The Friday Five:
The "Last" Edition

A few seconds ago. I love to laugh, much like Dr.
Hibbert, but not as goofy...except when I snort laugh, which is pretty
goofy. I hate snort laughing, but then it makes me laugh and snort more.

2. Who was the last person you had an argument with?

Um.....I can't remember. Probably The Roommate and probably over something
lame.

3. Who was the last person you emailed?

My co-worker Buttercup.

4. When was the last time you bathed?

It's been a few months since my last bath. Don't go "Eeeewwww!"
I prefer showers.

5. What was the last thing you ate?

A big, fat salad. Believe it or not, but I have finally come to terms with
my
disgust of salad. I don't really know why or what caused this
change. Frankly, I think it is better not to question it.

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Last night I was watching the evening news. There was a story about the copycat
sniper in West Virginia. The newscaster reported what has happened and
who's investigating, all while shots of the various gas stations where each
shooting took place. They were all closed with yellow police tape.

"Oh my god," I said astonished.

"I know," The Roommate replied shaking her head in a mixture of
sadness and empathy. "Those poor people."

"They are only paying $1.57 for gas!"

For those of you who may have missed the morning news, Phoenix
is going through a gas crunch. It's causing long lines, lost business
and price gouging. Every newscast features dutiful reports live from the
scene of either a deserted gas station blocked off with yellow tape (much like
those in West Virginia) or from a half mile long line of cars waiting for there
turn at the one station that actually is open. Scrolling banners at the
bottom of the newscast reports the addresses of stations that have gas.
Phone lines have been dedicated to report price gouging. Some have seen
prices as high as five dollars a gallon.

The Governor is having meetings, urging citizens to not "horde" gas by
topping off. (Okay Janet, we will all just fill up to half a tank so we
can repeat this 50 minute wait in the hot desert August sun again in a few
days. Thanks for the tip!)

I can't help but think that big ass SUVs play a part in this mess.
"Sure my vehicle has a forty gallon tank but it only last me a couple trips
back and forth to work, but I need it to haul my kid's soccer equipment."

Personally I think SUVs are an eye sore and most of my feelings are summed up in
an
excellent article by Amy Alkon in the Phoenix New Times.

Meanwhile, I will be carefully planning my next trip to the pump, which won't be
for a while because I lucked out by passing an open station with no line on
Sunday on my way to the grocery store.

I wonder if the line is shorter at 3 AM.

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What I should have said, I say what I should have said to The Roommate on Saturday night was "let's be huge losers tonight and stay home, watch Big Brother 4 and do laundry."

Instead what I said was "let's go have a couple cocktails." That folks is when the Hindenburg launched for it's impending disasterous voyage. Riding the buzz of the two cocktails we only intended to have, we were soon ordering another, and another, and another, and...well, you get the point.

The following is a list of events that may or may not have happened. The details are a bit fuzzy and I am relying on intel from cell phone call recipients. (Cell phones and grande margaritas are a dangerous combo.)

Apparently, after a full on drunken stupor has begun, I tip very generously for mere, tepid tap water, much more so than the many drinks ordered before hand and we were tipping pretty well for them.

In the ladies room, a young miss leaves the stall as I am splashing cold water on my face. She asks if she is in the wrong restroom. I say, "No, I am."

NOTE: I think all gay bars should have a pamphlet they give to women on their first visit detailing restroom guidelines. It could say something like "Girrrl, this establishment has two restrooms. One is Men's and the other is Unisex. So, don't be surprised who you see in there. O-kay?"

While waiting for a friend to pick us up (because we were in no shape to walk or even think about walking, let alone drive), I called another friend to detail not only the number of times I threw up but also the locations. Then, evidently I said, "I have to go so I can throw up again, but I wanted to say I loooooovveee you...I love you even more than Cheetos and I reaaaallllllly like Cheetos."

In the backseat of my friend's car, The Roommate and I serenaded her with a medley of Missy Elliott's "Get Ur Freak On", various Prince songs and possibly an ABBA tune.

Pieces are still being put together, however I think it is safe to say we will be watching CBS next weekend.

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There is this little girl who lives a few apartments down from us. She
is probably three years old. She is a cute as a button and very precocious and as
far as I can tell she hates my guts with the white hot intensity of a summer's
day in the Arizona desert.

She has an older brother. He is bilingual however she is not, therefore I call her Uni, as in uni-lingual.

You may ask why I think Uni hates me especially since she doesn't speak English
and my Spanish is limited to "alta la mano" which is the phrase my
college Spanish teacher yelled at me every day for not volunteering in
class. Well, every time I pass this little angel outside she usually stops
what she is doing cold in her tracks and scrunches up her little cherub face
until the perfect scowl is made and
starts saying things to me en el español. Her enunciations and facial
expressions tell me she's not saying she loves me or telling me about her Barbie
collection. She almost spits at me.

Like I said, I don't know what Uni is saying but I imagine it is something along
the lines of "You ugly gringo man. I think you are the wicked
devil and you'd better stay away from me you evil, evil bastard monster."

It's freaky like something in a Stephen King novel.

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