Bitter Cynical Rants from One as Snarky as Waldorf and As Sexy as Statler.

Thursday, June 29, 2006

Baby, can’t you see I’m calling, A girl like you should wear a warning

So It's officially summer. I know what you're thinking, its July 29th, summer started days ago, and technically you would be correct, but the last day of school was yesterday, officially kicking off my summer and allowing me to regain my full strength in superhero status, the kryptonite of screming sixth graders having been removed from my existence since september. (that's one hell of a run-on summer, but ask me if I give a damn).

Sadly though, we're at work today, doing some kind of book inventory, you can tell we're working very hard for our 36.50 an hour, updating less because we have anything interesting to say and more to just waste some damned time.

couple of quick updates, although we promise something much lengthier when we don't feel like our supervisor could walk in any moment and notice i'm not in the asbestos filled basement, counting books.

heading to SF at the end of the summer - Soccer Chick is paying for the flight. Tell me again, there's a good reason for me not to just stay out there for the rest of my life, right?

Speaking of SF, one of our good college buddies, my original gay boyfriend, Mr. B, was in town briefly for his sister's bat mitzvah so we hit up the town in a flamboyantly queer way monday night, honestly, maybe the gayest night ever. I don't want to get into too many details so as to keep the innocent and not so innocent protected, but i swear to god at one point i was sipping a good ole Goose and Tonic while listening to Jai Rodriguez, you know the "culture dude" from Queer Eye belt out a rendition of Cyndi Lauper's "True Colors". I think i threw up in my mouth a little bit. Also, i think i just threw up in my mouth a little bit again having had to relive the image in my head. It's a good thing that there is a special place in my heart for Mr. B, otherwise well its kind of hard to say.
You can't make this kind of stuff up.

Should we give you the HFT update? There isn't much sadly to report, although she is coming with us to the brother's wedding, and while spending the evening relaxing by my folk's pool last night with the husband, the puppies seemed to work their magic on her, a few more visits and we might just be able to convince her she wants to marry into the family. we'll of course let you know if there's actually anything there worth reporting.


Sunday, June 18, 2006

Don't make me close one more door; I don't wanna hurt anymore

There's so much we have to tell you. But we have limited time so we'd just like to catch you up to speed on what our new neighborhood is like. So after a few weeks of living in the new pad, we have taken to regaling our co-workers with a daily installment of "You know you're in the ghetto when..." We'd like to take this opportunity to share with all of you Friday's episode of "You Know You're in the Ghetto."

I was sharply awoken at 5:30 in the morning to the sounds of arguing coming from the building next door. It seems that a gentleman and his wifey or baby-mamma or girlfriend were disagreeing about something domestically. After about 15 minutes or so - she kicks him out of the apartment and he is seen walking down the steps of his building and towards a car. I promptly fall back asleep...

Until about a half an hour later when I am awoken to the blaring sounds of Whitney Houston's "I Have Nothing." Now I had been out late the night before hitting the drink at Verlaine, Stolen Transmission (which now sucks beyond belief) and Swift, so I had immediately assumed that in my drunkenness when setting my alarm I changed the station to something that would maybe play whitney houston, so I turn over to shut off the alarm - hence ending my torture, but alas, my alarm was not scheduled to go off for another ten minutes. Befuddled and Perplexed, I look out the window only to find our original gentleman, back in his car, windows open, blaring from his radio the offending song. By the time I figure this out, the song is nearing its end, and so I hope is my suffering. Again, I am proven wrong, as our protagonist, looking to woo his lady friend back into his arms and him back into her good graces, plays the song, not once, not twice, but three times in a row.

And there you have it. Street performance of "Say Anything" at its best. Ghetto Alarm clock at it's worst. Either way it was the first time in months that I was up without hitting the snooze button at least three times.

Worst part of the story? I had the god awful song in my head the entire day.