August 21, 2004

This post is for Duckie and Blu who laughed when they first heard the story.

Now that I'm about to move out of my swank digs, it's high time I told the tale of moving in. (I'm so current I'm practically in the future.) My roommate at that time was not Homie of the Beareth Clan but one GolfPro Dunc who was a very genial sort of guy. We surveyed a few apartments but weren't really pressed by the inclination to find the elusive BEST. We were more motivated by ease of application and cost, to be honest. When the building manager for this place called up, we jumped at the chance to look at it. It sounded good in cold hard factual terms. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, and set at a monthly rental that any crack addict could afford with a decent welfare cheque in hand. The real madness was once we were inside the apartment itself and our soon-to-be landlord revealed his true nature.

We'll call him Les. He met us at the door of the building with a cigarette in hand. He informed us that the lady who lived in the apartment was still there but was letting him show the suite. Or should I say "suite". First stop, more or less, was the pass-through kitchen. Here Les pointed out the features. Stove, refrigerator, sink... I resisted the urge to snicker. Suddenly something on the faux-tile goldenrod-hued floor caught his eye. He knelt down and peered at whatever-it-was, the cigarette coiling smoke around his head. He whipped a pocketknife out of his pants pocket and flipped it open with a deft move. In a fluid motion he nicked it into the floor surfacing and yanked upwards, slicing a good chunk of floor out in the process. Dunc and I could think of nothing else to do but stare. Les straightened, took a drag on his cigarette, and said, "Yeah. That'll have to be looked at." It was a fitting opener for what would easily become the most surreal apartment walk-through I've ever been on. And I've lived in some seriously shady places, I assure you.

Living Room
Les: There's a feature wall. She wanted it green. We can paint it more green or just get it back to white. Up to you. I'm not damn well saying anything about green either way. Your call. *narrowed stare*
Dunc: Green's fine.
Me: I like the green, actually.
Les: *drag on the cigarette* Figures.

Les: *sliding doors open* Here's the balcony. *waves his cigarette out over it*
Dunc: *making a move to step out*
Les: *hand across his chest* WHOA! Yeah, I wouldn't go out there.
Me: Uh, why not?
Les: It's pretty much crap. It's falling apart. I mean suit yourself, right? But I wouldn't trust it.

Back in the Kitchen
Les: Okay, there are a few rules. *looks back and forth at us* You two married?
Dunc: Uh no. No.
Me: No. Just roommates. Friends, you know.
Les: Yeah, that's what they all say. *lights a new cigarette* I lived with two chicks once. *looks at Dunc* You ready for this? Let me tell you, I lived with these two chicks and things were fine but I got drunk one night, you know how it is, and women do not appreciate having you get in their beds after you've been drinking. That pretty much ended that whole thing. Women.
Dunc: Uh, yeah. Women. *trying not to laugh*
Les: Hey, you two aren't planning to have kids, are you?
Me: NO! God no. We're just friends.
Les: Yeah, that's what they all say. I know how it goes, though. One thing leads to another and BAM. Just like that. Listen, it's none of my business but if you decide to spawn you're out. Got that? This is an adults only building. No kids. You get pregnant, you leave. Clear?
Dunc: Uh yeah, clear.
Me: My god...
Dunc: Uh, what about pets?
Les: Oh fuck pets. I don't fucking care. You can have a llama for all I care. Not my mess, right? Have a monkey. Have a dog. But no kids. You have kids, you're out.
Dunc: Got it. Llama yes, kids no.
Les: And another thing, I'm too damn old to break up parties. You get loud and stupid at night and I get a complaint call while I'm sleeping, I'm not even gonna bother coming down. I'm just gonna get rid of you. Okay? I got better things to do with my time. Too old for this noise complaint shit.
Me: *weakly* We're not really partiers.
Les: Good. No trouble then.
Dunc: What if the llama gets loud?

You know, people say I exaggerate. But the cliche that truth is stranger than fiction really does come from somewhere. I'm going to miss these swanky digs when we're gone. *sniffles* I'm going to miss Les and the balcony we can't use and the neighbors throwing furniture at 3am and Fat Angry Neighbor's coughing fits... *reminisces* Good times... good times...

