Welcome to Saturday night.
An architect sat next to us and drew cartoons while eavesdropping on all our stories about making out with people. I bet we made his blog.
I have consented to Classic Country Saturday Night, but I insisted on taking off my pants.
"I'd be happy just to date someone who told me his real name." That is my actual quote of the night. Stef''s is the headline. I owed her.
We tried to go to the movies instead of The Dubliner, but it's like the Bermuda Triangle. It just sucks you in, never to be heard from again. Except for that we didn't die and you will hear from us again and it's no where near Bermuda or has anything remotely triangular about it, otherwise it's exactly like the Bermuda Triangle.
It is totally not our fault that everyone in the North Dallas vicinity also wanted to see Jason Bourne fight people and do stuff like call people from the roof of the building across the street. Yeah, we totally watched parts one and two today to prepare for the big opening weekend show. We don't care if you think we're weird, you stood in line for The Phantom Menace, you stupid fanboy loser, so fuck off and get a haircut while you're at it.
Anyway, so it was sold out. We had drinks instead and now I'm on location and will be sleeping in The Pleasant Room so we can complete the triumvirate tomorrow at 10:30 am. There is a Starbucks behind the escalators.
My 20th high school reunion is in two years. I am uncomfortable with that knowledge. Let's move on.
I'm getting very sleepy. I think I should play some free cell to anesthetize myself even further for sleeping purposes. It's not like I carry my nightly dose or extra panties in my purse. Anymore.
I don't know what that means.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
I Love You, Matt The Miller Man.
You know what I love? Thursday.
The people in my Anatomy and Physiology class are a bunch of filthy cheats. Therefore (comma) I required cocktails after tonight's test. I first called Stef to recruit a drinkin' buddy, but she elected to abstain. No harm, no foul. So txt'ed Ashley, who suggested I save it for tomorrow when we have a work outing to the horse races. Ashley is young. She is an amateur, and yet, I love her. Man, you should see all the typos I have to go back and erase. Anyway, my professor showed up high on painkillers, again, so we had no lecture or lab, just straight to the exam. But God only knows where the prof (prof, like it's 1992) went, so all the dirty cheating bastards in my class went to town looking shit up and whispering answers to each other and that pissed me off because I work damn hard to get A's in all my classes, and I am old and haven't had sex in five years so I have to appreciate pleasure where I find it, goddammit, so filthy cheaters have no place in my life. I became so outraged by the cheaters that I couldn't concentrate so I basically took the exam twice to make sure I didn't fuck up, and since lab and lecture were both canceled, I decided cocktails were appropriate. Jebus, this is the longest paragraph ever.
Anyway, I went home to change clothes and was at The Dubliner by 8:15. Must be a record for a school night. So I texted Ashley, called Erin, Andy's wife, and called Matt. Erin came out despite the fact that she was already in her "house coat" and then Matt came by too. So we had a cozy little trio and it was fabulous. Then Matt ordereds a Tuaca shot. Damn him! I declined the Tuaca and then he used the ultimate weapon on me, goddammit. He asked me, "What happened to the the old Beck?" So I had a lemon drop, and I couldn't even swallow it in one. I am a pussy. I love that we kept Andy's wife out past midnight on a Thursday. Ha! And we talked about him.
So Matt the Miller Man paid the tab, which was totally not the point of calling him, but appreciated all the same and now I am thankful I didn't have to go to a Dallas city park to blog away and can steal one of my neighbors' wi-fi from the comfort of my soup-stained couch and eat Cheetos and drink a fountain Coke and blog away undisturbed except for horrible typing mistakes and bad audio from my CD drive which is currently feebly playing the Breedlove reunion show from two years ago that I haven't listen to since like the first time I heard it, but I've been emailing with my best friend from junior high, who lives in Austin, this week and drinking with Matt and Erin and telling old stories, so the nostalgia level is quite high and requires music from at least 10 years ago. I'm melding the 80's friends with the 90's soundtrack. It may be a bit avant garde for the masses.
Anyway, I never meant to be out and up this late when I left class at 7:15 tonight. I totally thought I might bang a foreigner, but I always think that, so I can't be trusted. Neibaum even told me via text from LA to shag someone English, and I have failed. Again. Dang. I hate that I'm pretty much a dried up old maid. Why is it the only people I can consider having sex with all married other women? Sonsabitches.
Whatever. I know none of the Ghosts of Lovers Past would have made me happy. I will find my short Jewish lawyer and we will have amazing, soul-searing sex and I will laugh at all my exes, the ones in Texas or otherwise.
My cursor keeps going to totally unexpected locations. I swear there's a poltergeist moving it around. It has nothing to do with the Blue Moon I had that was followed by the palate cleansing Miller Lites and the Lemon Drop I consented to because I can't remember what's in a Snakebite, which is a totally girly tasting shot despite the name. Erin had a Buttery Nipple, which I just spelled as "Nibble" which makes a lot more sense, but tastes like shit.
