So, we came home yesterday and I started to get sick. Sore throat, totally run-down, fuck that shit. I’m still kind of spacey today, so I’m doing the whole photo post cop-out thing. Yay, less words to read! Oh and yes, I’m done having snit fits, which my liveblogging posts where lovingly called.
My friend Kendahl has her own line of indie nail polish in the works and I was one of the luckies who received some pre-release testers! God, do I love it. Her line is called Firecracker Lacquer and you’re about to be reading a lot more about it on this blog! (Along with better photos of it, too, I promise.)
II. Belated Flea Marketry
When my Michigan peeps were here a few weeks ago, Bill begged, like honestly pleaded with me to take them to the flea market because it was his DREAM to walk around tables of rusty tools and smelly Yinzers with me after years of me writing about it here and on LiveJournal. What can I say, the man dreams small.
I wanted this bangin’ clown knitting thing and since it was Mother’s Day, I felt that I DESERVED it. It was only $8 and Henry was like, “Jesus Christ, you act like just because you baked a 10 pound 2 ounce baby, you should get presents once a year.” But Bill stepped in and said, “Tell the man you want this for $5.”
“No, you!” I cried because god forbid I should talk to a person. So Bill took the bitchin’ wall-hanging from me and wound up getting it for $6 and a 45-minute conversation with the seller.
My favorite part was when the man accused Bill of calling him a hustler and Bill was like, “NO. NO NO NO THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID, SIR. I SAID YOU DRIVE A HARD BARGAIN!” And then the dude lamented the fact that no one wanted to peruse his collection his reggae CDs.
This was either before or after he killed me and I had to find a meatsuit to possess in order to keep banging out these pathetic blog posts. Question: Have my typos gotten better or worse now that new hands are typing? I’m only asking because I think I picked a drunk.
This was actually a reenactment of a hug that happened .003 seconds prior but I wasn’t ready to take a picture.
III. Ice Cream: Because If I Didn’t Take Pictures, How Would My Five Friends Know It Happened?
Last Sunday, we went to get ice cream, which is riveting stuff in and of itself. But when we got to the ice cream place we originally chose, the road was blocked off my many cop cars and we found out later that we had missed a shooting by like a half hour.
So we turned around and went to an ice cream place in another sketchy area where Henry made me pay with my own money, who does that!?
Because this picture is necessary for some reason.
Chooch doesn’t like it when I take pictures of him anymore, I guess because he’s afraid the Internet presence I created for him without his permission will affect his future. Even though I keep telling him his future is playing the main stage at Warped Tour, and this sordid Internet past I’ve help him accumulate will only help his relevancy. Is it time for my vodka tonic yet?
I had a smores sundae and it was good.
Great, now I can delete these photos from my phone. HAVE A GOOD NIGHT.