Levedy

I'm alive...but exhausted

Fall hell has set in at work, and I'm working way more than I want to.

Today was filled with painting, taking care of some family business, exploding pipes, leaking showers, teaching, and not remembering the drive home I was so exhausted.

You can see a picture of the painting that kat and I did here.

I'm crazy busy, so posting will be spotty (if you haven't already gathered that) or nonexistent for the near future.

What can I say...you get what you pay for at this site. To upgrade your membership, click here

Still in SLC

And OH MAN have I got pictures (and video) of a lamb roast!

I'm back in town tonight.

So Kiss Me and Smile for Me

n.b.- I’m dashing this off before my plane takes off for SLC. It will sound more disjointed and unfunny than normal.

I hate pigeons.

The little weasels-with-wings have been camped out on my roof since the roof existed. They camp out on my roof so they can keep their beady little eyes on the dog food left in either neighbor’s backyard.

They leave PILES OF CRAP on my back patio and my front porch. Surprisingly enough, I don’t appreciate their volunteer fertilizer. I was mad as hell, and I wasn’t going to take it anymore.

Nelson, the wonderful bug man who rid me of Mr. Stingy agreed to climb up on my roof and install FIVE INCH LONG METAL SPIKES along my roof. Now, I have no pigeons (I was secretly hoping for a dumb one to commit hara kiri so I could make a shish kebab joke) but my roof looks like the barbed wire used on top of the Berlin Wall.

[Soon: Picture]

While Nelson was installing the pigeon wire, Dim and I installed a ceiling fan. Boy, nothing tests your marriage more than hanging a heavier-than-it-ought-to-be light fixture and large amounts of electrical current on four hours of sleep. We were ready to kill one another after installing it, but hey, it looks neat:

[Soon: Picture]

I’m off to Salt Lake City, land of Mormons and Greeks (and two black people) for the weekend. My cousin, Alaina, is leaving for college, so we all must roast dog-looking animals on spits, drink heavily, and dance like fools. It will be a blast. I’m bringing my camera for evidence.

The formal invitations are a dead giveaway that it’s a Greek bacchanal. They said: Please join us yadda yadda graduation celebration yadda yadda.... “Party starts at six, lamb comes off the spit at seven.”

...Gee, when do YOU think the Greeks will show up?

Murphy Likes Trannies

Picture it:

The prostitute calling cards are rambling around the bottom of my purse for a week because I’m too lazy to get them out and post about them. Like any unwanted receipt or gum wrapper that floats in any woman’s purse, these cards float to the top of the detritus pile every so often.

So there I am, in the Taco Bell drive thru at 11:00 at night, ordering food that no human should consume, and lo and behold, Murphy’s Law decides to be ratified right across my fragile ego.

I reach into my purse to grab the fiver that I knew was rattling around my purse, and out comes Juicy Georgia Peach alongside a greenish (but smug-looking) Lincoln. The Taco Bell employee and I realize exactly what is in my hand at the exact same moment. We both shrink away; he into the confines of the building and I into the burned out husk that is my sense of confidence.

Now, you’d THINK that would teach me to get the prostitutes out of my purse...

I was at the library with a student reviewing Reading Comprehension techniques for his upcoming LSAT. I reach blindly into my purse for two sticks of bubble gum and *FWAP* I fling Joyful Goddess Geisha (who I swear is a trannie) across the table at Corey along with some sugar free Extra.

shit shit shit shit shit shit

So I came home and posted about them. Coincidentally, I had house guests from Utah staying with us that night. I thought that the cards would make wonderful souvenirs for them to take back to Salt Lake City:

Next post: pigeon internment camps, how the fuse box affects marriages, and Miss Mannersopolous on the proper way to invite Greeks to a soiree...

$47, What a Deal!

Of all the lovely “models” pictured on the prostitute cards I picked up, my personal favorite is Tia.

For $47.00, you can spend time with a gal who looks like she might be president of your high school’s Asian Student Honor Society. The Pro Asian Student Honor Society...

