Smooches

Insects and vino

I just watched this fly get into my wine glass, wiggle around inside the last sip, and then fly back out.

He's drunk, don't get me wrong. He's flying in circles, doing barrel rolls around the living room and smashing into things. But I'm pissed, because I was willing to give up my last sip if that meant that horrible fly was going to die a liquored-up death and stop buzzing by my ear.

Thwarted again.

There are lots of things I love about the house we rent: the rent bill.... mostly just the rent bill. It's insanely cheap, and we've done what we can to make it homey. There's a fenced in yard for the dog to run in, and plenty of extra space for my packrat habits. But insects have a field day in here, wandering in through bends in the screen door and congregating in the kitchen. There was one I could've sworn was a deadly brown recluse spider, until I found out what a brown recluse looks like. There are little buggers that resemble roaches but my boyfriend assures me they aren't, since I'd have to move out. But mostly there are just these little flies, knats even, conspiring to ruin my life.

Who wants to come visit? BYO Fly Paper.

Times, they are a-changin

Despite the high number of photos where I'm displaying the shocker hand, I'm gonna go out on a limb here and reassociate myself with this blog.

Why, you ask? Because there's some damn good stuff in here.

Heroes are remembered... but legends never die. Viva 20!

St. Patty's Day, 2 weeks late

How sad, no body updated about St. Patty's Day on the blog. I posted my pics to MySpace but I'll put the link here too:

by esuejohnson

I had a great time on Saturday at the parade and the usual drunken street wandering, but I have to say one of my favorite moments was singing the Project Runway musical with David at Pelham, haha. I don't think I even heard about any Motel 6 sheningans, were there any?

OK, I'll post

So, last night I was hanging around at night court as part of my new position as night reporter. I was waiting for something to happen, which of course, it didn't, but I met this guy named JR who used to be a cop and now works as a bondsman. He starts telling me all these stories (which i think are actually true) about hanging out with NASCAR drivers, how Richard Petty taught him how to race, how he saw Dale Earndhart in the car after his fatal wreck and it was his own fault. But the best story was by far the following:

Photog: Hey, did you hear they're letting Hinckley out for conjugal visits and stuff?
JR, with a cigarette hanging from his lips that you think will fall, but it doesn't: Man, I arrested that clown.
Me: Whaaaa?
JR: About a year before he shot Reagan, I arrested that clown. He tried to get on a plane with a gun. In the back of the car he was asking me, 'can i get my gun back, how long do you think this will take, i GOTTA get to New York.' Blah blah, kept going on, so i asked him why did he have to get to New York so fast? And he said, 'well, I got a date with Jodie Foster.'
Me, laughing: you're not serious.
JR: Oh, yea,y'all wouldn't believe it. Then he starts asking me what I think of Reagan, and I tell him, he's better than Carter! Man, I'd take him! and he shakes his head and says, 'someone ought to kill that sonofabitch Reagan.'
So, I called the Secret Service up and let them know what he said and they were like, yea we know about this wacko, forgetaboutit. And then wouldn't you know, they call me down to the secret service a year later when he shot him, and i was like well, i told you so.

I love the South, friends.

Merry Christmas to all of you 20 Narry-iers. Oh I remember coming over for the Very Tacky 20 Narry Christmas. Right?

Shock me, shock me, shock me 

Newport news

Oh the poor Wave! "Car crashes into Newport statue".

Funny side note, I think it took me all of freshman year before I realized it was a statue of feet in a wave. To be honest, I never really looked at it. Even during all those times I waited for the Loser Cruiser at the post office.