Party for Two, by the Window, Please.

It is only the 5th official day of Fall and already I feel like I might seriously wound the next person I see wearing a poncho – unless that person is 80 years old and/or has Poncho Cred.

This woman says, “You think you don’t like ponchos? Think again,” which, along with the vaguely threatening tone, seems to indicate that there is something new about the Ponchos of 2004, something I have never seen, something that will compel me to cut a hole in a blanket and put it over my head and walk around with a shit-eating grin on my face because I’m In Style! Maybe this year’s ponchos will keep me company, not just warm, or perhaps they will protect me from evil, or make me invisible to the perfume spritzers at the Bay.

In fact there is nothing new about the Ponchos of 2004. I know because in the past two days I have seen something like 25 identical ponchos on 25 different women. The Ponchos of 2004 are a lot like the Ponchos of 1974 (? – I was an infant that year) except with less credibility. But then, anything that is pulled out of the ass of a TV personality, rinsed off with a hose by a celebrity and hung out to dry on the shoulders of obedient women North-America-Wide automatically pisses me off. It’s as though the clothing manufacturers of the world are afraid that if they didn’t tell us to get out there and Buy a Must Have Item every season, we would wear the same pair of pants and perfect black t-shirt until physically unable to do so.

And so what if we did? When I find the perfect pants and black t-shirt, I will wear them every day and sleep with them under my pillow.

Also, enough with the pink shoes.

Today’s Viewed Apartment ended up being two apartments. We took a quick trip down to PonchoCentral to see a 2 br suite in a heritage building. Unfortunately the three 20 year old boys who live there were in the suite, getting over their hangovers and so was all their stuff, so we didn’t get a look at the actual apartment. One of them had a really big tv, though. And another had a storm trooper helmet.

We assumed, then, that based on the lack of visible wall and floor, the apartment would not be big enough for us, our catt and our many, many personal effects.

Then we found a slip of paper on a pole that said “Best location! Bute and Haro!” and since we were standing on the corner of those streets, gave the number a call. Respecting the 6th Holy Rule of HouseHunting, the suite for rent was not in the three attractive buildings on specified corner but in the ugliest building on the block. The lobby of the building was 45 degrees celsius. The elevator smelled like smoke and the hallway smelled like pee. S. Aardvark said catt pee but I’m certain it was human pee. It smelled an awful lot like the back alleys in Gastown, which, though they are crazy places, are not home to a lot of catts. Anyway, the apartment was as big as my armpit, though, thankfully, not as hairy, so it was a quick visit.

Oh! Heard a new song on the radio today. Shania Twain through a styrofoam cup, I think, in a duet with Mark McGrath, from Sugar Ray. I think they must have smoked big bowls of crack and then locked themselves in a room for an hour or two to record it. The song is about how Shania wants Mark to come over for a party and he’s all “what should I wear?” and she’s all “just wear your socks! It’s a party for two!” and then some unspecified mechanical people say “whoo hooo!” It was like a video game.

She has also recorded a “country” version with some country guy. I wonder if they say “yahoo” instead of “whoo hooo” in the country version and I can’t wait to find out.