Friday, June 29, 2007


Tonight we had a goodbye dinner with the roommates and Chris.

Now, Boy Roommate. He is very smart. He is a classics major going for his Masters and PhD. That little tid bit also makes him a HUGE BLOODY FREAKING HUGE (DID I MENTION HUGE?) NERD. Anyway, we managed to get into a conversation about what people name their body parts (ie - the chesticles and testicles) after I introduced my breasts as Mary-Kate and Ashley. No, I do not ACTUALLY refer to my breasts that way, but I like the looks I get when I pull out that little gem.

Boy Roommate, apparently, has not named his member so Girl Roommate and I were making suggestions. Such as Thor, God of Thunder, and Priapus, God of Fertility.

In case you are unfamiliar as I was, Priapus is the god who just so happens to have an ENORMOUS cock, as in a foot long, easy. And my question. WHY WAS I NOT TAUGHT THIS IN SCHOOL?! WTF, PUBLIC EDUCATION SYSTEM???!

While describing who this Priapus character was, Boy Roommate described this image. See:

He is WEIGHING it. On the other side of the scale is a bag of gold. BECAUSE IT'S WORTH IT'S WEIGHT IN GOLD!


(Another of my suggestions involved a god of thwarting. Because Boy Roommate could then thwart virginity. Fabulous, is it not? Me=GENIUS, pure and utter.)

* * *

A pirate walks into a bar with the steering wheel to his ship in his pants. Bartender asks what's with the wheel and the pirate responds, "ARR! It's driving me nuts!"

Now, I've told y'all before that Girl Roommate screwed up this joke ("ARR! It's steering me balls!" - yeah, not quite), but Chris. He'd never heard this joke. So we told it at dinner. Then we spent the next five minutes explaining it until Chris? He asked why someone would EVEN HAVE a steering wheel in their pants because THAT IS JUST NOT PLAUSIBLE.

* * *

Jimmy Carr on Comedy Central: "There was an article about why men go bald."

Random balding guy in audience: "Why?"

Jimmy Carr: "Too much male hormone. My suggestion is you stop swallowing."


My feet are FILTHY.

I've spent since I got home from work cleaning the damn house. I am STILL working on the first floor. Bastard.

So... because I'm brilliant, or wish death upon myself, I'm moving this weekend. Without any preparations. I am so smart. S-M-R-T. I mean S-M-A-R-T.

Ohh, ohh! But I DID buy two new tables and a shower curtain from Elimee who left for New York today (BYE ELIMEE!!). It is really kind of sad getting a paycheck knowing that all of it is spent already. So very sad.

Anyway, I wanted to let the folks that read this thing know that I may be without internet (and cable but that doesn't so much concern you) for a little while.

Try not to miss me too terribly.

BTW - Who wants to help me move my couch and bed on Sunday?! That is all I need help with! Honest! Except maybe one of my new tables! But THAT is really it! I SWEAR! Pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohplease.

Wednesday, June 27, 2007


I was all prepared to write something about how crappy my day was.

But I can't.

I know this probably isn't following the rules, and I know you were Man Friend's friend, not mine, but I am so very sorry for your loss Drew.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007


It's official.

I'm moving.

No, not to Columbus. Not yet anyway.

I told my neighbors today I would be taking the one bedroom apartment on the street behind the street I'm currently living on. (I could maybe even get a dog!!! I won't because I wouldn't be able to come home to let him out over lunch but I COULD and that is certainly a step in the right direction.) The place is more than I want to spend but they're willing to go month-by-month with me. Because they heart me.

This weekend marks the official end to the Bishop House, the end of a four year run. I love this house. I will miss this house. I will not have a place nearly as cool as this house for a long, long time. In the whole time I've been here, there has only been one place I've deemed cooler than the Bishop House. This is the house that made me love front porches. My friends and I solved all the world's problems on that front porch, often talking deep into the night, drinking and smoking cigars. It was on this porch that the very first uttering for a girl pyramid passed through Asshole Matt's lips. And it was on this porch that I took this picture:

Yes. It was me who gave Marta the appearance of real boobs of her very own.

I guess this is a long winded way of telling you that while I'll miss this house and, yes, these were some awesome years here in the beautiful, glorious Bishop House, I can't very well leave without having one last cookout.

Yeah, cookout. On Saturday. At 8 p.m.

