well said.

dml: so the last time i was at planned parenthood i looked at the receipt and the top of it said "please come again." like i'd ever want to step foot in that place again.

ff: the next time they tell you to come again you should politely inform them that you have coat hangers that have better attitudes than they do.

back sweat.

it is really fucking hot in brooklyn. the fire hydrants are open on every corner. i am sitting at the table sweating balls. the fish bowl is on the window sill next to me and the water is turning green. i wonder what the likelihood on contracting hep-a is. looks like a stagnate pool to me. i think i'm killing the fish. the fish that i gave michael for his birthday instead of the strap-on that he was apparently expecting. not that he needs one...nevermind, long story.

so the fish, henrietta, is a boy. annick so kindly informed me last night on our way to celebratory drinking. it's a boy. the colorful ones are boys. they're like birds. i don't know if i should tell michael. i think he really wants the fish to be a girl.
anyway, so i'm killing the fish. it had been swimming--well, actually, barely moving--towards the bottom of the bowl for so long. i asked michael if he thought she was dead and he said "no, if she were dead she'd be floating at the top". well i changed out half of the water yesterday and today it is even greener, and she is swimming (barely moving) closer and closer to the top.

oh, it just started raining. the fish seems to be intrigued by the rain.

so all i need is to have michael come home tomorrow and find a henrietta dead at the hands of his emotionally-unstable-more-than-he-bargained-for-trainwreck-of-a-girlfriend.
he'll think it's about the knee pillow. i won't be able to explain. then he'll leave me claiming it's my un-nurturing nature that drove him away.

yeah, so i don't know if i should tell him that she's a boy.

it is so fucking hot out.

layover

as soon as he sat down two stools away she knew he had plans on talking to her. she tried to put it out of her mind. instead she focused intently on her beer and the flat screen tv. he asks the bartender to refill his drink and lights a cigarette. he takes a couple of drags and then goes for it.

"are you here on business too?"
"me?" slightly suprised at the opening line she continues "uh, yeah, i guess so."
"with Mattress Firm?" ohmygod he did not just say that...
"uh...no."

he finished his cigarette in silence before returning to the other side of the bar.
she looked at the manager and said "i think he just asked me if i was a prostitute."
with interest jimmy asked her "why, what did he say?" she told him the scenario.
"oh. you know, we actually have an account with Mattress Firm. they are having a meeting here early in the morning."

well, it certainly is an unfortunate way to approach a woman.

totally your boyfriend.

the resemblance to buster from arrested development was incredible. the glasses. the balding. the relative social disfunction. and then to top it off there was the glove. he wore a glove on his right hand. a precautionary measure. part of the healing process. the result of some kind of freak accident involving alcohol, a hot dog and three days in the hospital. anyway, the glove just brought to mind buster after his hand had been eaten off by a seal.

i stood there in barcade, taking it all in when he suddenly decided to play ding-dong-ditch with the ass of some guy at the bar. he runs back and looks at me and smiles.

d: that's right, you saw it. i just grabbed your boyfriend's ass.
l: doug...that's not my boyfriend.
d: that guy?
l: no, doug. michael's over there...nowhere near the bar.
d: oh, good god...

the resemblance to buster was incredible.

i can't believe this really happened...

while driving to amherst, mass, from austin, tex jules decided to make a short pit stop in brooklyn, ny with her awesome dog mingus and we went for a walk. had some lunch. walked some more. passed street vendors mostly selling junk and used stuff, some cute, some useless. on north 6th a woman had her clothing line out on a rack. mannequin. soft soft soft jersey cotton. super cute dress on the dummy. although i knew it would be way out of my range i had to stop and look at her stuff. when i asked her how much the dress was she told me a reasonable price for a dress made of the softest stuff ever. but i didn't have any money on me. she said she'd be back next saturday, i said "so will i."
when we walked away jules said to me "do you have off next saturday?" fuck. no. i would definitely be flying.
on the way back home we stop by her little set up again and i ask if there's a description i can tell michael so that he will know which one it is so i can send him with money. the following exchange happened:

"i take credit cards"
"i have nothing. we were just going for a walk."
"try it on. there's a mirror. put it on over your clothes."
"...ok..."
"it looks great on you. with your hair. your eyes. you should have it. as a gift. i mean it."
"...ohmygod...well...if i can't make it next saturday i'll send someone with some money."
"you can do whatever you want. but i want you to know that that dress is a gift from me. and i don't want anything in exchange."
"thank you."

seriously, y'all. the dress is hot. the woman's stuff can be found here.

and my tear stained pillow

after eight days away from the man i'm in love with i greet michael with nothing but a whole bunch of sad party and uncontrollable what-the-fuck. while he catches up on sleep post-red-eye i decide that it is in everyone's best interest for me to leave the apartment.
so i do the aimless walking and crying that i'm sure we are all familiar with when it comes to the moods.
then he calls. he finds me. we walk. i cry. we are walking hand-in-hand on a desperate yet silent search for lip balm when i look up at him and say "let's go to coney island."
"i was just about to say that."
"really? i want to go."
"when? tomorrow?"
"no. now."
so coney island it was. bumper cars and cyclone. flume. break dance. boardwalk. photobooth. pay toilets. beach. bums. hot dogs. and there is this game...called "shoot the freak" you pay. they give you a paintball rifle. some guy comes running out of his stained mattress hut, or something, and you shoot him with paintballs. although intrigued i found something fundamentally wrong about it, and as the barker continually peaked my interest i backed away at first slowly, but then we actually had to turn and run.
later patty told us that shoot the freak travels around, and would be at the 12 day our lady of mount carmel church function in williamsburg in about 3 weeks.
my thighs and back are bruised from the cyclone. i screamed and laughed so hard i gave myself a headache. our photobooth pictures are amazing.
coney island. totally corked my cry-hole.

let the gin do the talking.

it's got good things to say.

so b, inspired by johnny depp, decided that a bottle of rum would be a good thing to have around the house. and now, for the first time in 10 years, i am officially a lightweight. a lightweight that's very much in love with her bee.

bees waxing moronic.