Oh, fine, raincoaster posts about wearing her cat around her shoulders. What happens next? Well, obviously, the Yanks have to ramp it up. They are so bloody competitive! Always gotta ramp it up. No way am I doing nekkid cat promenades!
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Some of you may be wondering what happened. I even received a rather worried email, subject line “ONE post???”.
Here, for those of you who were not there, is what happened:
1oz Plymouth gin
1oz Campari
1oz red Cinzano vermouth
Well, it happened five times and a draft pint of Strongbow happened once. Negronis are the prettiest of all cocktails, but as I said, they are like playing with God’s remote control when you can’t read what the buttons do. Christian Brando had three and shot his sister’s lover. I had five and ended up drunkenly emailing an Eric Stoltz sighting to Defamer (who laughed at me, thanks Mark!) and instead of flirting with the biggest flirt on the planet, I went into chat and bored him senseless with my exciting plans for my new CSS design!
No wonder I can’t get laid. I ignore Eric Stoltz and bore all of the rest of them.
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Michael Moore and his merry band of fags pay a visit to the homophobiest preacher the US has ever produced. Stolen from here which is a site I got to because Alexa told me someone on that page linked to my blog…which no-one did. The innernet works in mysterious ways.
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I don’t really care, as long as I get to sleep with Brad Pitt for awhile.
You Are More Like Angelina Jolie |
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You are smart, sexy, and strong willed. You aren’t against stealing another girl’s man… If he’s better off with you! |
Are You More Like Jennifer or Angelina?
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And now for the latest in our series on the Ideal Man.
All the world knows about the iron men: streamlined bio-units of muscle, sinew, and insanity who compete for survival-level prize money over a gruelling, often mountainous course approximately the distance typically travelled in a human lifetime.
But do you know about Extreme Iron Men?
Extreme Ironing is the *sport* (you decide) of taking an iron & ironing board to locations not conducive to ironing, and pressing a few items of clothing.
When I left raincoaster Global HQ this morning there was a pile of wet laundry on a rack over the bathtub, dripping away and patiently waiting for my attention. I figured it would keep and tried to creep out of the place without waking the slumbering Cybergypsy. When I returned this afternoon, the laundry was happily drying on the line and my roommate was straightening the last of my unmentionables on the drying rack.
I should sign him up for this and bet a snotload of money on the guy. He’s obviously a natural. Any man who would touch my underwear without a specific invitation is, frankly, fearless.
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raincoaster 