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Sunday, November 25, 2007

Party Time, Excellent Part I

I only had a 3-day work week last week. I took Thursday and Friday off to make the last preparations for Schmidt’s birthday jamboree and to go to German court. You’d think that I’d take more time off to prepare for the latter, but you would be wrong. Originally, I planned to go to court on Thursday and then just come to work later. But, after looking at my to-do list for Schmidt’s party, I realized I probably wouldn’t get it all done in a timely fashion and to my liking unless I used two whole vacation days.

What can I say? I’m quite fond of my roommate.

I will post photos, as soon as the party’s official unofficial photographer, Cracky McGee, uploads the bajillion pictures he took during the course of the evening.

Schmidt’s present? Well, I must say it went down quite well. Over the past few weeks, I contacted some of his friends, met up with a couple of them to buy a skateboard, and then commissioned an airbrush dude to emblazon said skateboard with the words „Fuck Swords“.

Also, I made him a chocolate cake in the shape of boobies. Two, if you count last week’s practice cake.

It’s probably the most effort that I’ve put into...well...anything. So, I’m glad he liked it.

Overall, it was a good party. Even the cops dropped in for a visit later in the evening.

(Click Below for More)

The least enjoyable part, however, was when our new neighbor from downstairs came by. Under normal circumstances I wouldn’t have given a shit, but it seems as though she came by with the express purpose of complaining about the squeakiness of my bed.

Granted, I was aware that my bed squeaked. I realized it not long after Schmidt got back from France. Being by myself in the apartment for the better part of four months, it didn’t occur to me that my bed squeaked so loud whenever I moved. But with someone else in the apartment, the squeaking seemed loud and exaggerated. However, Schmidt didn’t complain – and I figured if it really bothered him, he’d speak up and he is wont to do.

This bitch – and I say bitch, because she wasn’t quite a cunt about it – comes up to our apartment during a party (instead of, you know, sometime when there’s not 30 other people around) and proceeds to search for the squeaky bed culprit – by systematically approaching random party guests and saying „So! You must be the one with the squeaky bed!“ Eventually, she managed to find and confront me and then said, „Hey, don’t be mad, I’m not trying to be a bitch about it...but...“

How could I be mad? It’s a reasonable request. If she hadn’t said anything, I never would have known it had bothered her. It’s just that her „tone was all wrong“ (insert bad Christopher Walken impression here)

At some point, she was really seeking approval that I wasn’t mad at her for pointing my noisy bed out to me – but she did that really annoying thing where after you tell someone you’re not mad at them, they ask "Are you sure?" and you’re like "Yes." and then they’re like "Are you really really sure?" – which just made me want to shout, „Are you deaf, bitch? What did I just say?“

Meanwhile, there’s a group of people standing around us. Etch looks like she getting ready to pop the woman in the face, which on a side note is one of the reasons I love me some Lady Etch. She’s not afraid to get all up in someone’s face on my behalf. If I were to ever get in a fist fight – which I don’t actually want to happen, but if it does – I know that Etch would have my back. Plus, she has very strong hands...and the Eye of the Tiger...

But I digress. I didn’t really have the time or desire to talk it out with this bitch, because

1.) She already got me a little heated because of the manner in which she approached me. Tip: If you don’t know me, don’t come up and start talking to me as if you do. That’s a sure fire way for us to never be friends. She’s had the whole week since she’s moved in to come up and say something, but she waited to put me on blast in front of our guests. Bad move.

2.) The Boy had grabbed his coat several minutes earlier and when I asked him where he was going, he just said "Puke" before bolting out the door.

So, I don’t know what else the Bed Bitch did, because I went to go make sure that The Boy wasn’t puking in the stairwell or passed out somewhere outdoors.

In a very adorable move, The Boy managed to make it to the apartment building two doors down and puked in front of our douche-y building super’s bushes.

I led him back to our place and put him to bed.

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