While the card doesn’t say what $47 will get you (math tutoring?), she’s clearly the entertainment for the value-conscious traveling business man. Her $47 is paltry compared to “sweet n’ soft Sandi” ($85) and the my mouth opens too wide to be normal BLONDE BOMBSHELL BIANCA ($65). “Juicy Georgia Peach” does not list her price, which says to me that she’s the top quality hooker:if you have to ask my price, trust me baby, you can’t afford me.

The best part of Tia’s card is the back side. (The best part of Tia may not be her backside – it isn’t pictured on the card)

Hmm...if I don’t like her I can send her back (to Thailand)...NO CHARGE. It sounds like the poor girl’s gonna get deported by INS if I don’t like her backside. Sure, there may be NO (financial) OBLIGATION, but the guilt! Oy gevalt!

It’s comforting to know that her services are discreetly billed to my MC, VISA, or AMEX (She doesn’t take discover, apparently) Businessmen, your credit card charges for that convention in Vegas will look like this:

Mandalay Bay $560.00
Hard Rock Café $65.00
Cash Advance: $1000.00
Lee’s Discount Liquor: $52.00
Diversity Tattoo: $63.00
Virgin Music – Cher’s farewell tour $14.99
Las Vegas Metropolitan Police – Fine – Public Nuisance Music $300.00
Tia – Personal Entertainment Service: $47.00
Las Vegas Free Herpes Clinic: priceless

No guys, that won’t look at all suspicious on the old expense account.

One more note before I move on:

Okay, so she takes all major credit cards....Where is her card reader?

Yes, that was tasteless.

Next up – Sweet Georgia Peach’s adventures in the drive-thru!

Consider this fog on the mirror

I know that it’s time to post when friends call me to see whether I’m still alive based on the frequency of my posting.

Yes, Nicole, I am still breathing.

I’ve had a busy week, as far as busy weeks go in my life.

Two Fridays ago, I set time aside on my calendar for the “Coven Dinner.” The coven consists of three friends of mine from The Princeton Review. I’m always a little bashful when spending time with the three of them together, since I harbor a secret fear that the three of them together are way cooler than I will ever be.

It’s a bit like sitting at the popular girls’ lunch table, and they haven’t asked to copy your homework...yet. You’re constantly waiting for them to drop the bomb: “Um, yeah. We only keep you around so we’ll have fodder for gossip later.”

The three of them (and a fourth gal who was friendly, but whose name I don’t remember. I’ll call her “Rhoda”) were in Vegas for a quickie weekend. I met them in the Bellagio. I managed to pull them from their blackjack and their nickel slots long enough to suggest that we sit at a swank little lounge that the Bellagio has. All four sets of lips curled simultaneously.

Oh no! They’re going to ask me for my homework now!

Their (better?) idea was to walk to the Boardwalk casino to find the one $3.00 Blackjack table in Vegas. Non-Vegans need to understand something: The Boardwalk is a shit hole. It remains open only because they bribe building inspectors and gaming control agents with coke. The coven-and-Rhoda turned down a lovely lounge with leather seating for the shittiest casino Vegas has to offer (except, of course, for the whole of Downtown, which by all estimates should be imploded).

So there I am, sitting at a skanky casino at a skanky 21 table (now with color-coordinating cigarette burns in the green felt!) watching my friends smoke skanky cigarettes and drink skanky casino beer. I catch myself thinking that it would be a damn shame if I were to get stabbed here, since my grandmother would never come to see me in the hospital: She was shanked in the Boardwalk, dears, she’s dead to me now.

After an hour and a half of counting to 23 (no one said they were good at the game) we ate hot dogs! At the Boardwalk! (I’m still alive!)

Rhoda took this picture, and we headed out:

They wanted to go to a third hotel to continue playing 23. I couldn’t continue. I said my goodbyes and consoled myself by collecting as many prostitute calling cards as I could on my way back to the Bellagio where, I rather unfortunately discovered, no one had stolen my car.

Next post: Porn card adventures!

Coming Soon

Naked women
The Las Vegas Strip
2 Restaurants
Heavy Lifting
Drive-Thru Flashing