Non Sequitur

There's a shop near our apartment called "Tiaras and Tantrums." It makes me wonder why some mint chocolate ice cream is green and other mint chocolate ice cream is white. In the US (and possibly in Europe) they dye oranges to make them look more tasty. Even though I got bored of Red Robin because it was my brothers' birthday restaurant of choice--every year--it didn't stop me from celebrating my 21st birthday with my parents there, and drinking a concoction called "Sand in Your Shorts," which, you could probably guess, was a PG family restaurant version of a Sex on the Beach. Consequentially, a jet in today's sky reminded me of the sky in Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. What is it about Damien Rice that makes me want to road trip alone to the Grand Canyon and peer over the edge and watch a red sunrise? As long as Damien doesn't turn into the Devil and shoot mosquito arrows at my bare skin to infect me with malaria, and as long as the mosquitos don't turn into a harmless prize of pots and pans, then I'd take a good road trip over a bad road trip any day of the week.