Jen and I are currently in the building's business center, doing some computer stuff like Neopets, journal entries, and looking at hooker bars.

Except, you know, that we're not really doing that last part.

We were sitting here when the security guard (who barely speaks English) walked up to me and said something which sounded like, "These are for you". It was a stack of papers with our apartment number scrawled across the top, all of which were apparently on the topic of "hostess clubs". You know, clubs where guys can pay to dance with a pretty lady and maybe gets his rocks off to boot. Hooker bars.

I looked at them, blinked, and showed them to Jen before handing them back to the guard and letting him know they weren't mine. He then insists that they came out of the printer when he put more paper in it, and therefore were mine. Wha? I tell him again they're not, Jen says they're not, and he presses the matter. Okay, dude, first of all, they're not. End of story, or at least it should have been. Second of all, you're grilling a guy in front of his wife about printouts on hooker bars? How fricking tasteless is that?

I'm considering talking to the landlord about this guy... that was way not cool.

Grr.