18 May, 2011

whilst out on our daily walkies

moi (about something whose importance has been lost in the mists of time): i've loved you almost 13 years now!

mr. monkey: almost 13 years? almost? obviously i loved you longer!

moi: what? we met and you loved me immediately?

mr. monkey (defiantly): yes!

moi: you didn't even remember my name!!! "i don't know who that bitch is, but i love her!"

mr. monkey: yes! you'll have to make it up to me that i loved you longer. in fact, i might have to die sooner so you can make it up to me!

moi: bastard!

16 May, 2011

um...not exactly

last night at the monkey house:

mr. monkey: so, when you get a facial, they put wet rags on your face and then squeeze out your blackheads, right?

moi: uncontrollable laughter

mr. monkey: what? no?

moi: um...not exactly. why, you want a facial?

mr. monkey: yes.

14 May, 2011

that's the way (uh-huh, uh-huh) i like it (uh-huh, uh-huh)

just wanted to share with you that even as i write this, mr. monkey is scrubbing the toilet wearing nothing more than red heart-covered shorts and teal gloves. ain't this the life?

10 May, 2011

no, not dead, just shopping for houses

well, dear poultries, the mister and i have done it. we have shopped and shopped and shopped and at the end of it all, we bought our dream home. let's just hope the bastard lives up to our expectations. what? what do you mean didn't we see it? of course we saw it. for all of 15 minutes. that's normal, no?

what i always come back to is the ridiculousness of how one goes about shopping for various items. say you want to buy a pair of jeans. you walk into your local purveyor of all things denim and try on a pair. wait, does this one make your ass look big? how about this pair? not sure about the crotch area embroidery... hey! what about these? well... maybe. the next day you return, armed with a girlfriend of discerning taste or (if you're lucky) a mouthy but charming gay friend. (s)he tells it like it is and you decide... well... almost. the following day you return yet again. you can do this for weeks. and, if the pair you choose do indeed make your ass gargantuan, why, the following day you return them. all in all, if you're a real jean snob, you're out, what, maybe, 200* bucks. 

whilst shopping for a home, a purchase (if you're very very lucky, or live in a shithole) roughly 1000-2000x pricier, you walk in, like the look of a place, find out that there's another offer and scramble like a mad(wo)man to decide if it's a yay, a nay, or a nervous breakdown. shit, fuck, shit, what do we do? do we take it? is it perfect? and then BAM! you decide, sign an excessive amount of papers and then find that you have not a fucking clue whether the tiles in the bathroom were blue, chartreuse or purple. and if the drawers on your sexy new kitchen stick, you can hardly blame yourself, since you made this momentous decision based on a 15 minute perusal of the property. as for returns? do not make me laugh.

still, once we've moved and the tequila that's being hidden from mr. monkey's greedy little maw comes back to us, y'all can come over and i'll make you a margarita. how's that sound?


* i'm not so i'm out a whole lot less than that. especially if there's a sweet sale going on.


p.s. no, we didn't go for the marble clad foyer with fountains. but there is cool retro stone on the walls of the lobby and if you really want a fountain, you can bring a glass of water and a straw. still, that kitchen... oh, that kitchen!