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Are you going to that PRSA thing???

*seethes*

Yes, I am - you should be, too!

I wish. Boss lady said she needs me here to take care of a fixed price DHS gig with a hard deadline (client's grant will run out and no one gets paid if I don't stem the apple on time). But the liklihood of me ending up in NYC before the turn of the year isn't bad. This place is a lot better about sending moofs around than the old shop.

I do expect proper ass-shouties, you know.

The sofa awaits, milady.

Mad-libs time:

ass-shouties lead to ___________.

Um, hell yes.

Not to disparage Dana's sofa, but I can offer you a real bed should you wish. (That way you don't even have to wake up in order to participate in the ass-shouties.)

ass-shouties lead to ... dancing?

Watch out, Vidiot's a spooner.

Anybody else? I'll go to the highest bidder!

Forza Azzurri! While I believe the SO chatted with her briefly, I can only imagine how much fun romakimmy had tonight. So. Fucking. Jealous.

It was insane. I got home at 5.30 am, managed to sleep for 4 hours and have been napping on and off since.

And now we're heading out to the player's welcome home at the circo massimo, depsite being dead tired.

It's not often an entire country comes to a screeching halt to party in the streets. :D baci a tutti

Watch out, Vidiot's a spooner.

Spat's thoonerism!

Appropos of nothing: how frickin cute is this?

Please keep me informed of your plans. Saturday night get-together? I don't think I can make it, but I'm going to see what I can do.

Also: for the cat people among us

That dog is 100% frickin cute.

And jpoulos, I'd be the Most Happy Woman in Puppetland, honest I would.

Witchstone! Call for Ms. Witchstone! Where are you?

It looks like I'll be in NYC Saturday night. I'm entertaining offers from monkeys with available sofas.

Let's just stay up all night and paint the town red!

NOOOOOOOOOO! I can't believe it! I'm going to Chicago this weekend!

Curses, foiled again. The one time I decide to go to the midwest, you come here.

You're all bastard people. You're going to have fun without me.

You could cancel Chicago.

Notice that I said "could" and not "should," but it could go either way.

NYC:Chicago :: Richard Pryor:Carson Daly

NYC with tiz & j-po:Chicago :: Richard Pryor:A highly drug-resistant strain of malaria

I'm going to cry now.

Here, witchy, cheer yourself up.

jpo was always better at logic problems than the rest of us.

Witchstone: Why the hell would you leave NYC for the only city more miserable in the summertime than here?

Because I didn't know that! Also, I'm visiting one of my best friends.

Why the hell would you leave NYC for the only city more miserable in the summertime than here?

...the fuck? (says the guy what works outside)

Yabbut, in 1995 there were over 500 heat-related deaths!

And look what happened to Chico. There has to be a connection.

...and much like the monkeys, we know we've made the big time when the academics study us.

The Big Fucking Lebowski

NSFW

Brilliant.

(Reminds me of Seven Minutes In Deadwood.)

Tizzie, I'm coming back to NYC via JFK on Monday. Maybe we'll see each other at the airport.

Poop, we can't even get that right. I leave from LGA at about 9P.

I'm sad that I'm gonna miss ya, kid.

OK, I really want to go to that symposium, probably more than I want to go to the fest itself. Roadtrip anyone?

Actually, witchy, my sister is leaving Chicago via O'Hare on Saturday. Maybe you'll see *her*.

She'll be the one who looks nothing like me.

The tiizzie & the J-Po have landed I REPEAT THE TIZZIE & J-PO HAVE LANDED

Festivities = commencing. Embarrassing photos of hijinks to follow.

*seethes with jealousy*

Wow. Just now, I either got "drunk-dialed" or I just had the absolute WORST phone sex ever.

It sounded like they were calling from jail, so I just hung up.

Looks like I got two calls! And I didn't get either VM until this morning. It hasn't made the news or anything, but we've had some rain and whatnot here in the Lou. Tornado came about 60 feet from my house, power was out all afternoon Friday, DSL spotty Saturday and out completely since yesterday morning, trees and lines still down all over the place. I live in a valley that gets tricky cell service at the best of times, and a couple of cell towers came down Friday, so it's been sketchy.

Did we have fun in the big city??

Nobody ever comes to Utah.

In Utah, however, is another story.

