Elyse Sewell (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} elysesewell) wrote,@ 2008-04-11 14:34:00 |
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united 955
The way he might spin it in his blog, if he had one, which he doesn't, because he isn't cool enough: "Ach, so this Canuck and I decided to go haff lunch, and ve tried to invited her roommate, but all she did vas screaming on me vhen I am going into her room. Vat a bitch!"
The way it happened: My roomie returned to Minnesota this morning. Her disgustipating, effeminate, ultraskinny German male model boyfriend lurched out of her bunk bed, bade her goodbye, and IMMEDIATELY TOOK UP WITH THE CANUCK WITHOUT EVER VACATING OUR APARTMENT. They watched movies and chatted all morning as I pressed my ear up to my door like, "Ashley's gone. Why the hell has this ultraskinny disgustipating male model idiot not left yet? Oh my god, is he now hanging out with The Canuck? Oh my god! He is now hanging out with The Canuck!"
O Canada, I know that this aside doesn't fit in with this entry at all, but can I please just insert that I fricking love Canadians? You guys have this national attitude that is so excellently agreeable; all the Canuckian model roommates I have known have been rock-solid girlfriend material. Triple thumbs up, True North. Keep on doing what you're doing.
So. Anyway. I was slumped over in bed, scrolling down DListed (which has been a positive work of art this week, don't you agree?), when this outrageous German motherfucker opened the door of my room and walked in, presumably to invite me out to wherever he and The Canuck were going. "Out!" I shrieked. He advanced. "GET! OUT!" The message penetrated his Teutonic skull and he mumbled, "Oh, sorry," and retreated. Ha-a-a-a-a-a-te. I HATE the feeling of no privacy. Oh, and have I mentioned this? Models' apartments' beds are always uncomfortable, so I didn't even bother to investigate the discomfort of this particular one until two nights ago. A box spring! A box spring! I don't have a mattress, I've been sleeping on sheets on top of a bare-ass box spring! Somehow this struck me as so ridiculously pathetic that it is undeniably hilarious: sleeping on a box spring with no one to love me! Lying down on a dirty motherfucking BOX SPRING every night! Ha! You think you're lame? Just think about this every time you're feeling low: box spring, Dude. Box spring.
Update: I talked to The Canuck. According to her, this German fool stormed my citadel amidst her protestations that "Elyse is going to fucking KILL you if you go in there!" According to her, he wasn't coming in to invite me out to lunch; he wanted to borrow something from my encyclopedic collection of cables/cords/connectors so he could DJ some of his dogshit German techno for the (non)amusement of the crowd. So there's that mystery solved. My diagnosis? BAH!
In other news, The Canuck and I also reviewed the details about the presence of the German fool in our apartment inthefirstplace. I euphemized it thus: "I'm really sorry that I was so rude to your friend, but man, Canuck, that guy was making me uncomfortable." Replied she, "God! I didn't want him over here, I was glad you kicked him out, thank you, and fuck me for being incapable of being mean to people!" So my diagnosis of "BAH!" stands, now enhanced and fortified with Canadian approval.
And finally, this is for all y'all who don't look twice unless there's a picture. From Fukuoka, Japan, home of the godawful ugliest public art ever. Ever. Ever! Hey, lady, the bird dick you're getting is probably far from satisfactory: there is no such thing as bird dick! Hump away; cloaca wilt thou get, and nothing more.
The way he might spin it in his blog, if he had one, which he doesn't, because he isn't cool enough: "Ach, so this Canuck and I decided to go haff lunch, and ve tried to invited her roommate, but all she did vas screaming on me vhen I am going into her room. Vat a bitch!"
The way it happened: My roomie returned to Minnesota this morning. Her disgustipating, effeminate, ultraskinny German male model boyfriend lurched out of her bunk bed, bade her goodbye, and IMMEDIATELY TOOK UP WITH THE CANUCK WITHOUT EVER VACATING OUR APARTMENT. They watched movies and chatted all morning as I pressed my ear up to my door like, "Ashley's gone. Why the hell has this ultraskinny disgustipating male model idiot not left yet? Oh my god, is he now hanging out with The Canuck? Oh my god! He is now hanging out with The Canuck!"
O Canada, I know that this aside doesn't fit in with this entry at all, but can I please just insert that I fricking love Canadians? You guys have this national attitude that is so excellently agreeable; all the Canuckian model roommates I have known have been rock-solid girlfriend material. Triple thumbs up, True North. Keep on doing what you're doing.
So. Anyway. I was slumped over in bed, scrolling down DListed (which has been a positive work of art this week, don't you agree?), when this outrageous German motherfucker opened the door of my room and walked in, presumably to invite me out to wherever he and The Canuck were going. "Out!" I shrieked. He advanced. "GET! OUT!" The message penetrated his Teutonic skull and he mumbled, "Oh, sorry," and retreated. Ha-a-a-a-a-a-te. I HATE the feeling of no privacy. Oh, and have I mentioned this? Models' apartments' beds are always uncomfortable, so I didn't even bother to investigate the discomfort of this particular one until two nights ago. A box spring! A box spring! I don't have a mattress, I've been sleeping on sheets on top of a bare-ass box spring! Somehow this struck me as so ridiculously pathetic that it is undeniably hilarious: sleeping on a box spring with no one to love me! Lying down on a dirty motherfucking BOX SPRING every night! Ha! You think you're lame? Just think about this every time you're feeling low: box spring, Dude. Box spring.
Update: I talked to The Canuck. According to her, this German fool stormed my citadel amidst her protestations that "Elyse is going to fucking KILL you if you go in there!" According to her, he wasn't coming in to invite me out to lunch; he wanted to borrow something from my encyclopedic collection of cables/cords/connectors so he could DJ some of his dogshit German techno for the (non)amusement of the crowd. So there's that mystery solved. My diagnosis? BAH!
In other news, The Canuck and I also reviewed the details about the presence of the German fool in our apartment inthefirstplace. I euphemized it thus: "I'm really sorry that I was so rude to your friend, but man, Canuck, that guy was making me uncomfortable." Replied she, "God! I didn't want him over here, I was glad you kicked him out, thank you, and fuck me for being incapable of being mean to people!" So my diagnosis of "BAH!" stands, now enhanced and fortified with Canadian approval.
And finally, this is for all y'all who don't look twice unless there's a picture. From Fukuoka, Japan, home of the godawful ugliest public art ever. Ever. Ever! Hey, lady, the bird dick you're getting is probably far from satisfactory: there is no such thing as bird dick! Hump away; cloaca wilt thou get, and nothing more.
