Someone actually asked me that once, only it was in reference to being a homosexual. People are so fucking creative.
Schools out, schools out, teachers let the monkeys out. My mom used to sing that to my brother and I at the end of every school year. It was cute.
I got a B in Anthropology. My teacher was a cunt. Of course it was her fault, not mine, because I do everything right. I also got a B in Math, which is fucking annoying because I had an A until the final, which is worth 40% of your grade. It flawed my pretty 4.0. I blame Jesus for not answering my prayers. Nice one, JEEZUS.
We are on the house hunt. It's kind of like House Hunters, but more real-er and more stressful. And without Susanne Wong and her bangs.
Last week we got the house of our dreams for a total steal, 30,000 bucks off the list price. We went out to Barcelona for dinner to celebrate and mid (second) martini toast our real estate agent called to tell us we didn't get our house. And to make things worse, the calamari was overdone. Lame. So we did what any sad persons would do. We went to the ghetto liquor store and bought $150 worth of booze. We picked up a fancy bottle of cognac (mostly to make the black folks at the booze store super jealous), but the time our sad asses got home, we realized we didn't have proper cognac glasses. The night was getting worse. So, a very angry Jon began violently scrubbing what was left of our wine glasses, they were our only hope. Needless to say, the glass broke and Jon's booze-thinned blood went squirting out into the sink. I put my nursing aspiration knowledge to the test. (I haven't taken any nursing classes yet, so I wrapped his finger in gauze and tape) I am a miracle worker.
It's a week later, and after the anger and sadness wore off, slightly, and we managed to polish off all the booze, we've decided to make another offer. The house is super cute. It has a balcony off one of the bedrooms. Enough said.
Cross your fingers.
