You know your boyfriend is a hero when he takes you out to dinner and, despite pieces of food or drool occasionally just randomly falling out of your mouth onto the table and your clothes, still looks at you as if you are the most beautiful girl in all the free-chewing world.
And then picks up the check as if you did him a favor.
A hero I say!
Also found out I can scarf these down, no problem. Bib a must.
photo courtesy of Flickr and barisioneSo you guys don’t get a lot of pictures of Boyfie, I’ll admit that straight up, Paula Abdul-style (shoulderpads included). But finally I managed to capture some paparazzle-dazzle snaps of him.
NJOI.
Boyfie as an Alien Encounter
Alleged Boyfie capture LAST NIGHT. I’m pretty sure this is him. Pulling a Joaquin, no less!
Alleged Boyfie captured as he was leaving a restaurant (i.e., the kitchen)! WWPS: What would Perez scribble?
Boyfie is not sure what his next move is: Ex-cape or exoneration?
There’s a He Wolf in my closet…teaching me some new dance moves. We ended in a dance-off as per the usual.This weekend was pretty crunked out, and no, I do not use that term loosey-goosely. It was extremely cranked up, pumped to the max, as far as weekends go, whoa whoa.
First, Halloween occurred but I had to double-time it with the dress rehearsal for the Saturday Bolly dance-stravaganza. However, costumes still happened, natch.
I was the Internet phenomenon, Spaghetti Cat! Well, technically, I was the cat and boyfie was the spaghetti (I cooked real noodles!). Low-maintenance is our mantra. Photo shoot ensued.
Original Spaghetti Cat:
First take, Spaghetti Cat:
Second take, Spaghetti Cat:
Third take, Spaghetti Cat Contemplates Noodles/Life:
Paparazzi Shot #1, Spaghetti Bat(?):
Paparazzi Shot #2, Spaghetti Cat—Up Claws and Purrrr-sonal:
Paparazzi Shot #3, Boyfie Bewitches While Maintaining Privacy:
Paparazzi Shot #4, Boyfie Is Mysterious Stranger:
Then, all of Saturday, dance show happened! It was insane, off the chain, in the membrane! Thank you so much to everyone who came out to see it! I currently only have one photo documenting a final dazzle pose, but use your imagination and/or patience to fill in the rest.
Then I detoxed on Sunday by watching The Omen, a scary movie, in which, well, for lack of a better way to put it, shit goes down. I am unclear exactly how much watching this movie actually realigned my chakras, if at all.
In retrospect, I am pretty mad that Julia Stiles got on the tippy-top of a stool to hydrate roses when she was clearly going to fall several feet after her demon child ran into her with his Razor-esque kick scooter (totally not meant for indoor purposes, btdubs, even if you are the Antichrist). She did go to Columbia after all! She’s no dummy.
If you have a nanny, especially a creepy Mia Farrow nanny, you can also afford a no-nonsense maid, a la Mr. Belvedere or Geoffrey from Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. He can water those pesky flowers and prevent inconvenient hospital bills! Yeah, I’m sorry too that I’m trying to transpose logic over a movie about the son of a jackal and his reign of kinder-terror.
In conclusion, yesterday, while perusing a book vending institution, I found the following: Sock Monkey in a Box!!! You’re welcome. 
I was at a restaurant with the sig otro the other night, and the following happened.
We got our check, and the our super-nice and thoughtful waitress had written, “Thank you!” on it in a cheerful, helpful script, and we were both like “Awwwww” but not in an annoying couply way (OBVI).
So then when I was signing my check (we split the bill like 21st century feminist astronauts), I wrote “Thank you!” on it.
And then boyfie was all, “Don’t write that! It looks sarcastic!” Then I thought about underlining the “you” but that would have looked even more sarcastic.
So I had gotten myself in a real muddle, because he was right. I tried to one-up her sincere niceness game and I ended up looking like a perfunctory pickle trying to masquerade as a cool, collected cucumber. She probably took one look and ripped it up…with her teeth!
