I don’t really have anything interesting to say, so I figured I would send you some pictures from the last couple of days. Yesterday I woke up and watched my roommate, Bionic Dave, play Rock Band on XBox Live for thirty minutes and then forced him to bring me to La Potosina, the little tienda by our house. I LOVELOVELOVE Potosina. I once went there and got corn tortillas, seven different vegetables, an assortment of very weird Mexican candy, a pack of cigarettes, two religious-themed candles with the Death Angel on them (no lie), a can of coffee, three flan cups, dry horchata mix, two rice popsicles and a box of foreign Cheerios for $19 with tax. So we went over there and look what we found on the counter:
I am a master at taking covert cell phone pics.
After that, I went to work at Carrburritos and my mom joined me for my whole shift. She sucked down several margaritas in record time and offered little verbal gems to my coworkers such as, “DO NOT knock up your GIRLFRIENDS. Tell them to give you BLOW JOBS INSTEAD,” and “HELLO THIS MARGARITA IS SO GOOD CAN ANY OF YOU PRONOUNCE CHIPOTLE PROPERLY?” But the best was when she waited until I was aaalllll the way over by the handsink, at which point she decided it’d be a great time to yell out, “HEY AMANDA ARE YOU AND LACKEY HAVING SEX WITH EACH OTHER? HE IS SO CUTE!!” Now, ordinarily this wouldn’t be a big deal, because I am used to my mom asking me things like this, and she doesn’t drink all that much and the guys at work already love her and expect ridiculous shit from her, but the problem is that Lackey works at Carrburritos, so this question of hers started the rumor mill going in full force. I had to fend off several interrogations from the line cooks while my mom busied herself reading Que Pasa?, a Mexican newspaper, with Pedro the Dishwasher. She is learning Spanish right now so every time she comes to see me at work she utilizes the wisdom of the ESL guys in the back.
After that wonderful incident, we went home and dressed my dog in a wig. She was unhappy about this.
And now I am taking a break from trashing all of our third roommate Lance’s shit. He decided he was going to move out without telling us, but he left ALL his belongings behind and they’ve been in his room for a month. His room has turned into a free storage space. Bionic Dave and I caught him at Caribou Coffee the other day and told him he owed us rent or we were selling all his shit. Of course he refused to pay (he used to try to pay in weed, but that didn’t go over well with us), and he said he didn’t care what we did with his stuff.
So we’re having a garage sale on Saturday. He left behind furniture, computer accessories, two DVD players, CDs, books, tapes, heaps of surround sound equipment, clothes, and a metric ton of drug paraphernalia. Everything else, we’re throwing away with abandon. It’s sort of fun, trashing someone else’s life with their permission. We found a whole notebook full of “raps” he wrote, and several “notes to self,” addressed to “Self.” These will be posted in future blogs, don’t worry.
In closing, I’d like to offer you a piece of my childhood that I found while cleaning my room. I was inspired by a recent X-Entertainment post. Apparently my dad was sick one day and I felt it necessary to write him an encouraging letter complete with disclaimer:
I was such a sweet four-year-old.
Hope you’re having a good day. Drink a beer for me, please, and send me a pic like you are wont to do. We are beer-less here, and no one has a car, or money, or motivation. But we have a lot of work left to do. We haven’t even tackled Lance’s closet yet.
Love in the name of PBR and Cunters,