Wrapped Up Like A Douche

Wrapped Up Like a Big Apple
Tomorrow I will actually be making good on my previously empty threats to take a vacation, so expect sporadic posts for the next week. In the meantime I suggest you cleanse your ravenous blog-hungry palates with a dose of intelligent trousers, a dysfunctional abominable snowman, that crazy painter guy's brother, or the real “Miami Vice.” Or just read my old stuff again, because it’s just that entertaining (hit “older entries” at left). But first, a few tidbits before I go...

Eating a beef/broccoli/noodle dish with Chocobaby at a restaurant in the Haight:

Her: “These noodles aren’t even that wide.”
Me: “Yeah, they’re definitely Chow Enjoyable, but I don’t know if they’re Chow Fun.”
Her again: “You are so stupid.”

At a bar this week with Chelle-Belle, Shan-Bear and Ry-Ry. Chelle-Belle makes the following observation: “We rock! People who don’t like us suck! Yeah, we’re sitting at a bar drinking canned beer out of cozies, but we rock!” Rock on, my Wayward Sons (and daughters).