Who's been sitting in my chair?
Stayed up too late last night drinking wine, eating hummus and listening to all my cool new music. Did you know Sister Hazel has a new album? I downloaded it for $9.99. iTunes is like crack. So is Facebook. I hate Facebook and am contemplating taking my profile down. Wanna see pictures of me? Come over and I'll show you. Wanna see the hole in my wall? Join me for beers. Wanna meet my family? Let's go over there for dinner.
Went to the SPCA today. Did I mention there is a really hot guy there? And that he plays ultimate Frisbee? And that he's tall, blonde and kind of lanky? And I picture him in an old university t-shirt and boxers a lot? He has his Masters of something... I don't know, I just stare at his mouth when he talks to me. Then I turn red and say things like "I like cake". It's pretty awesome. He said to me today, "How are you doing?" and I said, "good". That's a real nice conversation facilitator there. I could have said any number of things such as, "I'm good, how are you?" or "how was your weekend?" or "take me in the kitchen". Even "I like cake" would've been better. He's on Crackbook. He has like 238 friends or something. I'm guessing he's got a girlfriend. Or a queue of girlfriends. Ah, cake...
Came home to see that my holes have been filled. Finally! It was only what, a month? At first blush it appeared that they had done a pretty decent job cleaning up, but then I discovered little chunks of drywall on my kitchen floor. Plus, there is now a fine layer of drywall dust on everything. The really weird bit? I had some barrettes and a comb and a magazine on the counter in my bathroom. They had been moved because it looked like someone had tried to wipe down the bathroom counter, but effectively smeared wet drywall dust everywhere. There were splatters on the mirror. The taps were filthy. So I'm poking around, getting out my black light and trying to recreate the scene like I'm on CSI or something. My best guess is that, after fixing the holes, he/they "cleaned up" in my bathroom, shaking dust everywhere. Then they tried to clean the bathroom, which resulted in a nice, white paste all over my counter tops. The real kicker? Some of my underwear has been stretched out and I'm missing a garter belt. Oh yeah, and there is a strange man hiding in my closet with a video camera.
Sleepy now. I think I shall retire to the boudoir.
Went to the SPCA today. Did I mention there is a really hot guy there? And that he plays ultimate Frisbee? And that he's tall, blonde and kind of lanky? And I picture him in an old university t-shirt and boxers a lot? He has his Masters of something... I don't know, I just stare at his mouth when he talks to me. Then I turn red and say things like "I like cake". It's pretty awesome. He said to me today, "How are you doing?" and I said, "good". That's a real nice conversation facilitator there. I could have said any number of things such as, "I'm good, how are you?" or "how was your weekend?" or "take me in the kitchen". Even "I like cake" would've been better. He's on Crackbook. He has like 238 friends or something. I'm guessing he's got a girlfriend. Or a queue of girlfriends. Ah, cake...
Came home to see that my holes have been filled. Finally! It was only what, a month? At first blush it appeared that they had done a pretty decent job cleaning up, but then I discovered little chunks of drywall on my kitchen floor. Plus, there is now a fine layer of drywall dust on everything. The really weird bit? I had some barrettes and a comb and a magazine on the counter in my bathroom. They had been moved because it looked like someone had tried to wipe down the bathroom counter, but effectively smeared wet drywall dust everywhere. There were splatters on the mirror. The taps were filthy. So I'm poking around, getting out my black light and trying to recreate the scene like I'm on CSI or something. My best guess is that, after fixing the holes, he/they "cleaned up" in my bathroom, shaking dust everywhere. Then they tried to clean the bathroom, which resulted in a nice, white paste all over my counter tops. The real kicker? Some of my underwear has been stretched out and I'm missing a garter belt. Oh yeah, and there is a strange man hiding in my closet with a video camera.
Sleepy now. I think I shall retire to the boudoir.
posted by Duder at 8:19 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home