Thursday, February 3, 2011


I've mentioned that I've been seriously cleaning Annie's place.  My decision to move in created a giant mess.  Now that things are all tidied up, we're having that fight that's been done on too many shitty sitcoms to mention.  However:


I'm not very manly (a post I'm working on for later), and she's not super girly.  We apparently hover in some comfortable androgynous zone.  Whatever.  Then--- you move a piece of furniture--- and BAM!  Heels and flats and tennis shoes and sandals and flip flops and boots all get scared and scurry.

I sarcastically told her that her '35 pairs' of shoes are going to disappear.  She told me not to be ridiculous.  She counted 19 pairs.  Much like when a guy measure's his penis, you have to add a few.  You know she overlooked some cuz they're still hiding... or she didn't want to consider 'flip-flops' as a pair of 'shoes'.  Regardless, 2 dozen pairs of shoes covers enough surface area to repave a Walmart parking lot.

Picture a cute, tiny, little apartment.  Picture two people trying to shove their lives together in the same small bedroom.   Now picture those people (bed, dressers, nightstand, and all) floating on shoes.  That's us.

What's up ladies?,

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