i gotz lotz to say but no time to say it apart from the fact i've been running — not *smirk* jogging — again. *proud* in other news, stay tuned for my next post: 'Is England A Country?' Christine was actually asked that shit by an American chick (who's somehow made it into High School — i'm thinking she fucked her professors to pass
in other news, we're gonna be in Scotland for AlmaGeddon's (formerly Alma Tender Love's) 40th birthday bash — i don't use that word lightly (actually, i don't use it at all) but when Sir Nomad described what's gonna go down (the bands, the DJs, the venue (oh, please, please, PLEASE),
after TPFKAPM booked tickets, i sent the confirming mail up North to botha the Scottish Toerags © ® ™(& Kosher for Pesach) with only a 'WOO-FUCKIN-HOOO!' up top (prolly the shortest mail i've ever written).
Alma: 'YIPPEEEEEEEEEEE!! You have no idea how happy this makes me! I don't care who else is coming now ~ as long as you guyz is there...'
me: '...HAHAHAHAHA, you liiiiiiiiie! i mean, that makes two/three of us (i/we don't give a fuck who else is coming either) — i torry. kinda, sorta. fuckit — not. :-) ...'
Alma: '..., coz, like, y'know, who'd else would wanna come? *dances* ...'
me: 'calm yourself, Alma ... but ROTFLMAO! i'll "dances" you. SHUTUP SHUT UP SHUT THE FUCK UP! nb: i'm totally straight; i haven't yet lit up cause i just got home from GP, PDSA, P.O, Oxfam shop, hardware store &c ...
'...ps, YOU ROCK! (i only seddit cause that's what the kewl kidz/hipsters *puke* are saying these days. or maybe they seddit in 1999, i forget). *dribble dribble* ...'
Alma: 'Wheeeeeeeeeeee! ... I AM over the moon that you folks are coming up for my bifday, I'm still trying to find the most suitable venue ~ will keep you posted. Laterz (I think that's wot da kids are saying these days ~ but who can tell!)'
in other news, an hour or so on we were
Nomad to Alma: 'oh shit... ALMA, THE AMERIKANS ARE ACTUALLY COMING — WHAT DO WE DO NOW?'
me back: 'HAHAHA, you better hide all your good shit cause i'ze got junkie habits and i'ze got sticky fingers anyway. *singing* ♬ "i got nasty habits... 'yeahhhh' ... i take D at 3..." ♬ *twannn-nnn-nng twannngy-twanngy-twang*
Nomad: 'LOL, just kidding. it'll be fuckin superb to see you both...'
hmmpf... that's what he says now — that's what he always says when we haven't seen each other for awhile. damn, i'm so gonna make him eat those words
*not LOL-funny. :-( 'strange' or 'weird'
fun-fact: note Hunter looking pensive up top; i took the pic the other night and then went to pee, wondering why he had that face on. when i got back in here, i figured he'd been thinking 'Shall I?' and decided 'Yup' cause i found him pooping out a (thankfully) small yet stinky little turd. on the damn rug. again — it seems he's gotten particular in his maturity (kinda like me apart from the maturity):
for 5,5 years, he was happy to use the litterbox but nowadays if he's already gone, he won't go again until the damn thing's pretty much spotless. shit or piss, it matters not — if the litter's crappy or wet (even a small corner), he'll go on the rug. why do i care? cause now i'm down on my knees in the kitchen, cleaning used litter outta the box like twice, thrice daily but what's worse is, i have to make sure i remember to look before i crash, no matter how ripped or drunk i am. }-(
dig: last night i woke up about 03,00; i'd missed the end of the flick, but that's cool, DVD player had turned itself off, silent static on TV was lighting up the room and somehow i remembered, so i took Wandsworth II (warm but not hot), stood up and decided to sit right back down cause i felt pretty dizzy but since i wanted to crash like, y'know... now, i actually crawled (yup, hands and knees) into the kitchen to check out the litterbox, yawning all the way.
and there they were: Hunter's latest turds so i quickly shut my mouth in mid-yawn; suddenly i wasn't tired anymore and i emptied Wandsworth into the kettle to boil again, wrapped my hand thick in plastic bags and went a-digging, goddammit. i finished just about when the kettle began to sing, washed my hands, filled up Wandsworth and totally flew back into bed.
before i go back to my bidne$$, three more things: a) BIG THANKS TO DAVE — my Freeview box died tuesday morning and Dave was kind enough to post another the very next day. what truly makes him a star is, he and Electric Landlady are off to South Africa for their (postponed) honeymoon and somehow he found the time to do me this much-needed favour
b) THANK YOU AUSSIE JOHN for sorting tickets to London and for the totally fabaroo plant you brought
c) last but not least, THANKS TO CHRIS: if the areacode of your Brooklyn cellphone wasn't 646, i wouldn't have passed the goddamned test. that's not all: if you hadn't txtd me that question from the train, i never would've asked... i wouldn't have known there were 646 Parliamentary Districts in the UK — i mean, WTF? which Brit do we know who actually knows that shit? *snigger* anyway, think about it — it's one-a those Sod things one can never know for sure — frustrating as fuck.
right, before i forget: am i the only human (?) bean who hates the new format here on Blogger? i mean, it's like written for morons and it doesn't do Preview properly in Firefox. if i had the time or if i wrote here daily like i used to, i'd be moaning my ass off now, mailing em on a daily basis, actually. hmmpf... bastards couldn't leave an easy-peasey, pretty much intuitive, more or less usable programme alone, they just hadda mess with it and in so doing, totally fucked it all the way up. but i showed em good — i changed my prefs back to the old way, nyah. ;-)
oh, wait: just remembered: English Dave from Holland is in the UK now and just like everyone else i know, i met him online (like, big duh — where else?). anyhoo, he'll be over on sunday (first meatspace meet). when i told
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