OH. SHIT.

Know how sometimes you really want something until it's barrelling towards you on the horizon (like, say, home ownership), and then when it's about to knock on your doorstep, you shit yourself?

Looks like this guy has some laundry to do...

::gasp::

::glug::

::holy shit::

Assuming the potential buyers accept the contract my parents have signed and faxed back to the realtor, it looks like someone (me) in seventy days' time will no longer be a resident of Coral Gables, Florida, and will be a resident of Miami Beach, Florida.

Commence panicking for a multitude of reasons including 1) FEAR OF CHANGE; 2) FEAR OF POVERTY; and 3) Realizng how much I like my place for everything except for its location...now.

I'm hi-larious

A snarky blog comment I left recently. I must admit I am really quite taken with my self for having written this.

"Pink-cheeked and virtuous, the Gibson Girls of today face a threat that impugns their maidenlike virtues, and has already led to the ruin of many of our Fair Nation's young Misses.

Sources report that gadabout young bachelors and college boys are engaging in tomfoolery and chicanery that threaten to cause the destruction of our Young Republic! Indeed, they are adjusting the spring tension on Victor Talking Machines!

The resulting increase in tempo of those already questionable Trots and Walks now sweeping the nation, have resulted in countless hobble-skirts revealing ankles in a most-immodest fashion, as spritely waltz speeds have doubled as a result of this nefarious trend!

President Taft has promised his unyielding support of a bill currently wending its way through Congress to ensure that all wax-cylinder recordings henceforth pressed shall not play this so called "music" at any speeds above the current 160 Revolutions Per Minute!

Locally, Mrs. Clarabella Turnipswoggle, proprietress of Mrs. Turnipswoggle's Boarding Home For Unmarried Young Ladies, reports that the results of such brash and lewd dancing may prove fatal to our young Roses; as a direct result of such malfeasance, one of her boarders, Miss Beluthesia Arple-Woodley, 17, of Cleveland Park, was fatally trampled by an apple cart Thursday last."

The inspiration for this, I must admit, came from a list from The Onion while I was in College which had me snickering uncontrollably through half of my Sociology 453, Blacks in the Cities Class... -

The Onion, May 20, 1902

---

MOST PREFERRED SHEET MUSIC SELECTIONS OF TO-DAY

"Up On My Merry Thresher"

"Won't You Please Imbibe A Raspberry Phosphate With Me, My Sweet Agnes Dear of Mine?"

"Ernestaria, Daring, Please Do Not Die Of The Dropsy"

"I Will Give You A Sweet Comfit"

"Our God Is A Vengeful God"

"Gaily We Prance About"

"March Of The Darkies"

"O Mighty and Merciful Lord God In Heaven Above, Please Do Not Smite Us, Your Humble Children"

"I'm Sweet on You, Oh Virgie Dear"

For Nancy

These were all done for a very special Lady.

Don't worry. For as awful as they are, she got me back, plenty.

Nancy's a crawdad suckin', football playin', catfish wranglin' Alabaman through and through, right down to her thick Mobile accent.

Which makes these pictures all the more hi-larious. Ain't that right, sug? Although, I'll admit, it's difficult to write in Paintbrush anyway... even more so when you're drunk in your 6:30-8:30 Business Associations class, not paying attention to the intricacies of Meinhard v. Salmon, and hastily drawing up offensive Paintbrush images to put in a Powerpoing Presentation about how your friend is an inbred Southern hick.

MuShu Pohk?

Hey Ching-Chong Charlene up there in Pensacola, soon-to-move-to-Seattle with Benny -

I know you're reading this blog. And it makes me happy that you're with me even though I hain't seen you in forever. And even though I still owe y'all a wedding present. (I ran into a certain I-Talian over the weekend who told me you had been reading me, but didn't know it was me. And I thought you Asians were supposed to be smart. I guess growing up in Mo-Beel wrung all the smart out of ya, huh?)

I wanted to let you know, though, that I wasn't pleased with the job you did on my most recent batch of laundry, and even though you bunged up my manicure, and massage with "happy ending," that I still love and miss you.

And that tonight when I get home, I'm going to put the picture of you up here that I drew in B.A. during the "Powerpoint Wars."

I figured it'd get a laugh out of you. I think there are two, though - one of you drinking "corn likker" out of a jug, and the other with you giving manicures. You're wearing your triangular straw hat in both, of course.