bound by the sae relationship experiences that mold and make us who we are.

A recruitment process is going on between two women at a table across the room. They are just out of earshot but every now and then I catch a word or two: "exclusive opportunity", "its done so much for me", "wise decision", "incredible benefits". There is a gold mesh bag on the table that looks as if it is filled with various cosmetics. I didn't realize Avon did such heavy Sopranoesque negotiations. The woman continues to talk using large hand gestures and downing sips of latte in between buzz-words, and a man in the table across from the booth pretends to make a cellphone call while eavesdropping and smirking every so often. He finally puts the phone down and takes a swig of his chilled energy drink in the palm-sized slender can and places it back down with full purpose next to his yellow legal-pad decorated with random scribbles and notations of what was no doubt a hectic meeting from earlier today. He is one of those types that don't require much description besides, "business guy". His hair brushed with product, freshly shaved with perfectly shaped sideburns, his collar buttoned too tight for the afternoon and his shoes perfectly shined. He is wearing two different socks, and for some reason that delights me to no end. Its just funny somehow... that someone who seems to pay attention to such detail has complete and utter disregard for his protective toe-wear. Those shoes! I'm at least 6 feet away and I can see one of my eyelashes is out of place in the reflection off of those polished wingtips. And yet... he doesn't match his socks? There he sits, McScrambleFoot, lefty is green, righty deep blue. He has the same profile as Tom Cruise... but it isn't working for him. Too bad, though... I bet he was a stud back in the days of "Risky Business".

McJollyGreen stands behind the pick-up counter, tossing out orders of fresh bread sandwiches and simmering bowls of soup. He towers over the counter at over 6 feet tall (I'm assuming... but then again I barely make 5'4 so who am I to judge? Its like an ant sizing up a giraffe!) and flirting with the female customers as they return their buzzing little machines in exchange for soup and coffee.

Some people claim that at any instance they can see into the future. Well I just saw into the past. My last Panera session included two women bursting into motherhood, two green McMommies. During my observations I see people as they are now, but until this moment I have never began to ponder who they used to be, what their individual history is, and what makes them the people I am currently viewing. I just caught a glimpse of what the two McMommies might have been during their teen years. A group of girls walks into my nook and seat themselves in a corner booth. I look up, excited by my new arrivals after wishing for new characters only moments before, and spot the two miniature McMommies. Each girl looks like a smaller carbon-copy of the two mothers from a few days ago, they even have matching Vera bags in tote. I bet the McMommies were like that once, I bet they wore short skirts without the worry of baring cellulite (which, by the way girls, is unfortunately purely hereditary and has nothing to do with weight for the most part...just ask Nicole Kidman) and spent more than 20 minutes getting ready in the morning. They have traded in such badges of youth as the mini skirt for baby rattles and pacifiers, and their Vera Bradley's are now filled to the brim with baby diapers and formula instead of lipglosses and Teen Magazine. I'm so judgemental towards new mothers. I guess thats because I'm so scared of the entire idea of ever becoming a mother. Right now I'm so young and unprepared for even thinking of actually having a child that I look at young mothers and think that having a child is the end of an era; there is some part of my brain that cannot comprehend the existance of a mother with a seperate life which does not involve her children, and is somehow still linked to her past. Its absurd to think that your past is erased after having a child, but isn't it? It changes you, but I guess lots of things cause change in us, but nothing changes someone like having a child. For some people its a change that alters their view of the world, and expands upon what they once thought the definitions of words like love and fulfillment once were. What scares me is that percentage of people who just can't handle the task of being responsible for the life of another human being. Its such a heavy thing to think that the existance of another life is in your hands, and I wonder if these girls have any idea about motherhood, if they realize that one day they too might be little McMommies, feeding whole milk to their terrible-twosie instead of sipping on whipped cream topped mocha lattes.

McScrambleFoot is joined by a colleague in a baby-vomit yellow polo shirt. If you were wondering... his socks match. McBabyVomit looks like Keifer Sutherland with a baby face... and less atrocios. Wait... I have to stop this one for a moment and skip on over to something far more interesting. There is a table directly behind McScrambleFoot that until now has done nothing of interest. Four men, with motorcycle jackets draped on the backs of their chairs, all business men discussing some intricate "game plan" with a detailed proposal, and one guy slightly more laid back than the rest of the lot. He gets up and approaches the table of McMiniMommies and actually proceeds to flirt with them for a few minutes. He is at least 29 or in his early 30s, clearly a McMidLifeCrisis but in this loud-mouth's opinion... he's a McPervert and he needs to keep his nasty little hands to himself and stay away from those 17-year-olds before they become McMommies faaaar too soon. Hmmph. Get a life, perv... a life closer to your age group.

