But not bad enough to actually sit here and watch this dumb ass movie. Josh Hartnett, you are cute, but I'm still not watching you and Han Solo in this crap. But I will watch until this scene is over, but only 'cause it's got Smokey Robinson as the sound track. Han Solo would never call a psychic.
Ok, so all I wanted was an empty chair, but to get the chair, I had to sit down with a bunch of drunk golfers who kept saying how classy I looked, but wouldn't stop talking about my boobs. Then I met the worst wingman since Maverick killed Goose. The second his buddy went to the men's room, he told us his buddy was married to his cousin and was only in town for the weekend to see the Cowboys. So obviously he had to be busted for taking his wedding ring off and being a drunken jackass from Minnesota.
Then I hung out with the substitute doorman Alex, who carded me. And I smoked one cigarette, yeah I'm stupid I know, and I blame my headache on that and not eating dinner before I went out last night. My hair hurts.
Ashley invented the space bubble bath. It's a clear plastic suit with a neck gasket to keep the bubbles in, and you shimmy around to make the suds. It comes in a single or double model. NASA will be thrilled.
I need to lie down. Or take a shower. Or lie down in the shower. Whichever. Hey do my laundry and put clean sheets on my bed. I can't sleep in hangover sheets. I can't sleep in fever sheets either, but that's neither here nor there. When you're done with that, you can play with my hair until I fall asleep. That's it, thanks. Oh, and make me some lemonade. Thanks.
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