Whoever this jackass is that keeps yelling "Hot potato!" on my Breedlove CD makes me want to strangle him with his own shoelaces. Also, I am not paying $35 to see Dan and Bob Schneider play at this yoga studio where I have to take my shoes off and be quiet, even if it is a benefit show. ReadBecca cannot be contained, and is broke. Bob was nice to me once when I waited on The Scabs in Bryan, Texas. Nice man. Cool hair. What's not to love? Hey, I fell in love-esque with Ian Moore about that time because he wore blue sparkly toenail polish and it was all chipped.
You never can tell what's going to send you over the edge. That toenail polish was damn sexy.
The people in my Anatomy and Physiology class are a bunch of filthy cheats. Therefore (comma) I required cocktails after tonight's test. I first called Stef to recruit a drinkin' buddy, but she elected to abstain. No harm, no foul. So txt'ed Ashley, who suggested I save it for tomorrow when we have a work outing to the horse races. Ashley is young. She is an amateur, and yet, I love her. Man, you should see all the typos I have to go back and erase. Anyway, my professor showed up high on painkillers, again, so we had no lecture or lab, just straight to the exam. But God only knows where the prof (prof, like it's 1992) went, so all the dirty cheating bastards in my class went to town looking shit up and whispering answers to each other and that pissed me off because I work damn hard to get A's in all my classes, and I am old and haven't had sex in five years so I have to appreciate pleasure where I find it, goddammit, so filthy cheaters have no place in my life. I became so outraged by the cheaters that I couldn't concentrate so I basically took the exam twice to make sure I didn't fuck up, and since lab and lecture were both canceled, I decided cocktails were appropriate. Jebus, this is the longest paragraph ever.
Anyway, I went home to change clothes and was at The Dubliner by 8:15. Must be a record for a school night. So I texted Ashley, called Erin, Andy's wife, and called Matt. Erin came out despite the fact that she was already in her "house coat" and then Matt came by too. So we had a cozy little trio and it was fabulous. Then Matt ordereds a Tuaca shot. Damn him! I declined the Tuaca and then he used the ultimate weapon on me, goddammit. He asked me, "What happened to the the old Beck?" So I had a lemon drop, and I couldn't even swallow it in one. I am a pussy. I love that we kept Andy's wife out past midnight on a Thursday. Ha! And we talked about him.
So Matt the Miller Man paid the tab, which was totally not the point of calling him, but appreciated all the same and now I am thankful I didn't have to go to a Dallas city park to blog away and can steal one of my neighbors' wi-fi from the comfort of my soup-stained couch and eat Cheetos and drink a fountain Coke and blog away undisturbed except for horrible typing mistakes and bad audio from my CD drive which is currently feebly playing the Breedlove reunion show from two years ago that I haven't listen to since like the first time I heard it, but I've been emailing with my best friend from junior high, who lives in Austin, this week and drinking with Matt and Erin and telling old stories, so the nostalgia level is quite high and requires music from at least 10 years ago. I'm melding the 80's friends with the 90's soundtrack. It may be a bit avant garde for the masses.
Anyway, I never meant to be out and up this late when I left class at 7:15 tonight. I totally thought I might bang a foreigner, but I always think that, so I can't be trusted. Neibaum even told me via text from LA to shag someone English, and I have failed. Again. Dang. I hate that I'm pretty much a dried up old maid. Why is it the only people I can consider having sex with all married other women? Sonsabitches.
Whatever. I know none of the Ghosts of Lovers Past would have made me happy. I will find my short Jewish lawyer and we will have amazing, soul-searing sex and I will laugh at all my exes, the ones in Texas or otherwise.
My cursor keeps going to totally unexpected locations. I swear there's a poltergeist moving it around. It has nothing to do with the Blue Moon I had that was followed by the palate cleansing Miller Lites and the Lemon Drop I consented to because I can't remember what's in a Snakebite, which is a totally girly tasting shot despite the name. Erin had a Buttery Nipple, which I just spelled as "Nibble" which makes a lot more sense, but tastes like shit.
Whoever this jackass is that keeps yelling "Hot potato!" on my Breedlove CD makes me want to strangle him with his own shoelaces. Also, I am not paying $35 to see Dan and Bob Schneider play at this yoga studio where I have to take my shoes off and be quiet, even if it is a benefit show. ReadBecca cannot be contained, and is broke. Bob was nice to me once when I waited on The Scabs in Bryan, Texas. Nice man. Cool hair. What's not to love? Hey, I fell in love-esque with Ian Moore about that time because he wore blue sparkly toenail polish and it was all chipped.
You never can tell what's going to send you over the edge. That toenail polish was damn sexy.
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