McScrambleFoot's baby-vomit-shirt wearing business buddy departs, and Mister mix-matched socks himself himself says, "Alright, well thanks for your time! Nice pants!" ...Nice pants? Who closes a deal with "nice pants"? This guy needs some serious business ethic... or at least some conversation topics. He leaves (leaving his cellphone unattended...what is with people these days?! This isn't Pleasantville! I can count at least four people within viewing distance that look like they would steal a cellphone... five if you count racial discrimination) and returns a few moments later with another guy, it has become clear that this is some sort of business interview. The guy he is interviewing is wonderful, his entire personality delights me. He looks of Spanish decent, but there is an Asian theme to his nose and hair, and he has a deep Southern accent. He's planning on getting married soon, and he is patiently waiting until his girlfriend is finished with college before marrying, so that she can focus on her studies. He glows at the question "Are you married?" as he pours out all of this information about how proud he is of his fiance, and how studious she is. His support and enthusiasm for her is amazing. He should be hired on the spot if you ask me.

Other characters on this nook include a quiet observer who sits at a table for six all by himself, and glances at me far too often. I go to pick up my Veggie Sandwich (they have yet to completely phase it out) and see a girl dressed in all lime-green picking up an iced Green Tea. Panera Bread's green tea is... the color of green M&Ms. I hate it when people order drinks to match their outfits. No I don't... I do it, actually.

McScrambleFoot is running some kind of a pyramid scam, I just heard the words "6 or 7 figure salary" and "you make money for you and it makes money for us, theres no risk!" and he is beginning every sentence with "well in my opinion" or, "in the way I see it" and its making my stomach hurt. I have no idea what it is exactly that this guy is trying to sell, but he ain't gettin me as a buyer. Someone he knows sits at the table beside him, and to get his attention... ScrambleFoot taps the guy on the ass with his high-polish shoes. What is wrong with this guy? I bet he's a hugger.

A girl with a fake Louis Vuitton speedy bag dangling from the niche of her skinny inner elbow and even skinner boyfriend next to her gingerly tip toe into my nook at seat themselves at a booth. How precious. Gag me, hang me from a tree, kill me in all kinds of slow and torturous ways before I ever carry around a fake Louis Vuitton bag. It isn't worth it girls. And the pattern is supposed to be upside-down on one side because LV uses one piece of leather for the main flaps of the bag, and as warn as that bag is the topstitching shouldn't be such bright yellow anymore. Ok I'll stop now... Oh Lord she is spewing about child labor and how "totally wrong" it is... I wonder who she thinks made that little replica bag?

McPeepingTom who was staring at me in awkward ways from across the room earlier is apparently a colleague of the mixed-matched-socks man interviewing potential idiots for his little pyramid scam. Hmmm... a panera pyramid scam, how quaint. This guy is talking about how poorly he types... and he is high up in the business world? I would hope someone would be able to realize that anyone who claims to be the CEO of a "6 to 7 digit salary" company that can't touch type is clearly a fake. What a jerk. I'm fed up with this guy.

The guy in front of me has a book I am all too familiar with; "Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain" was the guidebook of the foundations of my very scarce formal art training. I recommend it, it has some great techniques for people who have yet to even pick up a sketch book or pencil.

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Panera Session II

May. 18th, 2006 | 03:51 pm

    After a day of car title difficulties and fake death dates (I'll let your mind waunder on that one) and a little Daddy-Daughter time, KC rescues me, and now we sit side by side in my little nook at Panera. I didn't get the same ditsy girl at the counter again, so my sandwich actually cost the full amount this time. God bless idiots, they make veggie sandwiches cheaper, thus making the world go round... at least in this avacado-lovin girl's eyes, thats for sure. KC went to get his ham/cheese/tomato (I'm sure you were curious) and returned to point out a long lost and forgotten semi-acquaintance from our past. You know the kind... a friend of a friend's exboyfriend. We all have little awkward acquaintances like that in our lives. I don't dare say hello to him, he's too distant in more ways than one. This kid is special, hair like a brilo pad mated with a jerry-curl, but his face has filled out some (freshmen 15, eh?) and he's growing some facial fuzz. He's sitting there all alone at a table in the middle of the room - theres no doubt that he's waiting for someone - he inspects his purchases as I eye the bags they are housed in: Hollister and Aeropostale... wannabee Abercrombie and wannabe American Eagle. I'm interupted by a diligent little Panera worker bee, wiping down table tops and crumbling up discarded receipts, letting a routine and purely rehearsed "How's it goin, guys?" escape from his lips. My nook is clean, but now free of people to observe. I'll eat my veggie sandwich now and watch KC silently curse at nerdy little video games (he's too adorable when he shakes his fist at the computer screen) until someone interesting surfaces.

