Things I did this weekend:
1. Bought Rome Girl a Kinder Advent Calendar so she'll have one chocolate treat a day every day until Christmas.
2. Won some money at poker. Immediately spent it buying pints for the other players.
3. Played CSI on Playstation with Rome Girl
4. Sprayed the cat with water every time she got annoying because she's in heat.
5. Caught up on Prison Break.
6. Helped Rome Girl rearrange some tables in the kitchen.
7. Discovered that Rome Girl doesn't own nail polish remover so was stuck with black fingernails all day Sunday after the Manson show. Still have them, they don't look so bad.
8. Realized that the strikes in France are going to get worse before they get better.
9. Told Rome Girl she's been working so hard and I'm not going to sign her to any new freelance jobs until she chills out a little bit.
10. Paid the rent.
Today the unions that are on strike are going door to door and handing out calendars in order to solicit donations to help their families during the strike.
We gave two euros to get the calendar from the Union of Garbage Men for two reasons:
1. It amuses me to have a festive 2008 calendar with a picture of a garbage truck in the middle of it.
2. If there is any union I don't want pissed off at me it's the garbage men. I don't care if the post office never runs again, but I really don't want trash "accidentally" dumped in front of my door.
"You probably terrified them," Rome girl said, pointing out that I was wearing a Guinness sweatshirt, long Bermuda shorts and black nail polish. "Do you think they really want to fuck with a beer drinking, winter surfing Goth immigrant?"
So, I got an email tonight from my mom and have no idea what to do about it.
General background info: My mom can be very nice. She can also be batshit crazy and as other members of my family have put it "a fucking nightmare."
Last February, for example, she asked me what I wanted for my birthday. I told her and then received roughly two weeks of nasty emails one of which read, I shit you not "If you were a good son you would have asked for a cashmere sweater or a nice tie."
It's no exaggeration to say I had to go on medication after about a week of these increasingly personal and pointed messages.
Last week, I got an email from my dad saying he was going to give Rome Girl and I money to go out to a fancy dinner on Thanksgiving but to not tell my mom about it because it would get him in trouble. He then went on to say not to thank him for it either by email or IM because she reads his emails and IMs and he would get in trouble for it.
Anyway, tonight I get an email from my mom asking me if dad gave me the money she told him to give me for Thanksgiving and asking me what I want for Christmas.
Man, do I feel like there are land mines waiting no matter how I reply to this.
The deal Rome Girl and I have about doing the dishes is getting easier and easier for her.
What happens is every time I do the dishes or scrub the toilet she gives me a blow job.
It used to take me roughly as long to do the dishes as it would take her to blow me.
But, lately I get so turned on thinking about the blow job while doing the dishes that by the time I get my reward I'm about two minutes away from spurting.
I think there is a method to her madness!