Seen and Heard: Piano Bar Volume II
In wee little pieces today, because no one conversation was good enough to merit and entire post. It was a slow night. Possibly because I wasn't drinking.
Overheard in the ladies' room while washing my hands at the sink next to a belligerently drunk girl and her slightly-less-belligerent friend.Belligerent: I don't know why the fuck he thinks it's okay to get drunk.
Friend: Um...because we're in a bar.
B: But he's here with me!
F: You're drunk.
B: But I never told
him that
he could get drunk!
F: You're not just drunk. You are a drunk ass.
B: I know. Fuck you.
---------------
When I was chatting with Gallagher's temporary roommate, C, and friend Kitty, about K*.Nic: Who is the blond with K with the sourpuss look on her face?
C: That would be the ice skater. He fucked her on Thursday.
Nic: Okay...what's with the evil looks at me?
Kitty: Because you, as a female, are a threat.
Nic: *blank stare*
C: You have tits and he gave you a hug. You clearly aren't heinous, nor are you his sister, therefore, you are a threat. It's really very simple.
Nic: *blank stare*
Kitty: If she realized that two of the girls K has fucked in the last week were also in the room right now, she wouldn't be worried about you.
Nic: I can't decide whether I should think K is a slut boy or whether I should hate on girls for being stupid.
C: I hate girls for being stupid.
Kitty: I know K is a slut.
C: Yeah, true.
Nic: *sips tequila sunrise*
---------------
Four girls, all attractive, are standing outside of the bar after last call. A car full of Spanish-speaking men drives by, the men shouting complimentary obscenities.Girl 1: What the hell?
Girl 2: He said something in Spanish. I think it was lewd.
Girl 1: He said he wants to fuck you!
Girl 2: Hey!
Girl 1: [shouting] That is no bueno!
No bueno!*Not my old K. I never talk to him.Labels: alcohol, eavesdropping
One Hundred and Nine Degrees
Sometimes, I can’t help wondering why I develop expectations for others that are, apparently, unattainable. Often they are completely unfounded. For example, I decided back in November, before I made any sort of mention to anyone at all that I was even attracted to him, that
GFW would somehow be the answer to all of my hang-ups about being emotionally invested in someone again. Even if this investment was going to be unrequited and from afar, I was certain that it would exist and I was certain that it would somehow change the way that I have been feeling since Iris died.
In a way, I was right. An interest turned into an attraction, which turned into a crush, which turned into a friendship, which somehow turned into lust. And I satisfied that lust, quite neatly if I say so myself. Was it the same idea that I had eight months ago? No, but does that matter? Does it change the fact that I feel a teensy bit prophetic?
What does this have to do with unattainable expectations, you ask. Well, my original expectation was something along the lines of fall-in-love-and-sweep-me-off-my-feet. Was that what I wanted? Not necessarily. Was that the storybook ending that I envisioned? Yes, it was. Rationally, I know that I’m not going to get a storybook ending; quite honestly, I don’t think I even want a storybook ending. It’s old news, and I want to have interesting stories to tell when I’m eighty years old holding my grandchildren hostage at my kitchen table.
When I listen to
A Fine Frenzy, I am reminded of certain things. The Christmas season at Giant Bookstore and the toasted marshmallow mocha that was served at the time. Bundling up in my wool coat and leather gloves when it got cold. And GFW, because I was just starting to notice him as I was learning the lyrics to all of the songs. Listening to it today brought all of that back.
It probably always will.
Labels: boys, my insanity
Tequila and a Tigers T-Shirt
It happened
so recently, and so I knew it as soon as I woke up this morning. That was why I stayed exactly where I was, curled up under the quilt on my couch. And I stayed there. When I woke up again at three, it was a full-fledged migraine.
When Gallagher called me just after six to tell me that Weird Al was at Giant Bookstore, I thought she was lying. I had been lying there for the last three hours, alternately trying to fall asleep - and failing - and wishing that I could just die already. I had called my mom to tell her that I was dying. Marilyn was curled up at my feet and Puck had run away when I accidentally kicked him off the couch.
It was at that point that I dragged myself out of the bed, showered, dragged my hair into a side-braid, played with my new "azure" eyeshadow, and left the apartment, shielding my light-sensitive eyes with sunglasses and praying that I neither lost consciousness nor threw up before I could get to the drugstore and choke down some ibuprofen. (Because of course I haven't bought any since the last time this happened. That would make far too much fucking sense.)
