There's always at least one white woman who looks exactly like a stack of sacks of potatoes, one thick bag protuding in the back (her butt) one thin bag protruding in the front (her tits) and lumps everywhere else, especially on her inevitably sunburned face.
oday I cashed a number of checks and had over 500 dollars in my wallet. This was necessary to fund a few little purchases and bill payments. Firstly there was a $130 dental bill (some of which had been covered by dental insurance). Then there was a modem that I wanted to buy. Sadly, though, Walmart was sold out of modems. I thought I should maybe get a hard drive instead. But, not surprisingly, I ran into another snag. Walmart doesn't appear to stock any drives that need to be installed internally. This no doubt says something about the general capability that they have come to expect from their customers. I wasn't insulted of course. I'm not their usual customer. Their usual customers, however, were all around me. There's always at least one white woman who looks exactly like a stack of sacks of potatoes, one thick bag protuding in the back (her butt) one thin bag protruding in the front (her tits) and lumps everywhere else, especially on her inevitably sunburned face. "Junior!" she'd holler at her little crew-cut boy as he tossed a nurf football into the flowery pastel chinaware section. Meanwhile her little daughter would be screaming relentlessly about the pink plastic toy mamma couldn't afford. I wonder what they'd do if confronted with the task of installing an IDE hard drive in a PC.
Walmart was selling parallel interface Iomega ZIP drives, however. The price was only $150. I decided on the spur of the moment to buy one of these. The capacity is 100 megabytes per disk and a box of three disks is only $50.
I also did a little shopping at Barracks Road. In so doing I created for myself a small stash of vodka. It's nice to have a little lying around for making those vodka/tea concoctions of which I am so fond.
n installing the ZIP drive, I can see right now that I'm going to be needing a bigger hard drive very soon. The current drive is a 40 Megabyte IDE drive.
The bathroom is leaking into the kitchen. We figure we'll call the landlord once we clean up the house a little. It's a complete disaster of course.
atthew Hart had intentions of picking up a friend named Jody from Waynesboro. I came along for the ride, but four miles down I-64, he realized he'd forgotten his wallet, so we turned back. Then Jody called while we were at the house and said she couldn't come today, so the mission was scrapped. A plan to drink fruity girl drinks lived on, however.
We bought a litre of rum at the Main Street ABC store while we wondered how to obtain a blender. One possibility was to drive up Carter's Mountain and borrow one from Zach, who is known to have one. But we knew we'd have to give Zach an awful lot of drinks to show our appreciation, owing to the fact that he can drink as much as both of us combined, at least when both of us have to work in the next 12 hours. Then I remembered that Nathan VanHooser's mother gave Nathan a blender when he graduated from High School.
The gift had been cause for humour amongst my social group back in 1986 since it's doubtful that the somewhat puritanical lady intended it for the vast majority of tasks to which it has been subsequently applied.
The gift had been cause for humour amongst my social group back in 1986 since it's doubtful that the somewhat puritanical lady intended it for the vast majority of tasks to which it has been subsequently applied. Since Nathan still has failed to visit me at my house (at least while I've been awake), and since he has a blender, I called and invited him over. He set out on his bicycle of course. He's an idealist and does not believe in the unnecessary use of fossil fuels.
Meanwhile, we at Kappa Mutha Fucka sat and drank beers delivered by an unlikely visitor, Diana the Redhead. She'd said she was going to be in New York all summer, but here she is still in Charlottesville. Not that I'm complaining, she's one of the more entertaining people who frequent my home. Indeed, I had very little to complain about; Theresa had come for the expressed purposed of fixing the broken screen door window, and it was only fitting that she help us with the fruity girl drinks whenever the Hell Nathan finally came rolling up on his bicycle.
Say what you will about all that nice alternative music I listen to, none of it does that certain something that good old AC/DC seems to do almost as if by accident.
Deya showed up from shopping and she'd bought me AC/DC's Back in Black on vinyl for a quarter. We slapped that sucker on the turntable right away and cranked it up good and loud. Say what you will about all that nice alternative music I listen to, none of it does that certain something that good old AC/DC seems to do almost as if by accident. (I'm embarrassed to admit this, but I found myself thinking the same thing about Foreigner later at work when I overheard it blaring from the Greenskeeper.) Nathan and I discussed how the others at the house (who are, on average, ten years younger) cannot possibly relate to 80s music like we do. We grew up on that stuff. To them, it's just history. It's either got kitsch appeal, or it's trendy in a retro way. Diana's interest in the 80s seems to fall somewhere in between. When I was their age, of course, my musical interests were firmly stuck in the early 70s.
e were forced out on a mission to find more girly-drink mix after the piña colada mixer ran out. We rode in the car Diana had arrived in, a largely restored 57 Chevy belonging to one of her fabulously wealthy girlfriends who is now touring Africa. There was something a little wrong with the car though, because noxious smells and smoke kept emerging from under the hood. Adding oil and water did little to help the situation.
Matthew didn't want to, but we went to visit Meghan Huddleston, who now lives near Barracks Road.
Recently she went on a mad piercing binge and now her face has broken out in a full-blown acne of metal.
Meghan is another redhead and sort of ...extreme. She once bought $100 worth of lobsters and released them into the sea. Another time she filled Matthew's car's ventilation system with glitter which emerged like an explosion of fairy dust when he started the car. And when Meghan drives, she makes a point of running all the red lights. Recently she went on a mad piercing binge and now her face has broken out in a full-blown acne of metal. The same is true in the places you can't see, so I've been told. But Allie was nothing but friendly to me. She told me that a little boy who was playing on a rope swing nearby spoke broken English as his first language. I found that enormously amusing for some reason.
Leah dismisses all of Meghan's extremism as the spoiled antics of a rich girl.
Meghan was not very kind to me for some reason, perhaps this was out of sympathy for Allie, whom Meghan was with as we arrived.
Matthew, by the way, used to do "stuff" or something with Meghan, but now he always refers to her as a dumbass. I don't know what his problem with her is.
Back at Kappa Mutha Fucka, the drinks continued until another run for rum was necessary. At about 10pm I started my pre-work nap.