Today is MurphDay, and yesterday was MurphDay Eve. Murph got a lot of cheese.
CLOSEUP: MURPHSHIRT
TBz was there:
In other news, while having game night at some toddlers' house the other night we invented a new cocktail. It is delicious, it tastes like bubble gum, and it should always be enjoyed in a martini glass on the rocks.
[ 2oz Stoli Raspberry Vodka
3/4oz Malibu Coconut Rum
two dashes Agistora Angostura bitters]
The dude on the left is turning 30 so we're going to Vegas. They are wearing matching Mickey Mouse shirts. Anyhoos, Vegas rules, remember?
This is what I did with my Saturday. Maybe one day you will be on a t-shirt! Probably not though.
On this day one year ago, we experienced the DC judicial system from within, which somehow prompted me to begin phlogging. A year later, and how far we've come! I've phlogged about things 147 times. That's once every two and a half days!
Mostly it has had to do with cats, but also other things sometimes.
What do I have for you lo on this wondrous phlogiversary? A quick look into the nefarious innerworkings of corporate America!
See, a couple weeks ago I needed a suit, so I went to Bloomingdale's. Natch. They had a sale. Bernard (my fashion consultant) hooked it up
(Ana is her own fashion consultant) and even persuaded me to open up a Bloomingdale's account. 
Not only an insider, people. PREMIER INSIDER. I saved $47.
I'm pretty sure the only other store credit card I've ever had was for Structure, which I opened with the purchase of a pair of cargo pants and never paid.
But anyway. I received my card in the mail last week, but it wasn't accompanied by a bill or a billing address, or my balance. So I went online to pay it off today (I'm pretty sure the APR is somewhere around 47%), and after a thorough search of "Bloomies" (premier insider jargon) online, I realized that it is impossible to pay one's Bloomingdale card balance on the internet.
I then called customer service, which told me that I could pay my balance at any Bloomingdale's store. That seemed like a hassle, so I asked if I could pay over the phone. Sure, they said, but it's going to require a $10 processing fee. Those damned corporations! Geniuses! I paid the $10.
Thus concludes my consumer lesson for 2008.
BONUSBONUSBONUS I forgot to include a picture of Ana's secret santa gift from Abe a couple weeks ago, so here it is: The Best Present Ever:
Now, I know you can't read it, so here's the transcription:
ANYONE FUCKS WITH ANA
GETS HACKED UP AND SEALED
IN A 55 GALLON DRUM
I particularly like the specific nature of the threat.
Alot has happened on my phone lately. First, for some reason I used it to capture Colin working the ladies when I had a perfectly working real phone at hand:
He swore that he needed just five more minutes. Next time, Collard Greens, next time!
Also, Murph posed:
Before that, a couple of us went to DC's hottest only after-hours spot, wherein we were stuck for two hours in silence while the coppers tried to pinch us.
If I were 17, it would've been a great story. But I'm not. The coppers would've needed to actually pinch us for it to be a great story at 30.
I finally got my shirt. It's surprisingly high in quality and awesomeness:
And finally, Teebz turned 19! Here he is asking for his keys:
In reviewing my dad's exhaustive genealogical research, I found out that my great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-
great-great-great-great Grandfather was the mayor of London. His title? Lord Mayor. In other words, my family was a big deal in the mid-14th century.
We're pretty much all broke commoners these days.
Maybe we weren't really a big deal to start with. It turns out that the plague arrived in London right before he became mayor, and I'm guessing that it must be pretty easy to be the mayor of a town where everybody's dead or dying.
So maybe "Lord Mayor" was a euphemism for something much less important. Like how people call people "boss" when they really mean "I think I'm better than you."
I also designed another t-shirt, for some reason.
Nobody really responded to the call for t-shirt ideas, so I had to come up with my own. To do so, I once again dipped into the font of comic strips I drew in college. This is one of the earliest, and still one of my favorites:
All yours for $19. MADE IN THE USA, people.
If I sell 2 (including myself), consider this a regular feature.
Hey, Gang! I'm 30! The big 3-0! Over the hill! The new 20! For the festivities, all I asked for was what every red-blooded 30-year old would want: ice cream cake, candy, stuffed animals, t-shirts, DVDs, comic books and sneakers. Guess what? Mofos came through.
First, Noms got her friend who owns a Baskin-Robbins (we know people) to make an ice cream cake with a picture of me eating a frozen banana on it.
It was delicious.
Corrie and Jordan got me candy. M&Ms make dark chocolate peanut candy now. Game over.
Next, Wendy and Mikey got me a stuffed wildcat, which is the product of an extended inside joke that is much too bad to be shared here. Luckily, the stuffed wildcat can talk, which is just awesome enough to share here:
I'm not, I say.
You people remember the cat thing, right? Yes, it continues. New cat still rules, and old cats still act like they run shit by trying to keep new cat sequestered in the basement:
But really new cat does what she wants. Look, she comes upstairs sometimes:
That's new cat with the glowing eyes. That's Punk walking through our disgusting room. (We're too busy to clean. Sue us.)
Dana Senior surprised us last night by being here in America instead of in Thailand. Today we went to eat Pho (she needed to work her way back into the culture slowly) and she brought us presents. First was whiskey. Duh:
Whiskey which led to Ana being on the cover of Vice Magazine:
and second was the best t-shirt possibly ever:
You can't see it, but everything on the shirt is sparkly and fuzzy.
In other news, Ana and new cat are in love.
BONUSBONUSBONUS: What happens behind me when I'm phlogging
(To learn what words are actually coming out of her mouth, click the picture or here.)
