when my landlord slips into the puppy sweater, you know what that means. it means my unemployed friend, the original owner of this cross stitched beauty, is in duluth.
here my landlord combines two of his great loves: leftover pot roast from black woods and leaving himself special little notes on whatever version of paper hits the tip of his pen. here is reminding himself to call that one guy about that one thing.
but in the past, these notes have said things like:
the russian makes me buy her drinks, but then never comes over
christa says this, but then [pages and pages of unintelligable]
anyway. we all met up at black woods, which is my worst favorite place to spend $6.36 on a tall beer. i always feel like some guy wearing khaki pants, with a blue tooth leached around his ear, is going to bore me with vikings trivia, buy me a flirtini, then try to sell me a new cell phone plan.
eventually we made off for quinlan's. i was starving, so i picked through these suckers looking for partially popped kernals. i probably resemebled an ape plucking a lunch buffet haul of live skull fauna.
maybe it's not so much a lazy eye as that the rest of his face is super active.
then we alienated half the table, referencing inside jokes hatched in the early 2000s. chuck and i left just in time to escape the awkward hugs.