Fine. I'm posting before Irony has a spaz. She doesn't seem to remember that I'm home, and at home the traffic lights start blinking yellow at 10:00 and nothing ever happens. Anyway, last night I went out to a bar with Twiggy. I say a bar, but I really mean the only bar if you're young and not looking to buy cocaine (I'm looking at you, Black Seal). We usually have fun there, but last night was Ladies' Night so it was completely packed. Mostly full of guys wearing shirts with the collars up, 'cause they're super cool. It was also like some wretched high school reunion where everyone was exactly the same except larger and drunk. Now, there were only 115 students in my class, and 35 of them were there last night. That's 35 people who feel the need to have painfully tedious conversations with you because you went to school with them and you're holding a glass of booze, so now you have something in common.
Also, what's up with guys you meet at bars actually calling you? The last time I was at said reunion bar I had a nice, albeit completely drunken conversation with this guy about jazz, and I gave him my number, and he called me. He remembered about 10% of the conversation and he still called. Now, he was nice, but I mostly just gave him my number because what the hell else am I going to do with 500 hundred cards that have my name, my number and 'The Law' printed on them? He was at Reunion Hell Bar last night, and was still nice, but he's got that whole alternahair going on where it's shaggy and in his face and I just want to go at it with a butter knife.
Then I came back home and settled in with a lovely bowl of sorbet that Biff promptly stuck her face into. She didn't like it, and she didn't eat it, but she stuck her face in it. I knew she was an asshole from day one, but come on. That's like...Irony level of asshole. Like when she seasons my hair, or shoves an ice cream sandwich in my face or pushes me into the file cabinet or says 'hey, what'll happen if I smash this tomato onto the ground by your feet?'
Hee. Irony completes me.
8 comments:
That tomato was disappointingly non-squelchy. I suppose that's what I get for aiming at your feet.
Stop giving your The Law cards to random assholes in bars, perhaps? Just a thought. Save them for people who will understand.
Oh, he understood. That's why he was presented with one.
Besides, there aren't 500 nonassholes to give them to.
We are the only ones who comment. We comment on our own posts. We are so egregiously pathetic.
I hate packing.
I pop into comment about cleavage every once in awhile...
I hate packing too. And it looks as though I'm going to have to do some soon.
Know what's even better? Packing your roommate's crap because she's moving-inept.
Who needs eight coats?
Freaking Floridians.
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Cat...furniture.
Boy, I'm sure glad we come up on Google now, 'cause my cats really, really need a chaise lounge.
Also, what's up with guys you meet at bars actually calling you?
I can't imagine.
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