Fine Dining in a Sewer and Other Events of this Nature

As you all know, Bosley and I are the epitomes of awesome. As such, we deserve nothing but the best in the areas of living, dining and otherwise. This is why it came as such a shock when we entered a lovely Indian restaurant and received glares from all that were inside. We were instructed to take our seats at a designated table in the glaring sun. We took it upon ourselves to relocate, the sun was too much for out delicate almond eyes and fair epidermis. We moved to a table which was filthy with streaks of unidentifiable substances, the waiter promptly shooed us away. We moved to a third table, by this time, having the eyes of everyone in the restaurant upon us. Normally, this would be an honor and the norm, however unlike most times, their looks were not those of admiration. After a hardy meal of unidentifiable fare, the check was brought to us. It occurred to me to cast my eyes around for a sanitation inspection grade. Not that I was suspicious of the establishment, but merely to amuse myself. I looked at the front door and my mouth dropped in shock. This joint had received a *dare I say it* B!!!!! Immediately I informed Bosley. She grabbed her mobile and dragged me outside.

You see, here in Gotham, the sanitation department has taken it upon themselves to throughly inspect each eatery and grade it either with an A, B, or C. A was obvi the best grade one could receive, but were not at all rare. Nearly all of the establishments that I've set foot in had received an A (however, this is understandable). Only the dingiest receive B's and I can't imagine what one could do to receive a C.

Bosley dialed 311 and went through the usual procedure. City and state, live operator, press the button. "Hello, I am inquiring about a grade a restaurant received for its sanitation." The man paused, "Oh... let me put you through to the department of health and hygiene." Obviously they had never received a call such as this. Bosley waited on hold in the freezing cold of early March in her fishnet tights. I, too was wearing tights. "Hello? How may I help you?" Bosley repeated herself. "Oh..." The woman had the same response - nothing short of a deer in headlights. "Let me put you through to someone else." Bosley waited through the elevator music once more. When a third man answered, she repeated her question once again with a bit more zest. The man paused, "I can give you a website." "No," Bosley replied. "I do not have access to internet at the moment." The man replied in a forceful tone, "Well, I can't sit here and explain every reason why a grade was given. Thank you have a nice day."
Now Bosley's voice was dripping with annoyance as she bade him farewell and hung up.

Unsatisfied with Gotham's department of hygiene, we had no idea how long we had to live. With this, we found our way back to the establishment, pondered whether we should ask upfront what they did to receive a "B", and eventually left. A taxi was quick to pick up us up as we left for my flat back in the tan district. We logged on to the site given to us by the stoop A (aka department of hygiene work monkey)- there was absolutely no listing of restaurants. The only bit of information we could come across was an empty form which the inspectors would later be obligated to fill out. On said form, there was a section below food temperature which pertained to something about improper sewage disposal. This is where we decided to leave our research, afraid to see what we would discover. We felt a bit of ourselves die that day, a considerable amount of our tanness was lost on in the abyss of the lower east side.

Nikon D5000

Finally, I've gotten a camera other than this point-and-shoot nonsense! Now, allow me to grace you with the genius that is Yassy Photography...

Review of the Shining

Today Bosley and I sat down to watch a movie called "The Shining." I'm sure you've all heard of it. Little did we know we were in for the most hilarious two hours and some odd minutes of our childhood lives. The movie started with some stoops driving to a stoop island. The man aka Stoop #1 had thinning hair and immediately this was a turnoff to the whole movie. We were then forced to view a mouse dressed in red, oh, I mean his wife aka Stoop #2. Don't even get me started on the son. The first scene was of him talking to his finger while brushing his teeth very Stoop-esque-ly. The family then moved to a hotel which for some reason was vacant. We could tell from the very beginning that Stoop #1 was going to go insane as he already looked the part. The head chef came to scare Stoop #3 aka son by calling him Doc because of his "Shining" don't ask, we don't know. They were left up that mountain alone for 6 months. AFter the first day of being stuck with Stoops #2-3 Stoop #1 was already considering suicide. The boy's finger then started screaming Red Rum and the father went after the cook with an axe. The mouse's face turned a deep shade of scarlet. And soon the movie was coming to an end. All thinning hair and no Rogaine makes Stoop #1 a bald man.

Drama at the Cubicle

Today, Bosley and I had the "pleasure" of experiencing cubicle life. The occasion was "Bring Your Child To Work Day". For the safety of Bosley's dignity, we shall not mention the crayons at the breakfast extravaganza. Our first workshop was communications in which a woman who shall not be named droned on about the importance of reading, writing, and arts and crafts. As we sat, tortured beyond belief, waiting for the moment in which the torment would come to a halt. Alas, this took 45 minutes... The workshop was meant to teach communication skills, but in the words of Bosley, "I lost more knowledge than I gained."

