cat's away...

I'm celebrating Ryan's trip to Dallas by renting the girliest movies I can find and watching them on his DVD player. Last night was decadent. I heated up a Lean Cuisine, played some Morrowind, made popcorn, and watched Something's Gotta Give. Tomorrow, Mona Lisa Smile is in order.

Today I celebrated sunny weather with a crawfish boil down the street, a bbq at The Harp, and a sexxy farmer's tan. As in, I will be sporting one as soon as my sunburn heals. Walking back to my place, Jen and I passed by Pineapple Man's apartment and I intuitively grabbed her arm to speed up.

This is a good place to pause and write about the crazy man down the street from me who magically appears on his balcony every time I walk by. One time, I was carrying a pineapple. After grilling me about my plans for the fruit, he offered to trade me tennis lessons if I would save him some. (I did not; I ate it all.) Hence, the name.

So Pineapple Man was stepping out to say hello and I was just about to boogie past in feigned ignorance, dragging Jennifer with me, but her eyes had already found a different target. "Eric?" she called, to the young man digging in his truck. No no no, I'm thinking, stopping is out of the question. Must keep walking.

But stop we did, and hugs ensued, and in the span of about five minutes we discovered that Eric actually lives next door to the crazy pineapple man, and is thinking about moving into my complex instead. (I wonder if he's been propositioned for fruit as well.) "Wanna see my apartment?" I asked, sensing an out.

As we walked away, Pineapple Man threw me a tennis ball, which I threw back, and Eric muttered "that guy is CRAZY."

Later, of course, I had to wonder which is actually crazier: walking down the street carrying a pineapple, or stopping someone to ask about it.