So, things happened. They unfolded, yes.
*is pooped*
My job just sucks out my life force, man.
Anyway.
I hate snow. I hate snow possibly more than I did in Wisconsin, actually, because when we have snow -- any snow at all -- everybody FREAKS OUT. And as a results, we start our morning show an hour earlier, meaning that I have to be in an hour earlier. That's 3:00 a.m., y'all. That's just wrong.
But the snow is past, and the spring is upon us, happily. We're forecasting highs in the mid-60s today through Sunday. This here is why I moved here, and I'm going to look at cherry blossoms and wear short skirts and generally revel in it all.
Speaking of reveling, I went up to New York again this weekend. The plan was for J. and Princess Anne and I to all go up, but the Princess got sick, alas. Still, the three of us had a good time. We ate everything on the isle of Manhattan, seriously. I went to two diners! I love diners with an unholy passion. They are the supreme reason I still wish I lived a bit further north. We had egg creams! And one diner had fries that were basically chips (wibble) and the best pancakes in the world, and at the other I ordered breakfast and got a feast, which was grand. And also Jean Genie and I went to a swanky champagne bar and had champagne cocktails and got silly, and there were cupcakes, and we went back to that incredible French place and ate all of their food except the stinky foot cheese, and had some truly superb Mexican delivery. And there was a lot of hanging around and giggling. ... But re-reading this paragraph, I realize there was mostly eating. Which is not a bad thing.
Oh, and Jean Genie is in a show this week -- an art show -- so wish her luck. And J.'s life is way too complicated for anybody but her, so well done her. Oh, and we hung out with Jean Genie's lady -- whom I shall dub Bernard, just to be confusing, and because she does an excellent Bernard Black impression -- quite a bit, and that was awesome. They are so cute and wibbly and in lurve. Nauseating at times, but cute. One evening Bernard and I polished off most of a bottle of wine and amused the hell out of Jean Genie, which seemed bizarrely in character. (I think I am Manny in this scenario, which I have mixed feelings about, but that's okay.)
I have decided -- with substantial input from the ladies -- to try to start a meetup group for third- and swing-shifters. Wish me luck; I have very little experience with starting things.
Jean Genie and J. and I all came to the conclusion that the real reason I am so unlucky in love tis that my type is essentially a complete asshole. Oxford-shirt-wearing, frat-boy-body-spray-smelling, cocky, rude, cynical, misogynist neanderthal. It would be a decent description of Scott and DH and pretty much every other guy I've had lusty feelings about. Apparently, Steve Dallas is really what turns me on (I even find smoking kind of hot -- and yes, I've kissed a smoker, and goddamit I liked it). This is depressing, but conceivably workable. Jean Genie is considering introducing me to an attractive metrosexual in her department who apparently spent the first few months of her employment there hitting on her, which could be interesting.
Also, okay, I hate to be a bummer, and I don't post so much partly because I read a lot of depressing stuff, but this just -- everybody should be outraged about this: Bishop excommunicates everyone involved with an abortion for a NINE YEAR OLD carrying TWINS after being RAPED REPEATEDLY BY HER STEPFATHER.
Okay, I don't want to end with that. Lots of cute animals doing ridiculous things! That's much better. There is no bad there. You must listen as well, because of the cute noises. I am especially partial to "Evil Hedgehog Control Screen."
My job just sucks out my life force, man.
Anyway.
I hate snow. I hate snow possibly more than I did in Wisconsin, actually, because when we have snow -- any snow at all -- everybody FREAKS OUT. And as a results, we start our morning show an hour earlier, meaning that I have to be in an hour earlier. That's 3:00 a.m., y'all. That's just wrong.
But the snow is past, and the spring is upon us, happily. We're forecasting highs in the mid-60s today through Sunday. This here is why I moved here, and I'm going to look at cherry blossoms and wear short skirts and generally revel in it all.
Speaking of reveling, I went up to New York again this weekend. The plan was for J. and Princess Anne and I to all go up, but the Princess got sick, alas. Still, the three of us had a good time. We ate everything on the isle of Manhattan, seriously. I went to two diners! I love diners with an unholy passion. They are the supreme reason I still wish I lived a bit further north. We had egg creams! And one diner had fries that were basically chips (wibble) and the best pancakes in the world, and at the other I ordered breakfast and got a feast, which was grand. And also Jean Genie and I went to a swanky champagne bar and had champagne cocktails and got silly, and there were cupcakes, and we went back to that incredible French place and ate all of their food except the stinky foot cheese, and had some truly superb Mexican delivery. And there was a lot of hanging around and giggling. ... But re-reading this paragraph, I realize there was mostly eating. Which is not a bad thing.
Oh, and Jean Genie is in a show this week -- an art show -- so wish her luck. And J.'s life is way too complicated for anybody but her, so well done her. Oh, and we hung out with Jean Genie's lady -- whom I shall dub Bernard, just to be confusing, and because she does an excellent Bernard Black impression -- quite a bit, and that was awesome. They are so cute and wibbly and in lurve. Nauseating at times, but cute. One evening Bernard and I polished off most of a bottle of wine and amused the hell out of Jean Genie, which seemed bizarrely in character. (I think I am Manny in this scenario, which I have mixed feelings about, but that's okay.)
I have decided -- with substantial input from the ladies -- to try to start a meetup group for third- and swing-shifters. Wish me luck; I have very little experience with starting things.
Jean Genie and J. and I all came to the conclusion that the real reason I am so unlucky in love tis that my type is essentially a complete asshole. Oxford-shirt-wearing, frat-boy-body-spray-smelling, cocky, rude, cynical, misogynist neanderthal. It would be a decent description of Scott and DH and pretty much every other guy I've had lusty feelings about. Apparently, Steve Dallas is really what turns me on (I even find smoking kind of hot -- and yes, I've kissed a smoker, and goddamit I liked it). This is depressing, but conceivably workable. Jean Genie is considering introducing me to an attractive metrosexual in her department who apparently spent the first few months of her employment there hitting on her, which could be interesting.
Also, okay, I hate to be a bummer, and I don't post so much partly because I read a lot of depressing stuff, but this just -- everybody should be outraged about this: Bishop excommunicates everyone involved with an abortion for a NINE YEAR OLD carrying TWINS after being RAPED REPEATEDLY BY HER STEPFATHER.
Okay, I don't want to end with that. Lots of cute animals doing ridiculous things! That's much better. There is no bad there. You must listen as well, because of the cute noises. I am especially partial to "Evil Hedgehog Control Screen."