This is Lesley:
This is the view from the toilet in the house Lesley grew up in:
There is a gorilla head and a thumb hiding in there. Can you find them? Everytime I would look at that patch of wallpaper, I would always look for those spots.
When we moved into that house EVERY SQUARE INCH of the house was pink. The rooms were painted pink, the ceilings were painted pink, the carpeting was pink, even the garage was pink. The only areas in the house that were not pink was my leopard print bathroom wallpaper (see above picture), the powder room, and the basement-- both of which were turquoise. It was like the 80s exploded in my house. My parents did all they could to minimize the pink, but they only had so much money so we had to settle for some compromises. For instance, we painted over my pink walls with green paint but we had to keep the pink carpeting….so instead of living in a Pepto Bismol bottle of a bedroom, I got to live in a watermelon.
This is my brother and his wife:
I have a moderately strained relationship with them. He’s a hot shot lawyer and is also quite a bit older than me which meant that he went away to college and moved out when I was in fourth grade. Aside from reminiscing about growing up, the only things we can really talk about are whiskey, jazz music, and red wine.
This is my other brother:
Sorry, ladies, he’s married too.
This brother, on the other hand, is one of my best friends. He is a fire fighter paramedic and one of the weirdest people I know (see above picture). We talk on the phone nearly every day….most of the time our conversations involve talking about poop or singing show tunes.
My brothers raised me well. I learned that the most effective way to settle a disagreement is with a swift punch to the kidneys and they made sure I learned how to drink beer, play pool, and play poker like a pro.
There’s a woman that takes the same bus home from work as I do and everyday she consistently passes out cold, presumably from exhaustion. I can’t help but smile every time I see her head bob and sway limply to the movements of the bus. I try to stay awake at all costs when I’m on the bus. I generally don’t like falling asleep in public for fear of being robbed but also, more importantly, because public sleepers are subject to laughter and ridicule. A few years ago, before I had a car and when I was working in retail, I was always dead tired every time I had to close the shop and I had to take a hellish 35-minute bus ride through downtown to get home. There was one night in particular when I remember being so extremely exhausted I could hardly move. I was working full-time, taking 17 credits, and had just pulled an all-nighter to complete a midterm paper. As soon as my shift at the shop ended I just wanted to collapse. I got on the bus and passed out. I vaguely recall someone getting on the bus around MCTC and sitting down next to me, but I closed my eyes and fell back asleep. About 20 minutes passed before I came to and realized that I had been sleeping on the shoulder of the guy who sat down next to me. To make matters even more uncomfortable, he had apparently fallen asleep himself and was all snuggled up with me. I jerked up from his shoulder, rang the bell, shared an awkward glance with the stranger, and bolted off the bus. I vowed to never fall asleep in public again.
There is a gorilla head and a thumb hiding in there. Can you find them? Everytime I would look at that patch of wallpaper, I would always look for those spots.
I have a moderately strained relationship with them. He’s a hot shot lawyer and is also quite a bit older than me which meant that he went away to college and moved out when I was in fourth grade. Aside from reminiscing about growing up, the only things we can really talk about are whiskey, jazz music, and red wine.
Sorry, ladies, he’s married too.
