So you complain that we don't post enough?
I decided that since my creative juices have run a bit dry of late, and since my uber-creative friends who happen to also have tons of time on their hands refuse to post on GTG for reasons disclosed below (and yes, that is the royal "their," I do have a particular person in mind here), I'm just going to post IM conversations that Stef and I have. Oh, look! Here's one now!
jess: so, jeffro says gtg is a vagina blog
jess: which got me thinking, if your vagina had a blog, what would you call it?
Stef: jeffro's a vagina boy
Stef: if my vagina had a blog i'd call it jeffro
Wow. Now wasn't that easy? I feel entertained. How bout you?
UPDATE: Jeffro now claims he was misquoted-- that vaginablog is actually one word, not two. I apologize.
You in my hut now
Many of you know that we are searching for a new housemate, and that our search is not exactly going well. If there's anything harder than dating in San Francisco, it's finding someone with whom you'd be willing to share the one little patch of place that you can call your own. I've come up with a few rules specific to this particular SF minefield. The following need not apply (All of these are taken straight from Craigslist, BTW. Cause once again, I couldn't make this shit up if I tried):
1- You call yourself a single 'womyn' (Wash the sand out of your vagina and spell the word right. Then we'll talk)
2- Your posting in housing wanted is titled "it will werk out it always donse." Actually, I was tempted to call this guy just to find out if he could really be that dense. And it wasn't just the heading that was spelled horribly- the whole thing was practically illegible.
3- You list your interests as "420" and "you know, hangin out". Get a job, hippy.
Sigh.
Last time I had to do this I lucked out. I love my current housemate, and I'm not just saying that because I know she reads this blog (holla back J!). She loves drinking red wine and watching bad reality TV (don't judge). She has a bad ass boy cat that is now Sadie "the stink that don't blink" Mae's BFF. And she tells me that my bacon and beer tummy is "cute." What's not to love?
So what
are we looking for? Well, our ideal roommate would probably possess at least some of the following characteristics:
1- a pastry chef/ brew master who is not really around much because he/she is staying over at his/her boyfriend/girlfriend/lover/life partner's house, but who stops by occasionally to bake cakes and pies/ brew us up some award winning lager.
2- Doesn't mind
sharing a toilet with a cat or two cause we are so totally doing that. Can we get a courtesy flush?
3- secretly likes being woken up occasionally at 3 am to the sound of pounding house beats
4- Is a
ninja. You know, cause they're quiet. You hardly ever know they're around.
I felt a little better, though, when I saw some of the stories currently in the news. It could be worse. Way worse. Like having a roommate who
declares Jihad on you for contaminating his yogurt. JIHAAAAAAD!!!
Tales from the 'loin
We have an expression where I come from: “crazy as a shithouse rat.” I must admit, though, that I never really understood what that expression meant until I spent a year working in the heart of San Francisco’s Tenderloin district. In case you have never been to the 'loin, let me break it down for you- it’s the kind of place where civic pride meets urban decay. City Hall and the opera house overlook soup kitchens and hotels that rent rooms by the minute. During the day smartly dressed government employees rub elbows with the crème de la crème of San Francisco’s down and out, and you can get a $15 plate of pasta for lunch while watching a man smear himself with his own feces. Gotta love this city.
Now, let me just say I’m a pretty big fan of cultural clashes like this one. I think it brings some sort of balance and natural order to a place. And I even got to know some of the residents-without-residence in the neighborhood. They would call me “Red,” and I would call them “If you don’t stop that I’m going to call the police.” It was friendly. Good times.
And it was never boring. You just never knew what to expect on your way to work. Case in point, I once had a man that looked kind of like Jesus on a really bad hair day tell me that I was an angel sent from heaven. Naturally, I started to feel pretty good about myself. Put a little extra pep in my step, namsayin? Of course, then he followed it up by screaming, “AND YOU’RE SPREADING CANCER WITH YOUR VAGINA!!!!” Hey, just because it’s true doesn’t make it ok to scream it at someone in the street, alright?
All these pleasant memories came flooding back when my good friend Colin sent me this link entitled “
Ten minutes in San Francisco.” This little slice-of-life features a man who is either crazy as the aforementioned shithouse rat, or just exemplifying the fact that it’s always best to dress in layers in SF cause you never know when the sun will break through the fog and a cold, crappy day will turn as warm and sunny as a tropical island. It’s enough to make you wanna piss on a cop. Unfortch, some of the photos are NSFW, but they are thumbnails, and you can pretty much tell where it's going before you get there. Thanks, C!
This movie won't suck
It's been a while since I was this excited about a movie. Nice to know I'm not alone.
"This is a film to watch and get drunk and get stupid happy fucked by." I'm not real sure what that means, but I think it's good.
Harry's review at AICNThis guy really liked it, too. He gave it 10 pandas screwing.
This is shaping up to be one hell of a date movie.
Rotten Tomatoes rating:
100% Update: rating down to 90%- but only because of a critic who has sand in his vagina over the movie's "misanthropic nihilism," so we can pretty much disregard his opinion. I think he might prefer this
film.
