One of the other things I’ve written about ad nauseum is my dirty condo.
I’m just going to resign myself to the becoming-more-and-more apparent fact that I’m just not going to become skilled at cleaning. I received a cold-call at work the other day from a big commercial cleaning service wanting our business. I had put off hiring a housekeeper since the last time the skag I hired stole a bunch of my crap.
This time I’m not going to write about my cat peeing on all sorts of stuff that isn’t kitty litter.
I’m going to explain the wreckage of past and present. The destruction left in her wake. I know wake is a noun referencing past events but let’s imagine she’s still speeding along in a cigarette boat. That way the expression works a little better.
The first official ThoughtsFromParis contest is over!
A winner has been selected for the E-Cigarette kit courtesy of the fine people at Vapor4Life.
If you’re new to the site the contest rules stated to recount a time getting busted. The winner would receive a vapor cigarette kit which allows them to light up in their bedroom without having to towel the door to keep the heavy stank of cigarettes from drifting into the kitchen where mom is making casserole.
Sometimes there isn’t anything that happened in the day to write about.
Because this happens roughly one night out of seven I try to have an idea banked for when I get stuck. Well, I’m stuck tonight, so here’s the one I had saved. It came to be just before Thanksgiving.
About five years ago when I was dating my future wife, I mentioned to her that I was a little embarrassed because I had a bit of shoulder and back hair. As a blonde person this isn't the biggest deal in the world because the hair shows up lighter, but it still bothered me.
About five years ago when I was dating my future wife, I mentioned to her that I was a little embarrassed because I had a bit of shoulder and back hair. As a blonde person this isn’t the biggest deal in the world because the hair shows up lighter, but it still bothered me.
My friend, Susan Lee, is NOT Chinese.
She’s actually a pale round-eye from Cincinnati with blonde hair who doesn’t know the difference between Mandarin and Cantonese.
Despite how she actually has a southern-style American name, I have decided to continually poke fun of her for having a Chinese name.
I'll never give this child another cigarette, pinky swears!
