You'd think having it so cold that your balls shrink would be great for a tranny. You'd be wrong.
Oh boy, it's Friday! You know what that means.
The Book of the Damned, Week Two
+ 11/07, Attempting to figure out what the hell it is that he eats between one night and the next morning that leaves 4 cups, 2 bowls and one plate in the sink. I would complain about him not doing the dishes as well, but his attempts to do so consist of holding the plate under running water, so that’s for the better.
David made dinner, a simple affair of teriyaki pork, jasmine rice and some veggies. When he calls out to say it’s almost done, Phil fucking books it to the kitchen, snatches a plate and stands there like little goddamn Oliver. How rude is that? He then heaps his plate full, sits down and starts cramming food in his face before anyone else even gets a plate. Wtf.
+ 11/08, Kitchen adventures continue! Bought milk on the 5th. Two Gallons of it. That was 3 days ago. Guess what? It’s gone! So are all the cold cuts and deli meat. I contemplate getting a mini-fridge for the duration of his stay to hoard certain perishables. So far my room is home to many cereals, cookies, chips, canned soups and fruit.
Had to supervise (teach) him to make pasta. The dried pasta that comes in a box and the sauce that comes in a jar. Unbelievable.
David had to teach him how to iron. This guys, who owns nothing but professional wear like suits and slacks, cannot iron. It fucking figures - he thinks he’s James Bond, and surely Bond has people at MI-6 to do this kind of menial task for him! There’s a subtle flaw in this progression of thought, but I can’t blame him for overlooking it because it’s really tough to find.
+ 11/09, He’s sniffling incessantly and coughing with his mouth open. I fear we are all going to catch some awful airborne virus. It will probably make us stupid.
He pissed with the door open and everyone home. He microwaves stuff without putting plastic wrap on it. He doesn’t refill the water filter. He leaves the bathroom light on. He farts wherever like a frat boy. He still doesn’t know how to scroll through the TV guide (you’d think the ‘Page Up’ and ‘Page Down’ buttons would be pretty obvious.) He tries to bum smokes off my friends. He does a million little things that shouldn’t even come up as a problem in daily life but SOMEHOW manages to fuck those up too.
+ 11/10, Am washing the dishes when he shuffles up and asks “is it okay for me to take my cough medicine now?” Uh, do you know when the last time you took it was? No? Then why the HELL would you think aaaaanyone else would know? Unfortunately that wasn’t the end; two minutes later he does the same shuffle up close while holding a bowl. “Is this okay for pie and ice cream?”
…Will it physically contain a liquid? Yes. Is it a sieve? No. THEN CHANCES ARE IT’S FINE, YOU GIMP. No wonder he can’t fucking function without a wife to dote on him.
+ 11/11, Found one of my pristine copies of a Churchill book on the table. The spine was broken, pages bent, and a stain that smelled suspiciously like coffee. He claimed he didn’t know it was mine. You know, because it would have made it ok if it was someone else's. Philip, it was in my goddamn bookcase in the alcove directly outside my room, and next to the shoujo manga, videogame strategy guides and the graphic design reference books. WILL YOU PLEASE THINK ONCE IN A WHILE.
+11/12, An attempt to make idle chat while I’m whipping something up causes him to break out with “I think it’s so great, I mean, I notice it a lot, that Asian women really love to cook and just really make the home a castle, you know?”
No. Nuh-uh.
I glance at him and he is DEAD serious. Bitch, are you forgetting I’m Italian as well? I’ve got piano wire and I’ll fucking use it! This man honestly believed what he was saying was A) true and B) appropriate. Well, there was nothing left to do afterwards but throw down my wok, bind my feet and Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon-style leap from the 3rd story window (tripping over the sewing machine and abacus on the way), hop on my bicycle and pedal furiously through my rice paddy to the nearest temple, where I prayed to my ancestors for both forgiveness for being a girl, and for him to have an unfortunate accident involving the business end of a claw hammer. Ugh.
+11/13, I made an awesome breakfast of homefries, corned beef hash, scrambled eggs and French toast for the sole purpose of making the place smell awesome, then reveling in the glee of denying him any of it. It totally worked. First the sizzling sounds drawing his attention, then the waft of deliciousness threading down the hall, and finally his creeping into the kitchen with his not-subtle phrases of “boy, that’s sure looking good” and “wow, you’re sure making a lot of breakfast, eh?”
Yep. And I am going to eat it ALL, dick. Even if it makes me vomit right afterwards from the sheer volume of it all, this food is passing through my lips one way or another. He looked almost stunned when he found out he wasn’t gettin’ anything. Bam.
