03.31.2003 - 7:12 p.m.
Monday
So in my last entry I told
you about The Head and my propensity for Putting Things on the
Head, right? I had to document JB's reaction to this:
Him: What? What? Why are
you taking my picture? What do you mean, "look up"?
(Don't even ask about that
metal horned thing - he brought it home from Asia after, apparently,
smoking a vat of opium. It's so ugly it burns holes in my retinas
every time I see it. I swear to god the rest of my house is not
this gnarly.)
:::
It was great to have JB back
this weekend, things are just generally less boring when he's
around. For instance, on Saturday we were goofing around and
he started singing 50 Cent's "In Da Club". Which was
sort of entertaining in and of itself, but there's more:
Me: It's Shawty.
JB: What?
Me: "Go Shawty, it's your birthday." That's how it
goes. You're saying something else.
JB: Shorty? What are you talking about? It's Charlotte.
Me: ...Charlotte? You think it's CHARLOTTE?
JB: Whaat? It IS.
Me (collapsing on the floor with giant donkey brays of laughter):
Bwahahahahahahaha!
JB: (defensive): It IS. "Go Charlotte, it's your birthday,
we gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday."
Me: heeeeeee (fighting for breath) heeeeeeeee
JB: Look, you want to bet on this?
Me: Hell YEAH I do.
JB: What do you want to bet?
Me: Ok...if I'm right, you have to do all the work for dinner
tonight.
JB: You're on.
Me: Seriously, that means cutting up the veggies, everything.
Plus cleanup! Yeah!
JB: I said YOU'RE ON.
Me: Sucka! You're gonna be in the kitchen allll night.
JB: Wait, what do I get if I win? Which I WILL.
Me: Your call.
JB: I'll take the standard BJ.
Me: (runs to the computer and googles the lyrics) Ah HA! "Shawty!"
JB: Shit.
Me: In your face! In your face!
JB: Dammit.
Me: Here's you: (in clipped, ridiculous WASPy accent, while doing
a horrible cabbage-patch type dance) "Go CHAR-lotte, it
is your BIRTH-day, we-are-going-to-sip-BaCARdi, like it is your
birth-day!"
JB: Shut. It.
Me: Heh.
JB: Is this going in your diary?
Me: You bet, white boy.
JB: Whatever, homegirl.
Me: Hee. "Charlotte".
:::
You know what's embarrassing
about that, actually, is admitting that while JB manfully angled
for a blowjob, my idea of a good bet payoff was kitchenwork.
I am so lame.
:::
I Am So Lame, redux: I've been
going to this tanning salon. Because I want to be a color other
than Unseasoned Tofu when we go on our cruise in a month, and
also because I think tanned fat is more attractive than blindingly
white fat. Okay? Don't criticize.
Anyway, the tanning place I've
gone to has several different types of beds you can use, each
one with its own price point. And I've been thinking that it's
all sort of a big scam and really, they're all the same amount
of cancer rays in the end. Since I'd been on the more expensive
"Ultra" bed a couple of times with no adverse effects,
on Saturday afternoon I figured what the hell, I'd try the cheaper
"Regular" bed for 20 minutes.
People. I FRIED. My arms and
legs look the same (ie, Not Tan) but my face and neck turned
an alluring shade of crimson within hours of the ill-fated tanning
session. Sunday it looked even worse - my face was puffy and
creased-looking, in addition to being a shrieking red mess.
The thing that really sucks
about burning yourself in a ferchrissake tanning bed?
It's like, "Yes, I am incredibly vain, and my self-absorbed
attempt to make myself more attractive completely backfired.
I have no dignity whatsoever. Hi."
I'm better today, but the flaking
process has begun, and I fear that my skin now has a leprous
appearance from the foundation spackling I applied this morning.
Luckily I work with software engineers, so I could really come
to work wearing a ballerina tutu with a mallard duck tied to
my head and no one would probably notice.
:::
In response to my mention of
the Sushi Couple Nemesis who can - annoyingly - fold perfect
little origami swans out of their chopstick wrappers and thus
are evil beyond all comprehension, I got an email from Darcey,
who gave me a link to this helpful page. I was rather taken with the charming
Dragon Chopstick Rest, so I decided to give
it a shot.
Now, in my defense, I have
to tell you that origami is fucking HARD. Okay? There's, like,
this origami lingo, and these ninja-like folding maneuvers.
I started along the directions and accomplished Step 1 with,
if I may say so, perfect aplomb. Mountain and valley,
I thought. Gotcha.
It was during Step 2 that I
ran into trouble. Waterbomb? I made some random folds
and, as an afterthought, licked the end of the paper thoroughly.
There.
3, 4 and 5 passed without too
much trouble, although in the directions the part that said "Like
this" did not really look very familiar. Never mind, forging
ahead
7, 8, 9, 10 and 11 confused
me so completely ("petal fold"? "box pleat"?)
I decided to skip them. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Step 12 ("This
is the side view") bore absolutely no resemblance to my
wrapper whatsoever.
Let's recap. In an attempt
to make this...
...I made this.
Not just crappy, but vaguely
suggestive, too! Go me!
go back :::
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1
comments so far.
I have moved. - 1.03.2005 Obviously, a work in progress. - 12.27.2004 Happy holidays! - 12.24.2004 Listen, I am not a complete dick, it's not like I want Joe to die alone surrounded by cats or something. - 12.23.2004 Plus I am convinced my butt is extra big when it's upside down. - 12.22.2004
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