Spawn of the Devil.

The children of the awful howler monkey woman are playing next door. Playing consists of running, screaming and occasionally throwing rocks. I'm, glad I live on the second floor. They also cuss a lot. They speak in English, though the only words I can get out of their screeching are things like "I'll get you and cut you!" "Bitches!", etc.

They make my cats nervous. The poor things are all twitchy - running around the house with puffed up tails and a hunted look on their furry faces.

I love my apartment and moving would be a ridiculous notion right now, but I really hate those kids.

Ah, Spring.

The first sign of Spring in my neighborhood is not a robin, or buds on the trees... no, it's the dulcet tones of the Somali woman next door shrieking like a fucking howler monkey at her kids.

A few things...

I'm thinking of stealing my neighbor's cat. He's a huge, gorgeous orange long-hair named Louie. He keeps tying to escape into our house - maybe he has finally figured out that his owners are assholes and we are nice. Maybe he's in love with our cat, Lucy. Or Finn. Whatever, I don't judge. Anyway, I think they might notice if I steal their cat. So I won't. For the time being, anyway.

We're not getting back nearly as much in our tax return as originally thought. This saddens me - mainly because we're piss poor. What doesn't help is Android's dad (also our tax guy) who kept telling us that we "make too much money". Maybe for Podunk, MN - but not for Mpls. Rar. Too much money my ass.

People who ride buses are, in general, assholes. This afternoon I was waiting for my bus home, and I was second in line. While waiting for the people to get off the bus I noticed a man in a wheelchair waiting for the same bus. Because I know the etiquette, and I am a human being, I stood back so the bus driver could put down the wheelchair lift thingy. What actually happened? Everyone else pushed in front of me to get on the bus. Of course. Assholes. If it had been raining or snowing I would have put up more of a fuss, but since it was a beautiful, sunny afternoon I figured wheelchair guy wasn't going to mind the wait. Still, people are dicks.

America's Next Top Model makes me deliriously happy. It's so very trashy and delicious. Tyra is a scary and tall freak, but I kinda love her anyway.

Cow hookers.

There are two hookers on the corner across from our building.

First of all, it's freaking COLD outside. Second, as Android so charmingly put it, they look like cows.

Android: Geeze, if you're just looking for a hole to put it in...
Me: Get a nice cantaloupe or something.
Android: Yeah! Buy some fruit!
Me: ...or a nice papaya. Or a passionfruit?




Why do we have hookers on our corner? In March?






I don't know. I'm going to bed.

Apparently it's a boy.

Haven't yet adjusted to the fact that there's a tiny penis growing inside me right now, especially since I reallyreallyREALLY wanted a girl.


To read about my ultrasound-tastic morning, read here.

Hooray for Hollywood!

The 80th Annual Academy Awards was boring as hell. As usual.


Jon Stewart was adorable, though. And Helen Mirren just about knocked my socks off. And Javier Bardem may show up in my dirtier dreams from now on... Tilda Swinton is so weird and beautiful and a little scary. Johnny Depp is still rocking the mid-nineties hair and glasses combo, and it's a-ok with me.




I went to Zosia's house for the festivities. It feels like we've been doing this since the beginning of time, though I can probably count on one hand the number of Oscar broadcasts we've seen together. Through middle and high school we were in different countries, in college we had similar but not quite the same sets of friends... yet it's the most natural thing in the world to roll up to her place on a Sunday night and curl up on her couch and boo at the boring and/or stupid speeches, or gasp at the ridiculously beautiful women in their ridiculously beautiful gowns.


I love the Oscars, even if they are boring. I love the orchestra and the twelve montages, the requisite animated character presenting an award, the lame musical numbers. I just love 'em.

Happy Birthday.

Me: Today's my dad's birthday.
Android: Yeah? How old would he have been?
Me: 61.
Android: That's pretty good.
Me: Well, it would be if he hadn't died at 46.
(Silence)
Android: You have a point.



Happy birthday to the man who taught me to love The Beatles, James Taylor, Douglas Adams, The Hobbit, and Prairie Home Companion. He let me eat corn on the cob for breakfast. He drove too fast and apparently smoked a lot of pot and left me entirely too soon. He had a loud voice and sang beautifully and loved all things Mac and ate fried bologna sandwiches. He made the best chili in the world and let me rent She Devil over and over and over again without comment.



Mike Vargo 1947-1993