A State Called Nevada

First, I would just like to say that I effing hate the stupid comments from the people trying to tell me I need to check out their website about dog grooming. I’ll show you dog grooming, you fuckwit. I have started commenting back. I know it doesn’t make any difference either way, but somehow, I feel better after posting something like, “Leave me alone dillhole.” I don’t know why.

I am leaving tomorrow for Vegas. (That sentence is reminding me of a song, two movies, and a person. Odd. I love the movies but not the song or the person.) I really just can’t wait to see what all the fuss is about. I just need a damn vacation.

I looked at three apartments yesterday. I wasn’t impressed. One of them had potential but was seriously about the size of a closet. Not that I minded, it was 2 blocks from the water. But…Surprisingly, I am not stressing right now. After being disappointed by the lack of character I found in most of the places I looked, I drove by the old shack that I shared with Spliff. It took everything I had not to march up those steps and into OUR apartment and tell that weirdo to get out. Spliff’s wind chime is still hanging on the porch.

I know I can’t have that apartment back. And I know I will have to settle sometime in the very near future…But if you know me, you know I rarely settle. So…wish me luck. And by luck, I mean, keep your eye out for an apartment with character so that I don’t end up living in my car.

This will most likely be it for a while, seeing as I will be engaging in a whole new kind of debauchery. The kind that involves a state called Nevada and a couple of gambling addicts called My Grandparents.

Stuck-in-my-head Song of the Day: “Leaving Las Vegas” – Sheryl Crow (I know…it sucks…but I thought of it and now it won’t go away…)