Pimp My Parasol
While my father was visiting a couple weeks ago, there was an incident where a crazy old lady hit me with her umbrella. When I responded "Uh *excuse* me?" like the absolute badass I am (man, I wish I'd at least called her a cunt) she started screaming "NO NO NO! GOD DAMN *YOU*! YOU'RE GOING TO HELL!" Anwyay, it put me in a bad mood for about fifteen minutes, and I felt bad that my dad had to see that, because I'm sure he's convinced that crazy old ladies assault me on a daily basis and that I'm always passive-aggressive about it.
That same day, my much beloved umbrella (the yellow one with the black-dress-wearing lady in a flute glass pattern) got left in a taxi. My dad assumed responsibility (although it was pretty much both of our faults'...too much pisco and brandy for both of us with the Wife and the Arsonist, methinks) and offered to pay for me to get a Burberry umbrella.
But fuck Burberry umbrellas, as much as I appreciate the gesture. A Burberry umbrella exists solely to say to the world "I decided to spend $200 on circus tent fabric stretched over short collapsible poles". So after much searching for a decent umbrella that at least didn't suck (I really was fond of that yellow one...) and walking in the rain until I had a worthy one, I ordered an MTA subway map umbrella. I already have this as a shower curtain (thanks Boris!) and I like it better in that form (as it more resembles the actual square of a map) but it looks like it makes for an acceptable umbrella print as well. All the other cool umbrellas I found online either turned out to be "sun parasols" (they were really pretty too) or "child-sized for tiny hands" (wtf! maybe *I'd* like to get my big hands on a green umbrella made to look like a steggosaurus!).
Speaking of aforementioned Boris, it was absolutely kickass chillaxing with him and the wife last night. I managed to sing a song about how much I loved dogs for at least 4 city blocks, twirling on poles and jumping out of doorways and doing my best to turn our lives into a musical extravaganza. Mira, at least, seemed entertained. Boris, meanwhile, entertained us with another story about an encounter with the po. Classic Boris!
And I've recently met yet another young Russian who lives around Brighton Beach! I knew we'd get along when within the first five minutes of chatting with one another, we discussed Things We Like To Drop (i.e., if something is like-hot).
That same day, my much beloved umbrella (the yellow one with the black-dress-wearing lady in a flute glass pattern) got left in a taxi. My dad assumed responsibility (although it was pretty much both of our faults'...too much pisco and brandy for both of us with the Wife and the Arsonist, methinks) and offered to pay for me to get a Burberry umbrella.
But fuck Burberry umbrellas, as much as I appreciate the gesture. A Burberry umbrella exists solely to say to the world "I decided to spend $200 on circus tent fabric stretched over short collapsible poles". So after much searching for a decent umbrella that at least didn't suck (I really was fond of that yellow one...) and walking in the rain until I had a worthy one, I ordered an MTA subway map umbrella. I already have this as a shower curtain (thanks Boris!) and I like it better in that form (as it more resembles the actual square of a map) but it looks like it makes for an acceptable umbrella print as well. All the other cool umbrellas I found online either turned out to be "sun parasols" (they were really pretty too) or "child-sized for tiny hands" (wtf! maybe *I'd* like to get my big hands on a green umbrella made to look like a steggosaurus!).
Speaking of aforementioned Boris, it was absolutely kickass chillaxing with him and the wife last night. I managed to sing a song about how much I loved dogs for at least 4 city blocks, twirling on poles and jumping out of doorways and doing my best to turn our lives into a musical extravaganza. Mira, at least, seemed entertained. Boris, meanwhile, entertained us with another story about an encounter with the po. Classic Boris!
And I've recently met yet another young Russian who lives around Brighton Beach! I knew we'd get along when within the first five minutes of chatting with one another, we discussed Things We Like To Drop (i.e., if something is like-hot).