Archive for March, 2008

I’ve had to ask far to many times how to use this thing…

Wednesday, March 19th, 2008

n813541_39200462_3394.jpg   So let’s face it, beware of my poor use of all electronics, sans the clicker (the TV remote for all you who don’t get the street slang), and apparently my execessive use of, you guessed it, the comma. But really this is suposed to be fun, I get to tell the world my innermost thoughts and have them broadcasted over the web and saved forever, embalezzened in the hearts of all who read it, much like that of Anne Frank. I’m also realizing this doohicky doesn’t have spellcheck which will be a problem, and that my Mother is the first person to comment on our website.So this picture was taken of me the first time I watched Grant O’Brian and Nick Kocher make out, it threw me for a loop at first but then I just laughed and laughed and laughed some more.Other than that I like to laugh at my best friend Lo, who when we flew to Mexico and it was raining outside she asked if they were washing the plane.So what are blogs for, well I guess to tell about your day. So here we go, after wathching the Simpsons movie last night my fabulous gay roomate, Miguel, and I decided to have a day of inspiration. So as we sang “Spider Pig” down the street as we went to a new yoga studio in Brooklyn called Namaste, which in Yoga means salute to the sun. After a slightly boring but nonetheless fruitful yoga sesh, we sat and had rose hip tea and discussed nutritional eating habbits. I felt this was a good segway into the issue of “letting go” in Yoga and the passing of wind, so I began telling the other women and Migs about how this dude farted so loud the other day in another yoga class I was in. They were only somewhat amused. Then I asked if we could use the sauna downstairs. We did, Migs and I, and spoke only in Mafia voices like we were in Goodfellas, talking about who we’d whacked this past week, I said I had Lilo whacked and Migs said he whacked Ann Coulter. Then we came back to our little apartment, drank wine and Jameson and danced the night away to Carol King in our poncho’s. But don’t call us Will and Grace just because I have red hair and Migs is gay, because we are younger, hipper, hotter, and I’m not having his baby.