Now I am taking a fifth of tequila and great hopes with me to Gallagher's. We're going to a barbecue, armed with Mexican hard lemonade and my great hopes for an evening of fun rather than boredom. I'm going in a denim skirt and an orange t-shirt blazoned with the mascot of the high school where I student taught. My hair is still in a side-braid, and I have no intention of changing anything.
I think, in my old age, I am becoming complacent.
Labels: alcohol, my insanity
Grand Plans
I hate getting up early. Passionately. If it was realistic for me to sleep till noon every day - and stay up until four in the morning - I would. Unfortunately, my career choice prevents that.* Still, being interrupted from my sleep in the early hours of the morning tends to make me cranky. When Marilyn tore across my legs, up over my desk, and into the window at 7:15 this morning, I knew what my typical reaction would have been: To scold her before rolling over and going back to sleep. Today, however, I got up. Because I have Grand Plans.
I've always been one for Grand Plans. The thing about it though, is that I usually don't manage to follow through with them. Things like cleaning my apartment and rearranging all the furniture, spending a summer getting into the kind of shape that makes girls jealous of you, or
making a list of novels to read because someone told me they're all worth it. And I never finish it out. Today's Grand Plans, however, are on a smaller scale, designed to spoil myself after enduring a wretchedly foul mood at work last night.
After I put on some makeup** and shimmy into a little sun dress, I'm first going to the bank to deposit the lovely penance I get for being a book slave. I am then going to go find somewhere that will serve me a bagel and a cup of coffee and sit there, with my book, until I am bored or annoyed. Then, because I clearly love a good death sentence, I'm going to browse my way through Sephora, followed by a quick stop at Target for a few things (lotion with sunscreen and trash bags). On my way home, I will stop at the Quik Lube on the corner to get my oil changed. After all of that is finished, I will come home, where I will no doubt be ignored by the kitties, and take a nap.
And if my plans change? So what? Sometimes even the most carefully laid Grand Plans require revision.
*We're going to ignore the whole "she's technically unemployed" bit. Work with me!
**Yes, it is necessary. I don't go anywhere without makeup. I'm that girl.Labels: everyday amusements
Lists: Because We Need Lightness Around Here
My New Favorite MoviesAtonementThe DepartedCloserGarden StateThe Devil Wears PradaMy New Favorite CosmeticsBare Minerals Glimmer in SummerPhilosophy Lip Gelato in GratitudePhilosophy Shower Gel in BubblyFresh Sugar Lemon eau de parfumMy Favorite Self-IndulgencesBrowsing Sephora
pretty pink pedicures
baths with bubbles, booze, and a book
lunch at Panera (chipotle chicken sandwich and strawberry-poppyseed salad)
My New Favorite BooksThe Lightning ThiefA Lifetime of SecretsThe Book ThiefMythologyThe Other Boleyn GirlNote: I missed this week's Seen and Heard. You'll get a good one next week, I promise.
Labels: lists
Small, But Not Insignificant
My grandmother, who died two-and-a-half years ago, was my favorite person in the entire world. After she passed, I had to keep telling myself that it was just a shell; her body wasn't her. This is the only thing that made me able to go to the funeral and sit there at the cemetary and watch them bury that shell. I was so convincing to myself, that now her grave means next to nothing to me.
When I get older and Memorial Day becomes a holiday that I'm supposed to care about and do something for, I'm going to be a poor example. In fact, I've only visited her grave twice since the day of her funeral. Quite honestly, I don't have a lot of motivation to go back. Being back in Small Town though, where just coming up the driveway to my parents' house forces me to drive past her home. This afternoon, I went into the house. My mother hasn't been able to do a lot to it, and most of the things are in the exact same place they were the last night my grandmother went to bed.
The Reynold's Plastic Wrap on top of the microwave (in violet because colored plastic wrap is fun), her shampoo still rests on the shelf in the shower, the lotion she used every morning sitting in the medicine cabinet. The calendar on the kitchen wall still reads February 2006. This is the way that I visit my late grandmother. This, for me, is far more significant than visiting the place where her body rests, where there is a rock with her name and some dates engraved on it.
