Thank you for your uselessness.

This is an example of some responses I receive when asking for more information about apartment listings:

RE: Ad Interest: Beautiful 2 bedroom appartment for rent on SMB on canal close to beach

Hi Saskia,

unfortunately they don't allow pets at this appartment. It's beautiful though.

Sorry

__________

(spelling preserved for full effect.)

And then later this afternoon I got this one:

Hi Saskia,

The best thing to do is to bring your dog with you when you view the apartments. If you like one of them we can decide whether we would be happy with your dog in the apartment. We would have to take an extra pet deposit to cover us for the risk of damage to the apartment.

7th/8th April is fine to view, let me know what date/time would be most convenient.

Best Regards _____________________

And finally:

Hi there

this place would be ideal for you if you are attending the uni. There are also other students staying in this complex. [YAY!] Unfortunately however, they don't allow pets. [BOOOO.]

If you woul still like to view, please let me know (allow a day or so's notice) and we can arrange a viewing. [Um, seriously? That apartment better be lined in gold/diamonds and come with matching young, hot, Yacht Club Millionaires.]

Regards

___________

(names have been rescinded, since I'm pretty sure I'll catch hell enough from mom for this without telling you yahoos the names of these lunatics kind souls.)

(oh, and those are my comments in [red].)

So basically what I gather here is that I'm missing out on the seriously beautiful apartments due to our pets, and if I really want the apartment I will bring my pet down early. Despite the unbelievably excruciating pet import process. Or maybe FR and I should wait until we get there in May just to let them interview her Ruby who despite all perfection (which I do not in any way doubt) may not pass their inspection and then we can be homeless bums together living in a refrigerator box outside of campus.

Miss Kitty could catch our food for us while we were in class (I've heard iguana is very tasty blackened and then grilled over a garbage can fire). And Ruby can stand guard over our box/belongings.

Thank you, benevolent landlords, for your kind words of wisdom.

Suck it.

Told you so.

I mentioned in passing that I was looking to update the blog's look, and I think I've come up with a pretty unique look.

I added a poll at the top right, feel free to vote. Also, I welcome comments with any suggestions regarding fonts, colors, sizes, etc.

(I do realize that this poll will probably only end up hurting my fragile ego when it ends with 3 votes: Karen, mom, and dad.)

(It will also give me just one more internet neurosis to add to my ever-growing list.)

(But I'm willing to try it out.)

(Just please don't vote Hate it.)

(Unless your name is Ron, in which case it's pretty much expected. Jackass.)

My doctor says my boobs are normal. I beg to differ.

My immigration to The GC required a chest xray (WTF?) to check for Tuberculosis. Because that is just super prevalent here.

Anyhow, I had to get a written report from the doc who read the xray, and this is what I got:

I'm really quite indignant, I wear altogether way too uncomfortable bras & tight T-shirts to be called "Normal".

And to prove this point:

(you might need to click on the pic to see the text. have I mentioned my need for Photoshop?!)

This pic has a double meaning, actually. Not only does it do my chest justice (take that, doc.), but it also shows my support (*snicker*) for my Rossie peeps who are enjoying some Phun with Pharm today/tonight/tomorrow. You guys are gonna rock it, and then you'll rock finals, and then I'll expect all of you to return your full attention to me. *Ahem.* I mean, have a safe trip home and stuff.

I forgot to include the pic of my "After" unpacking. I figured while I have everything there I should go through all of my clothes and weed out unwearables/threadbare/etc.

I have entirely TOO MUCH CRAP.

Oh, and today I got my Open Water card! Yay!! I'm official and can even dive during my trip with dad next week! Except for that whole find an apartment, open a bank account, get car insurance, meet my new peeps, etc. all within 2 business days. Sooo, maybe we'll just settle for some snorkeling. Or a shore dive. Aw, hell.

I stomped grapes today and my friend Jay told me I'm going to get ringworm.

Technically this is my second post in....well...ten minutes. But really, the other one was written last night and this one was too good to wait, so whatev. Suck it up, my 7 faithful readers!

