Today being Sunday I did my once per monthly load of laundry just like the good boy that my girlfriend thinks I am. While I was folding my whites - and you should see how flat I fold my t-shirts and Kirkland Signature brand briefs - I of course rolled up my girlfriend's panties in the way that she likes (see this post) . I rolled up a tanish-colored pair, one of her newer ones I think, so tight that it resembled a cigar. "Honey, do you have a light?" No good, she didn't go for it.
I always ask the wait person when I order a martini, "Um, one olive only. Just one, please." I can't stand olives, especially the green yucky kind. I wish they'd invent a real martini that doesn't have to have olives. Yeeeech. Yah? Stop right there. I know what you're going to say. I do enjoy a martini with a (lemon) twist, too. Well, my most sweet babe of a GF just handed me a martini with... get this... a twist of orange peel. Wow do I love this woman. And this is one righteous mo-fo'ing martini.
I started using face cream. OK, wait, shut up for a minute. I'm serious. After shaving and drying off every a.m. my face is red and flaky and dry and it's pissed me off for years. I said fuck this and asked my GF if I can have a spurt of her stuff. Wow, it's French, bottom of the tube (she's almost out) and I smeared it on with reckless abandon and... it works. My face felt great, young, smooth, moist (just like her cute behind) and all day long. OK, enough of that...
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Elevator Music, Underwear, and the TSA
Figure a month is long enough to go without popping in and saying Hi. Blogger's block, must be.
Whatever happened to elevator music? I think it's gone because I just never hear it anymore. I remember hearing Yesterday (The Beatles) in elevator-music style a really long time ago in some elevator. I must have been 8. I remember smelling cigarette smoke residue and there being a lot of metal around, like maybe it was an old post office. I remember thinking how cool it would be to have written a piece of music that would eventually be inducted into the Elevator Music genre. I wonder if they still use Elevator Music, and, if they do, how long it will be before we can hear Fuck You Like an Animal by Nine Inch Nails in Elevator Style.
Over lunch today I had the privilege of learning a new word: smegma. (WARNING: it is gross, please don't go there if you are easily grossed out. I don't want to gross anyone out.) Why did I have to learn this? Because an unliked person's name reminded my lunch partner of it. That's why. Gross.
I've had it with airport security, removing my shoes and belt, placing my laptop in one bin, everything else in another bin, and my coat on top of all that. Recollecting my belongings and re-donning my belt and shoes while be shuffled through the line is an ordeal that is about as graceful as doing the penguin walk toward the waste bin in a doctor's office to toss the lube-infused tissue with your underpants still around your ankles. I'm all for full-body-x-ray at airport security, and I don't care if the TSA folks see my private parts.
Anyway, hi.
Whatever happened to elevator music? I think it's gone because I just never hear it anymore. I remember hearing Yesterday (The Beatles) in elevator-music style a really long time ago in some elevator. I must have been 8. I remember smelling cigarette smoke residue and there being a lot of metal around, like maybe it was an old post office. I remember thinking how cool it would be to have written a piece of music that would eventually be inducted into the Elevator Music genre. I wonder if they still use Elevator Music, and, if they do, how long it will be before we can hear Fuck You Like an Animal by Nine Inch Nails in Elevator Style.
Over lunch today I had the privilege of learning a new word: smegma. (WARNING: it is gross, please don't go there if you are easily grossed out. I don't want to gross anyone out.) Why did I have to learn this? Because an unliked person's name reminded my lunch partner of it. That's why. Gross.
I've had it with airport security, removing my shoes and belt, placing my laptop in one bin, everything else in another bin, and my coat on top of all that. Recollecting my belongings and re-donning my belt and shoes while be shuffled through the line is an ordeal that is about as graceful as doing the penguin walk toward the waste bin in a doctor's office to toss the lube-infused tissue with your underpants still around your ankles. I'm all for full-body-x-ray at airport security, and I don't care if the TSA folks see my private parts.
Anyway, hi.
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