I made this announcement on Facebook but, in case you're like me and you don't check Facebook everyday (Seriously kids! Pick up a phone and CALL ME.) I'm announcing it here too.

Bring beer and a side dish because my rent is going up.

Monday, June 25, 2007


My mother told me once that she was afraid I don't know how to be happy.

At the time, I was mad. Why couldn't she cut me some slack? Everyone gets into bad moods, everyone has their down days when they feel like the world is against them, everyone feels like this. It was temporary, it would pass.

But she was right.

I decided today that I should do one thing each day that brings me joy. Seems as if it might be simply enough, no?


I couldn't think of anything.

Sure, there are things that I like to do, things that may make me happy for the moment--hanging out with friends, talking a walk through my neighborhood, folding paper into stupid shapes, writing about it all and assuming you want to read it--but there is nothing that I would describe as joyful.

I'm not so sure anymore that the answer is depression. I've suffered from this affliction all my life. I was an uptight, serious child and I am not kidding in the slightest when I tell you all I did not have a sense of humor until I was 15 years old and that, even now, it is sometimes still an uphill battle.

For so long have I told myself, "I'll be happy when I achieve this," or "I'll be happy when I live here," that I've managed to completely lose what it's like to be happy NOW, in this moment and not waiting for what might happen in the next.

And what a sad life that is to lead.

But how do I get around this trait in myself? I am a planner. I like knowing how things are going to turn out. I like having an idea of what plans are going to be like, where I'm going to end up, how it's all going to happen and when, because my head just won't let it go.

Funny thing is, the times I really remember finding joy in my life are the times I went against the grain of my own personality, the times I was spontaneous or reckless, maybe even stupid. White water rafting, skiing down a hill that was far too advanced for me, walking into Young Life (drop it) when I knew absolutely no one, the first time I ever realized I could be funny.

So basically, I'm the problem. But maybe now I might fix it.


Today is my Mommy's birthday. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MOMMY!!! Even if you are on the beach. Without me. Bitch.

Saturday, June 23, 2007


I, my friends, am maybe a little bit drunk. And I, my friends, got hit on tonight. H-I-T ON. Whooo.

Granted, I dressed for the occasion. Top shows a nice amount of boobage without really worrying about the whore-ish factor. Yay BOOBS!

Anyway, on the way home from the bar tonight? Some guy in the car next to us was staring. And he waved.

I waved back. I am so totally hot and attractive like that.

Yes, Guy In Car. I shall be Your Friend. Ish. Maybe. If you aren't totally a creep wad. BUT! Sans Creep Wad, we could totally do business. Not, like Dirty Business, but... yeah, you probably don't know what I mean.

AND! BEFORE THE DRINKING EVEN STARTED?! This gem of a conversation:

"Give me your number! Give me your number! Hey shorty!"

"Is he talking to you or me?" ('Me' being.. well.. me and 'you' being Girl Roommate, who definately just burped)

"I don't know, but he say shorty and you and I are the same height."


Why, yes! Girl Roommate IS a blond. Why do you ask?


A number of things sort of came together this weekend to produce HOURS of entertainment for me.


    Anyway, cleaning is boring and there is a hell of a lot of it to do and, frankly, I don't wanna.

  2. I found a link to a VERY fun, mucho easy to waste copious amounts of time on website.

  3. At the moment, I'm not so much a fan of men, particularly men that get to wear ex- before their once upon a title.

Rather than being all bitter and mean, I thought I might regale you with tales of intrigue and woe, love and loss, the eternal struggle of mankind.

And then, when I failed to get past the bitter and mean, I decided to share with you the tale of My First Boyfriend, because HE DOESN'T READ THIS WEBSITE. I THINK.

A little background for those of you who are not in the know:

  • I met My First Boyfriend at Young Life (youth group whore!).

  • When we were both still in high school.

  • His dumb ass did NOT ask me to his senior prom because he thought I was WAY out of his league. (HAH! That doesn't make a lick of difference when it comes to getting asked to PROM, ASSHAT!)

  • Instead of taking me he took a girl who would later, in college, realize she wanted to be a guy.

  • A really, REALLY good way to piss him off is to mention that little tid bit.

  • We started dating because I grew a pair and kissed him on my 18th birthday as we were playing in the snow. I know, I KNOW. I should totally keep it in the pants, but a girl has NEEDS Y'ALL.

