The coffee guy at Fairway with the wonky eye just waited on me (“a pound of the Yirgacheffe, whole bean is great, please”) and I pretended, as always, not to be bothered by the wonky eye or to even notice it. Indeed, I felt like I overcompensated for my pretense by smiling at him a little more than his level of service warranted and by looking him straight in the wonky eye, which is kind of hard to do given that it’s semi-sealed shut and I have no idea which way it’s looking, if indeed it’s looking anywhere at all.
0 thoughts on “Eye caramba”
I hate this term that I invented *curtsey* because it sounds as if it should come out of an 80’s hair band fan wearing jams. So, please forgive me for using it but, your accent is so rad ass.
So did you rescue Santa or did you let nature take its course and not interfere? (Note how I typed “its” instead of “it’s”, unlike 80% of the English-speaking population would!)
I would like to go on record as to the fact that there was NOBODY wearing a new sweater at that bar last night.
I can’t believe you didn’t tell us about this at the bar. We could have banded together to form a search and rescue team. You know we could have scrounged up some glow sticks somewhere and gone hunting.
PS – Did you get your poppers? They’re not only handy in the sack, but also to get accidental lube splatter out of clothing before it sets.
I am dying here. That’s amazing.
I LOOOOOVE IT! Only a Jew would go to such great lengths (i.e. put perfectly manicured nails on a NYC trash bag) to save a Santa!!!!!!!!!
You are a rock star!
I am sitting here in court, watching the dregs and smiling to the non-amusement of the sour bailiff as I read through your jury entries on my boffo new santa-delivered phone.
Amusing as that is, while sitting in this stench of poverty and ignorance I’d still rather be in a dark gay bar.
The music is better.