So long, Newman

I had several pages written about this great man, but then this little redheaded spoilsport jumps in an informs me that Paul Newman did not, in fact, bring chocolate eggs on easter. She claims that it is done by some sort of lagomorph. I dunno, I am reasonably sure that I was always told that it was Paul Newman who hid eggs, out of some sort of charitable effort. And gave out little chocolate statues of himself for us to idolize, for some reason. But I digress. Goodbye, Mr. Newman, and thanks for all the chocolate.

I am not being told that he did, in fact, make saladdressing. Well, thanks for that too, I guess. Now, drive your very fast car into the afterlife, and say hi to Richard Nixon for me. I am number 721 on his enemies list. But that is another story.

On a lighter note, this is my 100th post. Yay. And it only took me... ten months? I gotta update this thing more often.

A new occupant of my humble home.

So, I recently learned that Julia has been living here for a while, now. To be frank, I was under the impression that she lived in an apartment in The City and commuted. But, apparently, she has been secretly living here for the last couple of months. I throught that she just came early and stayed late, but no. She has been sleeping on my couch. So, I assigned her a proper room and we got her stuff, which had been stored at her parents, in. Or, someone else got her stuff in. I just said "That is your room. You live there, now. Get of my couch. Gotta watch Gummi Bears". It is lucky that my house has several bedrooms. Anyway, It takes a bit of getting used to. I haven't had a roommate since that time when Mark was in hiding from an angry husband. Not his own, mind*. The husband of his then girlfriend. Or, since they were not actual "friends", in the strictest sense of the word, his girl. Or, since she wasn't actually "his", the female with whom Mark was having a physical relationship with, without the specific permission of her husband. He lived in my old apartment for several months, mooching of my stuff and sleeping on my couch. And watching Tour de France all the time.

I seem to have lost my train of throught. But, welcome Julia.


*That reminds me of another story, that I really ought to tell you, sometime.

This is not my week

Wednesday - The fosset broke and we had to turn of the main water supply. Now I am without water for toilet and handwashing. And my hands are filthy. Or, they feel that way. I better not touch something gross until tomorrow, when the plumber gets here. Like, anything. So, I wrapped my hands in plastic bags, since I haven't got any rubber gloves at the moment. But I really need a bath. So, I have been scrubbing myself with moist towelettes. I haven't figured out what to do if I need to go to the bathroom. I just pray to God, or since I am not a religious man, I just hope a lot, which is probably just as effective as praying, that it won't come to that. Julia, the snarky little thing, has been over at Ashleys all day "because of the superior restroom facilities". See if I give her the key to the toilet the next time she asks to borrow it.

My week is getting slightly worse by the day

Monday - The powersupply to my external harddisk breaks down and I need to send it back to get a new one from the place I got it from. That could take weeks.
Thursday - I learn that the guy who wrote Artemis Fowl is going to write a new book in the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy series.
Wednesday - I predict that a comet will hit my house, knocking off my bathroom wall.

From my notebook 2

The bible says to not worship Idols. Any religion that says no to Billy is no religion for me.

Status symbols in my world

I have noticed, whenever I imagine living like the rich does, it involves a german butler and a bucket of cocain. In my mind, the german is named Schültz. I don't know why a bucket of cocain. I don't even do drugs, and I am reasonably sure that cocaine is not a status-symbol in most groups. Though it would be cool to offer it to guests. "Can I get you anything? Coffee, cola, cocain? I don't even know where you could buy a bucket of the stuff? Do they give discounts if you buy in bulk? Do I have to buy a few grams at a time? What if the cops find my cocain? I have no intention of selling it, or doing whatever you do in order to take cocain. Sniff it, smoke it, inject it, throw it up in the air and yell "SNOW", whatever. So can they charge me just for possesion? If they do, I will just jump on my tiny pony and ride of. Yes, if I was that rich, I would have a tiny, tiny pony, just for emergencys. Then ride it into a limo. Then ask schültz to drive the limo into my helicopter. Then get him to fly the helicopter into my private airplane and fly to Monaco. Then gamble my fortune, until all I had left was a bucket of cocain, which I could sell to movieactors for more gambling money. Not good actors. Just former SNL stars who think that they are oh-so-pretty that they could laugh over sketches and almost ruin the genius that is more cowbell.