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03.31.2003 - 7:12 p.m.


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!

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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

yay, diaryland