To my rat bastard coworker who keeps stealing my coffee creamer-I hate you and I will find you. I will hunt you down and avenge my French Vanilla Coffee Mate! I’m not sure what part of my note that reads: “TLW’s coffee creamer-do not steal, please! Am poor!” you don’t grasp but apparently the concept of “mine-not yours” is too difficult for you to understand. You steal my coffee creamer, prepare to die!
I’m still house sitting for Mr. and Mrs. B and I must say living in the West End is pretty darn nice. People wave at you when you drive by and they don’t even know me. It’s just me-driving-and then all of a sudden there’s someone waving. Is nice. Another bonus is when I hit up 7-11 and don’t get hassled by a trio of hobos for spare change. I also don’t have to wait for a million and one fools to buy their scratchers either. People seem healthier, too. And in all around better moods. I need to get back to the City-a girl could get used to this.
T Saur’s lost another lady love. I guess dating dead beat dads with a nasty ass goatee was not a turn on? According to Mr. T the reason things ended is because she didn’t like it that he “packed a gun” on dates. Yes, you read that correctly. T Saur packs heat. On dates. In the RVA. At night. Still believe in the right to bear arms now? Just checkin!
I’m pretty sure I want to make excerpts of conversations between Shugs and yours truly a regular part of my Wednesday routine. Last night we were at New York Deli grabbing an after dinner cocktail and she looked around rather confused:
Shugs: Shades, who are these people that are here right now?
Me: What do you mean?
Shugs: Well, I mean like those guys that just left. Why were the three of them wearing such tight, black jeans and weird T-shirts? What do you call that?
Me: Hipsters, Shugs. Dirty fucking hipsters. Stay away.
Shugs: What’s a hipster? How do I know when I’ve seen one? Should I be worried about them?
Me: Well the easiest way to identify them is through their unique clothing choices they all wear, super cool hair cuts and consumption of god damn PBR.
Shugs: I’m scared, Shades.
Me: Oh, you should be.