We were at Record Bar last night, preparing to have our minds rocked by my new favorite band, Poradova, when the delightful Miss Lizzard invited me to go shopping for locally designed lingerie. This sounds like a blast because what kind of ineffectual sloth doesn't want bangin' one-of-a-kind panties and trashy hot bras, all while supporting local business? I mean, who would want to wear giant, cotton underpants that could be tucked under one's armpits, right?
Heh. Well, you know. What are you gonna do? I LOVE them! I love the ones that come in a package of six and have disco paisley patterns! I love being free from even the threat of a wedgie because they come down to your mid-thighs! I love it that in the event of being flung from an airplane, I am totally packing a parachute over my buns. They're just so AWESOME!
I know they're fugly, but I refuse to conform to undergarment fashion that isn't spectacularly comfortable. My ass is too superb to suffer for style.
Can You Charge a Ghost for Half the Utilities?
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I think I've finally found an apartment, which is clearly sub-par to my current place, but it's kind of like comparing Jennifer Anniston and Angelina Jolie. Both are nice, but dude.
I'm still pretty freaked out, though. Mostly just because moving blows, but also because I'm pretty sure that the new place is haunted. We went in to look at it with the manager, and she kept making this fuss about how the lady that lived there before had been there for eight years . This got me thinking:
Me: So, why did the [skank] that lived here for so long move out?
Manager: Hmm. I don't know.
Me: *pause* Well, she didn't die in here, did she?
Manager: *even longer pause* Um. I don't...know. It's happened before. We have a lot of elderly people here.
Me: *shits pants*
So great. I get to be roomies with the ghost of an old biddy. I hope she like, clips coupons for me and knits cute stuff instead of scaring the ass out of me. Otherwise, I'm gonna have to have a super sweet excorcism party in lieu of a housewarming shindig.
I'm still pretty freaked out, though. Mostly just because moving blows, but also because I'm pretty sure that the new place is haunted. We went in to look at it with the manager, and she kept making this fuss about how the lady that lived there before had been there for eight years . This got me thinking:
Me: So, why did the [skank] that lived here for so long move out?
Manager: Hmm. I don't know.
Me: *pause* Well, she didn't die in here, did she?
Manager: *even longer pause* Um. I don't...know. It's happened before. We have a lot of elderly people here.
Me: *shits pants*
So great. I get to be roomies with the ghost of an old biddy. I hope she like, clips coupons for me and knits cute stuff instead of scaring the ass out of me. Otherwise, I'm gonna have to have a super sweet excorcism party in lieu of a housewarming shindig.
Pooty Peeker
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I'm so traumatized, dude. I got potty peeked today! How grotesque!
I was in the can, minding my own business and doing my business an aerodynamic manner, when some bitches came in. I recognized their voices as two of my pals, which made me damn near miss my poo window. By the time they get to washing their hands, I can hear them whispering. Something about "think someone's in here", "can't see feet." So one of them busts over to my stall, and peeks in at me through the crack. HOLY EFFING WEIRD, Batman!
Oh. My. GOD. It was terrible. And then, to top it all off, they made it out like I was the freak for taking my brown eye sightseeing with my feet up. I maintain that in fact, they are the creeps for perving out and peering into a bathroom stall.
I will never shat again.
I was in the can, minding my own business and doing my business an aerodynamic manner, when some bitches came in. I recognized their voices as two of my pals, which made me damn near miss my poo window. By the time they get to washing their hands, I can hear them whispering. Something about "think someone's in here", "can't see feet." So one of them busts over to my stall, and peeks in at me through the crack. HOLY EFFING WEIRD, Batman!
Oh. My. GOD. It was terrible. And then, to top it all off, they made it out like I was the freak for taking my brown eye sightseeing with my feet up. I maintain that in fact, they are the creeps for perving out and peering into a bathroom stall.
I will never shat again.
Night of the Living Shithole
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I'm apartment hunting, and we all know what a party that is. Well, I made an appointment to see one at 10th and Holmes…A cool little section of downtown with lots of rockin' old federal buildings and fun bars close by. So when I dragged Nellorz with me to go see it, we were kind of excited, right?
FALSE.
It was a fucking crack den. Like, people stretched out on the sidewalk outside, wandering around the lobby with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, and like…skankville apartments. I could have kicked down one of the doors to break in and mutilate someone if I so chose. And judging from our delightful little experience in the "laundry room," which is better described as a "gross butt crack," that's exactly what would happen to me if I lived there.
Seriously, there was this chick loitering by the washing machine, wearing a shower cap just on the very top of her head as if it were a yamaka with the rest of her hair dangling below. She looked like a god damn jelly fish. So she saw us and said, "Hmmmwhatr yuu doon herre?" Um. Right. So we told her. And she said, "Hhhmmmwhered yuu come frum?" And Nelle and I looked at each other in what-the-fuck-ness and told her. And she goes, "Didjoo say Bannister Mall?" And we go, um, NO. Then she looks at us with narrowed eyes and informs us that, "Bannister Mall izz clozzzedahumm."
Oh. Dear. God. If this is any indication oh how this hunt will pan out, I'm totally just gonna put my shit in storage and go to Europe indefinitely!
FALSE.
It was a fucking crack den. Like, people stretched out on the sidewalk outside, wandering around the lobby with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, and like…skankville apartments. I could have kicked down one of the doors to break in and mutilate someone if I so chose. And judging from our delightful little experience in the "laundry room," which is better described as a "gross butt crack," that's exactly what would happen to me if I lived there.
Seriously, there was this chick loitering by the washing machine, wearing a shower cap just on the very top of her head as if it were a yamaka with the rest of her hair dangling below. She looked like a god damn jelly fish. So she saw us and said, "Hmmmwhatr yuu doon herre?" Um. Right. So we told her. And she said, "Hhhmmmwhered yuu come frum?" And Nelle and I looked at each other in what-the-fuck-ness and told her. And she goes, "Didjoo say Bannister Mall?" And we go, um, NO. Then she looks at us with narrowed eyes and informs us that, "Bannister Mall izz clozzzedahumm."
Oh. Dear. God. If this is any indication oh how this hunt will pan out, I'm totally just gonna put my shit in storage and go to Europe indefinitely!
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