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The underpass stain will soon be eclipsed by the news of another miracle, found further south, deep in the heart of both Catholic country and Texas. Greg has informed me that he's working on an underpants stain that will put that salt smear to shame. I'm not sure just who will be represented in the underpants, but I know it will be big. The Last Supper? Well, the most recent supper, anyway. The Virgen de Guadaloupe embracing mayoral candidate Julian Castro? Or is it the Virgen and Julian's twin brother? The last time Greg made a miraculous stain in his underpants, it turned out to be just one of those sad clown pictures, so I washed it.
When I look at the crack and the cement surrounded by rust, I just see vagina. Is it just me? Am I already in hell?
FitnessQuest2005 starts on Monday. We're both sick of being jiggly in the wrong places.
We lunched today with Greg's friend Randy who made me crap myself with laughter (miracle?) twice. He's afraid that he's going to have to move to a new city because he's had "intimate relations" with so many women, the circles are starting to overlap. He's been meeting women who remember him from when he was dating a friend/roommate/neighbor. He's been working on two women lately (always has a fallback plan, very organized is Randy), both named Beth. He's e-mailed both, spoken on the phone to both, met both. So he calls one of them up and arranges to meet her at (where else?) Starbucks. She doesn't show, so after a half hour, he calls her home phone. No answer. Calls her cell phone. She answers, he chats (without being angry about the stand-up) and asks her what she's doing, where she is, etc. Turns out he's called the wrong Beth. OK, but he tells it better. It really was funny.
Then one thread of conversation leads to another, and I start thinking about WorkSlut. EduMart has a big Halloween blowout every year: costume contest, punkin carving, etc. Because we worship the devil, you know. So 2 Halloweens ago, HR used some of our hard-earned money to hire a piano player to bring his electric piano and accompany the costume contest. He comes dressed like Gilligan, because, you know, it's a costume contest. I went outside to watch the festivities (I think they must have been giving food away, too, which sounds like a more likely reason for me to be there) with WorkSlut and Tina and Greg. WorkSlut looks at the piano player, they make eye contact, and trade an embarrassed little smile and half-wave. Greg saw this, and at some point said to her, "You fucked the piano player, didn't you?" The answer was, of course, "yes." She also claims that she met John Schneider at a bagel place and he talked her into going to grad school. I think that's code for "she did Bo Duke, too."
File under: San Antonio is a world-class city
This happened here. It pretty much speaks for itself.
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