Why Have I Never Seen Velvet Goldmine All The Way Through?

I need to have myself a Ewan Macgregor film festival. Also, I am drinking beer.

Looks like ReadBecca will be freelancing for the month of September and she believes the job breakthrough came because she restarted the ol' blog. I think it's karma. And this chick quit and I know the VP of Marketing, but it's totally the blogging that caused it. I feel better knowing it's out there, even if the posting is so far lame. I'm rusty but at least I'm here.

Hey, let's tell the story about how I broke up with The Foreigner.

So a couple pals took me out for my birthday and I drank a lot of pinot noir. Then I drank some more pinot noir. Then they took me home and instead of going inside when they dropped me off, I went around the corner to another bar and proceeded to drink even more pinot noir. Some Indian dude sat next to me and I ate his fries without asking. I remember that. I don't remember texting Amy about how Edward Cullen was not going to walk into the bar and wish to have sex with me, which is weird 'cause I don't even like that guy. At some point I decide to stop drinking pinot noir and walked home.

On the five-minute walk home, I called up The Foreigner's voice mail and left a message I still can't quite recall it in its entirety. I know I said I spent my birthday with people who actually cared about me and I reminded him that he deliberately made me cry the year before. I probably called him a dick at that point. I don't know. I'm fairly certain I said I wished I never met him, which is your standard break-up comment. I'm also reasonably sure I said that in two years of sleeping with him, he never gave me an orgasm. I don't know if that's a standard break-up complaint, but I hope I never have to make it again. Wait. I VOW I'll never have to make it again. That shit was uncool.

The only thing I am absolutely sure I said was:

Your wife looks like my mom.