There is a full-length mirror at the end of the hall, and when you stand in the center of the living room and face West, you can see your reflection. I used to stand there, right below the ceiling fan, when I was growing up. Dressed in silky nighties pretending to be a princess when I was six; practicing cheers when I was thirteen; making sure that the hem of my prom dress just skimmed the floor when I was eighteen. And as I stood there this weekend in a pink sundress with my keys clutched in my right hand and my sunglasses perched atop my head, I realized something: This is the only place in the world where I see my reflection and feel that I am short and small. Not because I felt small in the house, and not because I spent time there when I was truly little, but because my grandmother was larger than life for me. Because she still is.
Labels: everyday musings, Small Town
How You Know
When you order the pizza with pepperoni, even though you don't really want it, simply because you know that they will be upset if it isn't there. That's how you know that you truly love someone.
Even if that someone is your cat.
Labels: everyday musings, kitties
Playing the Hand You Get
When Guy From Work (GFW) transferred into the Giant Bookstore where I work last July, I was still a newbie. I was still thinking about not looking like a moron when a customer asked me about a book that I wasn’t yet familiar with, or wanted me to take them to something that I didn’t actually know how to find, so the fact that he was a male within the acceptable age bracket didn’t really register. I knew that I wanted him to find me attractive, but I want most males to find me attractive. I knew that I didn’t want him to think I was annoying or unintelligent, but I don’t really want anyone to think these things about me. It was mid-October when I hit the turning point. Rather, my subconscious hit a turning point.
I am a very deep sleeper, and I’m always rushing when I wake up in the morning, so I rarely remember my dreams. I woke up on that Sunday morning, however, well before the alarm, all worked up over the rather naughty dream I had just had. About GFW and I, pressed up against some books in the children’s section doing wildly inappropriate things. Since I had never really seen him in that light, I had to pause to realize that he was, in fact, rather attractive. I spent that entire day at work alternately avoiding him and trying to put myself discreetly in his way. Basically, my entire work life changed. My clothes, my hair, my makeup – each of this things became markedly more important, as was the attitude I was giving off.
He was a very quiet guy, and not exactly the most friendly looking. The possibilities were numerous. He was shy. He was one of those quietly arrogant men. He was mean. He found me repugnant. You see where I’m going. Still, he would make these quiet little comments that let me know that there was something worth knowing about there, so I continued to observe him from afar.
By spring break in March, I was so exhausted from student teaching and working that had stopped caring what almost everyone at the bookstore thought about me. My attitude sucked and the filter that I had kept so carefully in place for the first six months was completely shot. I was more snarky, more foul-mouthed, and generally more unpleasant. Additionally, I was more inclined to have fun on the weekends as I watched the last few months of my college career slip away into a haze of
Romeo and Juliet, mouthy teenage boys, and dressy clothes. One night while a few of us were drinking at Gallagher’s apartment, GFW included, and I had imbibed a bit more than was advisable, I told him about the dream. There was no pretense or shame, and he seemed amused by the entire situation.
From then on, it was fair game. He, Gallagher, and I started spending more time together after her birthday in mid-April, hanging out in bars and our apartments, enjoying alcohol and one another’s company. This was also about the time that he announced that he was returning to his hometown in Arkansas. He wasn’t finding what he was looking for in College Town. My countdown to graduation also became a bit of a countdown for his leaving.
There was a brief interlude between he and Tall Girl, during which I completely removed myself from the mix. Once that ended, I wasn’t entirely sure how to approach the situation, until the night before he was due to complete all of his moving and leave town for good. There was a ridiculous exchange of text messages which ended with the fabulously appropriate, “Let yourself in.”
I did. We enjoyed ourselves, he gave me the best ego boost ever, and we decided that there was no way there could be awkwardness between us in the future. Then I left.
I only wish that he was still in College Town to hang out at the bars. And a little bit for that thing he did....
Labels: boys, flirting, work
Seen and Heard: Starbucks
Sunday afternoon the weather was gorgeous, so I decided that I should take my reading material (see the sidebar, kittens) outdoors. Since my apartment has no yard and no patio, I opted for an iced caramel latte and the unobtrusive company of Starbucks.
I was feeling just a bit smug, sitting there with my advance reader's copy of the next Philippa Gregory book, when three people sat down at the table next to me. One gentleman was telling the couple he was with a story about taking a girl for a ride on his motorcycle (a drool-worthy cruiser, I must say). The interesting thing, though, is that he was one of those people who misuses words.
You know that person. They were far more prevalent in high school or in college classes that they weren't really qualified to be in. They've read a pretentious word in a book or heard a professor use it or found it on their "Word a Day" calendar, so they think they know how to use it. But then they throw it out into a conversation and it totally backfires. He was one of those.
