TODAY IN THE CRUELTY OF THE UNIVERSE:
I love ribs. The problem is that I love them so much that I never want to get them because most of the time in restaurants they suck. Nothing beats the ribs I got when I was 20 in Texas and there was an open air BBQ pit in the middle of nowhere. Those ribs were the greatest ribs. And they have ruined ribs for me forever. All other ribs pale in comparison. Except for one ribs. Oh yes, one ribs. And those are by Jonathan Morse, previously mentioned on Phroofie Crede. Thus the tragedy of my life unfolds:
Aug 2007- J. Morse has a BBQ. Phaea comes to said BBQ and eats one (1) bacon wrapped hotdog, which makes her sensitive stomach unhappy. When the ribs are ready, Phaea is unable to eat but a small bite, confirming that they are the best ribs she has had since Texas.
May 3 2008- J. Morse has a BBQ which has a start time of 4pm. Phaea has to be at a show at 7:30pm. Logic dictates that she will not be able to make it to Jersey and back in the proper amount of time to attend. Ribs are missed again.
May 7 2008- J. Morse invited Phaea to Jersey for ribs that he will make especially for her. This generous offer immediately wipes clean not only past rib disappointments, but all disappointments thus far in her entire life, including that time she wore her pants backwards for a month.
May 8 2008- J. Morse informs Phaea that rain is expected tomorrow and there for, ribs are not possible. Existence as it stood before seems like nothing more then a sad slow march towards a rib-less death.
To top it all off, I woke up with a strange sense of foreboding today. It is somewhat gratifying to know that my paranoia, while extreme, is always justified.
Oh hey- and whats with Putin? Am I right?
update: HOLY FUCKING SHIT LOOK WHAT MY BOYFRIEND TOOK A PICTURE OF AT A RESTAURANT TODAY IN UPSTATE NEW YORK!!!!!!!!
Universe!!! What does it all mean!!!???
(for those of you that don't know my name is Phaea Hatfield Crede.)