Sunday, July 15, 2007
So Jag is here, as of last night. It's super neato to see her, and have her meet my kitty and see my apartment. She was impressed by the fact that my bathroom has a sink. Wow. She will not be impressed by BC weed -- this I know without even testing the theory. She does want to test our local Dutch pancake house, which should be interesting. Then from now on I can go there and give the server a withering look when I announce that the waxy substance from Kraft is not, and I repeat, NOT, real Dutch peanut butter.
TP, aka Tony Pierce, is coming. My intelligent comment was, "Oh, his initials are TP. Like toilet paper." No offense to dear Tony, Blog Celeb Extraordinaire. When Dag was dating a Romanian with a nickname similar to a 19th century disease, you'd better believe I started calling him 'Diphtheria.'
As for me, I'm hoping to get some action from the redhead in the near future. Less talk, more action. Women and their talk. Argh. It's simply off the charts. Some days I long for the creatures so easy to please with beer and sex. But then I remember girls' charms and am totally lost.
A dialogue with one of my students this week:
Student: "I can write with both hands. I'm ambiguous!"
Me: "Um, Johnny, I believe you mean ambidextrous. But good try!"
I love those two 13-year-old boys, in all their infuriating obnoxious adorableness.
More cell phone poetry for the masses:
The inside of a cherry,
Bleeding such a perfect brilliant red.
It must have been born in a lab,
A sad thought,
As though nature is not enough.