As I sat there, listening to him butcher words like "consummated" and "arbitrary," I found myself wondering what someone might think if they eavesdropped on my conversations. While I would like to think that they wouldn't be able to judge my grammar and vocabulary, I wonder what they would find to judge.
It made me wonder if perhaps it was unfair of me to listen to the too-loud conversations the people around me have and judge them. Then I realized that I don't care. Consequently, I will be going straight to hell.
Labels: eavesdropping
Feeling Priomodial
When I got home from work last night at nearly one am, I could feel it coming. The squeezing, pushing feeling behind my eyeballs that just screamed, "I'm a migraine and I will make your life
hell." This voice was gleeful in my head.
My bottle of ibuprofen has been MIA since about April, batted, I believe, into the oblivion that shall henceforth be known as Under-the-Couch Land by the furry creatures that share my home. I tracked down a single 800 mg ibuprofen hiding in my medicine cabinet - why? - and took it, falling onto my couch and turning off my tv for the first time in literally weeks because the light mady my eyes feel like bleeding.
This morning, even after a shower so hot my skin is pink and half a cup of coffee that is sickeningly weak, I feel as if I'm dragging through sludge. I have to be at work in two hours, and before that I have to go to the bank and Target. Somehow I have managed to run out of face wash, shampoo, and coffee (sickeningly weak because it's all I have in the apartment) on the same day. This falls into the categories of "how did this happen" and "a big freaking problem" simultaneously.
Here's hoping that I manage to crawl out of the sludge.
Labels: everyday musings, my insanity
I'll Show You Mine
I'm all about borrowing ideas lately, and this one was inspired by
this post at This Fish Needs a Bicycle.
My apartment is an atrocious mess and has been for at least six months.* I can go entire days without drinking anything that isn't caffeinated. I type somewhere around ninety words per minute. My enjoyment of brain-rotting reality television (read:
The Girls Next Door) is incongruous when one considers that I am an educated adult.
There is a part of me who wants to be "that girl." You know her; the one who makes out with boys when she drinks - or when she doesn't - and commands the attention of a room. I know that when I was student teaching, I was the hot teacher in the high school. I am attempting to stop drinking Dr. Pepper again. While I've chosen to embrace being a fairly pale person, I know that I will be the chick who gets skin cancer.
I don't love really loud, crowded bars. I do love my cats more than most people that I know. If I had a time machine and could go to any time period, I would want to go hang out with Anne Boleyn. I'm alternately drawn to and repulsed by chick lit. I got diamond earrings after graduation (May 17th) and haven't removed them from my ears since. I want to know more about politics, but I lack the follow through to learn.
I have wanted to grab customers at Giant Bookstore by the shoulders and shake them for being ignorant/annoying/condescending/fucking rude. I'm the heaviest I've ever been and it's starting to effect my self-confidence, although I am remarkably good, I think, at faking it. I have a teensy, innocent crush on my slightly older, married-with-two-kids co-worker. I desperately want to find the inspiration and time to get the novel that's floating around my brain onto paper.
Your turn.**
*Quiet, please, Bradshaw.
**This means share via comments, people.Labels: everyday musings, my insanity
Fancy Free
One evening in early May, right around the time the weather started to get to the place where you could wear the same thing out at 10 pm that you wore at 4 in the afternoon without freezing to death, Gallagher called me and suggested that I check out a local band at the Pub with her and GFW. A combination of being excited that winter was finally ending* and feeling like I was
constantly super-covered-up because of student teaching prompted me to wear a denim miniskirt and a periwinkle blue tank top.
I was sitting in the chair next to GFW, sipping my beer and enjoying the bluegrass-y Southern rock, when I felt fingertips just above my knee. "I've never seen you in a skirt that short," he told me, leaned close to my ear so I could hear him. I shrugged in response; I didn't find anything remarkable about the truth of the comment or about receiving it. "You have nice legs."
I smiled and said thank you - graciously accepting compliments is something that I worked very hard at and almost always manage to do - and pretended to be completely unaffected.
Three weeks later, as I was attending the going-away gathering at the Pub, I realized that since that night, I hadn't once been in his presence in a pair of pants. In fact, other than being in my own apartment or running quick errands around town, I hadn't worn anything other thank skirts
since the comment. That night I was wearing the
gray dress, and he complimented that too. I decided that dresses were the way to go for the summer and made a resolution not to wear pants again unless it was absolutely vital until September.
