An Amber Alert was issued yesterday, June 29th, at approximately 6:35 pm in the Museum District. One (1) pillowcase was discovered missing when its owner attempted to make her bed after doing a load of laundry on Monday evening. The last sighting of said pillow case was when it entered the dryer in the laundry room of a local apartment complex.
The owner describes the pillow case as pink and, “super cozy”. Although the owner does not think the pillow case ran away, she does think it’s possible that it’s not missing at all, but rather is somehow folded up in that god damn duvet cover, which was also laundered last night. “[The duvet cover] is like a black hole, I swear to God. Stuff just gets rolled up in there and I don’t even know it” she stated last night to authorities. Continued the owner, “But if it’s not in there, then what the fuck am I going to do with just one pillow case? Jesus Christ”.
The owner is currently offering a reward of a high five and a hug. Police are asking anyone with any information to please contact Crime Stoppers at email@example.com.
I have received your prayer request. Your approximate wait time is 20 minutes. You are currently behind Barista, who is asking for strength and patience to not choke a bitch today. Her Barefoot Coworker has over shared the following information this morning:
She loves to watch bats eat bugs out of a pool at night. So do her kids. That’s why the fambily didn’t mind having a bat in their home on Saturday. She just hollered for the cat to take care of it. When the cat failed to do his job, she trapped the bat in a pair of her sweatpants and left it in her basement.
She ate oatmeal for breakfast this morning, and vomited before she came to work.
She made a GYN appointment this morning for her oft-recurring yeast infections. She assumed that hearing one-side of that conversation was not enough, so she repeated it in detail to the entire office. Then Barefoot followed up with a meeting request sent to everyone documenting her appointment info. The Barista declined the invitation to attend that fun-fest.
Your Higher Power,
PS – You are right on with your bar guide. Thanks for the chuckle. Hee hee, lobster-pants. I’ll be speaking with Vineyard Vines about that shortly.
Are you there, God? It’s me, TLW. Hey listen, I know you’ve been super busy lately with all the celebrity deaths (Billy Mays! Why?!) and all but I was wondering if maybe you could make it so Tsaur could stop coming into work 45 minutes early every day? See the thing is the main reason I come in at seven thirty is so I have an hour of T free time a day and lately he’s been coming in at like 7:45. I hate it so bad? Plus also I’m barely getting here before him which is also cramping my style. I consider 7:30 more of a goal I shoot for rather than hard “start time”.
One more thing, too, God. And again, I know you’re dealing with the Iranian election and that whole thing but if you could maybe make him stop cc-ing me on every goddamn (whoops, sorry God!) email he sends that would be great, too. I hate coming back to work from a long weekend and having 55 unread irrelevant emails from him.
I hate him, God. I really, really do but I understand we all have our crosses to bear and Tsaur is mine. Thanks in advance-I really appreciate it!
Style Weekly’s annual Bar Guide is out and if you haven’t picked up a copy, please do. It’s hilarious and spot on. What they didn’t mention, however, is what the ladies can expect to have to endure upon entering said bar. In response to that and through much thought and extensive research I have been able to categorize the douche bags that inhabit the bars in the RVA. I hope you will find my research helpful so you may avoid these people at all costs.
The Richmond Douche. Where you are: City Limit, Can Can or any other over priced restaurant in the city. You can identify the Richmond Douche with ease, so do not fear. He will be wearing pink pants with lobsters on them (I don’t get this AT ALL by the way-can someoneplease explain this to me?!?! ), boat shoes and a polo shirt. Drink of choice-probably just a brewskie since he’s been drinking all day on the golf course but don’t be surprised if he’s living it up and drinking some whiskey. He only smokes when he drinks so his pick up line is to bum a cig. Simply smile, hand him said Marlboro and calmly walk away. He won’t really care that he didn’t score since his girlfriend is at home anyway.
The Hipster Douche. Where you are: Sticky Rice, Helen’s, New York Deli, Ipanema, Cous Cous or any other bar you’ve never heard of. You can identify the Hipster Douche by their use of irony, vintage tees and skinny jeans. Drink of choice? PBR. They have their own natural smokes so their pick up line will be to ask you who your favorite band is. You can immediately get them to leave you alone by responding that you enjoy Matchbox 20, Creed and Linkin Park. Be careful to not say this with sarcasm, however, because then they’ll think you’re being ironic and hence forth, one of them. Follow up by asking them if they were as upset as you were about the American Idol finale. Watch them slip away quicker than you can say “My scooter’s parked in a tow away zone-gotta jet”.
The Ed Hardy Douche. Where you are: Star-lite, Bandito’s and anywhere Downtown. The Ed Hardy Douche is the easiest of the three to spot due to his love for Ed Hardy and Affliction apparel. Hair gel is not optional. Drink of choice? Long Island Iced Tea. Tribal arm bands are standard. Their pickup line is the most direct and involves simply coming up from behind and grinding on your ass like wow. It may be hard to escape from the grasp of an Ed Hardy Douche because he has already placed his man tanned hands on your hips in an attempt to simulate sexy times on the dance floor. Your best bet is to tell him that you think you’re ovulating and tonight would be a great night to make a baby. Look pleadingly into his eyes and ask him to make you a mommy. He’ll immediatly release you from his grasp since he can’t afford any more child support and will move on to his next victim.
Like grandma used to say, “Douche bag me once, shame on you. Douche bag me twice, shame on me”. May your nights be long and your bar tabs small, my friends!
TGIF y’all. It’s Friday so it’s time to reach into our reader mailbag and answer your most burning questions. Note-if it burns when you pee, you mayneed a shot of penicillin.
Dear Cafe Darkness,
I am contemplating stealing the most perfect looking spaghetti I have ever seen from the refrigerator on the first floor of my office building. I have never stolen a lunch before; but this gorgeous pasta is a like temptress luring me to Buenos Aires. What should I do?
Yes – I really am thinking of stealing this lunch.
Hangry in the West End
I totally get it. You’re starvin marvin from boozing too much last night and all you want is heavily carb laden meal, a cig and then maybe a nap. Trust, I’ve spent many a Friday in the office dreaming of the perfect hangover meal. (Steak and Cheese sub with extra mayo for TLW).
However, even though you are H to the Izzo, stealing someone’s lunch is something that not even this morally questionable lady would do. I implore you to not steal this lunch. Instead, take a two hour lunch break and leisurely enjoy the meal of your dreams. Once you get back to the office you’ll be so sleepy and contended that you can internet the rest of the work day away before you go out and do it all over again.
Oh happy, happy day. I just got written confirmation that the divorce is finalized. Yippy! So what does that mean? It means that today, June 25th , is my Special Divorce Day. The only thing bringing me down is that I didn’t find out that today is my Special Divorce Day until two o’clock this afternoon but I’ll get over it as soon as the clock strikes five.
Since Barista and I will use any reason to booze celebrate it has been decided that since it’s the Year of Best Practices, one celebrates their Special Divorce day with cocktails and Marlboros. Now the only question is where to go. Options are as follows:
The original Café Darkness, better known as Café Diem. We heart the low ceilings and clientele.
City Limit. I haven’t taken it to the Limit all week. I like it there. Old men buy me drinks and call me ma’am.
Three Monkey’s. Why not celebrate one’s divorce at the place where you’ll see everyone you want to see least?
I’m not sure where we’ll end up, but I’m fairly certain that woo woos, fist pumps and high fives will be involved. GO ME!