My Trip To The Big City, Chapter 1
by: Tizzie

It was a dark and stormy night when I arrived in Astoria on Saturday afternoon. I was greeted warmly by three handsome men who hugged and kissed me on the street. Then I found Chico and Vidiot at the Dunkin Donuts, and we walked to their building with Scott, a person they encountered through another internet web community, not our own.

We began drinking almost immediately while we waited for Dana and JPo to arrive and begin drinking almost immediately.

I had brought along a tape of my television debut, "Build A Home in 5 Days" by Leni Riefenstahl. The audience thinned out during the talking parts, but the ones who stayed were rewarded with the money shot: Tizzie drives the gator. I confiscated the disc before it could be downloaded to a YouTube video.

We tried to moderate our alcohol intake by eating Greek food at a neighborhood cafe. The beer was delicious. Afterwards, we adjourned to cocktails at a posh establishment where we ran up an outrageous bar tab, and Dana's husband arrived with bail money just in time.

I was wearing shoes.

Where to next? Dark bars with dark beers, cellar bars with bad cell phone connections, papaya bars with hot dogs. Several taxicabs were foolish enough to take us back to Astoria, where we had an orgy on Vidiot's trundle bed.

Oh, sorry, I wasn't supposed to tell that part.

The next morning, Vidiot, JPo and I watched MST3K in our jammies and chewed on Advil gelcaps. Many floors below us, Chico and Scott were watching the Tour de France. It seemed grainy and out of focus. That may have been my eyes.

Luckily, when we arrived at Dana's, she had alcohol waiting, and food that wasn't hot-dog shaped. I was grateful. Her cat clawed my ankles as cheese grits nourished my soul.

Then JPo left, and we were very sad. To make ourselves feel better, we went to the bra store. That adventure has been well-documented here.

to be continued....

So, this is going to be, like, completely ass-shoutie free, isn't it?

*sulks*

If you had answered your phone, you'd have had ass galore. Tornado, heh.

I answered my phone. And I got no ass.

Pictures, motherfuckers, pictures.

My Trip To The Big City, Chapter 2
by: Tizzie

Dana and I emerged victorious from the Town Shop, with a shopping bag full of gear for our racks. Vidiot and Scott were waiting with nothing but hope that we would show them our purchases. Instead, we asked them to take us to Christopher Street.

Clearly, these two men had drawn the short straws.

On the way to the gay park, we stopped at Zabar’s fancy delicatessen, which was nothing like the corner market/bait shops in my neighborhood. No jars of pickled eggs or pigs feet, no Little Debbie snack cakes. An olive bar instead of olive loaf. The air smelled delicious, and there weren’t any handmade notices at the cash register listing people who’d recently passed bad checks. Classy.

We sat on the grass at the park, watching people walk their carefully selected accessory dogs in spiked collars and carefully bred children in expensive strollers. Dana squirmed repeatedly as bugs crawled up her skirt. Then Scott broke into an extemporaneous freestyle Alan-Ginsburg-Howl-esque rant that ended in “ants in your vagina,” and there could be no topping that.

Angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night, we went to Balducci’s for a soda, and then to the train, and then to the beer garden. I met more people of Astoria, and learned their ways.

It was sad to go to bed without JPo. Despite my offers of cold hard cash, no one else took his place. So I slept until it was time to go to PR class, the ostensible purpose for my trip in the first place. See, it wasn’t actually about the liquor, or the underwires, or the licentious behavior. It was serious. So my serious Sherpa guide, Samuel Sherpa, guided me to the financial district where I joined the other masters and mistresses of the universe in fomenting capitalism. Not really. Actually, my company had forgotten to send in my registration so I almost didn’t get to take the damn class after all, but I pleaded and they had pity on me.

Then I took two trains, sans sherpa, to Rockefeller Center where my well-to-do cousin bought me a cocktail and paid for a taxi to take me back to La Guardia. My husband greeted me in CVG at midnight. When we drove over the crest of the cut in the hill, Cincinnati looked small and insignificant in the distance.

The cabdriver who took me to the airport is from Madagascar, and to keep improving his English language skills, he listens to talk radio in his cab ... Air America. Excellent.

Ah, CVG. That brings back memories, none of them good.

DAMN YOU, TIZZIE. DAMN YOU TO HELL!

Crash, did Marie bring you flowers for your special day today?

Pfft, no. I still have yet to see her.

But I keep waiting with bated breath.

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