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6 months down...
I wanna be at home painting!!! Stupid work. We are actually making progress on the big checklist each night, but then it is 11:00 pm, and I�m tired, and I have to go to work in a few short hours so we have to clean up and stop. And now I�m sitting at work with paint under my fingernails thinking how I�d like to be taping off the newly sanded, primed and painted 100 year old boards so that I could paint the newly patched 100 year old walls and argghhhhh! Stupid work! Progress is addictive. I want more!
The racist sheetrockers have caused us a couple of headaches over the past couple of days. I�m not really sure how things are supposed to go, but Billy Bob seems to run things and Billy Joe seems to be the laborer. Only Billy Joe is a bit of a slacker, and Billy Bob works for the Union so he has troubles managing his employee while he�s on the job. Each morning at 6:45 am, Billy Bob calls us on his way to his latest Union sponsored gig to ask us to have Billy Joe call him as soon as Billy Joe arrives. Billy Joe is supposed to arrive at 7:00 am, but both mornings we have waited until 8:30 am to leave and Billy Joe still isn�t around so we have to hide a key for him. His habitual tardiness might explain why Billy Joe lacks the sweet Union gig that Billy Bob enjoys.
This morning, Billy Bob left a couple boxes of sheetrock on our porch for Billy Joe. We passed them on our way to work, and neither Ryan nor I have heard from either of the Billy�s since. We know Billy Joe showed up yesterday because he did some work. We aren�t quite sure that he got as much done as he could have in a day because there were still parts of the foyer that hadn�t been taped and mudded yet, but what do we know about how long it takes to sheetrock a space. Anyhow, if this pair of jokers isn�t finished by midday tomorrow as promised, they are going to be in a world of unpaid hurt. To further complicate matters, Billy Bob has two names. I shit you not. He has stumbled through introducing himself, and Billy Joe often stutter-steps as he references Billy Ray er Billy Bob. So we don�t really know what is up with that. I made Ryan raise his paint covered right hand last night and swear to Eli that he would never ever hire these guys to be in our house again. Adding to the weirdness was one of these sitting on my front porch:
After the initial bout of nostalgia past, I started to wonder about a grown man who carries about a Tootsie Roll Bank. There was evidence that the Tootsie Roll bank contained actual Tootsie Rolls as I notice a wrapper lying amongst the sheetrock debris. Anyhow, I don�t get it and after thinking about it way too long I started associating the Tootsie Roll bank with racists, and that just ain�t right. Anyhow, I have to head home to change prior to attending a work event for Ryan so maybe I�ll run into one of the Billys so we can sort out what�s going on. All I know is that I�d best have some smoove walls by 1:00 pm tomorrow so that I can paint them. Need to paint!
OH MY GOD! I totally forgot about this story until I just stared off for a second trying to figure out what to wear tonight. In my continuing attempt to be non-corporate by drinking Diet Mt. Dew and by eschewing anything that resembles a business suit, I ventured into a couple of the trendy shops in the Caesar�s Palace Forum Shops while I had a few minutes to spare last week. I was getting the stink eye from the fabulously gay man behind the counter at the DINKY store because I was horribly dressed and looked totally out of place in the store. Too insult him even further, after thumbing through racks of super cool clothes I knew I couldn�t afford, I headed back to the mark down racks. I picked up a couple of heavily discounted items, and soon he sashayed up to me and asked if I�d like a dressing room. I handed him the items and continued to browse while he set up my room. After a couple of minutes, I informed him I was ready to try on the clothes and headed to the dressing room. The first skirt I tried on was hideous, though it did fit quite nicely. Next I tried on a top and liked it, but wasn�t really sure what to do with the color of it. It was a forest green with a hint of teal that somehow reminded me of a pair of Paris Sports Club pants I owned in the 8th grade. Next, I pulled on a pair of navy pants and the �blossom� colored camisole pictured below.
The outfit looked pretty snazzy though the pants were about 14 inches too long. Fucking twiggy supermodel beeyotches. About that time, my fabulously gay friend knocked on the door to ask if I needed either sizes. Translation � I bet those size twos aren�t fitting over your rotund hips. I opened the door to ask about alterations for the pants, and could see the look of shock that registered on his face. In mere minutes I'd transformed from "Slob Tourist Waiting 2 hours to Eat at the SleezeCake Factory" to "Might Make it Past the Velvet Rope at the Ghost Bar on a Thursday Night." He informed me that they could handle alterations, but unless you put a rush on things, it could take a couple of days and �oh, those pants look good on you and that top really looks good with your breasts.�
Stop. Rewind. Did he just say that top looks good with my breasts?
Again � this time read with the thick-tongued Portuguese accent of a gay man working at the DINKY store in Las Vegas:
�Oh, those panths look goooood on you. And that top really lookth good with your breathsts!!!�
I bought that shirt. Classic!
In other news, Ryan and I have survived 6 months of marriage to each other as of today. I don�t have before and after pictures like Allison has in her journal, but thanks to Eugene, I do have a picture from our wedding day where I am forcing a smile for the Phucktographer and generally look a bit drugged...
I wonder if Ryan was determining whether or not that dress looked good with my breasts�
2:29 p.m. - May 06, 2005
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