Prelude: I’m happy to report in the last 11 years I’ve learned to go easy on the run-on sentences and apply my makeup with a light hand. I routinely break 300 points in a real game of Scrabble. My fridge is still a Moffat.
March 7, 2008
I said I would take off to Europe this summer if my tax return was large enough. It was. So, I’m going through the process of getting my passport. I already have the application form printed out, and it was decided today that I’d have my passport picture taken. I also decided that it would be a good idea to slather 5 hojillion pounds of makeup on my mug– only one hojillion more pound than usual. And, of course, I ended up looking like a zombie prostitute in the picture.
The next step is to find a guarantor (person who has known me for at least 2 years, and holds a valid Canadian passport) who can sign the back of those pictures. “I confirm that, yes, the painted whore photographed looks like lkvy.”
Should be easy.
In other exciting news, a few days ago I took a nap on the couch. CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT?! No, seriously, I was napping away, and when I woke up I went into the kitchen for a glass of water and…
I GOT A NEW FRIDGE!
The old, disgusting rusty fridge which was probably around when this place was first built (circa 15th century) was replaced with a younger, whiter version. The arrival of this new appliance didn’t come to me as a total surprise, but the fact that a bunch of people managed to enter my place, nick my old fridge and shove a new one in place all while I was napping less than 5 meters away is, well, mostly amusing.
The fridge guy visited me last Friday when I called Bubbles the Landlord to complain of my dead fridge, and told me I was going to get a new one; I just didn’t know when it was going to arrive. The landlord is legally required to give the tenant 24 hours notice before entering their place, but I don’t really feel like complaining about it. “Thanks for giving me a new fridge! JERK!” Naw, I’ll let him off the hook this time.
So… here is the man responsible for keeping my vodka chilled and vegetables crunchy:
He came with a default last name, Moffat, so I gave him a first name.
My inspiration came from my all-time favourite boy band (yeah, right): The Moffats. I’d have gone with Scott, but I didn’t have any t’s and already had to improvise with a plus sign for Clint. Clint even came with a mini ice cube tray that makes ice cubes that look like little gems.
In even more exciting news, I had a Scrabble showdown yesterday with a friend and broke 300 points. At that point the board was getting really crammed, and there were still at least 50 tiles left in the bag, a hint that perhaps there were more than the regulation number of tiles being played in this game. I had also obtained the letter “Q” for the third time, and in Real Scrabble™, there is room for only one “Q”. Upon this realization, we ended our game, dumped all the tiles onto my coffee table and started splitting up the letters and went on to build a mountain of “E”s and a vast plain of “O”s. We filled the bag with the proper amount of each letter, and took the remainder to a friend’s place where we spelled out his name along with “SUCKS BALL *blank tile*ACKS” on his doorstep.
Now, I’m thinking the makers of Scrabble should really release Ultimate Scrabble. The board would be twice as big, with spaces for quadruple word scores. And of course there’d be a lightning round. Duh.
And now for some insanely, mind-bogglingly exciting news, I lost in Monopoly on Tuesday night. I’ve never won the game, but I had never lost either. Monopoly is well known for being one of those games that go on forever and ever. Except in my case.
BECAUSE I SUCK.
I even wasted my Monopoly clams on the ever so welfare Mediterranean Avenue. Why?
BECAUSE I SUCK.
But at least I was the hat, which is the most kick ass game piece there is in classic Monopoly.
To sum up this post: I look like a whore, suck intensely at Monopoly, kick ass at non-regulation Scrabble, and am well-stocked with fresh food.