All I wanna do is have some fun. I have a feeling I'm not the only one. All I wanna do is have some fun until the sun comes up over Santa Monica Boulevard. WOW! Snap out of it! Sorry, got into a little Sheryl Crow there. That wasn't at all what I mean to say. I'm a little dazed right now.
Here's the little paragraph where I explain why I'm dazed. Nobody probably cares, and it does not pertain to this week's ranting, so you can feel free to skip it. I've been clearing out my room so my uncle can build some shelves and stuff for me to put my crap on. I'm not a big fan of dusting, so there is quite a bit of dust in there. I'm allergic, as many are, so what I'm saying is my nose was dripping like a faucet. I took an allergy tablet and I fell asleep on the futon for like two hours or something watching Dr. Katz. Again, nobody probably cares, and come to think of it, nobody's probably reading this, so I can go ahead and share that I was sleeping on the very spot where I spilled ketchup just yesterday. Mom had agreed to drive me to Burger King after we had taken care of all our pre-Father's Day responsibilities, as long as I paid for my lunch there. So I get a big fat burger (of course I ask for no pickles, onions or tomatoes, and of course I taste more than a slight hint of onions, the only thing you cannot remove all traces of completely, though God knows they tried to scrape it off). Anyway, I get a big dinner plate, neatly place my burger to one side. Around that I arrange my fries. I look in the bag and am pleased to see they had included like eight packages of ketchup. I think to myself, "Great, if I squeeze all of the ketchup onto the plate now, I won't have to open another package later, 'cause it'll all already be there." So I execute that plan and rush over to the futon, ready to enjoy my burger and fries. As I try to place it on the arm rest, the plate topples over onto the futon. I was really hungry, so I took a few bites of my burger and casually saunter over to my mom, asking "hypothetically", what I should do if I spilled ketchup on the futon. She freaks out a bit, but I clean it up and all is well again. So anyway, I slept on that very spot where I spilled that ketchup...like anybody cares. And sorry for the big long paragraph, but at the top I told people they could skip a paragraph, and it just tured out longer than I had planned.
Okay, then, onto the real rant. I'm supposed to talk about all I want to do. Whenever I eat out, I find myself looking around wherever I am, at all the different people. Then I find myself wishing I could hear what they all were saying. I mean, I know it's probably mostly boring and personal, and I'd have no idea what they were talking about, but it is still a fascinating idea.
Lots of people, when asked what they do if they were invisible , say stuff like steal money, or sneak into someone's shower, but me, I'd spend whole days, watching and listening to people talk in diners. It just seems cool to watch how people interact and converse.
I seem to remember reading or hearing about how writers do just this often. If I want to be a writer, maybe I should stop just thinking about it and just start doing it. Eavesdropping, that is.