Well, technically my stomach's not so empty. Just coffee (sans creamer) filled.
Had a nice little yelling match with the grandma over the use of the dishwasher and the recent drought that the entire southwest is experiencing. At first I thought she had genuine concern for the ecology... Then I remembered that she's a mizer that would put Anya to shame, so she's probably concerned about paying higher utilities.
Proved it within five minutes when she started complaining about ALL the household bills before climbing the stairs while mumbling to herself.
Later, from my dad: "Son, you made your grandmother mad. Please don't do that. When she gets mad, she starts with the history lessons and everyone's mad... or at least bored to annoyance."
Then, much later at night (sis this time): "Yeah, Aunt Tess said that she liked me more than you because you were too sarcastic. She never knew if you were laughing inside while you said half of everything that you said. Knowing you, it'd be every word that you uttered."
My decent watercolor has turned into shite thanks to some faulty timing. Damn. Why do I even bother sometimes?
The book (Towing Jehovah) is still good and funny and bitingly sarcastic.
It wasn't just that the sharks had wrought such terrible destruction, stripping off the foreskinn like a gang of sadistic mohels.Even if in good shape, God's penis would still rank high among those vistas a priest and a nun could not comfortably share.Ah. Great. Seems like my lessons in Catholic dogma have only been used to find greater entertainment in religious satire.
Waiting at the DMV is hell. Luckily I had my copy of A Feast of Love to read, but was dutifully distracted by this guy's insanely attractive calves. I kept on wondering if they would feel like a warm shower, if the sparse hair covering them was as soft as it appeared to be, and if they would taste like warm Guinness if I licked them. I blame it on the book; got to the point where the ex-wife (no. 1) is describing how she found out that she liked women better than men.
No, you idiot. Flirting is not fun. Flirting is tiresome and ever-draining. Especially if the boy behind the coffee counter is acting more like a go-fer (disappearing through the door to the supplies) than a talkative barista with a penache for being an amateur psychologist (normally done by bartenders).
Found this out from sis who got an iced tea after me. Damn her.
Need to listen to some nice cabaret piano to help the current headache. Rufus with a mandolin, anyone?