Edit: Okay, it definitely wasn’t physically possible to eat it all, so the leftovers are coming with me to work. I still win. Wait….he’s still here. Disregard that D:
The Book of the Damned, Week Two
+ 11/07, Attempting to figure out what the hell it is that he eats between one night and the next morning that leaves 4 cups, 2 bowls and one plate in the sink. I would complain about him not doing the dishes as well, but his attempts to do so consist of holding the plate under running water, so that’s for the better.
David made dinner, a simple affair of teriyaki pork, jasmine rice and some veggies. When he calls out to say it’s almost done, Phil fucking books it to the kitchen, snatches a plate and stands there like little goddamn Oliver. How rude is that? He then heaps his plate full, sits down and starts cramming food in his face before anyone else even gets a plate. Wtf.
+ 11/08, Kitchen adventures continue! Bought milk on the 5th. Two Gallons of it. That was 3 days ago. Guess what? It’s gone! So are all the cold cuts and deli meat. I contemplate getting a mini-fridge for the duration of his stay to hoard certain perishables. So far my room is home to many cereals, cookies, chips, canned soups and fruit.
Had to supervise (teach) him to make pasta. The dried pasta that comes in a box and the sauce that comes in a jar. Unbelievable.
David had to teach him how to iron. This guys, who owns nothing but professional wear like suits and slacks, cannot iron. It fucking figures - he thinks he’s James Bond, and surely Bond has people at MI-6 to do this kind of menial task for him! There’s a subtle flaw in this progression of thought, but I can’t blame him for overlooking it because it’s really tough to find.
+ 11/09, He’s sniffling incessantly and coughing with his mouth open. I fear we are all going to catch some awful airborne virus. It will probably make us stupid.
He pissed with the door open and everyone home. He microwaves stuff without putting plastic wrap on it. He doesn’t refill the water filter. He leaves the bathroom light on. He farts wherever like a frat boy. He still doesn’t know how to scroll through the TV guide (you’d think the ‘Page Up’ and ‘Page Down’ buttons would be pretty obvious.) He tries to bum smokes off my friends. He does a million little things that shouldn’t even come up as a problem in daily life but SOMEHOW manages to fuck those up too.
+ 11/10, Am washing the dishes when he shuffles up and asks “is it okay for me to take my cough medicine now?” Uh, do you know when the last time you took it was? No? Then why the HELL would you think aaaaanyone else would know? Unfortunately that wasn’t the end; two minutes later he does the same shuffle up close while holding a bowl. “Is this okay for pie and ice cream?”
…Will it physically contain a liquid? Yes. Is it a sieve? No. THEN CHANCES ARE IT’S FINE, YOU GIMP. No wonder he can’t fucking function without a wife to dote on him.
+ 11/11, Found one of my pristine copies of a Churchill book on the table. The spine was broken, pages bent, and a stain that smelled suspiciously like coffee. He claimed he didn’t know it was mine. You know, because it would have made it ok if it was someone else's. Philip, it was in my goddamn bookcase in the alcove directly outside my room, and next to the shoujo manga, videogame strategy guides and the graphic design reference books. WILL YOU PLEASE THINK ONCE IN A WHILE.
+11/12, An attempt to make idle chat while I’m whipping something up causes him to break out with “I think it’s so great, I mean, I notice it a lot, that Asian women really love to cook and just really make the home a castle, you know?”
No. Nuh-uh.
I glance at him and he is DEAD serious. Bitch, are you forgetting I’m Italian as well? I’ve got piano wire and I’ll fucking use it! This man honestly believed what he was saying was A) true and B) appropriate. Well, there was nothing left to do afterwards but throw down my wok, bind my feet and Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon-style leap from the 3rd story window (tripping over the sewing machine and abacus on the way), hop on my bicycle and pedal furiously through my rice paddy to the nearest temple, where I prayed to my ancestors for both forgiveness for being a girl, and for him to have an unfortunate accident involving the business end of a claw hammer. Ugh.
+11/13, I made an awesome breakfast of homefries, corned beef hash, scrambled eggs and French toast for the sole purpose of making the place smell awesome, then reveling in the glee of denying him any of it. It totally worked. First the sizzling sounds drawing his attention, then the waft of deliciousness threading down the hall, and finally his creeping into the kitchen with his not-subtle phrases of “boy, that’s sure looking good” and “wow, you’re sure making a lot of breakfast, eh?”
Yep. And I am going to eat it ALL, dick. Even if it makes me vomit right afterwards from the sheer volume of it all, this food is passing through my lips one way or another. He looked almost stunned when he found out he wasn’t gettin’ anything. Bam.
Edit: Okay, it definitely wasn’t physically possible to eat it all, so the leftovers are coming with me to work. I still win. Wait….he’s still here. Disregard that D: