Artistic Tile, 38 West 21st Street
Jodes, you know I’m not normally into girls, and you know how much you have to suffer through my sexual harrassment. So, to say you are pretty is the understatement of the century! I want to DO yoga with you in those black yoga pants and black v-neck t-shirt…not just tell you how gorgeous you are in them.
You have brought me an abundance of side splitting laughter in the last almost 3 years that I have known you. I looked it up and it seems that *our* anniversary is March 29, 2005. I won’t embarrass you by revealing in this comment where we met and over whom we formed our bond. Even though we were grossly delusional back then, it all served a great purpose in the end.
I’m so glad I know you. *muah…again, with slipping you a little tongue*
You’re pretty. You’re funny. You’re my friend.
Thank you for letting me slip deep inside your virtual walls, sugar…
Or is that virtually slipping inside your sugar walls?
Meh, both work.
Happy anniversary. Six years? Wow. You were blogging back when it was just the cool kids doing it.
Six years? Darn it, you’re most of a year older than me, and always will be. That’s something to write home about.
Without Jodi –
There would be no ‘verse.
There would be no ‘feh’ no DOG and most importantly, no GAH!
Without Jodi, there would be no now-defunct Marty Casey Fan Club, no now-defunct ‘Buckin’ Chicken’ Fan Club, no it-should-be-defunct-but-unfortunately-isn’t Constantine the Con-Con Fan Club, no Clay Aiken looks more effeminate in my black yoga pants and V-neck than I do Fan Club, and no Ace-of-Hots Fan Club.
Without Jodi, there would be absolutely no reason for tofu to exist.
Without Jodi, thousands of medical clinics would not be able to recycle their perfectly good but slightly outdated medical apparati.
Without Jodi, sarcasm would cease to be fun.
Without Jodi, I would not have met some incredibly witty people who have incredibly wicked senses of humor.
Without Jodi, Texas would still be just a state I never want to visit.
Without Jodi, there would be no midwestern Yiddish banter. (oi!)
Without Jodi, there would be no late nite cold showers, followed by a glass of wine and some wrending of the male flesh.
Without Jodi, there would be no this.
There would be no us.
There would be no me.
So you can blame Jodi for all the time you waste here and the fact that you have to listen to my soapbox diatribes. It’s her fault. It’s her site.
Love ya, Babe! (In the way any decadent male loves a hot 6-year-old in black yoga pants… DATELINE here I come!)
You’re a crass, slutty, loosely-moraled whore-bitch from hell.
Everything I aspire to be.