two dolla

so my new friend justin!

I met a new neighbor just now (at 10:30 pm) when I went to take Riley out. To give you an idea of how many people I know that live in my building, I can tell you that I’ve posted about each and every one. See? Not many. The hippo family upstairs, the tribe next door, the guys that paint themselves colors, and I think that’s pretty much it, right?

I had Riley off the leash, so he can run in the snow and so we can work on commands. I heard another dog, so I put him back on the leash and then I hear someone yell "Tyson’s over here!" Luckily, I knew that the boxer upstairs and down the hall is named Tyson and it wasn’t the other boxer named Tyson that bites ears off. In any case, my extremely stoned neighbor, whose name is Justin, wanted our dogs to be friends. Fine, sure, I’ll humor you, dude.

Five minutes into our dogs being friends, Tyson started throwing a hump on top of Riley. Not like a normal humping dog either and I can’t explain it much further without getting graphic, and too many people in my family over the age of 50 read this, so you’re going to have to draw your own conclusions. Justin apologized for his dog being gay, and I silently laughed in my head, because he clearly has no clue about how gay his dog actually could be. Then, he asked me what water I gave Riley, only I had to have him repeat it four times, because it sounded like this: "Whaaaaat doyoiasalk water?" Apparently Justin’s water smells like chlorine.

I kept trying to break conversation, by doing things like announcing my intent to go inside or taking Riley off the leash and pretending the leash was broken so I should hurry in. Didn’t matter to Justin, though, because he had things to tell me:

1. He’s trying to find his dog’s "center".
2. He (Justin) is a massage therapist.
3. His dog Tyson "puts from the rough". (His choice of words.)
4. He wanted to talk about 2 Girls 1 Cup. (Sorry, find your own link.)
5. He explained something else to me that involved bodily fluids and a freezer. Seriously.
6. And then he told me everything comes around full circle.

There’s a reason I don’t talk to my neighbors.

no one can ever be like me

I feel like it should be 11pm Sunday night and I should be in my flannel pajama pants watching High School Musical 2. (Quiet.)

Man. In the past 48 hours, I’ve done more than I’ve done in the two months I’ve been unemployed. I can’t really believe it’s actually been two months.

Friday night, we convened for the second annual Awesome Christmas, which involves getting everyone gifts, with the catch being the gifts can’t cost more than $3/person. It’s awesome, hence the name Awesome Christmas. For instance, I got Matt a Brewtus-esque glass that had been engraved for someone named Dhi Patel, who was supposed to be a best man at someone’s wedding and Jenni was the lucky recipient of a foam do-it-yourself-style journal geared towards a 1st grade girl that loves princesses. I received such gems at a 2-pack of recorders, a slide whistle, and an airplane bottle of Hpnotiq. My friends, they’re fantastic.

Prior to unwrapping presents, six of us hit up Azia for dinner. We seemed like completely different people all the sitting in a nice restaurant and having (mostly) adult conversation, as opposed to sitting in a booth of a dive bar, ordering 2-for-1 shots, and (mostly) quietly making fun of everybody we don’t know. The food was spectacular, but then again, I’ve never had pad thai that didn’t make me want to marry it. The drinks were fantastic, but I’m sure it’s impossible to go wrong when you drink things called Hello Punch and La Femme Nikita.

Post gift exchange, we had drinks aplenty. So much aplenty, in fact, that Cindi and had some couch time until close to sunrise at Jenni’s apartment. There were shots taken out of a (unused and partially clean) syringe, shots out of tiny chocolate cups, the standard Hpnotiq and Grey Goose shots that make us say HOLLA, and so many more that I’ve forgotten. I know there was some Spin the Bottle action (I made out with the Diet Coke box twice and the recycling box once), a dance floor in the kitchen, and a couple of close calls on leaving for tattoos except all of the tattoo places we knew were closed.

Saturday was baking day for Cindi and I, but I didn’t even get to her apartment (mine was a no go, because Riley likes cookies a lot) until three. We tried one cookie press and didn’t have any luck with it, then went to get a second and it proved to be something we needed to practice, which required time we weren’t willing to spend. We mixed, smashed, baked, iced, and sprinkled cookies until right about 1:30 a.m. But, I have to agree with Cindi – if I’m going to be stuck baking cookies into the middle of the night, I’m glad it was with her.

This morning, I picked Cin up and we convened at her work, where we were a well-oiled machine in packaging the cookies together and divvying them out for delivery. TomTom and I made two deliveries in Minneapolis, which was instrumental in figuring out which neighborhoods I wanted crossed off of my Where To Live list. I went to the post office to mail two packages and 40 billion Christmas cards. Now I’m home playing Scrabble, when I really want to be napping. (When did I start enjoying Scrabble more than napping?)

The jury’s still out on when I’m heading home for Christmas. I was originally going to drive down tomorrow, but I still have one more cookie order to deliver. It has to go to my former employer. HI, NO THANKS. I’m waiting for my former Work BFF™ to call me back; I’m going to try to talk her into doing it for me. Plus, I still have to pack. Putting two weeks worth of t-shirts in a suitcase is hard work.