  • I really only dated him because I was flattered he was interested and I wanted the experience. Oh, yeah, and he was an Older Man (because we all know that being a freshman anything, let alone college makes you hot shit).

  • We dated three whole months. He was My First A-Lot-Of-Things.

  • I created and refined my Dick Tease status on him.

  • Yes. He really did take me on a date to the cafeteria and I STILL waited a month to break up with him because I ain't no Gold Digger!

  • I do not consider him my first love.

As for my choice in characters, I chose to portray him as he pretty well is today (last I heard/saw/any information whatsoever which was he was getting married, which, I mean, I sure lucked out, huh?), sans the cigar because I did not design the character, merely used what was available to me.

I am the devil because, well, this ex- once upon a title told me a few years after we were involved that he thought I was terrifying the entire time we dated. T-E-R-R-I-F-Y-I-N-G. Which, seriously. Me. Demanding? Yes. Stubborn? HELL, yes. Terrifying? Pussy.

BEHOLD! My masterpiece!

THE EX: Part 1* (Also known as My First Boyfriend)

Depending on how well this goes over (as in LEAVE ME COMMENTS BECAUSE I WANT TO FEEL LOVED, DAMNIT) I may have future installments. Which I may do anyway. COMMENT!

*Yes, this is a pretty realistic representation of how our relationship went. Scary, I know. I promise I'm not THAT shallow anymore.
**Okay, maybe he wasn't exactly CRUSHED, but he was dismayed. Briefly.

Friday, June 22, 2007


"So where is VD? I haven't seen him around recently."

"He's been working a lot and is taking care of the girlfriend."

"You know, people who completely ditch their friends when they get a significant other are total assholes."



Wednesday, June 20, 2007


My car stopped working yesterday. Turned the key and.. nothing. Not even a whimper.

My attempt at a lunch might have been foiled (and woe to the world had that happened), except I was going to lunch with Intern. So he drove.

Yay, lunch.

I called my Dad and explained my well-founded belief that my car being dead was directly related to the little electrical something wrong with my car. See, my radio, when you turn the car off, it does not automatically go off. You either have to open the door or wait ten minutes.

Not too terribly long ago, that door thing stopped working. I was never really concerned because what was the big deal about turning off my radio if everything would go off in ten minutes anyway.

I wasn't really concerned until yesterday. Because yesterday my car died. Deceased. Dead.

Deciding an attempted jumping (heh) might be worth it, I enlisted the help of IT guy and Hot Blond, and lo, my car ROSE FROM THE DEAD. It purred (as much as a Cavalier can purr) and roared (again with the car insults) and sputtered maybe once and we decided it was worth driving it around the block because 1) my boss was not in the office yesterday and 2) that was pretty much the extent of our collective car expertise.

Dad had suggested I might have left my dome light on so as I'm driving around the block, I check. It was not the dome light. I'm still expecting it was a little terror of an electrical problem like I told Dad it was.

Then I looked down.


I guess it's just karma for yelling at Girl Roommate because bitch was IN MY WAY and THROWING OFF MY SCHEDULE even if she did HAVE TO LEAVE BEFORE I DID because I'M A BITCH.

Yes, I'm all done with the CAPS lock. Why do you ask?

Monday, June 18, 2007


"I couldn't find shit at most of the stores I went to so all I ended up with was a new pair of pants and some lacy pink panties."

"Why would you buy lacy underware if no one is going to get to see them?"

"Well... because they make me feel pretty and then I'll project that."


"FINE! I'll show them off to Girl Roommate!"

Sunday, June 17, 2007


I watched Thumbelina yesterday.

Yes, on purpose.

Shut up.

So after 86 minutes worth of an eye raping, THAT, YES, I WILLINGLY SUBJECTED MYSELF TO, SHUT UP ALREADY, I decided that I was going to go shopping.

By myself.

I am not a good shopper.

In fact, I hate, detest, loathe shopping. It takes me being in the right mood and even then I'm only okay. And dear, sweet God be with you if I pass my expiration date. It generally goes something like: Okay. Okay. Not quite as okay. WALL. and then I feel my body melting into a self-indulgant temper tantrum and I generally manage to piss off everyone within a 10 foot radius.

