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Watched Queer Eye for the Straight Guy
Oct. 27th, 2003 01:49 amWhenever I watch it I have this moment of horror, looking around my apartment, at what the Fab 5 would do if unleashed on poor little me and my oh-so-not swinging bachelor pad.
(Of course, by the end of this train of thought, I'm usually contemplating their subtle and delicate torture by an artistically full sink, artwork all hung a hair off-plumb, cat litter and whatnot, so it evens out. I could drive them all screaming mad, except, of course, I would *never* do that. Oh, and except for Kyan, because I have fabulous skin. I'm in my 30's and I got carded tonight for buying Cheap! Mexican! Beer! I bet if it had been expensive scotch, I wouldn't have been asked for ID. Anyways. My secret? Genetics. Plus, I use great skin cleansers every day, sometimes twice if I feel dirty. [Not that way. I saw you thinking that.] I hate feeling dirt or oil on my face or my hands. And I drink gobs of tea/water all day. I love tea.)
But the cool thing about QE is that I look around my apartment and make a specific decision of something I want to *do* to it. That is feasible, will look good, or at least better, and, frequently, can be done right that moment. So, *sometimes* I then bother do it.
Voila! My VHS tapes that I never watch are now in the closet, and my DVDs are now all pretty and visible in their nook and adjoining bookcase. A corner of tidiness for minimal effort. I like that. Because, God knows and so does everyone else, I'm a lazy slob. I need a housekeeper, just one that doesn't try to give me advice about my sex life. Unless said housekeeper *comes* with the sex life, pun intended, in a dusky, curvy, curly-haired horizontal dictionary, brown-eyed seductress/seducer (I'm easy) kind of way.
*smacks lips*
Like I said, I need a housekeeper. Oh, and I'd love it if Thom got me a real couch.
I might not *sit* on it (couches are for cats, right?), but I'd love it.
(Of course, by the end of this train of thought, I'm usually contemplating their subtle and delicate torture by an artistically full sink, artwork all hung a hair off-plumb, cat litter and whatnot, so it evens out. I could drive them all screaming mad, except, of course, I would *never* do that. Oh, and except for Kyan, because I have fabulous skin. I'm in my 30's and I got carded tonight for buying Cheap! Mexican! Beer! I bet if it had been expensive scotch, I wouldn't have been asked for ID. Anyways. My secret? Genetics. Plus, I use great skin cleansers every day, sometimes twice if I feel dirty. [Not that way. I saw you thinking that.] I hate feeling dirt or oil on my face or my hands. And I drink gobs of tea/water all day. I love tea.)
But the cool thing about QE is that I look around my apartment and make a specific decision of something I want to *do* to it. That is feasible, will look good, or at least better, and, frequently, can be done right that moment. So, *sometimes* I then bother do it.
Voila! My VHS tapes that I never watch are now in the closet, and my DVDs are now all pretty and visible in their nook and adjoining bookcase. A corner of tidiness for minimal effort. I like that. Because, God knows and so does everyone else, I'm a lazy slob. I need a housekeeper, just one that doesn't try to give me advice about my sex life. Unless said housekeeper *comes* with the sex life, pun intended, in a dusky, curvy, curly-haired horizontal dictionary, brown-eyed seductress/seducer (I'm easy) kind of way.
*smacks lips*
Like I said, I need a housekeeper. Oh, and I'd love it if Thom got me a real couch.
I might not *sit* on it (couches are for cats, right?), but I'd love it.
