Saturday, July 24, 2004
don't bother
A friend of mine just left a little while ago. I haven't hung out with said person in a long time. Let's call him Gus, shall we? (Just because I know he loves my hideous evil poog)...
Once again, I made out like a bandit at work today: the red rose (of course) from Harry, a bouquet of black-eyed Susans and some 'filler' flowers from Tom, French green beans (yeah, yeah... haricots vert... verde... whatevah...) fresh from the Farmer's Market (also from Tom), three ears of sweetcorn from Dan, the TV guide from-the-paper-that-has-the-best-one-in-it from Howard and a pocketful of tips (from heaven). Oh yeah, and then Gus met me when I got off work.
We were both going to make it early nights, for different reasons. Instead, we hung out for a few hours at George's and drank more than we needed to in order to make it an early night (for those different reasons). Then Gus had the great idea to come to my place. I miss Gus. Gus in my house is a good thing (he makes the poog behave... to a point). Talking to Gus about books is good (unless he starts talking too much about sci-fi... sorry, Vader... and I talk too much about 'chic' writers like Barbara Kingsolver... sorry, Texans). Listening to music with Gus is good (except when I made him listen the Chad Mitchel(l) Trio and he thinks he can make me listen to Twisted Sister -- just a joke, folks). Drinking beer (or ale... same diff.. which I spent a longer-than-needed-to-be conversation with Gus telling him how much I depise ale in general all the while not saying there are always exceptions to my 'rules') with Gus is a good thing (unless a Boddington's... ale... drops outta your four-pack, hits the curb, springs a leak, and the creamy pale goodness that is Boddington's... ale... flows down the damn storm sewer right in front of your very eyeballs and tongue, and for whatever reason you think you can save it but all it does is spew on you... and then later at home opening one and all the poog wants to do is lick out your crotch... not mine, because I'm a Viro and opened mine over the sink, having learned by the prior mishap). Hanging out with my dog, Mr. Chadwick (aka Gus) is not such a good thing. Gus has no tolerance for the other Gus. Maybe He is actually right and we shouldn't date again. Maybe I'm right as always ('nother joke here, ok?) Hmmm.
I digress... tangentialize...???
OH, HEY. IFF YOU HAVEN'T STOPPED READING BY NOW, PLEASE ACTUALLY DO BECAUSE I KNOW i'M GOING TO WAKE UP IN THE MORNING AND BE STUPIDIFIED (a mere, yet meaningless, play on the word 'stupefied'... and by the way, do I actually sound like GW?... sorry Jack and Jill and Jay) BY THE MEANDERINGS (or lack thereof) OF NOT ONLY MY FRIKKIN' ***mind***, BUT MY SILLY DIGITS (Phalange Angie... always a funny one).
What the hell was I talking about? I lost my train of thought in all the parenths... (yes, I fuckin' know it's 'parentheses')... Ang, is there a point to this story? Aw, fuck it.
Who dat snappin' back? |
Once again, I made out like a bandit at work today: the red rose (of course) from Harry, a bouquet of black-eyed Susans and some 'filler' flowers from Tom, French green beans (yeah, yeah... haricots vert... verde... whatevah...) fresh from the Farmer's Market (also from Tom), three ears of sweetcorn from Dan, the TV guide from-the-paper-that-has-the-best-one-in-it from Howard and a pocketful of tips (from heaven). Oh yeah, and then Gus met me when I got off work.
We were both going to make it early nights, for different reasons. Instead, we hung out for a few hours at George's and drank more than we needed to in order to make it an early night (for those different reasons). Then Gus had the great idea to come to my place. I miss Gus. Gus in my house is a good thing (he makes the poog behave... to a point). Talking to Gus about books is good (unless he starts talking too much about sci-fi... sorry, Vader... and I talk too much about 'chic' writers like Barbara Kingsolver... sorry, Texans). Listening to music with Gus is good (except when I made him listen the Chad Mitchel(l) Trio and he thinks he can make me listen to Twisted Sister -- just a joke, folks). Drinking beer (or ale... same diff.. which I spent a longer-than-needed-to-be conversation with Gus telling him how much I depise ale in general all the while not saying there are always exceptions to my 'rules') with Gus is a good thing (unless a Boddington's... ale... drops outta your four-pack, hits the curb, springs a leak, and the creamy pale goodness that is Boddington's... ale... flows down the damn storm sewer right in front of your very eyeballs and tongue, and for whatever reason you think you can save it but all it does is spew on you... and then later at home opening one and all the poog wants to do is lick out your crotch... not mine, because I'm a Viro and opened mine over the sink, having learned by the prior mishap). Hanging out with my dog, Mr. Chadwick (aka Gus) is not such a good thing. Gus has no tolerance for the other Gus. Maybe He is actually right and we shouldn't date again. Maybe I'm right as always ('nother joke here, ok?) Hmmm.
I digress... tangentialize...???
OH, HEY. IFF YOU HAVEN'T STOPPED READING BY NOW, PLEASE ACTUALLY DO BECAUSE I KNOW i'M GOING TO WAKE UP IN THE MORNING AND BE STUPIDIFIED (a mere, yet meaningless, play on the word 'stupefied'... and by the way, do I actually sound like GW?... sorry Jack and Jill and Jay) BY THE MEANDERINGS (or lack thereof) OF NOT ONLY MY FRIKKIN' ***mind***, BUT MY SILLY DIGITS (Phalange Angie... always a funny one).
What the hell was I talking about? I lost my train of thought in all the parenths... (yes, I fuckin' know it's 'parentheses')... Ang, is there a point to this story? Aw, fuck it.