But, lo, that was NOT going to stop me yesterday because I? I deserved to treat myself to something nice because, well, Friday was payday and because I have such an issue buying things for myself EVEN IF I NEED THEM TO SURVIVE because OH MY GOD WHAT IF SOMETHING HAPPENS AND I AM EXACTLY $36.95 SHORT BECAUSE I BOUGHT A PAIR OF PANTS?? THE WORLD MIGHT END PEOPLE! AND IT WOULD BE ALL. MY. FAULT.

So I went to Lerners because I always do well at Lerners.

I didn't do so well at Lerners because I made the mistake of assuming they would have anything I wanted IN MY SIZE. I made the same mistake at Old Navy, except for a gray pair of swashbuckling pants and SERIOUSLY? Does ANYONE look good in that shit because it is soooo not the sexy to feel as if my generous hips have melted down to my knees. If my boobs will never be able to perform that task, I CERTAINLY do not want my hips taking over the job.


But, alas, I was willing to keep the torture but because I'm a good shopper. I'm a good shopper. I'll go on over the Gap though I've never bought ANYTHING from the Gap (I know, I know, I know, again with the shutting up which you will do right now because I said so).

I head to the dressing room and pull on the ONLY pair of pants I can find muttering to myself the whole time. "Son of a bitch, you have to be kidding me this is ridicu... Wha? They FIT?! Butt check. Not bad. Ohh and they don't press painfully into the soft fleshy parts like the OTHER pair I'm trying to replace. I AM WORLDS GREATEST SHOPPER."

So I pay and decide to try Target.

Who had nothing.

I am not a good shopper. I am not a good shopper. I am not a good shopper.

I bought underware.

What? Mine are getting to that not pretty, please, oh please GOD just throw us away already stage.

I can't believe I admitted that.

Thursday, June 14, 2007


I have always had obnoxiously opinionated instincts.

I am unsure whether this is because of the severity of my own moral code or simply something God so graced me with, but they are there. They are loud. They are not to be ignored.

Except I HAVE ignored them. My gut screamed at me when I first met Man Friend, told me that he was only paying attention to me because I was a new conquest, that the only reason he was so ready and willing to walk the drunk girl (ahem, that would be me) up the hill to the bathroom was so he could kiss me (okay, yeah, that one might not have been too terribly off). Eventually, in a blurry haze, we exchanged numbers and he made hugely flowering and sweeping promises to come down and visit. And then I left.

I honestly thought that would be the last time I ever heard from him again.

Except it wasn't. The weekend after I got back from Canada, he drove all the way down here to hang (make) out. With me. Because he LIKED me. And that was just the first of a million times he proved my gut wrong.

It wasn't a week later that I found out he'd finally gotten the phone number of a girl he'd been vaguely chasing for a while before he met me. He threw it out.

Once, maybe a month into us dating, I got up the courage to tell him my most humiliating secret, a secret that when I think about telling anyone else makes my stomach CHURN. IN. H-O-R-R-O-R. He looked at my red, puffy, guilt-ridden face and he told me none of it mattered. He loved me anyway.

So, why am I telling you all this?

Because, right or wrong, I've lost my gut instinct.

Tonight was the first night all week I finally got the chance to be alone with myself without all the distractions I face throughout the day. Tonight I asked myself a lot of very hard questions about how I truely, god-honestly feel about this situation.

And I don't know the answers. Nothing. Nip. Nada. Not even a little tingle in one direction or another.

I don't know how I feel about that.

* * *

ADDENDUM: Oh, son of a bitch. No. No. I did not mean that I-don't-know-how-I-feel-about-that shit ironically. You've got to be kidding me. God, sometimes I'm a real asshole.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007


I decided today I wasn't going to feel bad anymore. Not something that is commonly just announced and perfectly followed so I'm expecting some bad days, but overall, I'm just tired of feeling sad or mad or numb.

It was suggested that anger, particularly anger directed towards Man Friend, would be the way to go to get over this. I tried on that role and it just wasn't that satisfying. Yes, I am unhappy with how situations were handled, with outcomes and my reactions to said outcomes, and yes, I am hurt, but he can not help how he feels or does not feel and I cannot see how my anger, beyond being a catalyst for my own healing, would help the situation. No matter how much I want him on the face of this, I can't be with someone who doesn't want to be with me.

I love him, very much I love him. I had thought I might spend the rest of my life with him. This doesn't mean it couldn't still happen. From what he tells me he still loves me and misses me. I find that infuriatingly frustrating because why can't that be enough?

But I have faith. It's hard earned and faltering at times, but it IS there.

