Oh if this entry could be as juicy as the title implies…it would rival General Hospital or Days of Our Lives in its content. I’ll try to spice things up with hyperbole and straight out lies.
The evening started when I caught Greg stealing money out of my wallet. I said, “Unhand that, you unwashed miscreant”. A violent but brief scuffle ensued…the conflict was resolved when Greg fell for the ol’ “Look! A Three Legged Airplane!” distraction technique and I deftly slipped a pair of sturdy undies over his head and, much like a horse with blinders, he calmed down. We then listened to Raffi and ate caramel corn.
Ok…that’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever written. I shall now divert the conversation to beloved children’s song singer and hippie, Raffi. Perhaps his most famous piece of work, Baby Beluga, was an institution in my youth. Here’s a lyrical excerpt:
Baby Beluga in the deep blue sea
Swim so wild and you swim so free
Heaven above and the sea below
And a little white whale on the go
That’s the cheesiest hippie crap I’ve ever seen. It’s a wonder I didn’t grow up into a weed-smoking environmentalist who is unwilling to shove cow flesh into his maw.
Anyway, I’ve gone off topic. Tonight was volleyball night. Greg and I joined the Pure Heart crew for volleyball. Let me go on record saying I never want to play volleyball again. Standing idle while getting my feet dirty in hard sand and waiting for a ball to come my way isn’t exactly my idea of fun. I go for the social funtimes and several good friends that I have there. Here’s a picture showing me with a band of women who must surround me at all times (touché aintenance man).
Ok, I might have sweetened that up a bit…it’s actually a group of my platonic female friends who were asked by someone to pose with me to make an exciting picture. Eh, you say toe-may-toe, I say toe-mah-toe (I think that saying loses something when typed).
On to more pressing matters. Tomorrow TJ moves in, which, while anticipated and long awaited, will introduce a new dynamic to apartment living. The first change is that I have to get up early and clean his bathroom before he moves in. Nothing would be more disheartening than to move into your new pad only to see messes in the toidy, hair in the sink, and bags of crack hidden in the toilet tank (let’s keep that last one on the dl). Provided TJ never reads this blog and Greg and I get our duties accomplished, he’ll be none the wiser that we used his can and stored severed heads in his bedroom closet.
I must sleep now…peace to all.