    Goldmine! Old man with elastic waist pants at 10 o'clock! And his shirt is tucked in... I love old men, god bless 'em they only care about efficiency and comfort, fashion is for the birds. Back to McChinFuzz, he's left his bags unattended (he must know how completely tacky Hollister is now, perhaps he saw my judgemental glances) and is now ordering a coffee. He's too trustworthy. Does he know how theify people in this world are? Does he know that I just made up the word theify? I can't draw a conclusion about either, but sure. He's ordered a sinful dessert. Two plates? Either he ordered a large amount and the waiter assumed it could only be for two people, or it affirms the fact that he is indeed waiting on someone. If the latter is true, they are incredibly late. Heeeey, maybe he is Mister McHottie Myspace from yesterday's observation! I wonder if I'll see McWifiWonderBoy again today! One can only hope that those two find fresh-baked Panera lovin on a fine Thursday.. Awww... sorry to disappoint you, kids... he merely ordered way too much dessert, he has no date. He just got up (took his bags with him this time) and discarded his plate and McInvisibleDate's as well. He pushes his chair in, and waves at someone behind the counter. It suddenly all becomes clear, he has the hots for the girl behind the counter... he has found his Taylor-the-latte-girl, but alas, her shift isn't over for another hour or so. He hangs his head, and walks out the door. Goodbye McChinFuzz, I'll miss you.

    Say hello to McMommy with her far too expensive for dirty diapers Vera Bradley baby bag... oh, and she has a kid with her, too. She looks stressed, her hair is a bit oily, she has bags under her eyes (and expensive bag at her side). She isn't alone, a pregnant friend emerges from behind the fireplace, with a small yellow Vera at her side, as well as a little munchkin (about 2 or 3, I'm assuming). McPrego needs to learn a thing or two before she pops that second bun out her oven... she just walked at least 20 paces away from the newborn baby belonging to McMommy. Having children is a difficult task, I'm sure. What do I think about when entering Panera? Where is a good seat? Will my nook be empty? Did I bring my cellphone? But my little McMommies have to think about who watches the kids while the other goes to browse the menu, keeping the terrible-twosie away from the baked goods, and if the beverages are "organic enough" to drink during pregnancy. Terrible-twosie is prancing around the kitchen area, reaking havoc and causing a whole staff to freak out at the sight of a two year old around piping hot beverages. McBun-in-the-Oven goes to run after Terrible-twosie leaving the newborn once again unattended.

    I was all ready to stop my observations for the day, but my nook is invaded by two more groups of girls. I like to call these anti-mommies. One wearing a "Blondes Have More Fun" t-shirt and the other is wearing a bright green bra. How do I know she is wearing a bright green bra? Because her shirt is incredibly thin. Yes, thats why. Its awful. America: STOP DRESSING TRASHY! Thank you... Anyway... I heard one of them say "Showers after the beach are the best feeling ever!" and I kind of have to agree with that one, they really are. The girls are munching silently, talking about trivial nonsense like girl's often do. Apparently one of the girl's was cheated on... I feel bad for her. I know nothing more than the fact that she was cheated on, but I still feel bad for her. Dishonesty in a relationship is the lowest of low, and cheating on your significant other is the worst kind of dishonesty. KC always says that you can't build a house without a good foundation - I agree with all my heart - honesty is that foundation, and without it everything built on top will crumble. Unfortunately even the seemingly strong relationships that have lasted for years sometimes have foundations that wash away. You both have to be willing to build and rebuild together, thats what its all about, sharing responsibility instead of placing blame, and working together to make things good again and again. I hope she finds peace in her relationship. So heres to you, McTheatreMajorette, I wish you well in all future relationships.

    A woman sits alone across from me, a bowl of soup, chunk of fresh bread, cup of hot coffee and small cup of water. The water is because you can't drink just coffee with a meal, you need to cleanse. I like that... I'm like that. She folds her hands and rests her forehead upon them and silently prays before her meal. While glancing at her I overhear one of McTheatreMajorette's friends discussing prayer with her peers. Only 5 areas in my nook, and three of them are filled with Christians. There is hope in this world, and thats more than enough for me to hold onto. Middle-aged McCoffee-and-Water woman pulls out a book: "Knitting Rules!" ... I think I love her.

This has been another random dose of Fly On the Blog... join me next time for more judgemental glances and insight into the lives of strangers. God Bless.

What this fly has learned: When one has their own pickle, they need not take anyone else's. (you can thank KC for that one).