Our next workshop was The Mini Media Training, which required participants to get in front of a camera, assume the part of a celebrity, and finally make a fool out of themselves. Fun, no? Each person could claim a product, but the girl who caught our eye, let's call her "Obnoxious Tween" took five lipglosses and a deluxe eyeshadow palette, with no regards for the feelings of humanity. We could tell, from the moment we sat down that this "girl" was trouble. A boy, shall we say, with a british accent opened his noise hole and after he had uttered a few words, this smelly girl leaned accross the table, and said "You know, I have a friend who sounds JUST LIKE YOU", her words dripping with condecendence. We couldn't stand to stay a full 45 minutes, so needless to say, we got up and left.

On our way back to the home cubicle, we were locked outside of the elevators, needing a pass key to navigate the cubicle farm. Unfortunately, we had not yet obtained said pass key, so were left with no choice but to wait for mindless passerbys to grant us entrance. It was not long before we ended up wondering the slums of the cubicles aimlessly. We asked a cubicle zombie were to find cubicle #645C, he was of no use, merely telling us to switch floors. Again, we were trapped behind the glass doors of shame. As the doors were about to close on our opportunity of entrance, Bosley sprinted to the door screaming and scared a family or two. Wandering aimlessly, we eventually found ourselves at the cubicle slums. Passing by mounds of paperwork and decrepit water-fountains, we knew we were done for. Luckily, within minutes, we saw our mentor across the hallway who led us back to the safety of the higher- end cubicles. Blame us if you will, but why don't YOU try navigating through a maze of homogenous small cubes?

Through our experience in the workspace, we had made many a friend, and eventually a possy. This possy consisted of Mentor's cubicle neighbor, who we shall refer to as "Kick-Ass Coworker" and A\as we headed to lunch, great drama unfolded, to our delight. A couple of high society execs pushed pass us at the vicinity of the elevators. As she entered the elevator, she exclaimed, "Oh, I thought you were a herd of buffalo!" Oh no she di-int! As we entered the elevator as well, she then said, "Oh! I didn't know you were getting in the elevator." The comment had not sunk in at first, but over time, the true meaning of her words unraveled. The drama was present and flaming. After registering the snark comments made, we laughed as we discussed the starategy in which we would put her in her place.

As you can see, our sojourn to the land of rouge cubicles, had adverse affects on our mental health and well being. Needless to say, we'll be coming back next year. :)

The Beginner's and Normie Dictionary

For those who are not too familiar with Yasy speak, there are a few terms which you should get acquainted with...

Cubicle Life = Drama that unfolds in the cubicle oriented workplace

Doof = Doofus

Normie = One who is untan

Obvi = Obviously

Stoop = Stoop

Stoopette = Female stoop

Stoopicle = The workspace of a typical stoop

Stoopwear = Things that may only be worn by stoops

Tan = Tan is not a color, it is a lifestyle. There are four main levels of tanness which are (from least to most): Normie, Spray- tanned, Tan, Sun- bleached. To be truly tan and accepted in the tan community, you must have an established "tan walk". Your standard tan walk consists of the tanned individual walking in a tan manor while simultaneously providing a tan beat or rhythm in the background.

Yummzerr = An expression indicating food of the delicious variety

Drama at the Tennis Court II

Today Bosley and I attended our second tennis lesson. Bosley arrived before I did (as usual because of my 1 ½ hour commute.) She walked in the courts and immediately a man screamed at her to close the door. As she walked by, a tennis ball rolled at her feet. Its owner said, “Thank you.” Assuming Bosley would get the ball. When she did not, he said, “Can you get the ball, missy?” She said “Oh, sorry?” He then responded rudely with, “I guess you are too young to be missy, lady.” I came soon after. The doors were shut and I had to walk around like some commoner. Bosley dumped her partner for moi , but then again who wouldn’t. We watched the commoners play “King of the Court”, when a ball flew high over the head of Boy in the ridiculously long sleeved shirt for a hot New York summer day, so he jumped, tripped over his feet resembling an imbecile. Can we say faux-pas? This amused us to the fullest extent. Soon after an injustice occurred. We were (dare I say it?) CUT (in line.)
As you can see, our sojourn to the land of tennis courts had adverse affects on our mental health and well being, needless to say, we're never going back. The rest of this historical encounter is lost forever, as this is where the napkin ends.