Hello you are getting old and stuff:
a friend announced a record release party for her boyfriend’s band, I scheduled the thing in my Microsoft Outlook at work and set a little bell to go off a day before so I wouldn’t forget about it.
Look, I don’t have a cell phone or a palm pilot, so please allow me this one little techno-yuppie thing, okay?
Normally, I scribble my “to do” list with a sharpie on the inside of my left index finger all Memento style, but that is never good for the long-term engagements what with showering and soap and all, so Outlook will just have to do sometimes, you know?
ann-frank’s index finger: the original palm pilot.
So, how are you doing? Everything good? Getting comfy in sweater weather? Me, too.
Today I was at a four way stop sign and apparently the lady in the big ass white mini-van thought for sure I had breached some sort of 4-way-stop etiquette because she entered the intersection and tried to turn left right in front of me.
Although I felt I was not at all in the wrong, I knew she was less than pleased. No, she didn’t flip me the bird or anything, I am thinking instead, she probably had kids in the car so had to forgo all the swearing and decided, in all of her PG-13 rage the proper recourse was to flip me the “L” = loser sign.
That’s right, through her windshield I could see her crumpled up and pissed off face as she extended her thumb and index finger in the shape of the “L”.
It has been a long time since I have laughed so hard.
So hard, in fact I hit the gas without putting the car in gear sending the engine revvvVVVing which caught the attention of the young fella raking the leaves on the side street who apparently thought I was trying to get his attention.
I am such a loser! I love it!
And you can bet I am copping her moves, ladies and gentlemen. Should you find yourself driving in the Chicagoland area and you see the pissed off lady driving flipping you the “L” that would be me.
The “L”! So simple, it is diabolical.
You know what I totally forgot to tell you? The FIREMAN is moving. That’s right, the man who has inspired so many classic enraged entries here at ann-frank.diaryland.com, moved his black leather man-couch and recliner and big screen teevee out the other day.
No longer will I be forced to listen to his shrieking girlfriend fake another orgasm, or the bad techno poontz! Poontz! Poontz! during the horrible middle of the week impromptu house-parities, or sniff the “dude me and my friends are just hitting the PS2” smell of The Pot seeping through my heating vents.
Never mind he was totally blocking the hallway and the stairs so I had to wait 15 minutes to get his shit out of the way making me late for work – the man is g-o-n-e.
No idea who is moving in, but ding-dong, where should we celebrate?
Know what? I realized today I have not dressed up for Halloween in ages. I mean, not since like, years ago when I donned my little faux Chanel pink suit and bouffant ‘do and pill box hat, then covered myself in blood and went as Post-Assassination-Jackie-O.
Honestly, I wanted very much to do the “Ab Fab” thing this year. But I since my best friend will not be ‘round these parts for Halloween I could not find anyone to be the Pasty to my Edina. And although Edina is a lot of fun, you need the Patsy to throw your jokes off to make such a costume work.
Because if you did not know, I am much more Edwina than I am Pastsy in case you were wondering. But could you even think of a better costume, ever? I mean running around with a cigarette asking “sweetie, darling, could you run and get me a drink darling, sweetie,” in a really bad English accent? Could there be a better costume for me?
Can I get away with another formula? Becuase I am going to anyway:
Wig+bad fashion+booze+cigarette=I was made to play this part.
It is such a crime not to have a Patsy!
Oh Halloween will suffer this year!