So here we are, slightly inebriated once more, talking drivel. I meant to write an entry before I became chemically enhanced (alcohol... unsurprisingly), but once more that proved to be beyond my meager capabilities.
Before I forget I just want to mention the word twunt. Which I recently discovered courtesy of Scary Duck (who's tagline is "Not Scary. Not a duck"). Twunt! What a wonderful word. So good that I broke out the exclamation mark, of which I'm normally so wary. Twunt. (For those of you who's minds are elevated slightly above the gutter, twunt is a combination of twat and cunt... both of which mean the same (in an unrelated matter this talk of guttering reminds me of an assertion I made one evening whilst drinking (duh!) in London: "I am the gutter. The scum and detritus of society flow above me.", which at the time seemed hilarious.)).
Last night a friend of mine had a house warming party. She's a grad student and she owns a house... it seems wrong somehow. It was all very nice. On the way there the German guy who gave me a lift stole my neighbours pro-Bush sticker as a house warming gift for the Democrat home-owner. I brought alcohol. There was laughter and vulgarity and all those good things. At one point in the evening somebody was talking about some bloke or other that had graduated from Princeton, where they had, and was an African-American. So I, sarcastically, interjected "and he can both spell his own name and count to ten", highlighting the ridiculousness of mentioning his colour when talking about his achievements. Which stunned the liberal crowd into silence for a few moments before they realized that my comments where not entirely serious. When realization dawned, I was warned that in certain parts of town that comment could get me shot... and I thought, if they display the same lack of appreciation of tone and context as you (seemingly educated) folk, you're probably right.
After I, eventually, managed to get up today and leave my house I went to the record shop with the cute girl. That is I went alone to the record shop in which the cute girl works. I thought that maybe I'd get to speak to the cute girl after narrowly missing out last week. I was wrong. She was there when I walked in the store (after all I'm in America and it's a store not a shop), sadly, after I'd picked out my Scissor Sisters, Madvillian, M83 and Gothic Archives records... she had left. So, once more, less cute girl served me. In all honesty she might also be moderately cute if she ever fucking smiled. I've recently come to the conclusion that I expect people to smile when I give the money. And if they don't smile, then I'm not happy. Besides girlies look pretty when they smile. It makes me feel much more validated and worthwhile.
I also walked into a Gay book store today. The girl working in there didn't smile at me either. In fact she looked at me with thinly veiled hostility. Either she was a man hating lesbian or she didn't like the look of me or she didn't like the way a dripping wet (it was raining) man was walking through a store filled with paper based products. Anyway it was enlightening.
If you recall (I'd place a link here if I could be bothered) there is a Gaelic shop in the North Market. Well it calls itself a Gaelic shop even though all its products are imported from the UK... grrhh America's obsession with Ireland. I bought a sherbet fountain, which was great, and some black pudding, which I'm looking forward to enormously for breakfast tomorrow.
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