August 19, 2004

It's sometimes a gigantic struggle to come up with things to blog about.

Like today, for instance. My Crypt languishes in un-updated misery but I, the vampire mistress of this domain, have nothing interesting to say to you pretty mortals. TELL US TALES, you plead. IMPART WISDOM TO US, you beg. BEAT US SENSELESS, you grovel. Okay, I made up that last one. Using the word mistress in casual blogging apparently brings out my dominant side.

What to blog about? What to blog about?

There's a way around this, you know. You could all let me talk endlessly about Elves. For instance, I'm currently reading The History of Galadriel and Celeborn from Tolkien's Unfinished Tales. There's a part in it that describes how Sauron went on a rampage trying to find the Rings of Power. He tortured the Elven-smith Celebrimbor to find out where the Rings had been taken and was able to learn the whereabouts of the Seven Rings, the ones committed to the Dwarf lords. But of the Three he could learn nothing as Celebrimbor refused to tell him where the Three were kept hidden. So Sauron had him killed. Sauron deduced that the Three Rings had been entrusted to Elvish guardians (which they had) so he turned to war against the Elves, Gil-galad and Elrond in particular, in an attempt to gain possession of them. Tolkien puts it thusly: "In black anger he turned back to battle; and bearing as a banner Celebrimbor's body hung upon a pole, shot through with Orc-arrows, he turned upon the forces of Elrond." (Unfinished Tales) That one image is so visceral, so startling, that I can't get it out of my head. Tolkien doesn't generally describe vile acts or disturbing scenes with much detail. But he felt it vital to write that particular sentence - perhaps to give greater insight into how deeply entrenched Sauron's desire for the power of the Rings ran - and it is indeed a raw visual to come across. Celebrimbor's arrow-riddled body borne as a banner for Sauron's assault against his kin. *shudders* It's beautiful writing.

Now if that doesn't fascinate and intrigue you, then nothing will. If you want more Elf lore imparted to you, bite me and beg for it. But if this doesn't satisfy your mortal thirst, then you come up with a topic for my next entry. If I like it, I'll write on it. Be thou challenged.

August 16, 2004

Giant Ass Slays Vampire

But first, the local entertainment scene...

Last night at the Fringe, Homie and I saw the Best Play Ever. It's a follow-up to last year's Best Play Ever which was the One Man Star Wars Trilogy performed by Charles Ross. While Homie was driving me to work one morning last week we were reminiscing about just how damn fucking amazingly good One Man Star Wars Trilogy had been and wouldn't it be cool if the same guy returned this year to do One Man Lord of the Rings? Well we're psychic or gods or something because he did and he is. Go here to read about the Best Play Ever. Which really honestly cannot be described in words. One guy, elbow and knee pads, sixty minutes, and Tolkien's masterpiece. That's it, that's all. And it's the best thing you'll ever see. You'll laugh till you cry. Memorable lines include (but are not limited to):

Saruman: Do you want to know how orcs came to be? Read The Silmarillion. *glance at audience* All of you.

Gandalf: Keep it secret, keep it safe. *one second later, frantic* IS IT SECRET? IS IT SAFE?

Aragorn: You have my sword.
Legolas: And my hair.

Elrond: *at his council* Then you shall be the title of the book!

And now back to our headlining story...

Giant Ass Slays Vampire

While we were waiting in our seats for the Best Play Ever to begin, I felt a great weight hit the back of my head and propel it forward. It was akin to blunt force trauma minus the splorting blood. I turned to see what sort of event could have attempted to send me flying clean out of my chair and came eyeball-to-football-field with the BIGGEST ASS IN THE WORLD. No kidding. This ass was clad in some form of royal blue tent and awning contraption and actually required it's own postal code. It was the most giant ass I have ever seen and it belonged to a woman whose body more than proportionally matched the size of the ass. My head reeled. I could have been beheaded! I might have actually been slayed, right then and there in a gymnasium folding chair at the Fringe Festival, by a giant ass! I tell you, narrow escapes are everywhere these days. Or DAMN HUGE ONES, for that matter.

I did survive, just so you know. I mean I'm okay. Though I will definitely require therapy. You have never seen an ass like this. And you would never ever want such an ass to come in contact with your noggin if you did see it. Trust me.

