Party Party Party, Party All the Time I think my familiy is coming up from the pool, judging by the sounds on the stairs, but I just have something I want to say. Banks should have those machines that roll your change for you. Today I went to my bank to get some change changed into paper money for my daughter. It was about $6. Most of it was already rolled. Well, not only would the bank not roll it, but they wouldn't even let us do an exchange. I would have deposit the money, then make a withdrawal. Give me a fucking break. Wells Fargo, you can kiss my ass! Actually, I whined enough that they went ahead and let us directly exchange the rolled portion of the money. Gosh, thanks. Advice for the day: When you flush the toilet in a public restroom, please make sure that your excrement actually goes down the drain. Sometimes you have to hold down the handle for a bit. It is not too much to ask, since it will save others from looking at your pee or poo. Ooh. Only parents can laugh at poop stories about their and other's kids. I'll spare you our own gory but fucking funny stories. I went to a party on a rooftop right on Venice Beach last night. It was fun. I had three drinks. I met a guy Carlos who knew the year, make, and model of my car. This guy knows a good car! We have a 1989 (well, 1988, actually) Subaru wagon with 280,000 miles on it. It is no Los Angeles pretty car, but it is fucking tough. Don't make fun of my car. It takes a special kind of woman who can go out dressed to the nines, driving a car so old, and still look good. It's because I am the perfect balance of tough and feminine. I can canoe and clean up pretty good too. I'm not doing this entry the justice I feel it deserves, but duty calls. Death to ants! |