This made me think of you.
XO
RJ
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
Tuesday, February 27, 2007
Friday, February 23, 2007
Call Me Dorothy
Hi, Bitches:
The ten of you (most of whom actually speak to me on a regular basis, go figure) who read this here Web Log have been complaining to me (again, mostly in person) that I haven't posted since my compelling deconstruction of Road House.
That's true. I've been in a serious Transition Period, involving many, many boxes and logistics and dollars, among other things.
Most recently, I spent the last week or so being Jobless and Homeless, as the movers had taken my stuff into the big truck and carted it off. I like to refer to the last week as my regression period, which was spent couch surfing and having night after night of rich Goodbye Dinners, each of which included many glasses of alcoholic beverage and subsequent Sleeping It Off mornings.
I also had one night wherein Ellen came to visit me at Susan's house and we smoked weed and watched tv. And I realized -- I am That Guy -- That Guy who, jobless and homeless, couch surfs and gets high with his buddies in your living room while you're out leading a productive life.
Alas, that segment, the intersticial, responsibility-less segment, is over, and now I am sitting on the floor of my empty new apartment, hijacking some sucker's open wifi, sharing with you the small miracle of my Arrival in San Francisco, AKA The Beginning Of My New Life.
So, the cat? On the plane? She didn't like that. All I have to say is that the roaring of the plane's engine, while probably super stressful for the furball, definitely drowns out her plantive mewling. Which is less "mewling" and more "freaky angry yowling." Mewling just sounds way more charming that that loud, definitively non-human sound old girl makes.
Christine, AKA Fauxnica, brought her perky ass to the airport to pick me up in an electric car, which is incredibly apropos. I had much crap that needed to go, including a cat in a bag.
Then, when we got into the city? Goddamn if there wasn't a RAINBOW. In the sky. Which I captured poorly with my cell phone -- and have posted for posterity here.
Let's just do a quick compare and contrast --
Chicago? Bitch gives me three solid weeks of -19 windchill toe-and-ball freezing weather.
San Francisco? RAINBOW.
Fauxnica, ever the philosopher, had this to say:
Fauxnica: You know what they say about rainbows, don't you?
Me: Pot of gold?
Fauxinca: No, Rainbows are what happens when you mix sun and rain.
Thanks, captian science. Romantic, she is not. Fashionable? Fuck yeah.
So, then we get to the apartment and damn if AnneVan didn't leave me PLANTS in every room, and a liitle Care Package that included that essential home staple, toilet paper.
Damn, life is good.
Hey, guys? Guess what?
I LIVE IN SAN FRANCISCO!
Okay, gotta let the movers in. Let the unpacking begin.
The ten of you (most of whom actually speak to me on a regular basis, go figure) who read this here Web Log have been complaining to me (again, mostly in person) that I haven't posted since my compelling deconstruction of Road House.
That's true. I've been in a serious Transition Period, involving many, many boxes and logistics and dollars, among other things.
Most recently, I spent the last week or so being Jobless and Homeless, as the movers had taken my stuff into the big truck and carted it off. I like to refer to the last week as my regression period, which was spent couch surfing and having night after night of rich Goodbye Dinners, each of which included many glasses of alcoholic beverage and subsequent Sleeping It Off mornings.
I also had one night wherein Ellen came to visit me at Susan's house and we smoked weed and watched tv. And I realized -- I am That Guy -- That Guy who, jobless and homeless, couch surfs and gets high with his buddies in your living room while you're out leading a productive life.
Alas, that segment, the intersticial, responsibility-less segment, is over, and now I am sitting on the floor of my empty new apartment, hijacking some sucker's open wifi, sharing with you the small miracle of my Arrival in San Francisco, AKA The Beginning Of My New Life.
So, the cat? On the plane? She didn't like that. All I have to say is that the roaring of the plane's engine, while probably super stressful for the furball, definitely drowns out her plantive mewling. Which is less "mewling" and more "freaky angry yowling." Mewling just sounds way more charming that that loud, definitively non-human sound old girl makes.
Christine, AKA Fauxnica, brought her perky ass to the airport to pick me up in an electric car, which is incredibly apropos. I had much crap that needed to go, including a cat in a bag.
Then, when we got into the city? Goddamn if there wasn't a RAINBOW. In the sky. Which I captured poorly with my cell phone -- and have posted for posterity here.
Let's just do a quick compare and contrast --
Chicago? Bitch gives me three solid weeks of -19 windchill toe-and-ball freezing weather.
San Francisco? RAINBOW.
Fauxnica, ever the philosopher, had this to say:
Fauxnica: You know what they say about rainbows, don't you?
Me: Pot of gold?
Fauxinca: No, Rainbows are what happens when you mix sun and rain.
Thanks, captian science. Romantic, she is not. Fashionable? Fuck yeah.
So, then we get to the apartment and damn if AnneVan didn't leave me PLANTS in every room, and a liitle Care Package that included that essential home staple, toilet paper.
Damn, life is good.
Hey, guys? Guess what?
I LIVE IN SAN FRANCISCO!
Okay, gotta let the movers in. Let the unpacking begin.
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