I believe that one day Man Friend will pull his head out of his ass and realize what a mistake he is making, that no matter what, I'm not worth losing. Whether or not he's too late is yet to be told, but we were good together. Even when things weren't so great, we were good. I would have done, probably would still do, almost anything for him.

I had a dream last night. Man Friend was leaving, driving a van, and inside that van were all the people I ever met through him, even a few of my friends (you traitorous bastards). The one person I remember vividly was my favorite of Man Friend's buddies. He met my eyes for a moment, his look forlorn and an overwhelming feeling came over me as I realized I wasn't going to be invited.

Becase those friends, they've been around longer.

Part of me truely understands. Part of me respects him for this decision that is obviously hard on him, too. Part of me.

And that part is telling me to forgive him.

Tuesday, June 12, 2007


I definately washed my hair in the kitchen sink this morning.

I got home last night to find our bathroom in disarray because SOMEONE (Girl Roommate) didn't tell me the painter guy was coming to fix the goddamn bathroom and that is so not cool and I was already in a FABULOUS mood so adding that to everything was just DANDY as mother effing CANDY.

But I digress.

I got a call from a recruiter today (who wants to find a JOB and thinks I'm SMART and that I have a lot to OFFER and HELL YEAH you are more then welcome to hook me the hell up).

When I got to work I told the IT Manager (whom I ADORE) and she got vaguely distraught. See, she has a plan. She thinks the IT guy and I should hook up.

I believe her exact words were, "It's your duty to procreate and have smart children," and, "He likes burnettes, and I'm pretty sure he's over his whole tattoo thing."

Um. Yeah.

I tried, and failed miserably, to hide my embarrassment and eventually suggested she only wanted us to create mini minions so she could take over the world. I also told her I was charmed she was thinking of me but I really didn't need to be hooked up with the IT guy.

True, I think nerd is a brand of sexy but... um, yeah.

And I totally went to lunch alone today.

* * *

ADDENDUM: Ben apparently thinks I'm a hot piece of rebound ass.

Monday, June 11, 2007


I've attempted to start three posts before this one. I can't decide which emotion to go with and I don't much feel like writing.

That's a lie.

I do feel like writing, but what I want to write is fiction and I'm unwilling to share that with you. I am willing to share, in obnoxiously vivid detail, every emotion I've ever felt and nearly every thing or event or person that has ever made me feel that way, but my fantasies, my daydreams, my longings. Those are mine.

And you.

You don't deserve them.

Thursday, June 07, 2007


This morning, as I stumbled through the living room, quiet as a wildabeast, I yelped. I looked down. The bottom of my left foot was bleeding.

Stoicly shrugging away the excruciating pain, I took a step forward and realized whatever the hell caused me to bleed was still in my foot. I hobbled to the couch and used my fingernails like tweezers to extract a clear, plastic splinter from the ball of my foot. I made my way up to the bathroom, cursing under my breath because now I was really going to be late, and put some New Skin and a bandaid over the offending hole.

I returned to the downstairs to make breakfast. I looked down. There was a red line across the top of my RIGHT foot.

"I don't remember scratching myself," I thought. "It can't be a scratch," I thought. "It must be pen," I thought.


It burned like a goddamn scratch.

Then I thought, "I am a mother-effing idiot. Now I've gone and infected it and my foot is going to swell up to the size of a watermelon and fall off."

I returned to the bathroom for some more New Skin.

Upon arriving at work, I picked up an Xacto blade and began cutting out the invitations I printed for an upcoming event.

I poked myself in the forearm with the Xacto blade.

I sighed, heavily, and pushed back away from my desk. And rolled over my own toe.

* * *

For the record, I feel much better today.

I also totally forgot I owe Sarah Cool dinner.

* * *

I love you. I want to keep you and smoosh you and play with you and walk you and give you treats until you fall over in utter exhaustion from all the attention and lovins and belly rubs.

Wednesday, June 06, 2007


As of yesterday (Tuesday, June 5, 2007), I am officially single. It was honestly a title I didn't really think I'd ever wear again.

And sure, I know, technicially I've been single for five weeks now, shut the hell up, I don't want to hear it. I obsess and find any little reason to hang on when all the obvious signs tell me I should let go but goddamn could I cling to a hope, a sliver that break meant temporary and distance meant healing, or missing, or change. Change of mind, change of heart, a sudden "Oh shit, what have I done?" realization. I've spent the last five weeks wondering, despite every reassurance it wasn't me, what I did to break it or what I should be doing to fix it, to make it not happen.

