Blogger Spell Check Interlude

Just so you know, Blogger spell check thinks my imaginary tail should be attached to my Taliban rather than my tailbone. I have to say I disagree.

Dude, Where's My Tail?

Krissy woke me up the other morning for food and petting as she always does. I lay there petting her for a while, and then she decided it was time for breakfast and gracefully leapt off my bed and onto the floor. This got me thinking about an old episode of Star Trek: Next Generation in which Data writes a poem for his cat, Spot. Specifically this line:

"A tail is quite essential for your acrobatic talents; you would not be so agile if you lacked its counterbalance."

File this one under Amber's More Bizarre Thoughts if you must. But I suddenly became very concerned about the whereabouts of my tail. What happened to it? Where did it go? And when? I started listing the other mammals I could think of that had tails: monkeys of course, and cats, dogs, cows, giraffes, pigs, even whales. But I am a mammal and I have no tail. What gives?

The obvious answer, of course, is that humans don't need tails. Which is fair enough, but it doesn't explain the cows. What is a cows tail for? It doesn't help with balance or propel it through water or anything. All they do is use it to swat at flies. I mean, that's barely even useful. But I could use it for that too, if I had one. It would be nice to have something to smack at mosquitoes with when I have a beer in one hand and a beanbag in the other, no?

The bartender did not want to have this conversation with me (shocking, I know). "We never had tails," he announced. "We came from apes. Apes don't have tails."

"But they DID," I argued. "Once upon a time humans apes, monkeys - we were all they same. Now some of us have tails and some of us don't. It's totally unfair."

I want my tail back. I have a tailbone, what is the point of that if I'm not going to also have a corresponding tail? Seriously, I think we got gyped.

Walk This Way

VelociHeather: speaking of conclusion thus ends my work day
VelociHeather: i must change before I walk home
PGS DenMILF: ah yes, tis that time
VelociHeather: aye, 'tis
PGS DenMILF: we shall speak again
VelociHeather: yarr, we shall
VelociHeather: YARR!
PGS DenMILF: and i will see you in like 4 days
VelociHeather: dude, that's like totally amazing
VelociHeather: and junk
VelociHeather: whee!
VelociHeather: i'll skip home
PGS DenMILF: do it
VelociHeather: like a little girl with a pink dress on
VelociHeather: and flowers
PGS DenMILF: aw
PGS DenMILF: and saddle shoes
VelociHeather: yes
PGS DenMILF: and then you'll get blisters
VelociHeather: until i get hit by a car
VelociHeather: Whee! thwack!!
PGS DenMILF: walking is neat

Because I Can

...but I will tell you this: I love painting soooo much that I'm flying to Baltimore for the weekend to help Heather paint her new house. That's right, I booked a last minute flight to Baltimore because I've run out of things to paint in Chicago. But also, lest you think I'm crazy or something, I'm going to see Heather do an Improv show with her troupe. And also I thought it would be fun to book a last minute flight to anywhere because all of a sudden I can. I was right too, it was fun. And will be fun. Yay!

Amberance Is Very Popular

I am being a very, very bad blogger. I'm sorry. It's just that I am redonkulously busy with work things and also people who want to hang out with me because I am so awesomely cool and not broke. I have a list of about 8 posts to do, and I know I have to do them soon before I forget what the notes mean. So soon. But probably not right now because I'm leaving on a jet plane (you're supposed to sing that in your head the way I just did out loud) shortly and I have to do work until then. Boo.

Comcastic

Cable access at the Amberance residence (which still has no name. All I can come up with is The Sex Grotto II, but that only makes sense if people are actually having sex there.) is officially up and running.

I am a bit confused by the fact that Comcast insisted to me several times that in order to get my cable installed there needed to be an adult home who speaks English, and then they sent over three gentleman who spoke a collective 5 words of English between them. We communicated just fine, with them pointing at things and then looking at me pointedly and me answering with vigorous nodding. But I mean, if they wanted me to speak Spanish they should have told me that. It wouldn't have been a problem, all my neighbors speak Spanish, I could have just recruited one of them. All in all, I feel I had better communication with the Spanish speaking Comcast personnel that the English speaking ones.

Language barrier notwithstanding, I got my cable put in and spent my entire first day of cable access watching the World Cup on network television. Hey, it was not my fault that the U.S. played Italy on the day I got cable. Good job on the tie too, guys. Too bad the Italians had to score our only goal for us.

Now all I need to do is figure out how to set up my internet access and hook it up to the wireless router so I can not spend time on the internet just like I'm not watching the cable I just paid for.

Things Are Looking Up

Tomorrow morning between the ungodly Saturday hours of 8 and 10 a.m. I will be the proud recipient of cable television and internet access at home. The awesome Fishy bought me a wireless router and everything.

He also bought me an iTrip for my Nano, which is awesome and I am obsessed with. I drive around in circles sometimes just for the novelty of hearing Fred on the radio in my car.

I am also anxiously awaiting the arrival of my first issue and DVD gift from my new Playboy subscription. Dude, whatever, I like the articles.

