And a very good holiday-weekend morning to you all.
Dudes, I’ve had my apartment for almost a year now! As you may know, I LOVE MY APARTMENT. It’s perfect in every way except for the hot/cold water balance that results in the occasional scalding, but I can deal. Sometimes, though, my responsible-voice pipes up, something about home ownership being the key to financial security, throwing my money away on rent, the American dream, and all that crap. Now, I owned a house before; it fell a little short of the American dream, but it was decent as far as an investment. If I could find the house-version of my apartment, I’d be so psyched. It should be marginally bigger, have a garage and a little yard for a garden. That’s all I want. But the main thing is that it should be just like my apartment, in that it is perfect for me, in the neighborhood I want to be in, within walking distance of Lake Calhoun, a few coffeeshops, and close to the places I hang out. So that would put this house somewhere in the 30s-40s, west of Lyndale Avenue. Is it likely I would find an apartment-sized house in that neighborhood for less than $300,000? Hardly. The responsible-voice even forces me to consider things like buying properties and renting them out, even though that entails greater responsibility. I don’t want to have to worry about whether my tenants are going to plug up their toilet while I’m on vacation. I don’t want to have to wonder if they’re putting large holes in the wall or attracting roaches or turning it into a garbage-house. If I own a place, I think I should probably live there. But then I’d have to leave my apartment. I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned that I don’t want to leave my apartment. OK, in researching this, I just found out that I could afford a $300,000 house. That can’t be right. Hmm. Yeah, that’s right. Whoa. No, I’ll stick with my apartment, thank you. Anyway! Yesterday I became somewhat tortured by the realization there was an upcoming three-day weekend. I was this || close to buying tickets to Montreal: $450 for air and 2 nights hotel, which is even cheaper than the usual plane ticket there. I told three different people to tell me not to go on a trip, because I have obligations. Sunday is the event at Bertine’s house involving sledgehammers: we’re knocking down the wall between her two condos. I really hope we find something even better than the 1949 Minneapolis Stars, which were incredible, but I also really hope that find is not a body. I’ll have my camera just in case. Also, Shepard Fairey is going to be at Robotlove signing copies of his book. I can’t wait. Last night was something, and I’m giggling about it. So, I decided I had to have a night at home, because I have a pile of envelopes and receipts on my desk (that Chiva keeps chewing on), and because I get a little freaked out by having huge timespans during which I do nothing at home but sleep. So I was cleaning, and found an Old Navy bag with some pants in it that I had bought the other day and forgotten about. I tried on a pair of jeans I’d been too impatient to visit the fitting room for, and had a jeans epiphany. For so long, I’ve been bitching about how jeans are always made to fit women with wide, babymaking hips, big butts, and stick-thin thighs. I don’t actually know a woman who’s proportioned that way, but that’s how it is. These jeans, however, are boy-cut. Me, i’m boy-shaped, at least from the waist down. I am never going to stop wearing these jeans, so I have to go buy several more pairs or I’m going to be stinky. Seriously, I can’t stop talking about these life-changing pants. No, I mean it. Ask me about my pants sometime. In the midst of the pants-excitement, I finally put together the new creamedpeas episode. Don’t go browsing this at work, or your coworkers are going to be concerned about you. But, my, aren’t they lovely? I also dyed my hair, because I finally tired of the fried blonde look, and I painted my finger-and-toenails because the manicure made them look awesome. They’re this superlight pink color I bought sort of as a joke, but it looks pretty good with the tan, whereas in the winter it would look like I have an iron deficiency. Jane asked, “What does that match?” because apparently you’re supposed to actually coordinate your nails or something? Personally, I think when you have hair the color of an emergency vehicle, the last thing you’re worried about is whether your nails match. AND THEN! Um, I guess maybe I found out the other day that the muchachos were planning on buying me a Playstation and Dance Dance Revolution for Christmas this year, since apparently I like that game a little. I’d have to buy a TV, but I’d do it for DDR. AND THEN!!! I did some research and found out they have a PC version, and the floor pads for PS2 come with a USB adaptor so you can use it on your computer. And at that very moment, it became the best day ever. My game and dance pad thingies are on their way to me right this very minute. The only foreseeable problem is if my downstairs neighbors complain. Which I guess means I’ll have to buy a house, huh? Whew! Catch you on the flip side.Jenni P.S. Some of you voted for this fool. Slap yourself! Hard! Now go give more money to the Red Cross. They’re good people and will do what the administration doesn’t care to bother with.