And the answer is nothing. It isn't me. It isn't anything I did or didn't do.

I cannot fix this.

He just needs to be selfish, to do what he wants to do, to not cater to anyone, and I am just shit out of luck, I guess.

No, you can't help. No, I don't want a lecture on how I'm better off without him or at least now I know or even maybe you'll come together again someday because, you know what? Screw you and your pretentious advise. I know it's there. I know it itches like a pesky mosquito. I do NOT want to hear it.

The deal now is that I'm going to be sad until I'm not.

Monday, June 04, 2007


I've been talking to God a lot recently, and I mean really talking. The kind of talking where there is just as much yelling and cursing and accusing as there is begging and pleading and cajoling.

I feel like I'm getting nowhere. And I'm angry.


I can't sleep. And I found the green stick thing. I have to get up in 5 hours and I am not entirely pleasant without a good 8 (as in 3 more than 5) hours sleep. But here you go anyway.

You're welcome.

* * *

I bet you did not know that among my mad skillz, the shaving of the head with an electric shaver and guide attachment was numero uno.

Or that might be a complete and utter lie. Boy Roommate's Not Girlfriend was over and suggested that he was in desperate need of a hairs cut. I jumped at the chance. It is actually something I quite enjoy doing. Hell, the frat boys used to have haircutting parties (Okay, not really. It was usually someone needed it done and someone else thought, what the hell since you have it all out, do me too) in which I participating in the shaving of the heads, one reason I was surprised they asked me to be their Sweetheart. Not because I didn't do a good job because, hah! Let's be real. Of course I did a good adequate good enough... FINE! They told me I wasn't allowed to do it anymore because I missed one too many spots!

No, I did not tell Boy Roommate about the revoked head shaver privileges.

SEE?! It turned out okay! He even gave me an uber lame, I'm-a-Classics-major-surprise-surprise thumbs up.


* * *

I have bug bites. One is on my hip and, creepily enough, it resembles a sperm. You can't really tell because of my craptastic camera work, but it's almost as if the West Nile infected bastard (okay, not really) that bit me hit a vein and it's venom or whatever that makes you all itchy and gives you ANGRY RED WELTS, traveled a short ways down said vein. Thus, a sperm tail.

And on my side RIGHT where my bra rubs.


* * *

And what you've all been waiting for:

My armadillo!

Okay, so, no. It is not a REAL armadillo, per se, but it is a pretty freaking cool parlor trick, huh?

How many numbers do you think I'll get now that I can turn a dollar into an armadillo? HOW MANY?

That's right, bitches! A COUPLE! Maybe even A FEW!

And that black crap you can see on the dollar is actually Sharpie from Man Friend who wrote all over said dollar after I won a bet. Because he was a bitter loser.

And I am a sentimental asshole for keeping that dollar. But at least now I'm keeping it because it's an armadillo.

And who doesn't like armadillos?

Sunday, June 03, 2007


I had a random entry all planned with photos and captions and the like, but I can't find the green stick that lets me upload photos onto my computer so you will have to wait until I find that to see Boy Roommate's mohawk, my angry bug bites, and my armadillo.

I have an armadillo.

So instead of ALL of that chocolaty goodness, I'm giving you this instead:

IT'S A NUGGET!!!!!!!!!!! (In case you aren't thoroughly stalking me through my blog - and if not, FOR SHAME - here is a little back history on the original Nugget.)

And here is a fuzzy manatee! And Steve Buscemi.


Saturday, June 02, 2007


Last night, Jennith had a shish cabob party.

There was much cooking of meat, a bad-ass badmitton competition (until Vishnu broke his shuttlecock.. hehe), and then... I found this, only it was last years addition.

I had forgotten how much I like origami.

Check out my parrots chilling on Girl Roommates wheat glasses.

And a blurry frog. He just wishes he was cool enough to hang with the parrots. And that grease stain in the background has been there since not too long after we moved into the house. I didn't do it.

This is SUPPOSED to be a lobster. Boy Roommate and I agreed it was a much closer representation of a crawdad.

Why, yes, I did already purchase the 2007 calender. No, I don't care that we are already HALF-FREAKING-WAY through the year. I'm not really planning on using it for it's given purpose when its pages double as origami paper. How freaking cool is that?