And now I have another girl to hang out with (in case you haven't noticed, I don't know very many who live here). You've already heard of her, she's Melle of hey-let's-carve-lines-in-your-hair-and-dye-it-blue fame. We're buds now, so much so that I showed up at the salon yesterday just to say hi to her and ended up answering the phone and folding towels. It's actually a whole new group of friends, as the two of us went out on Tuesday night with a boy of hers and another boy she wants to set me up with. They are all funny and they all drink hard cider, so clearly we should all become BFFs and hang out daily.

The bartender and I are on a "diet", and by that I mean we switched from fried crab rangoon to steamed pot stickers. I'll be skinny any minute now.

This is the Chicago life I dreamed of that whole time I was broke. I like it here.

Current Status

It is 11:52 PM on Friday, the 9th of June, and I am sitting on the couch in my living room blogging. From this we can infer two things:

1) that I am an anti social dork with nothing better to do on a Friday night;
2) that I now have a laptop and internet access at home.

Congratulate me, my friends - when you get back from your, I assume, much more interesting Friday night activites.

Hot Off The Press

As I suspected, we (that is, the bartender and I) were recently informed that Fuckwit did indeed commit futher infractions by grabbing the asses of girls he did not know, for which he was kicked out of the Foundation Room. Good going, Ace.

Viva Las Vegas

So I’m back from Vegas. I started writing this righteously long post and then realized it was going to be interesting to no one except me and possibly the bartender, so I’m scrapping that and going with the bulleted highlight format instead.

• People, I’m sorry, but what the FUCK is up with the heat out there? 107? You have got to be kidding me. And the wind? Not the nice cooling breeze you get here in the great lakes region. Oh no. Just super hot air blowing you in the face and drying out your contact lenses. The second day some woman said to me “It’s cooler than yesterday!” It was 104. How can you tell the difference between 107 and 104?
• Here’s the lone issue I have with having pink and blue hair: it’s like an open invitation for strangers to talk to you. Everywhere I went it was “Cool hair!” “I love your hair!” “Your hair is so awesome!” Seriously, at least 60 people I didn’t know came up to talk to me, minimum. The bartender suggested there should be an over/under line on how many strangers were going to comment on my hair each day. At the Foundation Room one night, a girl came running up to me screaming. “OH MY GOD! Look at your hair! That is the best thing I have ever seen! Wow! You guys, come and look at her hair. OH MY GOD, AND YOUR DRESS! This is the greatest dress ever! Is this how you dress EVERY DAY? (By now she has a hold of both my arms which she is squeezing in a death grip. Her face is two inches from mine.) You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in my life. I have to get a picture with you!” At which point the owner, helpful as ever offered to take a picture of both of us. Some random guy got in it too and I was smashed in between two total strangers posing for a picture, after which she kissed me and had to literally be dragged away by the arm by one of her (very embarrassed) friends.
• Also about my hair: the owner took up calling me Sno-Cone. Cone for short.
• I ate at Fatburger twice in the same day. That’s right, two fatburgers and two milkshakes all in the same day. Holla.
• The M&M store is so super cool I can’t even tell you. They have these huge columns of M&Ms in every color you can think of all along the back wall. I made a bag of scarlet and grey ones for Michigan Bouncer (who said “I’m gonna eat ‘em just like Michigan’s gonna eat the Buckeyes this year!”) and the bartender made a rainbow bag for Manny. I bought myself a new puzzle, but I can’t put it together because Kristen keeps sitting on the pieces.
• A tally of Fuckwit’s fuck ups for the weekend: (1) could not meet us at the M&M store because he couldn’t find it, despite the GIANT M&M right out front; (2) became incensed when he learned he’d have to pay for his own lunch, since he’d just assumed the owner would buy lunch for 15 fucking people just for fun; managed to offend every single person in a 20 foot radius at he Foundation Room by calling the girls bitches (3), making racial comments to our Mexican friend (4), and to the manager (5); was charged for room damage for puking on the floor (6) and the comforter (7). I’m sure there will be more; these are just the stories I’ve heard so far.
• The Double Down Saloon is the most awesome thing I’ve seen in Vegas yet. It’s the epitome of a punk rock bar. The jukebox is stacked, STACKED with punk music from the classics to the brand new to the obscure. The walls are covered in all manner of graffiti. There are signs hung up all over the place. One reads “House rule: You puke, YOU clean it!” Another advertises bacon martinis for $5. And another one announces this effed up “special”: “Ass Juice! $3 or 3 for $11!” I asked how many people fall for that and apparently it’s quite a few. I also asked what ass juice is made out of, but they wouldn’t tell me. I asked what a bacon martini was and I was presented with a bottle of vodka that had strips of bacon floating around in it. Not even kidding. After that I was glad they didn’t tell me how they make ass juice.
• “I STILL LOVE YOUR HAIR!” I heard someone shout while waiting to board the plane at the airport. I turned around to see the crazy girl who had molested me the night before walking past me, grinning and waving.

Because It's Rad

Since it's been over a week, it seemed like it was time to get my hair cut again.

One of the best things about having a pink and blue fauxhawk is watching people try to stare at you without appearing to be staring. Feel free to stare openly, I can totally tell anyway.