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Adventures at Panera Bread...or... My First flyontheblog

May. 18th, 2006 | 12:12 am
location: Panera Bread

Today has been... quite a day. I woke up to loud obnoious screaming and now I'm at Panera Bread all by myself thanks to my lovely boyfriend for dropping me off and saving me from my own personal little hell. This place isn't half bad, I like the atmosphere and the little nooks. I have my own little nook, at a small little table in the corner all by myself. There are mostly older women here, oddly enough, so anyone else around me tends to stand out quite a bit. The guy in front of me, for instance, is sort of an obvious character. Have you ever sat at one of this free wifi places and just absorbed the people around you? I'm just sitting here and glancing up at him every few seconds. He has Chanel sunglasses on, an ipod plugged into his ears (Nano, if you were wondering) and he's hunched over his Apple notebook in great concentration. Every once in a while he'll smile or shift his weight around to get comfortable (so I know he's been here for a while) and the rather frequent yawn and stretch allowing him to sit up a little higher and observe his surroundings. The task at hand which I can only assume is a heavy online discussion with an exboyfriend (Come on... Chanel sunglasses and an engraved Apple? Gay-gay-gay-gay guh-AY) or perhaps a detailed nail-biting discussion on Lindsey Lohan's decision to start eating high calorie foods, but no matter what the task, he is way too into it. Now its really getting interesting... he pulled out a rhinestone studded cellphone (you know, just like mine) and is quickly jotting something down in it from the computer screen. Perhaps Mr.Myspace McHottie just gave Mr.WifiWonderBoy his digits? One can only assume that he's finding his online-lover for the day. Maybe he'll meet him here later. Maybe I can catch a glimpse of McHottie-Myspace.

More wonder! I swear this could be a sitcom (you'll have to trust me on that, though) because now four more characters have entered my little nook. Three overweight but not quite obese members of a family most likely just as porky are seated at a table three down from my little corner. The woman I have just named Grazie due to the cow-grazing eating tendencies she is displaying (talking while chewing on her chips...disgusting) has actually addressed me, but not directly. "She's cute - that one over there in the pink - look at the sticker's on her laptop. Her sandwich looks good, I wonder if thats a panini. Jonathan, whats a 'panini'?" The butterball of a man who is obviously Jonathan grumbles as he squints at the three-sided advertisement on the table, "A sandwich or something... stickers? What stickers? What are you talking about? Oh... that girl? Leave her alone. Lets go order." He looks annoyed at the menu. He is looking for a burger, its obvious. I know that look, KC has that look on his face at the mention of Dharma Blue or any similar restaurant, "Theres no meat!" Grazie is back at the table, the third woman (either a sister or an older daughter) sits with her, "Did I tell you I ate Subway yesterday? Dang good. Dannnng good." The conversation continues, but I am tuned out as my attention is forcibly directed towards a rather large man coming towards me. He sits himself down one table away, and eyes the homosexual male in the booth across from me. Interested? Homophobe? He gets up, and moves one table further. Homophobe. But still interesting.

McWifiWonderGay packs his Apple into his Yves St.Laurent (I kid you not) messenger-satchel (Fall 2005? Perhaps) and sets himself on his way with a rather prissy spring in his step - I guess he got the number - he's gone now. He is soon replaced by two common characters from this area, the keeper of Daddy's credit card, and her best friend, little miss "theres mold in my SANDWICH!" These girls are stupid. I feel bad for typing about them when they are so close, but they gave me a look when they sat down and then shared a little glance and giggle with each other. They are discussing where to go for "vaycay" (Who says that?! The word is vacation... other words to try would be "concealer", and "slut" but I'm sure they know that well.) Do they have to talk about me right in front of me? What am I doing to them? Oh... yeah... right... I'm tearing them apart in the bloggisphere. What do they care? Their screen names are probably "IHrtTheOClikeWhoa" and "BabieGurl1245". Get this, they are both wearing lucite heels. You know... the clear ones with the rainbow effect? And they are judging me? Now shes babbling on about how she got a flight to Las Vegas roundtrip for $75 and shes staying at the Palms for two weeks. Hmm.. doubt it. McHomophobic has left his table now, and the banger-sisters squeel, "Omg did you SEE how fat he was?! He was like... SO fat!" Are you kidding me? Apparently not. Wow, how ridiculous... like, SO ridiculous. Thing 1 seems to think that her boyfriend should clean his house before she comes over, and Thing 2 agrees. Thing 2 starts to squeel a high-pitched "OMG I lost my lipgloss!!!!" kind of a squeel as she looks at her sandwich, "Theres like, MOLD!!!! OMG I cannot eat this!" Thing 1, "OMG! Are you serious? Mold! What kind of a place is this?" Well... it was parsley. Because sometimes places like to put parsley on things. Apparently these two couldn't combine their brain power (or lack thereof) to figure that out, so they went to return the sandwich and then were told... "...Its parsley..." The girls return, and don't speak about it again. Raven is here now, I'll finish this later.

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