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Huzzah. The weekend was spent selecting, purchasing, transporting and adorning a Christmas tree. Adorning with red and white lights and baubles decorated with the image of Owen. Yes, Owen is our fairy atop the tree too, his cowboy besuited figure surrounded by glow-in-the-dark stars, jewelled hearts and a feather trim. Like a Mexican altarpiece, of course. A celebratory wall of images has been created behind the tree to complete the effect (not stalkerish, oh no) and new decs are being cooked up over the forthcoming week or so.

When purchasing a tree holder to stabilise the tree (failed due to Monky inability to turn screws), I once again proved my unintentional ability to pull gals. The checkout girl (who looked all of 16) got her 12 year-old-looking, skewed looking friend to run after me and stuff her digits into my hand. Flo was her name. Suprised I was to say the least. I was paying, not flirting. Do I set gaydar off easily? If I were gay I think I would treat all these gals the same way the Monky treats drunk, lecherous men. Contempt. Incredulity. Slight unhappiness. Darn it.

I’ve heard that there maybe a worldwide cheese shortage. I must stockpile immediately. Stockpile then eat. Soon. So the cheese will be stockpiled as fat on my bones.

San Francisco Magazine: The Cheese Squeeze

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