I am the straw that broke the customer servant’s back!
Waitresses are people too! And how!
photo courtesy of Flickr and flattop341
***
In PWNED news, I had to IM the IT guy today to ask him an urgent question (hadn’t happened in awhile), and his new AIM icon was a large, glaring tribal mask.
It doesn’t take a symbology major to pick up on the subtlety there.
So naturally, the following conversation ensued:
Aparna: angry tiki mask
Aparna: really
IT Guy: That is its purpose.
IT Guy: It keeps away evil spirits.
IT Guy: Are you an evil spirit?
Aparna: how dare you
Anyway, things escalated and I ended up having to pay him an actual face-to-face visit for SUPER REAL help with a NOT IMAGINARY problem.
Sad story short, it ended up being a minor glitch that I could’ve fixed myself and IT Guy communicated this information to me very clearly using a language exclusively made up of snorts and eyerolls.
But then I looked at some of these (July 23 is perfection) to feel better about myself. And it worked. Of course.
This is me, actually.
photo courtesy of Flickr and rileyroxx
Help request? More like Self-Help request; am I right, Crazies?!
!!!
Other quick notes of (dis)interest:
I realize I’m ok with the stairwell at work smelling like urine. I know this because I didn’t even flinch today when I noticed that the stairwell at work smelled like urine! Even though it’s never smelled like that before!
Conclusion: I’m open-minded!
I have a bug-bite stigmata on my foot. It’s a Bermuda triangle of itching and yellow skin pus caps. It seeps regularly, and all the bites operate as one trained unit in terms of ambiguous excretions.
Conclusion: Too much information? Not enough calamine!
I learned this new corporate drone term—spitballing! And I can’t stop using it.
Conclusion: I’m not completely sold on it yet as breakout star of my new, as-yet-to-be-determined catchphrase but maybe toss some more popaway flys at me, and we’ll touch base soon, chief! (sports metaphors dropped with casual enthuzed-ness are the only thing worse! *fist pumps and pounds all around*)
So there was a summer storm yesterday—the first of many I’m sure. In fact, I’m pretty confident about that statement (global warming asks: Is that a challenge?). Anyway, it led to a power outage, and a pretty massive one at that.
I was driving to a comedy show slightly after the worst of the weather, and all I saw along the way were candles in windows. It felt very old timey, especially the trees strewn every which way in the road. That’s a straight 1700s callback, yo! I felt like Paul Revere driving through the town trying to warn the colonials about their impending modernization (I believe in creative liberty and justice for all!).
The point is, my daddums left me a message on my voicemail (that I listened to on the way back from the show) that went a little like this:
Hey dude, the power is still out so get something to eat before you come home. There is a flashlight that you can use when you get home but call me first because you’re not going to be able to find it because it’s dark here. In fact, you’re probably not going to be able to do much of anything.
(I would like to imagine he left this message by candlelight while stitching his own version of the U.S. flag.)
How romantic!
photo courtesy of Flickr and Peter Becker
The significant otro and I got coffee this morning. That’s right; the boyfie is debuting on the internetwork. You will learn more about him as life continues, as it is wont to do. Anyway, he requested the coffee to be super sweet. And guess what? The coffee was super sweet. We got customer served. In fact, I’ve been semi-irresponsibly nursing it since this morningtide. It’s so sweet that it’s hard to even talk about it without rubbing my tongue over my teeth to make sure they’re not decaying faster than the half-life of uranium isotopes (giggle, snort). I might add water, which is a first for my coffee-related endeavors.
In sad news, I made one of the worst lunches ever today. Probably in my top five worst lunch choices of my life (and that includes string cheese salad). I will spare the details. But hot tomato soup and cold tofu? No.
Unhand me, vile flavors!
photo courtesy of Flickr and Photo Mojo
