after nearly a week, i have returned (semi) triumphant. one vintage loveseat that looks as though it belongs under dr. honeybear's ass, one ottoman, a bit tattered, but who could pass up burgundy pleather with faux brass fittings, and one of those rattan bowl shaped swingy things i love so well. as i've said, they're a bit mid-90's, but i don't give a fuck. plus, i made off with a bonus linda rondstadt poster completely gratis from a flea market just outside reno.
while i was away, i discovered that me and bat's room in the watchtower had been irreparably besmyrched, even more so than when bruce drops a power dump (on purpose, by the way) during re-runs of the courtship of eddie's father. hawk and dove, the incestual duo, apparently crashed there during my hiatus. hawk left empty pbr cans everywhere, and i'm pretty sure dove spilled a five gallon bucket of gay all over my side of the bathroom. when i confronted him about it, he responded by saying that all he did "was re-organize my moisturizers by aloe content and that i must be the gay one since i took a cross-country junket to by vintage furniture." as i see it, it all comes down the size of one's bikini-cut exterior codpiece. and that, little man, is mine.
as i eased along america's highways in my sweet-ass jetta, i was continuously bombarded by stares of feminine longing that seemed to say "ollie, you adonis of an archer, won't you pull that beast over and sling me some ding-dong?" i finally gave in to one girl's longing. she was a nubile young redhead with obviously exquisite taste. when i stepped out of my ride, she simply said something derogatory about my choice of tunes (which, at the moment, was either abba's dancing queen or rick springfield's greatest hits. it's only one song, but there's an extended dance mix.) and sped off. but i totally could have gotten some.
i also learned that i hate watching fat people eat.