So far, I haven't. And if I'm being perfectly honest - and since it's my blog, why shouldn't I be? - I look pretty fantastic in all these cute little dresses. More importantly, I
feel good in them. They're flirty and fun, require almost zero thought, and when paired with a cardigan in a fun color and some accessories, there's no reason that I can't wear them anywhere, including work.
Thank you, GFW, for being the inspiration that has led to this boost in my confidence.
*I'm that girl who loves winter for two months, then bitches about it. Then I love summer for a month or so, then bitch about it. Today I found myself thinking about snow and Christmas lights.Labels: boys, everyday musings, flirting
The Color of Passion
I cannot be the only person who finds this particular
PostSecret hysterical.
Discuss.
Labels: everyday amusements
If I Could Paint You A Picture
All right, kittens, I borrowed this one from Brooke over at
Scarlet Hip because it's pretty fun.
Here's what to do if you want to follow the trend:
1. Type your answer to each of the questions below into
Flickr Search.
2. Using only the first page of results, and pick one image.
3. Copy and paste each of the URLs for the images into
Big Huge Lab's Mosaic Maker to create a mosaic of the picture answers.
Easy, no? And fun!
The questions:
1. What is your first name?
2. What is your favorite food right now?
3. What high school did you go to?
4. What is your favorite color?
5. Who is your celebrity crush?
6. What is your favorite drink?
7. What is your dream vacation?
8. What is your favorite dessert?
9. What do you want to be when you grow up?
10. What do you love most in life?
11. What is one word that describes you?
12. What is your blogger name?
Link me to your results, because I want to see what you come up with!
Labels: everyday amusements, lists
Seen and Heard: Big City Bar
As you're all aware by now, I spent last weekend with Bradshaw in Big City. We sat outside at one of the many bars that is within a five-minute walk of her apartment, and while this exchange wasn't exactly acquired because I was eavesdropping - because it wasn't a quiet conversation and everyone heard - it was amusing enough to qualify for a Seen and Heard post.
A couple walks out of the bar, somewhere in their forties I would guess. The woman, dressed in something that I might wear to a bar but my mother - who is forty - wouldn't have been caught dead in and a pair of wedges I might have stolen off her feet, stepped outside and almost immediately fell down. Yes, fell down. Flat on her ass. I had to press my lips together to keep from laughing, quite a show of my self-control since I was a bit intoxicated myself. The gentleman with her was carrying a bar glass, sipping what was obviously the last of many drinks. He looked at the woman, then kept walking. She pulled herself off the ground, probably flashing anyone who was looking in the process, then stumbled behind him, weaving very obviously on the crowded sidewalk. A waiter comes up behind them, telling the gentleman that he cannot take the glass with him down the street. The gentleman, belligerently drunk, turns, gives the waiter a dirty look, knocks back the rest of the drink, and slams the now-empty glass onto the nearest metal table. Which just happened to be occupied by a couple who hadn't seemed to see the rest of the exchange, because they were obviously startled.
The gentleman grabbed his very drunk companion by the wrist, seemed to realize that she wasn't going to be able to keep up, and then let go, crossing the street angrily while she lurched and weaved and stumbled a good ten feet behind him.
The waiter picked up the empty glass, apologized to the couple seated at the table, and looked at our table where the seven of us had been watching the exchange in disbelieving amusement. He shook his head, smiled, and shrugged. "Drunk asses."
I kind of wish he had been our waiter.
*Yes, literally.Labels: alcohol, eavesdropping
Wedding Weekend, Part Two
Yesterday you read about the wedding and the reception. After we left the reception, we decided that more drinking was the best way to spend the rest of the night.* Bradshaw and I headed back to her super-cute apartment to make sure that we were appropriate, and after some somewhat unnecessary driving around the city, we ended up at a bar just around the corner from her place. We sat outside because it was actually a gorgeous night,** and chatted till last call. The people we were out with were actually Bradshaw's friend, bits and pieces of her college resident assistant staff, so it was more her night out than mine, but this certainly didn't stop me from enjoying myself.
Blue Moon with orange is very tasty, and this is coming from a girl who doesn't love beer.
I made it back to her apartment with a healthy buzz and half a dozen mosquito bites, one of which is on my back and itches, hurts, and is icky all at once.*** Two taquitos and two scenes of
Boondock Saints later, I was out.
