spring time smelly

Yes indeedy. How does one dress when it's 48 degrees when one leaves the apt and when it's 67 degrees by noon? Dear god.

I need to make an addendum (amendment?) to the comment about Fat Daly and Gabe's asshole. It was declared that Fat Daly is what you would get if you turned Gabe's asshole inside out. So, rather than the fresh-faced, usually good-smelling Gabe . .. well, you can imagine. Although, to be fair, I haven't smelled him in a while. But I have a feeling he doesn't smell like an asshole. Gabe?

So I'm giving the apartment search a breather. For now. The kicker is that when my dad kicks it, I get first right of refusal or whatever as well as the chunk of change I'll need to buy it. (God willing, I should be out of debt before he dies). Meaning his investment will become my investment, which is a very nice investment indeed. But all of that is . . well, reading tealeaves, as Ron would put it. He could write me out of the will tomorrow. Maybe he already has. I fully expect Mr. Brown to get everything: both New York apartments, any chicks my dad has, cash and prizes totalling who knows how much.

I'm drinking a Coke. Not a Diet. It tastes like sugarcoated asswater. But I needed something to wash down last night's exceptional leftovers. Salmon and mixed vegetables. Outstanding.

I'm swamped at work. Absolutely swamped. Swamped is good. At least the day goes by quite quickly.