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the latest
waddle: good morning, wordpress - 10:36 a.m. , 2009-07-03 elaborate murder attempt - 2:56 p.m. , 2009-07-01 building a tractor in the basement - 10:42 a.m. , 2009-06-19 ask no questions tell just a few lies - 3:17 p.m. , 2009-06-09 my long lasting flavor really lasts long - 1:10 p.m. , 2009-06-04
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Yes, it's been a while. Gotta get back in the diary groove. I've been working a lot, going out a lot, etc. So instead of a proper, linear-narrative kind of entry today, here's a collection of glib and unrelated tidbits until I "get my head together" (to quote some stinkin' hippies). Talking Heads is the best band ever. My great regret is being born too late to see them live. And David Byrne is a super-sexy man. If you don't believe me, just listen to the previously unreleased "Sugar on My Tongue" which is on that Sand in the Vaseline greatest hits collection. Rrrrrowwrr. At Ciral's House of Tiki in Hyde Park, there's a drink on the menu called "Maui Zowie." Good name. Bad drink. A great name for a band would be Cuntmuffin. If anyone wants to start an angry all-girl punk band with that name be my guest. One year ago today I was Egypt. I wish I was back there again, even though multiple people in Aswan thought I was an Egyptian prostitute traveling with my American john. No, just a regular white girl traveling with my husband. Darn it. OK, one more story. About something that happened this weekend, as a matter of fact. And incidentally, in a roundabout way, also has to do with prostitution (in a VERY roundabout way). Kat and I are at Neo. A guy in a cowboy hat is insisting on speaking to us. Why would someone wear a cowboy hat to Neo? Weird. Anyway, he's a complete loser. He buys us beer and it takes him about 3 seconds to reveal his utter worthlessness in the area of interesting conversation. So we contrive to make him go away by talking only to each other. No dice. So Kate asks him if he knows where we can get some cocaine. (We really aren't interested in cocaine (well, not THAT interested), she was just trying to mess with him.) He's appalled by the suggestion and says so, but he's still hanging around. So we head for the bathroom, hoping that when we don't return he'll get a clue. Later, he finds us again. "Where'd you go?" I take pity and tell him the truth: we're only interested in dancing, but thanks for the beers. (In other words, "Buh-bye!") He says, "Okay, but can I ask you girls one question?" Sure. "Are you two, like, lesbian coke sluts?" Kat is laughing so hard she has to walk away or else snort her beer. Ah yes. We are...how you say...lesbian coke sluts. Wouldn't that be great in rhinestones on a T-shirt? Lesbian Coke Slut. At least he seemed satisfied and left. ---mimi "I'm really a very nice girl" smartypants back/forward |
