Yimmy Yazz...that's baby making music.

Stolen time on Jo's computer while she's at work. Have to make the most of it by posting useless ramblings on my blog.

Visited a little place I like to call Yimmy Yazz last night ("You play yazz flute."- WATCH ANCHORMAN: The legend of Ron Burgundy EVERYONE). Hung out with Taylor and James, always a delight. When I think of them I'm reminded of musical genuis James Taylor who you might remember from songs like "Fire and Rain" or "You've Got a Friend".

My hands and arms are destined to be covered in pen for the rest of my life. I operate under this (mostly correct) assumption that I won't remember anything unless I write it on my hand. So my hand is generally covered in words or at least a fading bluish colour, leading some to believe that I have some sort of disease. Taylor thought it was important that I remember something else that's now written on both of my hands "Tay= mom of my kids". I won't forget. Also seen on my hands recently: "book for review", "postimpressionism" (of which Van Gogh is one apparently, I always thought he was straight up impressionist), "Caillebotte" (another impressionist artist) check him out here and here and "check GPA" (because I'm never going to get into grad school).

Barb felt it necessary to add "I am racist" on my arm as well. Thanks for nothing you sloshed ne'er-do-well. I think we all know who threatens to beat up various ethnic/cultural groups (Irish, Australians) when he's drunk/stoned. And it is certainly not me.

After Yimmy Yazz it was time for food, I got a pita and the guy at the pita place was all, "what's with all the phone numbers on your arms?". (Taylor thought it was important that I have her number on my body twice, due to picnicking later today). I was all, "It was a busy night." Actually, that's what I wished I'd said. I can never think up cool/snappy responses for people that aren't my friends.

Update: I still hate beer.

In case any of you are wondering, which I'm sure you're not, the previously mentioned quiz was ridiculously, ludicrously, nonsensically, farcically (okay, I consulted the thesaurus for that last one) easy. In fact, as I told Jo when I got home, if I got less than 95% on that quiz I'm going to throw myself off the roof. Or commit suicide in some other dramatic way.

In the event of my tragic suicide in the near future I have divided my worldly goods thusly: I'm going to leave my laptop to Jo so she can smash it with a hammer like she's always wanted to, Barb can have my TV because the first time he saw it he called it "sexy"...I had to lick his face all over, it was the hottest thing ever. Susan can have my chair because she can sleep comfortably in it, she's like a cat. She also gets my National Geographics because I'm pretty sure she's teased me a few times about having a subscription for the magazine. THIS IS YOUR COMEUPPANCE. As for the division of the rest of my worldy goods, there's going to be some sort of race. Feel free to bite and shove as much as you like. There's some good stuff, my red boa, my Queer Eye for the Straight Guy calendar, tickets and programs from almost all of the plays I've been to in the G-Spot and 18,000 pictures (which feature a good many of you, dear readers). And socks, lots of socks.

Not surprisingly, that was needlessly long.