If You See My Shit, Send Me Some Of My Clothing
Hi.
I know you`re prolly upset.
I`m sorry.
We`ve been moving and without internet. It`s been rough. Like being without Starbucks. Or oxygen.
But we`re here now. In Nice. Safe `n sound.
You`ll be proud to know that pound for pound, we prolly gave away 70% of our belongings. None of which you got. Sorry about that one too. As for the rest of our stuff, all of which fit in the frame of one digital photograph, who the hell knows where that shit is right now. One Hispanic and one Japanese guy drove off with it in a blue and white truck last week. I did FedEx a box to myself though. Last I checked it was in Paris. Which means it`s probably sitting in the corner of a warehouse getting a nose turned up at it. I may be asking for handouts.
Let`s talk about the cat. L. If you could handle being in a soft-sided carrier under the seat for 18 hours without. Making. A. sound, or going potty, I`d give you Pet of the Year Award too.
Now to my new (temporary) home. Palace rather. Pictures will be posted as soon as the IT guys install my camera software. But to whet your whistle, try this one on. Loft-style, two bedroom, two bath, fully furnished 4th floor corner apartment in the centre of Nice. What they consider a five-bedroom (?), contemporary-style home. If you count the kitchen, formal dining area and large corner living area over looking the corner of Rue de France and some other French sounding street. Hardwood floors, tiled walls, stone-laden shower providing a challenging design to wash away a jelly fish. Did I mention the remote control air conditioning? Or the two-block walk to the beach from my front door? Even the toilets have these freshener things that make them smell like Fruit Loops. Delicious. I wasn’t in the entry way for 30 seconds and my panties got moist.
That being said, I`ve made it my goal in the next two months to drag a date up there to see if she has the same physiological response. It`s a Pussy Palace ya`ll. So I`m calling it Operation: Pussy Palace. Or Operation: PP, for short. Unfortunately, I am not one to disclose of such details in my love life, so chances are that this is the last you`ll hear of this topic. As if there would`ve been much to write about anyway. What with the dragging and kicking and all.
I know you`re prolly upset.
I`m sorry.
We`ve been moving and without internet. It`s been rough. Like being without Starbucks. Or oxygen.
But we`re here now. In Nice. Safe `n sound.
You`ll be proud to know that pound for pound, we prolly gave away 70% of our belongings. None of which you got. Sorry about that one too. As for the rest of our stuff, all of which fit in the frame of one digital photograph, who the hell knows where that shit is right now. One Hispanic and one Japanese guy drove off with it in a blue and white truck last week. I did FedEx a box to myself though. Last I checked it was in Paris. Which means it`s probably sitting in the corner of a warehouse getting a nose turned up at it. I may be asking for handouts.
Let`s talk about the cat. L. If you could handle being in a soft-sided carrier under the seat for 18 hours without. Making. A. sound, or going potty, I`d give you Pet of the Year Award too.
Now to my new (temporary) home. Palace rather. Pictures will be posted as soon as the IT guys install my camera software. But to whet your whistle, try this one on. Loft-style, two bedroom, two bath, fully furnished 4th floor corner apartment in the centre of Nice. What they consider a five-bedroom (?), contemporary-style home. If you count the kitchen, formal dining area and large corner living area over looking the corner of Rue de France and some other French sounding street. Hardwood floors, tiled walls, stone-laden shower providing a challenging design to wash away a jelly fish. Did I mention the remote control air conditioning? Or the two-block walk to the beach from my front door? Even the toilets have these freshener things that make them smell like Fruit Loops. Delicious. I wasn’t in the entry way for 30 seconds and my panties got moist.
That being said, I`ve made it my goal in the next two months to drag a date up there to see if she has the same physiological response. It`s a Pussy Palace ya`ll. So I`m calling it Operation: Pussy Palace. Or Operation: PP, for short. Unfortunately, I am not one to disclose of such details in my love life, so chances are that this is the last you`ll hear of this topic. As if there would`ve been much to write about anyway. What with the dragging and kicking and all.
