As best as he can.

Brae and I were sitting in our apartment listening to the sound of major renovations going on in an apartment 2 floors below.

"They're really going at it," I said. "Did you see how much work they're doing? The place is completely torn apart."

Brae replied, "oh yeah, they had infestus down there."

"What?"

"Um, what is it? Infestu...."

"An infestation?"

"No, what's that stuff called? They had to remove the, uh, in..festus?"

"Oh, you mean asbestos?"

"Uh, yeah. Oh, that actually sounds nice. 'Asbestos he can!"

This requires no comment from me:

My First Retraction

I think my last post deserves a retraction of sorts. It seems that there actually is a Beastie Boys song with lyrics about buying Ale."

I, of course, was thinking of the song "Time to Get Ill" from their debut License to Ill, but "Hold it Now, Hit It" from the same album contains the line "What time is it/It's time to buy Ale."

Brae was combining the two, but this wasn't the mondegreen I thought it was and not nearly as far-fetched as most of Brae's vernacular.

In fact, she kinda schooled me.

My girl got mad flow

Brae and I were doing laundry down in the basement of our building today. I'd forgotten my watch so I asked if she knew what time it was. She shrugged and said she didn't know.

But then her eyes lit up and she said, "it's time to buy ale."

After a long blank stare I asked, "what?!"

"You know, like the Beastie Boys song: What time is it? It's time to get ale!"

Another long pause. "Honey, it's time to get ill."

Today the girlfriend and I were walking down to the river to go for a swim and she purposefully exclaimed, "I feel like Michael Jackson."

"Why is that?" I asked.

"I just do."

...fair enough.

"That's off the tank!"

Brae's summation of that some new 3D hip hop dance movie we saw advertised on TV tonight.

During lunch the other day, Brae quickly polished off her lemonade, wiped her mouth and said,

"Man, I downloaded that lemonade fast!"

Summer is finally here.

"The air-conditioning in the car doesn't work. I think it needs anti-fluid."

That's a mighty big wedgie

"I have a wedgie the size of Damascus."

The first thing I heard my girlfriend say upon waking the other day.

The other day Brae and I were talking about what we wanted done to our bodies when we died. Brae said she wanted to be taken to a crematologist.

I was giving the girlfriend her nightly leg massage. She wanted me to really get in there and work it out and she said, "Oh, yeah. That's it. Do it. Don't pussycoat it."

I wouldn't dream of pussycoating it, darling.

A text message I received from my girlfriend the other night while I was hanging out with the boys:

Sometimes when I'm down I think of Paris Hilton taking a dump.