let's make this happen, girl

So there's a bit of a tradition here in the sundae sanatorium that we like to refer to as 'pants-off / dance-off', which is to say that I like to spend a lot of pants-free time in my apartment, usually half cut on cheap red wine, dancing around in the semi-dark whilst my cat looks on with scorn.

I've got a pretty good list of songs that make the PO/DO cut, but the most recent is a remix of a Two Door Cinema Club track that I really heart, so I'll leave it with you:   Two Door Cinema Club - Something Good Can Work (RAC Mix) by RAC
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The artist is in vegas for work this weekend. And when I say 'work' I mean he spent Friday taking pictures of models and yesterday by the pool drinking. How do *I* catch that particular employment train, is what I want to know? Anyhoo, we seem to be spending a lot of weekends in different cities, lately, so at some point or another I started sending him semi-naked pictures of myself as punishment. When I was in TDot last weekend for the lil' brother's wedding, he sent me some back, though he's not as comfortable with the genre as me. Thank you, bloggity, for removing all sense of shame regarding internet nudity. Anyhoo, the first two pics he sent me this weekend were of the cheesy porn 'stache he grew for Vegas. I promptly photoshopped his head onto Inigo Montoya and Ron Jeremy and sent them back. I then began lobbying for pictures of him naked *and* vomitting (it's Vegas after all) but no love - just a kind of hot 1am mirror shot of him dressed and ready for bottle service at a strip club. Fingers crossed that lap dance shots are forthcoming.
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On a separate but not-unrelated note, a couple of days ago I get a text from someone in my phone named M, asking if I want to get together on the weekend for a drink. Now, for some reason, in my head I thought it was the M who's a friend of my friend the sushi chef. He gave me a ride from the airport the other day, which was super nice of him. Anyhoo, I was kind of freaking out a bit because I wasn't sure if it was just 'hanging out' or if he wanted to 'hang out', you know? And, well, there's the artist and I'm all buh-jiggity about him etc. Anyway I thought to myself, goshfukkit, self, just go have fun. So I agreed.

Anyway when my doorbell rang at 6.30 last night it wasn't that M at the door but an entirely different M that I went out with a few times before Christmas. Colour me surprised. And vaguely irritated with myself because I scheduled a dinner excursion for the middle of the hockey game. Anyway - awkward, totally confirmed my buh-jiggityness over the artist, Canucks lost, home by 9pm and got drunk on cheep red wine. Yay Saturday!

Also - just as a point of interest, I've *already* written more blog posts this year than I did in all of 2010 combined. Told you I was trying to get back on the train... Maybe one of these days I'll remember where I put my balls and start posting the good pics.

Days of Grace

So on Friday I was supposed to go to a work party thing at a club in the Gaslamp but when my work-bestie bailed the perils of navigating the San Diego equivalent of every irritating club district on the planet became too great and the smiley internet guy and I decided to stick a little closer to home.

Date three, y'all. Just sayin'.

Anyway, as longtime readers of the blog may know, I'm not the most graceful girl on the planet. I tend to drop things, bump into walls and/or doors, and fall down with a fair amount of regularity. Friday I had 2/3 of a bottle of pinot for dinner and was wearing 3 1/2" heels on some rough sidewalks. Hilarity ensued.

You know, if you define hilarity as watching me fall flat on my ass then be unable to get up because I was laughing so hard. Internet guy promptly laid down on top of me, told me it was too soon to be flat on my back, and hauled me to my feet. He is pretty sweet.

My hands are all scraped & bruised, though. So. Much. Class.

not so smrt

So my parents were visiting last week and they're big tea drinkers. Tea + my white porcelain sinks = unsightly discolouration. No problem, she thinks, as she digs out her soft scrub with bleach, her mr clean magic eraser and her barkeeper's friend abrasive cleanser.

Belatedly (you know, as the fumes began to rise from the sink) she checked the label on the barkeeper's friend & discovered that you are not supposed to mix it with other cleaners. Especially bleach.

If you haven't heard from me in a couple of days can you please send help? I'll most likely have been eaten by my cats.