August 15, 2004

The Happy Firbday Skotty Entry

My brother-in-law Skotty is the coolest guy ever. He's my numba one n-- Well, he knows what he is. He's my partner in crime. The guy who taught me how to play Penis Chicken. (That sounds so very wrong. *dies* It's just... not, though.) The man of a thousand public curses. Sometimes I tell my sister Shannie that she married him just to give me somebody to play stupid with. Sometimes, when Skotty and I are both in one of our more ridiculous moods, she agrees. But a short while ago Skotty and Shannie up and moved away to Seattle. While the USA is now a far richer country (and lord knows they need all the mental help they can get down there), I miss my sister and brother-in-law like crazy. But today, on Skotty's Firbday, it's him I miss the most. Happy Fucking Firbday, dood! You are lurved.

In honor of my nostalgic Sugarbowl-induced memories of the good old good olds with Skotty, and because he's a year older but not an iota wiser, this entry is dedicated entirely to him and all his Skottyisms.

Skottyism: (n) Form of proper english bastardized to suit the needs of a single sick individual; slang.

Lyle Lovett. Nope, not Julia's ex. Not in this case. Lyle Lovett is a form of expressing how you feel about an item or situation. Usage: In place of ordinary phrases like "I love it". Example: "How do you feel about heading to the Sugarbowl tonight, Skotty?" "Lyle Lovett!"

Yah! Offend! This is meant to convey a sense of derring-do laugh-in-the-face-of-danger savoir faire in response to just about any warning designed to protect your fragile innocence and/or virgin eyes. Usage: Mostly in conjunction with WWE broadcast warnings. Also works with most HBO programming. Example: "This program contains material that may offend some viewers. Viewer discretion is advised." "Yah! Offend!"

How do they know what size screen we have? Like Jeopardy, this is the answer to a question not yet posed. Anybody who has ever watched a movie with Skotty knows the question by heart. Usage: Directly follows the reformatted movie advisory on regular screen DVDs and videos. Example: "This movie has been formatted to fit your screen." "How do they know what size screen we have?"

Wifeless Wednesday A day of the Skotty-week. My sister used to work late on Wednesday nights and that became the night Skotty and I would Shoog. Usage: When wives are away, siblings will play. Only works if you're heading to the Sugarbowl and only on Wednesdays. Example: *ring ring* "H'lo?" "Hey 'sup?" "Nuttin. We Shoogin' tonight?" "You bet! It's Wifeless Wednesday, inn't it?" (Yeah, we're so ghetto. We talk like Vanilla Ice only WISHED he could.)

Whatev. The answer to just about everything too pointless to have an opinion on. Usage: Multi-tasker phrase. Can be applied to everything from dinner options to wall color. Generally accompanied with a shrug. Example: "Do you want chicken or beef for dinner?" "Whatev."

Marthafocker. The exclamation of choice when one is a pastor by day and rebel-without-a-clue by night. Has nothing to do with actual Marthas or fockers. Or Meet the Fockers. Usage: Instead of "motherfucker" or "holyfuckingshit". (Though really those got their fair share of airtime too.) Example: "Marthafocker! I forgot my wallet at home!"

NO, YOU SHUT UP! How every argument or discussion or debate or conversation generally ended between Skotty and I. Coincidentally how every one of Shannie's headaches started. Usage: Directly follows "Shut up!" and "No, YOU shut up." Example: "This isn't a veggie pizza. This is pepperoni." "Oh yeah? You're a pepperoni." "Shut up." "No, YOU shut up." "NO, YOU SHUT UP!"

Tuppingfuckerware. What Shannie used to sell on the side. Usage: In describing Shannie's job situation or the state of the home in general. Example: "We have the nerdiest freezer ever. *opens it* Look! Tuppingfuckerware everywhere!"

Deep Homo. Where I used to work. More commonly known as the giant corporate conglomorate with a hard-on for world home improvement domination and screaming orange. Usage: In belittling my former place of employ. Actually also during my time there. Actually any time. Example: "How was your day at Deep Homo?"

Skotty. Skotty, lad, we hardly knew ye. NO YOU SHUT UP! Okay, we knew ye. We even sorta liked ye. *big hugs* Feel the lurve.