Monday, April 18, 2011

machine


Princess went to the gym, ate a scrambled egg, beautified herself, stopped by Duncan Donuts for a latte (It was a light latte, haters! The uncharacteristic and freakishly early gym session was not to be undone!), and was at work by 7:15 a.m. At work, she graded three classes of papers (!!  Exclamations to demonstrate the lightning speed with which Princess graded) while actively teaching literary critiques the entire day. Then, she made her grocery list, planned her afternoon adventures, and now she’s writing a blog post. All this to say, Princess is a MACHINE today. And not some kind of worthless machine like Robie, the money-eating robot bank her brother owns, or the disco ball on her desk that is currently one battery short of party time. She is the guy who can play an accordion, harmonica, bongo drums, sing, and run a marathon at one time (although it occurs to Princess that this destroys her machine metaphor, as that man is not a machine, but whatev, Princess can switch mid-metaphor because this blog is HER PARTY and she can metaphor-switch if she wants to).

She can imagine the little gears in her head churning away as she thinks of witty, original blog thoughts that the world needs to hear! Only the gears are losing motivation due to the lack of Diet Dr. Pepper. Picture them with sad, tired faces a la Lisa Turtle when she has to stay up all night making Buddy Bands because Bayside demands them. This conversation is currently taking place in her head (Try to keep up as it is confusing in there):

“It’s [editor’s note: ‘It’ = Dr. Pepper] on the grocery list, gears!” Princess says with an evil Jillian glare. “DO NOT STOP!”

Gears: “But we are le tired! We have been cranking away since 5 a.m. and we are never disturbed at that sacred hour!”

Princess w/ Jillian face: “Do you want some cheese with that whine?!”

G:“No we do not!”

P: “That was rhetorical!”

G: “Also we do not drink on the job! Or really at all. And the yelling is not conducive to a positive work environment.”

P: “Whine—not wine. It’s a pun!”

G: “We changed our mind about the cheese! We like goat cheese! And also gouda!”

P: “No, again, the question was rhetorical! And also not intended to be taken literally! I was not actually offering you cheese, although I am going to the grocery store later and I’m getting some ricotta for the baked ziti. Don’t you remember this as you helped make the list?”

G: “We do not understand these words you use since we are just metal gears!”

P: “Yes, that makes perfect sense, although I am confused about how we were able to have this conversation.”

G: “Just go to the grocery store. Don’t forget the cheese.”

P: “Very bossy. I don’t like your tone.”

G: “Then do not give us a tone! We are a figment of your imagination, obvi.”

P: “Me thinks this is either the beginning of schizophrenia or the beginning of a terrible yet monetarily rewarding movie with Will Smith where machines take over people’s minds. Gears, begin writing screenplay!”

G: “Terrible idea. But okay, we’ll do it.”

P: “Never mind, I have to go to the grocery store.”

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