Warning - The Sop Returns
Four months before I met Spidey I dated Miguel De Cruz*, a senior associate at a relatively well-known law firm.
I met him at a bar, literally, because I had just ordered a glass of some Fogarty Heart's riesling when he asked: "Is that any good?"
"I wouldn't really know - I just need a drink."
Fecked if I know, do I look like Mrs Dom Perignon to you?Then the dude proceeds to order the same. Goodbye, have a nice one I say and I go to meet my girlfriend Soong Hae Lee*. 45 minutes into the conversation Soong receives a call from nature and heads to the ladies. I whip out the mobes because suddenly I have no one to talk to. I pretend to send an urgent text to the Commissioner of Fisheries regarding the establishment of a central marine biological laboratory.
35 minutes later, it dawns on me that Soong has either done a runner or accidentally flushed herself down the waste receptacles. I hatch a search and rescue plan but on the way to the point of desination, I run into Mr "I'll Have What She's Having".
"Are you off?"
"I think my friend's in critical danger and I have to look for her." Then out of the corner of my eye I see her. She's standing with a group of guys. She's laughing. She looks like she's having a blast. She hasn't been kidnapped, stabbed or bitten by malaria-riddled mosquitoes. BIATCH.
"Actually, I think I've found her."
And I'm going to break her legs. "Can I buy you a drink?"
"Sure."
I'll break them later.Miguel and I hit it off like Ike and Tina minus the domestic violence. On paper he was appealing. To this day I still consider him the funniest person I know. And that's what got me. Unfortunately that was the only thing that got me. Two months of dating and I confessed I wasn't feeling it, "could we be friends?". He was devastated. Truly he was, I'm not a bad catch if you get to know me. Anyway, turns out we could.
I had lunch with Migs today and it was fabulous. He's dating a Korean. I tell him there's still a way out, has he ever tried Malaysian - we're a good sort. He asked me about my life, whether I'm happy, is Spidey the one?
"I think he's the one."
Shit what if I go home tonight and he's in bed with a circus midget, worse still, a male circus midget."So what can I do to intercept?"
"Own a dog."
For starters."Might be tricky."
"Work less hours."
Get a tan."That can be arranged."
The conversation goes on in jest but the more it carries on the more I realise how much he is nothing like Spidey.
How do you describe to someone that your mate is irreplaceable? You can't....it's in a look. All I had to do was show him the look. And it wasn't long before he got it.
*Names have been changed to protect the individual's privacy and privates.
Don't push my buttons
Last night on Fox 8 they aired the American Music Awards or some shite like that. Beyonce opened with that "to the left, to the left" song. Some B-grade television comedian hosted. P-Diddy was once again surrounded by his entourage of $2000 an hour skanks.
The moment the Pussycat Dolls start performing "Buttons" I leap up off the couch and start giving Jennifer Beal's performance in Flashdance a run for her money. Two and a half seconds into what could've, would've, should've been the best recital of my life Spidey waves his finger at me austerely and tells me to turn the 'bloody thing off'.
I am fed up.
Fed up of his utter lack of appreciation for:
1. my rockin' body shaking; and
2. Nicole Schwarzfinger's hot body and voice.
I throw the remote control at him with every intention of disfiguring his schnoz and stomp off to the bedroom, utterly pissed off.
Maybe I should have prefaced this post with "Rags - Day Two".
Mutley Crew
I think it's nearing THAT TIME....
Last night we had dinner at Arax; touted as one of the best Lebanese restaurants in the North Shore, right on Willoughby Road.
The food was sensational but let's be fair, I'm not here to talk about the babaganoush.
Spidey and I were having another one of those conversations. The one where I tell him how much I contribute to the marital household in exchange for a free ride on the rental trail. I brought up the fact that ever since we started dating he has not once, ever, bathed Eva. When we were still in our honeymoon phase and sipping each other's pina colada, he told me that Eva and him used to take showers together and that was pretty much the extent of her cleaning regime. That is NOT an opportunity for all you sick mofos out there to respond with a lame-ass dig either. I'll shit all over you if you so much as piss in my garden, a'ight.
Anyway. I tell Spidey what he already knows. I bath Eva about once a fortnight with special eucalyptus shampoo and then I dry her off in front of the heater and then I brush her out so she looks like the canine version of Zsa Zsa Gabor. Spidey says it's because I love her, at which point I burst into tears. If I had just swallowed a red savina habanero (read: hottest chilli in the world) this would seem normal, in fact foolish because why on earth would I want to swallow the farker. But I cry because I DO love Eva and I am thinking about how psychotic I am for crying because I love her so much.
She is my baby, and with that, more pics to come shortly!
If you like cats stay away from ma blog.
Bicuriosity kills the cat
I happen to really enjoy the company of my friend Laura, who couldn't be more white if she fell into a bucket of Tipp-Ex.
She's 21 and certainly no whigga but she'll bust a cap in your ass if you so much as step on her mojo.
Laura owes her big beautiful blue eyes to her mother Mrjinana, Marijuana, Mrjiuana or something Crotian/Serbian/Yugoslav sounding. Those eyes can mesmerize you or they can shoot a twelve-bore glare. At the best of times, she is also a redhead depending on how many washes she's had since the last Loreal application. Make no mistake though, she does not require an oxidizing agent to be fiery.
Laura and I have the best times together. And the best conversations. I attribute this to the fact that we both possess a ferocious appetite for tomfoolery. When we are in our element, we are card-carrying biatches who have no qualms about voicing our disdain with the general public pool of idiots that may just happen to brush us up the wrong way in Priceline. The rest of the time, we are making each other snort with laughter; a product of our warped and perverted sense of humour.
Laura loves shoes. She loves shoes the way mosquitoes love pondscum. Sometimes, I try to bring her shoe habit to heel (pun intended!) but mostly I egg on the purchases because they're usually so hot they beggar belief. Meanwhile I walk around in haviannas and weather-beaten mules because I only know how to do lazy and comfortable.
Sometimes I think we have been separated at birth, for we know each other so well. Other times I want to pelt her with a bag of stones. A typical Arien; she can be as stubborn as a mud fence and as subtle as a double hernia.
Mostly though, I find her incredible. If she played her cards right, I'd give her one.
Sod that. I'd give her one anyway.
