Grr. My dad doesn’t want me to bring Jimmy to New York. This complicates matters.
::squeals:: Neil Gaiman? New York? July 11th? Coraline signing? Oh, holy mother of Percy, I’m going to be there! Union Square is 7 blocks from my dorm! ::spazzes::
I’ve been on a semi-health kick as of recently. Salad quotient has risen dramatically. Of course, this time last year, I was still convinced that I loathed salads, unaware that my tastes had changed. Mmm. Salad.
Yesterday, I went to lunch with Chungy. I picked her up from her summer job at Hybrigen, a science lab that does all sorts of nifty stuff that was way above my head, and we went to eat at a Pasta/Pizza restaurant thing. It was arranged quasi-buffet style, and the guy behind the counter has been declared my new hero. He’s one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. He jokingly tried to coerce Chungy into deciding what to order, then made fun of her pronunciation of “Chicken Florentine” (Floh-ren-TYNE, being incorrect, naturally). Salads came with the deal, so he then asked us what dressing we preferred. “House or Ranch?” he asked me as he filled my bowl. “Ranch…” I started to say as he reached for the “House” ladle. “Try the House, it’s delicious”, he said, ladling the dressing onto my salad. “Why not?” I laughed as he handed me the bowl. Chungy received similar treatment. Hilarious. He was one of those radiantly happy, middle-aged, thick-accented Italian guys that can get away with anything with a laugh. He made my day.
Leaving, we saw him sitting down, enjoying his own House salad, and we promised we’d be back. I threatened that I might try the Ranch dressing, and he assured me that this would not happen while he was around. He warned Chungy not to work too hard, in case she got rich. I think I’ll call Chungy and find out if we can go back tomorrow or Friday, as I leave for Parsons on Saturday. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it receives the Priscellie Stamp of Approval. Italian guy? You rock.
And the House was delicious.
::laughs uproariously:: My dad just referred to my sister as a seamstress. Oh, my sides…
Explanation? My sister wants to be a fashion designer. Last semester, she took such a class in college, but for some reason, she wasn’t able to finish the course. Therefore, she needed to finish it this summer by designing making a bunch of outfits. For the past few days, she’s been out in our garage/guest house thing, drawing and measuring and cutting and sewing like mad. Apparently, my dad forgot about the alternate definition to the word “seamstress”. I’m really amused.
For the less informed:
“Why did you join?” he said.
“Me? Oh, I . . . I like to eat meals and sleep indoors. Anyway, there isn’t that much choice, is there? It was that or become . . . hah . . . a seamstress*.”
“And you’re not very good at sewing?”
*A survey by the Ankh-Morpork Guild of Merchants of tradespeople in the dock areas of Morpork found 987 women who gave their profession as ‘seamstress’. Oh . . . and two needles.
Alicey says she’s reserving a pencil especially for Nobby. This bodes ill.
From the LJ website: “The source code to the server and all the clients are available under various open source licenses, mainly the GPL.”
I read this as as “GBL”, making the phrase read “mainly the Great Big Lever”. There’s one more quadrant of my brain lost to Discworld… (not that I’m complaining)
It just occurred to me that I haven’t posted any entires of substance in ages. This interests me.
Whoever sent me that “SomeoneLikesYou.com” email can expect serious medical bills in their future.
That is all.
I heart my new jeans. I’m dead sexy! Go me!
::giggles madly:: my blog as a poem! e.e. cummings, eat your heart out!
The help of Naps, at Parsons. Perhaps I
had fun. It Meh.
Was it
will begin to remember what
the twins, and String Sannali Bloggywoggy
Alicey Ultra Evil! secret: http://elfwood.lysator.
Be Amused! Hearts to Nemmy-Chan for the link!