Today my folks and I mosied over to The Italian Festival in Centro Ybor. Initially the plan was to walk around and gorge ourselves on every yummy thing imaginable and then wander over to the activities tent to cheer on the Animal Coalition of Tampa team at the Grape Stompin Competition.

Then I got the call. JoAnne, flustered (as always), because it seems no one from ACT was going to show up. Ever the team player, she called in her Awesome Backup Group made up of me and her husband. I was informed that I had to leave immediately for the event, no moseying or meandering or wandering allowed.

After lighting a firecracker under my parent's respective asses (i believe today was the first time my father actually called me "annoying".) we set off to the festival. Between parking in the garage and walking to the entrance I received no less than 17 phone calls from JoAnne (well, one from her husband Nestor) frantically wanting to know where exactly I was at that very moment. You know, the moment right after the last time I called.

We arrived at the Stompin site with seconds to spare. JoAnne and I heaped all of our accessories onto my mom, gave my dad the camera, and went to work.

There are really no words I can use to describe the actual contest; well, nothing that is even remotely as amusing as the video. So watch it. Cause it's pretty much awesome.

[NOTE: there is music to this video, so if you are sitting in class ignoring your prof you might want to make sure the mute is on. and if you can, turn it way up. cause it's best when you get the 'whole picture'.]

In conclusion, have a wonderful night. And please don't hate me if you're catholic.

(i only find it mildly amusing to imagine the congragation's faces as they sip "the blood of Christ" and it's a goopy mess of yuck.)

OH! And check out what my mom made for dinner:

Squash Soup Stuff?

Or is it Grape Surprise?

Its PRICELESS, whatever it is.

Future Roommate. That is what I shall call her until it actually happens. (because there's a good chance i'll scare her off before then.)

Sometimes I lie in bed at night, and it's late and my brain is just moving at a mile a minute and nothing can make it stop short of a bullet or writing whatever it is running around in there down on some paper.

Which is why you will always find a pen/pad near my bed at all times.

(and you will find me quite perturbed if someone moves it. mom.)

Last night was a night like any other, but instead of having sultry romance novels fly through my brain (I swear I'd make Big $ if I'd just learn how to daydream AND type at the same time) I was thinking about school and the Big Move and my new super cool Future Roommate.

(i figure she's got to be introduced sometime, so why not at 2am and with a cat trying to compete with the pen for my attention?)

I guess it's as official as official can be without a contract in blood secret handshake pinky swear.

Her name is Robin and I'm pretty sure she is my soul mate my twin taken at birth normal. She had me at Frou Frou.

(those of you who don't get that reference, don't worry. that is why you are not my roommate.)

Anyhow, Robin and I have been chatting back and forth via FaceBook for about a week now. I've learned some very important things about her that include but are not limited to:

1. She lives in Illinois. Which I've been told is a very cool place (Yay Karen and Mark! More reasons for me to visit!). And they also wear knitted stuff there, so that's awesome.

2. She majored in journalism before deciding to jump ship for whore island a career that leaves you covered in shit vet school in the Caribbean.

3. She likes to swear. Which is pretty much awesome because I like to swear. A lot.

I can just see us now, two hot chicks kickin it on SMB (that's SEVEN MILE BEACH bitches!) on a Sunday afternoon sounding like a couple of Turrets victims because there is no alcohol.

What?! What was that?

Um, yeah. Seems for all it's awesomeness (did you get that memo about a SEVEN MILE BEACH?! it's in your TPS report.) this island basically shuts down at midnight Saturday and all day Sunday.

Boo.

Okay, back to my FR. Despite how stoked I am at the thought that at least one person will (hopefully) laugh at my jokes, I can't help but be trepidacious about this union. I mean, we did meet on FaceBook. It's like the eHarmony for schoolmates. For all intents and purposes, we're internet daters. And we all know how that works out. One of us is a pervy old man and the other a prepubescent child.

I mean, for all I know (and despite all appearances) this girl could end up being totally......normal.

That would kinda suck.

But something tells me this is gonna work out.

(and by the way, this entire post was written on a napkin at my bedside with a fairly annoying cat bumping my writing arm. you are allowed to show your envy, MacGyver.)