The next morning, we were both exhausted, but I was on a mission: To find my perfect pink
purse. A secondary mission was to track down and purchase
the most incredible wine that my mom loves that is only available in about a dozen stores in the state, most of which are right outside of Big City where Bradshaw lives.**** For this, we drove out to the suburbs. I purchased the wine, then made my way to the mall. Two hours, a strawberry poppyseed salad, and half a dozen stores later, I exited clutching my new precious, a fuscia Franco Sarto leather purse purchased at thirty percent off.
After a quick stop at another location of Giant Bookstore and the purchase of
my new Magnetic Poetry Kit - which I love - I was back on the interstate to College Town. To my shock, when I returned to my apartment, I wasn't snubbed by my kitties; in fact, they wouldn't leave me alone all night and seemed very upset when I left for work the next morning. Wonders will never cease.
*This is when I learned that Bradshaw's friend, L (777 on her blog), loves Duffy as much as I do, which made me super excited. Partially because I was still pretty drunk when we were in the car.
**I'm waiting for summer here in Missouri to become completely unbearable. The amount of rain we've gotten this year is only going to make the humidity worse - which is just freaking perfect.
*** TMI, I know. Sorry, kittens; this is what you get for reading about Nic's life.
****As if anyone reading who doesn't already know won't figure out where the heck we all live. As if I really care at this point.Labels: alcohol, Bradshaw, girl stuff, updates
Wedding Weekend, Part One
Saturday morning I hauled my cookies out of bed at 5:45 - something I haven't done since I was student teaching - and made sure that Puck and Marilyn had enough food to get through the weekend before loading up my car and heading out of College Town.*
Bradshaw was invited to the wedding of my former RA and decided to take me as her date, so I spent the weekend in Big City with her. Her new apartment is a too-adorable studio in a really cute neighborhood in the city, and it meets one of my own personal requirements: Coffee within five minutes. She had been up late doing Relay for Life the night before** and I always stay up late, so we were both running on adrenaline and caffeine.
The wedding, being Catholic, was exceptionally long. I had never been to a Catholic wedding before, but I had been warned about just how long they are. Despite the warnings, I wasn't really prepared. On top of that, The Bride was saving herself for marriage, so every time the priest mentioned "duties of marriage" or "bringing children into their family," I had to bite my tongue to keep from snickering. Yes, I am thirteen inside. Yes, I am aware of my own immaturity.
Bradshaw and I were both looking forward to the reception and seeing The Bride dance in her dress - which was beautiful and perfect for her, I might add - since The Bride is the kind of girl who hears music and just can't help herself. Booze made the party even more fun since inhibitions were at an extreme low, and the following scenes were witnessed:
The Bride and the groom dancing together, smiling so hard I thought both of their faces would break.***
Bradshaw, The Bride, and little old me shaking our behinds to Quad City DJ. Oh yeah, we totally did.
The Bride and her bridesmaids doing a choreographed dance for the groom, who they forced to sit in a chair and endure the whole thing. The only part that was missing was the lap dance.
The priest dancing with The Bride in a hilarious and only a teensy bit inappropriate manner.
The groom's cousin - who was maybe eight-years-old - doing some amazing dance moves. As he did so, he was paying very close attention to those reception guests still seated to see how many of us were watching him.
The entire group of reception guests, at different points in time, dancing with The Bride's little brother, who was one of the cutest mimics I've ever seen. The display made me smile.
Stay tuned for the rest of Nic's weekend in the Big City!
*After a quick stop for coffee.
**Read: Didn't go to bed till after 7 am.
***It was so cute I can't even be snarky about it; they look super-happy.Labels: alcohol, boys, Bradshaw, updates
The One Where She Apologizes for Her Disappearance
I know, I know, I said that I was going to be on top of things and this last week has proven me to be a liar. However, I have updates coming out the wazoo for you. I will give you the update for the wedding weekend with Bradshaw, my new pink purse*, and wine. In the meantime, I would like to transcribe the memo that was hanging outside my door when I got home from work last night. I'm seriously amused by it because it has nothing to do with me.
"RE: DRUG FREE HOUSING
The distinct smell of marijuana has been reported to be coming from an apartment in this area of the building. We want to remind everyone that drug activity is not only illegal, but also a breach of your contract. If you are found to be violating this policy, not only will we contact the proper authorities, but you will also be subject to eviction per your lease agreement."
I'm snickering as I type.
*Oh yes, the purse is worthy of an update because it's fabulous.Labels: everyday amusements, updates
