Thursday, August 28, 2003 T-minus
Today I took the car into the sanitorium and day spa for its weekly sup of money, and since the last time I did that, I stormed out yelling "You will never have any of my business again, ever," I took it to a new dealership, which takes you on a limo ride while your car gets snacks of gold bullion. You pretty much only get to go to your house, or whatever house you pretend is yours.
Other people were riding in the limo too, but there was no champagne and no making out, and nobody even raised the privacy wall, so it was like the bus, a little, but with even more obligatory conversation. I met a lady who gave me a hot tip that a certain local museum is rabid for banquet waitstaff.
I called them, and even though they didn't e-mail me the application like they said they would, I think they might hire me.
I'm hoping they do, because that stripping thing totally didn't work out. When I finally found the club that would hire me, it turned out it wasn't one of the clubs where if a customer touches a dancer, 5 or 6 giants come and break his hand right then and there. It wasn't like that at all. I mean, it was classy and all. They'd sprung for the little touches that turn a bawdy house into a bawdy home, like carpeting with the "sittin' pretty" silhouette of a nude, busty female that you mainly only see on the back of trucks, and a secondhand couch for the dressing room. The other dancers seemed nice, but nice co-workers and great decor are not the incentives I need to get pawed at on the level that that place allowed.
In other news, my ister-say's edding-way is fast approaching. I had to say that in pig latin, because I don't want the papparazzi's search engines to be tripped. She's planning an quiet, tasteful, underwater ceremony in a specially constructed Diamonique dome. Teams of oompaloompas have been working on commemorative wedding gum for weeks. Vera Wang is in the basement of my ister-say's apartment building, chained to a loom-stove combination that my father welded together as an early gift-pertif. She alternates between squeezing out silk worms over a piping-hot kettle, weaving their output into the prettiest dress that has ever been worn by a human female (it makes the lesbian wedding dress from Friends look like a goddamn potato sack with dirt on it), and crying quietly. She is not crying because she is chained to things. She is crying because she will not get to wear the pretty, pretty dress, and you will too, soon. We all will.
For my part, I've been hard at work catching doves, because the ceremony's program calls for the release of several types of birds, including hummingbirds and swans, and the important birds need servants.
posted by Frenz | 8/28/2003 01:03:00 AM
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